II.

Ethos

There was a reason that the Targaryen dynasty ruled the seven kingdoms for a millennia.

There was a reason that Aegon I took each battle with his dragons, melting his enemies and forging their swords into the iron throne.

There was a reason that people feared the Targaryens and what they could accomplish.

Truly, Jaime Lannister now understood why the words of their house were fire and blood.

Fire, true fire burned around him. Agonizing screams curled into the air, perforating with the smoke of the loot that burned into the sky. Billows of large, black smoke took over the field. With one missile of fire from her dragon, their line was sieged. Within their armor, his men melted. Their bones turned to char and ash, falling away into the ground. It churned his stomach, because although he knew men soiled themselves when they died — this, this was a mixture of burnt human debris and chaos.

Bronn wasted no time, he went to the line to fight against the Dothraki.

Jaime woke up when something cut through his armor, blinking back his daze — a Dothraki arakh cut into his shoulder. Wielding his sword with his good hand atop his horse, the pain nullified his shock. Jutting his blade forward, he used the momentum of their horse to stab into the dotharki's back.

So it began.

They weren't equipped for this fight, not with one scorpion. One scorpion wouldn't do shit against that dragon. It's blood curdling screech echoed as she reigned down another bomb onto the last of their loot. "Bronn!" Jaime beckoned, riding atop his horse — the crunch of his men's body beneath his horses' hooves would be a sound that would live with him forever.

Bronn, already covered in blood — knew what to do. Their only chance at surviving would be the scorpion. It happened all too quickly, all too fast. Dothraki men atop their horses shot arrows standing from their back, his men flying to their death from the accuracy of their aim. For every ten of his men, only one body from the horde would be on the ground.

More acquainted with death than most men, Jaime could see that they were going to lose.

The anguished howls took over. His sword pummeled into the chest of another Dothraki, the sling of blood as he dislodged his sword nearly blinded him. They needed to keep fighting. He ran through several of their horses, nearly getting launched back himself. Above him, Daenerys and the black beast circled back — ready for another attack. "Bronn!" Jaime bellowed, the man was shaky atop the carriage, lined up with the beast.

There was little time to watch because someone knocked him off his horse, sending him tumbling to the ground. Standing off with what must have been one of their fiercest warriors, Jaime doubled back — attempting to knock his balance, his sword clanging down. The Dothraki spun around him, his arakh gripping onto his sword, catching and tossing it aside. Now without his weapon, Jaime could see his future — buried with the rest of the men that fought for his sister.

At the very least, this nightmare would end. It would be quiet.

Until the Tarly kid decapitated the dothraki in front of him, nearly severing the entire head. The body fell all the same, limp. Jaime nodded his thanks, quickly running to grab his sword and find his horse. Thick smoke made it hard to breathe or see the world around him, but his time in Robb Stark's camp keened his senses marvelously. Quickly, he jumped back onto the white mare, a gleaming knight amongst the carnage left by the Targaryen.

By now, the battle was nearly lost.

It didn't take much.

They weren't ready, they were blindsided.

Somehow, he watched Bronn release the scorpion's arrow. It happened slowly, the arrow flew into the sky. If this missed, he would let them kill him. He refused to be another prisoner, refused to let them take his only hand. His pride was too great, his name too mighty for him to become another pawn within the cycling wars, the endless kings and queens that thought they deserved the throne. It tired him. The only source motivation he had was Cersei, but her vengeance was growing each day. Incessant on destroying her enemies. He could only bade by her to keep her terror from being that alike the awful men before her.

Yes, death might be most pleasant.

He would die on the battlefield like a true knight, just how the young Targaryen princess deemed him to be so many moons ago.

Except the arrow hit.

Jaime held his breath, watching as the beast squalled in pain, losing it's balance and catapulting to the ground. It spiraled, unable to fly. The kings guard ran forward towards Bronn. If this killed one of the dragons and ended Daenerys, the entire war would be done. It would all be done, and he could be with his sister.

Though, some part of him watched in horror.

A small, resentful place in his heart didn't want to watch Daenerys succumb to death. It didn't befit her. The lively smile she would parade around as she ran up to him, her youthful innocence and questions about her mother. The way she left him, bravely leaving King's Landing so she could begin a new life, a sad life. So he looked away, unable to watch the final moments of a girl he saved so long ago.

It never happened.

A shadow casted over him.

"Lannister!" Bronn pointed towards the sky.

The beast caught itself midair. It was gliding towards them, it's wings clearly unaffected by the scorpion. Heavens, it didn't work. "It barely scratched him," Jaime murmured. Around them, the dothraki were headed their way.

"Fuck this, are you coming with me?" Bronn jumped off the carriage to get onto his horse once again. "We're either taken prisoner or killed. I don't plan on becoming ash, come with me!" Bronn took off.

The dragon landed in the smoke. It screeched it's victory cry, as if it knew what it had just accomplished with his mother sitting atop him. In the rubble, in the debris, in the blood that pooled around him, Jaime knew this was the last of him. Nothing was left. Bronn disappeared into the black air around them. Perhaps he wasn't such a fool, he was much smarter than Jaime ever gave him credit for. Daenerys sat straighter atop the dragon, surveying the damage. He could barely see through the dust that lifted itself from the landing. It's tail whipped and cracked straight through their main weapon as if it were paper.

A resentful beast, apparently.

Jaime noticed a large lance to his left. Quietly, he watched as the faux queen slid off of her dragon. It was large, much larger than he could have ever possibly imagined. It still wasn't fully grown, and he didn't want to envision a world where it grew to it's full potential. They didn't see him. He must have blended in with the dead. Something innate told him to not do it, to not even try it.

If he could kill her, it would end.

It would all stop.

He grabbed the lance tighter, allowing his mare to creep forward.

In the shadows of the pain she created, Jaime emerged.

'You idiot, don't do it.'

He was nothing, if not a fool.

The young woman was preoccupied with the dragon's wound. She knew she won, why would she think anyone was left. The dothraki were already rounding up the rest of the survivors, he would be next once they noticed him. He kicked the side of his saddle, rearing the horse. Dragon and rider shook the drudge of war off of them, Daenerys stood there in her battle gear petting the fucking creature.

Most men would have marveled, but Jaime surged forward from the rubble.

Jaime kept quiet, aiming the lance straight for her heart.

Keeping his aim straight and pride as armor, Jaime was twenty feet away. Fifteen feet away. Ten feet away from stopping the madness that would claim this land once more. The dragon snarled, noticing him last second. Five feet. It's behemoth body curled around Daenerys. The fire began to ignite within its jowls. His plan already failed, but clever as Egg the Knight, Jaime stood from his horse — sacrificing the animal. His launch catapulted him straight to Daenerys, the lance slipped out of his hand.

Above the fire, he gripped onto the fiery woman.

Using his momentum, he ripped her away from her child. Grasping onto her and ripping her into the water, the duo landed deep in the river beside them, the current too strong for them to fight against. Still, he held with his one hand onto her helm, his grip like that of a dead man. Together, they swallowed the water, a chokehold on their lungs. The dragon above them searched frantically for its mother, glass eyes scavenging the water. The sounds of the river filled their ears as it dragged them further under its rolling current.

Too deep to touch the bottom, his armor was drowning him.

Daenerys wasn't fairing much better.

They were too heavy to try and swim, but he needed them to stay under the water until they wouldn't be found. He kept her head under water. Drowning wasn't a painful way to go, but he couldn't help the amount of water that he swallowed himself. What could have been minutes or an hour of them thrashing, barely leveling the water to gather air and the disappearing once more. They both tumbled onto a small sandbar, hidden in thick leaves and bushes, miles away from the battlefield.

Wretching up the entire contents of his stomach, Jaime heaved to collect some air into his lungs. They burned with the ferocity of the smoke and water he inhaled, his body caved over as his body tried to gain some semblance of normalcy.

Beside him, Daenerys turned over — her face purple.

Unconscious, lungs filled with liquid.

Jaime panted, sat beside her fighting his own demons. He looked down at the pretty face, the pale blue of her lips — just like this, she looked so much like her mother Rhaella. A true beauty, it would be a shame to let her slip into death like this. Yet if he did this, this war would continue. He could take her to his sister, but it was all the same. She would die. Jaime thought of his men that were back there, of all the lives she just took.

His body shook with the ferocity of his decision.

The war would end, countless lives would be spared.

Within him, sweet tales of knights bombarded his head. Like before, he couldn't stomach the thought of her dying. Not the sweet, innocent child that made his time in King Aerys II court palatable. He leaned over her, heart a symphony of swords in his chest. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't let her die, not like this. Let his sister handle her.

His hands went straight to her chest, compressing on counts of three.

His lips went to hers, blowing into her mouth.

Panic began to set in when it wasn't working.

"Daenerys!" he snapped, his one hand unable to push hard enough onto her chest. He needed two hands! His golden hand was only good enough to press down on her chest. Again, he held her nose pinched and breathed into her mouth — praying to whatever gods there were that she would wake up.

Another minute dragged on.

The young queen sputtered, gagging on water — her body lurching forward to throw up the water. She retched on her hands and knees, a relentless amount of water ejecting from her mouth. Jaime leaned back, watching her with a predatory eye. More than likely she held some sort of weapon, and without his sword he was as good as useless. The only thing left would be his wit, and Tyrion managed to take all of that for himself in their mother's womb.

Up close, she looked as pristine as the day he watched her disappear onto the sailboat.

Her hair long coiled back in wet braids took to her waist, glimmering skin kissed by the eastern sun. Her face remain unchanged by the trauma of her life, only hardened by her relentless reserve. Before him, an heir of grace shone through even though she was still coughing up water. A woman, that's what she was. Gone was the child that he saved, now she was a woman — a powerful, damning woman. Her helm was tossed to the side, rubies adorning the magnificent piece made up of obsidian. Her amor — or what he thought was armor, was much lighter than he originally imagined. Made up of a thick leather and metal breast plate, it reminded him of a mixture of what her ancestors and the dothraki wore to battle. It protected her spots of vulnerability, yet gave her the flexibility of battle. The proud Targaryen sigil displayed for the world to see on her chest and backplate.

A gossamer of materials made within the east adorned the rest of her body. Scarlet and black, fire and blood.

It took a lot to get him, Jaime Lannister impressed - it felt like she walked out of a tale of old Valyria.

She gripped the sand, trying to regain her breath. More minutes drew between the duo before she spoke first, quietly reaching for something within her armor. Before she could lunge at him, he pinned her to the ground, cinching her wrist so that the blade fell into the sand. Straddling her, it took everything in his power to hold her down — being down one hand wasn't easy when she flailed beneath him like one of the wild felines found high in the mountains by theVale.

"Stop!" he pressed down further onto her back, forcing her to cough again — her lungs barely recovered from the onslaught of water.

"Get off of me!" Daenerys spat, half her face pressed into the sand. "They know where this river leads, Tyrion and the rest of the Dothraki will be here soon and you'll be dead, Lannister!"

"Ah — see," he twisted her arm again, forcing her to hiss in pain, "that's not going to work for me. Death and I have an outstanding relationship, and I don't plan on letting that bastard win just yet."

Daenerys stopped moving, panting and huffing beneath him. She was so petite, it was a wonder she could control three dragons and two entire armies — but he knew it was more than that. Her other elbow reared back and hit him in the jaw. A black pain threaded through his skull, she almost managed to squirm away from him, but he caught both of her wrists with his good hand, her body now facing him.

Pinned beneath him was perhaps the most beautiful woman to walk within their world.

Her Targaryen blood ran through her veins. Dark, violet eyes matched the storm of emotions within her. Full lips reeled back in distaste, a pure hatred for him that were once filled with happiness.

"Let. Me. Go!" she seethed.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" He shifted his weight, his dead weight of an arm hanging limply at his side. His sword arm, the same arm that saved her during the sack of King's Landing.

Briefly, she looked at his golden hand — her face softening a fraction, "…I-" words seemed to escape the normally self-assured Queen. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

The words perturbed him, he didn't expect an apology for something that didn't concern her, "unless you're one of those turn cloaks, I don't see why you need to apologize for something that isn't your fault."

There she was, the girl he remembered. Daenerys stopped her fight entirely, succumbing to this position, "yes…Well, your sword was your life. I remember-" she stated clearly — her words stopped at the unspoken ledge of I remember you saved me with your sword.

It was a lifetime ago. Where her bottom lip was pressed to a thin line in hatred for him now, he last remembered that bottom lip quivering in fear.

"It still is," he reminded her.

"I would think it would be that vile sister of yours."

Jaime somberly chuckled, "I don't think you have room to talk when you just melted my men who have families. Or is your judgment only reserved for anyone that won't kneel?"

Anger flickered in her eyes, she bristled unhappily much like her dragon, "this is war, Lannister. I see you didn't have many reservations when Cersei blew up the innocent people of King's Landing at the sept."

Fair.

What he sacrificed his life and honor to uphold so long ago, his sister destroyed.

It angered him, but they were all they had left. The normally well quipped knight had little to say in response, because his sister committed crimes that he would have killed other men for. He was no saint, held no seat to judge others, but killing innocent women and children in the masses made him feel ill.

Daenerys analyzed his reaction, her confident gaze holding him firm, "I wish I had such a low moral margin to overlook something like that." She shifted beneath him, a lifetime of anger harbored towards him.

He should have let her die. It would have made the world a better, safer place. There was no reason for someone to wield two armies, three dragons, the undying loyalty of people within the east, and a new cult following within the west. "One day I hope you're never faced with the proposition of killing someone you love, because it isn't an easy choice."

Sadness burned into her skin, sadness mixed with an omniscience that no human should have. "Sometimes it isn't a choice."

Heaving her entire weight, she knocked him off of her and scrambled to grab her knife. With lighter armor than him, she was able to grab it and scramble away from him. Crouched in a fighting stance, he stood up himself — preparing for her to lunge at him.

It made no sense, had she been training?

Without his sword, he was at a sever disadvantage.

She wasted no time in lunging for him. Her lack of fighting experience was clear because he managed to take the knife from her, risking a cut to the throat. He grabbed her wrist, applying the right amount of pressure so that she dropped it. Holding her there, he drew her closer — her chest heaving in anger. "I applaud your attempt, but I need to deliver you to my sister."

They needed to leave, now. This river wound into the forest. His only advantage was that he knew this land well from his travels with Brienne. Her army wouldn't dare advance further into this territory without risking the deaths of innocent people. Tyrion would send an experienced party to find her, so that only allowed him half a day to get ahead of them.

Surprised by his strength, she glared up at him, "Lannister," she warned, "let me go, now."

Jaime gazed down at her, their faces inches apart, "never again."

With one single jab from his golden hand, he knocked her unconscious in his arms. Grabbing her helm, he collected her knife from the ground to stick it in his pocket — running with her limp body deep into the woods.

—

Dragon Stone

The wine tasted sour compared to the decadent wine in the east. His taste buds must have changed, because once upon a time Tyrion would have killed to have some good wine from the seven kingdoms. Beautiful women, good wine, simpler politics. Why did they ever leave? Sitting within the council room in Dragon Stone, the different, powerful faces sat present around the map.

Primarily, Jon Snow sat clearly disgruntled by the fact that their Queen was missing. Wolf, flower, sun, kraken. It was all the same. It really hurt their plans to stall things, but good plans took time — and until they found Daenerys, it would be no good to act out of premeditated vengeance.

"What ails you, Jon Snow?" Tyrion took another sip of wine.

"There's an army of weight walkers coming, Daenerys is missing, and we're no closer to gaining more warriors for the long night."

"Ah, yes yes — all of that," Tyrion stared at the map, Barristan Selmy standing beside him, all heads trying to concoct a plan, "you've always been the crutch of the seven kingdom's worries. Even at the wall, you seemed to hold a torch of problems for someone so young. Have you ever not brooded?"

Jon sighed, hand covering his mouth in frustration, "there's been no word from Jorah Mormont?"

"None. We have our best men looking for her, they'll find her."

"With all of the sells words and eyes that Cersei has? She probably already has her!"

"She's going to be ok," Tyrion's voice grew tighter.

"How can you calmly sit there as the hand of the Queen? Do you not worry for her safety?"

Tyrion's lips pursed into a thin, taut line before he responded, "you'd be surprised how resilient our Queen can be. Though I'm surprised to hear you call her that since she gave you leniency in the North."

Jon quieted then, but it was too late.

"Considering that she gave you clemency as King of the North, allowed you to pilfer dragon stone for dragon glass, and the use of her armies in a war that beset by your word alone — It's a miracle you haven't gone back to that dreary wasteland you call home."

The King's jaw clenched, "none of it matters if she dies."

"Oh, right," Tyrion tipped his glass towards the young wolf, "your urgency comes from a place within your heart. Or rather, is it your pants?"

The room went silent. A chill as cold as the hardened walls of the Targaryen stronghold made the strong heads of the other houses look at the bastard for a response, "…that has nothing to do with it."

It was no secret that the wolf and dragon met. A mutual respect came shortly after a tense first meeting. It didn't take long for the two to warm up to one another. A month of gaining each other's respect, another week and Tyrion could hear the familiar moans of his Queen stemming from her quarters.

At first the situation came with a noose of dread. Slowly, as the dragon glass was being excavated from her families' home, he noticed the way they distanced from one another. It must have been a one sided decision to stop the affair between them, because Daenerys would retire early to her quarters, and the sullen Stark would trail his eyes after her, watching her leave with longing.

What transpired between them — for the life of him he could not figure it out. His queen broke many hearts, so he wondered if it was her decision to end things amicably.

Tyrion stood up, he needed time to think. "I may have some friends that have seen her. The only way that river leads is to Casterly Rock. We were planning on taking my homestead already, and I'm positive my brother will be heading there for safety amongst Lannister loyalists before taking her to King's Landing. If everyone will excuse me."

Jon Snow made no notion to stop him, neither did the familiar faces of those that wanted vengeance against his sister. Everyone wanted a solution. With Ser Barristan at his heels, Tyrion escaped to the outside steps — eyes pondering over the ocean as to where his brother took Daenerys. The high pitched squeals of her children flocked high above the clouds, anxiously circling one another — "they've been doing that since she's been gone. Do you suppose you know how to calm down three large dragons?"

Ser Barristan looked up to squint past the sun, "…Perhaps I should have gone instead of Mormont," the renowned knight sighed.

"No. I need you here to keep these people calm. Especially Snow. At this time, he would love nothing more than to march the armies up north. Daenerys wants to deal with Cersei first before going on a suicide mission against the dead. We need him here to keep things peaceful with the north."

"They're all waiting," Barristan said.

"Don't remind me. With how well the dothraki did against my brother's army — the time to attack would be now. We need get rid of my sister before she can conjure her next move. I'm stuck because I can't do anything without the approval of the Queen." Tyrion chugged the rest of his glass of wine, the stress souring his stomach.

Both men that were highly loyal and believed in Daenerys Targaryen stood together, watching the three beasts circle the sky.

'Where has my brother taken you?'

—

Much like her dragons, Daenerys had a beastly tenacity to her.

Run down, hands tied behind her — she never held her head down or succumbed to the conditions of their trek. She bristled, waited, watched his every move like those damn creatures.

Sometimes at night, Jaime could have sworn her eyes glowed a brilliant purple.

Seven days into their journey, he was feeling the fatigue himself. He managed to fish them some food while staying away from the main roads and following the river. According to his memory, which hopefully was still as brilliant as it once was, they should be three days from Casterly Rock if they continued on the pace they were at. Daenerys stayed mute, only talking when he would pry questions from her. By now, her gleaming silver hair was in turmoil — knotted and disarray.

Still, she looked like a true queen.

The chill of winter was beginning to roll in, a sobering wind would prickle their skin with goosebumps. They were taking a break deep in the forages before the rolling valleys and hills would lead to Casterly Rock. From there, he could send a letter to his sister and have a guarded party with him to escort her to Cersei.

Just a few more days.

Daenerys watched him, watched the way he splashed his face with the water — his untrimmed beard growing in once again.

"You look a lot different than I remember."

Jaime paused, cupped hand filled with water, "that's what happens when ten years pass. I was twenty-five when you last saw me."

She held a look of contemplation. Their history was rich. Her childhood was filled with him, they held a whirlwind of memories together — whether it was her running around the red keep, or them living through the trauma of her father that he inflicted on them. Those memories reflected on her face, but she didn't budge. Too much time passed, memories were that — memories.

"I always thought you were too pretty to be my father's Kingsguard. Everyone else was already hardened…" Daenerys swallowed, "now you look like them."

Jaime chuckled, splashing his face. A million quips could have been said, but instead he stated, "that's what happens when you've lost your identity and family."

"That makes us one in the same, then."

He shook his head, returning her gaze, "No…My dear, you will always be a Targaryen. A fretful one, at that."

She sat a bit straighter, "and you'll always be a Lannister."

The subtle sound of the river beside them offered to soothe where this inevitable conversation was headed, "unfortunately. I might have served to have a simpler life had I not been born into this family."

"Your name is your life. You're pompous. The Jaime Lannister — a revered swordsman. I'm shocked that you continue to grovel after your sister when you would always tell me that you loved your sword more than life."

Silence permeated him, he sat back to get a better look of her. Her words were akin to that of Brienne of Tarth, their journey served to change him forever. He knew by now that she was serving Sansa Stark, safe in the north. What he would give to have another conversation with her. "I did. Are you still the spoilt princess that would cry when Rhaenys didn't want to play with you?"

The comment frazzled Daenerys, "don't you dare speak of my family. If it weren't for you usurper dogs-!" She paused, jaw clenching. That day would live with them both forever. He wished he could take what she saw at such a delicate age and keep it for himself. The many nights of sleep lost over the events of that day were just one of the many hindrances in his life.

"I had no knowledge of what my father planned."

She tuffed, clearly not believing him, "then how did you know to kill my father?"

Jaime wanted to be angry, wanted to throw her into the river and be done with it — he couldn't, "don't lie to yourself. You and I both witnessed the same thing that day. Your father was going to blow up the entirety of King's Landing!" His words were tossed into an emboldened whisper, "I don't know what lies you spewed to yourself to keep you going, but you know I had to kill him. He was a monster."

By the time he was done, he was nearly shaking. Of every soul that was there that day, she should know. His innocence would not be betrayed by the image of him she skewed in her head.

The world may call him King Slayer, but he couldn't live with himself if she believed that, too.

Like before, brief moments of her confident grace would fall, and the simple woman within her would reveal itself. The same girl that would recite stories of old Valyria to him. "After I tried to find my aunt and cousins…I," she paused, her trauma resurfacing, "I watched him kill her. Her skull was smashed, but I could see her body still trying to fight for life, still squirming to live. Aegon was already dead in the other room with my aunt. I didn't know then, but she tried to fight him. I didn't see him rape Elia, but by the time he grabbed Rhaenys again…It only took one more hit before her body went limp."

The hollow look on Daenery's face was enough to keep him quiet. They shared an innate memory that led to the continuing, never ending, tumultuous events in their lives. One day, that was all it took.

"—I screamed then, and ran. Ran through the back corridors so he wouldn't find me. Everywhere, people were dead. People I grew up loving: my wet nurse, my septa, the cooks. I didn't know if he was following after me, but I knew I needed to find you."

They shared a knowing look, one strong enough to bond them forever.

"I kept looking for you, calling your name — crying. I knew I'd be safe with you. A childish thought, really. I could hear his screams from the hallway. I knew what it meant, but I didn't want to believe it. I entered the throne room with your sword in his back."

The image of the King dead before the throne would be burned with them forever.

From that point, there was no need to explain.

It made his stomach coil to think that she came to find him on purpose. At the very least, he kept her safe that day. "On my honor, I had no knowledge of what my father planned." His skin paled with this conversation. Perhaps they should have held this conversation later. He knew their time was limited. By the time his sister's guard would come for her, there would be no time.

"—I don't believe in gods, but I preyed for your safety throughout the years. I truly wished for you to live a happy life."

Anger still vibrated around her in an angry energy, but she relented to drop her gaze.

"Then I suppose we both know the gods aren't real."

Unlike that of their past, he had little to say in response to the dragon before him.

Another day passed with relative silence. It wasn't safe enough for them to stop by an inn, nor for them to travel the main roads still. Surprisingly, his captive didn't try to fight him or disappear in the night. Their time would be brittle, he was sure by now there was a team searching for her on their heels. Straying away from the river, once the land near Casterly Rock became more recognizable, he took the chance and pushed them further into the hills. His time hunting wild boar with his father as a child finally served a greater purpose other than to annoy him.

"You understand that Tyrion will know you're headed for your home," Daenerys goaded him on that early morning.

Jaime didn't respond, just trudged her along.

"-Why haven't you taken me on the main roads? Lannister bannisters are everywhere. Your sister is the Queen, surely it would have been easier to have me seen."

Silence.

He felt the rope tug, his captive stopped — refusing to budge, "answer me, Lannister."

"Perhaps you've forgotten, but this land has cycled through several kings, multiple hands, and switches in power in the last decade that I myself can hardly keep track of. There is no such thing as loyalty. If we get seen by the wrong people, you and I will both be fodder."

Daenerys saw right through him, "no. You're stalling."

The lion huffed, "must you be so dreadful? Be a good captive and stay quiet."

The once innocent girl knew she could get the upper hand on him, "you don't want to deliver me to your sister right away. You'd rather some other nameless faces cart me off to her." Not only was she fearsome, her intelligence could rival that of his brother. Adept, keen to watch - it unnerved him. What trials did she go through to make her like this?

"Stop it, Dae-"

"You know Tyrion will assume you'll take me to Casterly Rock before King's Landing. It's safe there. It might just be that they'll even be there waiting for me."

Irritation prickled him, he took a threatening step closer to her, "don't assume to know what I think."

The Queen met him with her own step, head held high, "you've gone soft, haven't you — Ser Jaime?" He may have wanted to kill her before in the midst of battle, but he couldn't bring forth an answer. The gentle way she caressed her words in the same manor she did so long ago served to remind him that he truly cared about her once upon a time.

Another step, her violet eyes bore into his own, "you saved me so long ago. You saved me from drowning. You've taken care of me. You've wished for me to have a safe life, so what does it serve you to have me killed now?"

Every word of hers grated his nerves, he couldn't escape it. He couldn't escape the truth that subconsciously now that she stood in front of him, alive and grown — her death would ail him.

The normally snarky man couldn't hold a torch to her words, so she took another brave step before him, closing their distance. Nose quirked upward because he stood a foot taller than her, somehow she still made him feel like she was looking down on him.

Her voice softened, a graceful touch on her incantations, "I've always believed you were a good man."

If he leaned down, their lips would meet.

Through thick lashes, Daenerys allowed her mouth to quirk upwards. Any ordinary man would have easily fallen, she held his gaze — captivating him, "I want to believe you're still the knight that saved me so long ago."

The air corded with thick resolve between them. This was a testament to his character. The ethereal woman set her palm on his chest, her fingers gently splaying over the crest of the lion head. He lost the ability to breathe. Hundreds of outcomes weighed in his head. What kind of man was he? Jaime knew delivering Daenerys to his sister would not only mean her death, but a cruel, torturous death. One that Cersei had been mustering for years. All of the pain in her life would be besot onto the Targaryen.

It would be an ugly, wretched affair.

Could he sit through that?

Her words tickled him, yet the images of his men burning to death sobered him up. He leaned forward, their bodies pinned in their proximity, "what other choice do I have?" he lamented into her ear, "how will you fight true injustice? Your words are fire and blood. " His hand drew up to her silver hair, his fingers playing with the soft strand.

Daenerys turned her head, lips nearly touching his own, "I will get the Queen's justice you promised me."

-tbc