Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Omg, I'm alive! Shocker, I know. I was really busy studying for my college entrance exams but they very helpfully decided to cancel them last week (that's half sarcastic, half not. On one hand, who enjoys exams? On the other, I'm home schooled and the department WILL NOT explain what'll happen with the grades for home schoolers which is seriously annoying and freaking me out.) At any rate, back now.

But I kinda lost my inspiration for my ASoIaF/GoT stories, and I've gotten into this show, Arrow. However, I'm determined to continue them, so hopefully it won't be disappointing. PoWPoS is in the home stretch now! (And just to remind anyone who forgot, Aenar and Valaena are Rhaegar and Cersei's children, but Aelyx is Jaime's son.)

Read, enjoy and review, and above all, everyone stay safe and sane during this disaster!

Chapter Nineteen

Choosing The Path To The Future

King's Landing: 14th October, 303 AC

Ser Jaime "The White Lion" Lannister:

"Your Graces," the messenger shook with terror as he knelt before the thrones. "I come bearing grave news. The scouts have discovered that ah, the Usurper's heathen army is advancing rapidly. At the rate they're approaching, they will reach and surround King's Landing within the sennight."

Aenar's green eyes blazed with fury, the emerald orbs resembling wildfire. On the third step of the dais, two steps below her brother-husband and a step below her mother (one of Cersei's demands), Queen Valaena flinched slightly at her lord husband's rage. The four-and-ten-year-old consort had learned the hard way of her brother's brutal nature, most especially since their marriage several moons past.

"Fools!" the young king exclaimed. "How worthless are my armies, that they cannot stop, or even slow an army made up of barbarians and traitors?"

Jaime saw Cersei clench the armrests of her throne tightly, otherwise maintaining an even, regal demeanour save for her flashing eyes. She too realized the grimness of this news.

This was a disaster for their cause, which was already in tatters, especially given Lord Tywin's recent death. Already, the Winterlander fleet had blockaded the Blackwater, and were regularly launching attacks from the distance. They had also managed, several times, to get scouts inside the city and even the Red Keep itself, destroying food supplies or anything else that could be used to keep the royal family afloat during the coming siege, though for whatever reason they had not killed anybody. Once the enemy army had surrounded the land entrances, the citizens of the city would be trapped and cut off from any aid.

Not that there was any more help coming. Varys had given them the news just yesterday. The reluctant Crownlander levies had all surrendered or been defeated by now, while the Riverlander army was engaged in battle with the Vale one, and the Stormlands were pinned between half of the Reach army and half of the Dornish one, the other halves having made their way to join the king they served. To cap it all off, the survivors of the Westerlands' army (not quite fourteen thousand) had already come to reinforce the capital, and due to the lack of defences, Casterly Rock itself had fallen to the Northrons.

Cersei gave a sweet smile to her eldest son, though Jaime could see beneath her mask to the fury she was concealing. "My darling boy," she cooed to Aenar. "Perhaps we all ought to adjourn and confer with the Small Council on a plan to defeat these barbarians?"

Aenar looked thoughtful, before nodding and rising. "Yes, Mother, an excellent idea," he agreed. He turned to the guards lining the hall as the messenger slumped in relief at seemingly escaping punishment for the bad news he had given the king. "You there," he pointed at one. "Take this fool to the Black Cells. See he is appropriately punished for this." Jaime winced as the messenger groaned in fear, babbling pleas for mercy that his nephew ignored.

Stone-faced, the guard approached the messenger and lifted him, beginning to drag him out towards the side entrance. Jaime hurried over, gesturing for Moore to follow the royal family into the antechamber.

"Release him once outside," Jaime ordered the guard in a low voice, before turning to the messenger. "You. The king is unlikely to recognize you, but once you are free, make sure to stay out of his sight anyway, just in case."

"Thank you, Ser," he whimpered in relief. "Thank you!"

Jaime gave a curt nod, squashing the guilt and shame he felt, before turning away and hastening to join his sister and her children along with the Small Council in the meeting chamber.

"We must contrive a plan to defeat the barbarians!" Aenar demanded loudly, banging the table. "They must all die. Who are they, to defy me? I am a dragon, the King of the Seven Kingdoms! I want them all dead!"

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys cooed. "But their numbers are strong. They outnumber us, two to one, and they have blocked off the sea and destroyed most of our supplies. I fear this is a battle that we cannot win."

Everyone gave Varys impressed looks, surprised by his courage.

Aenar jumped to his feet, infuriated. Poor Valaena, who had bruises on her face and arms barely covered by her make-up and sleeves, flinched violently at the sudden movement. Jaime felt sick whenever he looked at her, thrown back in time to the reign of King Aerys and reminded of sweet Queen Rhaella, how she seemed afraid to even breathe around her brother-husband at times. How had Aenar turned out so wrong? Jaime wanted to blame the Targaryen blood in the boy, but he feared it was a punishment from the Seven to he and Cersei, for their incest and broken vows. And now that his father, the Great Lion, was dead, there was nobody to keep the mad boyking in line.

At least Valaeana and Aelyx were sane. It was a small comfort.

"Traitor!" he cried. "Traitor! How dare-?"

"Varys is right, Nephew," Jaime interrupted, diverting their attention to him. Cersei gave him a betrayed look. "We do not have enough men or resources to survive a siege. We have no other choice. I implore you, for your own sake as well as that of your wife and the babe she carries, to leave the city. We still have time before the Winterlanders arrive. We can smuggle you and your family out to safety, regroup with our allies and-"

"No!" Aenar screamed. "No! Only cowards like my usurping brother flee! I am no craven! If I die, I shall die fighting as king!"

Jaime suppressed a scoff at that. Aenar probably couldn't tell the hilt of a sword from a blade. He was the most cowardly boy Jaime'd ever had the misfortune to meet, expecting people to surrender to him solely because of his title.

"Your Grace, I beg you-" Jaime began to say, only for Cersei to interrupt.

"Enough, Jaime," she ordered harshly. "You know as well I do that if Aenar were to flee, it would be the same as surrendering. We shall not go."

"As Your Graces demand," he sighed helplessly. His eyes drifted over to Valaena as the Council turned their attention to strategizing. It was obvious to everybody save for the Queen Regent and King that it was a lost cause, but they tried. Aelyx was but a boy, Valaena a frightened mother-to-be. Aelyx was his son, a gentle boy, and Val was his niece. She reminded him of Cersei, before their mother died and their father filled her head with a lust for the Iron Throne. The Cersei he had fallen in love with, not the woman who was before him now.

Had Tywin not suffered a heart attack, they might have stood a slight chance. If anybody could have figured out a solution, it would be the greatest lord the Westerlands had ever had. But Tywin was dead, and Tyrion, who was far smarter than Jaime had ever been, was in Casterly Rock, either dead or a hostage of the Winterlanders. Jaime was the only one left who could protect his family, but it was obvious that Cersei and Aenar would rather be dead than give in. That did not mean that they had to bring Val and Aelyx down with them.

PoWPoSPoWPoSPoWPoS

That night, Jaime used the secret passages used by the Kingsguard to steal into first Aelyx, then Valaena's rooms to wake and usher them from their beds. Thankfully, Aenar was not in the habit of spending the night in his sister-wife's chambers, simply visiting her then leaving. He had not visited her bed at all since she announced her pregnancy.

"Uncle Jaime?" she murmured sleepily once he had shaken her awake as gently as he could. "What are you-?"

"Shush," he urged her, pressing a finger to his lips. She blinked awake properly, nodding silently and shooting an anxious look at the door. Jaime knew that in the outer chamber, at least two of her ladies would be sleeping, ready to assist their royal mistress should she require anything during the night. "Take these and dress quickly," he instructed her quietly, holding out a long wool dress, like those worn by the commons of King's Landing, as well as a pair of thick boots and a long black cloak.

Jaime himself was dressed as a merchant, his sword hidden by his cloak and a sheath made of leather instead of the metal most knights had their sheaths made of. Aelyx too had received commoner's clothing to disguise himself.

Jaime could only pray it would be enough.

Val obeyed him silently, stepping behind the changing screen to pull on the dress before exiting again and following him into the passageway.

"Uncle, what is happening?" she pressed once they were inside the passage. Jaime lifted the torch out of its' holder and began leading the way.

Once, Val's voice would've been petulant and demanding, but the months since her father's death had changed the girl. Gone was the spoilt but sweet-natured girl she had once been, replaced by a solemn young woman who was soon to be a mother, Seven willing.

"We are leaving," Jaime sighed. "There is no way to survive this. Aegon has too much support, both within and without the kingdoms. The three of us shall flee the capital tonight, and as soon as we reach an unblockaded port, we will sail for safety in the Free Cities."

"But what of the throne?" Aelyx inquired. He too had matured, though he remained painfully shy, not to mention being rather round and clumsy. His cat, Vhagar was clutched tightly to his chest. "Are we going to the Free Cities so that Val can bear the heir to the Iron Throne in safety?"

"My child is not heir to anything, Aelyx," Val sighed, one hand pressed against her stomach. "Aegon is the rightful king, everyone knows it is true. I am more concerned with Mother. Will she be joining us?"

Jaime sighed, shoulders slumping. He stopped walking and turned to the pair. "Your mother is determined to remain with Aenar until the very end," he informed them glumly, making their eyes shine with unshed tears. "And he will not leave, as he has stated. But she desires the safety of her children above all. She pretended to dismiss my suggestion earlier to disguise our intentions of having the two of you smuggled to safety. She sends her love and the blessings of the Gods to the both of you."

It was a small white lie, in Jaime's opinion. He was sure that, were Cersei not so distraught by their father's sudden death and the chaos of the past few moons, she would have agreed with his suggestion. Before this, the safety and happiness of her children was her top priority, above even the Iron Throne. At least, that was what Jaime believed. Sometimes he had his doubts, but he had to believe that much about her, at least.

She was his sister, the love of his life, his other half, his soulmate. He had to believe the best of her, because everyone else believed the worst.

"Come along now," he said then, straightening and turning to continue leading the way. This particular passage would take them to near the Mud Gate. They would have to go on foot, but masses of people were fleeing the city, and the gates had not yet been shut, as Lord Velaryon had pointed out that the more citizens who left, the less people they had to feed. Jaime and his children would escape in the mass of peasants all desperate to escape the doomed capital.

All they had to do was get there safely.

The Kingswood: 14th October, 303 AC

Oberyn:

"We have things to discuss, my princess," Oberyn breathed into Sara's ear. They were naked and sweaty, having just completed a blissful session of lovemaking, and she was wrapped in his embrace, her chestnut curls spread over his chest as her fingers idly traced his scars. It somehow felt more intimate than the actual sex.

"Oh?" she asked idly, her grey gaze fixed on a scar he'd received fighting for the Second Sons whilst travelling the Free Cities. It was an interesting one, admittedly. The Dothraki had some strange weapons, and that particular scar had come from a curved sword, leaving a raised, twisting mark on his chest, the opposite side to his heart. He had barely survived, even though the wound itself had not been too deep. Despite that, only the intervention of some Volantene healer had saved him. "What matters must we speak of, my snake?"

"What will happen after the war is over," he replied steadily. She paused in the middle of her tracing, but at least this time, unlike all of the other times, she didn't refuse outright to discuss the matter. "We cannot continue to put off making our decisions, and soon we will have captured King's Landing. After that, like as not we will be too busy to talk. You are well aware of this."

"I am," she admitted. "What is your wish for after the war?" She refused to meet his gaze, but she didn't leave either, and Oberyn found hope in that fact.

"I wish to return with you to Winterfell," he answered, twisting a lock of brunette hair around his finger. "With my daughters. I think they would be happy in the Winterlands, where women are as free as men. I want to help raise Mariah. I have missed so much of her life already."

He kept any hint of accusation or anger from his voice, but Sara tensed anyway. He stroked her bare back, his own fingers grazing the various scars that littered her form and that he had become intimately familiar with over the past few moons. She had gained more than a few in between Braavos and his party's arrival in the stronghold of the Starks. Most southron men would've been repulsed by scars marring a woman's body, but Oberyn could only revel in the proof of her strength.

"I wish to be with you," he added finally. "The Kings put clauses into the Pact, as I am sure you recall, to trade ambassadors, as our courts do with the Free Cities. I would volunteer for that post. Even if you wish to end our relationship, I will still do so, to be with Mariah."

She sighed, finally meeting his dark eyes with her own. The storm that raged within them entranced him every time they locked eyes with one another. "I do not wish to end our relationship," she admitted. He couldn't have stopped the pleased smile he gained if he had wanted to. "But I cannot marry you, if that is your desire," she warned him. "I am betrothed, and Edderion is a good man. We are not in love, but I will not bring shame on everybody involved by ending the betrothal, and my people would never accept a burner as my consort either."

"Would they accept me as your lover?" he replied evenly. He hated to contemplate the possibility of sharing her, he had always been a possessive man and although he'd partaken of multiple lovers at once before and found great enjoyment in such, the thought of doing such with Sarra was, unappealing, to say the least.

"Our children could never be in line for the Weirwood Throne, save if everybody else in the line of succession, including my siblings and their own future children, were all dead or incapable of bearing heirs," she stated frankly. "And there must never be a hint of favouritism towards the south, nor a whisper that any child I bear, or I myself, has begun worshipping your Seven. But so long as you do not attempt to influence us in favour of the south, at least more than the position of ambassador would require, I believe they would accept it. My mother has been working on our behalf for such, and she writes that her efforts have borne fruit."

He smiled in pleasure. "That, I am glad to do," he replied without hesitation. "I would convert to your religion, if it betters my odds of being able to stay with you and our daughter."

She gave him a stunned look, that swiftly softened into a rare look of tenderness. "Truly?" she inquired. "You would convert? Just for Mariah and I?"

"I have never cared much for the Seven," he replied, hoping his sincerity showed to her. "They have never given me much reason to believe in them. My devotion to you and our child is far stronger than my devotion to Them."

She stared at him for several long seconds, before lunging forward and pressing her lips against his, pouring all the love and devotion that all of her training to maintain her emotional distance prevented her from saying aloud to him.

He willingly kissed her back, and they proceeded to show each other the love neither of them were easily able to bring themselves to openly admit the best way they could.

Winterfell: 16th October, 303 AC

Paladin Arthur "The Sword of Morning" Dayne:

"My King, I would speak with you," Arthur stated, kneeling before his monarch and goodbrother.

King Eddard surveyed him with knowing eyes, waving to grant him leave to speak. "Speak then, my loyal Paladin," he instructed the silver-haired man. "What weighs upon your mind? I think that I can guess at it."

Arthur inhaled and exhaled, daring to meet his king's eyes. He had a deep friendship with the man, one that dated back to long before the king had even met Arthur's sister, let alone passed the Trials and become heir and then King of the Winterlands. It was a connection that gave Arthur many liberties, but it was that same connection that was causing guilt to twist his stomach into knots. The greenseer he had consulted, Greenseer Woolfield, had assured him that he could find great joy if he were to follow this path, but a large part of him left as if he were betraying his sworn liege and brother.

"A Shoilse," he began formally. "I am aware that, once the Usurping Lions have been defeated, you will be sending an Ambassador to the Southron capital to live there and be a bridge between our two peoples. I wish to request to be the one to take up the post."

Eddard surveyed him with an impenetrable expression. "Why?" he asked simply.

Arthur exhaled again, looking down. "I would, if she would have me, request the hand of the Queen Mother Elia in marriage."

The King's expression remained even, showing no hint of his thoughts or opinion on the match. "Why?" he repeated.

"I love her, my King," Arthur confessed. "In a way I have not loved anybody since, since Lyna's death. I want to wed her, but I cannot ask her to leave her children behind, and I would be fearful of her health, if she remained too long in our climate."

A familiar pang stung his heart when he mentioned Lyna, but it was duller than it used to be. Lyna, spearwife of the Giantsbane Free Folk Clan, had been his betrothed, lost to him in a Shivers epidemic before his eldest niece's birth.

Gentle, frail-of-health Elia was the opposite of the fierce warrior women in every possible way, from personality to looks (Lyna had been blessed by fire, with crimson curls cut to her shoulders and done in a dozen braids paired with pale skin, calloused hands and fierce eyes the colour of the sea), yet she soothed him. Her sweet nature brought a feeling of peace to him that he had never felt before in his memory, just by being with her and he had swiftly become addicted to the feeling.

Eddard the King softened into Ned the friend and brother, and he stood, coming closer to clap Arthur on his shoulder. The crannog and Children blood that flowed through the Starks' veins several times over meant that, despite their imposing presence, the Starks were a terribly short family, and so he had to tilt his head back to meet Arthur's eyes and reach up to reach his shoulder when so close. From any other, it might have appeared amusing, but the Starks were not so.

"Then wed the lady with my blessing and best wishes, Brother," he urged. "For you have well-earned this blessing from the Gods. I pray you and she live a long, happy life together."

"Thank you, Brother," Arthur replied, kneeling to receive his liege's blessing. Then, heartened, he went to seek out the Queen Mother of the South, to lay his heart before her and ask her to accept it, and entrust him with her own.