With plenty of time left until morning, Haymend left the Red Keep, a heavy cloak draped over his shoulders. As he descended the steps leading to the gate, his boots clacked against the stone, the echoes ringing out through the deserted courtyard.
He made his way down into the city of King's Landing, moving quickly through the winding streets. The buildings on either side of him loomed tall and foreboding, casting deep shadows that seemed to swallow everything in their path. The chill of the night crept through his clothes, but it did not affect the body he controlled.
Haymend's movements were smooth and effortless as if he were gliding through the city rather than walking. His eyes scanned the streets, taking in the details of the buildings and the patterns of the cobblestones beneath his feet. The darkness held no fear for him, and he moved with almost arrogant confidence.
The emptiness of the city was a welcome respite from the chaos of the day. Haymend enjoyed the peace, and he relished the opportunity to move freely through the streets without being noticed. He knew that in this state, he was invisible to mortal eyes, and he took advantage of this to explore the city in ways that few others could.
As the night wore on, Haymend continued his solitary journey through the city, reveling in the stillness and the freedom it provided. He knew that soon enough, the sun would rise and the mortals would awaken, and the city would come alive once more.
He could see the faint flicker of lights coming from clouded windows in the distance, signaling his destination, the Mead Pit.
As he approached the tavern, he could hear the sound of raucous laughter and off-key singing. The outside was almost as uninviting as the smell of the city itself. The paint was peeling from the wooden sign out front, and the door creaked ominously as he pushed it open.
Inside, the tavern was dimly lit by a few torches on the walls, casting long shadows across the dirty, wooden floorboards. The air was thick with the smell of stale ale and unwashed bodies. Most of the patrons were filthy and smelled like shit, with tattered clothes and unkempt hair. Some of them looked up as Haymend entered, eyeing him warily before returning to their drinks.
He made his way to the bar, trying not to step on any of the rats that scurried across the floor. The bartender was a burly man with a stained apron, who glared at him as he approached. Haymend ordered a cup of ale and began to scan the room.
Haymend surveyed the tavern, his eyes scanning the room in search of the bald man with a scar. The dimly lit establishment was filled with patrons, most of whom looked to be of the lower class. The smell of stale ale and sweat filled the air, and the murmur of hushed conversations was barely audible over the sound of clinking glasses and the strumming of a lute in the corner.
Despite the raucous atmosphere, Haymend's focus remained unwavering as he looked for his target. He noticed a group of rough-looking men in the corner, their dirty clothes and unkempt appearances suggesting they were common criminals. In the opposite corner, a pair of travelers sat at a table, their hushed whispers and shifty glances betraying a nervousness that suggested they were up to no good.
As Haymend waited for the bartender to bring his drink, he leaned back against the wall and continued to scan the room. His sharp eyes eventually settled on a man in the far corner of the tavern, a bald man with a scar over his left eye. The man's eyes darted around the room, his body tense with anticipation. Haymend knew instantly that this was his target, and he began to make his way over to the man's table
Haymend sat across from the scared man. The man looked up at Haymend with confusion before quickly shifting to a look of annoyance and hesitation, as though he recognized the man before him.
"You know who I am?" Haymend asked, his arms crossed over his chest. The man scanned the dimly lit tavern before finally nodding in recognition.
"I know you," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Where's the one sent to get you?" he asked, his eyes darting around the room.
"Dead," Haymend replied coldly. "So let's make this quick. Why do you want me dead? As far as I know, I've never laid eyes on you before now."
"It wasn't me who wants you killed, I was just told to find someone to do it," the scarred man said, his words dripping with fear.
"Then who hired you?" Haymend demanded, his voice low and menacing. The man shook his head, his eyes darting around the room once more.
"Now why would I tell you that?" he said, his words barely audible over the din of the tavern. "If people hear that I ratted out my employer, I'll never find work again."
Haymend let out a cold laugh, causing the scarred man to jump in his seat.
"The fuck are you laughing for?" he asked, his fear turning to anger. Haymend's smile remained, amused and sinister.
"Do you think there will ever be a next time?" he asked, his voice low and menacing. "If you believe there is an ending to this story that involves you walking out of this establishment with your life...I would squash those fantasies right now."
The scared man's demeanor shifted from timid to ferocious, his posture indicating his readiness for violence. Haymend noticed several menacing figures lurking in the shadows, converging around them, effectively cutting off all possible escape routes. Despite the gravity of the situation, Haymend remained calm, his slight smile betraying his unwavering confidence.
"It was a mistake to come here unguarded, but you made a bigger mistake by underestimating me," the man snarled, his words dripping with contempt. Haymend's smile faded as he uncrossed his arms and leaned in closer to the scarred man.
"I will kill every one of your men, and when they're dead, I'll come back to you to get what I want," Haymend growled, his voice low and menacing. The scarred man turned to one of his henchmen and gave a subtle nod.
"Kill him," he commanded, his eyes locked on Haymend with unbridled hatred.
Haymend moved with lightning speed, reaching forward to grab the bald man by his shirt collar. With vicious strength, he slammed the man's head against the table, crushing the wooden surface beneath his skull. The man let out a sickening crunch and crumpled to the ground, unmoving.
Without missing a beat, Haymend lunged at the next man, his muscles flexing with immense power as he threw a devastating punch straight into the man's face. The impact was so forceful that the man was hurled backward, crashing into the wall behind him with a loud thud. The sound of bones breaking filled the room as the man crumpled to the ground in a heap, blood gushing from his shattered nose.
In one swift motion, Haymend grabbed another man by the hair and slammed him against a wooden pillar with a sickening thud. The man's head exploded like a ripe watermelon, his skull shattering into pieces and blood spattering across the room as the killer broke him in two.
Turning his attention to the third man, who was now charging towards him with a knife, Haymend deftly dodged the attack and grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it with such force that the bones shattered like glass. The knife clattered to the ground as the man screamed in agony, but his screams were cut short as Haymend raised the knife and slashed it across the man's throat, nearly decapitating him in one brutal stroke.
The final man charged at Haymend with a look of desperation, but it was too late. With a fierce determination, Haymend lunged forward, his arm outstretched and the knife held firmly in his hand. The blade pierced the man's chest, tearing through muscle and bone as it plunged deep into his heart. Haymend's forearm was coated in blood as he pulled the knife out, and the man fell dead to the ground, his eyes staring up at the ceiling in a cold, lifeless gaze.
Haymend's eyes scanned the faces of the terrified onlookers, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief at the violence they had just witnessed. Some were cowering under their tables, while others were frozen in shock. But Haymend had no time for their fear. He knew he had to act quickly, with a snap of his fingers, the doors to the tavern slammed shut, trapping everyone inside. Panic erupted among the patrons as they rushed towards the exits, but the doors refused to budge.
Haymend's eyes blazed with an eerie intensity as he raised his hand in the air. In a matter of seconds, all the candles in the tavern flickered and then roared to life, transforming into massive flames that licked hungrily at the wooden beams and furniture.
The heat was intense, the air thick with smoke, and the screams of the terrified. But Haymend remained calm as he approached the body of the bald, scared man. Blood oozed from the man's shattered nose and busted mouth, and his eyes were wide with fear as he looked up at Haymend.
"Who hired you?" Haymend's voice was cold and hard, like steel. The man flinched in terror, his body wracked with pain.
"I don't know!" he wailed. "It was a servant from the castle, I swear!" Haymend's grip on the man tightened, and he lifted him until they were eye to eye.
"Which servant?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing. The man shook his head frantically, his eyes darting around the burning tavern.
"I don't know her name!" he gasped. "She just gave me the money and told me to find someone to do the job. I didn't even know who you were before then!"
Haymend's eyes narrowed as he considered the man's words. He knew that the servant from the castle could mean trouble, but for now, he had more pressing concerns. With a final, brutal twist, he snapped the man's neck, and his body went limp in Haymend's grasp.
As the flames roared around him, Haymend turned and sat at a table nearby. The tavern was now a raging inferno, the screams of the trapped patrons echoing in his ears. But he felt no remorse, no pity, he couldn't risk these people opening their mouths and spreading rumors, at least not yet.
Haymend stood amidst the blazing inferno, watching the tavern and all its occupants burn. Flames licked at his clothing, but he remained unscathed by the fire. As he looked around at the chaos, a feeling of satisfaction crept over him. The screams of the dying filled his ears, yet he did not flinch.
As the last embers flickered and died out, Haymend turned and walked away, leaving the smoldering ruins behind him. The air was filled with the stench of burnt flesh and charred wood. But to him, it was a small price to pay for the truth he sought.
As Haymend approached the Red Keep, he noticed how the light of the rising sun illuminated the ancient walls, casting a warm glow over everything in its path. The air was fresh and crisp, a welcome change from the smoke and debris that had filled the city during the recent siege. His clothes, once stained with blood and ash, were now clean and pressed, thanks to the aid of his powers.
As he made his way through the corridors, he kept a watchful eye out for any sign of danger, he spotted Cersei Lannister rounding a nearby corner, flanked by her handmaid and four heavily armed guards. In an instant, he ducked out of sight, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
It was then that he conjured a bouquet with a quick snap of his fingers. As he turned the corner, he found himself face to face with the Queen Regent and her entourage.
"Ah, your grace," he said with a small bow, doing his best to appear nonchalant.
"Ser Haymend," Cersei replied coolly. "You're up rather early."
Haymend smiled. "Yes, your grace. I find that the early morning hours are the most peaceful."
Cersei's eyes darted briefly to the bouquet in his hand. "That is a lovely bouquet," she remarked, her tone flat and uninterested.
Haymend grinned mischievously. "I met the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms yesterday," he explained, holding up the bouquet. "I just had to bring her flowers that could match her beauty. Sadly, these flowers fall miles short of her radiance."
Cersei's expression softened slightly. "Well, she must be a lucky woman," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of envy.
"You tell me," Haymend said, extending the bouquet to her. Cersei's eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment, before quickly composing herself and accepting the gift with a gracious smile.
"You are too kind, Ser Haymend," she said, clutching the bouquet in one hand. Haymend gave a small bow.
"I shouldn't be keeping you, your grace," he said, stepping aside to allow Cersei and her guards to pass. As they disappeared down the hallway, Haymend knew that most definitely the first chance she got those flowers would be discarded. Ignoring the feeling Haymend continued onward through the red keep.
Haymend had been wandering the halls of the Red Keep with no particular destination in mind when he came across Loras Tyrell and his entourage. The young knight was dressed in a suit of light armor, which seemed to be designed more for ease of movement than for protection. He wore a tunic in the colors of his house, green and gold, and a matching cloak billowed behind him in the breeze.
Loras was flanked by several servants, who carried various objects, including a small chest and a rolled-up carpet. Haymend, curious as to where they were headed, began to follow them discreetly.
After some time, they arrived at a small courtyard that overlooked the sea. A few small weapon racks were positioned in the courtyard, containing practice swords. These swords were made of metal with squared edges and rounded tips, ensuring they were safe for sparring and would not cause any injury from cuts or stabs.
The swords varied in size and weight, with some being lighter for younger or less experienced fighters, and others being heavier for more skilled warriors. The racks were neatly organized, with each sword in its own designated spot.
Loras Tyrell and his servant faced each other in the center of the courtyard, their feet firmly planted on the ground as they both assumed a fighting stance. The glint of the metal swords caught the sun as they raised their weapons in unison, the sound of clashing steel ringing through the air.
The servant was a formidable opponent, but Loras was the more skilled fighter, his movements fluid and precise as he deftly parried and thrust with his sword. His footwork was also impressive, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, constantly maneuvering around his opponent.
The sun beat down on the courtyard, casting long shadows on the ground, as the two combatants continued their intense sparring session.
Loras Tyrell, wearing light armor, picked up a metal practice sword from the rack and squared off against his servant. The servant was also wearing light armor and wielding a sword of his own. They circled each other, eyeing their opponent carefully, waiting for an opening.
Loras made the first move, feinting to his left and then lunging forward, but his servant was quick to react, parrying the blow with his sword. The two of them exchanged a flurry of blows, their swords clanging together in the sunlight. Loras moved with a grace and fluidity that was almost mesmerizing, while his servant seemed to be struggling to keep up with the pace.
The servant tried to strike Loras on his left side, but Loras dodged to his right, and the servant's sword missed its mark. Loras took advantage of the opening and landed a solid blow on his servant's shoulder, causing him to stumble backward. But the servant quickly regained his balance and resumed his stance, ready for the next attack.
The two continued to spar for several minutes, their movements fluid and graceful. Loras's swordplay was impressive, using a variety of feints and strikes to keep his opponent off-balance. His servant, while not as skilled as Loras, was still a competent fighter, able to defend himself against Loras's attacks and even land a few of his own.
As the spar came to a close, both Loras and his servant were breathing heavily, sweat glistening on their foreheads. Loras extended his hand in a show of respect, and the two of them bowed to each other before returning their swords to the rack. Haymend, who had been watching the entire time, was impressed by the skill and dedication of both fighters.
Loras spotted Haymend standing by the path leading back to the red palace. Loras greeted him with a friendly smile.
"Is that you Haymend?" he asked. Haymend made his way down towards the group.
"Couldn't help myself, Wanted to see you in action Ser. Loras," Haymend said as he stood in front of Loras.
"And? What say you?" Loras replied, curious about Haymend's opinion.
"A grand display," Haymend replied, impressed by Loras's skill with the sword. Loras, sensing Haymend's curiosity, offered him a chance to participate.
"Would you like to have a round?" he asked. Haymend shook his head.
"I'm afraid I have no equipment of my own," Haymend admitted.
But Loras would not let Haymend miss the opportunity to test his swordsmanship.
"You may use mine," he said, removing his leather breastplate and offering it to Haymend.
Haymend hesitated for a moment before taking the armor. Loras handed Haymend a practice sword and ushered an armed servant to approach Haymend.
As Haymend took up the practice sword and stepped forward to face the servant, he took care to suppress his natural talent in swordplay. He didn't want to reveal too much about his abilities.
The servant, clad in leather armor and holding a wooden sword, took a defensive stance and waited for Haymend to make the first move. Haymend obliged, making a few cautious swings to test his opponent's reactions. The servant blocked each of his attacks with ease, but Haymend could tell that he was not particularly skilled.
Haymend decided to increase the tempo of the spar, hoping to make it more interesting. He attacked with a flurry of quick strikes, aiming for the servant's shoulders and chest. The servant parried most of the blows, but a few got through, striking his armor with a dull thud.
The servant responded with a few wild swings of his own, but Haymend easily dodged and blocked them. He could see the servant tiring, his movements becoming more sluggish as the spar went on.
Haymend decided to end the spar quickly, making a swift move to disarm the servant. The wooden sword flew out of the servant's hand and clattered to the ground. Haymend stepped back and lowered his sword, feigning exhaustion.
"Very well done, Haymend," Loras called out. Loras was still eyeing Haymend suspiciously as he grabbed a training sword. Haymend noticed the look, but he remained composed, showing no signs of discomfort.
The servant they had just been sparring with was watching them with interest, his sword sheathed. Loras circled Haymend slowly, sizing him up. Haymend tried to emulate the moves he had seen from the servant, looking average and unimpressive. He didn't want to reveal his godly abilities and attract unwanted attention.
"Did you use magic? Or did you use your skills" Loras said with a smirk, making a few test swings with the sword.
Haymend merely shook his head, keeping his expression neutral. Loras suddenly lunged forward, aiming a blow at Haymend's head. Haymend reacted quickly, bringing his sword up to block the strike. The impact sent a jolt through Haymend's arm, reminding him of how much he had to hold back.
Haymend could feel his muscles tensing, knowing that he had to suppress his godly strength to keep his identity hidden.
They continued to spar, exchanging blows and blocks. Loras was fast and skillful, but Haymend was able to keep up, thanks to his godly abilities. He was careful to keep his movements unremarkable, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. Loras seemed to be enjoying the fight, occasionally throwing in some playful taunts.
Haymend could sense Loras growing more and more suspicious. It was as if he could tell that Haymend was holding back, that there was more to him than he let on. Haymend knew he had to be careful, to make sure that he didn't reveal himself to be more than what he wanted them to know. But as he fought, he couldn't help but feel a thrill, the excitement of battle that came with being a god.
As they continued to spar, Haymend suppressed his godly powers, only using his human physical abilities to match Loras' skills. Haymend kept his movements in check, ensuring that he did not overpower Loras, but was still able to keep up with him. He wanted to ensure that the spar was an equal match, not one-sided.
Their swords clashed, ringing out like church bells. Haymend felt the vibration of the swords in his hand, but he held back his strength, only using what was necessary to defend himself. Loras was an impressive fighter, and Haymend could see that he was a seasoned warrior. Haymend respected Loras' abilities, and he could see that Loras was also holding back his strength.
As they continued to exchange blows, Haymend felt a small smile forming on his face. He was enjoying the spar, enjoying the feel of the sword in his hand, the sound of the clash as the blades met, and the thrill of the fight. As a god he loved to fight, nothing brought him more pleasure than battle, he could tell that Loras felt the same way.
Loras's swift and calculated strikes were met with Haymend's equally adept blocks and parries. The sound of their clashing swords echoed through the small courtyard, as their movements became more and more fluid.
Loras advanced, striking high, but Haymend quickly anticipated and blocked the attack, causing their swords to meet in a loud clang. With his shoulder, Haymend pushed Loras back a few feet, creating space between them.
Loras was just quick enough to turn and block the blow, but the impact sent a jolt up his arm. The force of their swords meeting caused a shower of sparks to fly off, briefly illuminating the intensity of their duel. As they continued to fight, their movements became more fluid and almost dance-like, as they each anticipated the other's moves.
As the blades locked together, the sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the courtyard. Haymend and Loras were fiercely pushing against each other, their faces only inches apart, both determined to gain the upper hand.
Haymend's mind was racing, considering all the different ways he could defeat his cousin, but he knew that he couldn't allow himself to overpower Loras. As they pushed against each other, he could feel Loras' muscles straining, trying to gain the advantage. The sweat was starting to bead on his forehead and his breaths were becoming more labored.
Suddenly, Haymend loosened his grip on his sword and lightened up on his push against Loras, causing Loras to stumble forward and lose his balance. At that moment, Haymend could have easily taken advantage and won the duel, but instead, he chose to fall to the ground, his sword falling from his hand.
Loras pointed the tip of his sword at Haymend's throat, his chest heaving with exertion. They were both gasping for breath, the intensity of the spar leaving them both winded.
"You've bested me, cousin. Then again, there wasn't a chance to beat you." Haymend spoke, his voice strained but still holding a hint of amusement.
Loras shook his head in disapproval. "No, you put up a good fight. I had to try this time." He replied, lowering his sword and offering Haymend his hand to help him up.
Haymend took Loras' hand, pulling himself up to his feet. He retrieved his sword and took a deep breath, feeling the rush of adrenaline slowly fade away. The two men stood facing each other, both exhausted but also exhilarated by the intensity of the battle.