Disclaimer: I own nothing. All things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss, & company, & the asoiaf wiki.
I hope readers enjoy this newest AU. Please let me know what you think.
Chapter 1: Jaime, 283 AC
"I will speak for him!"
"Damn her", Jaime thinks as he barely stops himself from flinching. They all had come to see him at his "trial". Now, the crowd began whispering none too softly about her, no longer staring at him with judging, hateful eyes.
He would have preferred it. Sneering back at the ignorant crowd he could and would do gladly. It was different with her.
He does not need for anyone to speak for him. But, it was more than that: if anyone wants to waste their breaths for an exercise in futility, he'd rather it not be her.
Elia Martell was not even supposed to be here. He grimaces again. Martell. Martell, not Targaryen. Not now, not never again with her husband dead for weeks and her Targaryen children now, too.
Still, her name is not why he grimaces. She had not ventured from rooms they stuck her in since that night and today she does it looking like an emissary of the Stranger. Her face, once pleasant, was not smiling. Her dark eyes, no longer red-rimmed, were sunken in dark circles. Her dark hair was neatly dull and very lifeless. The bruises still on her face and arms stood out in stark contrast to her tan skin and her vibrant, if modest, orange gown.
She should not be here, bone thin and as pale as death, staring at Baratheon who had been slouching on the thrice damned Iron Throne not a moment ago to "speak for him". The new king, now sitting upright and stiff, seems to want to turn her away; to do just about anything not to look at her.
It was the only thing Jaime thought they had in common.
"I will speak for him!" In between the puzzled and pitying looks directed towards her, along with the intensity of their whispers, an air of eager anticipation amongst the crowd grows.
He glances at his father. The great Tywin Lannister was trying not to frown. Few cry because Aerys was gone, but, seeing her now was all too much a reminder of how she suffered. Yet, she was not the only one to do so because Pycelle convinced Aerys to open the gates to Lannister men. His father dislikes the reminder most of all. Still, Elia Martell and what she represents will not disappear if they turn her away right now.
She would still be in the Red Keep.
Even in the damp Black Cell they thrust him in, he heard of how those in the new regime tried to think of where to put her. There was no where she could have gone without tongues wagging.
After seeing and hearing of how she had been ravaged by the Gregor Glegane and how the story flew, there would be no wedding her to someone. Even now she stood outside of arms reach of others. No, she would likely not welcome the touch of another man again, even if someone would desire her an understandably reluctant wife.
Ser Barristan, he heard, refused outright when sending to the Silent Sisters was brought forth as an option. Baratheon, who sneered at her children that night and looks disgusted now, it seemed, had the grace not to argue. Jaime knew why Barristan objected; no one wanted to be responsible for forcing her to see more dead children. Talk of putting her in a Sept was similarly dismissed. What good was a woman as a Septa if she laughed at hearing the word "Gods"?
Even if it would have been kinder, both for her and themselves, there would be no allowing her to go to Sunspear. Rumors about Prince Oberyn's anger aside, Prince Doran had accepted Lord Arryn's swift sending along of Prince Lewyn's bones and those of the two Targaryen children. It would not surprise him if a gentle reminder of their sister's presence in King's Landing had gone along with the bones.
Before this, his father, when he had deigned to come down to see him, explained she was to be a guest for the foreseeable future, or so he heard from Lord Arryn. At the time, he almost laughed in his father's face.
He, the new "King", and his father seem to be the few who do not wish to see her.
Her being was a "guest" who made her presence known meant there was going to be no shunting her off to her rooms discretely. Seeing half the crowd present lean forward in blatant interest tells him it was likely why she chanced it.
"I will speak for Jaime Lannister."
Those words again. Damn her!
The rest of them hate him for breaking his vows towards Aerys. The vows he made to her husband and broke were the ones they should hate him for.
For now, Baratheon remains stunned silent, but, Arryn, with hesitant curiosity in his voice, questions, "Why speak for a Kingslayer?" Were he in the right state, he would ask why she would speak at all.
Only, he was not in the right state to ask anything. Kingslayer. This was not the first time he heard that word directed towards him. How she does not flinch at the word either is no comfort.
With artful carelessness, she shrugs. "Aerys was a monster. It is the duty of a knight to rid the world of monsters, especially ones who were going to burn the city down."
His eyes close briefly as confused and alarmed gasps ring out from all corners. How long had she known? How did she even come to? Why does she reveal this now?
With this, Baratheon finally stands up, furious. "You are mad, woman!"
Rather undisturbed she nods agreeably. "Perhaps so, Your Grace". Judging by the alarmed whispers growing louder behind him, the audience does not know what to do at this sweet-voiced woman's lack of disgust or fear.
Then, she smirks, making the scars on her face stand out more. "But, there is still wildfire hidden all across the city."
He could see Baratheon's anger and Barristan's horror growing along with the timbre of furious whispering. He barely hears the Hand's next question. "How do you mean, Princess?"
She laughs; a mockery of delight spreads across her dark features. "Aerys Targaryen's cruelty went beyond the smallest level of propriety long ago. I would know, I was forced to live with him at his worst like Ser Jaime was. Ser Jaime snuffed out the man who would give the order to ignite the wildfire just waiting for someone to set it alight. Lord Arryn, it is no easy thing for a knight of the Kingsguard to have to kill his king. Such things are not done on a whim, only necessity. There was one."
Oh, he wanted to sneer in Ned Stark's horrified face, but, right now he did not have the strength. He could read in most of the faces the whys had not mattered when there had been no reason, but, now there was. A reprieve, coming from this quarter and in this way…
He did not want her help. He wants no absolution from her.
The red-faced, new king interrupted again, accusing, "You are lying."
Once more she laughs. How she could, he did not know and does not have the time to think of the question because she starts speaking again. "I have no reason to lie. I have less to protect Aerys or this Lannister." She shrugs again and adds, "Or any, truly."
Though he hears appalled gasps and murmurs of assent ring out in equal measure, at her unconcerned tone, he does not dare to look at his father now.
Instead, he watches as she sneers at Baratheon, though Jaime was unsure if the expression was directed at the memory of the last king or at the one before her. "There is no other use for pyromancers as Hand of the King. Fire had been Aerys' chosen champion against lords he convinced himself to be traitors often enough long before war was lost."
She shrugs again and straightens. "I no longer have a husband or sweet children to protect. Who amongst you has nothing to lose? Listen or do not, but, I, Elia Nymeros Martell, with whatever little honor which was not stripped from me, swear what I have said is the truth: Aerys meant to kill us all with wildfire."
As horrified whispering grows louder, unsmiling as she was, for a moment, she looked like the Princess Elia of old. He takes no joy in seeing it. Her eyes fall upon him and he fights the urge not to avert his eyes as Barristan, Arryn, and Stark had done when he saw her gaze at them.
His first thought was of how her face looks serene. The next thought was of how it should not be, only she turns back to Baratheon, drawling out, "Killing Aerys, Ser Jaime did right, what a knight ought."
The din grows deafening when on the heels of her pronouncement, she collapses in the middle of the Throne Room.
He looks up at the shuffling of feet and the clanging and creaking of the barred door opening. While he was sitting in one of the nicer of the Black Cells he was glad they are getting on with it at last.
"What can I do for you Lord Commander?"
Ser Barristan's pallor was ashen and his expression spoke of a mind deeply troubled. "It is true."
Not quite getting along with things, then. He sighs. "You found wildfire."
"Too much." He does not doubt it. He had known, but, for Barristan, despite Princess Elia's warnings, it must have been quite the thing to see.
He says none of this. "I see. So, what is to be done about me now? Am I going to be killed?"
A horrified shake of the head is the answer.
"Sent to the Wall?" Another shake.
"Exiled?" Nothing.
"Sent back to Casterly Rock?" Hope begins to form at the possibility at being sent back to Cersei.
Barristan finally bites out, "No!"
He frowned, hope dashed and frustration sets in. "Then, what? I am going to be stripped of my cloak." Can they just get on with it?
Again, "No."
More confused, he growls out, "Then, what?"
"Nothing."
Perplexed, he repeats, "Nothing?"
He looks away from Ser Barristan. "Princess Elia's testimony."
It would have to be her testimony. Unbidden the thought of Cersei and Elia Martell could not be more different except for one commonality comes: that they desire his being near and the knowledge that in order to do manage it he needs to be Kingsguard. Well, two commonalities: knowing there is no choice except for his deferring.
He laughs.
Clearly disapproving, Barristan frowns. "You should have said something."
There is no room for 'should haves'. "Who would have believed me?" Ever since that night he had been called that: Kingslayer. Who would want to believe him? And the only ones who would…
Barristan seems disappointed in him. "I would have, if only you told me." Disappointed and hurt.
He grimaces. There was nothing to be done about Barristan's sentimentalities now. There is not much which can be done about anything now. Then Barristan sighs, "I suppose it does not matter. Everyone knows or will. There is that."
Barristan thinks it should comfort him. It does not.
Most stories and songs are about knights rescuing princesses from presumably ugly fates. This was quite the other way around or so it would seem. King's Landing being the sewer of gossips is meant the story of her testimony must be spreading. He does not smile at the thought. He cannot.
"How is she?" He owes her enough to ask.
"She is resting." He nearly laughs at the reply. Resting. There would be no rest for her any more than there would be for him. She was likely sleeping the sleep of those who had maesters in their proximity.
It earns him another disapproving look, but, he is far too tired to care. "Jaime."
"Yes, Lord Commander?"
Uncharacteristically, Barristan hesitates. Thankfully, or not, the Lord Commander comes to himself soon enough. "What did she mean when she said you acted like a knight should?"
He closed his eyes and leaned back to brace his head on the wall behind him, trying to fight another sigh. Those were not quite her words, but, men like Barristan, proper knights, will not and cannot understand. A small part of him hopes they never do. "The vows I took when I was knighted."
"Your vows?" It is not often one sees Barristan the Bold obviously confused. He would laugh, except there was nothing comical about that Dornishwoman's thoughts.
"Yes, my vows." He takes a breath and recites, "'In the name of the Father I charge you to be just.'"
He waits for Barristan's dubious and weary before continuing, "When Ser Arthur knighted me I swore to be just. No matter how good the reasons, I am a kingslayer, but, to her, I killed a killer. She does not hold it against me. This is what she meant."
Barristan looks unsure. Perhaps it was reluctance borne from having to discuss Princess Elia, given his new allegiances. Still, the Lord Commander takes pity on him. "That was kind of her."
He opened his mouth only to shut it not half a breath later. He nods, now more than anything wishing the other man would leave.
Barristan looks as though he wanted to say that Jaime should be grateful. Thankfully, he is spared the need to speak much when Barristan turns and begins escorting him out of the Black Cells. It is difficult enough with the way people gawk at him the whole way back to the White Tower.
And still, there is no relief, when, after Barristan murmurs a few words about his being allowed to return to his duties the week following, the older man finally leaves him alone.
Sitting down on his sleeping pallet, he groans heavily. Looking around the small room, he thinks he'd rather be back in the Black Cells.
"Ser Jaime did right, what a knight ought."
She had not lied about not holding his killing Aerys against him, yet, she, who was in part responsible for becoming a knight, albeit reluctantly and unwittingly, knew he has not acted like a proper one for some time.
He lays back on his sleeping pallet, remembering when Ser Arthur Dayne set Dawn atop his shoulder saying those blessed words. The Sword of the Morning, wherever he was, if he heard what Jaime had done he probably regrets knighting him now. He knows he regrets having it done.
Like he told Barristan, he broke no vows to the Father, but, he had not reminded the other man of how those were not the only ones he took.
'In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave.' There is nothing brave about killing a man who trusted him not to; a man who he swore to protect. Before that, knowing how wrong it was, he stood by and watched as Aerys ravaged his wife, sneer at his son's children, imprison his good-daughter, and kill countless men.
'In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent.' He saw the small, blood-stained bodies; the smashed in face of the babe and the young girl's tear-marred face twisted in terror. One died after being dragged from under her dead father's bed and the other was ripped from his mother's breast because he left them alone.
"'In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women.' They threw out the torn and tattered gown ripped from her body and the broken jewelry, but, he remembers finding her too well. He can still see the blood, some her own, some her son's, on her thighs. He knows each bruise, each scratch. Some will never fade from her body or his mind. The sound of her shrieks pleas in his mind will certainly not go away; neither with the sight of Elia Martell's blood stained fists failing to try to fight off his father's armored soldier.
"He did right."
He swore to protect her and her children. He hadn't. He didn't try.
Now, her words saved him from being punished for the one thing that matters least.
His father had said he had not been thinking of her when he unleashed his men on the city. Now, his father would be beholden to her for ensuring that his legacy is not completely soiled by the actions of his son and the men under his command. His father must hate that.
Once he would have never imagined such a thing prove appealing to the woman. Again, he suppresses the urge to laugh. If he does manage the sound, he knows it is going to be a broken thing just like she seemed to become.
"I will speak for him."
To all the world it looked like Elia Martell spoke in his defense, one good thing to come from this mess.
Barristan would have him feel gratitude to Elia Martell for being spared exile or worse. He doubts she wants it. The look in her eyes said as much.
Even if she had meant to give him kindness and forgiveness there was none in what she did. Those things broke when her body was ravaged and died alongside her children.
With one more glance around the room he thinks once again he had not been lying when he said he had not wanted to see her.
With her testimony, she made certain he was going to have to.
After all, Kingsguard serve for life and here he was, still that.
A/n: I was not intending to begin posting this story until I updated the existing ones, but, between r.l. and my muse simply not cooperating, my intent thought it best to fly out the window.