A/N : Welcome! Here's my second attempt at GOT fanfic. I haven't read very far into Storm of Swords or seen the show (though I'm reading as fast as I can!), so PLEASE don't spoil me in any comments you may leave. This is also cross-posted on other sites. SOS described the majority of the content of this story in Jaime's memory, but I wanted to see them written out and so they are. This will become -slightly- AU at the end but is -mostly- canon compliant. Also, there will be lemons later on, so if that isn't your thing, you'll probably want to avoid the last chapter or so. Please enjoy!
Chapter One
A Band of Good Men
Crack!
Jaime Lannister's gaze snapped to the source of the sound. The dense trees of the Kingswood provided ample cover for the outlaws. For a mere second, he saw the flash of a cloak despite the dense tree cover. Jaime followed without hesitation, his hand on the hilt of his sword ready to give chase. And the flash of cloak was what he had been waiting for as he leapt over a log scattering leaves and pine needles to the ground as he landed, but his footing was sure and steady as he began to duck through the trees as quickly as he could.
Throughout the Kingswood he could hear the sound of other men and knights facing off with the outlaws — the Kingswood Brotherhood. The sounds of the battle were all around him: There was the ringing of steel on steel, the twang of bow strings, the heavy breaths that created puffs of fog in the early morning chill, shouts of victory and cries of defeat, and the footballs and snapping of twigs on the forest floor. It was a conglomeration of sounds that made Jaime nearly giddy, made his blood pump and his mind race. There were two things in the world that made him feel so alive — this and fucking Cersei. Whom, right now, he absolutely could not think about even though his pale cheeks reddened very slightly before he could stop the thought.
He forced his mind back to the present. His companions were brave and bold, some were lords and knights and some were simply good men. But they banded together for a common cause in ending the troubles the Kingswood Brotherhood were causing. And the Brotherhood was causing trouble to be sure. The outlaws had been wreaking havoc throughout this part of Westeros and putting a stop to them was a necessity. Not only had they been stealing and plundering, which might have been overlooked perhaps, but they had an unfortunate habit of kidnapping anyone of noble birth who ran across their path. It had come to a head when they had attacked Princess Elia's escort through the woods. King Aerys, had finally had enough at that and had commanded the Kingsguard to take a contingent of men and destroy the Brotherhood. They were led by Ser Arthur Dayne, whom Jaime looked up to in boyish wide-eyed wonder even though Jaime was fifteen and would be a man grown in a year's time.
To fight with Ser Arthur on the battlefield and see his gifted skills as well as those of these other men including Ser Barristan Selmy was truly a dream come true for Jaime, who had imagined defending the realm from childhood — from the first time a wooden practice sword was put into his hand. And he was a good and strong fighter. He had won his first melee two years before at thirteen against much older and wiser contenders. He could still remember the very near goofy grin on his face when he'd been presented victor that day. 'Gods be good, focus!' This was no time for daydreams or for his mind to wander even for a second. He desperately wanted to prove himself to these men around him.
Jaime was flanked by Selmy and Dayne as the three dashed through the wood. There was no point in sneaking — they could hear their quarry snapping and cracking branches just as loudly as they were. The element of surprise was long gone in this fight. Now, it was down to the swords. Jaime reflected that the catching of this so-called Brotherhood had not been quite so easy as might have been expected for a ragtag group of outlaws.
Much of that had to do with the smallfolk living in the villages that dotted the Kingswood. Ser Arthur had learned that the Brotherhood had turned the smallfolk against them by encouraging their belief that no one protected the smallfolks' rights except the Brotherhood. That had been, Jaime had to admit, shrewd and clever. Then, the villages were willing to aid and abet the Brotherhood, hiding, protecting, and feeding them as needed. With people who knew the villages and woods better than anyone else giving aid, the probability of defeating the Kingswood Brotherhood had actually seemed somewhat bleak.
But Ser Arthur Dayne, as brilliant a mind as he was talented with his sword, figured out the right of it in how to approach the prickly villagers who felt the king didn't actually look after them. Jaime had watched in awe as Arthur won them over one, two, three at a time until whole villages were willing to help. Arthur petitioned the King for more rights for the Smallfolk and, perhaps most importantly, ensured a contract where the royal forces would pay for items taken from the Smallfolk. It had proven to them that the Brotherhood was not as infallible as they believed and that their claim to be the only friend to the villagers was not necessarily accurate. In light of that, the pillaging, kidnapping, and raping had surely seemed less appealing to put up with.
As a result, the tables had turned. The Brotherhood could no longer walk about the forest with impunity and hide easily in the village. Constantly, small skirmishes broke out. There had been some success, but nothing truly meaningful. The men intended to put a stop to that. This morning, Ser Arthur had roused his forces early and caught the Brotherhood just before dawn and had them on the run. Jaime and his companions were becoming more and more used to this section of the woods and were more successful in uncovering its secrets and, thus, its occupants.
Coming from a different direction, preparing to pin in the outlaws in a little clearing, Jaime could see Lord Sumner Crakehall, for whom he'd been four years a squire, closing in. The outlaws would be caught between them and find themselves with swords facing them in every direction.
They converged as the trees suddenly opened into a clearing. Morning light poured down on them from the sky above, highlighting the Sword of the Morning and making him look like some kind of God. 'It is The Warrior in the flesh.' Jaime thought in quiet wonder as he watched Ser Arthur Dayne rush forward without hesitation his sword ringing as his attack was parried instantly, sword glancing off sword. They were outnumbered: Lord Sumner, Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, and himself — the boy squire, who probably didn't even count as a whole fourth to some, really even if he was almost a man grown. Opposing them were Simon Toyne, two unknown combatants, Big Belly Ben, and — with a sharp intake of breath Jaime recognized the fifth — the Smiling Knight. The man was psychotic — cruelty and chivalry all jumbled up together and seemed not to know the meaning of fear. The Knight wore a half helm under which a wicked, sadistic smile was written; it was that smile that had earned him the name he carried as a banner.
For barely a second, Jaime paused in shock at the reality of his situation with legends all around him, but his body moved for him even so, almost reflexively after a lifetime of lessons at the blade. He wasn't sure if more fear (would a true man grown be afraid? He wasn't sure) or excitement coursed through his blood. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He charged forward noting Barristan, Sumner, and Arthur doing the same to all sides of him.
The ring of swords on shields and armor echoed through the clearing. As they grappled, the sound of grunts and gasps were mixed in with the clangor of the metal. Jaime hissed as one of the men he didn't know nearly sliced a gash into his leg, but he pivoted away just in time and plunged forward with a return attack that felt twice as fierce. The adrenaline was different from a melee. There, no matter how real the swords, the point of a melee was for sport. This… this was for death. Again the opponent went for his legs, but Jaime was ready this time, sword low as he blocked the blow and thrust back a return. The trees and clearing whirled around him in a blur as he moved, turned, thrust, sliced. Jaime watched for the slightest opening and took it, slamming forward with all his weight behind his sword, but the blow came back in kind, striking hard on his shoulder, and pain exploded through his sword arm. His sword stayed in his hand. Now, his opponent was backing him toward the trees, trying to corner him. Jaime swore and leapt away, refusing to let himself be cornered. He saw the huge hulk of Big Belly Ben go to the ground. Blood ran, staining the grass in no short supply. Jaime wasn't entirely sure where all of it was coming from. How much belonged to them and how much to the Brotherhood?
The attack came from behind faster than he could anticipate; white hot pain seared through his body as Jaime pivoted just in time for the sword to come down, smashing his helm into his face. He wasn't able to recover before the sword came again and this time it slashed flesh with such a heavy blow that Jaime staggered. A third blow knocked him off his feet, and the ground came up hard and fast to meet him. He tasted blood, sweat, and mud all at once. To his horror, he realized his assailant was none other than the Smiling Knight himself.
"What have you sent me Ser Arthur? Is this the best you can do? This is a boy not a man!" The Smiling Knight's hollow laugh echoed across the clearing.
A hot rage burned through Jaime as his cheeks flushed with anger. He was no little boy! He seized the opportunity and rolled out of the way, leaping to his feet faster than he knew possible and bolted forward, slashing at the knight. 'I'll give you something to smile about. I'll open your throat in a smile!' He seethed.
"Not going to come defend your boy? Ser Arthur?" the Smiling Knight sneered. Jaime didn't like the crass way he emphasized the ser on Arthur Dayne's name — as if it was a jest. And he liked even less being called 'boy.' 'I'm a lion of Lannister, not a boy!'
Arthur did not deign to get caught up in the verbal exchange, but he turned his head away — just for a second — from his own battle to check Jaime who was, miraculously, holding his own against the mad man. He exchanged blow for blow and some of them, to his excitement, were not blocked fast enough. At first, the Smiling Knight had batted his sword away with almost lazy parries, but Jaime was fighting even harder now with every ounce of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. A particularly vicious thrust slipped into a gap between the Knight's armor, and a rain of blood spattered the ground. It was no fatal wound, but Jaime practically grinned to see it. Jaime came at him again before the Knight had time to recover from his shock, gouging his sword into another gap. Their eyes met — the Smiling Knight's were steel grey, cold and icy while Jaime's burned emerald and angry. For just one second, Jaime saw fear in those cold, grey eyes. And he liked it.
Before he could land another blow, a third sword joined their fight and Ser Arthur was there sliding between them and parrying the Smiling Knight's sword with a forceful ringing of metal and a blow of astounding force. There was a slight sense of relief in some way. Jaime was talented, but he was no seasoned fighter. His body was shaking with both adrenaline and exhaustion — and pain. The Smiling Knight had opened his skin more than once, and some of the wounds were deep.
The two moved so fast their swords were a blur. Then, there was a sickening, indescribable, metallic crunch, and the Smiling Knight's sword splintered in two at the middle. Jaime nearly gaped to see it. It was one thing for a lance in a joust to snap, but a sword was quite another matter. To his shock, Ser Arthur stopped, his sword raised, but he did not bring it down. He waited for the Smiling Knight to draw a second sword. Ser Arthur Dayne would not fight unfairly. There was a kind of goodness in Ser Arthur that Jaime did not know if he would ever posses, for he knew he would have dealt a killing blow in that opening.
"That sword matters little enough. It is Dawn I want."
"Then you shall have it, Ser." The Sword of the Morning responded, slashing forward as Dawn ripped into flesh rather than armor. Like as not, it wasn't what the man had meant when he said he wanted Dawn. The thought brought a slight hint of a smirk to Jaime's face. One more slash and this time it was The Smiling Knight's lifesblood bubbling up through his lips and nose in the seconds before he fell.
Before he could react to the fight between Ser Arthur and the Smiling Knight, something caught his peripheral vision and made his lips part in horror, though he suddenly found himself unable to shout. Big Belly Ben had Lord Sumner on the ground, pinned against the trees. The amount of blood was startling, and Jaime did not know from which man it came. He lunged as silent as the big cat he was, crossing the distance in barely a few strides. He interrupted the killing strike, his sword ringing off Big Belly Ben's with a crash of steel that made his teeth smash together and more blood fill his mouth, though the worst was to Big Belly Ben. Jaime pressed the attack hard forward even as blood filled his mouth and his cracked lip and chin opened afresh. He could feel skin tearing and the hideous rip of flesh as Big Belly Ben caught him. He wasn't sure if the liquid on his face was sweat, tears, blood or all three at once, but he was determined now. He would do this thing.
Somehow, Jaime's sword left his hand as Big Belly Ben, in all his hugeness, came bellowing forward, grabbing at Jaime with hands the size of meat cleavers. The pain radiated through every one of his bones at the force with which the two men hit the ground. Ben's sword was out of his hands too, thank the Seven, or it would have been done in an instant. Jaime squirmed beneath the giant of a man, fighting to reach his sword. He extended his fingers so far his hand ached, but the hilt was a finger's breadth away and he could not reach it, try as he might, so hard was Ben holding him to the ground — but neither could Ben get his own sword without letting up on Jaime. They struggled. Jaime was lean and muscular, but Big Belly Ben had got his name for a reason and pound for pound he must be almost double Jaime's weight and size.
Jaime looked for and found weakness. He slammed his foot up into Ben's lower leg which had been bleeding profusely. The man let out a sound not quite a groan and not quite a cry, and it bought Jaime the purchase he needed — an instant with which to tear from the big man's grasp. But then Jaime realized he must turn his back to reach the sword and he knew as soon as he had done it that it was a grievous mistake. The ground came up to meet him once more and there was grass in his mouth, but his hand was still clenched around the hilt of his sword. He spat red as pulsing pain reverberated through him. But, still, he did not yield. He staggered to his feet faster than he would have believed he could. His quick, silent movement — again like the Lion he was — took Big Ben by surprise. Jaime struck with fierce tenacity at Big Ben's sword hand.
He could feel that the blow would strike true before it actually did. Jaime's eyes blazed with passion and fierce determination. Big Belly Ben managed to keep his hand, but the strike caused him to lose his blade again, cracking into his arm with a harsh finality, and Jaime knew it was done. The arm looked mangled, maybe broken, and there was bone through skin. Big Belly Ben, too, seemed to realize he was done. He left his sword and, before Jaime could strike him with a final blow, turned and disappeared into the trees with startling speed for such a huge man.
Jaime made to go after him but jumped when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Leave him. We'll catch up with him soon enough." It was Ser Arthur Dayne. Jaime was panting hard but Ser Arthur was barely breathing heavily. "Well done, lad."
Jaime flushed with pride. Then, he looked around them to realize that the fight was finished. Their foes lay dead on the ground save Big Belly Ben and one captive who had been taken; likely, he'd be sent off to take the Black. The rest of the contingency had emerged through the trees at some point, though Jaime hadn't seen them come. Their small band of men were mostly accounted for, though in various states of injury or lack thereof, he realized counting them. They were battered, bruised, and bloody, but it had been a victory.
Lord Sumner was the first to break the silence, which seemed too loud in Jaime's ears after the clangor of battle. "I owe you a debt, Jaime. You saved my life."
Jaime wriggled almost uncomfortably under the praise as Barristan Selmy joined them. His face was quite red now indeed. Somehow, pride felt misplaced when these legends he had idolized his entire life were giving it to him. Had he really done something so remarkable and deserving of lauding from these men? He looked to Lord Sumner and smiled even though his beleaguered lip ached fiercely when he did it. "It's only the right of it, My Lord. I am your squire, after all."
"So you are. I suppose we'll need to see to that."
"Ser?" Jaime asked, confused.
"It seems to me that today you acted the part of a knight rather than a squire," Lord Sumner said, a small smile playing on his lips.
Jaime's heart swelled and, in that moment, he felt so light he thought he might be able to take wing and fly. "Did I?" He asked, his face glowing with excitement. Suddenly, his injuries seemed minor and not to bother him so much at all, though that was likely the exhilaration of the moment talking. Some of the injuries would need tending. Nonetheless, every boy from a page on up dreams about the day he'll be granted his spurs, and Jaime was no exception. With a slight hesitance, he looked around the company of men, all of whom were at least a few years — if not a great deal more — older than he was. But no one spoke up to disagree and most were actually nodding and smiling.
"Indeed." Lord Sumner said, his blue eyes warm and merry even through the mud and blood on his face.
"If I may have the honor, Sers?" Arthur Dayne asked looking at Barristan Selmy and Sumner Crakehall in turn. Ser Arthur Dayne thought it would be an honor to knight him? Jaime felt as if his face would break if he grinned any wider. His heart was pounding all over again as he watched the other two men step back slightly leaving Ser Arthur and Jaime in the center of what quickly became a circle of men and Ser Arthur slipped Dawn from her scabbard, holding her at his side.
"Clearly, we don't have to ask Jaime if he's ready," one of the men of the company jested. "He's split his lip smiling."
Sure enough, Jaime reached up to brush once more fresh blood off his mouth, but only managed to smile wider. It would hurt later, but he could not have cared less.
"That was the work of the Smiling Knight, whom this young lad fought very bravely," Ser Arthur announced to all, which led to murmured approvals and nods. He turned to Jaime next. "Are you ready, Jaime?"
"Yes, ser," He said. A solemn but warm atmosphere seemed to have descended around the circle of men. Jaime felt it inside himself too. He had imagined thousands of times by now how he would feel when he finally was knighted, but it was better than even his imagination's fancies. One thing he hadn't expected was the sober, heavy feeling in his chest — as if a mantle of responsibility was being placed across his shoulders. He supposed it was true. The joy was more powerful than expected also. The only thing that could possibly have made the moment better was if Cersei had been there with him. The tiniest hint of regret that she would miss this passed over him, but there was no doubt in him that this was the right time and place. He would tell her everything later — when he saw her again.
Jaime sunk to his knees on the grass before Ser Arthur and bowed his head, heart pounding in his throat.
"Jaime of House Lannister," Ser Arthur began solemnly, touching Jaime's right shoulder with Dawn. The sword felt surprisingly heavy on Jaime's shoulders — heavier than pure metal should be. "In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave." He moved Dawn to Jaime's left shoulder. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just." Dawn touched his right shoulder again and a shiver rippled up Jaime's spine. "In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and the innocent." With each charge, the Sword of the Morning touched one of his shoulders. "In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Smith I charge you to remain steadfast. In the name of the Crone I charge you to accept wise counsel. In the name of the Stranger I charge you never to forsake these vows and to uphold them until the end of your days." It was so quiet one could hear even the slightest movement of the trees around them.
"Will you, before the Seven and these good men, accept these charges as your sacred vows?"
For some reason he could not explain, the emotion swelled inside him until Jaime felt like he might cry, though his voice was strong and true. "I will."
Jaime's green eyes met Ser Arthur's violet ones for just a moment and saw warmth reflected back at him in the older man's gaze. "Therefore, on the acceptance of these vows, I create you Ser Jaime Lannister."
As Ser Arthur raised Jaime to his feet, the silence broke and cheers and congratulations rained over him like a summer storm.
Jaime had left Crakehall a boy squire, but he would return to Casterly Rock a knight of the realm.
AN: If you're still with me, thank you SO much for reading. If you have time, please leave a review as they help my muse! Hopefully a second chapter will be up within a few days. All the best!