Thursday, April 16, 2015
The Westeros America's Cup: The After Party
Arya Stark circulated the party, the perfect serving boy. It was a risk, she knew, someone might recognise her, though it was a risk worth taking. Jon Snow might be here! She longed to see her half-brother. So many tales to tell, so long since Winterfell. And he'd won his race, the first in the Westeros America's Cup!
She knew what to do, having been taught by none other than Lord Tywin Lannister. Be invisible but watchful, which suited her, so she could listen in and hear of news of the Starks.
"Yes, the race committee is to meet: there has been a protest."
She spotted a well filled purse on the belt of one guest and was tempted: she hadn't eaten for several days now.
"L plus R equals J" said a monk, face hidden in the shadow of his cape. "Now where did you hear that?"
Suddenly one guest gasped, choking. Green foam formed around his mouth, eyes went red then tears of blood were streaming down his face. Hands grasped at neck, nails attempting to dig inwards. Then the body collapsed on the ground and began to twitch, shudders that grew and then slackened, easing into death.
There was a scream, several screams, then dozens and the guests were falling like cattle on feast night.
Ayra tried to pull back, in case it was contagious, but then she realised: the wine! It had been poisoned!
A voice was triumphant.
"Ha ha ha ha ha! That will teach you, scum, worthless sons and daughters of swine!"
Ayra turned to recognise Lord Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing, addressing the corpses.
"So! You think you can change the Westeros America's Cup class and not receive justice! Many years I worked on monohulls and hah! you think you can change them to multi-hulls just like that! No, no no! It will no be! You will not treat me like that!"
She had to escape: there would be questions. But first that purse.
Tonight she would eat the finest roast meats.