Jaime
When he told the army such as it was that they'd soon be off the way they came, Jaime expected the complaining only soldiers could do. Instead Rogar had readied his horse and Freglyn spent all day refilling his quiver. In short order the men were ready to head to Duskendale, accompanied by a few riverlanders who either wanted to see the dragons, relieve the castle of a hungry mouth, or were just bored out of their minds. Ser Bonifer took a deal of coaxing to leave both his order behind for a bit, but in the end he delegated command and joined Jaime's corps of officers. "At least it isn't pissing on us." Bronn said, looking up at the clear blue sky. "Are we going to run into trouble on the way to Duskendale?" "Antlers is the only castle near directly on our route, ser. The Buckwells are staunch champions of the smallfolk and have been more than generous sending what food they could to Harrenhal." "I thought Harrenhal was in the riverlands?" "So it is. But the Seven Kingdoms do not have lines drawn through them in life as on a map, and plenty of people live where the distinctions become blurred. My youth was spent in tournaments and other shallow displays of vanity, but I saw that there is little true difference between men from what a maester might term the Andal kingdoms. The Reach, the westerlands, the riverlands, the crownlands, the stormlands and the Vale…They may be different colors on a Citadel map and the high lords may draw great distinctions between themselves, but the smallfolk who neither read nor care only know the land as Westeros." Ser Bonifer said. "Aye." Jaime agreed. "It's highborn cunts who start the wars and go after each other to make their little spot on the map a bit bigger, until they lose it in turn to some other wastrel." "Sounds like what we need to do is round up all the highborn cunts and start lopping heads, then." Bronn suggested, making Payne clack with amusement. "Who to rule this godsforsaken mess, then?" Jaime asked. "Fucked if I care." Bronn replied. More clacking from Ilyn Payne. "The realms were prosperous under House Targaryen. Even Robert kept the peace, for what he was worth. A better king than Aerys, no man can deny it." Ser Bonifer said. "Surely so, Ser Bonifer, and you'd make a better king than Robert. It isn't enough to replace a jar of wildfire with a jug of wine and call it progress." Jaime replied. "Besides, the Targaryens knew no end of grief when it came to the Iron Throne. The Dance took their dragons from them and since that day they were just shitheels like the rest of us, only prettier. The Blackfyre Rebellions in turn were an open sore oozing puss for a generation and more." "I've never been to fancy lad school or had a man in a gray dress teach me much history," Bronn intoned. "All I know is that if the wrong fucker has his ass in that chair, or wants to, anyway, the country goes to shit all over again. Even a man who knows what he's doing only lives one lifetime and there's no guarantee his son's not a cunt and fucks what his father built up. Even if that red castle and iron shitter kept it all together once, it don't anymore."
Fitting perhaps we have this discussion on the way to meet Daenerys Targayen, Jaime thought. Bronn is right. Even if she's the answer to every prayer ever uttered, she still has to die like everybody else. What if her children are fops who can't ride fences let alone dragons? To say nothing of Aerys' daughter awing in her own right. Jaime frowned. Killing pyromancers to get to Aerys was one thing, but he'd been young and whole then. Killing dragons to get to Daenerys was a different prospect. We'll see, he thought. Even a loon would know attacking King's Landing is just a wash. Either the dragons light the torch or Cersei does. A few days afield, the army came upon a company of outriders wearing antler badges. "By what warrant does an army march unannounced through lands belonging to the Antlers?" their ranking officer demanded. "We're heading to Duskendale for further reinforcements. Tell the Buckwells we mean only to cross their lands, not take them from them." Jaime said, acting as if he were simply bored. Bronn helpfully stifled a yawn. "Unless you'd rather take this rabble on to Duskendale and I could tell the Buckwells myself, sergeant." Jaime added. The man promptly turned his company away and rode northeast toward the castle, a black dot off to their left. Payne clacked once. "Cunt is right." Bronn muttered. After a quick look at the map and watching the island of Dragonstone gleefully disappear north in the whorl of color and letters the paper became, the sellsword pointed to Rook's Nest. "Isn't that where we're supposed to be going? Your sister's orders?" Bronn said. "Rook's Nest is a castle. Duskendale is a port town of great repute, the ships going in and out will be larger and easier to charter. We've got someone to meet there as well." Jaime said. "A hundred dragons she doesn't show. Anyone mad enough to want to go to King's Landing has a death wish." Payne clacked his agreement. "Whom are we meeting? Ser Bonifer asked ncertainly. "Right, you missed the batty serving wench. Our lioncunt picked up an admirer at the Twins and it seems she tried to kill him the night we kipped at Harrenhal." Bronn smirked. Ser Bonifer's face paled. "Ser Jaime, you should have told me at once! You were a guest under my roof, if one of the servants intended you harm-" There was no harm done, Ser Bonifer. Besides, her sewing needle of a sword couldn't have skewered a frog. Snapped in two when she hit the brick floor instead of me." "Because a lion queen and a dragon queen can't drive home the joke. We had to dig up a wolf queen just to keep things funny." Bronn said dryly.
Another day's ride and the First Army of King's Landing and its augment found themselves outside the town of Duskendale. "Right, have them tent up to the south, on the knife of land that borders Blackwater Bay." Jaime ordered his officers. He turned to his companions "We'll go into town and look for a ship." He pulled a glove over his metal hand. "If anyone asks, Ser Bonifer is heading to Dragonstone to take the measure of Daenerys for the Faith of the Seven." "What Faith of the Seven?" Bronn asked. When Ser Bonifer inquired as to what Bronn meant, the sellsword gave Jaime a meaningful look. "Ah… one of the Mad King's stashes of wildfire ignited under the Sept of Baelor." he said, watching the man's eyes go wide. "That's can't be. The High Sept-" "There is no High Septon. No Most Devout, no King's Landing chapters of the Faith. Speaking of the Faith, you may find yourself representing a deal of Westeros' people, being the founder of the Holy Hundred. Surely your authority would not be questioned in matters of prayer." Ignoring the mortified look on Hasty's face was made all the harder by his earnest belief in the Seven. A sycophant may wail and tear their clothes in mourning but there's a despair the genuine feel that cannot be feigned, Jaime thought. "And this handless fool thinks handing the country to the daughter of the man who planted that cache is a good idea." Bronn added, going back to picking his teeth. Payne opened his mouth at Bonifer, showing his concurrence with Bronn's words. Or so Jaime believed. He has no tongue and yet does not lack for speech if one knows how to listen, he observed. He rode up to the town gate and dismounted as the guardsmen atop the little wall ran about, panicking and trying to decide what to do about the army outside. Eventually one stout old goat stuck his head over the parapets. "I am Ser Rufus Leek, castellan of the Dun Fort and the town of Duskendale while Lord Renfred Rykker is in seclusion, praying for the souls lost in the Sept of Baelor." "We've come in regard to the souls that remain, Ser Rufus. I am Ser Bonifer Hasty of the Holy Hundred, here to set the nervous at ease." Ser Rufus blinked and squinted down at them. "And who are your men?" he asked suspiciously. "These are uncertain times, Ser Rufus. Strong sword arms to keep the defenseless safe are sure gifts from the Warrior, regardless of who they were beforehand." Bonifer replied. Not bad, Jaime thought, keeping quiet. Bronn was just another sellsword as far as anyone was concerned and only the people of King's Landing knew Ilyn Payne on sight. "We are happy to wait until the gods are done with Lord Rykker for an audience ourselves." Ser Rufus frowned and whispered something in the man to his right's ear, who dashed off. About ten minutes later he returned, whispering into the knight's ear in turn. "Very well. Your flock may stay outside the walls, ser, while we find you some accommodations." Leek said, the gate opening.
Jaime let Bonifer take the lead as fit the leader of a flock of religious rabble. Payne and Bronn kept up, their faces impassive and uninterested in the town around them, just as keep to keep Hasty's little game going as Jaime was. Still, it seems a shame to use Ser Bonifer's piety as a glamor just to get me nearer Dragonstone, he thought. He saw the castellan lacked a left leg, preferring the saddle to make up for it. When he dismounted to take them into the castle, he leaned heavily on a wooden stick. Leek led them through town to the Dun Fort, into the castle itself. Jaime wondered whether or not Rykker had something else in mind than having them wait in some tavern. They went down two stone staircases, finding themselves in the dungeons. "There are plenty of sinners in need of confession to a man of the Faith, ser. You'll find the last cell on the left a good place to start." he pointed the way for Ser Bonifer. "I than you, Ser Rufus. I'll find the way, you can return to your duties." The one-legged knight grunted and limped off. "Well, shall we, sers?" Hasty said over his shoulder. Jaime headed in the direction Leek had pointed, seeing all the cells were in fact empty. The last one had become a sort of tiny solar, where a man with crossed hammers on his breast looked over letters marked with Lannister wax. Ser Bonifer coughed to announce them and the man looked up. "Well met, Ser Bonifer. I'm afraid I must apologize for the circumstances of our meeting, difficulties with King's Landing and the developing situation on Dragonstone force me to take meetings where no one will overhear. I am Renfred Rykker, Lord of Duskendale." he introduced himself. "There is no need to apologize, my lord. I understand fully your desire to avoid being drawn into yet another conflict." "Over a throne I've never laid eyes on, caught between a bitch-queen who'd rather drink boiling oil than give up power and a madman's whelp with all the power of Essos behind her." Rykker said, running his fingers through his hair. "I've little ones and a wife to worry about, not to speak of my smallfolk. It is to them I owe my allegiance, not one queen or another." A an after my own heart." Jaime said, speaking for the first time. Before Rykker could rebuke him, he pulled off the glove and showed the lord of crossed hammers. Instantly the man's face when pale and he started gaping like a fish. "There's no need to make excused, my lord. I'm sure you're doing the best you can given your tricky circumstances. You needn't worry about Cersei finding out, I expect I'll not see her again for some time." he said offhandedly. "All we need is a discreet ship to take us to Dragonstone." "If you think I'm letting you try some mad scheme to remove the dragon queen, you're madder than she is." Rykker said flatly. "A dragon could wipe Duskendale off the map in five minutes." "Oh, I'm not going there to assassinate her. I haven't the knack for it anymore, among other things." he tapped the wall with his hand. "I'm going to surrender and preserve as many lives as I can. See, I've no more desire to die over the throne than you do."
Rykker looked at him as though he'd asked for passage to the moon. His gaze moved from Jaime to the others. Bonifer kept his resolute air, Bronn shrugged and Payne clacked. "If I die, well, no need to mourn me. At least you'll know to bend the knee when Daenerys Targaryen comes calling. King's Landing may be closer on the map but as the dragon flies you may find it more conducive to living to declare for Dragonstone." Jaime shrugged. "If word got back to the capital that I sent you on to the dragon queen…" Rykker said. "It won't. My little game is known only to these three worthies and Cersei has much and more to worry about already than coming after you. If you like I can pass along your oath of fealty to Daenerys, or even come yourself if you're feeling brave. Dragons may be a terrifying prospect but I look forward to seeing one in the flesh just as well." Their host grew ever paler. Jaime felt for the wretched choice facing the man. "If you have a son, all the more reason to come. Secure his inheritance and position under the coming regime, maybe you can even make his little piece of Westeros a bit bigger. Plenty of crownlanders lords did not survive the War of Five Kings and those loyal to Daenerys will find themselves wealthy in coin and land both come her accession." Finally, Renfred found his voice. "You speak as if such a thing is inevitable, ser." he said slowly. "Three dragons will do that, my lord." Jaime replied. "That's not all. Rumors of Dothraki screamers and men made of blood-mortared brick taking up along the southern shore of Crackclaw Point have driven those folk dwelling there off their lands, fleeing to the safety of Maidenpool or such places." "All the more reason to come with us, Lord Rykker. Then you can return to your solar as befits the Lord of Duskendale, a vassal of House Targaryen as your ancestors were, instead of hunching in the dark like an eyeless creature hiding from Cersei's wrath." Renfred bit his lip and peered into the cell across from them. "There are plenty of folk in Duskendale who loathe the memory of the Mad King. The Darklyns were wiped out on his order and your lord father's, but they have close kin within these walls as well. Unlikely they'd appreciate the accession of Aerys' daughter, dragons or no dragons." "Unfortunately, Lord Rykker, the latter is the situation we've got, and that makes such an accession something they should come to grips with and soon." Renfred looked as though he'd swallowed a lemon. "We'll leave at dawn. My Blackhammer is no pleasure boat and its crew experienced and loyal. They will take us to Dragonstone. If it isn't out of taste, ser, perhaps you'd like to spend tonight at prayer. You will need the favor of the gods to survive such a journey." he told Jaime.
The morning dawned misty and wretchedly chilly. A sheen had covered Jaime's hand as he slept, so he busied himself by drawing a face with his left finger on the back of it. It struck him how much the face looked like Tyrion's, then he remembered that if luck went his way he'd see the dwarf in only a few hours. I'll tell him about the wildfire first, he thought grimly. Once he hears about Tysha he's not like to listen to shit else I say. On the way to the docks a covered wagon began following them, creaking from the weight it bore. Suddenly Jaime put his hand to his forehead. "If she thinks she's getting the direwolf on board…" he muttered. "She does, and she is." The Stark girl's voice emanated out from the mist. "No games today, I'm in no mood. You happen to be late as well, we got here yesterday and with a throng in tow. Did you at least find what you were looking for?" he asked grumpily. "I wouldn't be here if I hadn't." She poked her head out from the wagon. "Who're you?" she asked Rykker. "Lord of Duskendale. He's coming with us to meet the dragon queen." Jaime informed her. Stark made a face at Rykker and a deeper voice in the tent said something. "Why don't you make me?" she replied to whoever it was. A low growl from within the wagon made all the horses whinny in fear. "How are we going to get it on the ship?" Jaime asked. In reply Stark vaulted out of the wagon, followed by a sullen bull of a lad with black hair to his shoulders and blue eyes that would make even Cersei blush. Robert's bastard, Jaime knew at once. "I thought Cersei had them all murdered." Jaime said, turning to Stark. "She missed one." she replied, shrugging. He was about to introduce his companions to her when a wolf bigger than a horse got up from the wagon, peering at the muddy ground sulkily. "Come on, you've had muddy feet plenty of times." Stark said, scratching her wolf's huge head. The beast hopped nimbly out of the wagon, the axles creaking under considerable stress until she was quit of it. "You have no idea how long it took to coax her in there." Stark said, pursing her lips while Rykker stared at the direwolf. Introductions were made and they were off before anyone else could see the northern monster loitering calm as a mongrel hound at the shoulder of a girl she herself stood taller than. Blackhammer lay at dock with three guards waiting for them, each staring at the wolf as she trotted up the gangplank without a second thought. Jaime had his glove on and let Bonifer and Rykker do the talking, content to remain some nondescript until it came time. Time enough to perhaps break a brick soldier's nose before his friend puts a spear between my shoulders, Jaime thought. Coins were clinked to keep the dockmen quiet but Jaime had no doubts that rumors would fly. A direwolf in Duskendale. The wind picked up a bit on the open sea, slowing their progress but Rykker opened a barrel of spiced wine to tide them over while Stark and her two companions found their own cabin. "I only had time to tell my wife." he told them. "The children were still abed and I wasn't about to wake them to tell them where I was going. She cried a bit when I told her, but she bravely bade me return to her before moon's turn." "She sounds a good woman. You are fortunate, my lord, more so than many men harried by shrewish wives in this world." Jaime told him as the sounds of the waking port town sank into the distance.
Stark shook him awake it seemed moments later. "Wake up. We've landed in the port town. Jaime blinked confusedly. No, that's where we left. Then his eyes popped open and he was on his feet faster than ever he had been. "Anything from your wolf?" he asked. "Nymeria isn't acting funny, either the dragons don't bother her or she can't smell them yet. The wind and the sea are Ser Bonifer looked particularly ghastly. Probably didn't sleep a wink. The Essosi worship fire demons, goat-headed monsters and million-faced men. They made their way topside, the sailors muttering fearfully at the sight of Nymeria, as Stark called her, clear of mist. She looks a splendid beast, truly, Jaime thought. Robb Stark's wolf had been intent on intimidating Jaime and so he'd quite missed it the first time. Ser Bonifer led them onto the docks of Dragonstone, the people predictably stunned at the sight of the beast. The wolf for her part ignored them utterly, even their animals. Stark herself seemed overjoyed in the presence of Robert's bastard, who kept his eyes forward and acted quite disinterested in everything else but her antics. If only her aunt had taken so to his father none of us would be here right now, Jaime thought. Eventually they passed out of the port town and found themselves at the base of a great stair, flanked by several men with skin like cinnamon carrying spears. He thought perhaps the wolf might growl at the sight of weaponry but she acted as thought they were made of stone. "Good morning, sers. I am Ser Bonifer Hasty of the Holy Hundred, devout follower of the Seven. I would humbly request an audience with the Mother of Dragons on behalf of concerned faithful on the mainland." "Me too!" Stark piped up. "I'm Arya Stark, Queen in the North, but I don't want an audience. I just want to know what she intends to do about the Boltons." she said. The brick gave absolutely no sign that they had heard, but one of them turned and began climbing the granite stair. That's going to be worse than the rains, Jaime thought, despairing. I may die of spasms before Daenerys has a chance to kill me. Possibly the person Jaime desired least to meet again returned with the soldier. Varys had dropped his simpering foppish air completely, regarding Jaime with the unreadable composure of a sphinx. "Oh, fuck." Jaime and Bronn both said at once. Payne clacked in recognition. "Welcome to Dragonstone, Ser Jaime. If you're quite ready for a little climb, I will take you to the queen." Varys said.
A half dozen of the brick men accompanied them on the way up, Gendry carrying Stark on his back when her lithe legs got too tired. The wolf seemed less unsure more puzzled as to their course, as if wondering why men would need to reach a place up in the sky where neither prey nor rivers ran. Finally they reached the top, Bronn vomiting freely into the grass some feet away. "Alright, maybe a dragon won't be so bad after this." he said on hands and knees before the wine came up again. "The hero of the Blackwater undone by a little exercise." Varys rolled his eyes as he addressed the guards in what Jaime thought might be Valyrian. The great doors of the castle were duly opened. Neither Jaime nor Rykker wore a sword but Bronn and Ser Bonifer both were required to give the guards their blades. They seemed at a loss, or as much as they could be, about the direwolf. However, the beast made no move to cross the threshold, sitting squarely in place and resolutely ignoring Starks appeals to get her to come. The wolf's eyes roved over the granite the Valyrians had shaped and Jaime didn't need to be a northerner to know she cared not an iron bob for the place. There were always stories that the Valyrians shaped this place with magic, he thought. Small wonder the wolf doesn't like it. Finally Gendry stepped in. "C'mon. She's smarter than the rest of these anvil-heads put together. Besides, it's an island, she isn't going anywhere." he said, making Stark giggle. "You're an anvil-head." she taunted him. "You're a bigger one." he replied, serene as his father never had been. As Varys guided him through the halls, Jaime felt he was walking back in time to when he had half the years and twice the hands. The Targaryen banners were new and some crudely made of dyed horsehair, but the dragonness of the place was more than the Red Keep had ever been, even with the dragon skulls leering at visitors. Except I'm not going back, I'm going forward. Dragons are Westeros' future, too. The throng in the throne room was one Jaime had never experienced before. The voices, many speaking Valyrian or else a series of snarly grunts he assumed to be Dothraki, seemed more than content, they seemed hopeful. Even Robert's sputter of peace had never inspired such a strange occurrence. The Essosi of course, knew him not from any other Westerosi but he caught sight of a few faces he half-recognized. Silence fell as the sound of approaching footsteps made the crowd turn to a great stone chair set into the far wall. Jaime tried to remember how Aerys had looked before the rebellion, but all he recalled were the long fingernails, the sour breath and the sunken pinched face. At least Brienne isn't here, he thought as the far hall doors and people began filing in. The Tyrell harridan from Joffrey's wedding. The Blackfish, fresh off his 'death' at Riverrun. The Red Viper's paramour and her train of his bastards. Tyrion waddling as gracefully as his leg would allow. The queen came in last, arm in arm with a girl with peculiarly guileless eyes. She sat without pomp in the stone chair, looking at the throng impassively. Now you're just rubbing it in, little brother, Jaime thought. Gradually he squeezed through the throng until he stood before her. He must have had a truly confounded expression on his face, one that warranted explanation, because nobody tried to murder him. Aerys was a shrew and Rhaella a wisp. This girl is neither. The silence drew out until Jaime realized all eyes were on him. Father would say something legendary. He took a breath. "Fuck." he said.