The Prince had won. Rhaegar Targaryen was coming back. Jaime kept his eyes upon the madman that sat the throne. His Queen had been given a seat at the foot of the large stairs and despite the bruised cheek she sported, Rhaella truly looked joyful at receiving the news. And who wouldn't be? The perfect Dragon Prince was to returns with the traitors in chains.

If the Prince had a lick of sense, he would gather even half his armed forces within the dratted keep and cut off the Mad King where he stood. Alas that could not be done. The people would only frown upon a king who had killed his own kin. The gods were sure to curse him and the realm. As if the Seven Kingdoms were not already plagued with such hardships.

Princess Elia Martell lingered in the hall as well. Neither of her children were anywhere to be seen. Jaime suspected that she wished to protect them from their grandfather. It was well known throughout court that the King was less than pleased with his eldest son's offspring. The reason, nobody knew truly. And it hardly mattered.

He was a danger. The knowledge brought Jaime to his vows once more. He had promised before the Seven and the realm that he would obey this man, the man who until not very long past planned to send them all to the heavens with wildfire smoke. To think that anyone would be willing to sacrifice so many lives and for no reason whatsoever. Servants would live even in the event that the throne changed hands. But nay, he would see them all burn for the simple satisfaction of leaving his opponents with a bad aftertaste in their mouth and the scent of scorched meat in their nostrils.

If ever there was a man more deserving of death, Jaime had not heard of his. Instinctively, his hand travelled to the broadsword he carried. Green eyes flashes from one corner of the hall to the other. The armed men had mostly relaxed their stances, as if relieved. But they could not possibly know true relief. Not the one Jaime knew. They had little idea of what the King had planned, of what would have awaited them had the Prince failed.

Within the shadows a figure moved. Jaime's eyes trained upon it. It was Varys. The Spider, they called him and truly a name more fitting there could not have been. The man waded through the shadows, making his way past them into the light.

He approached the foot of the stirs until he stood before the Queen. Jaime listened to his report on the losses. What business was it of his how many losses there had been? The young Kingsguard continued to maintain his stone-like mien. as best if he heard and saw nothing at all.

King ordered for wine and food to be given out. meant to celebrate a victory he had taken no part in, the winning of a war that was of his own making as well.

Disgust made the Lannister's stomach churn unpleasantly. He was dismissed, ordered to take some rest by the man he owed his allegiance to. Jaime did not hesitate to do so. Prolonged exposure to the joy of such a creature could only make him ill, he told himself, gaze drifting unwittingly to the scorch marks upon the flagstone floors.

Jaime made his way out the doors, walking down the deserted hallway. His swordhand had locked around the handle of his weapon as thoughts of murder came with a vengeance. He wanted, more than anything else, at the moment, to return to the hall and run the King clean through. He wanted to never see a livid bruise upon the Queen's skin or red angry scratches running down her neck and arms. He wanted his words to matter, his vow to mean something more than the bitter taste of regret filling his mouth every time he happened to look at Rhaella Targaryen.

His grip relaxed and dropped away completely. His wants mattered not at all. He had sworn an oath. The reminder woke another kind of anger within him. Why could the man not be worthy of his position. Jaime thought not of past mistresses or of fits of rage. He thought of brutish behaviour, an ugliness of the mind that seldom was seen in the world.

At that point something sounded out from behind him. Jaime stopped in his tracks, frozen, a sense of awareness crawling through him. He looked over his shoulder. The person had not bothered to hide or rather had not meant to.

The Dornish Princess gave him a long look, as if to ask if she might join him. Jaime nodded slowly. Prince Rhaegar's wife approached him cautiously. There was anger and resentment hidden behind her placid expression. Though for different reasons than his, she too raged at the fate dealt to her.

"Have you thought about it?" she questioned as they continued their way down the corridor side by side.

What Jaime noticed with some perplexity was that he had finally outgrown her. The notion, so out of place, nearly tugged a smile from him. Still, he resisted. "I have my vows," he reminded her kindly. Vows that would not assuage his guilt when next he saw another bruise upon the Queen's flesh.

"Words," the Princess said dismissively. "Mere words. They mean nothing. No one would have to know. There are ways."

"Give me until nightfall," the Kingsguard insisted. She asked no small thing of him. And though he would like nothing better, Jaime could not make the decision lightly. Not with Rhaegar Targaryen returning.

"Very well," Elia allowed. "Until nightfall. You know where to find me." She stopped, forcing him to continue his road alone. Jaime did not look back at her. But he did hear her speak once more. "The choice is yours, Jaime Lannister. The sword is the one that carries power."

Nightfall came quick enough. Too much so for Jaime's mind. He feared the decision he had made and revelled in it in equal measure. The white cloak lay discarded upon the ground and his pristine garments had been thrown upon the bed with nary a thought.

Sitting upon a stool, clad in woollen breeches and a tunic, clothes that he had worn as Jaime Lannister, heir of Casterly Rock, the young man continued to sharpen his sword, dragging the whetstone upon the edges of his weapon, slowly, minutely, with such great care that one might think he wished to make ordinary steel into Valyrian fare. The heavy ringing of the tower bell marked the late hour.

The sound of the death knell dissipated slowly, ever so slowly. It was time.

Dragging himself to his feet, Jaime slashed through the empty air with strong swings. The steel sang.

He donned a dark cloak.

Without waiting a moment longer, he hurried past the doorway, before his conscience could get the best of him. Murder, despite its circumstances, was still just murder. The justification eased his mind a tad though. The cause was good, even if the means were questionable.

Finally, after such long a time, Jaime could be the knight he wished to be. The man he had always wanted to be. Even if no one knew it. Even if no recognition would ever be given to him. He would have the knowledge of his deed and it would suffice.

As she had promised the Princess waited for him just beyond the gate of Maegor's Holdfast. In her left hand she held a small lantern. A half burned candle spread about the whisper of a light. In its dimness he could barely make out the deep brown of the cloak the woman wore, but her skin shone with the same golden quality as always. He did not bow to her, he did not even give as much as a single nod. Neither did she.

Jaime glanced about, to make sure they were truly alone. With the war ranging, most of the keep's guards had followed the prince. Those who remained guarded the Red Keep's gates and they were spread thin. Then gods only knew what would have happened if news had come of the Prince's defeat. Assured that no one beside them was there, the young man parted his cloak enough for the steel to be touched by the warm light.

It was then that the Princess nodded. Her face covered and unseen, she turned away from Jaime and began walking. He followed her into Maegor's Holdfast, both quiet as ghosts. How fitting, Jaime could not help but think. They would be creating a ghost of their own after all.

The Princess stopped before the unguarded solar door. She spoke not a word, yet placed the candle on the ground and removed her cowl. "Blow the candle out when you are done," she instructed, leaving unsaid that he should not linger long. The candle had almost burned out.

And then she was gone, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Jaime wondering if he'd dreamt it all. But nay, the candle still burned and he stood before the solar. It must have all been real. He breathed in deeply, hand touching the cool wood surface. It was time, his mind announced.

Jaime pushed the door open and entered the chamber. The King was clearly surprised at the intrusion, beady eyes widening at the sigh of company. He staggered to his feet, tangled hair falling around his like a curtain.

"Who are you?" the monarch demanded, voice trembling with fear, or mayhap sleep. Jaime could not tell, for his blood roared in his hears and his heartbeat thundered. "Look here, wretch," the man spat, "you will tell me who you are this instant or I will have you hanged."

Instead of answering through words Jaime pulled back his cowl, allowing his face to come in plain sight. The King made a small sound of disbelief. "Lannister. What are you doing here? I sent you away to rest." The worry was starting to evaporate. Jaime allowed him to continue without interruption. "A more conscious man I have yet to see." The madman sat back down.

Jaime shut the door at a long last. He barred it as well. The Princess had assured him that no one lingered that late in the hallways, but he had to be sure there were to be no interruptions. He had worked too hard to be discouraged by footfalls coming from without.

"So? Tell me, boy. What are you doing here?" the King asked once more, as Jaime turned around to look at him.

The sight was truly one taken from night terrors. The tangles hair aside, the Mad King sported a thin, emaciated face that spoke of long suffering. He was not yet in his old age, but wrinkles cut across the expanse of pale skin making him seem at least a decade older than he truly was. How could a man with such an important role allow himself top live like an animal. Jaime's eyes fell to the long fingernails, coiling in on themselves.

"I thought to return to my duty as you say, Your Majesty," he finally answered.

"Just like your father," Aerys noted. "Duty, duty, duty. Is that all that exists to you, I wonder." He seemed amused for whatever reason. "Nay, indeed. There was Joanna as well." The mention of his mother brought a tenseness within him. Jaime struggled to keep from grabbing for his sword. He wished to know what was next to be said. "Fair Joanna. Such a pity she died in a pool of her own blood."

It was mayhap the first time he'd heard the King be sympathetic to any sort of tragedy. Had he truly cared for Joanna. Jaime could not be certain. Yet even if he did, his sins were too many and the revelation much too late to be of any aid.

With a slow motion, Jaime drew his cloak away so he might unsheathe his sword. The King was lost in his mumbling at the moment and failed to notice. But Jaime was certain his luck would not last long. As if the gods themselves had shouted out a warning, the ruler of the Seven King glanced at his just then. Eyes fell upon the flash of steel and he pushed himself back.

Jaime lunged forward, thrusting the sword towards his quarry even as a half-groan made it past the King's lips. The sword embedded itself into soft flesh, cutting through skin and tearing through muscle. The only distance between them was kept by the desk. Without taking his eyes off his victim or loosing his grip of the sword's handle, Jaime jumped upon the table.

The sword moved upwards with him and Aerys' head slammed against the wall with a sound of pain. Jaime's hand pressed upon his mouth to keep the yells from tumbling out. Though he reckoned the shock was so great his precautions were not needed. Yet why take such a risk.

"Too long," he said, "too long have you plagued this realm and too long have you tortured innocents." His other hand moved away from the sword, barely registering the feeble grasp the King hand on his wrist. He shook away the man's hold and caught his head in a strong grip. "The time has come to end this."

He pulled the man's head forwards and then slammed it back into the wall with such force that skin split and blood splattered upon the wall. But Jaime was not deterred. He repeated the process even as Aerys struggled to escape. This had to be the end; it just had to. The King's frame slumped against his attacker. Jaime paused.

His own grip relaxed and the young man pulled away to survey the result of his work.

Without support the body slid down the wall until it finally fell over. For a moment Jaime stared at the corpse, almost awed. The King was dead. Shocked laughter bubbled past his lips. The King was well and truly of the other world. The body oozed blood. Jaime noticed the red liquid spreading over the stone floors towards him.

"I shan't be branded a murderer," he murmured, stepping backwards. Empty eyes stared up at him. "I shan't," Jaime hissed. He had done what he had to and he did not regret it.

Looking down at his hands, he finally noticed that the sword was not there and small droplets of crimson painted his skin. Jaime wiped his hand on his leg and bent down to retrieve his sword. The steel was stained as well. He hid it within his cloak.

Out of sight, out of mind. If only it were that easy. Alas, it was not. He remained as he was, eyes drawn to the carnage. It was riveting, for whatever reason. The gods knew why he had not done it earlier. It might have saved a lot of lives.

He hadn't however. And the immutable past was not to be pondered long over.

Finally able to draw himself away, Jaime left the dead man upon the ground and lid the bar out of place, opening the door. The candle was still next to the door, where the Princess had left it. Jaime was without in a blink of an eye. He picked the candle up and blew it out.

A soft sound could be heard somewhere ahead as if in response to his actions. Jaime stared suspiciously in that direction. There was nothing to be seen however. The whole smaller keep seemed truly deserted. Jaime leaned back against the door with a small sigh of relief.

The respite was at its close, as the young knight came to find after a mere few second. The sound, whatever it had been, returned. Closer. Louder. And it came from within the solar. Terror struck the young lion.

What if he had been mistaken and the King yet lived. In his mind Jaime conjured an image of the injured man crawling about the room, making his way slowly to the door. So vivid was his vision that even the trail of blood behind the body glistened. Nausea filled him. He imagined the bend form using the wall as support, rising steadily to his feet and pressing against the door way.

Muscles locked tight, Jaime whirled around to stare at the heavy slab of wood, the only object between him and his broken vows. A creak filled his mind, shrill and terrible as the cry of the dying. It pierced his skull.

Jaime covered his ears to protect himself, but it was no use. He could still hear it. It was there. Behind the door. The King waited for him to come back. He waited to yell out for guards, or have them found come morning. And Jaime would pay then.

What had been done to the rebels would be child's play.

He could not stand it. Jaime drew in a shuddering breath, blood-smeared fingertips touching the door once more. His heart beat wildly in his chest, pounding heavily. He had to see. He had to make sure he'd left behind a body. The knight closed his eyes and tried to calm himself; his hands were shaking.

The door was pushed open with a strong shove and Jaime stumbled within a second time. But, to his horror, the solar was empty. There was no Mad King lying upon the ground. Wildly, the young man looked around within the shadows, expecting the gored body to jump out at any time.

But he was alone. Blood still stained the floor, but the King was nowhere to be seen. Resisting the temptation to run his eyes, Jaime walked to one of the windows. He peered down. There was nothing he could make out in the thick darkness of the night.

It was best to just go, he decided, an inexplicable fright wrapping cold fingers around his heart, squeezing tightly. He could not remain where he was. Jaime turned towards the door once more and fled from the room.

If they found the madman dashed upon the ground come daylight, then so be it.


A/N: So what do you think? Jaime is a difficult character to write, at least for me. I hope I did well.