Image courtesy of Dominique Signoret
Image courtesy of Michael Komarck
Click here to see what author George R. R. Martin thinks will happen
How we think the fight will go
Cthulhu and Jaime sat around the table, discussing the merits of destroying little girls.
“My favorite part was when she pulled out her little instrument thingy–like an Elder Being is scared of an over-glorified Geiger Counter.”
Jaime didn’t know what Cthulhu meant. Hell, he could barely understand the almost visual touch of the monster’s voice that would have sent his soul screaming–if he still had one. What he did understand was the fine wine he’d been consuming almost continuously since he’d won his last match. He reached absently for it with his right hand, only to remember that said appendage was no longer there. The dark voice rambled on in his brain…
“…so I said, ‘You eat the spleen!’,” which caused the be-tentacled god-thing to chortle with bone-liquifying amusement.
“Ha,” said Jaime. Clearly Cthulhu’s humor was lost on him.
“What about you?” the dark being asked.
“‘What about me’ what?”
“Well, how’d your battle go?”
Jaime snorted. “Battle? What battle? I’ve had more sport with a pack of worthless Starks than the precocious child those worthless Unbound Worlds people put me up against.”
“I hear that!” Cthulhu guffawed. “You toss this one out a window, too?”
This brought Jaime up short. “You go too far, ser.”
“Cthuhlu, please. Ser was my father.”
The absurdity of this last statement didn’t register to the Kingslayer, as much of this conversation hadn’t. But he couldn’t let this hulking madness sitting across from him insult his honor. “So…” Jaime said.
“So indeed,” Cthulhu replied, getting all serious and–as his friends would point out–most certainly unCthulhu-like.
The two stood up and squared off in front of each other. Jaime, in gleaming armor, looked every bit the feared warrior of Westeros he was known to be. He held his sword in what had once been his off-hand, but clearly was “off” no more. It wasn’t just competence in his grip; it was the casual disregard that spoke of a fighter whose skill had transcended “talented” to reach the realm of elite. The sword was an extension of his left hand as much as his sneer was an extension of his personality. Well-seasoned warriors would look upon his stance and know fear. Hardened veterans would look in his face and see the determination of one who had not only killed his liege, but vanquished a mighty witch just days before.
They would see their death, done up in a golden glory that would rival the sun.
Cthulhu yawned and destroyed the knight’s mind. For good measure, the dark god knelt on his head, popping it like an arrogant zit.
Only later, as the bartender came over to settle up the tab did Cthulhu realize it was being stuck with the bill.
Time to find his dear sister, Cthulhu thought. A Lannister always pays his debts…
Damn–someone already used that joke.
Predicted Winner: Cthulhu
(Cthulhu is a character from the myriad writings of H. P. Lovecraft; Jaime Lannister is a character from George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series,)