Sunless nights
It's over.
All the dead collapsed around him one by one, like rag dolls, like disarticulated puppets, and it was hard to believe that this was what he was fighting against just a few minutes before, that he was fighting hard.
It's over.
It was all over.
The flames and smoke continued to rise into the inky black sky, but it was all over.
Immediately, Jaime turned to the castle.
The round towers of Winterfell barely stood out against the dark sky, like a sepulchral landscape.
The only two reasons he had agreed to come fight in the North, the only two reasons he had agreed to come fight the dead, the only two reasons he had agreed to fight death, were in the crypts of the castle.
A sigh of relief escaped his mouth, and materialized in the cold night air, a cloud of white mist that evaporated only a few seconds later.
Only the thought of Cersei, and their unborn cub, could have given her the strength and courage to continue to fight to the end, and to resist the endless night that threatened to cover everything.
A small smile stretched her lips. Knowing his sister better than anyone, and from what she had told him of the brief siege of King's Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater, he was sure she had hated every minute spent in the crypts of the castle in the company of the other women, both ladies of the Northern nobility and commoners, and he knew that if the birth of their baby had not been so imminent, or if she had not been pregnant, she would have preferred to be outside a thousand times, with a sword in her hand, like when they were children and still looked alike enough to swap clothes and roles without anyone, not even their lord father, noticing, fighting for her life rather than being stuck between four walls and the Stark graves, waiting idly and listening all night to what she called "the geese" gossiping and being afraid and praying for anything and everything.
He smiled slightly.
Although she would never admit it to anyone but him, and especially not to the other women around her, probably for fear of appearing weak or vulnerable, which she had to avoid at all costs. As a monarch, she had no right to look shaky, especially in an environment that was particularly hostile to them, despite the armed forces they had brought into the Great War, but Jaime knew perfectly well that she had worried deeply about him and his survival, and that she would continue to anguish silently until she had seen him alive with her own eyes.
That was why she had come north with him, when he was leading the armies they had joined with the Starks and Targaryens in the war against the Night King at Winterfell.
.
Jaime was in the patio, talking to the commanders of their armies, when she finally found him.
He had his back to her, but the soldiers did not, and as soon as she emerged from the shadows, they all bowed their heads in an almost uniform motion.
It was only then that Jaime turned around and noticed her presence behind him.
In turn, he bowed his head.
"Your Grace."
Cersei winced inwardly at the title.
She had, all her life as a little girl, wished with all her might that one day she would be called that, she would be queen, she would be powerful, and all would bow to her.
And she had succeeded.
She was now one of the most powerful women in Westeros, indeed in the Known World, she had succeeded where all others had failed, whether it was Visenya or Rhaenyra Targaryen, or Alicent Hightower, she had become the first queen of the Seven Crowns to sit on the Iron Throne, but the power had done her little good, and Jaime's use of her title, like any other member of the people, was only bitter proof of that.
She had the impression that he was slowly pulling away from her, and that she could do nothing to stop him.
And Cersei hated more than anything in the world the feeling of helplessness that this feeling of distance caused deep inside her.
She and Jaime were two halves of the same being, two sides of the same soul, and now that they could be together openly, now that they didn't have to hide, now that everything was easier than it had ever been, they were silently tearing each other apart.
"My lords, I need to talk to my brother for a moment."
All grasping the implied request, they bowed their heads again, and left the room one by one.
Once they were all out, Cersei walked to the stone steps that separated her from Jaime, and down them to join him.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm preparing for our journey to the North."
Cersei nodded.
"Good."
But it was the exact opposite of what she thought. The thought that Jaime was going to leave once more, that he was going to walk away from her once more tightened her chest in a way that she unfortunately knew all too well.
She had no desire for him to go north, but it was too late to back out now, far too late.
It was not the idea of not honoring the promise she had made to Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, of breaking the commitments she had made to them, that revolted her, but she was well aware that admitting to Jaime that she had in fact never intended to send their armies to Winterfell, despite everything she had said to Fossedragon, and while she had chosen not to reveal anything to him before would break something between them, one of the too few threads that still held them together, something that would be hard to repair, and she didn't have the desire, nor the strength, to take that risk.
If Jaime left her, she would be completely alone.
(And lions are not meant to be alone.)
She would feel like she was betraying him, and he would think she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him what she was planning to do, wrongly.
Jaime looked at Cersei.
He had expected a response other than the simple ''Fine'' she had given him, and was puzzled when she said nothing more, simply remaining silent.
He felt the frustration rising in him.
He, too, had felt Cersei becoming more distant, despite the perfectly unexpected wave of happiness that the prospect of the arrival of a new cub, that the opportunity to finally start a family together had brought them, and it was painful to note that her departure didn't seem to upset her more than that.
When had he stopped understanding her completely, as if she were an open book, understanding her better than he understood himself?
He wondered if she didn't resent him for taking the initiative to lead their armies into battle, especially when they had a child on the way, and decided to clear things up between them.
After long moments passed without either of them saying anything, Jaime moved closer to his sister, bridging the too large space between them.
"I have no desire to leave you here alone…"
It was true. When he had left for Riverrun on Tommen's orders, he had sworn that it would be the last time he would be away from Cersei for so long, and he had reiterated that promise to himself, the only one he truly intended to keep of all the ones he had made throughout his life, when he had returned and seen the chaos his departure had allowed. The announcement that Cersei was once again, and probably for the last time, carrying her little cub in her bosom had only strengthened him in this resolve.
Unlike the previous three times, when it had been necessary to hide the true paternity of the three golden-haired children, Cersei had promised him that he would be the only father she would designate for his child. There was no longer a stag in the picture to claim his baby, and he couldn't let this unexpected, unhoped-for chance to finally be a real father to his son or daughter pass him by.
And now he was going to have to leave again.
Was he really condemned to remain an oath breaker, a man without honor?
His mind drifted to another of the reasons why he had no intention of leaving Cersei and their unborn child alone in King's Landing.
Euron Greyjoy.
He had no form of trust in the man, and had doubted his intentions as soon as the pirate had set foot on the capital's soil, an impression that had only been reinforced by the interview with Cersei that had followed his arrival. The way he looked and talked about his sister disgusted him, reminded him too much of Robert's ways, and he could hardly bear to know it or to see her in the same room as Cersei.
She finally deigned to look at him, after long minutes of looking away.
"I know," she answered simply.
The moment her emerald irises crossed his, he felt the irrepressible need to hug her, to feel her warmth against his, and to put his able-bodied hand on her abdomen, where soon they would feel the fierce blows given by their little cub, eager for life.
He didn't try to stop himself, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between them, or so it seemed to him.
Cersei seemed surprised by this unexpected initiative, but did not resist in the least, returning his embrace, and leaning her head against his shoulder.
She too, had missed the comfort of his arms.
It was strangely paradoxical, she thought. She woke up every morning next to him, in the same bed as him, a luxury they had hardly ever been able to afford before, except for the rare times when Robert went hunting for days at a time to get away from Tywin Lannister's swarming court of arrogant, golden-haired fools and spies, and she felt as if it had been an eternity since she had been this close to her twin, her other half.
A fleeting thought crossed her mind.
She moved away from him a little, before declaring:
"I'm not going to stay here alone. I'm coming with you to Winterfell."
Jaime looked stunned, not sure he understood what she was saying:
"What?!"
Cersei kept her eyes fixed on his, and repeated:
"You heard me right. I'm not staying in King's Landing. I'm going with you to Winterfell. Father always told us when we were children that true leaders lead their armies into battle. That's what we'll do."
She paused for a moment, long enough to frame her face with her hands, resting them on her cheeks:
"We are a team. We do things together. For us. For our house. But mostly..."
She withdrew her left hand, to come and place it on his stomach, where his was already, and intertwine her fingers with his.
"...For this. For our baby."
Jaime could see a thousand and one objections to her coming with him, the pregnancy, the White Walkers and the danger they embodied, the Seven Kingdoms to rule, the fact that they would be surrounded by people who hated them perfectly, but he made none.
Cersei had just told him that she wanted to do things with him, rather than behind his back as she had done in the past, as a real couple, something that brought him a real wave of comfort, to know that his sister wanted to get closer to him, whereas he thought she was turning away little by little, and he was certainly not going to reject that possibility, now that it was presented to him. In any case, it wasn't like anyone had ever really managed to get Cersei to do anything against her will without paying heavy consequences.
(Ned Stark. Robert. The High Sparrow and all his cronies. Lancel. Margaery Tyrell, her brother and her father. The Septa Unella. Ellaria Sand. Olenna Tyrell. All of them had paid a high price in the end).
In response to her declaration, Jaime kissed her fiercely, as if she had just told him she was pregnant, their lips colliding in a sweet mixture of passion and violence, a kiss she gladly returned.
.
The snow had begun to fall again, gently settling on the ground, covering it with a thick immaculate mantle, concealing all traces that the battle had left, the scarlet blood and black ashes disappearing, fading away, as if that night and the carnage it had brought had never existed, and that the apocalyptic landscape it had left behind would be simply forgotten once it had been completely covered by the powder.
Jaime breathed again, before starting to walk again, to get closer to the castle, from which he had moved away considerably during the battle.
A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran down his spine when he realized the impressive quantity of corpses that littered the ground around him, having all collapsed simultaneously, for reasons that he could not, for the moment at least, explain to himself.
If the battle had lasted even a few minutes longer, the dead, death, would certainly have gotten the better of him.
But they didn't exist anymore, so it didn't matter.
The only thing, the only person that still mattered to Jaime was in the crypts of Winterfell, and he was on his way to her, the one who had occupied his thoughts during the entire battle.
Leaving Cersei and their baby alone, without him, hadn't even been an option for him.
He wanted their little cub to know his father, he wanted to be there for his child, for his birth, for when he would say his first words, for when he would take his first steps, for all the first times he had missed with Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen.
.
Jaime didn't really realize what was happening until he arrived at the gates of Winterfell's crypts.
They had won.
Of course, there would still be the war against Daenerys Targaryen, who would at some point set out for the capital, intent on reclaiming her father's throne, on reclaiming the family legacy of three centuries of dragon rule that the Usurper had stolen, but for now, they had won, he was safe and sound, and within moments he would be reunited with Cersei, and that was all that really mattered.
He thought he heard someone shouting his name in the distance, stopped for a brief moment, but, discerning nothing more than the silence of the night, a restful calm after the screaming, the yelling and the mayhem of the battle, and
The people in the basement of the castle were already coming out, to see the dawn that no one thought they would ever see again, and Jaime looked for the golden glow of Cersei's hair in the crowd of women, children and old men rushing out of the vault.
He frowned when he realized that somehow Cersei was not among the plethora of people.
He tried to reassure himself that there was no need to worry, that there were still people coming out, that if anything, Cersei was just among the last people to come out, that he just hadn't seen her in the middle of the mass of people, but deep down, deep inside, he had a bad feeling.
If Cersei wasn't there, even though he remembered leaving her at the entrance of the crypts, leaving a kiss on her lips with the bitter taste of tears and goodbyes, praying to all the gods, the ones he didn't believe in anymore and the ones he had never believed in so that it wouldn't be the last one, then something must have happened while he was busy with the White Walkers.
His stomach knotted at the thought. If something had happened to Cersei while he was away from her, he would never forgive himself.
This apprehension seemed to be confirmed when he saw Tyrion coming, running as fast as his legs could carry him, but coming straight from the castle rather than out of the crypts, as he would have expected.
No, this was definitely not a good omen.
His little brother was out of breath by the time he reached him, and was forced to wait a few seconds to catch his breath after the run he had just made.
Jaime felt his heart clench and a lump form in his throat, Tyrion seemed to have been looking for him everywhere for a while now, and he would never have put such a zeal in trying to find him if it wasn't for a good reason, especially when he knew that Tyrion had stayed in the basement with their sister.
The first question that came to him was automatically:
"Where is Cersei?"
"They... They..."
Tyrion swallowed:
"They brought her back to the castle..."
At the incomprehension on Jaime's face, who was obviously waiting for the next part, he continued:
"She went into labor."
Sensing that there was something his brother was carefully avoiding telling him, Jaime frowned:
"There's something you're not telling me."
"One of the women in the crypts was a midwife, and was able to help her in the very beginning, but..."
Tyrion glanced at her hesitantly.
"But she soon sent others to fetch Maester Wolkan."
In a gesture meant to be compassionate, he laid a hand on his brother's arm.
"This is not going well, Jaime... Not well at all."
At these words, Jaime immediately released his arm, and rushed in the direction of the castle, as fast as he could, while trying to remove his armor, which hindered him in his movements, and of which he sowed elements on the path he was walking.
Tyrion was struggling to keep up with him, hurrying behind him, but not even hoping to catch up.
Jaime could hear his own heart racing in his chest, but whether it was more from the running or the adrenaline of the situation, he didn't know.
All he knew was that he had to get to Cersei as soon as possible, and that every second that passed, every step he took, brought him a little closer to her.
So he continued.
.
Continuing his sprint once he entered the castle, he nearly knocked people over several times, until he saw a crowd of people, who seemed to be jostling each other trying to see something.
A few Lannister soldiers were there, too, trying to fend off the onlookers, but it was no use. There were too few of them compared to the growing number of people.
And yet, more than all the voices echoing in the hallway, the only thing Jaime really heard was Cersei's weakened, pain-twisted voice, and the Maester of Winterfell gently answering her:
"Where is Jaime?"
"We've sent someone to fetch him, Your Grace. He should be here soon."
He threw himself into the fray, elbowing his way through the tightly packed crowd, before finally reaching his sister.
Leaning forward, bent over by the pain probably inflicted by a contraction, both hands held by Maester Wolkan, Cersei was pale as a sheet.
Her corpse-like whiteness instantly brought Jaime back forty years earlier, when their mother had had the same complexion, all color leaving her cheeks, her skin as cold as ice and her lips painted a pale blue, the blue of death, for a moment Jaime feared that Cersei would meet the same fate as Joanna before her, and that the fire would be extinguished in her greengreen eyes before she even had time to meet their little cub.
He shook his head. Cersei needed him to be strong and supportive of her, not wallow in anguish or fear of something that certainly wasn't going to happen.
(Or maybe it was because he didn't want to face reality, that he told himself it wouldn't happen to Cersei?)
The first thing he did was to yell at the people around them:
"Scatter! This is not a show!"
Catching the message, and having no desire to suffer the wrath of the Kingslayer, who was, for the most part, no match for him, a large part of the people moved away, and went back to their occupations, and it only took a burning glare from Jaime to the few recalcitrants who had remained there for them to do the same.
Barely aware of what was going on around her, Cersei raised her head to meet the emerald gaze of her twin.
Before she could stop herself, she let out a relieved gasp.
He was there.
He had survived the battle, survived the White Walkers, survived death, and he was back.
She had spent the night worrying about him, worrying about whether or not he would be back, and had continued to worry about him even when the first contractions had begun to hit her abdomen, squeezing it as if it were caught in a vise.
She hadn't paid much attention to it, at first, blaming it on the fact that the baby must have felt her anxiety, and had decided to get restless, but found herself forced to face the facts, and understand that well beyond the kicking, their little cub had obviously decided that it was the right time to start coming into the world.
An even stronger anxiety than before, even if she had tried to hide it, had followed this sudden realization, from knowing that she was going to give birth in enemy territory, where her family name evoked nothing good, and was too little appreciated, or from the idea that Jaime might never see their baby.
But he was there.
He was here, and it didn't matter what happened now. At least she wouldn't be alone.
Jaime approached his sister, seeing only her, focusing all his attention on her, as if an invisible magnetic force were drawing him to Cersei.
The Maester of Winterfell moved aside a little, to let the two twins find each other properly, and Cersei collapsed, almost literally, against Jaime's chest, who closed his embrace around her.
She breathed in deeply, soaking up his scent, and, despite the pain, forced herself to smile:
"You're back."
He planted a kiss on the top of her head:
"Of course I'm back. I'll always come back."
"I know." she said with a small laugh, betraying her relief.
But the smile died on her lips when the pain caused by a new contraction took her, forcing her to grit her teeth to keep from moaning, as if to remind her that they didn't have time to have a moment to themselves, that the urgency was something else, for now.
Jaime looked at Cersei, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
"Can you walk?"
Cersei nodded silently, and Jaime put his able-bodied arm around her shoulders, so she could lean on him.
They only took a few steps towards the apartments Sansa had given them when they arrived in Winterfell before Cersei stopped, suffering from another contraction, one that was becoming longer and more frequent.
Realizing that his sister really just didn't want to appear vulnerable in front of all the people living in Winterfell, or in front of their soldiers, and that at this speed, it would probably be several hours before they arrived at their room, without warning, he bent down, and, passing his arm under her legs, lifted her up, without any apparent difficulty.
Cersei protested weakly:
"I can walk."
Jaime looked at her, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"But yes, of course. And when summer comes, we'll still be there, at the rate you're going. This is no time to be cocky."
She didn't add anything, just threw her arms around his neck to hold on to him, clutching his leather jacket when another contraction came, closing her eyes and wincing.
Jaime noticed once again how much paler her alabaster skin was than usual, and tried to reassure himself that it would all be over in a few hours, when they would finally have their little cub in their arms, their little prince or princess with a crown of golden hair, and that everything, the pain, the war, the deaths, the dragons and wolves, the blood and ashes would be forgotten by then.
The wave of relief that washed over him when he finally saw the doors to their chambers was more intense than when he had seen the dead crumble all around him as dawn broke and the first orange glow appeared in the winter sky.
The sooner Cersei would be in a bed, the better she would be, and at this moment, only the comfort of his sister, who was writhing a little more in pain with each contraction, but still without allowing herself the slightest cry, the slightest moan, mattered to him.
Still refusing to put Cersei down, he kicked the door open and went as fast as he could to their bed.
She sighed deeply when she was finally lying down, Jaime right behind her so she could lean on his chest, holding her good hand.
The next few hours would be long.
Maester Wolkan, followed by a whole army of midwives, as if they had searched the castle for any woman who knew how to deliver a child, entered the room soon after.
An old lady approached him, with an air of what looked like displeasure, and said:
"My lord, you have no business here. Except for the mestre, birthing rooms are no place for men."
There was silence in the room, the midwives all watching the confrontation between the vixen and Jaime.
He saw himself again a little over twenty years earlier, at the birth of Joffrey.
The midwives of King's Landing had had the same reaction, and had told him the same thing, except for a few words.
So Jaime gave her the same answer as then:
"There's no way I'm going anywhere. I belong here. Unless one of you proposes to take me out?"
"Certainly not, never I-"
She was cut off in mid-stride by Cersei, who, between two contractions, decided to intervene:
"He stays."
The old woman continued to protest:
"But..."
''I said, "He stays''. He is the father of this child, and I am still the Queen of Westeros. So it's up to me to decide who hangs around me while I give birth. It didn't bother you too much, the number of men present, when I was in the hall earlier."
The midwife found nothing to object to, not daring to challenge Cersei's direct orders, and walked away muttering under her breath, glaring at Jaime.
He refocused on Cersei, who was panting with difficulty, and kissed her on the temple, caressing her back:
"Breathe... Breathe, it's going to be okay..."
He wasn't sure, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. He had no way of knowing if the birth would go as planned, or if the gods had seen fit to complicate their lives once again, as if it wasn't difficult enough as it was.
Cersei's cry of pain broke the oppressive, almost ubiquitous silence in the room, loud, so loud that Jaime wondered if the rest of the castle had heard it, if the residents were aware of the new battle for life that was being waged within its walls, a battle that did not promise to bring them all an endless night if defeated, but a battle that would bring a sunless night to Jaime's heart, if Cersei lost it.
He heard a strange sound, like a bag of fluid being pierced, and understood.
Although he didn't know much about childbirth, he thought he remembered that it was the breaking of water, and that it meant that the baby's birth was now imminent.
He concluded that he was right when he saw the Maester move away from the fire, where, with the help of the midwives, he was preparing towels, to the bed where he was sitting with Cersei.
Once he was at the end of the bed, Wolkan put his hands on Cersei's knees, and gently spread her legs, as she let out another scream, the pain lacerating her lower abdomen.
Jaime turned his eyes to Cersei once more, and frowned.
The little color that remained on her cheeks and forehead, glistening with sweat and with a few rebellious strands of golden hair sticking to it, was gradually leaving her skin, almost as white as the snow that fell outside to cover the remains of the battle against death.
He may not have been a scientist, but this did not seem normal to him... Even for the births of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, she had not been this pale, and he was firmly convinced that this was not due to Cersei's advanced age for carrying a pregnancy to term.
To alleviate his concern, he planted another kiss in her golden hair, whispering words of encouragement in her ear, words she didn't seem to hear.
He was perfectly aware that she was weakening by the minute, that the baby was drawing all its energy to be born, and that was not to reassure him either.
He had been so anxious, he had been so happy for this new unexpected chance that had been offered to them, but if he had known what it would cost Cersei to give birth to their child, even more than for the three previous ones...
His bad feelings increased when he saw the livid look that Maester Wolkan wore, after having examined Cersei's crotch.
Realizing that he was unlikely to add anything, and not to elaborate on the situation, Jaime asked, with Cersei's sweaty hand still locked in his warm palm:
"What's going on?"
The Maester seemed to hesitate before answering:
"The baby is breech."
Cersei's emerald eyes widened, but Jaime had no idea what that meant.
"The baby is what?"
"He's running by the seat. Or upside down, if you prefer. For most of the pregnancy, the baby is positioned the same way as the mother in the womb, that is, feet down, and a few months or weeks before birth, he turns around, to be head down. This is obviously not the case with your son or daughter. I should be able to see his head, but all you can see are his feet."
The crease between Jaime's eyebrows grew even larger, as he tried desperately to chase away, or at least hide, the growing anxiety in his entire being.
"And that's bad?"
Another hesitation from his interlocutor.
"In a younger woman, I would tend to tell you that it is not... In fact, it usually only lengthens the process, and requires more energy, but in this case... "
He was careful not to mention that inbreeding due to incest was not known to help matters, quite the contrary. To say so would have served absolutely no purpose, and since they were there...
He contemplated the queen, and the abnormal diaphanousness of her complexion, before telling her:
"At the next contraction, I need you to push as hard as you can, Your Grace..."
And Cersei complied.
She put all her strength into it, hoping that soon it would be over, that soon the pain would be a bad memory, would be nothing compared to the joy of having their baby with them, and she did it again when the Maester ordered her to.
Her cries of distress filled the air, tearing the silence and tearing Jaime's heart at the same time, who hated more than anything else the helplessness he felt deep inside him every time the time of Cersei's delivery came, and even more so this time, when it seemed particularly brutal.
When the contraction was over, she collapsed against him again.
He kissed her on the cheek, before whispering to her:
"It's okay, it's okay... You're doing great..."
(Oh what a lie that was... But that, of course, Jaime could not know...)
She did it again, once, twice, three times, following the instructions of the Maester, who didn't seem to be getting any happier, his expression still alarmed by what he was seeing, and collapsing against him with every tiny moment of respite she was given.
A wave of guilt washed over him, and he told himself that it was all his fault, that they could have avoided this situation, that he could have not put another little cub in Cersei's womb, that they were both far too old for that...
Once again, Jaime looked at Cersei, to find her on the verge of turning a blind eye.
He let go of her hand, to gently brush her cheek, whispering:
"Cersei? Cersei, can you hear me?"
No answer from his sister.
He waited a few more seconds, and, feeling the panic growing in him, he slid two fingers to her throat, desperately searching for her pulse.
No, no, no... It was impossible... This could not end like this...
It took him several minutes to find her heartbeat, very weak, too weak, and he let out a sigh.
For a brief moment, he had believed the unthinkable, he had wondered if Cersei had finally given up the fight like Joanna had when Tyrion was born, he had wondered if she had left this world without him, when she had always promised him that they would die together as they had been born together, from the cradle to the grave, before the cradle and after the grave, even, they were meant to be with each other, always.
Giving in to anxiety a little more with each passing moment, Jaime was painfully lucid about the fact that, given the state Cersei was in, she would not survive childbirth if it continued to drag on as it did.
But what worried her most was that Maester Wolkan was keeping perfectly quiet about what was going on with the child, merely whispering things to the midwives who were assisting him.
"By the Seven Hells, what's going on?"
Again, the maester hesitated before answering:
"The baby isn't coming down. It must be stuck in the basin."
"What do you mean, stuck in the basin? How long will it go before it gets unstuck?"
"Maybe a couple of hours..." the master stated evasively.
"A couple of hours?!" roared Jaime, consumed by despair, by anger, by fear, by apprehension. "Cersei will never last for several more hours. If it goes on like this much longer, she's sure to die."
The Maester raised his brown eyes to him, glowing with compassion.
"I am well aware of that."
He moved closer to Jaime, and put his hand on his arm, as Tyrion had done a few hours before.
"By the Seven, never in the making of my chain would I have imagined that I would have to say those words one day..."
He looked at him intently.
"You're going to have to make a choice."
Jaime felt himself turn pale, and repeated in a blank voice.
"A choice?"
The Maester nodded:
"Yes. We won't be able to save both. Either you choose to save the baby, which we can do by cutting open your wife's womb, but more than likely she will die, or you choose to save the mother, in which case we will be forced to kill the child in order to get it out safely."
Jaime was so shocked that he didn't even think to correct the Maester that Cersei was not his wife, not according to the laws, at least. He didn't even have to glance at his twin sister to know which one he was choosing to save.
"Cersei. Save Cersei."
He felt tears welling up in his eyes, at the thought that he would finally never meet his son or daughter, that he had just killed his own child, that he was now guilty of filicide in addition to regicide, but most of all, at the thought of what Cersei would say when she finally came to her senses, and she would realize that all the pain, that all the ordeal she had just gone through would have been for nothing, that she too would never see their baby, that the witch was right, and that she would once again be the grieving mother of a little cub that would never see the sun.
He knew that she would feel terrible, and that she would resent him terribly, for choosing her over their child, but he could not imagine his life without her, could not bring himself to live without her.
He glanced suspiciously at the midwife who approached Cersei with a vial containing a liquid whose nature Jaime could not discern, who smiled sadly:
"Milk of the poppy. It seems unlikely that she will revive while we extract the baby, but you never know."
Jaime nodded.
The Maester looked at him again.
"Perhaps you would like to leave the room, my lord?"
Jaime refused outright.
"No. Certainly not. I will stay. I belong here.''
The Maester made no attempt to protest.
While Jaime expected there to be screaming, yelling, crying and blood, there was only a dry cracking sound, like wood being broken.
He swallowed.
A midwife approached Cersei's crotch with a metal instrument similar to that of a torturer, and Jaime understood that they were going to use it to take the child, their child, from there.
It didn't take long for the Maester to rip the baby's body from its mother's womb, and he thought that he, who had seen so many atrocities in his life, had never seen a more horrible, inhuman sight.
The maester didn't even give him time to see their baby's face as he wrapped it in several towels.
He was about to take her away when Jaime called him back.
Finally willing to let go of Cersei, for the first time in the long hours that had just passed, he asked:
"Give it to me, please."
Without asking any more questions, the Maester gave it to her, whispering:
"My condolences."
.
Jaime went outside, into the courtyard of Winterfell, still holding the bundle of towels in his arms.
The cold air bit at his skin, but he didn't care.
The early afternoon sun reflected off the snow, which had covered everything in its pristine whiteness, and while for most of the people present the Great Battle of Winterfell would remain forever etched in their memories, for Jaime it was long forgotten.
Once he had walked far enough, once he was far enough away from everything, he stopped.
The needles of the fir trees were dark green, a white fox passed by, followed by its cub, a squirrel jumped from branch to branch to bring a nut to its cub, a thrush went to perch on the edge of its nest to feed its chicks, a rabbit went into its burrow with its rabbits, and it was so full of life and it was so unfair.
Jaime then found the last ounce of courage deep inside him, which made him lift his hand to untie the towels, and look at the small frail body still stained with blood of the baby.
A little girl.
It was a little girl.
The ghost of another girl who had been happy to call him "Father", another girl who had been the spitting image of her mother, another girl who was kind and deserved to be happy came dancing around him.
If they had not been able to agree on a name for a baby boy, they had known as soon as Cersei had told him she was pregnant that they would name their daughter Joanna, after their mother.
The sight of Joanna burned a hole in his chest.
Anyone who had seen Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the man without honor, the oath breaker, so affected by the death of a little girl, who had killed so many people, innocent or not, might have found the situation perfectly ironic, but there was no one near him.
He started digging, digging in the snow, as vigorously as his arms would allow, and when the hole was big enough, he put the corpse of their little girl in it.
He plugged the hole, and after several minutes of silence, contemplating the small pile of snow he had formed, turned away, and headed back to the castle.
.
The atmosphere was not the same as before the battle.
It was striking, striking, there were songs celebrating the victory, a huge noise coming from the Great Hall, laughter, voices mingling, and yet, Jaime didn't give it a second thought.
He knew he should have a haggard expression, he knew he should have huge dark circles under his eyes, a tired and weary look, which would contrast with that of the partygoers celebrating life, but he didn't care.
He crossed paths with many Lannister soldiers, with scarlet coats and cheeks of the same color, certainly because of the alcohol they had ingested, red as the blood that had been spilled, who gave him a friendly pat on the back or a slap, asking him what it was like to be a father, what sex the child was, what it would be called.
He didn't even bother to answer. They would know soon enough as it was.
A few steps further, it was Tyrion, accompanied by Varys, that he met, whom he would have liked to avoid, but noticed too late.
His brother looked like he'd had a bit of alcohol, but not beyond the reasonable limit, and he alighted on him, pulling him aside a bit, smiling in anticipation:
"So? Little lion or lioness? How did it go?"
Carefully choosing not to answer the first question, judging that Cersei had a right to be the first to know what sex their missing baby was, he declared, his voice glum:
"Bad. The baby didn't make it."
Tyrion's expression darkened suddenly.
He swore, before asking:
"Shit... What about Cersei? How is she?"
"She doesn't know. She fainted in the middle of childbirth. They asked me to choose between her and the baby."
Tyrion nodded, before pulling Jaime into a brotherly embrace.
Moments later, Jaime pulled away, before offering his little brother a forced smile.
"Are you going to be okay?"
" Yes, I'll be okay. "
But when he reached their chambers, his and Cersei's, he lay down in the large bed, under the thick furs that covered it, and pressed himself against his twin, who, rather than unconscious, looked deeply asleep, surely the effects of the milk of poppy.
And there the tears began to flow.
.
It was only during the next day that he woke up, just in time to see Cersei's eyelids fluttering, waking from a long sleep.
He struggled to look her in the eye, knowing what he had done, the weight of guilt crushing him a little more with each second, and held back his tears when she asked him first, her voice hoarse, still stony:
"Where's our baby?"
She straightened up, and he pulled her against him, holding her tight, tighter than he'd ever held her, wrapping his arms around her as he whispered against her hair:
"I'm sorry, Cersei... I'm so sorry..."
He stepped back, looking into her eyes, his emeralds full of diamond tears, stroking her hair with his good hand.
"The baby... He didn't make it."
These few words gave Cersei the impression that a stone had just fallen in her stomach, that her whole world was collapsing around her, and she didn't even try to hold back the torrents of tears that flooded her cheeks, with the painful feeling of having failed her children once again, as if she was condemned to fail her duty as a mother.
(But after all, wasn't she?)
She buried her face in his neck, crying all the tears of her body, her shoulders shaking with sobs, as it had not been the case since she was a child, because contrary to what her mother had told her, tears were not the only weapons of women, tears that mixed with those of Jaime, like everything they had shared since they were little, like the unimaginable suffering that the loss of this child caused them.
They had no idea how long they had been entwined, their arms, bodies and tears intertwined, perhaps it was days, weeks, months, years, each trying to find some comfort in the other's embrace, although they knew very well that nothing would ever fill the void that grief was probing in them.
When they stopped crying, it was already dusk.
Another sunless night with the bitter taste of tears was beginning.
Thanks for reading !