The Lionknight (Jaime)

A part of Jaime failed to understand why the venerable Lord Whent had chosen to extend the invitation to his great tournament to even the lowest, most incapable of knights. These men, calling themselves names such as Ser Harlan of Rook's Edge and Ser Pate of the Red Lake, barely deserved to be anointed by the seven oils, fumbling and incompetent as they were. The practice yards at Harrenhal tended to be full of them, walking around as though they had been knighted by the Sword of the Morning - quite certainly a few of them had not been knighted at all, let alone by Ser Arthur Dayne himself. It made him rather irritable at times, being challenged to a fight by some upstart thinking he could defeat a Lion of the Rock. Most ended up bruised and bloodied, glaring and cursing as though the doomed fights were Jaime's fault.

"I'll bet ya' half a bag o' gold dragons I can take down your bloody breeches when I cross swords with ya'," boasted Ser Mern of the Straits to a fellow hedge knight of his. Jaime smirked at his tall claim. Indeed, Lord Whent had made a mistake in letting such men participate.

Not to say that there weren't those around who made for good swordplay, for there were plenty when they distanced themselves from the wine and the whores that had found their way to the Gods Eye. A Ser Myles Mooton had been a particularly tricky duel - the man had once squired for Prince Rhaegar, which showed in his deft movements and silent footwork. Jaime had taken more time than he would have liked to spot the man's weakness, but when he had, there had been no stone left unturned. Victory had tasted sweet for a few moments until Ser Richard Lonmouth, also once-squire to the dragon prince and Mooton's brother-in-arms, had challenged him in an attempt to seek revenge for his friend's defeat. This had been far more difficult than the previous match, and Mooton had tired Jaime with his agility and countless feints. It had been a convincingly lost duel in the end.

Why would King Aerys be willing to raise me to the Kingsguard, alongside the Sword of the Morning and Barristan the Bold, if some stormlands knight can beat me in a practice yard? The question refused to leave even as Jaime searched the Flowstone Yard for someone who could spar with him. It was a pity Addam was spending the day with his Kenning cousins. Preston Greenfield, a Lannister guard Lysa called 'the Sneering Ser' and always seemed wary of, was crossing his broadsword with Lewys Lydden, heir to Deep Den. Lord Lefford looked to have gained an upper hand against Ser Norys Payne. A man with the sigil of a porcupine was trying, and failing, to defeat a Jast knight.

Perhaps Tytos Brax is ready to entertain me with his sloppy stance and clumsy swings… or perhaps not. Jaime was not a fan of the Hornvale heir at all, not with how he had once implied to his companions that Lysa resembled a crab and then gone on to tell her everything about how they might have been betrothed in another life. He was a lying cunt who had unfortunately accompanied them on more than half the journey to Harrenhal. There was some pleasure in thrashing him even though he was not much of a fighter, but Jaime reckoned that after the disaster that his previous partner, a Frey, had been, Brax could wait.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lysa's uncle with his squire. The Blackfish was a man he truly looked up to - a knight in every way; a man who had won glory fighting beside Ser Barristan himself. Between his first visit to Riverrun and the journey from Riverrun to the tourney, Jaime had sparred with him many times. That Ser Blackfish was a great swordsman was an understatement - he was a legend, in every meaning of the word. He was one of the men Jaime would never be ashamed of being trounced by. Sure, he hoped to win each time they faced each other with a sword in hand, but even when he lost he didn't feel as miserable as he felt when he lost against near anyone else.

"Ser Brynden!" he called out. The black trout of Riverrun looked up questioningly. "Would you fancy a spar with this humble cub?"

"Humble cub my arse," the Blackfish replied, but grabbed a sword from his Piper squire all the same. Jaime grinned. Mayhaps today I shall match you.

He had barely blocked a blow to his thighs when his opponent spoke, focused on what was at hand yet managing to sound intimidating. "Lysa told me, you know," he said. "My moody little niece, she did not want to, mind you, but I coaxed it from her anyway."

Jaime's first instinct was to curse loudly, which he did. Loudly and clearly. The Blackfish grunted and went to strike his right.

"She told you?" he asked, disbelieving. Lysa had promised him not to. She had encouraged him to tell his uncles and aunt, but she had herself told him she respected his wishes to keep everything quiet and would let him make his own decision. What she was so annoyed about nowadays was how close it was to the king's (and Cersei's) arrival - only a day - and that he had not made up his mind yet.

"Aye," confirmed Ser Brynden, his sword meeting Jaime's own. "Every word. And let me tell you, boy, you better make up your mind fast, otherwise you might end up in a right mess. Our king isn't one for tardiness, as I'm sure you know."

He did know. He had met Aerys Targaryen before, a man with long, dirty hair and sharp, unclean fingernails. "King Scab," people called him in the capital, for how he repeatedly cut himself on his own throne. Most could not wait for him to die so that Prince Rhaegar could ascend in his place though none said it aloud. And if Cersei gets her wish, she will be Queen when the Stranger takes that man and Princess Elia as well, Jaime thought,a sour taste in his mouth.

"Are you…" he hesitated. "Are you going to discourage me?"

Brynden Blackfish gave him a pointed look. "I'm only going to ask you to think about it very, very carefully, boy. The Kingsguard maybe one of the highest of honors there is, but it too comes with a price. You may be a knight, but a man grown you are not. Are you ready to give up most of all you have to your name for a white cloak and a treasured oath?"

Jaime realised just how similar that was to what Lysa had told him when he had showed her the letter. "Is being a bodyguard to some incest-born king really worth forsaking so much of your life?" she had asked him incredulously, and though she had advised him more practically after that, her first statement had stayed with him more than the rest. Was being with Cersei (if she married Prince Rhaegar - an uncertainty at best) better than being at the Rock, which was his home, with Tyrion and his uncles and Lysa herself?

He loved Cersei; he always had. Mayhaps he always would. He could not imagine her married to anyone, let alone Prince Rhaegar, who she considered better than him. Jaime remembered even now how he had felt with her in his arms more than half a year ago, after he had fought against the Brotherhood beside four of the Kingsguard. It had been her suggestion that he be one of them, so they could be together even after she was wedded and bedded. Every night he thought about her, golden hair and green eyes just like his own. "We came into this world together," she had whispered to him. "We have been far too long apart. Swear an oath and that is all it will take for us to be united again."

Swear an oath, and that is all it will take. But it was not so easy, and Jaime knew that now.

Ser Brynden proved better once again that day, and departed the grounds with another pointed look thrown towards him. I will beat him one day, he decided. Him and Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur and the White Bull. I will show everyone that I'm just as good as they are.

Had he not known about Cersei's intentions and the king's own, he might have been so bold to say they were already accepting him as an equal; the appointment letter being proof. In his heart of hearts, however, Jaime knew it had nothing to do with skill or being deserving of the post. Aunt Genna and all his uncles had insisted that this was all King Aerys' idea of snubbing his lord father. Even Lysa had implied so - "No man in his right head would make an inexperienced fifteen year old his bodyguard," had been her words. "Don't you have any faith in me?" he had asked her, mocking hurt. "And here I was thinking myself your knight in shining armour." She had slapped his arm and told him she was being serious. Jaime wondered what Lysa would say is he told her that the letter, at least partially, was his sister's doing.

His uncle was sitting with a pair of Dornishwomen when he arrived near their tents. The younger of the two was giggling loudly at whatever jape he was telling, while the other was looking on blankly and rather bored.

"Jaime!" called Gerion Lannister. "You must meet these beautiful ladies I have the pleasure of being in the company of."

Cersei had once ranted to him how the Dornish were all harlots, and Jaime thought the giggly woman looked exactly as his sister had described, with her long lashes and revealing clothes. The other women was less conspicuous by far.

"Uriella Sand," introduced the giggly one. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ser Jaime. Your uncle had told us much about you."

Jaime rather doubted that.

Uncle Gerion laughed. "Nephew, have you ever been with a Dornishwoman before? You haven't, have you? I am of a mind that Lady Uriella will not mind your company." His gaze went to the sulking woman. "Oh, and this is Lady Ellaria. I have not been able to charm her yet - yes, I am not believing that either, trust me - but perhaps you'll have better luck?"

"I am due elsewhere, uncle. Try not to have too much fun without me!" He had no interest in bedding some woman from the bottom of the country as of now, pretty though she was. His uncle nodded, laughing and went back to narrating the story of how he had got out of a spot of trouble with a Myrish merchant on a trip to the Free Cities.

"... but that is not all, I said to him. I shall even get you the hide of a lion from my homeland, so you may never forget that a Lannister always pays his debts!"

The booming laughter did not fade until a while later when Jaime emerged from his own tent to see his uncle with an arm around Uriella Sand, whispering to her softly, Lady Ellaria nowhere to be seen.

Father would suffer from a stroke if he saw this, he thought. Lord Tywin Lannister had forever disliked his youngest brother's antics, and forever sought to chastise him for them. Not that Uncle Geri ever listened - he insisted that there had to be at least one offspring of Tytos Lannister who enjoyed every pleasure of life. He never refused any opportunity to show his brother just how different they were. Will Tyrion and I be so different from each other when we're older? Jaime wondered, though he knew they were already very different in their personalities - where he felt at home with a sword in hand, his brother had had to accept from a young age that warfare could never be his skill and much like Lysa, he tended to favor reading most of all.

Lysa. He remembered the first time he had met her, fresh from his knighthood at Riverrun. She had looked so suspicious of him from the very moment she had set her blue eyes on him - even when he had smiled at the thought of being reminded of Tyrion on seeing her rather high-spirited brother, she had narrowly demanded of him the reason for his amusement. "Why, nothing, nothing at all," he had replied. Lysa had been quiet during the feast despite her sister's nudging, though as he had found out later, she had in fact been listening to him tell her family about the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood. When he had been attempting to explain one of the ambushes led by Simon Toyne, she had suddenly put in how it hadn't been an original move at all; in fact, it had been lifted straight off the pages that described the First War for Dorne. After that it had not been an unpleasant evening at all - Jaime speaking of more such tactics used by the men of the Brotherhood, and her comparing it to her book-learnt knowledge of combat and terrain-based warfare.

Still, it never failed to amuse Jaime how little Lysa knew about arms themselves. One of her companions had gifted her a sleek dagger on her nameday, and it had fallen upon him to explain to her how there were specific ways to use it. She had been utterly bewildered and then completely mocking of the art of weapons. He had slowly watched his reserved, bookish betrothed unfold in the Stone Garden, and soon practicing with the dagger had stopped being the only thing they did. They had talked about more things than he could recall. In those moons, ofttimes he had even deigned to forget Cersei, with all her extraordinary radiance, for pretty red-haired Lysa who had been far kinder and far more understanding of Tyrion than his own sister had ever been. Under the shade of a yew tree, she had pulled him into a kiss that he had run away from. Cersei, he had thought then, just as he did now.

She will never forgive me if I choose not to become a Kingsguard, Jaime thought, as he made his way to Falena's Hall in the Whents' accursed castle, named after some woman Lysa could no doubt narrate the entire story of. He had been invited there for supper by the reigning Queen of Love and Beauty from the King's Landing tourney - Ser Oswell's niece, Lady Shella's daughter and a cousin of the Tullys, as it so happened. She was about his own age, and had given him a conspiratorial smile when she had told him the venue, saying that she had not "invited just anyone." For the life of him he could not recall her name, though he knew of her four brothers. The eldest twins, Sers Edwell and Orwell, were utter fools and as bad as Tytos Brax on the yard. Ser Marq, who Lysa had told him much about, was a man shy and quiet, masterful with his bow but not a third as good with a sword in hand. Jaime remembered meeting the youngest, Arlan, in King's Landing, as he was a squire still, serving his uncle Oswell and dreaming of Kingsguard glory himself one day. What he would kill to receive the letter I did.

There were a number of household knights and guardsmen standing by Falena's Hall. A brief glance told Jaime that they were men from all around Westeros, which made him wonder just who the Whent girl had called. He had his answer on entering: the hall was flooded with men and women wearing finery of a variety of colours, few of them dancing to a tune played by a hook-nosed musician while others sat the long tables adorned by lace cloth, talking and laughing loudly. It was more a feast than any supper, he realized, somewhere his Uncle Gerion would have felt at home. He could see his host at a distance, blushing in conversation with the arrogant Stark heir; Leranne Lydden and Alysanne Lefford being entertained by twins whose sigils showed that they belonged to some lesser house from the Reach or another. There was a girl with a broken wheel embroidered on her dull dress who was sipping copious amounts of wine near him and examining everyone in the room with interest. Jaime thought he would try to find Addam or Lysa, but it was the latter who found him first.

"There he is," came a teasing, mocking tone from his right. He turned to see his betrothed seated besides her cousin, Ser Marq Whent, and a girl who could only be a Tyrell from the amount of golden roses that lined her rich green gown. Lysa had the top half of her curly red hair tied in a knot while the rest flowed freely at the front. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine she had obviously consumed already. Jaime privately thought it made her look rather innocent and child-like.

"What took you so long?" she asked when he approached. He shook his head. There was no question why Aunt Genna was wary of how informal the Tully girl could be.

"It doesn't do for you to be so impatient, my dear intended. It is rather unbecoming of a lady," he replied, bowing to kiss the back of Lysa's hand after she curtsied. They had taken to following this more as mockery of the custom than respect for it, and anyone with half a mind could have guessed their true intentions - which Ser Marq and the Tyrell did. Whent snorted, nodding silently to Jaime, while the buxom, doe-eyed girl giggled prettily, covering her mouth with her hand. Now that was someone he would never like to marry.

"Oh, may I present Lady Janna Tyrell," Lysa introduced. "Lady Janna, I am certain you have heard of Ser Jaime, who is to be my husband in the future."

Or perhaps not. Janna Tyrell smiled at him and offered her hand. "I have heard many tales of your bravery against the Kingswood Brotherhood, Ser Jaime. Lady Lysa has told me much of you as well. It is an honour to put a face to the name." He had no doubt she had indeed heard of him before; after all, his lord father had once received a letter from Lord Tyrell, offering his sister's hand in marriage to him. Jaime was suddenly glad the offer had not borne any fruit. Lady Janna was comely, without question, and a part of him swelled at the mention of her knowing about his role in the defeat of the bandits, but he decided he preferred Lysa's bluntness and quick opinions to other women's insincerities.

"My lady," he greeted the reachwoman still, remembering his courtesies. "I assure you that whatever less than complimentary things you have heard about me from Lady Lysa are false. I urge you not to believe them."

She laughed again, this time not bothering to cover her mouth. "Why, good ser, your betrothed has only been kind about you. She certainly must believe you to be the Dragonknight reborn."

Jaime was horrified. For a moment he nearly froze. She cannot know, there is no way, none at all. No one knows. As a boy he had ever dreamed of becoming a second coming of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and at the feast after he had been knighted - a day after he and Cersei had coupled and she had suggested him the possibility of a Kingsguard spot - he had dreamed once more. A white sword, in love with his sister, a queen. It had seemed just so like how he had then expected his life to be. Now that seemed a lifetime ago, but if this Tyrell girl had any inkling… No, it was not possible. It couldn't be.

"Janna!" Lysa protested. "Don't say things like that. Jaime's head is already so full of his own praise; you mustn't add fuel to the fire."

Another thing he had quickly learnt about her had been how she often tended to use absurd words.

She frowned, but then leveled her face only to roll her eyes at Lady Janna. "Don't encourage him, is all. Heavens know what he will do if he thinks he's of a level with the Dragonknight."

The subtle implication did not surprise Jaime. Lysa had taken to such insinuations of late, reminding him sorely of Cersei. He wondered if the reason he would not truly mind marrying her had anything to do with how she was like his sister - his lover - in some ways while utterly unlike her in others. They were both not good when it came to people they did not like - Cersei had made her distaste for some of the bannermen's wives and daughters no secret; likewise was Lysa's disapproval of Brandon Stark. Both of them had a tendency to be impatient, as Cersei had been to be with him while he had squired at Crakehall, as Lysa still was regarding his sluggishness about the Kingsguard letter. The difference between them was also stark in Jaime's mind: how Cersei's insults to him tended to be uncaring, throwaway words while Lysa's were always teasing and carefully thought out. How Cersei did not hesitate to compare him with Prince Rhaegar while Lysa steered clear of comparisons altogether. Cersei was someone who could burn the world down to have her way while Lysa would think of a hundred ways around the problem.

This is wrong, he thought, as he watched Lysa and Janna Tyrell talk about something or the other, Whent listening on. The courses of food had come and gone without him paying attention at all. Itold Cersei I would be a Kingsguard so we could be together again. I shouldn't be thinking of Lysa. She would be perfectly fine without me; perhaps even get a husband who would love her like I love Cersei.

Jaime brushed the thought off. It turned out that Lysa was disputing jousting with Lady Janna. He might have joined in, had it been another night - it was an argument he had often had in the past with her - but he was not truly feeling much like arguing. He was too weary to entertain more of make-a-choice-faster quips from Lysa, especially in the presence of this Tyrell girl she seemed to have befriended of late. Too many people already knew about the appointment letter. Which reminded him…

"Lysa," he interrupted suddenly. She turned to him, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh, I see you can still talk. I was worrying some cat might have got your tongue, ser," she japed.

"No," Jaime frowned. "I was just… Thinking."

Lysa must have sensed that something was wrong, because she turned to her companions. "Marq, Janna, would you excuse us for a moment?"

The two of them nodded, Lady Janna smiling secretively at Lysa. Ser Marq gave him a slight glare, and Jaime could feel it at his back even as Lysa grabbed his arm and led him to the doors of Falena's Hall. There were still men and women, none looking more than twenty-five namedays old, dancing in a clearing to a vaguely familiar song. The Stark girl, Lyanna, was clumsily being twirled around by a red-faced Lord Baratheon, much to her obvious displeasure. A woman with a dress identical to Lady Janna's - her sister, perhaps - was laughing at something Brandon Stark was saying, his Mallister friend - Joffrey? Jeffory? - at his side. Lady Ellaria from earlier in the evening was being courted by Prince Oberyn Martell, who Jaime recalled meeting years ago. The others were mostly faces he had never seen before, though he noticed some looking at him too carefully for his liking.

"What is it, then?" Lysa asked when they were out of the hall, her arm and his intertwined. The feel of her body so close to him made him nervous. The guardsmen did not bat an eye when she signaled him to a balcony at the end of the corridor, and he turned to head in that direction.

"How did you -" Jaime started to question, but Lysa did not let him finish.

"- know that you wanted to say something? I'm not stupid, Jaime. Forgive me when I say this, but you thinking is not something that happens everyday."

She smacked him playfully, her eyes meeting his. He stopped at the door to the balcony and pushed it open, letting the cool air engulf them.

"Lysa, why did you tell your uncle?" he said finally. It still grated him. She had promised she would keep it to herself.

Her amusement faded into mild discomfort. "It's not like he wouldn't know soon enough," she answered. "Our beloved king will expect an answer from you when he arrives, and when is that? Tomorrow, if you've forgotten."

Tomorrow. Cersei will be here tomorrow.

"He... Your uncle spoke to me," Jaime told Lysa. Her eyebrows shot up.

"What did he say?" she enquired. Everything you said when I first told you about the letter.

"He… He only told me to consider my choices carefully."

"And have you?"

"Yes," Jaime replied. Then again… "No. I… I don't know," he admitted.

It should not have taken so long. He should have sent a raven to King's Landing with his acceptance as soon as the appointment letter had arrived, and this time would never have come. Cersei would have been pleased, too. Everything would have been just as it should have. "The Lionknight," his sister had called him his last night at the capital. The Lionknight he would have been.

He had not done that, though. He had mulled over the contents of the letter for far longer than he ought to have, and then had gone to Lysa with it. She had said so many things that had stung so much, yet made just as much sense - Why would the king want to take an heir to one of his most important states as his guard? Does your father even know about this? He does not sound like someone who would agree. He would want you here at the Rock, not playing bodyguard with the royal family. Why would King Aerys want you in an order which consists of some of the most famous men in the country? There must be another reason. I have a lot of faith in your ability, Jaime, you know that, but this is a tad too much, even for you.

All his uncles had said the same, even Uncle Geri. "There's another game at play," he had asserted, in a rare moment of seriousness. There is, Jaime had thought. And it is Cersei's game, so we may be united again. Now that he had pondered about it for so long, he could only think about how possible that even was - if all went according to her plan, she would have her precious silver prince for a husband. She would have all the power she desired. Would she even have need of him? Even if she did, he would have to share her. She would bear another man's children. Was being her dirty secret really worth it?

Jaime's gaze fell on Lysa. He remembered a frightened Tyrion telling him about an old woman who had supposedly attacked them in the woods. He had talked to Lysa about it, and afterwards she had given him a sad look, telling him that she had truly meant it when she had kissed him in the Stone Garden. It was the same sad look he saw on her face now.

"I suppose you won't know what to do until the last moment," she stated. Jaime bit his lip and turned away. There was a pang in his chest. He was not feeling good about this at all.

"I suppose," he shrugged, shoulders heavy.

The two of them were silent for what felt like hours, eyes on the Gods Eye lake and its Isle of Faces, thoughts far away. It was Lysa who broke the quiet, clearing her throat.

"This might be our last time properly together, then," she said. "If you choose the Kingsguard, we won't…"

"Yes," Jaime said. Kingsguard members were to be celibate. If he donned the white the day after, being with his sister would be one thing, but with his former betrothed another entirely.

It was difficult to think about. Lysa had become a constant in his life in the half year he had known her. He had grown close to her without ever meaning to, and Tyrion had taken to her like he had taken to no other Lannister. If he left Harrenhal for King's Landing beside Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan, he would be leaving her behind. She would not be welcomed at Casterly Rock; her future would be thrown once again in the hands of her lord father, who she had admitted to not having a good relationship with.

"I wonder who dear Lord Hoster will send me to," Lysa mused. "He won't be able to tolerate me at Riverrun once Cat's married and packed off to the north with an arrogant husband and his snotty sister. I'm afraid I'm far too much like Uncle Brynden for his liking."

As far as Jaime was concerned, being like the Blackfish was not a bad thing at all, but then again, all knew how much Lord Tully and his brother fought.

"Perhaps he'll send me to Hornvale, to wed Tytos," she snorted.

Jaime widened his eyes. Hornvale? "He wouldn't make you marry Brax," he scowled. It was hard to forget when that idiot had called Lysa a crab. He had felt so angry, so furious - he had watched the younger Clegane brother, a squire still, thrash the man with naked glee. He had then taken twice the amount of pleasure in thrashing Brax himself. To imagine Lysa wearing the cloak of a unicorn was painful.

She raised an eyebrow. "I know him, Jaime. He'll do whatever he thinks is best for Riverrun or the Riverlands, but never for his own children. Not even Cat. Hell, he'd make me marry Lord Weasel Frey if he thought it would give him some sort of advantage."

Lord Frey? Jaime felt sick. "He wouldn't," he said. "He wouldn't do that. He's your father."

He could have almost sworn he heard Lysa say "he's not", but it might have been a trick of the wind. What she said more clearly was, "Tell me, Jaime, if it ever happened that your father's life depended on marrying your sister to an old, wrinkled lord well past his prime; if he knew it was the only way to save himself, what would he do?"

Father always said Cersei is meant to marry Prince Rhaegar, he thought. Even though he is a man married with a daughter and another child on the way. He did not say that aloud. Thinking about the other man his sister dreamt of at a time like this did not feel right.

"This is not a world where women can do what they please," Lysa was saying. "There is a world like that, where people can marry for love without thinking of consequences and where women get the respect they deserve, but this is not it. I don't know if it ever will be."

Jaime would have quite liked living in a world like that. Mayhaps everything would not have been so muddled up then. His choice would not have been so damned difficult to make.

"There is no choice at all," Aunt Genna had argued, when he had shown her the letter. "You are not going to become a bloody Kingsguard, Jaime. Not even if that poor excuse of a king wills it. Let him think he is getting back at your father for some imagined slight. Even he can't demand you take the white if you're married."

He had not told that part of the conversation to Lysa. His uncles had all agreed; it was better to conduct a wedding and consummate it before King Aerys had the chance to foil everything. He would not be able to touch a married man to force him into white armor. It was an easy solution, and sensible - Aunt Genna had insisted that it was the correct path to take. "I have long been apprehensive about the Tully girl," she had said to him, "But she's got a spine of her own, and will make a worthy Lady of Casterly Rock in time. She's fond of Tyrion, and you especially. You must wed her at the earliest."

"What if I want to be Kingsguard?" he had argued. "It is my decision to make, not anyone else's."

My decision and mine alone, Jaime thought. Not Aunt Genna's, or any of my uncles', or Lysa's, or Cersei's. Not even bloody King Scab's.

He would have done it for Cersei. He would have done it to be close to her; to be with her. He would have done it to stand as an equal to all those knights he had looked up to from when he had been a young boy. But that would mean leaving Lysa alone to her lord father's mercy and Tyrion, whose existence Father already loathed, as heir.

When Jaime had asked his sister to run away to the Free Cities with him so that they could be together, she had laughed at his suggestion as one would at a jape. She did not only want him. She also wanted Prince Rhaegar and the power she could get from a Targaryen marriage. He loved her and wanted what was best for her - he wanted his beautiful sister to get what she wanted and be happy. But if her happiness would cost Tyrion's and Lysa's…

He glanced at his betrothed. She was still staring at the lake in front of them, her hands on the balcony railings and her hair windswept. Her Tully blue dress clung to her as the delicate little chain she always wore glistened in the moonlight. The voices in the corridors had increased, but Jaime couldn't care less for them.

Cersei will have to learn to accept my decision.

"Lysa…" he murmured.

"Hmm?" she hummed absently, slowly turning her head to face him.

"Don't marry Brax, or Lord Frey, or any of the others," he blurted. He had to say it before he changed his mind again. Lysa opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her short. "Marry me."

next chapter: The Silent Bat.

notes: Now, some of you might be going "Did that just happen?!" at the cliffhanger, because rest assured, this is where things really diverge. There's a wedding coming up in the next chapter, clandestine though it is, through the eyes of the quiet Whent cousin of Lysa's who appeared in this chapter and played a prominent role in the middle chapters of The Private Journal. He's one of the four unnamed Whent sons who died before canon and the Blackfish's ex-squire. This chapter was particularly hard to write because of the multiple lines of thoughts that I remember having as an impatient, confused fifteen year old. Jaime hasn't lost himself at all yet, which should really be considered.

Would just like to mention that certain easter egg appearances in the chapter will be prominent in the future. Also before signing of I will remind you that this is after all an ASOIAF alternate universe, and marraiges aren't always sunshine and rainbows :3

Thank you very much for the reviews, favorites and follows for the previous chapter. I enjoy writing this a lot and every email I get is only an encouragement to construct a new point of view. Thank you again. Cheers.