The Imp and The Knight

I've picked my favourite pair, currently, in the Game of Thrones, and put them in an entirely different situation. It's also my first attempt at poetry, and I've written something after a really long time. 

Here it goes...

He stood, a foot or two well above me,

As he placed me carefully on my steed;

Within a minute we set astride,

Two horses, one knight.

I lead the way, he followed me through,

Without a shade of gratitude;

“I saved you, fool!”

He turned to face me, blankly,

The two of us, in parity.

It was those empty eyes that were same as Father’s,

When he knew his babe was worse than a bastard;

“An imp!” he had said, an imp, I was,

The words rung clearly in my head.

My hand on the hilt of my sword,

Futile, as it was;

Only an imprudent Imp would dare,

To replace his wit with sword,

Against a gallant knight, once his sell sword.

For a moment, I seemed to have forgotten,

That I was the damned dwarf; royal, and unwanted.

In a blink, my hands rested peacefully on the reins;

And quietly, we descended to the perilous night.

“You’re the Hand, you’re the one!”

“Yes, I do justice to them all.”

“The Night’s Justice!” he yelped,

 I knew he would’ve swung his sword,

 Had I not been the son of a Lord.

I peered at the man, once my sell sword,

Who would play the thankless role  of the Night’s Guard.

Long known it was that this disloyal knight,

Fought for the coin, and not for the cause.

Yet, I was sent to talk with this man,

Dangerous as ever; and shew him his fate,

Admired by some, yet kept for the terrible.

In the raw winter amidst bastards and other outlaws,

He was to eat, fight and sleep.

The Queen knew he could’ve slain me,

Or they would’ve never sent an Imp,

Even if he were Hand,

To settle matters of kingsguards and sellswords.

His eyes were bloodshot, he wouldn’t bow down,

He’d rather chop more heads off to win the crown.

But we both knew he’d slay,

And serve any Lord who offered him more coin than another.

Neither understood accusations, yet we played our own games.

I replaced Cersei’s decision with sentencing him to the Black,

I knew the man loved his life,

Just like he treasured his coin.

“Renly’s coin was worth more than yours.”

He smiled, yet angered, yet blind.

He was like a whore,

Playing for anyone who gave him more;

Yet whores loved, I knew,

But traitor’s blood filled them through…

The moon shone through the trees,

As a Knight and an Imp got off their steed,

Walking guarded between high trees and a higher Wall;

Together but in solitude,

As the dwarf waddled while the knight strode.

It was a long walk along the Wall,

While I pondered over the eunuch’s riddle,

Was the sell sword loyal to knight, priest or king?

“None at all.” He said, scoffing loud.

“To myself, and no one else.”

 We walked on, 

Knowing it was the last stroll,

As friend and as foe,

One knight, yet neither knew who it was.