Author's Note:

Hey! I decided to write this story because I've always had a vision of how a woman with depression, angst etc etc. would play out in medieval times, and the ASOIAF series was the perfect setting for it! Don't expect a love story from me, babes. Also, English is my third language so please be gentle with the reviews, but criticism is much appreciated as well!

Jaime

«Where did you find her? Why were the bloody guards not by her side? Why were you there?»

Robert Baratheon had never been this furious before, and his afternoon of draining time with the aid of bodies akin to Lyanna Stark's, was now done for as a result of his little sister's high-spirited behaviour.

Cersei stood by her King and was as usual accompanied with a glass of wine, Dorne imported, filled to the rim of the glass. She was narrowing her eyes between Robert and him every now and then, and her high level of suspicion was increasing like the sweltering heat that was waving itself in through the heavy velvet drapes.

«My love, I dread to think if my brother had not been there, your sister's body might have gotten corrupt by the late afternoon.» Cersei Lannister confidently declared her outlook on the matter to her drunkard of a lord husband of six-and-ten years.

«Quiet, woman!» Robert's voice filled the room.

This repelled Jaime more than anything he had come to observe in this wretched, cursed world. Her husband was holding her cheap, even going as far as giving greater respect and care to his whores than Cersei, and all he could do at that moment was to bear witness to it all.

And stay silent at it, too.

The Mad King's gales of laughter bouncing off the walls in the Great Hall arose in the back of his mind, and he made sure to look in Cersei's way to appease these frantic memories. It almost worked.

Robert continued, «If I had called for your damned judgment, I would never hear the end of it… LEAVE US!» He roared, and coughed through the last words.

Cersei left without a word, but prior to that she managed to cast a look in Jaime's direction, an urgent plea to pay her a visit.

Plenty of their conversations were cut short by Robert's drunken outburst at most times, and Jaime could scarcely believe this was the life their father had set up for the both of them. He wouldn't wish it on his greatest fiend.

«Kingslayer, call me a fool if I don't have your head on a spike by sundown.» Robert asked, his voice louder than before.

Jaime fell silent at that. He was overly used to this, to even remotely care for his taunting remarks in these hours. The King had made it a habit to get a reaction out of him, perhaps prompting him to lose it someday, like he supposedly had done with the Mad King.

«Your Grace, I tried my best while she was on land and under the sea, there was no other way to do it.» Jaime looked down, refusing to meet his bloodshot eyes.

Robert looked bored, and his mind must have wandered somewhere else, as he was slumping more and more in his seat than his spine could care for. His breath reeked from afar, and he could tell the King was one drink away from passing out. The sooner the latter was to happen, the more time he had to spend in Cersei's chambers.

The King didn't even seem to shift at what he had said. He seemed lost in his thoughts, Gods forbid if he had any, in that hollow headed brain of his. Did he care so little for his youngest sister? What Robert had done to his sister, and to blame two witless guards on the matter? This was the man who sat on the Iron Throne, the highly esteemed and most powerful seat in the region. Only fools could worship the ground he walks on, even if the ground was made of their severed heads.

Lost in his thoughts of diverse hatred and great confusion, Jaime saw it as a cue to vacant from this whole ordeal.

«Your Grace, if there is anything else you-?» Jaime said in a clear tone before the King interrupted.

«What did you say to her?» the King had finally snapped out of his passing slumber, yet he looked defeated, perhaps the guilt was eating through his stomach at last.

«Your Grace?» Jaime gave him a graveled look. Or he was very good at pretending to look the part.

«What did you say to her that made her jump, Kingslayer?» Jaime's mouth opened. Did he know or was this bait to get a reaction out of him? A spineless, drunk like him would have been far too occupied grasping for breath in a wench's tits to catch the prudent glances they had given each other during the feasts he had thrown in her name.

Your Grace, I'm convinced Lady Lilah had her reasons given the series of distressing events that took place moons ago. Surely you must've seen it coming?

Jaime wanted to say that, but he wanted his head kept above his shoulders, as he and countless others were very fond of it.

«Nothing. I said the same thing before she ran away. I called out her name.»

Robert didn't blink. Which nerve did I strike?

«If that's all, Your Grace.» He nodded somewhat in his direction, turned his heel and never looked back.