Gold
"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost," J. R. R. Tolkien.
"...be it as it may, I believe we should still address the situation of Winterfell," started the Master of the Coin, voice cool and smooth.
The look on his face and the way he shifted in his chair is what makes Jaime Lannister start to pay attention to the somewhat mundane and tedious turn of the Small Council. It is a sharp look, hiding something that is plain to Jaime, what it was, he couldn't say. To Jaime, Baelish's voice always sounded oily, always a little too smug for a whore monger and an upstart who had somehow weaseled his way to the Small Council. Or so said Cersei, who would never dignify the minor lord with even a passing glance. For his part, Jaime thought it was perhaps that for a brief period of time, Jaime had known Petyr Baelish of the Fingers as a boy.
And he had been a bit of a little shit then, too, if only less better at hiding it. Jaime had not known the appeal that the fair Tully sisters had placed on the small, quiet boy with too arrogant an air, who claimed to anyone who would listen to be capable of taking the maidenheads of both of the girls. And still did to anyone who would ask him. Perhaps it was because he was just that annoying, with his lilting voice and smug attitude. Either way, any noise from the man made Jaime want to cut off his ears.
But it also made him stop staring at the tapestry across from him, imagining how nice it would be for an assassin to pop out of it so he could do more than stand in full armor, and pay better attention to the discussion in front of him.
"Winterfell?" the King, said, bewildered. In his surprise, his strong wine, a sour ghastly thing that it was, spilled down his large chest. The King had little taste, and that was definitely reflected in the choice of wine, no regard to flavor, but rather only on potency. The closer it was to poison, the better it was in the King's mind.
It was an odd day, reflected Jaime, For the King to be so gracious to allow his presence amongst the Small Council. It had something to do, no doubt, with the situation up North. Frankly, Jaime gave neither a damn nor care to what the frostbitten nose of the likes of Eddard Stark did with the rest of the Northern wild men. But the King, more in love with the thought of his fellow fosterling than any sane man, was more than a little anxious to do something resembling ruling in the wake of the apparent distress that the North was soon to find themselves in. He had made a show of attending more meetings, at least once a week, much to Jaime's boredom, but it was also a rest from having to listen outside the King's chambers. He did, however, had to wait on the King's increasing questions of his 'brother's' goings-on in the North.
Winter was Coming, had been the opening line in the Warden of the North's address to the King, along with some other precise mathematical calculations from the part of their Maester, as well as preliminarily notes from the Citadel of Oldtown to verify the growing concern. Something that his lovely sister had frowned at, holding the stolen letter within her fair hand. She had read it aloud to him, but Jaime had been more than a little distracted by how her fingertips had trailed down his bare chest, going lower and lower. All he knew for certain was that Cersei was 'Uneasy to see what those savages are plotting.'
"Yes, your Grace," said Littlefinger, a small smile appearing on his face, "It concerns the sudden shift of their need for stockpiling. I fear that it will stagnate the economy."
It seems someone else is concerned about what the North is plotting, not just you sweet sister.
"The North has the full support of the Crown, Ned knows what he's doing," dismissed the King, waving his great meaty hand, thrashing about the wine from his goblet.
Jaime entertained himself by watching the awkward shift in the two younger Baratheon brothers. Renly, better schooled in the matters of presentation, only furrowed his brows for a second, but Stanis, unwilling and uncompromising, visibly grit his teeth at the loved remark from the King. The jealousy that Eddard Stark inspired between the three brothers always astounded Jaime, but also made him wish to laugh. If he had not been standing guard, he would have.
"Your Grace, perhaps Petyr is wise to issue caution," said Jon Arryn, carefully, voice firm.
Despite himself, Jaime felt his brows raise in surprise. The old Falcon is questioning his oh so honorable fosterling?
"Jon- Jon you dare insinuate-" the King threw his goblet aside in a predictable moment of fury, pushing back violently from the table. It skidded forward due to the Baratheon's monstrous strength and the goblet smashed against the wall, the gold bending, the small jewels chipping, the dark wine spilling across the stones.
"My King, sit down," came the sharp reply.
Jaime took a step back, hand on his sword's hilt. Robert, the first of his name, again, predictably narrowed in on the Hand of the King, stepping forward in a menacing tilt, fists clenched. It would have been more menacing if the sheer amount of fat that rested around his stomach wasn't there, jiggling as it did. Due to his considerable height, and long unkempt beard, the movement had some merit. But of course, the Hand of the King did not even flinch at the rage so potent in a boy he had practically raised.
And what a fine job he did.
"I insinuate no such thing. Ned does indeed know what he is doing. However, the implications of the entire North gathering for the sake of a harsh winter is something that we all must take into account."
"Indeed," came the feathery, high voice of the Master of the Whispers, "My birds are few in the North, loyal and uncompromised as the people of the North tend to be. So distrusting of strangers… But there are plenty enough still. And they whisper, oh how they whisper."
The King, face red, sat, thunderously down. Jaime took a step forward, hand on his hilt, prepared to act on any order. The King's recent and new cupbearer, the son of his Uncle Kevan, Lancel all but launched himself forward with a new goblet, wine-skin ready to refill for the King. The boy was barely nine namedays, but his pouring was steady as he poured into a secondary goblet he had at the ready, apparently already used to the tantrums the King was prone to throw.
"Well, get on with it then. What do they whisper?" barked the King, downing his wine again.
Jaime tempered the urge to wrinkle his nose. Varys was another character that the King deemed worthy that the Lannister Knight disliked. Though Jaime had little care for the intrigue and mess that filled King's Landing and made a point of keeping out of the struggles of power, even he disliked the amount of information the eunuch had. It was a dangerous thing to be, well informed. And the man was always well informed.
Besides, his various perfumes always made Jaime's nose itch.
"Oh, strange things. There has been a shift, in the House Stark," mused Varys, pleasantly, eyes sparkling in what was something akin to delight, "The education of their children has changed for the sake of the long Winter to come, all of the eldest, even the bastard boy is being prepared with intense lessons and duties. It is an odd day for my birds not to see the boys, the heir Robb, and bastard, and their eldest girl child, Sansa, trailing behind the Lord and Lady."
"So he's educating his children," stated Stannis, a frown on his face.
"Yes. But it is a sudden change," agreed, Baelish, voice carefully, "Cat, of course, would never neglect the education of her children, but the intensity is concerning. Especially such attention to a bastard of all things. I wonder how poor Cat could stand such dishonor unless of course, she knows of some plan for the bastard. Some would suspect-"
"Don't finish your words, Baelish," is the growl from the King.
The thin man gives a placating smile and dips his head.
"Of course, your grace."
"Ned explained it to me in very specific terms. His Maester made a mention that it had been yet another year of Summer, and Ned made inquiries of when to expect the Autumn and of course the coming Winter. His Maester Luwin specifically stated to find a rare pattern in a long summer past five years. A very short Autumn to follow, and an even longer Winter, possibly double as long as the Summer. You can see where that would concern any man, we have had near a decade of Summer, and no sign of Autumn," stated the Hand, firmly, "When I said to give caution I meant for the Kingdom as a whole, not specifically for anything that would come from the North. Ned and Cat are pragmatic people and see a hardship for their children, natural-born or not, to bear in the coming years. I believe their accelerated education is proof of that. Something I will take into account when it comes to my own child."
Renly took that moment to answer the Hand, dramatically leaning forward on the table, hands splayed in a way that caused his rings to catch the light of the torches.
"Something that the Tyrells have taken notice as well, due to their own Maester running similar calculations. My squire, Loras, has mentioned that his family is expected to have discourse with the House Stark over their agricultural agreement. It is said they will be looking to visit Winterfell themselves within the coming moon."
"I believe that Lord Hoster is seeing fit to do the same and is preparing to visit his family in the North," interjected Varys, a thoughtful look on his large, round face.
For the first time in a long time since he had been forced to attend these meetings behind the King, Jaime found that the lot of them seemed agitated and concerned in a way that had little to do with the King's want to bankrupt the whole Seven Kingdoms with his extravagant hunts, feasts, tourneys, wine, and whoring.
"More people gathering at Winterfell," said the King with a slight grin, "Makes me want to pay old Ned a visit myself."
"I do not think Ned would appreciate that, your Grace," started Aryn, smiling slightly, "I believe he already has his hands full with guests if Hoster and the Tyrells see fit to go and partake in salt and bread with the entire North already within his walls."
"Must be driving him spare, Ned was never good with a lot of people."
If he mentions Stark one more time in such a tone, I believe I will be ill.
"Indeed-"
Jaime went back to staring at the tapestry of some battle or other. Bored as the conversation fell to taxes and such things that would have to come in the wake of the shift of the economy. Maths always made his headache, and he suspects it was Tyrion who would have been pleased by all the talk. He was dismissed a few tic marks later, just before the King retired to his more regular activities in his chambers and glad of it. Weary of standing witness to the messes of yet another King, for another night.
At least the women do not scream in terror. How it grates on the ears.
"Hello Uncle," said a voice, soft and sweet.
Jaime shifted, hand touching at the hilt of his sword. He turns quickly, face shifting into sternness and anticipation. He is more than a little surprised to see Tommen, small as he was, dressed in nothing but a shift and a yellow quilt wrapped around his frail shoulders. As always, something close to discomfort came to him in the presence of his sister's children. He stood not even to his waist and was barefoot. He wondered, for a moment, how the boy of three namedays had managed to escape the confines of his nursery. The boy gave no hint of the oddness of him being in the corridor.
"Hello nephew," he said, awkwardly. But he tried to dispel it, an easy if forced smile coming to his mouth, "What has you awake so late?"
Green eyes, the same shade as his, the same shade's as his mother's, looked at him carefully. In the torchlight, they looked all the darker, almost black. His delicate, golden brows furrowed, and he shifted slightly, making the thick curls that adorned his head bounce. It was a comical, sweet sight, and he wondered faintly as he looked at what he assumed was his mirror at that age if he too had ever looked like that.
"I… One of my kittens has gone missing," the words were careful, clear, and Jaime noticed that the boy had yet to slur.
I am so unobservant that I did not notice that the boy could speak clearly?
"Kittens?"
"Y-yes. I was gifted a kitten for my coming nameday from Uncle Tyrion. But it has gone missing. I thought I saw it pass through here."
It is the most Jaime had ever heard Tommen say. Does he like animals? The most he would associate with the boy was the fact that he stuck so closely to little Myrcella, to the point that he could hardly tell the two apart, had it not been for Cersei's instance at dressing the little princess in such elaborate gowns.
"Perhaps it would be best to wait until the day to search for the kitten. You can even coerce many more servants, them being awake an all."
The little boy looks up at him, before he nods, slowly.
"Perhaps. Will you take me to my rooms, Uncle?"
Jaime hesitates before he reluctantly gives the little princeling a nod. The boy takes the opportunity to reach for him. It is almost comical, how high his hand can reach up, which isn't very high at all. Jaime debates it before he reaches down to bring the prince up in his arms. It is an awkward weight, and it is obvious to Jaime how ill-prepared to have a child in his arms. It takes a moment before the boy falls into a comfortable place on Jaime's hip. The boy's arms come around Jaime's neck and it took all of Jaime's willpower not to react to the gesture of affection. Carefully, Jaime made his way to the vague direction he knew the boy's rooms to be, in the Maegor's Holdfast.
Some part of Jaime noted that it was close as physically closest to the Queen's room, other than the first Prince's bedroom.
He moves to set the boy down, within his small bed, but the boy stops him by squeezing Jaime's neck. Carefully, the boy pressed his face into his hair.
"I wanted to see you," the boy said softly, "Uncle, I am happy to see you."
Jaime blinked, surprised, setting the boy down as his grip slips from around his neck. The boy was frowning before he squared his shoulders.
"I needed to see you, Uncle."
Jaime is first surprised by the gaze the boy gives him, so firm as it is. And then he is surprised by the fact that Tommen wished to see him, out of everyone. He would think his mother, even Myrcella would be his source of comfort above him.
"Ah. Of course, you can see me whenever you wish it-"
"Do you mean that?"
"Of course-"
"Even if Mother says no?"
Jaime blinked, rapidly at the way he looked at him, still so firm, searching. Something in him, something he tried to bury on his better days, soften.
"Of course, Tommen."
The boy just keeps looking, hardly blinking, the dark green eyes unwavering. Then he smiles, a large smile that highlighted how the boy of three namedays, soon to be four, was missing teeth.
"Thank you, Uncle."
EDIT: 01 AUGUST 2021
AN: I do not own A Song of Ice & Fire, or A Game of Thrones in any sense. It's universe, characters all belong to its wonderful creator, its publishing and broadcasting companies.
This is me, playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
Thank you, really, to all the kind people who have reviewed. I know I have mentioned that there have been less than kind reviews in the past, but something about the previous chapter has had a really positive response that actually took me aback. Like to the point that I was thinking you guys had a meeting or something. Thank you, again. I know I also stated in the past that the negative reviews have not really affected me in terms of wanting to keep writing the story, and I maintain that, but I will say positivity is never not wanted in terms of encouragement for any writer.
I know the amount of canon mixing of both the Show and the Books has been a point of tension amongst most readers, but really I just want to take this moment to also say the fact that this fic is, specifically an Alternate Universe. Meaning which, I am taking elements of both canons and mixing them at my leisure to take this particular story in the direction I have planned for it. I've also never been shy of saying that I am not an expert in the Canon of the books, or even the TV show. Anything elements beyond season six are considered non-canon within this story, just for the sake of my sanity, as I started this before I saw season seven and even that is subject to fudging for book elements being introduced. So, in conclusion, everything in the books and season six backward is considered fair game for me to use within the fanfiction, but that does not mean that everything will be used. It is a mixture of both, and I have never been shy of saying that.
~Happy Reading,
Moon Witch '96
P.S. On a side note, for anyone who cares, I've noticed that in my other fanfiction in A Song of Ice & Fire, the response has not been near as negative, in fact, I hardly get a negative review at all in that one, despite being essentially stated to be the same as The Sweetly Sung Queen; an AU, canon mixing fic, that fudges canon drastically. In my honest opinion, I believe the reason is because of my choice in the main character, Sansa. I think I've already stated my opinion enough that the amount of hate that Sansa gets for being a traditionally feminine child raised to be exactly what is expected of a young girl in a High Medival Fantasy setting is all sorts of ridiculous.