The king is dead, they told her, never knowing that Joffrey was her son as well as her sovereign.
"The Imp opened his throat with a dagger," A man declared at the inn where they spent the night. "He drank his blood from a big gold chalice," The man did not recognise the thin, short-haired woman in a modest faded yellow gown, no more than any of them did, so he said things he wouldn't have had he known who was listening.
"It was poison did the deed," The innkeep insisted. "The boy's face turned black as a plum," Pia turned to her, concerned, horrified, and Jaime felt Brien's eyes on her, but she just stared, not moving, not saying a word. My son is dead.
"May the Father judge him justly," A septon murmured. For Joff's sake, I hope he does not.
"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," An archer swore. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws,"
Jaime sat silent through it all, letting the words wash over her, a horn of ale forgotten in her hand. Joffrey. My firstborn. My son. She thought of the boy's face - a face she normally associated with feelings of anger, regret and mild disgust - but his features kept blurring into Cersen's. He will be furious. Vengeful. Grieving, though for his secret son or for the power the boy brought him?
Jaime knew she should be in mourning herself, her eyes red from crying. But she was never one to weep publicly. Only to her twin did she show her wounds, and even then... But what wounds are these? My son is dead, and I feel... What did she feel? Not nothing, certainly not, but it wasn't quite grief either. Not like she had grieved for Ashara. Not even like she had for Stannis.
That night, the more important members of their group had squeezed into the only room left at the inn - the poorest room in the building, lacking even a bed - laying out bedrolls on the wooden floor whilst the others made camp outside. Jaime did cry then, silently, lying between Pia and Brien as everyone else slept.
It wasn't the vile boy Joffrey had grown into that she wept for, but the golden-haired baby she had pushed screaming into the world, had held and soothed and loved. My boy, my first child.
She hadn't been prepared to love anything more than Cersen, yet holding her son had disproved that notion in ways that awed and terrified her. Memories flashed through her mind; Joffrey as a young child, holding his hand as he took his first steps, laughing as he played with toy knights. Jaime supposed she wept for what the boy had become as well, for what mother, even a mother like her, would wish to see their child grow to be a tyrant? Could I have done more for him? I tried, I did... but there was poison in him from the start.
Despite her best efforts, a small sob escaped her.
"Jaime?" Brien's whisper in the darkness made her jump. The knight had slept the other side of her since Harrenhal, an arrangement they had wordlessly agreed upon. She lay on her side now, facing him as she believed him to be asleep. "Are you alright?" Jaime had the mad urge to laugh.
"Wiser men would have heard my weeping and turned over to get some sleep," She whispered back, her cutting tone perhaps ruined by the bitten-back sob that followed. "Or pretended to, at least. If I want your comfort, I'll ask for it, boy,"
"You're allowed to grieve," He said, stubborn as ever. "He was your son - "
"He was a monster," She cut him off. "He killed Ned Stark and started this whole bloody mess in the first place. And regardless, I swore to myself on the road to Harrenhal that no one else would see my tears. Go back to sleep, ser,"
"It's dark," Brien pointed out. "I can't even see your face," Jaime gave a rather choked chuckle, surprised.
"When did you develop any kind of wit?" She looked up to where she thought his eyes would be. "What are you hoping to do, ser? Let me weep in your arms? Stroke my hair, or what's left of it? Comfort me, whilst it's likely better for the kingdom and my family that my son is dead?" Her voice had risen slightly, and she felt Pia stir slightly in her sleep, so hastily quieted.
"No," Was Brien's response. "I - I lost my elder brother, long ago. No one should have to grieve alone," There was a pause. Few men have made me lost for words...
"Thank you," Jaime said eventually, quietly, tiredly. "But there's no need to concern yourself. I believe I am done with my display of motherly grief. By morning I will be my usual delightful self again, don't you fear," But she stayed lying on the side that faced Brien, and when she woke at dawn after an uneasy sleep - thankfully she was first to rise - Jaime found her head had drifted closer to him, some of her golden curls even falling against his chest.
They rode hard the next day, at Jaime's insistence. Everyone seemed to be treating her with an irritating wariness, expecting her to break down at any minute. Her son was dead, but after the previous night, her eyes were now dry and would stay that way. She still wore that yellow dress, given that the other - a true lady's gown, whereas this one was more fitted for a handmaid - had been ruined jumping into the bear pit.
When she saw the city before her, its watchtowers dark against the gathering dusk, Jaime cantered up to Walton. Nage led them up a low hill, the peace banner lifting and turning in the wind. She would see Cersen soon, and Tyrion, and their father. And she would see her children. Seven of them, perhaps, depending on who had made it to King's Landing for their brother's wedding. Could my brother truly have killed Joffrey? Jaime found that hard to believe.
She was curiously calm now. Women were supposed to go mad with grief when their children died, she knew, she had seen it. They were supposed to tear their hair out by the roots, to curse the gods and fling themselves off castle walls. Even when she had cried in the night, Jaime hadn't felt grief that strong. I loved the boy once, but he grew into a monster. He hated me, I rarely even liked him, he was more Cersen's son than he ever was mine. She had done her mourning long ago, when she realised her sweet baby son was lost to her, or had never existed in the first place.
And now he's dead for true. She pictured Joff lying still and cold, face black from poison. She could have at least felt guilt for not grieving like she should, but she didn't even feel that. Perhaps she really was the monster they claimed.
The Gate of the Gods was open when they reached it, but two dozen wayns were lined up along the roadside. Almost every wagon had its guards; men-at-arms, sellswords, sometimes only a farmer's son clutching a homemade spear. Jaime smiled at them all as she trotted past, and stares followed her. At the gate, the gold cloaks were collecting coin from each driver before waving the wagons through.
"What's this?" Steelshanks demanded.
"They got to pay for the right to sell inside the city. By command of the King's Hand and the master of coin,"
"Yet they still line up to pay?" Jaime looked at the long line.
"There's good coin to be made here now that the fighting's done," The miller in the nearest wagon told them cheerfully. "It's the Lannisters hold the city now, old Lord Tywin of the Rock. They say he shits silver,"
"Gold," Jaime corrected dryly. "And Littlefinger mints the stuff from goldenrod, I vow,"
"The Imp is master of coin now," The captain of the gate said. "Or was, till they arrested him for murdering the king," The man looked the northmen over suspiciously. "Who are you lot? Whose the woman?" At least she wasn't recognised as a lady yet. Her plain garb was a good disguise, and no lady would be seen dead with hair cut like hers.
"Lord Bolton's men, come to see the King's Hand," Walton ignored the inquiry about Jaime. The captain squinted at her, but shrugged and glanced at Nage with his peace banner.
"Come to bend the knee, you mean. You're not the first. Go straight up to the castle, and see you make no trouble," He waved them through.
If King's Landing mourned its dead king, Jaime would never have known it. On the Street of Seeds a begging brother in threadbare robes was praying loudly for Joffrey's soul, but the passersby paid him no more heed than they would a loose shutter banging in the wind. Elsewhere milled the usual crowds; gold cloaks, bakers' boys, whores leaning out of windows with their bodices half unlaced.
Riding down familiar streets with two hundred northmen, a chainless maester, whatever Pia was and a big ugly knight at her side, Jaime found she scarcely drew a second look. She did not know whether she ought to be amused or annoyed.
"They do not know me," She said to Steelshanks.
"Your face is changed, and you're not decked out in red silk and gold," The northman said. You make me sound like a prized horse. "And they have a new Kingslayer now,"
The gates to the Red Keep were open, but a dozen gold cloaks barred the way. They lowered their points as Steelshanks came trotting up, but Jaime recognised the white knight commanding them.
"Ser Meryn,"
"Lady Jaime?" Meryn Trant's droopy eyes went wide.
"How nice to be remembered. Move these men aside,"
It had been a long time since anyone had leapt to obey her quite so fast. Jaime had forgotten how well she liked it. They found two more Kingsguard in the outer ward, who had not worn white cloaks when Jaime was here last.
"Someone has given the Kingsguard two new brothers, I see," She dismounted, ignoring the offered hand from the Knight of Flowers; the Northmen had long since learnt that she did not care for such gallantry.
"We have that honour, my lady," Loras Tyrell shone so fine and pure in his white scales and silk that Jaime felt tattered and tawdry by contrast. Why, he makes a prettier girl than I do. If his sister Margaery looked anything like that, Orryn was fortunate indeed. For surely, as the new king, he would take his brother's bride; their need for the Tyrell alliance had not changed.
"Ser," Jaime turned to Meryn Trant. "You've been remiss in teaching your new brothers their duties,"
"What duties?" Meryn Trant said defensively.
"Keeping the king alive. How many monarchs have you lost since I left the city? Two, is it?" There was a nasty silence. Then Ser Balon Swann spoke.
"My lady, your son..."
"Is dead, all agree," Jaime made herself smile. "Where will I find my lord father?"
"In the solar with Lord Tyrell and Prince Oberyn," Mace Tyrell and the Red Viper breaking bread together? Strange and stranger.
"Is the regent with them as well?"
"No, my lady," Ser Balon answered. "Lord Cersen is - "
"You!" Loras Tyrell had seen Brien.
"Ser Loras," He stood stupidly, holding his bridle.
"Why?" Ser Loras strode toward him. "You will tell me why. He treated you kindly, gave you a rainbow cloak. Why would you kill him?"
"I never did. I would have died for him,"
"You will," Ser Loras drew his longsword. Good luck. The Knight of Flowers was slightly built; very skilled with a sword, but Brien was too, and he was near the size of the Hound.
"It was not me,"
"Emmon Cuy swore it was, with his dying breath,"
"He was outside the tent, he never saw - "
"There was no one in the tent but you and Lady Stark. Do you claim that old woman could cut through hardened steel?" Jaime raised an eyebrow at Tyrell's words. Catelyn Stark was but a year older than she was. You'd be surprised what an old woman can do, ser, if you ever come across me with a sword in hand. That was a rather good idea, in fact. Jaime would ask the knight for a spar when the opportunity arose.
"There was a shadow. I know how mad it sounds, but... I was helping Renly into his armour, and the candles blew out and there was blood everywhere. I had no part in it, on my honour - "
"You have no honour. Draw your sword. I won't have it said that I slew you while your hand was empty," Jaime stepped between them, feeling rather like she was breaking up a fight between her sons when they were small.
"Put the sword away, ser," Ser Loras edged around her.
"Are you a craven as well as a killer, Ser Brien, hiding behind a woman's skirts? Is that why you ran, with his blood on your hands? Draw your sword, man!"
"Best hope he doesn't," Jaime blocked his path again. "Or it's like to be your corpse we carry out. The boy is as strong as a bear, though not so pretty,"
"This is no concern of yours," Loras thoughtlessly shoved her aside, rage clouding his judgement. Before any of the others could protest, Jaime had grabbed the boy by the arm and yanked him around. Her chest hurt, but not as much as it would've done several weeks ago.
"I am the mother of the king, you arrogant pup," She snarled into his face; she had handled Joffrey at his worst, this young fool was nothing. "Which I believe makes me one of the people you guard, so long as you wear that white cloak, so don't bat me out of your way like I'm some tavern wench. Now sheathe your bloody sword, or I'll take it from you and shove it up some place even Renly never found,"
The boy hesitated half a heartbeat, long enough for Ser Balon Swann to speak.
"Do as Lady Baratheon says, Loras," Lady Baratheon... Haven't heard that in a while. Some of the gold cloaks drew their steel then, and that made some Dreadfort men do the same. Splendid. No sooner do I climb down off my horse than we have a bloodbath in the yard.
Ser Loras slammed his sword back into its sheath.
"That wasn't so difficult, was it?"
"I want him arrested," Ser Loras pointed. "Ser Brien, I charge you with the murder of Lord Renly Baratheon,"
"For what it's worth," Jaime said. "The boy does have honour. More than I have seen from you. And it may even be he's telling it true. I'll grant you, he's not what you'd call clever, but even my horse could come up with a better lie, if it was a lie he meant to tell. As you insist, however... Ser Balon, escort Ser Brien to a tower cell and hold him there under guard. And find some suitable quarters for Steelshanks and his men, until such time as my father can see them,"
"Yes, my lady,"
Brien's big blue eyes were full of hurt as Balon Swann and a dozen gold cloaks led him away. You ought to be blowing me kisses, boy, she wanted to tell him. Why must they misunderstand every bloody thing she did? Aerys. It all grows from Aerys. Jaime turned her back on him.
"Tell my brother I want to see him," She said to a nearby guard. "I'll be in the sept," With that, she strode across the yard.
Another knight in white armour was guarding the doors of the royal sept; a tall man with a black beard, broad shoulders, and a hooked nose. When he saw Jaime, he gave a sour smile.
"And where do you think you're going, love?" His eyes blatantly crawled up her body.
"Into the sept," Jaime waved her hand. "That one right there. I've arranged to meet with the Lord Regent,"
"His lordship is in mourning, and not in here. I guard King Joffrey. And why would Lord Cersen be wanting to see the likes of you before dark?" Because I'm his sister, his lover, and the mother of his murdered son, she wanted to say. The son who lies in that sept, the son you guard, the son who died on your watch.
Instead she settled with, "Who in seven hells are you?"
"A knight of the Kingsguard, and you'd best learn some respect, wench, or pretty or not, I'll give you a black eye to match the one you've already got,"
"I am the king's mother, ser," Jaime smiled. The dolt took a long look at her face this time.
"Is it... Lady Jaime," He straightened. "My pardons, milady. I did not know you. I have the honour to be Ser Osmund Kettleblack," Where's the honour in that? She could have made this far more unpleasant for him, given that he'd all but called her a whore and threatened to strike her, but Jaime was simply weary, remembering exactly what lay behind those doors.
"I want some time alone with my brother... and my son. See that no one else enters the sept but the Lord Regent, ser. If we're disturbed, I'll have your bloody head,"
"Aye, milady. As you say," Ser Osmund opened the door and she swept inside.
Joffrey's bier had been laid out beneath the Stranger. The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, and a hundred candles burned, sending up a hundred prayers. Joff's like to need every one of them, too.
Jaime approached the body, her steps echoing on the stone floor. She stopped next to him, tilting her head as she took in the pale skin, blank expression and green painted stones over his eyes. Her own eyes were dry - she'd shed her tears already - but she ran a hand through his hair all the same. It was about the same length as her own now. They had dressed the dead king in gilded armour, eerily similar to Cersen's. The candles reflected softly off the gold plate, so the boy shimmered bright and brave in death as he had not been in life.
Joffrey looked younger like this. Not that that made much difference; he'd been a terror since he learned to walk and talk. Was it awful to think that she liked him better quiet and still? Though who doesn't like him better like this, truly? Jaime took her least favourite son's cold dead hand in her own and squeezed gently, bowing her head.
She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but looked over her shoulder when she heard a noise.
"Jaime?" Her brother's eyes were dark. "Is it truly you?" He did not come to her, however. He has never come to me, she thought. He has always waited, letting me come to him. He gives, but I must ask. Slowly she stepped towards him. "You should have come sooner," He murmured, when he took her in his arms. She let him, for now, enjoying the feeling of normalcy, setting aside the hurt and anger that had existed when they last met. "Why couldn't you have come sooner? My son died without his mother by his side," Our son.
"I came as fast I could," She broke from the embrace, and stepped back. "It's war out there, Brother,"
"You look so thin. And your hair, your golden hair..." He was looking at her short curls, barely longer than his, in dismay.
"The hair will grow back," Although she wasn't making any promises not to cut it again. Her breast would not grow back. He needs to see. But she couldn't bring herself to show him, knowing what he'd say.
Instead, Cersen turned to gaze angrily at Joffrey's bier. My son.
"He killed him, Jaime. Just as he'd warned me. One day when I thought myself safe and happy, he would turn my joy to ashes in my mouth, he said," His voice was tense, clearly furious at what had happened.
"Tyrion said that?" Jaime had not wanted to believe it, and wasn't sure that she did. "Why would he kill Joff?"
"For a whore," He held her hands tight in his. "He told me he was going to do it. Joff knew. As he was dying, he pointed at his murderer. At our twisted little monster of a brother," He kissed Jaime's fingers. But how would Joffrey have known? "You won't stop me killing him, won't you? You'll let me avenge our son,"
"He is still my brother," Jaime pulled away, glancing at Joffrey on his bier. "And I thought you liked me to do your dirty work, Cersen?"
"You say that like you're better than I am," A flash of anger crossed his face. Aren't I? "Although I suppose even you could do this, it's not exactly beating the Mountain in single combat. Tyrion is a dwarf, locked in a cell. The guards would stand aside easily enough for you," The thought turned her stomach more than the sight of her dead son.
"I must know more of this. Of how it happened," There had been no convincing evidence against Tyrion yet, and she would not judge her little brother guilty until proven so.
"You shall," Cersen promised. "There's to be a trial. When you hear all he did, you'll want him dead as much as I do," He touched her face. "I was lost without you, Jaime. I was afraid the Starks would send me your head. I could not have borne that," He kissed her. A light kiss, the merest brush of his lips on hers, but, inexplicably, she could feel herself tense as he slid his arms around her. "I am not whole without you,"
All the anger, grief, pain that she had felt in the past months suddenly rose to the surface, unable to be held back any longer. Jaime was still furious at her brother. The bond between them was irreplaceably changed. There was no tenderness in the kiss she returned to him, only hunger. His mouth opened for her tongue.
"No," He said weakly when her lips moved down his neck, starting to push her away. "Not here. The septons..."
"The Others can take the septons," She kissed him again, kissed him silent, kissed him until he groaned. Then she knocked the candles aside and her brother lifted her up onto the Mother's altar, pushing up her plain yellow skirts and the woollen shift beneath, murmuring all the while about the risk, the danger, about their father, about the septons, but still kissing her regardless. Jaime barely heard him. She undid his breeches and he pushed her bare legs apart. One hand slid up her thigh, passing over bruises and half-healed cuts, as he pressed her onto her back.
Jaime suddenly tensed, realising that this would be the first time for her since Rorge, Zollo and that fucking fool.
"What?" Her brother stopped, frowning, though he didn't remove his hand. Gods, why did she have to think of that now? No, this is different, and it really was, in every way, though she was suddenly struck with the absurd fear that her brother might notice what had happened. Of course he won't, I was hardly a maid before... I've had eight children for gods sake. She brushed it aside. Now wasn't the time. When was?
"I've been away so long," She replied instead. "So long..." Her brother smiled and slid his hand underneath her smallclothes.
"You're home now, sister. Hurry," He was whispering now. "Quickly, quickly, now, move, Jaime. Jaime Jaime Jaime," Her hands helped guide him. "Yes," Cersen said as he thrust, "My sister, sweet sister, yes, like that, yes, I have you, you're home now, you're home," He kissed her and stroked her hair. Jaime lost herself. She could feel Cersen's heart beating in time with her own.
But no sooner were they done than her brother climbed off her.
"Get up," He said rather dismissively. "If we are discovered like this..."
She didn't know why she'd expected anything more. Jaime rolled upright and slid off the altar, already remembering exactly why they'd fought in the first place. She bent to pick up the candles she had knocked over. Fortunately they had all gone out when they fell. If the sept had caught fire I might never have noticed. To think that Cersen had once hoped for her to be a septa, and here she was, the feeling of her brother's hands on her still. The thought was darkly amusing.
"This was folly," He laced up his breeches. "With Father in the castle... Jaime, we must be careful,"
"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersen," She said mockingly. "Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want,"
"That's not funny," He drew back.
"I'd have done it once, you know,"
"Did you leave the few wits you had at Riverrun? This is hardly the time for japes," His voice had an edge to it, completely missing her point. "Your second son has the throne now, and you know he has no love for me. Already it has been made clear that I will not be his regent as I was for Joffrey," So that's it, is it? We've gotten to the bottom of things at last.
"And you don't think that fucking his mother will endear you to the new king?" She grinned.
"Don't... don't talk like this," Cersen looked at her oddly. "You're scaring me, Jaime. Don't be stupid. One wrong word and you'll cost us everything. What did they do to you?" He backed off a step. "We'll talk later. On the morrow. I have Sansa Stark in a tower cell, and her maids. I need to question them... You should go to Father,"
"I crossed a thousand leagues to come to you. You still owe me answers from everything we fought about before I left. We stand here, beside the dead body of my son. Don't tell me to leave,"
"Leave me," He repeated, turning away.
Jaime straightened her dress and did as he commanded, feeling the rags in her bodice press against her healing skin. I never told him.
Weary as she was, as much as she longed to see her children, she could not seek a bed, nor her sons and daughters. By now her lord father knew that she was back in the city, and he demanded an audience even before the king did.
The Tower of the Hand was guarded by Lannister men, who knew her at once.
"The gods are good, to give you back to us, my lady," One said, as he held the door.
"The gods had no part in it. Catelyn Stark gave me back. Her, and the Lord of the Dreadfort,"
She climbed the stairs and pushed into the solar unannounced, to find her father sitting by the fire. Lord Tywin was alone, for which Jaime was thankful. She had no desire to flaunt her injury for Mace Tyrell or the Red Viper just now, much less the two of them together. Her own father would be bad enough. In an ideal world, she would hide it even from him, but this was the best way to vengeance.
"Jaime," Lord Tywin said, as if they'd last seen each other at breakfast. "Lord Bolton led me to expect you earlier. I had hoped you'd be here for the wedding,"
"I was delayed," Jaime closed the door softly. "My brother outdid himself, I'm told. Seventy-seven courses and a regicide, never a wedding like it. How long have you known I was free?"
"The eunuch told me a few days after your escape. I sent men into the riverlands to look for you. Gregor Clegane, Samwell Spicer, the brothers Plumm. Varys put out the word as well, but quietly. We agreed that the fewer people who knew you were free, the fewer would be hunting you,"
"Did Varys mention this?" She moved closer to the fire, reaching down the front of her dress. Her father raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth, but she pulled out the rags to let him see. Lord Tywin pushed himself out of his chair, breath hissing between his teeth.
"Who did this? If Lady Catelyn thinks - "
"Lady Catelyn held a sword to my throat and made me swear to return her daughters. This was your goat's work. Vargo Hoat, the Lord of Harrenhal!" Lord Tywin looked away, disgusted and furious, clearly wondering what else they'd done to despoil his daughter if they'd gotten close enough to give her that particular injury.
"No longer. Ser Gregor's taken the castle. The sellswords deserted their erstwhile captain almost to a man, and some of Lady Whent's old people opened a postern gate. Clegane found Hoat sitting alone in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, half-mad with pain and fever from a wound that festered. His ear, I'm told," Jaime had to laugh. Too sweet! His ear... She could scarcely wait to tell Brien, though the boy wouldn't find it half so funny as she did.
"Is he dead yet?"
"Soon. They have taken off his hands and feet, but Clegane seems amused by the way the Qohorik slobbers," Jaime's smile curdled.
"What about his Brave Companions?" Rorge. Zollo. Shagwell.
"The few who stayed at Harrenhal are dead. The others scattered. They'll make for ports, I'll warrant, or try and lose themselves in the woods," His eyes went back to Jaime's chest, or lack of, and his mouth grew taut with fury. "We'll have their heads. Every one. Were you raped?" The cold, blunt question caught her off guard. It shouldn't have.
Yes Father, I was, but why would I tell you? Jaime ignored the sick feeling in her stomach, the disgust at talking of this with her stone-faced father, and smiled sharply.
"Some of them tried. You should be glad Hoat seemed to fear you even after turning his cloak. He had the sense to stop them, for purely practical reasons I'm sure," The half-truths spilled easily from her lips, but she'd been lying to her father her entire life.
"Good," Her father sat. "That is good. I have a gift for you. For your return. After Varys told me..."
"Let it wait," Jaime took the chair across from him. "How did Joffrey die?" She was alarmed at how calm her voice was. He was your son, both her own thoughts and her father's eyes seemed to say, though the man seemed to appreciate that she wasn't hysterical and wailing. No doubt he'd had to put up with Cersen's rage-fuelled tantrums for days. Perhaps the best thing Joff ever did was be the only one stupid enough to stand up to Tywin Lannister. The interactions between her son and her father had given Jaime a good number of laughs over the years.
"Poison. It was meant to appear as though he choked on a morsel of food, but I had his throat slit open and the maesters could find no obstruction,"
"Cersen claims that Tyrion did it,"
"Your brother served the king the poisoned wine, with a thousand people looking on,"
"That was rather foolish of him,"
"I have taken Tyrion's squire into custody. His wife and her maids as well. We shall see if they have anything to tell us. The king's justice will be done," The king's justice.
"You would execute your own son?"
"He stands accused of regicide and kinslaying. If he is innocent, he has nothing to fear. First we must consider the evidence for and against him," Evidence. In this city of liars, Jaime knew what sort of evidence would be found.
"Renly died strangely as well,"
"Lord Renly was murdered by one of his own guards, some knight from Tarth,"
"That knight from Tarth is the reason I'm here. I tossed him into a cell to appease Ser Loras, but I'll believe in Renly's ghost before I believe he did him any harm. But - "
"It was poison that killed Joffrey, not sorcery," Lord Tywin glanced at the flat side of Jaime's chest again. "You must get dresses fitted with padding to hide your injury. You will need to marry again - "
"I can't," She interrupted. "And I won't. I'm over thirty years old. I've been through six pregnancies, had eight children. I'm scarred and spoiled, both from bearing children and from various incidents along the road. And in case you hadn't realised, I'm currently rather lopsided. Why would I marry again, and more importantly, who would take me?"
"You are a widow, mother to two kings now, and young enough to bear more children if needs must. We are in need of allies, which are best achieved through marriage, and if it will put those disgusting incest rumours to rest - "
" - it will make no difference," Jaime stood. "People talk regardless, but I am tired of having men kick pails of shit at me, Father. No one ever asked me if I wanted to marry Stannis, but I did it. I bore him eight children, the last of which near killed me, and now he's dead, I have a duty to raise the ones that are left,"
"You do have a duty," Lord Tywin rose as well. "A duty to House Lannister. You are a child of Casterly Rock, and I mean to find you a new husband. Oberyn Martell perhaps, once I convince Lord Tyrell that the match does not threaten Highgarden. If not, then Willas Tyrell - "
"NO!" Jaime had heard all that she could stand. No, more than she could stand. She was sick of it, sick of lords and lies, sick of her father, her brother, sick of the whole bloody business. "No. No. No. No. No. How many times must I say no before you'll hear it? Why do men never seem to understand that word?" Lord Tywin's eyes narrowed dangerously but she continued regardless. "Oberyn Martell? The man's infamous, and not just for poisoning his sword. He has more bastards than Robert, and beds with boys as well. You'd be better off giving him to Cersen; there's more chance of a child from that union than any involving me, I can tell you. And if you think for one misbegotten moment that I would wed the crippled Tyrell boy..."
"Willas Tyrell is four and twenty, a man grown, heir to Highgarden and as yet unmarried,"
"He can die unmarried as far as I'm concerned. I don't want him, and I don't want any more children!" And there it was, the extent of her motherly grief that she would show to her father.
"You are my daughter - "
"I am the mother of the king. And that's all I mean to be!"
Firelight gleamed golden in the stiff whiskers that framed Lord Tywin's face. A vein pulsed in his neck, but he did not speak. And did not speak. And did not speak. The strained silence went on until it was more than Jaime could endure.
"Father..."
"You are my daughter," Lord Tywin repeated again. "Oberyn Martell, or Willas Tyrell, whichever suits House Lannister best. You will not get a choice in the matter. Go. Your second son will surely wish to see you tomorrow. As mother to the king," He gave a slight sneer. "You should look less like a dirty tavern wench when you do,"
They had reached the city at dusk, and between Ser Loras, Cersen and her father, it was now much later. Night had fallen, the torches were lit, but Jaime couldn't find a bed until she had seen at least some of her children, for the first time in over a year.
She hoped their rooms were still in the same places; the girls and Steffon had been given a place in Maegor's Holdfast even before Robert's death, as his nieces and nephews, whilst Arthur had slept in a cell with several other squires. Joffrey had been near Cersen's rooms, until he abruptly became heir to the throne upon the deaths of Lyonel and Stannis. Jaime went to Maegor's.
Slowly, quietly, she opened the door to the room that Myrcella and Helia had shared. She only meant to catch a glimpse, but the breath voice caught in Jaime's throat as the tall, dark-haired girl sat at the window turned to face her, blue eyes almost black in the candlelight. Helia had never been a stunningly beautiful child, not like Myrcella, but she had always been elegant, and in the year that Jaime had been away, she had grown into the stronger features of her face.
"Mother," Her daughter rose quickly to her feet, and Jaime could tell even from this distance that the girl was taller than she was now. She had filled out her formerly skinny and coltish frame, too. She looks a woman grown. She nearly is.
It was one of the few occasions where Jaime was unsure what to say. She didn't know what to expect from her eldest daughter, not after everything that had happened. Judgement? Scorn? Hatred? Or simple disdain. From the look in Helia's eyes, she couldn't tell. The girl had never been quiet, exactly, but had always been rather hard to read.
Then that tall, handsome young woman crossed the room in long, leggy strides and wrapped her arms around her mother just like she always had done. It was sweeter than Cersen's embrace, sweeter than anything Jaime had felt in months, for that moment untainted with deceit or judgement or pain. The top of her head only came up to Helia's nose now, but the gesture was most definitely still a mother embracing her daughter.
"Helia," Was all Jaime could think to say.
"You've been gone for so long," Came the small murmur into her hair. Jaime realised with a jolt of surprise that her daughter was crying, hot tears running from her face. Of all her children, Helia had always cried the least, and Jaime felt more grief at this than she'd ever feel for Joffrey's death. How long has she had to be strong on her own, to pretend?
"I'm sorry," Jaime could probably count on her fingers the number of times she'd offered a sincere apology in the past two decades. Her daughter's strong arms merely gripped tighter - acceptance, forgiveness, she dared to hope - and Jaime never wanted to let go.
They did let go, in the end of course, and she could see Helia looking her up and down with a critical eye.
"You're thinner," Was the first thing she said upon meeting Jaime's raised eyebrow, blunt as ever. I thought the first thing to mention would be the hair. It was as though the girl read her mind. "And what happened to your hair?"
"Waist length golden curls tend to attract attention when you're being hunted across the Riverlands," She said, smiling slightly. It can also help kill you in a fight. "And I've been living off dried meat and acorns for weeks," If only. Vargo Hoat had fed her gruel and horse piss. "Of course I'm thinner. Before that I dined on nothing but the best available in Riverrun's dungeons,"
"They put you in a dungeon," Her daughter's lip thinned like Stannis' had done when he was displeased, though there was something of Cersen glinting in her blue eyes. "We've had Sansa Stark living in Maegor's Holdfast, and they threw you in some stinking pit?"
"That was only after I slew four guards trying to escape," She had to admit, repeating her words to Catelyn Stark. "I cared little. A cell is a cell,"
"How did you escape?" Helia asked. "The last time," And what happened in between there and here to make me look like this, you mean? Though none of Jaime's children would ever get the full story out of her.
"Lady Catelyn released me to send her daughters back to her," The words felt somewhat sour in her mouth. Sansa Stark was still here, but if she was found to have any part in Joffrey's death, she would never leave alive. "But I return here to find my brother has lost one of them, and the other is held under suspicion for regicide," The girl opened her mouth again, but Jaime cut her off with a raised hand, glancing over to the other bed. "How is she?" Golden curls spilled across the pillow as Myrcella slept soundly, looking as good as the maiden herself. She was almost identical to how Jaime had been at that age, eleven, nearly twelve.
"Fine," Helia shrugged. "She's not stupid, though. And she's not Joffrey. She's heard the rumours. I tried asking her about it, but she deflected me with a smile and those pretty courtesies she chirps so well," She gave Jaime a hard look then. "Are they rumours? Or are they true?"
"You seemed to have made up your own mind on that," Jaime said. "No doubt you'll be asking me next if King Robert fathered the rest of you,"
"Mother," Helia's eyes narrowed. "You owe us all the truth. Not just this, but what happened to you as well. That look on your face, you're not just tired, you're - "
"Old?" She quirked an eyebrow, and her daughter's lips twitched.
"No," Helia sighed, sitting down on the bed. Jaime joined her, inwardly marvelling at how soft it was after months sleeping on hard ground. "No, you're beautiful, as always. I just - we were so worried, and..." She trailed off, looking determinedly at a point in the embers of the fire. With her parents being who they were, it was a miracle Helia had even expressed herself that much.
"I shouldn't have left," Jaime found herself saying. "I should have gone with you all to Storm's End," The words sounded feeble even as she said them.
"You should have," Helia raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you?" Jaime just shook her head. There was another pause. "I don't hate you, you know," She gave her daughter a sideways look, and the girl smiled faintly. "When you came in you looked like you were marching to a funeral. You've started to get that look again now," Jaime had to smile, placing an arm around the girl and pulling her close to lean her head on her shoulder, like they hadn't done in years.
"Honestly? You're the best welcome I've received since arriving in this bloody city," She felt her daughter give a small snort of laughter.
"Who have you seen so far?"
"First it was Loras Tyrell brandishing his sword and trying to murder one of my guards," It was easy to slip into the telling of it. "Then another gallant knight, Kettleback, mistook me for a whore and took far too long to let me into the castle," She would not mention the sept, not considering Helia was the only one of her children likely to be mildly upset by Joffrey's death. "Then I had a delightful conversation with Cersen and your grandfather. I believe the topics of discussion were 'why were you so long returning' and 'Jaime, how different you look',"
"Welcome back," Helia said dryly. "There's even more madness here than usual. It'll be scarcely a day before you'll be longing to be roaming the Riverlands again," I wouldn't quite say that, dear.
"For now," Jaime said. "I'm glad to be back. And tired," She paused. "Where do I even sleep? My usual rooms are guest chambers, and given how many turned up for the wedding..."
"Sleep here," Her daughter shrugged. "With us. It'll be like it was years ago," She smiled wryly, knowing it never would be, but Jaime chuckled.
"If you can put up with the smell of me," She said. "It would be my pleasure,"
So the Red Wedding has not happened yet. In canon, Jaime and Brien hear of it on the way from Harrenhal to King's Landing, but here they did not; Bolton was meant to leave Harrenhal at the same time they did, but stayed another few weeks as the wedding was mysteriously delayed. He has only set off around the time they arrived in King's Landing.
Sansa also did not escape when Joffrey died, and is currently in Lannister custody. More on that later.
A small issue I noticed; I've accidentally left Renly as still being killed by the shadow, even though Stannis is dead and Melisandre has not made an appearance. I'm not sure if anyone noticed, and I've likely drawn more attention to it by putting it in the note but ah well. It is a very small part of the story, and only serves to set up Brien's character; if you're that bothered by it, imagine Melisandre is casting spells from afar, given Orryn is the son of Stannis, her Azor Ahai. Apologies for that small plot hole, but it's so irrelevant to this story that I don't feel I need to go back and fix it.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading.