Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to A Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire-all are properties of George R. R. Martin.

Those Sweet Summer Days: Part I

The Calm

The air screamed as the Warhammer skidded off the golden shield that had been raised to meet it. Flecks of gold flew into the air like autumn leaves in a storm, glimmering like falling stars as the rays of the setting sun danced upon each piece. A blade darted out, faster than a Dornish viper, intent on capitalizing on the other man's failure to knock the golden knight out. The knight grinned as his blade struck true.

"The bout is mine, your highness" the knight said with a grin and a mocking bow as the flecks of gold settled around him.

The man holding the Warhammer rubbed his arm and then laughed, a deep boisterous laughter that was echoed in the stands of the local nobility, as he placed his Warhammer down. The knight, gleaming in the evening's embrace with a suit that looked to be pure gold and a cape that was as fresh as newly fallen snow, widened his eyes in surprise. He glanced at a short, stocky man standing alone in the crowd idly swirling about a burnt amber colored liquid in a silver goblet, before cautiously asking "What could possibly be so funny that Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, et cetera, would be in such good cheer after losing a spar?"

The king, his hair black as coal and eyes like charcoal, flashed a smile towards the knight. "Why, I'm just remembering the last time a Lannister bowed to me with flecks of gold in her hair." He winked as he addressed the crowd, "I hope you're not planning on another bedding ceremony!" The king laughed with the crowd as Jaime patted his hair and looked quizzically at the king. Robert just shook his head and waved over his squire as he began ambling towards the stands, driblets of sweat falling from his beard and watering the soil beneath him.

The beads sparkled like glass globes as they crashed with nary a sound, fading as quickly as they came. The ground greedily gobbled up the moisture, the abnormally long summer having dried out Kings Landing to the bone. Even in the fading light of the day the heat caused ripples to form above the sands, twisting like a thousand coiled snakes. The king frowned towards the ground, his former good cheer evaporating as quickly as his sweat.

The squire carried with him two skins of water filled near bursting, and demurely handed one to the king before approaching Jaime. The squire, in clothes of burnt crimson emblazoned with a roaring lion smiled, golden hair glinting in the failing light, as he tossed the second skin over. "Well done cousin! Beating the king is no easy feat, I know—" he paused abruptly as Jaime stuck out his hand and glowered. "Why is everyone laughing at me?" Jaime nearly snarled; as the golden lion he was quite unused to ridicule. He found that he very much did not like the sensation.

Lancel gulped, his eyes twitching back and forth as he sought to extricate himself from the situation. Just as he opened his mouth to throw out an excuse, a teasing voice cut in, "Why Jaime, I never knew you had the same stylist as our dearest sister. I must say, those golden flecks truly do make your hair shine. And those smudges on your face, why you make me wonder if there's truth to the saying that Lannisters shit gold! Have you been talking to father recently?" A small imp, dressed in a fine golden brown doublet, meandered towards the two with an easy smile upon his face. His mismatched eyes glittered with amusement as he took a deep drink from his goblet.

Jaime's clouded visage cleared as he laughed, his temper fading away like a spring shower. Flashing a dazzling smile at his brother he called out, "Well if it isn't my favorite little brother! I'm touched that you would take time away from the brothels to watch me train with the king. Surely the whores must be at a loss without their most frequent customer!"

Tyrion grinned back, "Well, I'm your only little brother. It's hardly a competition to be the favorite, now is it?" He took another long drink from his goblet, tilting it so the final drops would ease their way to his dry throat. "And besides, these bouts only happen once a month, I could hardly afford to miss a chance at seeing my brother in action." His emerald eye sparkled, "The ladies will have to be satisfied with lesser fares tonight."

Jaime clasped a hand on his brother's shoulders as they began walking back towards the keep, the parched earth cracking under every step. A trail of dust followed the two lions as easy banter flew between them. In the distance, the great sept's bells began to toll, the clear, ringing tones blanketing the city, signaling the end of the day. It was the very height of summer, the previous winter being barely more than a memory. Yet it is said in the north that Winter is Coming… and sooner or later the Stark words always ring true.

As the bell rang for the final time, a patch of darkness deeper than its surroundings landed in the maesters tower and let out a piercing cry. Tied to its legs was a letter sealed by the visage of a howling wolf.


I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this. I had an inclination to write today, despite my propensity to merely read, and satisfied it. Hopefully I will continue writing this as the new season of Game of Thrones continues. Any feedback, especially that for grammatical/spelling corrections, a different way of painting the scenes, diction, etc. is highly welcome! No beta, written in an hourish... so don't be too harsh :)