Chapter 25

The gate was unguarded when he approached. No shadow men, no Arya. Just an eerie calmness flowing from the iron gate, its hinges creaking in a way that almost invited him to enter the city. She must have killed the guards…and is waiting for us inside. She must have. Jaime stepped inside, jumping as the gate slammed shut just inched from his neck. A trick of the wind, he told himself. Or a warning.

After emerging from the wall's shadow, Jaime found himself in a deserted square of sorts, a marketplace with shops and signs but nothing else, no one else. Only a wind howled, dancing and tumbling against canvas awnings and the broken remains of a wooden cart. Something crunched beneath his boot.

"Arya's dagger," he whispered, despite being alone in the city. I would not doubt it if the wind itself had ears. The hilt lay unbroken, but the glass—the dragon glass—was shattered, useless. Frowning, Jaime pocketed one of the larger shards and straightened up when something flashed in the corner of his eye. Beside one of the abandoned shops an orb of blue light bounced up and down, almost playfully. After glancing around, he approached the strange light—pale blue and flame-like, yet constricted in its shape. Jaime stretched out his fingers, entranced, when the sphere darted further into the dark street.

"Come play with us," a soft, child-like voice sang out.

Jaime swallowed, but his feet followed the orb. "Arya?" he asked, his voice hoarse and jarring.

The light—or whatever it was—let out a giggle as it traveled down the desolate street. "She likes to play! Come play with us." It flitted behind a corner. "Play with us."

Further and further the orb led him, past broken houses and stores and taverns, through winding alleys and staircases and passageways, up and down, closer, further, in and around, faster and faster it darted and danced until something hard and wet slammed into his nose with a sickening crunch.

"What the—" Jaime stumbled backwards as spots danced before his eyes. Raising a hand to his face, he felt the warmth dripping down from his nose. "Fuck," he cursed, wiping the blood on his breeches. Once his vision returned to normal, Jaime assessed the perpetrator. He stood before a door made of weeping, inky stones with a pale white handle, intricately carved into something he could not make out in the darkness. Turning, he saw that the tight space had no entrance or exit, just a crack of a window high up on the opposite wall. Without thinking, Jaime closed his hand around the door handle, surprised at its soft, almost warm, texture, and entered.

The door melted away in his hand, and Jaime stood in a vast hall filled and brimming with deep purple candles that cast shadows into corners of the room that he could not even see. Sheets of ornate velvet soared from somewhere far above to the black marble below and a blood-red carpet flowed from his feet, pooling before a throne of gleaming onyx and the blue-lipped man that sat there. The sight was luxurious and beautiful and terrible.

"Thank you, my sweet. Come here," the man, or king, held out a hand, his black robes billowing at the sleeve. A girl—she couldn't be older than twelve—darted out from Jaime's right. Ice blue hair swayed against she shoulders as she ran, surefooted and light, towards the throne. When she reached him the king smirked and grabbed her wrist, positioning the child so that she stood by his side. Jaime saw no fear on the girl's pale face, only numbness. "Lovely, don't you think so? And so useful. Want to play?" he said, his voice imitating the one Jaime had heard earlier. The one that I followed here.

"What is this place? Who are you?" Jaime whispered, his voice barely a breath in the immense hall.

"So many questions! But I've already answered so many today." The corner of his wet lips pulled down into a pout. "Perhaps my little pet will tell you," he mused, pushing back the girl's frosted hair from her slender neck. "Go on, tell our guest."

The child spoke in a breathy voice so delicate that Jaime thought it might break. "Behold, King Viyar of Asshai and the Shadow Lands, Warlock of the Far East. My king welcomes you to the Gates of the Shadow." She trembled once and went silent.

"Very, very, good," the king cooed, his eyes glinting as he ran his thumb along her jaw. "Did she explain it to you well? I could have her try again."

Jaime's fingers itched for his sword, but he would not allow himself to be so foolish. Not here, not with Arya missing. He cleared his throat and strode down the crimson carpet in a gait that he hoped to be nonchalant. "She was excellent, your grace," Jaime said, choosing his words carefully. "May I ask—"

"Good, good!" the king cried out, abruptly rising from his chair. A black cape of thick silk pooled from his shoulders as he stood. "Do you know who she is?" he asked, his voice gleeful.

"I, I do not—"

"Well neither do I!" he sat back down, casually crossing his legs with a puzzled expression. "My men found her aboard some slavers ship from Mereen. Such a pretty little girl, I couldn't help but to take pity on the creature. But you would know all about that, wouldn't you, Ser Jaime."

Words could sting, Jaime had found. Anyone with Tywin Lannister as a father knew that/ But sometimes they stabbed and twisted and pulled. And these words were a knife. "What did you do with her?" he hissed.

The king shoved the girl away, snorting as she crumpled to her knees. "When my men said they found a new one I was so pleased. This one's getting boring," he said, using his leather-clad foot to point at the girl's ribs. "And then I realized what a treat I'd been given. You see," he paused, cocking his head, "I am a king with no queen, no heir. I am brought all of these girls but I simply cannot stand them after a while." He snapped his fingers and the girl cried out in pain, withering below his feet. Jaime started to run up to her but his feet would not move—he was trapped, helpless for the first time in his life.

The girl let out a scream that echoed through the hall but the king merely laughed. "I'd invite you to play, Kingslayer, but I fear that you wouldn't have any fun!" He snapped again and hissed in delight—the child clawed and clutched at her chest as the air swirled dark and encompassing around her until her form was swallowed in screams and darkness.

"Stop it, you're killing her!" Jaime cried out, struggling against his invisible bounds.

He sighed and with another snap it was done. No more screams, no more smoke. Just the lifeless, ice-blue girl below the throne. "Well, now that that's taken care of," the king started, clapping his hands. "I'll introduce you to my new queen," he said calmly, a grin erupting on his face. "Oh wait, you already know her!"

From behind his throne she emerged, pale and silver…and broken, Jaime realized.

"Arya, darling. Give your king a kiss."

Eeek ok so I'm kind of nervous to share this chapter since it's a little…out there (in my opinion, anyway). I promise that I won't get too carried away with this plotline though, we still have dragon eggs to find!

And sorry about not posting daily anymore, my job takes a lot more time than I originally thought. Anyway, thanks for reading and thoughts on this chapter in particular are much appreciated!