JAIME
The raven arrived in the morning, when they were all breaking their fast in Lord Emmon's solar, a room that once been Edmure Tully's and Hoster Tully's and a hundred other Tully lords before them.
Maester Vyman – who had served the last two lords and seemed content to serve another – brought the message to them at once, wearing an indecipherable expression, then hovered around the table for a bit, as though unsure what to do with it. "Seven hells, man!" Lady Genna shouted, so loud that both the candelabra and her husband visibly shook. "Do you mean to give us the bloody letter or do you intend to dance with it?"
The maester nodded, and then tried to pass it to Jaime's golden hand, so that he had to lean across to take it. "My lord," Vyman mumbled. The seal was a Lannister lion, and Jaime had some trouble opening it up.
"It's for you, nuncle," he said, after reading it. "Father seems pleased at our victory."
Jaime doubted his words, though. It was not easy to please Lord Tywin Lannister, as such. "He wants to you to go west, uncle."
"What do the words say, Jaime?" asked his aunt. "Surely it cannot be that difficult to understand?"
He read, "Ser Kevan is to be granted the Lordship of Castamere, to be held by his sons and his son's sons until the end of days… and I am to return to the Rock, apparently, to fulfil my duties…"
He watched his uncle rise. "It seems I must make for Casterly Rock, then. And for Castamere. The mines will still be flooded, but-
"What will you do with your sons?" asked Lady Genna.
"Lancel should remain here, if that suits you, Genna. I fear returning him to his mother would serve only to make him more pious than ever. The boy is rather too old to have sense beaten into him, as such, but living with you for a time will certainly teach him something before we send him back to Darry. The twins… Willem will inherit Castamere someday, while Lancel holds Darry, so best I take them back with me, and they will want to see their mother and sister again. As do I."
"Give Dorna my love, brother. And little Janei too. She must be… what… six or seven by now?"
"…Yes. Her seventh nameday is only a few weeks away."
"I'll be sure to send her something nice. I have a few necklaces that I don't need anymore."
Kevan nodded briefly. "We'll be leaving with the king, then. When he rides east, we'll ride west, and I'll take… Strongboar and Ser Humfrey Swyft. Dorna will want to see one of her brothers, at least. Jaime, you should come with me. There are things that… Tywin wanted me to show you. Something at the Rock."
"Is that why you brought me all the way out here?" Jaime asked. He had suspected all along, but until now he had never felt sure.
His aunt nodded carefully. "You should go."
He coughed. Another time, he might have argued, but he did not have the willpower to do so anymore. "Very well. When do we depart?"
"At noon," Ser Kevan said. "But the king has duties for you, I hear."
"Indeed. Then I will see you shortly, uncle," Jaime told him, and watched him go. The moment Kevan was out of the room, Lady Genna grabbed his arm suddenly and forced him back down into his seat.
"You sound hesitant," she said.
"I have no desire to go to the Rock," he told her honestly.
"Tell me that you don't intend to continue with this folly of a glorified bodyguard duty and give up your birthright," she hissed.
"I have no sons to continue our line-
His aunt stared at him knowingly.
"I have no sons legally," he told her. "And I have no intention to marry. The Rock will pass to Tyrion in time either way."
"Your father will never allow it."
"My father will be dead by the time Tyrion inherits, and I will not stop him from taking what is owed to him."
Lady Genna shook her head. "But I will. And then we will be fighting over Casterly Rock for many years to come. We would have to find the Stark girl again for Tyrion to marry if his descendants are to have any claim, and she would have to give him two sons, one to be the heir to the Rock, and another for Winterfell. Surely it would be better to have stability for time, and to have you consolidate yourself as the heir."
"No." His voice was thick and not his own. "I am a knight of the Kingsguard. I shall die a knight of the Kingsguard."
Lady Genna stood, her face twisting. "Why, you little wretch," she snarled. "Tywin has placed all his trust-
"I don't care about my father's trust!"
"He gave up everything for you, Jaime! He loves you!"
He shook his head. "I have never seen his… love. If you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to. The king needs me. My son needs me." He turned away angrily, and crossed over the yard, watching the river below.
The Tumblestone ran swiftly to the north of the walls, a steady rainfall filling it more and more by the second, while the Red Fork meandered by more slowly to the south, silty and thick with mud. On the opposite bank of the river, the Freys were packing up their tan-coloured tents and assembling into an imperfect column of men as the rain fell all around them. And the sooner they are gone, the better, thought Jaime. Especially Black Walder. A few of the Freys would be returning to the Twins for a short while, to retrieve his cousin Daven's maiden bride, but the wedding would be here at Riverrun.
And tensions were high among them. Ser Manfryd Yew had found the corpse of Ryman Frey yesterday morning, drowned in the Red Fork, his body bloated and discoloured a choleric yellow. His son had assumed that he had fallen, and said that a man as fat as his father would be unable to swim, but that did not explain the sharp red line across his throat. Jaime did not believe a word of it.
Perhaps Black Walder Frey wanted them all to know what he was capable of, and certainly Jaime would not be so keen to underestimate him again.
After Ser Ryman's demise, the rest of the Freys had erupted into violence, turning on one another for vengeance, honour, or nothing save for need of a good fight. Jaime might have desired a good fight, but whomever he fought would likely have no trouble against a one-handed man. By noon, three men had died, at least six men had taken Ser Ryman's queen o' the whores to bed, and someone had set the forest on fire. No matter what treaties and agreements had been signed, things were far from peaceful here.
He stepped neatly past Meryn Trant, rapped his golden hand against the door of the lord's bedchamber, waited a moment, then stepped forwards and opened the door.
"Uncle," the king said.
Jaime inclined his head slightly. "Good day, Your Grace."
"Don't call me 'Your Grace'," Tommen replied, sounding slightly annoyed. "It's bad enough that they won't stop saying it in King's Landing, uncle, and I don't want you to be the same…"
He coughed awkwardly. Uncle, you say… "I have told Ser Emmon to bring Edmure Tully here, as planned. Hopefully he might be able to shed some light on what happened with the Blackfish."
"Has he fled Riverrun for sure?"
"I don't see where else he could have gone, nephew." Son. "Unless he is hiding out in the kitchens somewhere, which I believe would be too mundane for someone like Brynden Blackfish. I suppose we shall find out if the cooks poison our food." When Jaime remembered what had happened to Joff, his remark seemed a little inappropriate. "My apologies, Your Grace. I did not mean to make a mockery of your royal brother…"
"No," said Tommen. "It's… fine. Ser, that pie has given me more enjoyment than anything else in fourteen years."
"Oh." Joffrey was my seed, nothing more than that, Jaime reminded himself. And so is Tommen. The boy might look similar to how Jaime had in his youth, but he would never be Jaime Lannister. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honour.
"Ser…" The boy sounded worried, even afraid. "Ser… do you think… do you think I did well? Here?"
Jaime smiled slightly. "You did very well indeed, Tommen. Your brother would never have come out here like you did, much less dared to negotiate with someone as slippery as Brynden Tully. There are just a few things to clear up, and then we can all – well, you can go home."
"Ser… what do you mean? Aren't you coming with me?"
He shook his head. "My father… wants me to… prove myself his heir. I fear I must return to Casterly Rock for a short while, to… finish up his affairs, but I have half a mind to go back to King's Landing." And half a mind to go back to Cersei's bed. And half a mind to find Brienne of Tarth, and find her missing maiden. And half a mind to say 'fuck them all' and flee across the Narrow Sea to a place where a man isn't judged by his name, or the number of kings he has slain. It was wishful thinking, though; if he dared to deviate from his father's plans, Ser Kevan would drag him back to Casterly Rock by his ankles.
And if Jaime had to go to hell, he would sooner ride there ahorse.
"You want to go back to King's Landing?" said Tommen. "Then… why don't you?"
Jaime smiled weakly. "I have no reason to return to King's Landing. Best I go somewhere where I can do some actual good, for once."
"But you're my Kingsguard. You're my uncle."
I'm certainly your Kingsguard, but... "There are six other brothers to guard you, Your Grace. And what use will you have for a one-handed man who can't even fight properly anymore? Surely there are more worthy knights to protect the king than the Kingslayer."
Tommen snorted derisively. "Like Meryn Trant and Boros Blount? Half of the Kingsguard would kill me if Lord Tywin ordered them to, and the other half are loyal to Varys, Littlefinger, and Seven only knows who else. You have proven yourself to be loyal, ser uncle."
For one mad moment, Jaime was tempted to stand and tell Tommen – to tell his son – the truth - all of it, and to hell with the consequences. He isn't my seed, he realised, all of a sudden. He's my son. The only son I'll ever truly have. And… he can never know it. Never.
Seven hells, what have I done?
Another knock sounded at the door.
"Ser Edmure Tully, Your Grace," Meryn Trant called from outside.
"Send him in," Jaime ordered.
Edmure wore plain breeches and a blue tunic, and about his shoulders a grey cape with the Tully trout stitched onto it in red and blue thread. The clothes did little for his appearance, though. The former lord of Riverrun looked younger than he had when they had pulled him down from the scaffold, but his eyes were tired and all the determination and the fight had gone out of them. War, Jaime thought, the things it does to men.
He did not even bother to bow. "What do you want with me, Kingslayer? Am I not your honoured guest, to be granted the freedoms of Riverrun as I please?"
"Aye," said Jaime. "And you will remain here for the time being, as per my lord father's decree. He believes can do more good here in Riverrun than you ever can in Casterly Rock, ser. The lords of the Riverlands will not be so quick to bow before the Freys and Petyr Baelish, but they love their Tully overlords, or so I have heard."
Edmure's voice was a thin whisper. "Correct."
"I am sorry for the change in plan. I know you were looking forwards to visiting Casterly Rock."
Tully grimaced. "You have no idea."
"Oh, I do. You see, the offer is somewhat simpler than I had anticipated. The Blackfish, Edmure. Ser Brynden. Where is he?"
The lord of Riverrun shrugged. "I haven't a clue. He can't have gone far, though. Have you tried the cellars?"
Jaime grimaced. "Ser, it appears that you misunderstand me. I will have Brynden Tully, alive… or dead if needs be, else your head will adorn a pike on the walls of Riverrun. Nay, forget that. Your wife's head." He felt only a little better about that. Killing Edmure would be forgetting his vow to Lady Catelyn, but killing Roslin... he prayed that it did not come to that, and if it did, then he prayed that someone would be willing to swing the sword for him.
"Roslin," breathed Edmure.
"Aye. And her babe. Both of them, Edmure. The Blackfish is an old done man, now, but Roslin has so long to live. The two of you could remain here happily in freedom – well, freedom within the terms of our agreement. You would assist Lord Frey-
"I'd sooner feed my balls to a goat."
"Very well; I'm sure we can find a goat somewhere. But would you sooner see your wife's head impaled on a pike? Riverrun belongs to the Lannisters now, Edmure. You have nothing to lose – well, nothing more to lose. Roslin or the Blackfish. Your choice… and I might throw in a few of the castlefolk as well. The old ones who might have known the Blackfish, and the younger ones who he might have taught to fight."
"You threaten innocent people?"
"Yes." The words Jaime was speaking made him feel sick. If he was a braver man, he might have set out after the Blackfish himself, but they had Lancel Lannister for that. Ser Kevan had been convinced that his eldest son would be able to do some good during the campaign save for offering blessings to anyone who would take them.
"You disgust me, Kingslayer." He shook his head, and turned to Tommen. "Your Grace. I beg that you do not make me choose… this is impossible."
The king smiled. "So you do know where Ser Brynden is?"
A pause. "No." But the false words had already slipped out of his mouth, and it was too late to hide them.
"Ser." Jaime tried to sound apologetic. "I know this must be difficult, but it is for the greater good-
"Why Roslin?" interrupted Tully. "Why not me? Why not kill me instead?"
"Because then you would agree," said Tommen.
Ser Edmure swallowed, looked down, and picked at his nails. "May I think on this?" he asked.
"Of course," said the king. "Have as long as – actually, you have a day. No more than that."
Tully went. This time he bowed as he left.
When it was done, Jaime went over to his nephew. "There are the Westerlings to deal with next, and Ser Emmon will need reassurance of something or the other. You should go outside. Find your friends. Winter is coming, and soon we will not have time for idle talk and jokes." He sounded a hundred years old.
Tommen looked as though he might argue, but then he looked outside, and Jaime followed his gaze. Snow. The rain had died quicker than he had thought possible, and large white fragments were falling like clouds over the ground. And when Tommen turned back, for the first time in days, he was smiling. Jaime watched him go, waited a few moments, watching as the snowflakes danced through the sky, lower and lower, then crossed over to the fire, warmed his hands, and walked out through the other door out into the courtyard. Below he could see little Lew Piper and Tyg Sarsfield, and he kept watching until his own son ran out to join them.
He's a boy, Jaime knew, no matter what he thinks. And so he kept walking.
The Westerlings were waiting for him when he got there, stood to attention as though awaiting some sort of inspection; mother and daughter both. Lady Sybell was a handsome sort of woman, but not especially beautiful. Her skin was kissed by the sun and her big brown eyes were enchanting, but age had clearly had an effect on her. And then there was Jeyne herself. She had chestnut-coloured hair and her mother's eyes, small breasts, and narrow hips.
A girl to fight for, but not to die for, Jaime thought. He saw that her long blue dress was torn in places, the silk falling apart around her ankles and little more than threads at her wrists.
Lady Sybell dipped into a curtsey, her velvet gown billowing about her feet. "My lord," she said.
"My ladies," Jaime replied. They stood awkwardly for a long time, the older woman staring into his eyes while the girl who had been Robb Stark's queen stared at her feet and kicked idly at nothing. "I trust you have been well treated."
The girl did not answer, only curled up into a chair by a window and muttered silent words, as if praying that it would swallow her. Her mother remained standing. "We have been well treated," she said, articulating each word carefully. "Will you take wine, ser?"
He waved her offer away. "No, thank you… you requested to speak with me?"
Lady Sybell hummed in agreement, and poured a cup for herself. She almost reminds me of Cersei, Jaime thought, though he could not fathom why. He turned to Jeyne. "I am sorry for your loss, my lady," he said. "The… Young Wolf was courageous, and an honourable man." Even as they said the words, they tasted like poison. The boy gave up his honour to marry this girl, and lost the war because of it. Robb Stark lost his war in the bedchamber. "My lady, I have been commanded to ask… do you bear Robb Stark's child?"
For a moment the girl stared out of the window, as though contemplating whether to throw herself into the yard below. The snow was settling now. "She does not bear the traitor's child," Lady Sybell said. "I made certain of that-
"You poisoned me," the girl said blankly. Jaime had expected her to have a little more fire, but her voice was wooden, almost as though the words were being forced into her mouth.
"I saved you, and your future," her mother replied. She is right, Jaime knew. Else I may have been forced to kill her along with the babe inside her, and even I might have objected to that. Cersei and Father would not have, though. Jeyne was distraught now, sobbing, her face pressed against the cold pane of the window so her tears slid down the glass.
"You may go," Jaime told her. The girl stood, and shambled out of the room. He turned back to Lady Sybell.
"Is it done, then?" the woman asked, with an eagerness he instantly despised.
"House Westerling has its pardon," he said. "Signed in the king's own name-
"May I speak with His Grace about-
"No," he replied shortly. "What else do you require of us?"
"Marriages," said Lady Sybell. She sat taller still, as if to make herself more impressive and to urge Jaime to forget that House Spicer were nothing more than the descendants of traders from the East, and that the Westerlings were ancient but destitute. A name means a lot, though. "Your lord father promised us marriages. And gold."
"Aye, he did."
"Gawen wishes for sufficient gold to rebuild the Crag and reopen the silver mines," she told him. "And more, to serve as dowries for Jeyne and Eleyna. House Westerling will thrive once more." Jaime might have laughed at the statement, but he had heard from his uncle how much Lord Tywin had pledged to the Westerlings in return for taking care of the problem of the Young Wolf. He wondered if Tyrion would still honour that promise.
"And Castamere…" said Lady Sybell.
Jaime shook his head. "My lord father has seen fit to change that part of the agreement recently. My uncle Kevan is the Lord of Castamere now, but I should imagine that he will be occupied with his duties at Casterly Rock, so my father has petitioned that House Westerling be given dominion over the Houses Banefort, Hamell and Lorch, with overlord duties extending as far south as Tarbeck Hall." He handed her the letter. "In addition, your younger daughter shall be wed to my uncle Emmon's grandson, Ty, the heir to Riverrun. He is one of my new squires. A good boy, and good-hearted and clever to boot, I hear. He will make a fine husband for your daughter."
Lady Sybell was not satisfied, though. "We attempted that match long ago. But we are of higher birth now; surely we may find better marriages among the-
"You will hold your tongue," he told her sternly. "You and your children will return to Casterly Rock, and the details of marriage will be finalised nearer the time. There is a wedding to be held, my lady, and I daresay we are all in need of some small amusement."
"What of my son, Rollam?" she asked him. "Lord Tywin promised a marriage of high birth for him as well. He is heir to the Crag, and as you said, much of the northern Westerlands."
"As you are keen to remind me. Worry not, for Rollam shall have joy of him."
"What?"
Jaime almost smirked at his father's plan. "I presume this means he will be married to my uncle Gerion's daughter, Joy. A sweet girl by all accounts, but adventurous." He gave a hollow laugh. "I do hope that your son is prepared to keep her ready."
Lady Sybell sneered at him. "Joy is a basta - a natural-born daughter, though." Her expression contorted. "You wish to marry my son, a Westerling and the heir to the Crag and half of the northern Westerlands to a bastard! This is an insult to a great house-
"I am sure it was more of an insult to Lord Gawen when he married you, my lady," Jaime said coolly. "Rollam will return to Casterly Rock with my uncle Kevan, so tell him that he must be ready shortly."
"Why?"
"To serve as a squire, and to learn to be a knight. There are many great knights at the Rock; Ser Benedict Broom, who taught me how to wield sword and shield, and there will be other boys of noble birth as well, young lords and heirs for him to build relations with."
Lady Sybell threw her hands up in protest. "You cannot take my-
"I am not taking your son," he told her. "In fact, you will be travelling with him before the end of the week, along with your daughters. I saw the elder girl, but what of… Eleyna, is it?"
"Eleyna is at the Crag with her septa and her ladies," she told Jaime. "She came to Riverrun with Robb Stark's army, but she left almost immediately. You wish for us to return home, you say?"
"Not to your home. As you say, my father is repairing it with Lannister gold. Nay, you will go back to Casterly Rock, and your husband will remain here and – ah, assist Lady Genna with Robb Stark's former bannermen. No doubt they will be joyous to see a familiar face."
"You cannot-
"I can." I must. "The terms are final. Is there anything else?"
She looked unsure whether to scream and rage or act complacently. "My other son," she said at last. "Raynald. He was at that accursed wedding with the rebel traitor, but he did not know of any understanding that we had with your lord father. I fear he may be a captive of Lord Walder at the Twins."
He is more likely dead, Jaime thought. "I shall ask the Freys if they know of what happened to him. There were no other Westerlings at the wedding, so I suppose he should be rather recognisable. And I will send a raven to Lord Walder; if your son is at the Twins, he will return with the Freys for Ser Daven's wedding, and then travel onwards to the Rock. And only then shall we consider marriages for him, as my br- father sees fit."
Sybell Spicer looked as if she might argue, but instead sneered at him and turned to the window. "This is an outrage-
Something snapped inside him then, an angry rage longing to be free. "This is far more than you deserve, you scheming turncloak bitch. Get out of my sight."
The woman scoffed at him then, and marched off down the stairs, holding her head high all the way. Jaime waited for her to go, and then followed her back towards Riverrun's Great Hall. The walkway was covered, but he saw Maester Vyman walking in the other direction, dusted in white snow from his feet to his grey-haired pate. Inside the hall, a minstrel was playing the slow chords of 'Autumn of My Day', and the cooks had made a cabbage and potato soup flavoured with onions and thick chunks of broiled pork and beef. Jaime had some from a trencher, then bade Ser Lyle farewell. "I'm going back to the Rock," he said. "I'll see you soon, Strongboar."
"Alright, Jaime. If you've need of a blundering idiot to smash up Rivermen, you'll know where to call."
"That I do," he replied.
"Did you hear about Merrett? Thickhead Frey, that is."
"He got himself hanged by the Brotherhood without Banners, didn't he?" Jaime felt more than a little uneasy.
"Aye," said Strongboar. "Thoros of Myr and his demon-worshippers." And a certain stonehearted lady… I know them well. Too well. "So you'd best be safe on the road. And keep your nephew safe as well." Jaime smiled weakly; clearly Strongboar did not have an inkling of his relationship to Tommen.
"Keep yourself safe too," he said, and nodded his farewell.
After, he walked back outside, to ask Trant if the king was ready to leave. Ser Meryn told him that His Grace had gone to the stables not long ago, and Jaime found him there, dressed all in Lannister red, feeding apples to his horse.
"Uncle," said Tommen, when Jaime saw him.
"Am I disturbing you, Your Grace?"
"Not at all. I was just feeding Storm before the ride. He gets hungry, and lonely as well if I leave him for too long on his own."
"I did not know that you were so… interested in horses, Your Grace."
"It's animals of all sorts, ser. I have three cats, unless they have had kittens by the time I get back to King's Landing, a hawk as well, and I was thinking about getting a dog, though it might scare off the cats." Joffrey had a dog too, Jaime remembered. Though his was burned and turned craven towards the end. And Lord Tywin's dog had been speared by a viper the last he had heard.
"Animals were never my thing," he acknowledged. "Though they did keep a few lions beneath Casterly Rock when I was a boy, and I managed to touch one's nose once, and get back before I had my fingers bitten off."
Cersei had hated that, because he had been able to do something that she could not do. When Tyrion had visited the lions, they had all shrank away from him. Must be my face, he had japed.
"Lions?" Tommen's eyes were wide with wonderment. "Actual lions?"
Jaime nodded. "Though I daresay you'd be safer with a dog." He stared down the stables. "Honor's over there. My horse."
"This is Storm," the boy said, sounding curiously excited. "But I have a palfrey in King's Landing called Breeze, for things that don't involve… er, war."
"Storm and Breeze…" He gave a hollow chuckle. "And how have you found your first battle?"
"Battle? This was a siege, ser, and so was Raventree Hall."
"It was still part of the war, even if it is only the very end of it. You played your part in the negotiations well."
"It was mostly you," said Tommen. "That speech you gave to Ser Edmure…"
"I took no enjoyment from that. Sometimes a man… has to do things he doesn't want to. I have done too much of them in my life, but I must continue doing them all the same. And sometimes a man does things without thinking." Like love.
Or sisters.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Tommen stared at him questioningly. "For what?"
The things I've done for love. He saw Brandon Stark falling from that tower, and the Mad King burning innocents alive, and the sword he plunged through Aerys Targaryen's back, all in that instant. "There's something I need to tell you… something that I should have told you long ago… now that you've seen a bit more of the world, you've seen how complicated things can be. How people can be… and… and… what I'm trying to tell you is…"
"What I'm trying… and failing to tell you is… that I… I… I'm… sorry… sorry for not treating you like my… ah… nephew all these years. For not watching you grow up… and… maybe… and I want to tell you that… I can't…"
The boy took an awkward step forward and hugged him, sort of. Jaime could not feel relieved, or anything at all. Coward, the voices told him. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honour. And the other voice said; Let him have his happiness… for a time. He will know soon enough.
When the half-hug was over, Tommen stepped back. "It's nothing, uncle… don't worry yourself." He turned back to the horse. "Is it time to leave?"
"Not quite." Jaime turned away. "Tommen," he said suddenly. "For what it's worth… you're my favourite –
Son.
-nephew."
"You don't have any other nephews."
"I had Joffrey. And you can say that I never cared much for him."
"You aren't alone."
"Ser…" said the boy. "I order you to return to King's Landing with me. I forbid you to go back to Casterly Rock. And I want you to teach me how to be a knight like you."
This time, Jaime hugged him for real. "As you command, nephew," he said.
They stood there for another moment, until he turned on his heel and walked back towards the great hall. The musician was still playing from the dais. The Freys did not seem all too keen on his song, though.
My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down,
I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown;
For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord,
I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword…
The singer was about fifty and small, with a pointy nose and thin brown hair. Jaime had seen him around the camp once or twice before, and it was no wonder that the Frey soldiers were not keen on him. They wanted songs of war and lusty wenches, not of forest loves and maidens of the tree. A few of them were charging up onto the stage now, making bear noises and mocking the minstrel openly.
"Let the man finish!" Jaime shouted at them. "You may not like his songs, but doubtless someone does somewhere."
When the man had finished, he nodded at Jaime. "Thank you, m'lord. Did you find fault with my playing?"
He shrugged. "You weren't half bad."
"That's a good sign for me. I'll be wanting to stay on at Riverrun, I think, so pleasing you is all very well-
"If you plan to stay, it'll be Lady Genna that you'll want to please. My aunt."
The man bowed his head. "Tom of Sevenstreams, ser. Some call me Tom o' Sevens. Travelling musician. I been everywhere, ser. To the Eyrie and to King's Landing and to Highgarden, from there to here, from here to there…"
Jaime knew that tune, at least. All black and brown and covered in hair… she smelled that bear on the summer air, the bear, the bear, the maiden fair.
Wherever Brienne was, the gods be with her. Perhaps she had found Sansa Stark already; it would not surprise him. She was a better swordsman than he had ever known, his bear when he was nothing more than a maiden fair, and the hero of all his dreams.
Brienne, he thought, Brienne of Tarth. If he could find her now, pluck her out of the darkness, he would. She was everything that Cersei was not, good and kind and honourable. And for the first time in many years, Jaime did not know what he wanted.
Tom Sevenstrings was watching him still. "Ser? You seemed… far away."
I was, Jaime thought. In my dreams. In my nightmares. "I was thinking. Of someone… a maiden fair. Brave and beautiful."
"Does she have a name?" Tom asked, strumming his harp absently.
That gave him pause. But he knew the answer straight away. "Aye," he said. "She does."
The things we do for love, Jaime Lannister thought, and went.
