"I can't believe it," said Seban Crowlin as he shook his hands after cleaning the blood off both of them. "You look like two rebellious children."
Darvin laughed, still rubbing his chin. Jasim had hit him so hard that now, after the effect of the beers had worn off, he felt as if a thousand Dothraki horses had trampled him.
Jasim turned his head away so he wouldn't have to look at him. He couldn't believe that the bastard from Casterly Rock hadn't even defended himself. It felt strange. He was not a man who attacked someone who didn't raise their hands to fight. Even worse, he had never started a fight before. But the alcohol, the rage, the desire for revenge, and the frustration of being unable to kill the man who had murdered his brother were consuming him. Not because he couldn't do it—he just didn't want to, and that hurt even more, much more.
Could it be true that the man next to him truly regretted what he had done? Had he never actually wanted to kill his brother? But then, what had driven him to do it?
He wanted to get rid of his doubts and ask him, but something he had never thought he possessed was standing between the answer and the desire to discover it. For the first time, Jasim Stackhouse knew what it was like to feel pride—not the good kind, but the kind that keeps you from speaking.
"Come on, what are you waiting for? Shake hands and forget whatever happened between you two."
"I'm not going to do it!" Jasim stood up from the bed. His knuckles hurt, the soles of his feet ached. "I don't want to see you again, do you hear me, Darvin Casterly? If you ever cross my path again, I will kill you."
Darvin looked at Jasim but said nothing. The weight of his past actions pressed down on him. The lives he had taken, the families he had shattered—it all weighed on him. But he couldn't change the past, and now the future was uncertain. Darvin also stood up, making an effort to hold his left side near his last rib.
"Don't leave like that, Jasim. Come back and finish what you started!"
For Darvin, it was better to die than to have people whisper that a man from the North had spared his life.
"Shut up and let him go. He'll come back when he finds himself," said Seban, now holding a bowl of liver soup.
Once Jasim reached the lower level of the tavern, he began to walk through the tables and didn't notice the man standing in front of him. Laughter filled the entire place as both men hit the ground hard. The impact was so brutal that Jasim felt it shake him from his fingers to his cervical vertebrae.
"Watch where you're going!" shouted the colossus after both of them got up, revealing a pair of broken teeth and a few others chipped.
Jasim covered his nose from the foul stench coming from the man's mouth and body. Just looking at him was enough to realize he was uglier than any sin.
Jasim wanted to respond, but the brute was already foaming at the mouth, and in a matter of seconds, Stackhouse felt as if he had traveled from Winterfell to Dorne.
The men watching shouted as well.
"Kill him, Barefoot!"
Upstairs, Seban was picking up the tray he had used to bring Darvin his food and drink. Hearing the shouts, he left the room and hurried downstairs to see what was happening.
Seban felt his blood boil when he saw the tables scattered around, the broken bowls, and Barefoot beating the hell out of Jasim.
Seban wanted to intervene but thought it was best for Jasim. After all, he wasn't even a warrior—just a tavern keeper. One who knew Barefoot well. He was the son of Brobo, a Dothraki, and Buka, a northern woman from the mountain clans.
Seban remembered Buka's story well. The girl had traveled across the sea, fleeing the mad Aerylor Dallarys, one of those men who claimed to be descendants of the last Targaryen but was really just a fraud. Unfortunately for her, things had only gotten worse when she was captured by Brobo and forced to be his woman. Luckily, she had managed to escape and return to Westeros, but she carried the young boy in her womb, whom she had abandoned in a garbage dump right after giving birth.
Barefoot had lifted Jasim into the air, and he didn't even struggle to counteract the shakes the giant was giving him, as if this was his way of showing remorse for what he had done to Darvin.
Darvin also left the room and came down the stairs. Stopping next to Seban, he already had a dagger in his hand, watching Barefoot's movements.
"Don't do it!" Jasim tried to shout, but his voice was muffled by the massive hand squeezing his throat.
Seban turned and shook his head from side to side, while Darvin sat down to watch the show. For him, it was much better than the fights in the Dragonpit.
When Barefoot finally got tired of beating Jasim, he let himself fall beside him. He bared his rotten teeth and spoke.
"Northerner fights well," Barefoot said, looking at Jasim, who was rubbing the lower part of his sternum.
Jasim only observed him. He was taller than him, much taller and younger. He had olive-toned skin and a dense, dark mane of hair tangled from neglect. His cheekbones were sharp, his jaw firm. There was no hatred in the young man's eyes, just a madness that burned in his dark brown gaze. Jasim determined that Barefoot was no stranger to tragedy.
"Forgive me," he finally said, lying on the floor with his eyes toward the ceiling. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"He knows," Seban interjected, approaching Jasim, but not to extend his hand—rather, to help Barefoot to his feet.
"Go take a bath," Seban ordered Barefoot.
"As for you two," he moved his head back and forth, first toward Jasim, then toward Darvin, "I think it's time you decide what you're going to do."
Darvin's silent steps moved toward Jasim, making sure he saw him.
"How many times do I have to apologize?" He extended his hand to help the Northerner up.
Jasim looked at him cautiously, then finally took Darvin's hand and got to his feet. His body ached, but for the first time, he felt at peace.
Darvin chatted with Jasim as the night went on, telling him every detail of what had happened that night. Chadha Daa had handed him a note with a bag full of money. The message was clear:
"Toma Stackhouse is the man the king has sent to kill me."
Jasim just listened to Darvin.
"Your brother was a very good person, someone who never even looked at me with hatred, and he loved you so much that even before he died, he asked me to give you this," Darvin said before breaking down in tears and handing Jasim a medallion.
Jasim took it and opened the locket. Inside was a portrait of Jasim Stackhouse's parents.
Jasim fell to his knees and embraced Darvin.
"If Toma trusted you with this, it's because he knew something more, and because he forgave you despite what you did to him," Jasim said, his voice breaking, struggling to contain his emotions.
The sobs made both of their throats vibrate in sync with their irregular breathing, as if an internal knot was tightening.
"I can't say I forgive you, but we can keep working together," Jasim finally said, hugging Da
rvin like a brother.
Seban smiled, seeing how both of them still had children's hearts.