[ This is also delivered with a derisive snort, because he has never known a father not to weaponize his son's missteps. Not fathers who are also lords, anyway. Not fathers who mistake themselves for kings, who will tolerate no slight, real or imagined.
The spell, this stranger says, and Jaime takes stock of their shared cell once more, wondering again why robed men adept in the black art of magic would discard them here. Couldn't they make better use of them somehow, forage their souls for some potency to inflame their witchcraft? On second thought, perhaps being forgotten in a cell is a small blessing. ]
I was a prisoner back home, too, so you might say the caliber of my importance has taken a beating. [ A lopsided smirk accompanies this tidbit, though he isn't terribly humbled by the truth of it. He may have been a wartime hostage, shackled and despised, but he was still feared. He was still the Kingslayer, and no one would dare forget it. He was still made of polished gold, no matter how they tried to strip him of his glory. Sin was a glory they could never pry from his name, and it shined the brightest. ]
They'd pay more than your entire family's worth to free me there, and someone will pay to free me here. And once they kindly return my sword, I will leave a garden of corpses for the crows.
no subject
[ This is also delivered with a derisive snort, because he has never known a father not to weaponize his son's missteps. Not fathers who are also lords, anyway. Not fathers who mistake themselves for kings, who will tolerate no slight, real or imagined.
The spell, this stranger says, and Jaime takes stock of their shared cell once more, wondering again why robed men adept in the black art of magic would discard them here. Couldn't they make better use of them somehow, forage their souls for some potency to inflame their witchcraft? On second thought, perhaps being forgotten in a cell is a small blessing. ]
I was a prisoner back home, too, so you might say the caliber of my importance has taken a beating. [ A lopsided smirk accompanies this tidbit, though he isn't terribly humbled by the truth of it. He may have been a wartime hostage, shackled and despised, but he was still feared. He was still the Kingslayer, and no one would dare forget it. He was still made of polished gold, no matter how they tried to strip him of his glory. Sin was a glory they could never pry from his name, and it shined the brightest. ]
They'd pay more than your entire family's worth to free me there, and someone will pay to free me here. And once they kindly return my sword, I will leave a garden of corpses for the crows.