A Game of Lies

Jon Arryn is Dead

Down the halls, and around the bends he ran. He didn't stop until he was in the courtyard. His father did not allow him to leave the Red Keep, but that was alright. There were plenty of places to explore, right here in these walls. Places he doubted even King Robert knew of. And definitely not Joffrey, he knew with pride. Dark chambers full of odds and ends. Old, torn books of histories passed and forgotten, Houses long dead, vases painted in exotic colors. But the best, the best were the dragons. Sometimes, he'd stumble upon a room filled with dragon skulls big and small, beautiful jeweled dragon pendants, and the art. The art was wonderful. But, here it was all discarded and left forgotten, no matter how beautiful.

Today he had no particular place to go. He ran the halls for a while. Then he watched some Knights for a bit, practicing their techniques and roughing about. Soon, he decided he'd go and see what Lord Martell was up to, but alas he was not in his chambers, or his study.

It was then he began noticing something was amiss. People looked sad. Men whispered, women cried. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"Father", he whispered. He wanted to find his father.

He felt himself become very warm. The heat seemed to rise with the fear. He suddenly felt very afraid. He suddenly felt like running, and that's just what he did. He didn't even stop, not when the Hound told him to slow down, when he nearly crashed into him. He wasn't even afraid of the Hound. Something else scared him. He felt.. He felt death. He felt darkness. It closed in on him, and he had to fight it off, to stay conscious as he ran for his father.

"He must die", he heard a voice whisper, seemingly in his head. A female voice. A voice familiar to him yet somehow far away from recognition.

He found him, his father, finally. Crashing into him, just outside the throne room.

"Lewyn!" , his father said, alarmed. Cersei Lannister stood next to him.

"Lewyn, you're so warm!", he said, laying his palm to his son's forehead. " You're burning up!"

"I'll call Maester Pycelle", Cersei said, turning and walking briskly down the hall.

Jaime kneeled, and held his son, who was breathing deeply, his eyes closed.

"He knows", the voice came again. It was a wicked growl.

And suddenly it happened. Something that had not since he was very young. Jaime saw his leg jut out and stiffen for a moment, and the convulsions began.

Lewyn lay in his bed, unable to sleep. The events of that day just wouldn't let him rest easy. Instead, he found himself staring at the walls, occasionally tossing or turning. He had awoken, with Maester Pycelle, Oberyn, and his father above him late in the afternoon.

"Rest", Maester Pycelle spoke, "he needs rest now".

The last thing he could do was rest.

His father had come to his chambers later that evening, bringing him a light supper, and dining with him. His father then readied him for bed, and even sat with him, talking about whatever it was Lewyn wanted to ask or discuss. Almost everything, that is. Some things Lewyn knew not to bring up.

Lewyn asked him more about what happened that day. His father told him he used to get them when he was very young.

"Lord Robert Arryn, Jon Arryns son also suffers from them" he said, his face suddenly going grimly tight, as he grew quiet, looking off at nothing in particular"

"I, I think I remember. Where is Oberyn?", he asked, concerned.

"He'll see you in the morning. He's very busy", Jaime said, "but he told me to bid you goodnight for him".