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ATP
Yeah, those two. ^^
Before the Dragon
"There will no other Sack of King's Landing," Stannis declares.
They stand around the table with an old, discolored map on it. Theon and Ser Davos nod without hesitance, Ser Axell, however, starts a sentence with a disagreeing "but" before he gives up.
"All right, my Lord Hand."
Dany forces herself not to touch her armor or the cloth beneath it. It is not easy.
Stannis insisted she put it on.
"Drogon cannot be wounded by weapons they have as far as we know. But a good archer can kill you."
Dany turns to Theon. He is a very good archer, after all.
"Would you be able to hit me while I'm flying on Drogon's back? If we were close enough for a shot?"
The question obviously makes him constrained, still, he replies:
"Yes."
So she wears the armor to get used to it for the time of battle. And – truth to be told – it is inspiring to see the soldiers' shining faces when they see her dressed like themselves. That does not make it more comfortable though.
A man – short and slender, maybe just a squire – storms into the tent and bows in a hurry.
"Your Grace. Lord Hand." He is about to continue the greetings but changes his mind. "Someone… a visitor arrived from the city."
"To negotiate?" Ser Axell Florent asks almost disappointedly.
"I… I don't think so, my lord." His gaze returns to Dany immediately. He is pale. Scared. "It's… it's the Kingslayer."
They stare at him, Jaime feels their gazes. All of them. But he does not look at anyone.
Especially at the dragon. Never again. His leg wobbles in his next step, one of the soldiers who accompany him through the camp pushes his back.
If he still had his sword… Well, he is glad he does not. He did not come to fight. He came to… Later.
He needs to speak to the Targaryen queen. And he needs her to listen to him.
Maybe… maybe she will.
She has to be reasonable. She must.
Instead of fighting Stannis she made him her ally, moreover, her Hand.
She let all the Starks live.
Jaime knows he is right. Coming here was the choice he had to make. The only real choice, he had.
When the black dragon landed before him near the camp, he thought, everything he did, he did them in vain. The dragon was enormous, invincible, relentless. His enemy – to whom Jaime was too small to matter.
Though, not small enough not to destroy. Still, he did not do it – for now – leaving Jaime for the soldiers.
They arrive, from the sunlight stepping into a tent's shadow.
"Ser Jaime Lannister, you stand before Queen Daenerys of House Targeryen, first of her name," the leader of his attendants announces nervously.
Jaime waits for more. Names and titles, that she supposedly owns but they do not come.
The Targaryen does not wear a crown; her silver hair is braided, not in the tricky way of the court's fashion but like the hair of a common girl.
Except, there is nothing common in her. For a moment, Jaime feels as if he faces the dragon again.
She is dressed like a soldier, wearing a plain, dark armor. Simple but practical.
In Jaime's golden armor the lion of House Lannister is roaring. His past, his deeds, his prides and regrets are written in those lines. It seemed appropriate to wear it. It still seems.
The girl sits in a chair, but stares at Jaime as if she had already been sitting on the iron throne.
And he kneels before her, just like how he has knelt so many times (and so few of those truly mattered).
"Why are you here? Kingslayer." She tastes the word with disdain and cold, long-nursed hate. It is fine. Both of them are an old friend for him.
"I brought a warning for you."
"Warning?"
"You have to be careful, you must not attack the city with dragonfire."
She raises her eyebrows. It is a slow gesture, calculated.
"Is there a reason why I must not?"
Her eyes are violet but a shade Jaime has not seen before. This makes easier to look into them.
"Because… well, I should start in the beginning, I guess. In the last days of the Rebellion, your father named his Hand a pyromancer, Rossart. Everyone thinks it as an act of madness and it was, but the king made that choice with a certain purpose. For his command every vault and cellar from Flea Bottom to the Red Keep was filled with wildfire. Your father was determined to not resign to Robert and leave only bones and ashes to him."
They are thunderstruck. He sees it from their suddenly more tensed posture, hears it from their harsh inhale. One of them even tries to speak but he is silenced.
"If it is the truth, why didn't he burn the city down?" the girl asks.
"He gave the order to do it… before he died."
"Was that the reason you murdered your king?" There is no disbelief in her voice, only curiosity.
"It was the last of my many reasons," Jaime replies genuinely.
The girl is pondering. She glances aside, not to his Hand, but to another man, a young one, whom Jaime has never met.
She does not ask for advice, though, she does not say a word to anyone, before looks at Jaime again.
This is the moment.
He straightens his back.
"Ser Jaime Lannister, despite your honorable intentions, you broke your vows and took your king's life, and you did not protect Princess Elia and her children during the Sack of King's Landing. For those crimes, I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, sentence you to die. Do you have anything to say?"
"I won't beg you for my life, I knew I came here to die. But I'm begging you for one mercy, Your Grace." It is the first and it will be the last time for him to say the title. "I don't want to be burnt."
She closes her eyes for a heartbeat, then, nods. A strange sound follows the move, like tinkling of tiny bells.
"It would be unfair to sentence you to a fate you saved the city twice from," she tells him. "You will die by sword at first light."
After Lannister is led out, none of them know what to say.
"He is not entirely dishonorable," Theon notes carefully.
"No, he is much worse," Stannis snaps. "A damn fool."
Dany listens to their conversation, but she has no power to speak.
"That wildfire has been beneath the city for nearly seventeen years without surveillance." Stannis tightens his mouth – Dany does not even have to look at him to know it. "A substance, so unstable…"
"It's more complicated," Theon frowns. "You told me," he says turning to Ser Davos, "that for smugglers it was difficult to find good hideouts. Many factors had to be considered, like vapor, temperature or ventilation, because they ruined the cargo easily."
The old sailor nods.
"Wildfire is much more delicate than any other cargo I had to deal with."
"It can blow up in any minute even without our assistance." In Ser Axell's voice anger and fear mingle. Dany ponders which one is stronger. "Such a miracle it hasn't happened yet."
She shakes her head and, while the dizziness furls away, she rises from the chair.
"How does that change our plans?"
Stannis shrugs.
"Not too much, I presume. But as Lannister said, we cannot use dragonfire. At all."
But the fire has never been what truly mattered. It was always the dragon.