The Queen was weeping again, the babe in her arms sobbing as well. Born all of an hour ago, prematurely at that, tiny Daenerys Targaryen was clearly healthy enough to scream. And scream she did, a piercing sound to make clear her anguish at being dragged around by her stumbling mother.
"Shut that wretched thing up!"
King Aerys Targaryen the Second, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. And what a Protector he was, Jaime Lannister mused beneath his mask of stoic detachment. Hauling his frail wife from her birthing chamber to the Great Hall, screaming and raving about fire and blood and dragons as always.
The Queen let out a soft cry, and Jaime felt his sword hand twitch. He felt the phantom touch of the sword to his shoulder, then the other, the solemn tones of Ser Arthur Dayne tasking him with protecting all women, protecting children and the weak. The fingers on his right hand curled. Rhaella whimpered, staggering, but the King's grip was firm as cold iron, fingers digging into what little spare flesh the Queen's frame possessed. She was thin, too thin, sickly and weak.
Jaime knew it was the King's fault. He worried her sick to the point where she couldn't eat without throwing it back up. The pregnancy alone had been tasking. The pregnancy combined with her husband's mad brutality? It was a miracle she was still alive, though Jaime wondered if it wasn't perhaps instead a punishment of some divine sort. She was suffering.
Daenerys screamed. Rhaella cried. Aerys ranted and raved about dragons, fire and blood, his violet eyes glimmering with that mad light that earned him his moniker. Mad King. Jaime Lannister, guardian of a Mad King. Oath-sworn Protector of a monster in human skin, with claws and teeth that cut and bit, with crazed purple eyes and wild silver hair. The king was as thin as his bride, with arms and legs like broomsticks, and a head like a wizened old prune covered in strands of lank silver-white hair.
Those eyes were sunken deep into their pits, peering out at the world, though at the moment the King only had eyes for the Great Hall. Jaime marched behind. Arthur Dayne commanded him to act justly. The King called his wife a whore, and his newborn daughter a worthless cunt. Jaime's right hand twitched, again. In his mind Arthur Dayne asked if he swore to the oaths presented, the flat of the legendary greatsword Dawn laid upon his right shoulder.
Jaime had sworn an oath. To protect and defend and to do justice. Aerys spat on his wife's pale face, his anger seething with flame. She wasn't meant to be here, Jaime reflected, she was supposed to be in Dragonstone. But Aerys had decided that he wanted his wife by his side, in the capital, so he could witness his daughter's birth. And, Jaime could now see, so he might do whatever it was he was doing now. Far be it from Jaime Lannister to question his king.
His right hand twitched again.
"We'll show that fucking stag, and his buggering wolf friend!" Aerys snarled. "And that piss-coloured cat, and every last fucking one of those fish fuckers! We'll burn them all!"
Burn them all.
Jaime strode ahead of his King, putting the snarling and hissing and screaming to his back so he could open the doors to the Great Hall for them. The hall was empty, but for the seat at its end. A mountain of a thousand swords, molten and twisted into the hideous looming shape of the Iron Throne. Jaime couldn't help but stare for a moment, awestruck as always by the sight. He could see Aegon the Conqueror sat atop it, a regal King worthy of respect, of service, clad in black plate and a cape of red, silver hair cut short. He looked quite a lot like Prince Rhaegar in Jaime's mind.
Then Daenerys behind him wailed again and he was torn from his fantasy, into the reality of his situation. The lone Kingsguard left to the capital; Barristan the Bold and Llewyn Martell and Jonothor Darry were all at the Trident with their prince, though the ravens spoke of Darry's death and Martell's severe injuries. Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent and Gerold Hightower all in Dorne, guarding Rhaegar's greatest folly. And Jaime Lannister, the Golden Lion, alone to guard a madman from countless enemies real and imagined.
There was a fire burning in a vast pit built in the centre of the hall. Aerys had installed it himself, in the name of burning his enemies where he could see them. Already there was a fire raging, burning away high and mighty. No doubt the servants had set it, unwilling to risk their King's wrath. Aerys made right for it, dragging his wife along with him, and a pit of familiar dread settled in Jaime's stomach when he realized what was surely about to happen.
"They'll all burn..." Aerys was whispering to himself now, but his whisper was another man's shout, and so Jaime could hear him. "They've woken the dragon, they should never have woken the dragon... they'll all burn, down to ash and cinder so I can piss on what's left..."
He turned suddenly, before the fire, and Rhaella screamed as Daenerys was ripped from her arms. Aerys held his own daughter as a man would hold a struggling cat, gnarled wrapped around her torso with her head lolling to one side. Jaime's hand shook as he stepped forward.
"Blood of the dragon..." Aerys whispered. "Fire and blood... not just words... not just words... Dunk and Egg and all the rest, you fuckers never knew! Not just words, more... instructions! To wake the dragon!"
Aerys held Daenerys over the flames, and the baby wailed at the heat. Rhaella had fallen, too weak to stand, but she screamed and begged Aerys to stop. Jaime stood, solemn, silent, seething.
"Wake the dragon, you little shit..." Aerys paused suddenly, before his head turned and those sickening purple eyes locked in to Jaime. "Lannister! Get over here!"
Jaime approached, white cloak fluttering in the slight breeze coming through the open door. White as driven snow, pure and clean and perfect. His gleaming armour trimmed in gold, his sword decorated with the same lustrous metal. Shining gold and peerless white and all of it worthless, he reflected, stained grey with the ashes of a hundred innocents. Aerys watched him approach with fiery eyes alight with that wickedness that only possessed him when he was truly excited by some prospective burning.
"Draw your sword." he commanded, and Jaime obeyed without a word. "Good... now, cut her."
Jaime paused, eyes flickering to the Rhaella, who had fallen into a sudden, fearful silence. Aerys snarled.
"Not the whore, you stupid fucking cat!" he roared, twisting to hold Daenerys out with both hands. "Fire and blood! Instructions to wake the dragon! We have fire, but the dragon's blood must be shed!"
Jaime stared at the baby in his King's hands, eyes wide. His hand twitched again, before he slowly reached down and grabbed his sword. Aerys watched him all the while, listening to the whisper of steel on leather as the golden blade emerged from its sheathe, gleaming in the sun. Rhaella let out a choked sob. Aerys grinned, a sickening sight of yellowed teeth and thin, twisted lips. Daenerys screamed again, confused and afraid and needing her mother. Jaime's heartbeat was a drum beating like rhythmic thunderclaps in his breast, so frantic he could feel it in his wrists.
"Good, good..." Aerys giggled suddenly. "So close, so close... a Lion to wake the Dragon, take that you crusty old cat..."
He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, eager and excited like a child awaiting a sweet. Rhaella whimpered. Daenerys wailed. Arthur Dayne commanded Jaime to protect women and children and the innocent alike. Gerold Hightower ordered Jaime to serve his King in all things, Jaime's King giggled like a fool as strands of spittle ran down his chin.
Jaime's sword hand trembled. Aerys' delight began to fade into impatience, as he thrust Daenerys forward again. Her head bobbed sickeningly, and her cries broke into a much softer mewling. Jaime took a deep breath.
"Fire and blood!" Aerys screeched, a demand, an order.
Serve your king, Gerold Hightower commanded him, in all things.
"No."
Jaime was uncertain where the words came from, who spoke them. Had Rhaegar returned to put an end to this folly, miraculously recovered from his wounds at the Trident? Was Arthur Dayne here at last to take his apprentice's place? Was Rhaella making one last attempt at defiance?
Aerys' face twisted, and Jaime realized the truth. Oh, he reflected. It was me.
"Who are you to defy your king, you filthy mongrel wretch!" Aerys snarled. "Cut the child, blood and fire, or I'll have your fucking head!"
"Only a knight, who swore an oath," Jaime said, voice low. "Too many to ignore."
Aerys boggled at him, and Jaime took a step forward. The King thrust his daughter forwards like a shield, and Jaime reached out and scooped the child from his shaking grasp with his arm, tucking her against his body. The King's grasp was weak, almost pitiable, long nails scratching white lines in his daughter's pale flesh as she was pulled away. Daenerys' cries quieted once she was held properly, head nestled in the crook of his elbow. She was so small, so light, so weak, eyes having failed to open yet.
Aerys stared, gawked, snarled and hissed. He advanced, hands raised in fury, ready to reclaim the girl. Jaime's grasp on his sword tightened. The blade stilled.
"And a Lannister who knows his words," Jaime said.
The golden blade thrust forward, and Aerys' scream turned to a gurgle as it passed through his chest, placed with perfection between two ribs to pierce his heart. The Mad King twisted and bucked helplessly, before Jaime ripped his blade free with the suckling sound of steel exiting flesh. Then he watched in silence as his King staggered backwards, eyes wide with shock, and fell into the flames at his back.
"Hear me roar." Jaime said, and watched his King burn.
Then he staggered backward suddenly, a fierce weight crashing into him. Not physical; all it once, in a single moment, he realized what it was he had just done. He blinked once, twice, a third time, breathing slowly. His golden sword dropped from suddenly loosened fingers and clattered to the flagstones below, though he kept his cradling of Princess Daenerys secure. To his right he could hear Queen Rhaella's shocked breathing, slow and steady.
He swallowed then. The Queen. He had killed Aerys for the Queen. To protect the Queen, the Princess. He was a Kingslayer now. For a moment he wondered if that was what they would call him. But it didn't matter.
"My Queen," he said, voice low, somehow unshaken despite the trembling that ran all up his sword arm. "We need to leave."
"Indeed."
The voice was not Rhaella's, though it still sounded half like a woman's. Jaime recognized it from many Small Council meetings he had attended at Gerold Hightower's side, even as the equally familiar scent of Myrish perfume filled the air. A man, all plump and pink, bald with a head like an egg, approached silently from behind, staring at the dead King burning in the fire.
"Varys..." Jaime murmured, before his eyes went wide and he reached down for his sword, one eye locked firmly upon the eunuch's advancing form.
"An unnecessary gesture, Ser Jaime," Varys said, voice soft and sweet. "I can assure you, I am no threat to you or the Queen... or the young Princess."
Jaime's sword hand twitched.
"What do you want?" Jaime asked.
"To serve the realm," Varys replied, smiling a serene Septon's smile. "Although it looks as though you have done a better job than I at the moment."
Jaime tensed.
"King Aerys had it coming, I assure you, though I never suspected it would be Jaime Lannister who would snap first." Varys continued. "I suspected Whent, or perhaps Dayne; Prince's men, both of them, eager to see Rhaegar atop the throne. But not you."
Rhaella let out a low moan, and Jaime turned in surprise. He had forgotten all about her... and about the babe slumbering in the crook of his arm. He reached down and offered her a hand, one Rhaella took gratefully. The two got her on her feet, and behind them Varys sighed.
"Your father is hours from reaching Kings Landing." Varys warned. "Robert Baratheon is dead, but his stalwart companions still fight on in his name. Lord Tywin appears to have picked a side."
"Why shouldn't I kill you?" Jaime asked, as his Queen leaned against his shoulder, clinging to his arm with both hands. "You're the only one who knows about..."
He nodded at Aerys' smouldering corpse, and Varys looked at him with those bright eyes suddenly. He was not smiling, but the light in his eyes was mirthful, delighted at the madness before him. This sort of unexpected treachery must have been his favourite sort of entertainment, Jaime reflected briefly.
"I find men rarely dispose of things they need." he said. "And forgive my reckless guesswork, but I estimate that you still need me."
"For what?" Jaime asked.
"For your own escape." said the eunuch, before gesturing to an alcove to one side of the hall, beneath one of the vast windows through which the afternoon light streamed. "Through the tunnel within that alcove you will find a passage which leads to a hall in the castle's western corridors. Follow it to its finish and take the door you find at the end, down the steps. There you will find a safe means of egress.
The Kingslayer stared at the Spider. The Spider stared at the Kingslayer. Both refused to look away, until Varys smiled again, looking rather like a cat when presented with a large bowl of cream.
"Oh yes," he remarked. "You are much more interesting than I had assumed."