Oh, but the gods should have fucking damned Lucion Lannister a while back. They definitely should have. There was a wince that he’d hoped to hide behind his father’s stone-faced facade, a puff of shock that he’d hoped to hide behind his gritted, shiny teeth, and then the sound of nails clawing on something, something, anything as he closed his eyes sharply, the bloody image before him… slowly turning into a bloody image before him.
There was hair curled between his slender fingers. Greasy, jet black hair turned red. And when he flung it down, he looked up to see men, women, children clapping. Clapping, clapping, clapping. Some even laughing, maybe it had been a joke he’d said or maybe it’d just been the sadistic urges of those who appreciated these types of trials, but they were laughing, and he was grinning at their laughter, relishing in it rather than throwing it off. And when he looked higher up, his father was coldly smirking, too cold, especially when compared to the warm drip, drip, drip of the blood rushing down his knuckles.
It’s a terrible thing when your nightmares are filled with horrors you’ve dealt with your own hands*, Lord Tyrion wrote.
He prised one verdant eye open, then another, and looked over it all, at the corpse on the ground, at the man stood over it, at the Bracken watching it with a grin. This was all so horribly wrong, and yet the religious piles of riverlander horseshit in the crowd would shrug and call their tyrant of a god’s decision in this trial all so horrible right. He’d barely even known the casualty, but the man had been somewhat charming in his own way, and well… Lucion had no love for blood, as much as people seemed to think that false.
Lucion’s neck snapped to the right, towards the Tullys. “Excuse me, my lord, but does every trial by combat have to require a bloody death to satisfy the hosts?” It came out more a hiss than just heated words, but he doubted anyone but them could hear. Which was good
His father had known the times Lucion could have spared a man, known it, but each and every one of his enemies in the circle had been beheaded or stabbed in the heart for the sake of a good show. Unnecessary deaths. But then he realized the rudeness presented, and calmed his voice to a purr. “Sorry for the… tone, but well... I… hmmm… I’m not too fond of severed heads, as amusing as that may sound to you.”