Jaime had sworn so many vows and seemed intent upon breaking them all. He had thought the girl some kind of demon, hellbent on sowing seeds of chaos throughout the realm. A respawning of the Mad King, destined to remain a thorn in his side forever.
But demons didn't cry. They didn't beg for mercy lying in the dirt. She was little more than a child, the kind he'd sworn to protect. When had he become the kind of man to threaten a woman heavy with child? "Jaime," he heard his sister call, her voice harsh.
He glanced up to find her staring at him, her brow furrowed, and saw his father watching him from the end of the table. How long had he been lost in his own head, paying his family no mind? "What holds your attention?" asked Tywin, his eyes ever calculating and Jaime knew better than to attempt a lie.
"Recent dealings," answered Jaime. "Nothing of pressing concern."
Cersei didn't look like she quite believed him, but she would not press the matter in front of their father. "The only pressing concern is the king," she said in agreement. "That dirty little street rat has had more than adequate time and yet, if anything, he seems to avoid me now."
"Perhaps the girl is less compliant than you suggested," said Tywin.
"I have seen her make several attempts to sway him," said Jaime, uncertain why the lie fell from his tongue. He knew what would happen if his father doubted her obedience. Rivka was a victim of circumstance. Born to a foreign whore, forced to rely on the likes of Littlefinger … she only did what was necessary to survive. He wouldn't condemn her to his father's wrath when he knew he could shield her from it. "Robert is not an easy man to maneuver."
"A fact known by all," said Tywin. Kings were rarely easy to control, but this one in particular was exceedingly difficult. If Robert continued to prove himself so unmanageable, other arrangements would have to be made. "Do you believe her to be capable of the task?"
"Yes," Jaime said, ignoring the look Cersei was currently giving him. "I'll apply a bit more pressure."
She stared at the cup that sat before her, filled to the brim with a liquid that had lost its temperature long ago. Tansy, mint, wormwood, honey, and just a drop of pennyroyal. That was all it would take to remove the burden still growing in her belly. Moon tea, they called it, though she wasn't sure why.
She had long since sent her handmaiden away. Shae had not returned to the Red Keep and Rivka was not comfortable with her current replacement. Not with this. The sun had been high in the sky when first she'd sat across from the tiny cup, but it had set and there was little but the moon and stars to light her chambers now.
Why her hand stayed now was beyond her. She'd asked Jaime to procure the tea for her with great determination. She didn't want the child, no part of her did. But now, as the time came to be rid of it, she hesitated.
The door to her chambers opened behind her and she was on her feet in an instant, blocking the cup with her body, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. "For fuck's sake, why is she alone?" Robert demanded of the guards who stood outside her door. "Go fetch some damn handmaidens!" Rivka watched as he shoved one of the guards forcibly down the hall before turning his attention to her. "They said you were unwell."
He'd been gone for near a week on a hunt, and the signs of it were still upon him. Blood stained his tunic, though she could not be certain if it was a man's or a boar's. "They?" she wondered.
"The Lannister boy," he elaborated and she felt her stomach plummet. What all had Jaime told him? "He said you collapsed."
"And you came to see me," she said, as if she were trying to process a truth her brain refused to believe. The man had near choked the life from her in Flea Bottom, had sentenced her to the dungeons, and caged her in her room, but here he was now, concerned etched into his features as he pulled her toward her bed to force her to sit. "Why?"
Robert's brow furrowed at the question. "Was it the heat?" he asked. It had been uncustomarily hot on his hunt.
"No," she said. Everywhere Rivka looked, she seemed to find a new enemy. But Robert could no longer be counted among them, she realized, as he squatted before her, bringing himself to her eye level and brushing the curls behind her ear to get a better look at her face. "I am with child."
He froze, falling silent for such a long time the guards returned, a group of handmaidens came running into the room. They skittered about her chambers, lighting candles as they went, but Robert's eyes never left her. "Out," he said loudly, to the women who had only just arrived. Only once the door had closed behind them did he speak again. "My child?"
"Yes," said Rivka.
Confusion fell upon his features once more as his eyes went to her stomach. He had seen many pregnant women in his life and he'd known they were all pregnant by the swelling of their bellies. Rivka was not as thin as she'd once been, but she showed no signs of carrying a life within her. He brought a hesitant hand to her and rested it gently against her stomach. It had not swollen to the extent most women's did, but there was no denying it felt distended. "A child," he repeated, his eyes flickering up to hers again. She swallowed anxiously as she waited for his reaction. "You're certain it's mine?"
"You are the only possibility," she assured him. His brow fell as he continued to stare at her stomach, causing butterflies to form within it alongside child. His height stood closer to seven feet than six, while hers barely surpassed five. Years of malnourishment had left her too small and her hips too narrow to deliver a child. He feared any son of his would tear his way out of her. "He was right," he heard her mumble, finally forcing his gaze up to hers. She all but flinched under it, pulling away from the hand yet resting against her belly, removing herself to further onto the bed. "He said you wouldn't want it, that's why-" Her eyes flickered to the desk behind them but all Robert saw was a cup sitting atop it.
"Who?" he asked, rising to his feet to examine the cup her eyes kept falling to.
"Ser Jaime," she said. "He said it would be easier, that it wouldn't hurt as much as …" Rivka trailed off, her hand drifting to her stomach protectively.
Robert did not need further explanation. He had helped many girls acquire it in his youth. "Moon tea," he said, staring down into the cup in his hand, still filled to the brim with liquid. The anger bubbled up into his chest, threatening to pour out of him, but the knowledge that she had not drank it steadied him. "Wouldn't hurt as much as what?"
He watched as she opened and closed her mouth, finding herself speechless for the first time since he'd known her. While her tongue offered no clue, her hands did, both now clutching her abdomen. He threw the cup into the wall behind him, watching her flinch as it shattered. She shrank away from him as he approached the bed again, but not quickly enough. He caught her by the ankle and pulled her towards him, his hands at the hem of her dress, forcing it up until he caught sight of a tiny mark, low on her abdomen.
It was small and if he had not been searching for it, he would have missed it. He brushed his thumb across it, feeling the rugged edge of a wound yet healing. He had received enough cuts over the years to recognize the freshness of this one. "He said-"
Robert did not wait to hear what Jaime Lannister had said. Providing the girl with moon tea was treasonous enough, but to threaten his child with a blade? There was little that could temper his rage now. He took the door clean off its hinges as he stormed from her chambers, his mind of a very singular intention.
"Your Grace," he heard Cersei say and turned from his father to see the king approaching. Some lords hid their anger well. His father, for example, and even Jaime himself to a certain extent. He hid his anger behind detachment, behind an easy, mocking smile. Robert Baratheon was not such a lord and Jaime knew he was in trouble from the moment he laid eyes on him.
"Your Grace," he tried, glancing at his father to the side of him. By the time he shifted his attention back to Robert, the man was upon him, and Jaime was nowhere near quick enough to duck the fist that came swinging at his jaw.
Jaime could hear a crack and knew something in his skull had broken, but everything hurt and that made it difficult to distinguish exactly what. He heard a scream somewhere in the distance, likely Cersei, as he fell backwards, the force of the blow too much to remain standing. But he never hit the ground. Robert caught him by the tunic, holding him up as he brought his fist down again and again and-
Robert felt the boy's body go limp and knew full well he was either unconscious or dead, but he still couldn't bring himself to stop. It was only when several Lannister guards rushed him that he was forced to release him, focusing his attention on hurling the guards away from him instead.
"Your Grace," Tywin Lannister's voice boomed, loud and commanding enough that even Robert hesitated long enough to look at the older man. "What offense has my son committed?"
"Treason," was all Robert could manage.
"He is a highborn lord," said Tywin, his eyes never leaving Robert's, "entitled to a trial."
Robert looked at where Jaime lay still. He hoped the boy already dead, but his head was clearing as the anger left him. He knew there would be consequences for denying Tywin Lannister's son a fair and proper trial. "If he wakes up," said Robert, shifting his attention from son to father. "Tell him to choose a trial by combat."
A/N: Thanks for the review weirdunusualchick! You were definitely right about Jaime making some poor life choices last chapter. I'm glad you enjoy the story! :)