Warning: Umm…there's fighting, so…blood and physical violence, but nothing too graphic, I don't think. Disturbing themes and imagery, but again, nothing too graphic. Please read responsibly. And, as always, coarse language (which I know is a given but it never hurts to remind people).
Chapter 26: King's Landing: Three
Jaime
Jaime steps into the corridor leading to the black cells and his hand tightens on the hilt of his sword.
He walks cautiously. The Gold Cloak behind him carries a torch that does little to push back the darkness of the hallway but it is comforting, nonetheless. Jaime shivers. The last time he was here, he had released Tyrion only to have the blasted Imp murder their father.
He had come then on a mission of mercy, and when the Gold Cloak angles the torch and they see what's in the first cell, Jaime realizes he is here again for the same reason.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime loses count of the number of cells they look into; all with occupants. He stops cold by one of them when he recognizes the woman behind the creature she had become. She's different than some of the others because she reacts when she realizes they're standing there. She stands then sinuously paces her cell, those wounds Qyburn didn't bother to close flexing as she does so.
Even in death, her every move is a seduction, Jaime thinks in a distant corner of his mind.
He stares at the creature for long moments, pity and revulsion and horror roiling inside him in equal measure. This woman had once been his sweet sister's closest confidante and he wonders what she had done to deserve this fate.
*/*/*/*/*
They find what used to be Nymeria Sand in the neighboring cell.
*/*/*/*/*
They finally leave the black cells behind and Tristan and his men look as nauseated as Jaime feels. He'd hoped his days of dealing with this level of depravity had ended with the Mad King.
"What are we to do?" Tristan asks as one of his men retches in a corner.
"They're...contained, at least," Jaime says and shudders. "We needs must learn if there are any others, hidden in more distant parts of the black cells."
"More of them? There cannot possibly be more!"
"Qyburn and the Queen seemed to believe they have enough of these creatures to make the realm tremble before them. What we've seen is frightening enough, granted, but I doubt these few score creatures could hold armies at bay."
"But how could one man have created so many?"
Jaime glares at the dead man on the floor. "I don't know," he growls, "and I pray to the old gods and the new that this—this monster merely lied to the Queen. But I want these dungeons searched, top to bottom, to make sure."
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime also tasks Tristan with briefing the Gold Cloaks and with gathering those brave enough to deal with the Queensguard on the morrow. He only hopes Brienne and Bronn will have gathered some sellswords or even smallfolk willing to join the battle.
Once Jaime parts ways with his companions, he goes to see the Queen.
He pours her wine and says, "We could search the city more efficiently if you were to order each Queensguard to lead a separate contingent of Gold Cloaks."
"I do not wish them separated," Cersei says.
Jaime's heart sinks even as he raises an eyebrow. "Even if it takes longer to search the city?"
Cersei impatiently waves a hand. "Send the Gold Cloaks where you wish, but I do not wish to leave my Queensguard vulnerable to attack again."
Jaime sighs, then says, "At least put them under my command."
"Where is Qyburn?" Cersei asks, her eyes narrowed. "The Queensguard obey him as well."
"There was an incident in his room in the black cells earlier today. A cut. Rather deep, so I've been told."
"How badly is he hurt?"
"The bleeding has stopped. He's being taken care of now but he will not be available to ride out with us on the morrow." And not a single word a lie, Jaime tells himself and struggles to keep from laughing, but whether from amusement or horror or despair, he cannot say.
"It is not amusing, Jaime, and you should keep him sweet; he has promised to restore your swordhand—and hopefully your manhood along with it."
Jaime gives her a thin smile. "Yes, we discussed that before his accident."
"When will he begin the procedure?"
"He had his accident before we could get into those details, Your Grace," Jaime says and meets Cersei's suspicious gaze with an expressionless face.
She huffs an impatient sigh. "Fine."
Jaime strides to the door and opens it and Ser Robert Strong steps into the room when Cersei calls for him.
"Ser Robert," Cersei says and the giant figure of the Queensguard silently bows its head in acknowledgement. "Tomorrow, you shall stay here with Ser Luca and Ser Harwin, to guard my person. The others will ride out with the Gold Cloaks to continue the search for those responsible for the death of Ser Simon. While they are outside the Red Keep, they shall be under Ser Jaime's command."
She turns to glare at Jaime. "And I command you, Ser Jaime, to keep the Queensguard together during your search. I wish my knights to be protected, and I'm certain you will find they are much more...effective in their questioning if they are allowed to work together."
Jaime bows. "Your Grace," he says and, with one last look at Ser Robert Strong, he takes his leave.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
Brienne feels awkward and grim as she follows Bronn into the first tavern, searching for sellswords. She knows they need to be circumspect, but they have no time for subtlety.
She strides to the centre of the room and says in a clear, ringing voice, "A bag of gold to every man who picks up a sword and joins us in the square at the foot of Visenya's Hill on the morrow."
She's met by incredulous, insolent stares as they take in her broken nose, black eyes and battered armor.
"Aye," one sellsword drawls, then hawks and spits at her feet, "and if you meet me in the room at the top of the stairs, I'll fuck you up the arse."
She flushes and glares.
"'Tis only the same as you want to do to us," he says with a shrug, and turns back to his ale.
Brienne storms from the tavern and Bronn follows. She strides angrily towards the next tavern and as they reach the door, Bronn says, "Mayhaps you should let me do the talking, m'lady."
She glares then grudgingly nods.
*/*/*/*/*
By the time they're done, they have twenty sellswords—half of whom she doesn't believe will actually be in the square on the morrow. They have not attempted to recruit any smallfolk although they've garnered enough interested stares that she knows the tales will have reached all corners of King's Landing by morning. She expects there to be a crowd of the curious at the square on the morrow to see what, if anything, is going to happen. She hopes Jaime will be successful in swaying the Gold Cloaks to their cause.
They reach the Dragonpit and kindle a small fire, then Bronn says, "I'll go to the Kingslayer. We needs must confirm our plans. We have far fewer sellswords than I had hoped to find."
She blinks at him and bites back the urge to beg him to take her with him. She cannot risk being seen in the Red Keep, no matter how much she wants to be by Jaime's side.
She lowers her gaze to the fire and nods.
"Aye," she mutters, "and even fewer if they don't keep their word—or decide to flee once they see who we wish to fight. I don't think we dare split them into smaller groups." She scowls and winces as her bruised face twinges. "If we stay in the square and let the tales of our search draw each Queensguard to us…"
"Mayhaps," Bronn sighs, "except it may draw all of them at once. I don't like the idea of facing all the Queensguard at once, but mayhaps it will be the only way we can prevail."
"We only have one chance at this, Ser Bronn," she says.
Bronn chuckles as he rises to his feet. "We only ever have one chance, Lady Brienne. Let us make the most of this one."
*/*/*/*/*
In the end, the three Queensguard Jaime leads to the square fall more easily than Brienne had dared hope.
They fought valiantly—if such creatures could be said to be valiant—but the Gold Cloaks and the dozen sellswords proved overwhelming. The watching smallfolk, who swarmed over the Queensguard when they fell, were no small asset either.
When the last of the Queensguard falls, Brienne stands panting at Jaime's side. They are spattered with the blood of their fallen allies as they watch the smallfolk make short work of disposing of the body.
"Only three," she says flatly.
"Aye," Jaime says, equally grim. "Cersei kept the strongest by her side." He eyes the swelling crowd. "We needs must hasten back to the Red Keep and deal with the last of them there, and we need to go now, before this crowd decides to turn on itself and us along with it."
Brienne nods, uneasy at the swirling mood of the crowd.
"I fear Ser Robert Strong will not be so easy to kill," Jaime mutters as they gather their men and hasten away.
"I fear you're right," she mutters in response.
*/*/*/*/*
Their fears are realized.
The three remaining Queensguard are stronger somehow, quicker, more deadly. Or mayhaps it's because Brienne finds them so because she's tired from the previous battles. She catches glimpses of Bronn and Samwell Tarly, she sees the blood fly as someone is stabbed or sliced or smashed, but she cannot stop to see who or what may have fallen.
For she and Jaime have left the lesser of the creatures to the Gold Cloaks and the sellswords and turned their swords against Ser Robert Strong. Ser Gregor Clegane had been a monster in life and an even greater monster in death, and they would ask none to face him if they dared not face him themselves.
But in death, the first of the Queensguard is quick and more agile than anyone can possibly be—even if living.
There must be some spark of true life left in the creature, Brienne thinks as Oathkeeper is blocked by the creature's shield, there must still be some desire within the monster to stay living. It fights skillfully and powerfully, and, she thinks, far too quickly to be anything but long-lost magic fueled by a desire to survive. For no matter how quickly she and Jaime and those who fight alongside them swing their swords, the creature is almost too fast for the eye to follow as it blocks each blow with sword or shield.
Yet she and Jaime seem just as quick, their swords there to block the creature's attacks even as it spins quickly enough to block theirs, no matter when or where they strike.
And just like when they fought the Ironborn, as their blades flash and parry and dance against the creature, the red veins in the Valyrian steel seem to rise, to flicker and glow like fire.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne fights until her arms ache and shake from Ser Robert Strong's blows. She's panting, sweat blurring her sight, but she finds extra speed and strength when the creature smashes its shield into Jaime, sending him rolling in the dirt while Widow's Wail spins through the air. He's too still, she thinks as she redoubles her attack with a loud scream, calling more Gold Cloaks and sellswords to their side. Her only thought is to keep the Queensguard away from Jaime's prone body long enough for Jaime to regain his senses or—
No. She will not allow herself to admit that Jaime may never regain his feet even though there are too many bodies of Gold Cloaks and sellswords and smallfolk littering the courtyard for her to ignore.
She fights on, momentarily the sole focus of the monstrous creature while the other two Queensguard seem to gain strength from Jaime's fall. She backs away beneath the onslaught, luring it away from Jaime, and she marvels that Oathkeeper flies to where it needs to be almost without her conscious thought. Then, from the corner of her eye, she sees the flash of grey and red veins that dance and twist like flames with the swing of the blade—and the even quicker flash as the creature parries the blow.
Brienne's heart leaps with relief but then she catches a glimpse of Jaime, still in the dirt but sitting up and shaking his head. She attacks Ser Robert and now sees that Widow's Wail is being swung by a Gold Cloak, young and terrified and grimly determined, and she yells at him to drop the sword and run. He sets his jaw and redoubles his efforts.
As they try to land a crippling blow against the creature, Brienne sees Jaime wipe blood from his brow as he gains his feet then he limps as quickly as he can towards them.
She screams at him to stay back as he shouts at those battling the other Queensguards to turn their swords against Ser Robert Strong. Bronn and Sam and several others race to engage Ser Robert, and Brienne takes the opportunity to drop back and catch her breath.
Jaime limps to her side.
"You're mad," she pants.
"Give me your sword," he growls, "and go—get Cersei."
Her jaw drops. "What?"
"We're not going to beat these ones—not without losing more men than I care to count. Get Cersei! She needs to order them to stand down!"
"What? How am I going to convince her to do that?"
"We don't have time to argue, Brienne! Give me your sword and go!"
So she does.
*/*/*/*/*
The two sellswords Brienne tapped to go with her make short work of the doors to the Queen's apartment. To Cersei's credit, she does not run. When Brienne strides into the apartment, she admits that in this moment, Cersei is truly Jaime's twin and truly a Queen: head held high, golden and beautiful and lion proud.
"I have come to take you to the courtyard," Brienne says brusquely and Cersei's lip lifts in a sneer.
"Have you now? You wish to kill me in public and without a trial? Do you think that will endear you to Jaime? As if he'd ever want one such as you."
Brienne grits her teeth. "I am here so you can save Jaime's life," she snarls.
Cersei raises an eyebrow and smirks. "You are such a besotted fool."
Brienne's control snaps and she's across the room in three steps, her hands tight round Cersei's slender throat.
"I have no time for your madness," she growls, glaring into Cersei's eyes, ignoring the woman's gurgles for breath and the scrabbling of her hands against Brienne's tight grip. "You will come with me," Brienne says, "and you will call your monsters to heel or I swear, by the old gods and the new, that I will kill you with my bare hands!" She bares her teeth, knowing she must look as mad as Aerys Targaryen ever had. "Do as I say, Your Grace," and the title drips with sarcasm, "and I'll let you live. I may even help you stay on that throne you love so much you sacrificed your own children for it."
She abruptly releases Cersei, who gasps for air, dropping to her knees on the floor. Brienne turns to the two sellswords.
"Bring her. Carry her, if you must." She strides to the door then turns. "And if you take any liberties with her person—any at all—I will kill you as well."
*/*/*/*/*
In the end, Cersei goes to the courtyard under her own power, even though she protests having to run.
Her complaints turn to a gasp as they burst out into the courtyard and Brienne sees the carnage is even greater than when she left. She frantically scours those still fighting until she spots the creature that had once been Ser Gregor Clegane and there is Jaime, still on his feet and still swinging Oathkeeper almost as skilfully as if he had his swordhand. Next to him is the Gold Cloak, Widow's Wail in hand, and Brienne blinks because from this distance the swords do, in fact, look as if they are aflame.
She shakes the thought away and turns to Cersei.
"Order your Queensguard to yield," she snarls.
"And if I don't?" Cersei says with a sneer.
Brienne points towards Ser Robert Strong. "Do you truly wish Jaime to die?"
Cersei shrugs. "We came into this world together; we will leave it together."
Brienne growls and leans closer. "Order your Queensguard to yield, good sister, or I will kill you here, where you stand, and then I will go out into that courtyard and I will kill your monsters and I will save your sweet brother's life while I'm at it. If you don't want to die alone, Cersei, then order your Queensguard to yield!"
They silently glare at each other, ignoring the grunts and cries and clashes of swords echoing through the courtyard.
Now it's Brienne who lifts her lip in a sneer. "Order them to yield, Cersei, and I will do all I can to keep you on the Iron Throne."
Surprise ghosts across the Queen's features.
"I swear it," Brienne says.
Cersei eyes her suspiciously but she must see the truth in Brienne's words because she turns and calls, her voice carrying even over the clamor of the courtyard, "Queensguard! I command you to stop fighting! Put down your weapons and yield to Ser Jaime!"
As one, the three remaining Queensguard lower their weapons then make their way to where Jaime is standing, sweat-soaked and panting, Oathkeeper still held at the ready in his hand. Each Queensguard in turn place their swords at his feet and the look of dismayed disgust on his face would be amusing if the situation wasn't so grim.
Brienne turns to the sellswords. "Take her back to her apartment and guard the door." She raises a hand in warning. "And remember what I told you before about respecting her person."
She waits until they've left and then joins Jaime in the courtyard.
"Shall we kill them now?" she asks. She blinks as three eyeless helms turn in her direction and Ser Robert Strong's hands clench into fists.
"No," Jaime says hastily and turns to the Commander of the Gold Cloaks, who is bleeding from half-a-dozen minor wounds, his left arm dangling at his side. "Take them to the black cells," Jaime says. "Put them in the cells with the strongest bars you can find. Keep them separate."
Tristan nods and calls several of his men to his side. They surround the three Queensguard and prod at them with their swords, but they stand firm.
Jaime says, "You have been ordered to yield to me. Go with these men, obey them, and they will not harm you."
The Queensguard stand motionless until Ser Robert Strong very slightly bows its head and the three surviving Strongs allow themselves to be led away.
Jaime hands Oathkeeper to Brienne and accepts Widow's Wail from the Gold Cloak who had been wielding it.
"My thanks," he says to the boy. "What is your name?"
"Denys, m'lord."
Jaime nods. "You did well today, Denys. I will not forget."
Denys gives him a hesitant smile and bows.
Jaime turns to Brienne. "Come with me," he says.
They stride towards the Red Keep but pause and turn as one when Sam calls after them. They frown as he hurries up to them, puffing.
"Sam," Jaime says, "you fought well today." He nods at the great sword the younger man is carrying. "Did it make you more skilled?"
Sam blinks at the sword as if he's forgotten he held it. "Oh, yes. I understand what they mean when they say Valyrian steel makes you quick but to be honest, anything would make me a better swordsman." He shudders. "I did not do much, Ser Jaime, but tried to land blows when I could."
"You fought," Brienne says, "and that's enough. I'm sure you noticed that our blades appeared to flame again. We can discuss it once we've secured the Queen and we have cared for the dead and dying."
"Yes, yes," Sam says, "but that's not why I've sought you out."
"Then tell us," Jaime says sharply, "and be quick with it. There's much yet to be done before night falls."
Sam shakes his head. "My pardons, it's been a most unusual day."
Jaime and Brienne exchange a grim look and nod.
"I needs must ask you to come with me," Sam says. "I have something you need to see."
"You've found a glass candle?" Brienne asks sharply. "We can speak with Jon Snow?"
"Yes, yes, eventually—but that's not—" Sam glances round then leans closer—as if any would be listening in the chaos of the courtyard. "In Pycelle's chambers—the King. The Princess Myrcella. They're alive."
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
Jaime and Brienne gape at Sam's words but before they can react, they hear voices bellowing at the gates of the Red Keep, demanding entry, and when the gates swing open, Ser Addam Marbrand, flanked by a score of Lannister soldiers, rides inside.
Jaime curses, low and long and creatively, as Ser Addam and his men stare round with what would be amusing expressions if the day were not so grim.
Brienne puts a strong, warm hand on his arm. "I will go with Sam. Cersei is secured for the moment." She grimaces. "I put the fear of the gods into the sellswords who guard her, but mayhaps I shall send Bronn to watch over them all." She nods towards Ser Addam. "Go. I suspect we have another battle to fight, and soon."
Jaime scowls and nods, then gives her a quick and careful kiss, mindful of her injuries. He then hurries to meet Ser Addam, cursing the man's timing. He would dearly love to be with Brienne to see for himself if his children still live. More like, he thinks bitterly, they are simply two urchins, caught in the act of robbing Pycelle's chambers. It's a pretty tale, he admits as he strides towards his old friend, and likely bought them time to escape.
"Ser Jaime," Addam says and dismounts.
"Addam," Jaime says and clasps his friend's hand.
Addam says, "By the gods, what has befallen this cursed city? We had to fight every step of the way to the Red Keep!"
Jaime grimaces. "I fear the city is burning from more than just the wildfire used to bring down the Great Sept."
He leads Ser Addam to the small council's room without another word being said.
Once they're alone, Addam says, "Have you been burning with the city, Jaime? You look the worse for wear."
"It has been a trying few weeks," Jaime says as he walks to the sideboard. "Wine?"
Ser Addam nods. They raise their goblets in a toast then Jaime downs his drink in two great gulps.
"Aye," Ser Addam says drily as Jaime pours himself another glass, "I can see that."
Jaime gives him a crooked smile. "Have no fear, Addam, I'm not trying to drink myself insensible, but your timing could not be worse." He frowns, considering, then shrugs. "Or better, I suppose."
"You have not asked why I'm here."
Jaime laughs, guffaws even. "I have no need to ask. I assume the Tyrell and Tarly armies have bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen and his Golden Company?"
Addam nods grimly. "We slipped away as soon as I saw Lord Tarly approach Storm's End under a flag of truce. We likely have two, mayhaps three, days on their army."
Jaime sighs. "That should give us enough time to calm the smallfolk, at least. Or mayhaps we should just let the city burn and leave this false Targaryen to deal with whatever's left."
"By the gods, Jaime," Addam explodes, "what's happened?"
By the time Jaime finishes telling him all, Addam has downed another two glasses of wine himself and they've both agreed they would like nothing more than to drink something stronger than Arbor Gold.
"I could have used you earlier, Addam," Jaime says slouched in the Hand's chair. "Mayhaps we could have made shorter work of the Queensguard with an army at our backs."
"You managed," Ser Addam says with a slightly cruel grin. "And you have not yet destroyed all the Queensguard."
Jaime shrugs. "I have no doubt two of them will be easy enough to kill. A sword thrust to the heart, and they will be finished. But Ser Robert Strong was once the Mountain that Rides. He never had a heart."
Addam laughs at that, a slightly crazed sound. Jaime laughs with him, and thinks he sounds just as crazed.
"No more wine for us," Jaime sighs when they catch their breath. "There is still much to do—and now there is an enemy army marching towards our gates."
They rise to their feet and Addam says, "What are you going to do?"
Jaime sighs and shakes his head. "Whatever I must."
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
Brienne hurries after Sam with a heavy scowl on her aching face.
She's sure these children Sam has found won't be in Pycelle's quarters when they arrive; they're most like starving orphans who were searching for something they could steal and sell for a morsel of food rather than the dead king and princess. They are dead, she tells herself grimly. The Queensguard she just finished battling would not have allowed them to escape once the children picked up their pitiful weapons in defense of the Rose Queen.
It's her fault, she thinks as they approach the door to the Grand Maester's chambers. If she hadn't started training Myrcella with a sword and dagger, the girl might have simply run away and taken Tommen with her.
Sam raps twice, loudly and rapidly, on the door then, after a pause, he knocks once more and opens the door.
Brienne follows Sam inside and watches as he peers round then calls, "I've brought Lady Brienne."
There's silence and Brienne turns to Sam, opening her mouth to make an angry comment, when she hears a small, tentative voice say, "Truly?"
She spins and peers round the room, trying to discover the location of that voice.
"Truly," Sam says firmly.
And there, beside the sideboard, a crack in the wall widens and a scarred face beneath tangled blonde hair peeks out—and Brienne's breath catches in her throat.
"Myrcella," she whispers.
The girl looks behind her. "It truly is Lady Brienne," she says and then she's flying across the room, followed by an equally unwashed golden-haired boy, and Brienne staggers as they ignore her armor to fling themselves against her.
*/*/*/*/*
A/N: The next chapter may be a little delayed (i.e., I might not update for two weeks). My sister is coming to visit starting on Friday and for some bizarre reason, she insists on spending time with me. What is up with that?! I will update as soon as I can, though.