The castle was humid, the air outside was thick and sticky; he stood outside her chambers, waiting for her to return. He held the gift in his left hand, wrapped in an old woolen cloak, the only thing he could find to cover it. He wanted to conceal it; he wanted it to be a surprise. The last time he gave a woman a sword was when he was Jaime Lannister, Captain of the Kingsgaurd, now he was Lord Tommen, General of Essetir's Army, who sat on Queen Guinevere's council. He did not know if it was appropriate to visit the queen in her chambers in the middle of the night but this could not wait. His stomach felt like there were a thousand fish swimming back and forth, if he weren't a skilled swordsman, his hand would be shaking. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin, partly because of the heat and partly due to his anticipation, he felt his heart beat rapidly, he wanted to see her, he needed to see her! He wondered how long she would be, he wasn't worried, the area around the castle was safe, and she knew how to protect herself but he did not know how long he could wait. Perhaps he should go for another ride, yes, it will pass the time and when he returned she would be back and in that moment when he decided to make his way down to the stables, she emerged from the darkness quietly. Her hair was loose, brown curls cascading down her shoulders; her skin glowed in the torchlight, her white nightgown stuck to her body.
"Lord Tommen," she said with a hint of panic "is everything alright? Is the kingdom under attack? Have the knights of Camelot come?"
"No, no your grace, nothing like that I just had to see you, at once."
"Oh," she said relieved, her eyes looked downward at the gift "what's that?"
"Ah, this is what I came to see you about. I found something for you."
She looked at it curiously; a wry smile crept over her face, "For me?" She said moving towards the door.
They entered her room, the shutters were wide open, the fireplace burned low, Jaime could see the queen had thrown her blankets off her bed. He placed the gift on the table as she began to light some candles around the room, her curls looked golden in the light, her brown skin reflected the flames' warmness, the candle light also revealed how sheer the queen's nightgown was, he could see her firm breasts underneath, her brown nipples poked through the fabric, her petite frame was barely concealed and he saw the dark triangle between her legs. He noticed the queen was wet, with sweat, or water or-
"So have you brought me?" She asked.
He realized that the queen was unaware that her nightgown hid nothing, although he was ashamed that his eyes devoured her, he was glad, for she moved so confidently, so smoothly, she was not meek or shy, she was a queen; a warrior. She made her way over to the table, her gown swayed, and her breasts moved with each footstep, she sat down and looked at him; her cheeks were pink and her skin was aglow.
"Well, your grace, at dusk I decided to go for a short ride through the forest," he said unwrapping the gift, excitement building inside of him "and when I stopped by a nearby brook to water my horse I saw this in the moonlight, lying on the forest floor" he flipped over the last flap of wool to reveal the metal.
The queen's eyes widened, she froze, a look of shock washed over her face.
"I cannot believe it!" She cried. "How did you- where did you- I cannot believe it!"
"What is it, have you seen this before?"
"This, Lord Tommen, is a sword my father forged, my father's best sword! I have not seen it in years, not since I was exiled!"
"By the gods! Your father made this?"
How could a peasant blacksmith know how to forge such a sword?
"Yes," she paused her eyes filling up with tears "he was never going to sell it, he said it was his masterpiece, he said there was nothing like it in Albion and he was going to keep it and I-"
"Did you sell it, your grace?" He asked gently.
"No," she said smiling through her tears "a friend, a very dear friend said he needed my father's best sword. I knew it was for something important and I trusted him, so I gave it to him, I later saw it…"
"Yes?"
"On Arthur Pendragon's hip, at the time I was happy he had it. I believed in him, he was good, he was brave, the sword suited a good and brave man but then when I was exiled I never thought I'd see it again, and that a man who hated me so deeply, would wield my father's greatest work. My father's masterpiece."
"Don't you see your grace, if I found this sword, in Essetir, in the forest just outside the castle, then you are meant to have it!"
She stood up quickly, she began to pace but stopped suddenly, getting up from his chair he watched her, he tried to ignore the sheerness of her gown once again.
"I don't understand how this could have appeared. How did this get from Camelot to Essetir? How did you happen upon it?"
There was panic and fear in her voice.
"If you are worried that Arthur is scurrying about the forest, and dropped his sword, I assure you he is not, we have regular patrols, that is how he captured Sir Gwaine and Sir-"
"I don't want another war, Lord Tommen. I can't put our people through that, I can't! I can't put Camelot through that! It used to be my home my brother is there, I have friends there, I can't wage war against them, I can't do it."
She seemed to say this more to herself than to him, her eyes glistened with tears, she was truly afraid but he could not understand why, she had fought against Lot for years, she had killed before, what had changed?
"Sometimes, war is unavoidable, your grace but if there is anyone who can come to a peaceful resolution, it is you. There's no need to fear for our people, you lead us. You are a good and just queen, I know you will always do what you have to, to protect this kingdom and we are safe in your hands."
She smiled, "you always give good counsel, Lord Tommen."
"Yes, well, I do get paid for it," he joked. He held out his hand, "would her grace be so kind as to tell me the story behind this great sword."
Her smile faded as looked at it from across the room, she moved towards his outstretched hand, and gripped it softly; it was warm and calloused, like a true warrior. He led her to her seat, sitting down she gazed upon the sword.
"Take me up, then cast me away," she read softly "I don't remember there being an inscription but perhaps it's been such a long while that I forgot."
He placed himself at her right side and waited for her to continue.
"Camelot was in chaos when my father was young; he had to travel far across the sea for his apprenticeship. He landed in an ancient city called Volantis, where he finally found a master to take him on. He spent many years there, he learned to read, and he even learned a bit of math; he met my mother, the master's daughter, they fell in love. His master would only allow him to marry my mother if he made the finest sword the master had ever seen. He spent years attempting to craft such a sword but the master rejected all of them, until one night my mother presented my father with this very rare steel, her grandfather had kept it secret, only revealing its whereabouts to her on his deathbed, because she was the last of his line. She had hoped to forge it herself one day but her father never allowed her in the smithy, so she saved it for when she had a son, so that one day he could forge it but when she fell in love with my father, she realized, he was to be the one to craft it. He toiled for days, everything had to be perfect, the balance, the sharpness, the length; this was to be his tribute to her. When at last he presented the sword to his master, he was so impressed that he let him keep the sword and allowed my father to marry my mother the next day."
She ran her fingers over the blade, Jaime found himself envying the cold steel.
"Do you know what kind of sword this is, your grace?" He asked eagerly.
She shook her head.
"This is a Valyrian steel sword; it is made out of the rarest metal known to men."
The queen looked at him blankly.
"Have you heard of Valyaria, your grace?"
"No."
"It is a long dead kingdom but it was a great kingdom, filled with conquerors, alchemists, dragonlords-"
Her eyes shot up at him, "dragonlords?"
"Yes, your grace. Valyrians were the only race known to have tamed and trained dragons, I suppose until you and Lady Morgana. They had the special skill of creating and forging Valyrian steel, which is said to have magical properties. Very few people alive know how to reforge Valyrian steel, no metal is as sharp, light, and strong. Valyrian steel never ages, never rusts, it never dulls. The swords are passed down through great families, precious heirlooms that last centuries."
"You certainly know a lot about Valyrian steel."
"Where I come from, any warrior worth his salt dreams of wielding such a sword, even if it is just once."
"Then it is yours then."
"Your grace?"
"You are my general, you are the best fighter I've ever seen!"
"This is your father's sword, your grace! It appeared to me so that I could give it to you. You are Queen of Essetir. You defeated Lot, you saved your people, this sword was meant for you. Your line will endure, as will this sword, the House of Leodegrance will carry it for generations to come. You are your father's masterpiece. His kindness and strength lives in you, he would want you to carry this sword."
She stared at him, "may I ask you another question, Lord Tommen?"
"Yes, of course, your grace."
"I have been speaking to very different people as of late, druids, travelers, merchants, and I have heard tales."
"Tales, your grace? What of?"
"Many things but one in particular has disturbed me as of late. Morgana's power, Aithusa's existence, and even what I've seen with my own eyes- I know there is magic in this world both good and evil- and I wonder, have you ever heard of a great army of evil that sleeps only to be awoken by the cruelty of men?"
Her face was stone, her eyes searched his, looking for his answer.
"Why do you ask me, your grace?"
"You are not from here, you know things that we do not, I had never heard this story before but the person who told me, well I trust them, and they were not lying to me."
His mind flew back to Westeros, to The Wall, to the stories of old that made him dread winter when he was a child.
"There were stories but they were just that, your grace, stories."
"I'd like to hear it all the same."
He could see she was serious, he wondered who had spoken to her. Was this why she feared going to war with Camelot?
"During a time when the winter lasted a generation, a race of beings called the Others terrorized the land. They hated all living beings and killed indiscriminately, men, woman, children, it did not matter. Men were defenseless against them. The came in the night when the cold wind rose, and they'd sweep over holdfasts and villages leaving nothing alive but sometimes they'd turn people into- something not quite dead, and they too would kill anything with warm blood."
"What happened to them?"
"They were eventually defeated, it was discovered that obsidian could kill them. Men rode into battle with their obsidian swords and crushed the Others but that was over 8000 years ago your grace, no one is even sure it ever happened."
"These Others, where are they now?"
"Some say they live in the northern most part of the world, where there's only ice and darkness but no one has seen or heard of their existence in centuries."
"Perhaps they're not in a kingdom of ice and snow, perhaps they are sleeping- waiting," she trailed off.
Jaime realized the queen has spoken to someone from Westeros, or at least someone who knew if its tales if they knew the story of the Others and the Long Night surely they'd know of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. His heart began to beat out of his chest, she could not know, not now perhaps not ever."
"Who told you of this story, your grace? Where are they now?"
"Just a traveler- a druid," she said quickly.
"Did they say anything else?"
"No, nothing else."
Her eyes did not meet his, she was keeping something from him, something that troubled her. He reasoned that if she had known the truth about him, he'd be in the dungeons or sent into exile, his secret was safe, for now.
"If what this traveler says is true, that the cruelty of men will awaken the Others here in Albion, I think," he said taking her hand in his "that you are doing the best job to keep them sleeping."
"I waged a war, Lord Tommen."
"You defeated a cruel and ineffective war lord who called himself king. Essetir suffered under Lot's rule but look at us now, you defeated him and now the people are safe, harvests are bountiful, trade is strong, Essetir is at peace, what evil can thrive?"
"If Arthur attacks-"
"If Arthur attacks, you will defeat him, claim Camelot and bring her peace and prosperity too!"
"How do you have so much faith in me? How can you trust me with such greatness?"
"You are Guinevere Leodegrance, a blacksmith's daughter, who lead an army of peasants and defeated a bloodthirsty warlord, and brought about peace and stability to a kingdom in chaos that is greatness if I've ever seen it!"
"It wasn't just me, there were countless men and women who defeated Lot too."
"Yes but you Guinevere, were the only one to lead them, you were the only one who could. You united the people of Essetir, you alone brought them out of darkness! Had it not been for you, another warlord would have taken Lot's place."
She stared at him, her eyes glistened in the candlelight.
"You called me Guinevere."
"I apologize, your grace," he said embarrassed "I should not be so familiar."
"You can call me Guinevere, and you can be familiar," she whispered.
There was a silence, his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to say no, he wanted to say that it wasn't proper, that she deserved a better man. He wanted to get up and leave. Go to his chambers and dream of what was under her nightgown but he didn't, he stayed. He sat there motionless, his lips parted but no words came out. She looked at him, waiting for him to say something.
"You may call me Tommen, your grace- Guinevere. You may call me anything you like."
She ran her thumb over the back of his hand.
"Tommen is just fine for me."
He stared into her eyes, his body was drawn to hers, he wrapped his hand around her neck gently pulling his lips towards her and he kissed her. She smelt of ash and fire, her mouth was sweet and tasted of honey, he pulled her closer, drinking her in, she wrapped her arms around him, he could feel her breasts push up against his chest, he felt her heartbeat, her warmth, her hair tickled his face. Her mouth was soft, and welcoming, her kisses long and deep. He felt his blood rushing through his veins, he wanted more; he felt the ache of desire deep inside of him. Gooseflesh rippled all over his body, the fish in his stomach began to fly, and the hairs on his neck stood up. He noticed her nipples had grown hard under her nightgown, he wanted to tear it off throw her on the bed and dive into her. He wanted to her moans and her giggles. He wanted her fingers caressing his back, and then her nails digging into his flesh, he wanted her, he wanted all of her but he stopped. They pulled away slowly, breathing hard.
He ran his fingers through her hair, she smiled at him dreamily.
"I should let you sleep," he said.
"I'm far too hot for that," she replied.
"We have a lot to do tomorrow."
"We always have a lot to do tomorrow."
"And we need to be well rested."
"Well rested," she giggled.
Her hand had found its way on to his thigh, he did not want her to move it but,
"I want nothing more than to stay here with you but I care for you very much, Guinevere."
"And I you, Tommen."
Her hand moved up his thigh.
"It has been so long since I've courted a woman. You are too important for me to get it wrong."
"You want to court me?"
"You are a queen, you should be courted; flowers, poetry, acts of heroism, the whole bit, and for me to do it right, I would have to leave you at this very moment."
She smiled at him slyly.
"What do they say? To love is to suffer?"
They laughed.
"And I shall suffer sweetly, tonight, my queen," he said kissing her on the hand. He stood up from the table and bowed, taking her in one last time, "goodnight Guinevere."
"Goodnight, Tommen," she said quietly.
He left in silence, savoring her taste on his tongue, willing it to last. He floated back to his chambers, where he collapsed on his bed, dreaming of Tommen and Myrcella, and even Joffrey as young children but it wasn't Cersei he saw caring for them but Guinevere.
