JAIME
The wind skirled long and loud in the branches of the yews, and the red banners danced like leaves in the breeze. Jaime wore the cloak high around his shoulders, and felt a little like a Northerner whenever the fur lining brushed against the back of his neck.
The mantle belonged to one Ser Forley Prester. The badge on its breast was the carmine ox of Feastfires, but the knight had given it to his liege lord's son to keep him shielded from the chill. The cold had nipped at their small party all the way from Fairmarket, and crossing the Trident over Torrhen's Bridge they had not even had the treeline to keep the worst of the wind away. A fine frost had settled over everything in sight; winter was making a steady but sure path over the Riverlands. A cousin of Lord Brax had ridden his horse into the river, and drowned beneath the ice.
The Starks are laughing at us, even now, he thought, and winter is coming.
It was not long before he was remembering Brienne. He could see them on the horizon, vague and indistinct like murky inblots. And even though he knew they were far away, he did not want to believe it.
I am lonely.
There wasPodrick Payne, wrapped up in a threadbare cloak sewn with brown and black squares, struggling to keep his rounsey in hand, alongside Brienne of Tarth.
Brienne the Beauty.
"You swore an oath, ser," he could hear her saying.
"I have broken far too many vows in my time," Jaime whispered to no one in particular. "I have no intention of breaking another. On my honour." On what little honour remains to me.
"Your honour," the wind said, no hint of scorn or disbelief or anything at all in its familiar voice. "Upon your honour. I swore a vow, ser, to find Sansa Stark. She is not at Riverrun, is she? She is north or east of here, in the Vale, perhaps, but she is not hiding behind Brynden Tully."
"She could be." He paused. "Unlikely, though… I am sorry, Brienne. I thought that we could-
"You are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," Brienne's voice said sternly, rising up from all around him, like a fog. "You know the rules of the white cloak." I did, once. But then my sister crawled into my bed; Cersei in the morning, Cersei in the afternoon, Cersei in the evening. And now I am the father to three children, and the father to the bloodiest war the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen.
The destruction the War of the Five Kings had left was all around him, as much a part of the landscape as the trees and the hills. When the Seven Kingdoms quarrel, it is always the Riverlands that takes the brunt of it.
She came back for me. She didn't have to, but she did.
It was two more hours before he could see Riverrun, and by then it had begun to drizzle, fat drops of water that trickled down his cheeks and into his beard. The rain tastes of tears, Jaime thought. The last time he had seen the castle, surrounded on all sides by a fast-moving moat, the banners of Tully still flew, and there had been three camps on each side of the river. But now there was only one, and he could see red tents rising up, along with the gallows he had heard so much about. Perhaps if the fog faded, he would see Ser Edmure Tully in the flesh.
The only time Jaime had come here prior to his imprisonment was when he was a squire of about twelve. Lord Hoster had wanted to match him to the silken sow he called his daughter Lysa, yet the only thing Jaime had been interested in were the war stories of Lord Hoster's brother, Brynden Blackfish. Every boy wanted to be a knight. Every boy still does, I think.
Forley Prester was galloping to the front of the column, and Jaime turned his mount to follow him towards the Lannister banners and the royal standards. There must have been ten or fifteen knights ahorse there, clad in mail and plate-
And some all in white.
"Ser… Meryn?" What in seven bloody hells is Meryn Trant doing all the way out here? He did not know if that was a good thing or bad. "And Ser… uncle?"
Kevan Lannister emerged from a patch of fog, his red steed whinnying as he did so. His surcoat bore a badge Jaime had never seen before; two golden lions on a crimson field. Has Kevan finally stepped out of my father's shadow? he wondered, but doubted his own thoughts. No, Kevan was surely here on Lord Tywin's orders. Two of his sons stood around him wearing the same coat of arms, and Lancel was a little ways off to the right. He wore a strange red gambeson that seemed half-like a robe. Lancel looked marginally less thin than when Jaime had last seen him a matter of weeks ago, and even attempted a cordial nod in his direction.
She's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know.
"Ser Forley," said Kevan. "I see you have returned my nephew. Alive. But… what became of Ser Daven?"
"Broken nose," grunted Ser Forley.
"Yes," said Jaime. "But Ser Forley has been very accommodating towards me. Now, if I may ask, uncle, why are you here?"
"Your lord father sent me with the express purpose of finding you and subjugating the southern riverlands. We have captured Blackwood Vale and Raventree already-
"But it seems that the Blackfish is not ready to break. Not just yet, at least."
"Indeed." His uncle nodded. "His resistance infuriates the Freys to no end, and half the problems we have are making sure Ryman and Emmon do not kill each other. And Black Walder will soon be here also."
Oh, joy, Jaime thought.
Lord Tywin had promised Riverrun to his sister Lady Genna's husband, a second son of old Walder Frey, but Ser Emmon was yet to set foot in his new castle, and frequently forgot that Lord Petyr Baelish was the one ruling over the region as lord of Harrenhal.
"They had Edmure Tully up on a gallows the last I heard," he told his uncle. "But that was a long time ago. I presume that the Freys did not go through with their hollow threat, and the Blackfish remains as bold as ever."
Ser Kevan nodded. "Brynden Tully stocked the castle cellars and returned all the castle folk to safety inside the walls before flooding the ditches. From my estimates, Riverrun could hold out for a year, maybe more. Still, that does not deter the Freys."
"We don't have a year. As long as the castle holds, the few northmen still loyal to the Young Wolf will believe that they can still defy the Iron Throne." And the longer we have to wait, the longer Jeyne Westerling has to give birth to a Northern heir. And Kingslayer I may be, but I draw a line at murdering newborns. At least, I hope so.
Kevan nodded. "Tytos Blackwood was a pain in the arse. The man refused to kneel, and his son had to take the oath for him. Nothing has changed in the week we have been here. Every morning, Ser Ryman strings Edmure Tully up on a noose in full view of the ramparts, and every night he cuts him down."
"May I ask, why did you choose to depart? Ser Lyle arrived here the day before us, and he is not the only one to tell us that you ran off with the wench. Your squire, the Peckledon lad; he said much the same, as did Lancel."
"Aye," said his cousin.
Jaime squinted at them. "Said what?"
"That you left with Brienne of Tarth, Lord Selwyn's daughter. Kingsguard to Renly Baratheon. Your kidnapper."
"She is gone."
"She will be found." He could see his father in the man's eyes.
"What… what do you mean to do with her?"
Ser Kevan showed no emotion. "The king's justice," he said bluntly. "And from the sound of it, Randyll Tarly's men were happy to help with the search."
She will be raped, Jaime knew, dragged back to the capital in chains before my father and my sweet sister.
He did not know how it happened, but Jaime stepped found himself shouting in protestation. "You cannot mean it," he said. "Brienne has done nothing wrong."
Ser Kevan looked almost apologetic. "It is by the command of your lord father and the king, Jaime. I cannot go against his word. Tyrion attempted to make a case for the wench, but in Tywin's eyes she has kidnapped you, and will answer for your justice. You are welcome to take it up with the king-
"What?" His eyes scanned the crowd, and once again, they found Ser Meryn Trant. "Ser, why are you here?"
The knight looked up, curiously confused. "Ser Jaime? Where the king goes, the Kingsguard follows."
"The king – he is here?" Seven hells, what has happened? What is going on? He could feel a sinking pit in his stomach. Nephew. My son. Cersei, my son. The son that I held. He had never held Joffrey as a child, but Myrcella and Tommen had been more than content to ride on his shoulders and run up and hug his legs, but he had only ever truly known his daughter; only ever truly loved his daughter, in the loosest sense of the word.
"Did you not see the standards?" Kevan asked. "King Tommen is here. Your lord father sent him with me also, to teach him the ways of warfare, and because he wanted to help the support the men, which is rather laudable. You were only fifteen when-
"When Roland Crakehall sent me to help destroy the Kingswood Brotherhood. I killed a man for the first time that day… and remembered his face for nigh upon a year afterwards. War does terrible things to people. I do not want-
"What you want has no bearing on anything," his uncle said, a little coldly. He pressed his lips into an angry frown. "We all must have things done to us that we do not overly appreciate, and it seems I have to seize the Tarth woman."
So, he does not want to…
"I will see the king about it first, then, and endeavour to convince him otherwise. I would say that His Grace's authority supercedes even that of my father."
Kevan smiled. "I wouldn't be so sure."
Jaime was not quite sure either. We are seven disparate kingdoms sworn to a hundred lords, each with our own hopes and dreams, but we are all united in fear of Tywin Lannister.
"Come now, Jaime," said his uncle. He jumped down from his horse and went, but only half-willingly.
The tents were a city beneath the walls of Riverrun. The Lannister command tent perched high on a grassy hill that boasted impressive views of the land around. From the tentpole flew the crowned stag of Baratheon and the lion of Lannister, combatant. Below, upwards of four thousand footmen camped in muddy fields that were waterlogged in places from when the Trident had burst its banks during Robb Stark's war. Some of them had been out here for two months now, and their banners were faded and caked so thickly with river mud that they appeared more Tully umber than Lannister crimson. The Freys had brought with them about fifteen hundred men, and it was those men that he could see squabbling around their cookfires, and drilling with their sergeants. The smell of burnt blood sausage and ale-breath wafted into the air, and the measured sound of military drums and the clanging of metal warred beneath a cloudless sky. On the slope of the hill were a hundred tents belonging to the westerlander lords, small mountains of fabric capped by banners of a thousand colours – sunburnt reds, flaming oranges, blues both deep and downcast. Among them he spotted Crakehall's brindled boar (and Ser Lyle himself, drinking with those who were clearly unable to outdrink him), the purple unicorn of Tytos Brax, and the pepper-pots of House Spicer. The last sigil reminded him of Lord Gawen Westerling and his family, still inside the castle, including the girl who had been the Young Wolf's widow. Jeyne. And the longer she remained there, the more the rumours would grow and grow. The king's tent stood proud and tall above the rest, commanding the hillside with such an impressive presence that the dewy grasses seemed to part before it.
He found his aunt first. Lady Genna might be a Frey by marriage, but her tent was in the Lannister colours of red and gold, and she stood in the entrance as though she had been waiting there for hours, just for him. When she started calling his name, he could hardly deny her his company.
"Jaime!" she shouted, for half the camp to hear, and came forwards and gave him two sloppy kisses, one on each cheek, and brushed his hair back. And Jaime Lannister felt like half a boy again.
Ser Kevan stopped behind him. "Genna," he said. "Jaime was just-
"Oh, leave us alone, Kevan. Go and talk to that boring boy-king for a bit, or try and convert your son back to the realms of the living. I would speak with my nephew awhile. Alone. We have a lot to talk about." She flicked her skirts a little, as if to usher Kevan away. He turned on his heel and stalked off.
"Lady aunt," Jaime said.
"I've been a lady my whole life, Jaime, and I'm tired of it." She turned, and beckoned him into the tent. "Will you take wine?"
"No, thank you. I-
Lady Genna filled a cup for him anyway, and ushered him to a seat. "I suppose wine was always more Cersei's thing, but you need some amusement in your life, Jaime. I daresay sitting around and safeguarding a king would get a little dull after a while. Tell me, does your decision seem worth it now. To join the Kingsguard? And all for her?"
"What do you mean?"
His aunt chuckled; her rolling laughter seemed to shake the tent itself. "I may be getting on a bit, but I'm not stupid, Jaime. And I know the reason you left Casterly Rock and offered to join the Kingsguard, and frankly I was shocked, and I've never gotten over the disappointment. Your future, your hope of a wife-
"I never wanted a wife."
"Then what do you want of Cersei? If she fell on her knees, and offered to wed you here and now, today; what would you say?" Jaime did not answer, so she continued. "I wonder; what if the big knight woman asked you the same question?"
"Brienne," he said. "Her name is Brienne."
Lady Genna smiled. "I know. Brienne the Beauty. But we were talking of Cersei – are you aware that your lord father intends to marry her off soon. She is not too old to bear another child, undeniably beautiful, known to be fertile, and the mother of the king. Whomever she weds will have the potential to wield great power over young Tommen. The question is not will she be married, but to whom she will be married. A month ago I would have named the Red Viper of Dorne without a doubt, but with the situation in the capital-
"What situation?"
Cersei, what have you done? Oh, gods, has Tyrion-
"Your sister has had Prince Oberyn arrested on charges of murdering King Joffrey," Lady Genna told him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Kevan tells me that he sent Clegane to King's Landing to fight the Red Viper in a trial by combat. He couldn't stay at Harrenhal, so they had a run in with some-
"Outlaws." Jaime knew what she was going to say, somehow.
"Yes…" his aunt said quietly. "Did he tell you about them?"
"I heard."
"Oh?" Lady Genna raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid they fled before we could do anything. A shame. They might have helped reduce the number of Freys. Lord Walder's brood are a rude lot, I must say. One of them called me 'a fat sow in silk', but I wasn't really all that insulted by it. It's not me who'll be hanged."
"Hanged? Doesn't that seem a little-
"Drastic? Not at all. The only thing I don't understand is why he's waited so long to do it, though perhaps he's waiting for the gallows to be freed up; Ser Ryman is taking his own sweet time hanging Edmure Tully."
"Mayhaps that is for the best."
His aunt seemed to disagree. "As long as Ser Edmure and the Blackfish live, the Tullys can lay claim to Riverrun; sadly, your uncle and your father both seem adamant to offer him clemency and keep him as a... guest at Casterly Rock. And it also means that Emmon is getting more and more paranoid by the second that some Northern host will swoop out of the trees and fall upon the camp like… well, like a pack of wolves. And with Robb Stark leading them, no less. I daresay that most in this region would be glad to be rid of the Freys." She reached across and patted his hand. "A good thing I am a Lannister first and foremost. Now, we shall have more time to talk with one another this evening, Jaime. Kevan will be there as well, and his sons; Emmon too – regrettably – and my slightly more interesting sons and considerably more interesting grandsons. Have you met my grandsons?"
He shook his head. "No, but I met Ser Cleos. I was sorry to-
"Don't lie to me, Jaime. Cleos was a dullard, and a bit of an idiot. Well, more than a bit. No doubt the woman you travelled with is considerably more interesting; perhaps you might bring… er… Lady Brienne, was it? Yes, Lady Brienne – or Ser Brienne, whichever she prefers – anyway, I am in the mood for some amusement tonight, so you are welcome to bring her along to… some of the men are already calling her the Kingslayer's whore, though, so you might want to stay away from one another for a while." She is not the Kingslayer's whore, Jaime thought, that title already belongs to Cersei. "Oh," said Lady Genna, "And while you're at it you might as well bring your son, too, though I fear that Tywin has gotten into his head, and he is beginning to turn out dreadfully boring. May I suggest that you partake in some sort of father-and-son activity before he becomes Tywin's shadow, like Tygett was for much of his life."
"My son?" Jaime looked at her in confusion, but his act was not quite good enough, it seemed.
Lady Genna laughed at his expression. "Your son indeed, Jaime. Like I said, I am not blind."
"How long have you known?"
She spread her arms as if moving to hug him. "Oh, years, and I am not alone in that. Oddly, I think Gerion was the first to have had an inkling, and Kevan knows for sure, though we have both sworn never to tell Tywin. For his sake as much as yours. You know that it would break him. Anyway, I suppose you must go. Go and see your son."
He left her there.
Climbing to the entrance of the royal tent, he recognised Ser Arys Oakheart, his white cloak clasped about his throat by a pair of oak leaves. "Ser Jaime," said the knight. "The king is within. I should imagine he will pleased to see you."
He was wrong. It was a good few seconds before the king looked up from the spread of maps to acknowledge him. Jaime found himself admiring the boy's curious yet knowing gaze as he looked down upon the wooden lions that crowded together on one side of the blue line that was the Trident. A smaller number of trouts were sitting across the river, their mouths open to the sky. King Tommen was sitting behind the desk, clad head to toe in a padded gambeson, and a breastplate with the Lannister lion in silver. He looked half a lion himself, Jaime thought… he looks like me…
I am the Kingmaker.
"Ser uncle," said the boy. "I was not aware of your arrival."
"Your Grace. I hope I find you well."
"You do not need to be so formal with me, uncle." To prove his point, he stood from his chair and walked around to give him an awkward hug. The strangest thing was that Jaime found himself hoping that it would last a little longer. "I was worried for you."
"There was no need to worry for me, Your Grace. I have a duty to you as my king, aye… and something to thank you for as well."
Tommen shrugged and threw up his hands. "Please, sit." He gestured to the flagon of blackberry wine and poured them both a cup. Jaime sank gratefully into the seat.
"My brother. Tyrion. You saved him, when it seemed certain that he would die. And that is a debt I cannot repay, nephew." He wanted to say 'son'. For one mad moment, he thought, let them know it all. Let them know everything. I only see what matters. "Though I must ask… why did you save him? I would die for my brother, and I would die happily. I would do anything for him, and I would never betray him."
Except once. But Tyrion doesn't know that.
"But you are no more than his nephew, and you cannot be expected to take responsibility for him. So… why?"
"Because I had to. I had to."
Jaime paused, and sipped his wine, choosing his words carefully. "Did you not think it would make you look… weak?"
"Where is the weakness in doing what is right, uncle? It was justice. I-I - you saw what Joffrey was. Perhaps you were unable to do anything about it, but you saw. Do you remember Merry? My pet fawn?" His eyes flashed green with anger, then soothed, and that moment frightened him. Because in that moment he saw Tywin Lannister in those eyes. "Joff skinned him alive," Tommen said. "He said he was doing me a kindness. He said he was making me stronger… and I still don't understand… why anybody, anybody, would ever do such a thing as end an innocent life?" His voice became strangled and weak, as though he was holding back tears. "And I have the answer, I think. Because there's no justice in this world. Not in this life. Not unless we make it for ourselves."
This game we play never ends, thought Jaime, not in my lifetime and not in yours. Not ever. Not ever. "I don't know," Jaime said helplessly. "But thank you all the same. What you did that day was… noble. Honourable."
Tommen stared at him, then to the floor. "Family. Duty. Honor. They're just words, but they don't mean anything. Not anymore. Don't you see what we're doing, uncle, all of us, hurting each other for no good reason?"
Yes. Every minute of every day. "Sometimes. The world is a harsh place, Tommen. Sometimes a man has to be brave."
His nephew – (no, his bloody son) - looked at him with something akin to fear in his eyes. A fear Jaime could not understand. Am I supposed to help him, comfort him, or what? When he spoke, his voice was small. "Can a man be brave when he is afraid?"
Jaime Lannister could see himself in those words. Plunging the sword into Aerys Targaryen's back and ending the reign of the dragons had been brave in a way, but the catalyst for all of it had been fear. Fear and blood. Jumping into the pit to rescue Brienne of Tarth from the bear had been a brave act, but it was motivated through the fear that he might lose his honour forever. Resisting Lord Tywin's offer to rescind his oath and following through on his vow as a Kingsguard had been a small act of bravery, but half of that was fear. Fear of himself.
And he knew.
"Yes," he said. "That is the only time a man can be brave."