From the Tower of the Hand, Jaime Lannister watched the chaos unfold.
Father is sacking the city, Jaime thought to himself. Just as I predicted...and Varys too, of course. Jaime failed to recall a time where the Master of Whisperers had ever been wrong about anything. He could hear the distant but audible sounds of a coming battle. Horses feet, the marching of men, and a far away scream. Thousands of Lannister soldiers were pouring in through the Lion's Gate, beginning their sweep through the streets. It's hard not to feel guilty, scores of commonborn are like to die today while I sit behind these castle walls.
All just for that damned iron chair.
You need to get to work, Jaime thought. He forced himself to look down from the window at the ink, quill, and pieces of paper laid out in front of him. As the last remaining Kingsguard in King's Landing, he was charged with the defense of the Red Keep. Prince Lewyn Martell, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Jonother Darry had all been killed at the Trident. Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Gerold Hightower were all in the south doing gods know what. Well, there had been rumors that Barristan the Bold had lived, but was injured and dying, Jaime did not know for sure. Nobody tells me anything, he thought angrily. I'm one of the most important men in this city as of now and they still treat me like a child. Only thing for certain is Aerys is as mad as they say he is.
And the fact this battle is just getting worse...for the dragons that is.
Since he'd come to the Tower to make some type of battle plan, Lannister men were spreading all throughout the western half of the city. A small number were engaging in combat with the City Watch and other Targaryen loyalists, but the majority were riding uncontested through the streets. Looting, raping, murdering, most likely. It could be the only reason why so many would be screaming and running like rats away from the fighting, toward the Keep. Why did I even bother to come here? I'm no battle commander, no savior of the city. I am a Lion of the Rock, at my best only when fighting or making love...to Cersei preferably. I came here to get away from Aerys, that insane fool. It had been clear from the start that the defenders of King's Landing were hopelessly outnumbered, and it was just a matter of time before the lion's men were at the foot of Aegon's High Hill.
The battle was lost when the king was stupid enough to trust my father.
However, Jaime could not go back to King Aerys empty handed, and say outright it was over. He'd have his head on a - no, Aerys would burn him alive in the second he'd heard the words. Another way, he thought. Through writing? Yes, a message! Jaime quickly grabbed the ink and quill, starting to think about what to write...he pried his mind. It had never been a talent of his. Rather unpleasant memories began to return of the endless hours and hours it had taken for his father, Lord Tywin, to teach him to read and write. The letters had always seemed upside down, sideways, misshapen, strange. But he had learned, eventually. Grudgingly. Words of any worth are always best communicated through speaking; Jaime had decided then.
As well as this very moment.
He then stood up and strolled quickly out the Hand's solar, looking for a messenger to send to the king. Jaime's request would be simple, asking Aerys for leave to make terms with the attackers. That way, innocents will stop dying. That way, maybe I won't die. That way, at least most of us will live. He shuddered, the disturbing thought at the back of his mind, he tried to keep it shut away. He was trying to remain hopeful in a hopeless situation. Aerys won't listen, you know it. He'd see this city burned to the ground if it meant him becoming a dragon.
Aerys had dismissed most of the Small Council for their failure to see the Lannisters would sack the city. But as usual, he kept Jaime close, as he had been the one thing which had kept Lord Tywin loyal to the crown. He'd also retained Rossart, his Grand Master of Alchemists now Hand of the King. It was Rossart who's expertise on wildfire helped feed Aerys' sick obsession. He seemed to be the only man who enjoyed advising him. When Aerys realizes me, probably one of the last men he trusts, has given up, he's like to give Rossart the command to ignite the wildfire. I doubt Ross will disobey, he's just as addicted to wildfire as the king himself. And we'll all burn. Men, women, and children alike, all dead. And in Aerys' demented mind, he'll win the whole war. It was all starting to fall into place.
I'll have to kill Rossart...all of the pyromancers...
And then Aerys Targaryen himself.
It was an incredible, shocking resolution. A treasonous one. To kill the king one has sworn to protect. But the only alternative was the whole city being consumed in flames. It would be better for a few to die rather than many. The wildfire is everywhere, from the brothels to the markets and the tunnels under the Sept. Jaime had heard the word "random" used more than once concerning the placement of the green substance.
One spark, and we all die.
It will not be easy, thought Jaime. I need to get the situation in the throne room, is it empty? Are their soldiers inside, so loyal that they're willing to defend their psychotic king? As Jaime pondered and pondered, he had exited the Tower of the Hand and come out into the early afternoon sunlight. A middle-aged man appeared around the corner, dragging a wheeled cart filled with various fruits. Jaime knew his face.
One of Rossart's messengers, thank the Gods.
He was heavily bearded but modestly dressed, and was quick to notice Jaime shining in his golden armor and white cloak. "Good day ser," he said, nodding respectfully. "Is there any news on the progress of the battle?"
He'll have to do, Jaime decided.
"I will tell you, on the condition you deliver a message to King Aerys for me," Jaime said, his voice calm but firm.
"That can be done. I'd do anything, just please, let me inside Maegor's Holdfast. It is the safest place!" His dark brown eyes were laced with fear. He wants shelter, thought Jaime. Understandable.
"Alright, if you deliver this message."
"What is this message?"
"Just a word to His Grace. Tell him Jaime Lannister has decided the best course of action is to make peace with the attackers, whatever that may be."
The man again looked afraid, but he swallowed down his fear. "I will do as bid. Is that all?"
"Yes, that is all. Return to me as soon as you can."
The messenger nodded and sped off, his pace increased. It would help if I knew who else was in the throne room. But in that second, Jaime kept quiet. He could not be sure of this man's loyalties. With Father sacking the city and closing in, Aerys is probably so paranoid he'll turn his soldiers against me. Jaime never liked having to think through his actions, the endless maze of court politics. Yet as of now, his decisions not only meant the difference between his own life or death, but the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocents. As well as the king. Just to think of killing the man I am sworn to protect. What have I become?
It was a lot of weight to put on a seventeen year old's shoulders.
He re-entered the Tower of the Hand and climbed all the way back up the steps, to make it seem like he was hard at work. To the seven hells with surrender terms, my father sealed hundreds in a mine and left them to die. It's like Princess Elia and her children will suffer a similar fate. Again, he was deep in thought and staring out the window. The city was now an even more chaotic pit of battle, the sounds of war becoming more prominent by the minute.
Then, a knock on the door.
Jaime gulped. It could very well be Rossart, Jaime was in his solar, after all. He would have to kill him, there was no other choice.
"Who's there?" Jaime's voice was tense.
"A message from the king," the messenger's voice responded. He had returned!
Jaime opened the door a crack, and it was indeed just the messenger, alone. He exhaled and opened it completely. The dark eyed man nodded respectfully, and spoke. "His Grace...commands you to bring him your father's head, to prove you are no traitor."
It was all Jaime could do to keep a straight face.
He wants me to kill my lord father. The man who raised me since I was an infant. A stern, hard man, but my father nonetheless. Aerys wants me to decapitate him. To forsake my family for my vows to a madman. Jaime struggled to hide the look of disgust on his face. Yet he composed himself and held his tongue, like he always had. The messenger continued to speak, "His Grace also commands you to help defend the Red Keep at all costs, he will not tolerate any surrender. He is alone with Rossart, Hand of the King, in the throne room, and every man is needed."
Jaime's heartbeat doubled, as he made the terrible realization. That could only mean one thing. Aerys is actually going to do it. He is actually going to command the destruction of the city.
If he hasn't already.
I have to act. Now.