As long as Jaime could remember, it had always been Cersei. When he thought of his future, it was Cersei he pictured. Cersei by his side, Cersei chasing their little golden children around Casterly Rock, Cersei and him running free. A foolish thought perhaps. Especially foolish, for as he mooned after his sister, she was in turn mooning after Rhaegar Targaryen and picturing little golden princes and princesses with purple eyes.
Cersei as queen, a goal of his mother's that his father couldn't quite let go, a promise whispered to Joanna Lannister on her deathbed. Their golden lioness a queen, and a Lannister grandchild on the throne. A pretty picture to be sure. A picture that should have been easy to paint for all that his father had done for the king.
Aerys Targaryen had been nothing without Tywin Lannister, and the realm knew it. The backbone of his reign, the steel fist behind the King's word. None would dare betray Aerys Targaryen with Tywin Lannister's backing, except perhaps Tywin Lannister himself. Good enough reason for any sane king to reward such a staunch ally. Ensure his continued loyalty and military support by making his daughter a queen. Any sane king would have thought the same.
Aerys Targaryen, the second of his name, was many things, sane not among them.
Aerys had refused his beautiful, golden sister for his heir at every turn. All the better for Jaime, he had no desire to follow his sister to King's Landing and watch as Rhaegar gave her everything that should be his to give. The refusals bothered Jamie little, his father's stubborness in the matter and refusal to accept no as an answer just meant the more time Cersei spent in his bed.
For every appeal Tywin gave to Aerys, Aerys offered a rebuttal. Offering young Viserys instead of Rhaegar, easy for his father to refuse on account of the age difference. But perhaps his father should have not reached so far, should not have underestimated the king so, for before he could make another offer Rhaegar had been married off to Elia Martell, wedded and bedded before the great lion could so much as twitch his tail. A smart move, one that surely came from another advisor than the king himself.
Sweet Elia, a beautiful woman, however less frail than the rumors had made her out to be. His almost bride as well, had his mother not bled out on the birthing bed. His almost-bride if his father had actually cared for his mother's hopes for her children. Instead he cared more for the wishes that gave him power and gold and more power. Perhaps if his mother had lived, Elia would be Lady of Casterly Rock instead of the fate that befell her.
A sound political move it had been, whether Aerys had done it on purpose or by stroke of luck. Ensure the loyalty of the Martells and their military strength. She was not the only pawn Aerys moved, as much as his father hated it.
In consolation to Tywin, Aerys offered his second child, his daughter Shaena, for his heir. An offer that Tywin could not refuse without further raising the king's suspicions and ire. A fair offer at face value, but one that his father had taken as a great insult.
Shaena Targaryen was no Rhaegar. Not was, is, Jaime corrected himself. Is, she is yet with us, gods help her. Born a moon before her time and perhaps more frail than Elia was said to be. Slight of frame and a year younger than Jaime. He could remember the day she was presented to him so clearly, the memory perhaps more clear than that of his mother.
He had given her all the consideration that a five-and-ten year old in love with his own sister could. Her hair was too light to be Cersei's, she was short where Cersei was tall and graceful, frail and slight where Cersei was strong and healthy. Her eyes a shock of lavender where Cersei's were a reflection of his own green. Seemingly meek and simple minded where Cersei was sharp and witty and cunning. Cersei, Cersei, Cersei, she wasn't Cersei and that had been enough for him to write her off from the start. It had been enough for him to ignore the fear in her eyes and the claw-like grip her father had on her arm, for who could know the tales Aerys Targaryen had told of the great lion and his golden son.
Tywin saw the marriage for what it was, the theft of his heir and legacy. Jaime and Princess Shaena were to reside in the Red Keep for until the birth of an heir. A folly, as the Princess had yet to bleed and was largely thought to be infertile due to her frailty. So the truth of it was, they would reside in the Red Keep until Aerys grew bored of tormenting his only daughter or until he could otherwise ascertain Tywin's loyalty.
Aerys smelt treason everywhere, and rather than make Tywin's daughter queen and hand even more power to him, he found himself a hostage in the form of his son. There would be no reprieve from the mad king, and no Cersei it would seem. The morning after the wedding Tywin fled, for what else could one call his hasty departure, with his only daughter, citing a dispute among his bannermen.
Funny how different his little wife looked when not eclipsed by his sister.
Perhaps it was this new light he saw Shaena in, or perhaps it was that they were each other's only allies in the dark days that followed. Burning after burning, death after death. Forced to attend court, where else could Jaime focus his attention other than Shaena? Thinking of Cersei only caused sorrow, looking at the mad king only brought disgust, and he couldn't stomach watching the poor souls being burnt with wildfire.
A scream ripped through the halls, and Jaime flinched. Gods please spare me this, do not let me lose another. Do not let this place take her too.
He remembered the first man he saw burn alive. He could not remember the name of the man nor what he had been accused of, but he remembered the screams. He remembered the screams and the smoke and the smell of burning flesh. The heat of the flames and the green light that it cast over the throne room and the dragon skulls. He remembered the way Aerys, his blessed good-father, had cackled and looked on in glee. The way he had gripped the throne and thought nothing of the cuts to his hands from the swords.
He had emptied his stomach upon the return to his chambers, Shaena silently moving around him and cleaning his forehead and mouth with a damp cloth. How she had held him and said nothing as he shook, distracting him afterwards with questions of his childhood. It was all too practiced, the way she had cared for him and knew how to distract from the horrors he had witnessed. She had done it before for many a handmaiden, had cared for Elia after her first day at court as a Princess of House Targaryen.
Later, it had been Shaena herself who had prevented Jaime from coming between Aerys and Rhaella, as she did not want to see her new husband burn. Her husband, who was now the only thing who stood between her and the whims of her father.
So perhaps it was the hours they spent following the burnings, sitting and trading stories or discussing trivial matters of the realm, that he began to see Shaena in a new light. Where he once saw her hair as a dull shade of Cersei's spun gold, he now saw moonlight and silver. A beautiful contrast to the lavender silks she favored. Where he once saw her as too short and frail he now saw her as delicate and graceful, and he quite liked how she fit next to him in their bed. He no longer saw her as meek and simple minded, but intelligent and shy and savvy enough to know when best to hold her tongue, and quite witty when in the comfort of their own rooms and given the opportunity. Her eyes, he no longer sought a reflection of his own but instead sought the way they would light up when he asked her about the book she had been reading, or the way they would dance when he told a particularly funny tale about Tyrion.
A blind fool he had been prior to his little wife, now only a golden fool as Shaena so lovingly called him.
Perhaps it was in these moments that they found love, and perhaps it was this love that convinced him to do what he had.
Rhaegar stole Lyanna Stark, and Shaena wept. She wept for the older brother she once knew and cherished, for surely they were not one in the same. She wept for her dear friend Elia, who she had grown close to after Aersy recalled her from Dragonstone, and she wept for little Aegon and Rhaenys, who would someday learn of their father's dishonour.
Rickard and Brandon Stark burnt, and so did the realm.
The burnings increased in frequency as the rebellion raged on. Day after day, hand after hand, accused traitor after accused traitor. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the throne room, in their hair, on their clothes, a persistent reminder of their reality. Their lives in the hand of a mad man, Jaime existing purely as insurance that his father would not rise against the crown.
It was in these days that he truly began to rely on Shaena, and she on him, and that he truly began to understand what it was to truly love.
Rhaegar died, and Shaena wept. She wept all night and through to the morne, stopping only to attend court and not draw any of her fathers madness in her direction as he burnt yet another lord. This time, a lord who had not shown what Aerys considered the proper remorse for his dead heir.
Rhaella was evacuated, and Shaena wept for her mother and youngest brother. Whether she wept out of relief that they were free and safe or out of sadness for being left behind, Jaime did not know, and he knew well enough to not ask.
The walls were closing in, the lions came to call, and Jaime Lannister earned his name.
Another scream echoed from the room, louder than the first and shaking Jaime from his thoughts. He clenched his fists and resisted the urge to attempt forcing his way into the chambers a third time.
The screams. Jaime could remember the screams of the mad king as he yelled for his fathers head. The way he had yelled to BURN THEM ALL. The screams his good-father had made as Jaime drove his sword through his back and earned the name Kinslayer. Kinglsayer. Man without honor.
And so the rebellion ended. His father got his heir back, his daughter on the throne, and yet Jaime had still been stuck in this cursed keep for three years now, not permitted by his father to take his wife to Casterly Rock where she would have the peace she deserved. After all, what the great lion wanted, he always got in the end.
The short footsteps of his brother brought him out of his mind yet again, a poorly concealed wince flashing over his disfigured face as a third scream tore through the Red Keep.
"No word yet?" Tyrion asked as he pulled himself onto the bench.
Jaime shook his head. "Nothing, save the army of maids rushing in and out of the room. Why won't they let me in, Tyrion?"
"It's a woman's battle, you would only be in the way. Really, Jaime, best let the maesters do their work-" Jaime interrupted before Tyrion could finish.
"There weren't nearly so many maesters and maids when Cersei had Joffrey, were there?"
Before Tyrion could reply, the door to the chamber opened, Grand Maester Pycelle emerging with bloodied hands and robes, the faint cries of an infant following him out of the room.
Jaime would have rathered anyone but Pycelle attend to his wife, but Cersei, and Tywin agreed, that the Lady Lannister would be seen and attended to by someone in their pockets. "We take no risk with the future of House Lannister" his father had said.
Jaime leapt to his feet as he approached.
"A-A-A girl my lord, hale and hearty," Pycelle stammered out.
Jaime let out a breath, taking a moment to breathe, too relieved to be annoyed by Pycelle's presence and stammering.
He looked back up, "And my wife? How is Shaena?"
"You-you should know my lord, that we are trying everything we can-"
Jaime's blood ran cold. He grabbed Pycelle by the chains draped around his neck before he could finish his sentence.
"What do you mean you're trying everything you can? What's wrong with my wife?"
"My lord, sometimes there is naught we can do but-but wait and-"
Jaime released Pycelle, irritated by his stammering and shoved him aside, pushing past the guards at the door and the maids carrying bloodied sheets and rags.
He froze at the sight in front of him, his stomach falling to the floor. There lay his wife, a pool of blood surrounding her and dripping onto the floor, paler than he had ever seen her. He rushed to her side, his horror growing the closer he got to her.
Is this my punishment? Is this how the gods curse me for slaying my good-father? For killing my king?
Her hand was cold, her life's blood surrounding her on the bed like the cloak he had draped over her shoulders on their wedding day. It matted into the ends of her hair, seemingly invading every space. Her eyes lifeless, that light he loved so much slowly vanishing as she struggled to keep her eyes open.
He knelt by her side. "Shaena," he whispered, "Shaena, my love."
She turned her head towards him, the last bit of light dancing in her eyes.
"Jaime, my golden fool we have," she stopped and swallowed, trying to find the energy to continue to speak, voice frail and thready, "we have a daughter"
He gave her a watery smile and brushed the hair off her forehead. "Yes, Pycelle told me. Hale and hearty he said."
She gave a weak smile in return, "Have you seen her? Bring her to me, I want to see her."
Jaime turned to look for her only to find a maid approaching with a small bundle. My daughter, that small bundle is my daughter.
He reached out as the maid placed the bundle in his arms. A small thing, but weren't all babes? He placed the babe next to Shaena, and she choked out a sob.
"Jaime is that her? Oh she's beautiful," she reached a shaking hand across to stroke her cheek. "My little Alysanne."
His smile grew. Alysanne, of course she would name her Alysanne. How many times has she read aloud to me about the Good Queen Alysanne?
Alysanne opened her eyes at her mother's touch. Shocking green eyes that Jaime hadn't seen since his mother.
While she had his coloring, it was from Shaena that she got her features. Her mothers delicate nose and big eyes, if the gods were good more of her mother's features would emerge over time.
But the gods aren't good, are they? They're going to take Shaena from me.
Shaena reached and grabbed Jaime's hand, trying to pull herself up.
"No, shh my love, lay back and rest," He guided her back into the pillows.
"Jaime you need to listen to me, please listen to me," Her voice was still weak, but not quite as soft as before. "I won't survive this-"
"No, no Shaena," he fought back tears, his voice shaking. He gripped her hand as if that alone would tether her to this world.
"Yes, I lost my mother to the childbed and it will take me too," she stopped to take a breath, her strength fading. "You have to keep her safe, make sure she grows strong, make sure she knows I," a coughing fit interrupted her, and Jaime began to look around frantically, searching for anything to help his wife.
"Why aren't you doing something? Pycelle you useless rat, do something!"
"My-my lord, there is nothing else that can be done, please-"
He turned back to Shaena, her grip on his hand slowly slipping.
"Please Jaime, Alysanne, you have to help her," Her eyes began to close, opening again when Jaime gently shook her.
"Shaena, stay awake, please, Alysanne needs you, I need you," the weaker that she grew the more he began to panic.
Not her too, Alysanne needs her mother, don't take her from us, I beg you!
"Jaime, thank you, my love, I'm sorry, please," her voice trailed off and her eyes finally slipped closed.
Jaime's breath began to come faster, he began to tremble as he grabbed her shoulders in a will to keep her awake.
"Shaena, Shaena please-"
A maid placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to pull him back. "My lord, there's nothing that can be done, please-" He shook her off, knocking her to the ground.
"No! No, there has to be something, please!" He shouted.
Alysanne began to scream, and he was ashamed to admit that he had forgotten her in the midst of everything.
His breath was coming fast, too fast and he couldn't stop the shaking. The tears slipped down his cheeks and the more he wiped them away the faster they seemed to come.
His father's guard entered and pulled him away from Shaena's body and out of the room, not her body, please no she has to still be there she has to, Cersei slipping into the room and grabbing Alysanne from beside her mother.
Forced from the room, he stood silently in the hall, facing the now closed door. Still trembling, he felt more helpless than he had ever felt before.
Tyrion looked at him in shock as Cersei emerged from the room, pushing Alysanne into his arms and standing by his side, smiling down at the squirming babe and stroking a finger gently down her nose.
"She's quite a beauty, isn't she? Look, she has our coloring and the look of the dragon! You see her nose? That's Rhaegar's nose,"
Jaime drowned out Cersei's chatter as he stared down at his daughter. His daughter, who would never hear her mother tell stories of her namesake, who would never hear her mother's sweet laughter.
Shaena had always dreamed of a babe, and when the maester confirmed she was with child it was the happiest he had seen her. "A miracle!" She had said. "A true gift from the gods!"
And now she would never see her grow, never teach her everything a lady would need to know, she would never get to chase her around the Rock as his own mother had, or read her stories of dragons and brave knights who save princesses.
It's you and me now, little Alys, he thought, you and me against the rest of them. I'll take you from this place that stole your mother from me, home to Casterly Rock. We're all that matters.
