a coat of gold a coat of red

At its heart, the basis of nature is nothing more than a game of replication. It is the way Asha stared at the roots of a street and traced the same patterns in the veins in her wrist. The way the colors in the flames she saw burning small villages from reaver attacks were soft and inviting in the sky at sunset.

The way her blade at her hip had the same curvature of a butterfly’s wing but thank the seven it did not have the softness.<br><br>

Her mother had been fascinated with fire, Oberyn had told her. She always had candles burning - even in the daytime. Nothing ever caught fire, but he could remember as a child her father shouting at her for leaving them unattended. <i>aegon and his dragons could not burn down sunspear but let it be known anya of house martell will!</i>. <br><br>

When she saw a castle burn for the first time it did not look like a candle, it looked like war, and war was just another form of fire left unattended. <br><br>
 

The war camp was quiet, soldiers asleep at their post - how fat and lazy they had gotten in times of peace. Despite her appearance, Asha had been able to stride past them with little conflict, and the little she did encounter was left face down in the mud and bleeding. <br><br>

Blood dripped from her, splashing against a wooden table that looked to be a butcher’s block. She bites the top of a flask off, sloppily pouring herself a cup and mixing the wine with the red of the blood on her hands. The sound of the tent fluttering open did not startle her as she made her way to a chair, depositing herself into it.<br><br>

“Well?” Jaime asks, and she tosses a bag at his feet. He peels it open, and grimaces. “You couldn’t have taken the ring <i>off</i> the hand?”<br><br>

“I could have, if he wasn’t so fat.” She replies, taking a sip of wine. “You did not tell me about the guards.”<br>

“You would have been insulted if I had. I know you can handle yourself.” He removes his cape, handing it on a coat hook. “There is a river near by, it’s small, but you can clean yourself up.”<br>

The candle glow makes the red splatter across her pretty visage spark, and a smile spreads across her face. “You don’t like it when I wear my house colors, <i>kepa?</i>”<br>

“Red <i>and</i> gold, girl. Careful.”<br>

“Well i’ve got red to spare, and I expect gold.” <br><br>

Jaime digs into a trunk covered in furs - a bear pelt, a stag skin - and tosses her a calfskin bag that is heavy when it hits the tent floor. “Clean yourself up before you see me next time.”<br>

“You send me to kill and the aftermath makes you uncomfortable?” She questions, “Kingslayer…you are ashamed of the title and ignore the blood that came with it?”<br>

“Perhaps, when I have the time, Ashara, you can explain to me why you hate me so deeply?” Jaime snaps at her. He raises a hand, “Oh wait…what is it they are calling you here? <i>The Last Shadow.</i>” He states. “Or, what are they calling you in Mereen? Killer of Men? <i>Osseya</i>. You think because you tell me what they whisper behind my back to my face it makes you better than them?” Her expression set in stone. “You think that by returning to me covered in the blood of the man i sent you to kill…that it would bring me shame that I am using my own daughter as a cut-throat? No, what horrifies me is that you continue to accept the work, Asha. Because you think it makes me proud of you.” Jaime unbuckles his sword belt, setting it aside. “Get out. You reek of death.”<br><br>

Ashara stood, closing the space between them. “Oberyn told me when they cut my mother’s throat I was still attached to her. He had to cut me free,” She whispers to him, “So yes, it is death you smell. Always.”<br><br>

Anger filled the Golden Lion’s features, “Out.” He said pointedly. “You carry too much of Oberyn’s hate for your family inside of you.”<br><br>

She paused at the doorway. “Funny. Oberyn said I was too much like my father.”