There are cowering whispers of a war that is soon to be waged on the realm, destroying castles, starving people, decimating armies. A war for the Iron Throne, and a war against it. A war to hide secrets and a war to betray them. For death is power...
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"When you were young, did you spend your time gallivanting with the other girls at Casterly Rock or was it just Cersei for you?" Irida questioned aloud, her voice fading away in the seeming abyss.
The pitch blackness of the air seemed to surround her like a surreal blanket, it's threads weaving into her body as if she was a part of it. An unbearable stench had been swirling in the air ever since she had entered the cell. The stench of its inhabitants' excretions. They had learnt to ignore it, it's presence becoming increasingly known as it continued to pile in the far corner.
Irida was lying on the dirty floor, her hands leisurely tucked under her head, the grime of her hair and fingers mixing in a muddy paste. Her legs were on top of each other, the touch of filth not so uncommon to her anymore. She could feel the frozen crevices of the bricks underneath her skin and the mysterious slime that came out of nowhere to coat her arms.
She had her eyes closed, opening them seemed to be of no use anymore.
"When you were a child, did you train to fuck with the castle boys before running off to become a whore, or were you simply a natural?" Jaime replied back, his voice characteristically smug as always.
The unspoken mutual agreement between them on keeping their silence had morphed into one of shared insults and passed taunts. The Kingslayer's confession had suppressed any companionship that had threatened to develop initially, and Irida could distinctly make out the increased hostility in the air. She had felt nothing but detest for the disgraced knight upon hearing the truth.
But Ser Hector had been right. Even a few minutes of silence in the black cell had caused Irida a humongous amount of effort to remain mute, not to mention the sheer emptiness she had experienced. Perhaps, Jaime had sensed the same dejection as well for when she had finally broke the reigning quiet, he had responded promptly.
"I wonder, how many people had stumbled upon the both of you fucking?" Irida muttered casually, settling in the dip of her hands. "And did you slice clean through all of them, or did you prefer to push a few from high towers?"
She heard faint grumbling, and a moment's loathing silence. "You are very curious about things that could get you killed."
"I doubt incest can get me killed."
"I can get you killed. I can kill you right now." His voice rumbled threateningly.
Irida was unmoved. "Why, I don't see you strangling me. Have you grown that weak in this place? The food is very bad, I'll admit. Not for humans, I think. I really don't like how they fling it inside. Seems disrespectful." She paused, and her chapped lips quirked up in a smile, "But you're no stranger to disrespect, are you Ser Jaime? You have quite the reputation for slitting the throats of kings, literally backstabbing people, abandoning your honour as a member of the Kingsguard." She grew more malicious in her tone as she felt Jaime seethe in rage. "Former member."
