Jaime growls as he brings his sword down on the wooden enemy, the sole victim of his frustration, sadness, and honest fright boiling deep within the dark pit now his body. He can taste salt on his tongue from the beads of sweat glistening on his face as he charges again.
He just doesn't know what he is supposed to do anymore.
Tyrion is supposed to sail to Tarth little time from now.
Cersei might be pregnant with his child.
And she is behind all the troubles that lead to Brienne's tragedies.
And he helped, like some goddamn rabid lion on a leash.
Those are the things that he knows, and those are the things he doesn't know how to undo it, to right these wrongs. Because those are things he can't beat with swords.
He can be the most formidable knight the Kingsguard has ever seen, it still didn't save Brienne, didn't save him, didn't save Tyrion.
This really seems to be his curse.
His curse for his sins.
And for Jaime, it is ever the more painful because he is not the sole victim of his wrongdoings. His friend and family are the ones who suffer because of him, because of what he did.
He seemingly is really just the Kingslayer, and no longer a Lannister, because even that debt he doesn't carry alone, no matter how much he would beg the Gods to let him atone for his sins.
Jaime blinks against the bright sunlight, running his palm over his sweaty face. Once his vision clears, he can see Cersei walking along the wall. She watched him like a hawk lately, especially since he refused both her bed and her company, though she can't do much about it, with their Father over for visit – and for him knowing very well what the twins have been up to behind closed doors and drawn curtains. Not to mention that Robert is back, which means that she cannot sneak out in the middle of the night as she had done before, just like he couldn't sneak into her chambers, if he wanted, which he didn't, obviously.
They pass by a haggard-looking, tall girl with raven hair, one of the servants, or so Jaime reckons, he doesn't really keep track on them. He can't help but frown as Cersei apparently stops to say something to the girl.
Why would she be talking to her? Usually, she snaps at them to get out of her sight, at best.
He screws his eyes almost shut to get a better view of her. She seems familiar for some reason, but Jaime can't put his finger on it.
The young knight gathers his things and disappears back into the Red Keep, out of the hawk's sight.
Later the day, he can spot the raven girl again, now finally alone. Jaime couldn't stop thinking about her. It was the way his sister gestured, the way the corners of her mouth moved that irritated him, and this odd sense of familiarity that didn't leave him all day long.
He draws closer, studying her features, but still, his memory won't kick in to give him the right answer.
"Young Lady over there, could you wait up a minute, please?" he nods at her, putting on a nice smile as he approaches the girl, who almost jumps as he approaches her.
"No need to worry, young Lady," he assures her quickly. "Would you mind to have a little chat with a man of the Kingsguard?"
"I am most sorry, Ser, but… but I am not supposed to. I must go, I…," the girl bites her lower lip nervously, averts her eyes.
And that is when Jaime remembers.
That was the same girl who was supposed to tend to Brienne when she was here for the ball. She is one of the servants Cersei brought along from Casterly Rock when she was married to Robert.
"You need not worry. If I ask for your service, no lord or lady or king or queen will punish you for it," he tells her in a soothing voice.
"Then… then what can I do for you, Ser?" she asks, her voice trembling.
"You were responsible for looking after the Lady Brienne, weren't you?" he asks, to which the girl nods frantically. "Did you also handle her messages?"
"Yes, Ser," she nods.
"Did you ever give her one in my name?" he asks.
"Of course not, Ser," she replies.
"Of course not? You mean to say that you wouldn't have delivered one of my messages to Lady Brienne, had I asked you for it?" he looks at her.
"What? No, no, I… I just mean to say that I didn't deliver any message to her in your name, because… because you never told me to have one delivered, right?" she looks at him with huge brown eyes. He feels bad for the girl, but he just has the feeling that she is entangled into this web, too.
"I didn't, but curiously enough, a message reached Lady Brienne, and it said that I wanted to see her in my chambers. I know that for certain. Now I ask myself how it comes that this message was delivered when you say that you were responsible for Lady Brienne's messages and you just assured me that you never gave her a message in my name," Jaime goes on.
"I, I don't know, Ser," she replies, blinking furiously.
"What is your name, young Lady?" he asks in a soft voice.
"Steph," she replies.
"Steph, you need not worry that you will be punished if you tell me about something that someone else asked you to do. This is between us two, I assure you, by my knight's honour," he tells her.
However much that is worth, still.
"But…," she bites her lower lip.
"I know that Lady Cersei, I mean Your Grace, asked someone to deliver that mail. I just want to know if it was you or someone else," he tells her. The girl straightens up, much like Brienne, looking more like a longbow than a girl. "You don't have to say a word. A nod or a shake of the head is me enough."
She nods, bowing her head even more.
"And you may nod again if you like: Did the Queen ever ask your service before?" Jaime goes on to question, and again a nod.
"Did she promise you money in turn?" he asks. She shakes her head, "No, no money. She said she'd leave me my life, Ser."
"Yeah, that sounds like her," Jaime grunts.
"But I didn't do anything much back then, during the fair," she says mutely.
"The fair?" he tilts his head.
"I was just supposed to look, Ser," she insists.
So she had them spied already back then. He really should have known.
"What did you observe?" he asks. "Or what did you tell her that you saw?"
"Ser," she grimaces.
"Has Lady Brienne mistreated you?" he asks. The girl shakes her head nervously, "Not at all. She even gave me a few dragons, though I didn't do anything out of the ordinary for her. She said I shan't walk around in my shoes anymore because they were so worn out that I walked a little crooked."
Jaime can't help but smirk. Because that is the Brienne he knows and always looked up to for her kindness only those will see who keep their eyes on her. She never made her kindness a big deal, because it is none to her, though it might well be a great deal to a girl who surely has nothing much to get herself new shoes.
"I bet you thought nothing bad of it," Jaime nods. "But since Lady Brienne treated you kindly, and since I am her friend, you may want to tell me what you told the Queen. Again, you needn't be afraid. No one will know that you told me."
"I just said that you went to the fair and that you two… seemed close," the girl admits, averting her gaze again. "I mean, I just said that you walked on arm-in-arm and chatted and laughed, but that's all, Ser. T'is the truth, I swear it. I thought nothing of it because I didn't know the Lady back then. I just thought… I just did what Milady's asked me for."
"I bet," he offers a small smile. "And she had you summoned again to have you deliver the message to Lady Brienne to come to my chambers, is that right?"
"Yes, she's made me deliver mails to you. She's said to put them in the pile on your table. She said that she'd borrowed them from you and I was to return them. The Queen's said that I shan't put them at the top, because they were old, but to have one stick out for you to see that she's had them returned. She said I should keep things as they were so that you order isn't disrupted. So I just took a heap and put them under. And after that I was supposed to tell the Lady Brienne to come to your chambers," the girl says, her voice and gestures frantic. Jaime pats her on the shoulder, "Thank you for telling me the truth. You needn't worry. I won't let the Queen know that you shared that secret with me."
He reaches into his pocket to take out a few dragons he hands to the girl, "For your honesty. Just make sure you don't use it up at once, or else the Queen might suspect a thing, alright?"
"Yes, Ser, thanks, Ser, and… and sorry, Ser, I didn't mean to do any bad," she looks at him with huge eyes.
"It is alright. You had no choice, Steph. So now, be on your way. You did everything right," he assures her. The raven girl hurries away, stuffing the dragons into a small pouch she keeps beneath her clothes, before disappearing in the next hallway.
"Jaime!"
The knight turns around at once, fearing that he was caught after all, but only finds Tyrion and Pod approaching.
"Gods, I told you time and time again that sneaking up on people is disgraceful," Jaime grunts.
"Yeah, since you did that once a little too successfully with our former King, ey?" he huffs, though Jaime knows how to take Tyrion's comments, with a sense of humour, and preferably a cup of wine. "I've talked to Father another time. He's steadfast on having me ask for Brienne's hand. I wouldn't be surprised if Cersei didn't push him further. This is her one reassurance that she gets her will at last, especially since she gets my head as an extra if I don't give in. I will sail tomorrow morn… you look a bit distressed, and that even though I had to talk to the old man about this forced union."
Jaime pulls the dwarf closer, "I just talked to the maid who was responsible for Brienne during her last stay here. She was the one who delivered the message to Brienne to come to my room, and she was the one who's put the letters there, after Cersei asked her for it."
"Hm, since I don't think we should punish a young girl for doing what her Queen's asked her for, I don't see how that contributes to what we already know," Tyrion grimaces.
"She came with her to King's Landing during the melee, too. She's spied on us during the fair," Jaime goes on.
"Oh, that little viper," Tyrion narrows his eyes angrily.
"She's said to Cersei that she and I seemed close, because we linked arms that night," Jaime goes on.
"I am ever the more under the impression that Brienne's ventail broke not only by chance," Tyrion huffs.
"I fear so, too," Jaime nods.
"Well, that explains that, but we have to think of our next steps," Tyrion argues.
"There are next steps other than you packing your bags for Tarth?" Jaime grimaces.
"In fact there are," Tyrion nods. "C'mon, you will accompany me to see Maester Pycelle."
"I thought we agreed on that we hate him?" Jaime grimaces, tagging along anyway as Tyrion starts to move, Pod short up behind them.
"And that is what I will always say straight to the old bastard's face," Tyrion shrugs. "No, no, I want to ask him a few questions."
The three make their way to the Maester's room.
"Pod? You'll be so good and make sure we aren't interrupted, yes?" Tyrion tells him, and Pod nods in understanding, "Of course, Lord Tyrion. If someone comes, I shall let you know."
"That's my boy," Tyrion chuckles, clapping him on the thigh before walking inside along with Jaime.
"Ser Jaime, Lord Tyrion. What brings you here?" the old man questions, almost dropping the glasses he had in his hands.
"We wanted to have a private word with you," Tyrion says with fake glee. "We need your expertise."
"Well, I hope I can be of help," Maester Pycelle replies.
"We can only hope so for you, too," Jaime shrugs, making the old man frown, his features tensing visibly.
"Do you know a man by name Duvall? A Maester, from Tarth?" Tyrion asks in a calm voice, glancing at his fingernails.
"I… No, that name doesn't sound familiar, I am sorry," the man blinks at them.
"Oh, then maybe his alter ego, Jaden Tar? They used to call him Jaden Dice because he was so much into rolling the dice in the hope of a bit of wealth?" Tyrion questions.
"As I said, I know no man of that name. If that is all, then…," Pycelle says, whirling around as suddenly Jaime draws his sword from its sheath and has the man pinned down on the table, the glasses rattling.
"By the Gods, let me go!" the man shrieks. "I am a Maester, an honourable man of the Small Council, I…"
"You are an old manwhore who is good for nothing," Tyrion corrects him, stepping closer. "Now, since we know that your memory tends to fail you, we will push your mind a little in the right direction. Regard the sword to your gooseneck as a small reminder of the urgency of our request."
"Help!" Maester Pycelle means to scream, but Jaime tightens his grip on him. "The next time I hear you cry out, my sword will strike somewhere beside your throat."
His sword hovers over his lower body threateningly to underline the point.
"Which would be a pity, truly, after all, it brings you so much delight," Tyrion chuckles softly. "So now, back to our question. Yes or no, do you know Maester Duvall, formerly known as Jaden Tar, or Jaden Dice?"
"Yes, yes. He's an old friend of mine," he admits.
Some men are bears.
Some men are hares.
And some are nothing but mice.
"Now, was that so difficult?" Tyrion exhales. "So now, since you are the personal physician of the royal family, we need to know one more little thing. And you'd better not be lying to us, or else your little thing might be fed to the dogs little time from now."
"You would not," Maester Pycelle looks at Tyrion, then at Jaime, who shrugs, "I stabbed a King from behind. Do you really think I bother about cutting off an old Maester's cock?"
"We want to know if the Queen is with child. She must have sought you out about the matter, if she is. How else would she have certainty, right?" Tyrion asks.
"I, I can't just give out such personal information, by my honour," the old man insists weakly, but the cold steel of Jaime's sword pressing against the man's crotch is enough to draw out the truth with a girlish shriek. "No, no, she cannot be. I am most certain! Just put that sword away! Put it away!"
"How do you know for certain?" Tyrion asks, unimpressed.
"Put it away!" Pycelle keeps cursing.
"I wouldn't wriggle so much, or else you'll end up cutting yourself," Jaime adds, unimpressed, as the man shifts against his iron grip.
"She sought me out only just yesterday, for a brew I always make her to help with the cramps the women get every moon," the Maester says nervously.
"And it can't be used for something else?" Tyrion asks.
"No, no, it just eases these cramps. That's what it's for, nothing else. So she surely isn't with child," Maester Pycelle shrieks, at least one octave higher in tone.
"Now, was that so difficult?" Tyrion says in a mocking tone, tapping the old man on the cheek, pulling on his beard teasingly once. He nods at Jaime, who withdraws his sword and releases the man from his iron grip.
"And I will be so kind to remind you once: If you dare to say anything to anyone about our little conversation here… let's just say that my brother mastered the arts of sneaking up on people. I wouldn't wonder if your member disappeared while you are deep in slumber, if not your entire life along with it… and even if not… I may or may not tell others about your adventures in Lord Baelish's exclusive establishment. I don't know if King Robert would trust a man who is nothing but an old whore and forgets how to mix the right brews in years," Tyrion tells him a light tone, though the old man gets the serious threat hidden behind the feigned smile.
"I am really sneaky," Jaime adds with a sinister grin.
"I… I understand. This conversation never took place," Maester Pycelle says, bowing his head.
"What conversation?" Tyrion chuckles as the two make their way out the door, leaving the Maester falling onto his chair, breathing hard.
"You should definitely clean that sword thoroughly. Who knows what he has on him," Tyrion makes a face.
"I fear I will have to throw it away," Jaime grimaces, but then lets out a sigh of pure relief.
No child.
No bastard.
Just his incestuous sin, but no child that will be born bearing this mark.
"I'd say we have one problem less now," Tyrion says, licking his lips, as he, Jaime, and Pod start to walk down the corridors again.
One step forward at last.
However much that will be worth now, given that they are still caught up in a maze.