Jaime

"And who will Casterly Rock cast their vote for, Ser Jaime?" Gawen Westerling, Lord of the Crag, declared as he tried to keep his eyes off of Jaime's stump.

"Now that my niece has claimed the Iron Throne, I believe my brother intends to declare for Myrcella."

"Your brother?" Lord Gawen looked incredulous, "Not you?"

"When I joined the Kingsguard, I renounced my claim to the Rock. Though I can still administer the West in Tyrion's name."

"And if we declare for Myrcella, what then?"

"I don't follow." Jaime followed. Lord Tywin made his bannermen fear him. Then he went and died. Now all the bannermen were wondering why they should be afraid of Ser Jaime the One-Hand or his brother the Imp.

"Why should we declare for a half-Lannister girl to be Queen?" Lord Gawen said a little more straightforward.

"Declare for whoever you want," Jaime said, "What we need is for you to swear fealty to the Iron Throne. It's ruled by a Small Council. Declare for Stannis, or Renly, or Robb Stark for all I care. But neither the Rock's nor the Crag's vote counts as long as more than a quarter of the West does not submit to the Throne."

Lord Gawen finally thought enough and said, "Where do I sign?"

With his good hand, Jaime pushed the Declaration of Fealty to him. Lord Gawen signed at the bottom of the sheet, "Gawen Westerling, Lord of the Crag."

"Now, either accompany my uncle to King's Landing, or send a raven. Otherwise, the Crag will declare for Myrcella."

Lord Gawen smirked and said, "And miss out on history?" he swirled in his yellow-and-seashell cloak and left the room. Jaime had to assume he would go to the capital and declare for Casterly Rock's most formidable enemy. Based on Tyrion's last raven, most likely Renly.

As Lord Gawen left, Ser Kevan walked in the room dressed for battle, "Haven't you heard, uncle, the war's over."

"It's you who hasn't heard. Election has replaced war. No one informed me of the dress-code change."

"You're riding off for King's Landing today? I have all of the signatures you need." Jaime handed him a collection of parchments. It was Kevan Lannister's idea to only consult the minimum amount of Lords, and those most loyal to Casterly Rock to keep Lannister influence high at the Kingsmoot. Jaime still doubted that they could manage the West. The Rains of Castamere simply didn't carry the same ring with Lord Tywin dead and the Baratheons and Starks sharing the capital city. At least if Lord Tywin died after winning the war…

Ser Kevan closed the door to the room, "There's a conspiracy afoot."

"There always is." Jaime was all too familiar with conspiracies at this point. He was once the right-hand man to Cersei's.

"This isn't the time for clever quips," that was one of the last things my father said to me, too, "Lord Wendell Serrett has married Lady Alysanne Lefford."

"So Golden Tooth has allied with Silverhill. What of it?"

"Word is they've hired a number of sellswords the Starks and Baratheons are now done with them. And if the spies are right, the Golden Company has broken their contract with Myr. Hedge knights will follow their banners when they hear Casterly Rock is for the taking."

"The Golden Company? So some sellswords have broken a contract? They adorn the Free Cities and breaking contracts is practically breaking bread for men like that."

"The Golden Company never breaks a contract. Their words are 'Our Word is Good as Gold.' If you can manage to find them, perhaps offer them some of our own coin to outbid the Alliance of Gold and Silver. Perhaps they can sack them from the inside."

"So you are leaving in the midst of war?"

"I am leaving you with the regency and three thousand of my own swords. Hedge knights, sworn swords, and our own men as well. I'm only taking a small retinue and our most loyal lords to King's Landing."

"Do you really think you can enthrone Myrcella? Even if you do manage to build up the support, I doubt it would be in time to stop the war."

"I don't know. We'll certainly try. Otherwise I we'll see who offer the West the best of deals. Word has it Robb Stark promises to let each kingdom carry its own laws and rule. That might serve our needs."

Ironic, "That same word has it that Renly is winning. Perhaps if we vote for the King in Highgarden, he might see we could be of use, march all those roses here, and save our golden asses."

"I will certainly find out," Ser Kevan turned to the door, "I don't need to tell you what to do, Ser Jaime. You've seen war, you understand the needs of the battlefield. The Rock is yours. Do not let us down." And with that, he rode the Goldroad to the capital city.

Ser Jaime, however, was still blown back. The Rock would come under siege. That much was clear. The Lannister armies to defend it were either buried in the Riverlands, or in no rush to return to the service of a lost cause. Or they threw their lot with the Alliance of Gold and Silver.

Jaime wondered if that was an official name, or if that was simply what Ser Kevan called them. If the former, it was certainly the kind of name that would instill fear in the heart of any Lannister.

Ser Kevan had it wrong. Jaime knew extraordinarily little about what to do. Fighting a war was not the same as fighting a battle, and fighting a battle was not nearly the same as fighting a man. That was the part that Jaime understood, but he couldn't even do that any more.

He left the room and wandered about the Rock. As servants and attendants went about their duties of the castle, Jaime couldn't help but see their heads on spikes as Lord Serrett's men cut them off. He saw the gold decorations get carried off to Myr and Lys. He saw the portraits of his father, and grandfather, and Lann the Clever be carried to Golden Tooth and Silverhill where they become the centerpiece of conversation for years to come. "That's Lord Jaime Lannister," some Serrett boy would tell visitors, "he thought he could fight my father after he lost his hands, but he was a fool."

No.

Jaime found the library and locked the door. He pulled out Daeron Targaryen's Conquest of Dorne and began reading. Sunspear was certainly not Silverhill, and Dorne was not the short plain between Golden Tooth and Casterly Rock. Still, the Young Dragon had to have some kind of martial magic Jaime could divine out of his book.

The sun was setting earlier. Winter was certainly creeping up on Westeros. There came a knock at the library door announcing that Jaime's supper was ready. Joy Hill joined him for supper and saw that Jaime was reading, "Conquest of Dorne. Doing a little light reading, Ser Jaime?"

"Of course, sweetling." There were others at the table. Men who would sharpen their swords, women who would be afraid and gossip, and servants who might abandon their employ, "It's just an awfully interesting book."

The one weapon we have right now is the illusion of ignorance. The longer Serrett and Lefford think we are ignorant, the more reckless they may be. Tomorrow Jaime would order defenses built, call only the most loyal banners, have hot oil prepared, should he try wildfire? As he ate beef and bacon pie and root soup, he made a promise to himself and his lost hand, When I am done with you, Lord Serrett, they will no longer since that old song about House Reyne. They will sing the Rains of Silverhill.