Ill Met and Ill Made
The miles disappeared behind him, like the blur of the stallion's hooves as Jaime galloped down the kingsroad. He set a blistering pace for the others, past woods and orchards and freshly harvested fields, through villages and towns, riding from sunrise to sunset. The caravan stopped at a holdfast only once - Sow's Horn - where Jaime repaid Ser Roger Hogg's hospitality with news from Maidenpool. Besides that, they camped under the stars and the horses and men were allowed only a brief respite before the next day's ride.
The Lannister men made no complaint, particularly after being informed of the purpose of their mission - bringing the elixir back to King's Landing, along with two maesters, the scroll and the mold. The eager guards followed Jaime's orders without hesitation. They were loyal, honest, and excited, even the veterans. They accepted the truth of Prince Daemon Targaryen wholeheartedly, and saw only the positives of ending the plague. It had been many, many years since Jaime had been so naive.
Jaime was not a schemer by nature. When Cersei seduced him into donning the white cloak, he had been the last to understand the consequences. True, the rash action freed him from Lysa Tully but his father was furious, the king was a horror, and Cersei was forced to return to Casterly Rock after Tywin resigned as the Hand. The honor of being the youngest knight raised to the Kingsguard was soured when the petulant Aerys ordered him to depart Harrenhal and guard Queen Rhaella and Viserys. Rhaegar had known, of course, that Jaime was chosen to slight the lions. The Silver Prince had smiled sadly and encouraged Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell to welcome their newest brother to the White Swords.
Eighteen years had passed since the great tourney but the shadows of Harrenhal had never left. Rhaegar had crowned Lyanna Stark Queen of Love and Beauty after winning the joust. For better or worse, that action set the course of Westeros and the war that followed. Harrenhal's ill repute was well deserved. The castle was finished on the day Aegon and his sisters landed in Westeros. Since the end of House Hoare, Harrenhal withered everything it touched. Jaime should know. He had been made a kingsguard there.
"Banners approaching." An outrider shouted out from the front.
"What colors?"
"Many, Ser, but the one in front is a burning orange tree on a smoke grey field."
"Allies then. Follow me." Jaime spurred his horse forth, overtaking the scouts. He crested the hill and saw a sea of approaching horsemen. There were no white cloaks but knights that Jaime knew from his youth - friendly faces he had trained with and against in the Westerlands. A tall rangy man in burnished bronze armor etched with a burning tree, dismounted from a spirited red courser. Jaime followed suit before clasping Ser Addam Marbrand on the back. The guards made a quick and temporary camp while he greeted his family's bannermen.
"How did you know that I was coming?" Jaime sat around a fire with the other knights. He could see his breath on the cold autumn day.
"The Watch passed along Ser Roger's raven. Bywater's gold cloaks are busy, keeping the peace, so we rode out to give you an escort to the city." Addam replied.
"And how is King's Landing?"
"Full of wild tales, Jaime. No one speaks of anything but ravens. Do the letters tell the truth? A cure to the plague? Is Snow a lost Targaryen prince? Did he really give away the cure?"
"All those statements are true." Jaime took out a small glass vial. "This is the elixir. Snow's servants gave this to me, even knowing that I would bring it back to the city."
A knight, with a mop of chestnut hair and a shield with seashells, stared in open astonishment. "That will be greatly coveted. The High Sparrow is sick, and so are many septons. The entire city hides behind walls, waiting for this cure. That's why we rode out. We worried that bandits or sellswords eager for gold might attack you."
"They would be disappointed. I am not the only one with elixir. Snow gave the medicine to many who departed Maidenpool - Tyrells, merchants, sea captains, and other lords. More importantly, the means for producing the cure were written down. I have brought back maesters who say the instructions in the scrolls are clear." Jaime said.
"So we will be able to make this cure?" Lord Lydden asked.
"Everyone will be able to make the elixir. It may take a few weeks but there were many scrolls gifted at Maidenpool. Snow expects the scrolls to be copied as well."
"But why did he do this, Ser Jaime? Why did he give away such a prize?" a young knight asked.
"Who can know the mind of a dragon?" Jaime shrugged. "Snow came to Maidenpool because Owen Fossoway asked him to treat his sister. He healed Lady Leonette but decided to end the plague. Not just here, but everywhere in Westeros and across the Narrow Sea. In a few moons, the cure should be available to all."
"Is Snow still our enemy? Does he mean to take the Throne?" The Westerling knight said.
"He is Rhaegar's son. As for the Iron Throne, I don't know. The dragons have claimed the crown before. Aegon created one kingdom out of seven. Robert was chosen as king because his house shared blood with the Targaryens. Snow went North but he will not stay there forever."
"We fought him in battle. We lost badly. We may lose again." Lord Lydden said.
"We fought Aegon as well in the Conquest. The Last King of the Rock bent to the knee, and the Westerlands remained untouched, so long as they swore loyalty. But that was against three Targaryens and their dragons. At least this Daemon does not have a dragon."
"Does he need one? He took the Tooth without one. My father and brother tried to take it back. They failed and my nephew lost his hand." Addam said ruefully.
"I am sorry for Tybolt. It is hard to say when the North will make their move. Daemon Targaryen will come South again. That much, I am sure. He has the rightful claim."
"Joffrey's courtiers say that he is a bastard, borne out of rape. A Waters, or a Sand, not a Targaryen. They argue he should never be able to take the crown." Lord Lydden said.
Jaime snorted at those words. "He is a dragon. I saw it with my own eyes at Maidenpool. Snow walked through a burning tower. For now, Snow does not march on King's Landing. He commanded us to carry the elixirs far and wide, so that the sick will be healed. That is what we shall do. At King's Landing, the maesters will make more elixir."
"And you will distribute it to the city. Your father will not force you to keep it only for Lannisters?" Addam said doubtfully.
"It belongs to everyone. Those are the words of Daemon Targaryen." Jaime said. At the very least, he could keep that promise.
They reached the Old Gate a few hours later. Word of his arrival had already spread through King's Landing. Ser Jacelyn Bywater, Commander of the gold cloaks, greeted them from the battlements, ordering the portcullises lifted. The path to the Red Keep had been cleared - the rows and lanes on Rhaenys' Hill, the Street of the Sisters, and the King's Way. On the last leg, the broad tree-lined street that ran from the central plaza to the castle - thousands of curious bystanders were lined up.
Jaime rode between Ser Jacelyn and Ser Addam, amidst a large convoy of red and gold cloaks. The noise started slowly, a few scattered hoots, but then suddenly, broke into loud claps and full-throated hurrahs. He had heard cheers before - even a Kingslayer was celebrated by the crowd after a victory. The applause was louder and longer than any bout he had ever seen - the thunderous cries of people desperate for an end to the plague. They should be cheering for Daemon, not me.
After a quick talk, he left Ser Jacelyn and Ser Addam behind at the lower bailey to make his way to Maegor's Holdfast. As he passed the drawbridge overlooking the dry moat, Jaime saw Ser Kevan, Lady Genna, and his siblings standing behind the stout front door.
He handed the vial over to his aunt. "The cure for the plague." She smiled but Kevan looked somber, no doubt thinking of Lancel's demise.
Aunt Genna turned, ready to leave the chamber. "Not so fast." Cersei called out. "How do we know this is really a cure? It might be a trick, or worse, poison."
"It is the same medicine that healed Leonette Tyrell, and Nymeria Sand."
"The Martells were in Maidenpool, as well? We knew that they had left King's Landing but we were not certain they went North." Tyrion said.
"Prince Oberyn was there with his brood." Jaime responded curtly. "How is Father?"
"Sick. He will be better once I go to him." Genna glared at Cersei before departing with the elixir.
"Where are Joffrey and Tommen?" Jaime asked.
"The king has been sulking for days. Ever since the ravens came, Joffrey has been shooting rabbits and cats with his crossbow. His aim is terrible and we are lucky that he hasn't killed any guards or maids. Tommen wanted to hear more about Snow and the plague, but Cersei forbade him from coming to this meeting." Tyrion said.
"Tommen is far too young to understand such things." Cersei screeched.
Tyrion rolled his eyes. "He is certainly curious. If Tommen attended, he could hear the truth from Jaime, and not gossip spread by servants. They say Snow nearly died but rose again. That he saved Garlan's son from dying. That the bastard of Winterfell is a Targaryen prince. And that he will give away the cure to all."
"Those stories are all true, particularly the last. His men scribed scrolls with instructions on how to brew the elixir. I have one, and so do the ship captains, merchants and lords at Maidenpool."
"May I see it?" Tyrion was ferocious in the pursuit of knowledge. No doubt, his brother had a hundred questions on the elixir and how it was produced.
"Maester Frenken and Norren have the scroll. Ser Jacelyn offered to house them at the barracks at the base of Visenya's Hill. Ser Addam will guard the production, and help distribute the cure through the city. It will take four days before the first batch is ready for the Sept of Baelor. Once Frenken is certain that the process works, I will bring back the scroll." Jaime promised.
"Why should we give any to the septons? Elixir produced by our maesters belongs to the Red Keep." Cersei cried.
"I was the first to return but the roses are not far behind. The Tyrells have a dozen maesters. Do you want them to earn the goodwill of the High Septon? Do you want the smallfolk to curse us for hoarding the elixir when Tyrell soldiers give it away at Cobbler's Square, Flea Bottom, and to the merchants of King's Landing?"
"Jaime is right." Ser Kevan said to Cersei's disgust. "If we have enough medicine, and we can produce more, then we should not be miserly. The Iron Throne is blamed for the plague. We don't need to give the smallfolk more reasons to hate us and love the Tyrells."
"Who cares what the smallfolk think? As for the Tyrells, they are to blame for this.' Cersei said.
"To blame for what?" Jaime asked. "Wanting a cure?"
"It is not only the cure. Because the Tyrells brought Snow to Maidenpool, our lords have all received this letter claiming that he is a Targaryen. Joffrey demands the Tyrells bring him Snow's head as a traitor and liar." Cersei said.
"He can demand what he likes. He is one and four now – old enough to learn that kings cannot get everything they want." Jaime snapped.
"Joffrey knows a king must be strong. He cannot allow others to make him look like a fool. Mark my words. The Tyrells must make recompense or else."
"Yes, my nephew is eager to cut off his nose to spite his face. At least, we have dissuaded the king from arresting Mace, threatening Loras, or beating Margaery for these crimes. He is most enraged by Garlan. Clearly the love of a man for his wife does not matter." Tyrion snarked.
It was not just Leonette. It was also their child. Jaime doubted that Garlan would ever allow his family to do harm to a man who saved his son. "It was not Garlan. It was Owen Fossoway who asked him to come South. They were acolytes together. Owen is very loyal to his friend."
"Joffrey wants Snow dead. The bastard is a threat to the Iron Throne." Cersei cried.
"Joffrey has tried already. Baelish hired an assassin to kill Snow. The killer used a crossbow, decorated with a golden lion. Snow survived, and Baelish is dead now."
"We have not heard this before." A concerned Kevan said. "Are you certain, Jaime?"
"His head was in a sack. Besides failing to kill Snow, Baelish tried to steal the elixir by burning the tower. Joffrey should blame him for the ravens. The fire is why we know Snow is a dragon."
"This is terrible." Kevan rubbed his eyes with two meaty hands. "Baelish should have just run back to the Vale."
"What does it matter? He was a thief and a liar."
"He kept Lysa Arryn on our side. That mad cow wanted Littlefinger's little finger so much that she refused to let the Vale join the North." Cersei said.
"Lysa Arryn stayed out of the war before she was married to Baelish. She is a frightened, foolish woman. If she was not willing to listen to her sister before, she will not join the Starks now that her precious Petyr is dead." Jaime argued.
"Perhaps we can use this against the Starks. We can drive a larger rift between the North and the Vale." Tyrion mused.
Jaime did not bother to listen to the prattling that followed. Unlike the other Lannisters, he had no interest or talent in scheming. Jaime preferred to spar in the yard, ride a stallion, or lead men into battle. Anything would be better than pondering the repercussions of Baelish's death.
Later that afternoon, Jaime stood at the center of the godswood. The Red Keep's heart tree was a majestic oak, covered in smokeberry vines. The leaves had turned a brilliant red, the color heightened by the sun setting over the Blackwater Rush. Jaime was not prone to superstition. Summer had ended and leaves changed color in the fall. But the red of the heart tree was bright and burning - the red of fire, fresh blood, and dragons, like the comet when he was a prisoner at Riverrun. What did that all mean? Was the red a harbinger of the return of the dragons?
"I hope you haven't returned as some sort of tree worshipper. Jaime Lannister - Pagan Knight of the Kingsguard." Tyrion joked.
"I worship only one god - The Warrior." The brothers clasped hands.
"After I received your note, I had to make certain that I was not followed here. So tell me, was my son in Maidenpool? Did you manage to speak to him alone?" Tyrion asked eagerly.
"I saw Gerion. It did not go as well as I hoped." Jaime admitted.
Tyrion's face turned brittle. "Well, no one likes to be abandoned. Was he repulsed that his father is the famous Imp?"
Jaime ignored the breezy quip, and told the whole story, from the arrival in Maidenpool to the departure, focusing on the meetings with Gerion. The initial approach had resulted in Jaime's capture as the boy resisted any promises of gold or family. The second had been even more awkward, under the watchful eye of Snow. At the last talk, Gerion refused to come South.
Tyrion turned gloomier with every word. "I see you handled this with your usual diplomatic flair. Gerion intends to ask Tysha how we were separated? Splendid. I will be lucky if my son doesn't try to kill me. That might be the only reason he would want to meet me."
"Maybe, this is for the best. Gerion is well liked by the Northmen. He is respected for his mind. No one cares about his past or his family. Many Winter Town Boys are orphans who do not know their father or mother. They have a place in the North."
"But what kind of life is that? He has no gold, no security, no prospects. Who will provide for him when he grows old?" Tyrion lamented.
Two moons ago, Tyrion had not even known that Gerry existed. Now, his brother was plotting the boy's future. Jaime had never felt that type of concern for Joffrey or Tommen. Then again, Cersei had kept him away from their children, for fear that others would notice.
"Jon Snow will take care of them. His Winter Town Boys are well rewarded for their hard work. They are an impressive group. I saw them working on the elixir. You would be proud of your son. His mind is as sharp as Valyrian steel. He made real contributions."
"I thought Snow got all the credit for the cure." Tyrion said.
"He invented the elixir, but needed the help of the Winter Town Boys to improve the process. He could not save so many, otherwise. That took many days. Gerry distinguished himself - like a squire supporting his knight."
"Like you and Arthur Dayne against the Kingswood Brotherhood. So the plague is the Smiling Knight, a monster reborn." Tyrion said.
An odd example, but it worked. The Smiling Knight was the Gregor Clegane of his boyhood. Half as big as the Mountain, but twice as mad. Jaime remembered that day well. He was still a squire of one and five and joined his heroes to track down the bandits. He traded blows with the beast for some time. Then Ser Arthur took his place, battling until the villain's sword was notched. Arthur paused the fight, and allowed the Smiling Knight to take a fresh sword. Chivalry and madness - all wrapped together. The Sword of the Morning killed the bandit in the second exchange and knighted Jaime on the battlefield for valor. It was Jaime's proudest moment, to be praised by the finest knight he ever knew.
"Should I go North, Jaime? What will I do, if I see Gerion and Tysha again? And if our father learns about this, will he do something even worse than before?"
It was difficult to imagine much worse than teaching Tyrion a lesson by ordering his wife raped by a hundred Lannister guards. Still, Jaime had learned not to doubt their father. Lord Tywin was a ruthless man. "You cannot allow that, Tyrion. Gerion is just a boy."
"I couldn't do anything then." Tyrion murmured. "I don't know what I can do now."
His brother had only been a boy of one and four when he married Tysha. Even now, at twice that age, it would be difficult to defy their father. The poets claimed that any man could be brave. But life was harder than songs, and choices were never easy.
Garlan Tyrell did not like the Maidenvault. The keep was pleasant enough - tall carved doors, large windows, and airy rooms with furnishings suitable for a princess. The comfort did not change one basic fact. The building was and always had been a gilded cage, resting alone above the serpentine steps. Three sets of guards were stationed nearby – Lannister men patrolling the staircase, a barrack of gold cloaks overlooking the walls, and the king's own men at the Great Hall. This was a place easy to guard and hard to escape.
His sister had been ordered to stay here. Now that the main Tyrell force had returned to King's Landing, tensions relaxed slightly between the Reach and the Iron Throne. Margaery was allowed more ladies in waiting, and could make short trips to other parts of the Red Keep. A troupe of mummers and musicians performed often, and one - the Blue Bard with his hair dyed blue in the Tyroshi fashion - was a particular favorite. His sister giggled and smiled with her cousins but Garlan thought her laughter strained. It would not take much for the roses and lions to be at each other's throats.
"What an adorable baby." Margaery said. The younger cousins, Elinor, Megga and Alla, cooed at the sight of Harlan in his mother's arms.
"Yes. We have Prince Daemon to thank for his life." Leonette replied.
"Best not to let the Lannisters hear you say that. We don't want their anger directed toward a child." Olenna said.
"Surely the Iron Throne would not hurt an infant." Alerie said.
"Have you forgotten Aegon and Rhaenys?" Olenna snarled before calling out to Butterbumps. "Fool! Give us a song. A loud one."
The fat jester began to belt out "The Bear and the Maiden Fair." Garlan wondered why the song was so popular. It seemed absurd that one could rhyme bear, fair, hair, and air so many times. The world needed less singers, if that was the extent of their imagination. Garlan moved closer to hear his grandmother speak.
"How is the king? Has he done or said anything rash?"
"He is furious. Joffrey is prone to wild swings of temper. He hides behind a mask of charm, but he often lashes out. Not at me." Margaery hastened to say. "but the servants and guards."
"Has he laid his hands on you? Or threatened you about Jon Snow?" Olenna frowned.
She shook her head. "No, but we are not yet wedded. We are not alone, and he still needs our armies. Joffrey has a vicious temper, and recent events have made it much worse."
"Tywin Lannister has awoken. The Old Lion is good for one thing. He will be able to control his family. Tywin will scowl and stare, and Joffrey will be reined in."
"For now, Grandmother. But how long will that last?" His sister asked.
"What have you heard, Loras? What do the guards and white cloaks say?" Olenna asked.
"Everyone wonders whether Snow is a Blackfyre or a Targaryen. He may be Rhaegar's son, but is he bastard-born or not?" Loras replied.
"No one knows. The Faith doesn't. The Citadel has no records. Lyanna and Rhaegar are dead. Any lords or knights who might have known likely died in the Rebellion." Garlan said.
"It doesn't matter. We will never know the truth of the marriage. The boy is a dragon. Snow has a touch of madness like all the Targaryens." Olenna said.
"Grandmother, that is not fair." Garlan objected.
"Snow is mad. I am not saying he is Aerys or Maegor but the boy dances on the edge of madness and greatness. A saner man would have cured the plague but ensured that Lord Tywin died first. What would that have cost? A few months."
"He wants to save lives." Garlan said.
"He wants more than that. Snow desires to end the plague. The boy has grand dreams - the Targaryen kings wanted more than power and glory. They wanted to change the world. Some failed, but a few succeeded. This Daemon might be one of those." Olenna sipped her tea.
"What can we do? The Lannisters will not let us leave the Red Keep." Margaery said.
"That is a great pity, my dear. Had you come to Maidenpool, Snow might have fallen for your charms. You would certainly be the best option for his wife, rather than some Dornish tart."
"But Margaery is betrothed to Joffrey." Mace exclaimed.
"Thank you for pointing that out." Olenna said acidly. "Tywin Lannister understands the game. He will move to secure his allies. He will insist that the royal wedding proceed."
"I will do my duty but can the lions hold the throne against a dragon? I do not want to be a widow for the second time." Margaery said.
"Of course they can. Snow has only the support of House Stark. With the wealth and power of Highgarden, Joffrey's rule is secure. We have fifty thousand swords and spears." Mace boasted.
"We may have far less. Baelor Hightower does not want to fight against a Targaryen prince who saved Oldtown from the plague. The other lords are not as outspoken but he is not alone in these thoughts. The towns and castles on the Mander will be grateful as well." Garlan said.
"That is treason." Mace sputtered. "Willas must demand that our lords come to Highgarden to renew their vows."
"Fighting our bannermen so that they will fight for the Iron Throne is a bad idea. They could simply refuse to answer. We are not going to besiege their castles. Instead of tying our fate to the lions, we should pursue a different path. We need to find out what Snow will do."
"How will we do that? We have no spies up North." Olenna said.
"Owen Fossoway was Snow's closest friend at the Citadel. Owen will not betray him but he could send a raven. Snow trusted him enough to come to Maidenpool. At the very least, we would have an inkling of what the North might do."
"These are dangerous waters. Saving your wife is understandable. But if the Lannisters find out about more ravens, they will consider this a betrayal." Olenna warned.
"What choice do we have? To shut our eyes and hope for the best?" Garlan said.
"Very well. Where is Owen now?"
"In King's Landing, healing the sick. He has been there for the last few days, working with the other maesters to make the elixir." Leonette said.
"I will speak with him in private. Owen's first priority is the plague. But after that work is finished, we will talk." Garlan said.
Jaime Lannister waved away the gold cloaks as he rode into the city. The morning air was redolent with familiar odors - sour wine, baking bread, smoke, piss, dung, and the sweat and stink of unwashed men and women. King's Landing was no longer desolate. The smallfolk and soldiers were in the streets, ships sailed into the harbor, unloading sailors and cargo, and trade had returned. The peddlers were out in force, and stalls had opened in many of the squares, hawking bread, cheese, wine, and cloth.
There was still not enough elixir, but the worst was over for the city. That was true also for Lord Tywin, who had recovered enough to bark orders and make demands. Jaime left the Red Keep to avoid another interrogation by his father. He had kept the story simple, so that no one would discover the secret of Tyrion's son. Jaime wondered how long that would last.
The King's Way ended at a great unnamed square in the center of the city. That open space, lined with old trees and busy markets, was packed to the brim with tents. This was no tourney though; dozens and dozens of threadbare tents would not impress any knights or lords. Jaime was reminded of Maidenpool, but on a larger scale. He even recognized a few of the healers wandering about - the hunched over gray bearded septon, the shrewish midwife who had tended Leonette, even a few servant girls from the village.
"Ser, are you sick with the plague?" A bright eyed boy asked.
"No. But I would speak with your master. Give him my name – Jaime Lannister."
The boy took him to a red and green tent, slightly larger than the others. A long line of smallfolk waited outside, huddled against the ground, wrapped in thick blankets. This was the refuse of Flea Bottom - dirty, begrimed, and tired. A few knights walked about to maintain the peace but that was hardly necessary. The poor waited patiently, and the square was calm.
"Ser Jaime." A tired man in plain brown robes stepped out of the tent. It was not yet noon, but clearly Owen Fossoway had been working for many hours. "Do you need something?"
"Owen, How long have you been here?"
"Three days. I came down the Duskendale Road."
"And how many patients are you tending?"
"Hundreds every day. There are over a thousand in the square. We are trying to find more beds. I am not the only healer, Ser Jaime. Many of us are working here together."
"But how can you treat so many? Norren and Frenken can barely handle a dozen."
"Why are you asking? Shouldn't the question come from your maesters, and not you?"
"The maesters are too proud to ask. I only know because Ser Addam told me of the trouble." Jaime hesitated. "Norren wonders if their instructions may be incomplete."
"Incomplete?" Owen snorted. "The secret is in the care, not the cure. All of us have the same medicine. But what does it matter if you receive elixir but no water or food? Here, we feed the sick. We wash their bodies. We change their beds. We make sure they are warm and full so they can sleep through the night. That is part of the cure."
"Did Snow tell you that in Maidenpool?"
"I forgot that you were not at the docks when he arrived. Jon wanted to build a hospital, a center to care for the sick. At Florian's Tower, he accepted the poor, the weak, the old, women, and children without charge. In such a place, patients would receive medicine, water, hot food, warm beds, and clean sheets. We are fulfilling his vision." Owen said.
"But taking care of so many must cost a lot of gold. Why would you do such a thing? Did Snow order you to do this?" A flummoxed Jaime asked.
"Jon gave me the same commands as everyone else - to cure the plague in his name. This place costs gold but less than you think. The other healers volunteered their time. The servants are paid fair wages but they work hard. We borrowed the tents, and spent coins on food and sheets. As for why, this is the right thing to do. Jon cannot do this himself. As the rightful king, he is too busy with other things."
"What other things? Do you know what he is planning?"
Owen chuckled. "He did not tell me. I am not a great lord, or a war leader. I have no armies. I am just a healer, but that is enough. I serve Jon by curing others."
A young girl came out of the tent, holding the hand of an even younger boy. "Milord, he is feeling ever so better. We have no coin …"
"There is no need for payment, and I am no lord. The boy should rest in one of our tents for a few days. Ask anyone for food and drink. You must eat as well, and have warm blankets."
"Thank you. Thank you." The girl stammered.
"No need to thank me. The credit for the cure belongs to Daemon Targaryen. Remember the name." Owen smiled.
The bright eyed boy led the children away to an elderly woman ladling out bowls of steaming soup. This was just like Maidenpool, Jaime realized, and it would be very costly for the Lannisters.
A squad of gold cloaks pushed their way to the plaza, the horses breaking through the lines of sick waiting for care. A stout man with a bald pate dismounted, flashing naked steel at children and healers. The other gold cloaks held their iron spears ready, eyeing the crowd with contempt. Their leader strutted about the tents, his sneer only changing when the man saw Jaime.
"Ser Jaime." Janos Slynt grovelled. "You are wanted back at the Red Keep. Your father has called a meeting of the Small Council."
Jaime bade Owen Fossoway farewell and left the square. As he mounted a horse, he did not notice the glint of greed in Slynt's protruding frog-like eyes.
The white cloaks were not guarding the Small Council Chamber. Was that because Joffrey could not be bothered to attend? Or had his father forbidden the boy from coming? The same question applied to Mace Tyrell, who was nowhere to be seen. The Iron Throne still needed Highgarden but it was perhaps best to keep the Reach in the dark.
Lord Tywin sat at the head of the table, Uncle Kevan at his right hand. Jaime took a seat opposite his brother, not bothering to exchange glances with Cersei. His father did not look well - the gaunt face still showed strains. That might be from the plague, recent news or dealing with Joffrey. Letters were stacked on the table, weighted down by a lion's head dagger.
His father waved the top scrap. "A raven came from the Eyrie. A hysterical message from Lysa Arryn about Baelish's head being paraded around the Vale. Lord Beric Dondarrion brought the trophy to Gulltown."
"Wasn't Dondarrion killed in the Riverlands?" Tyrion asked.
Tywin snorted. "Several times according to the reports. Clegane killed him once, as did Lorch and Vargo Hoat. Those three are all dead now but somehow Dondarrion still visits strongholds in the Vale and spreads treason."
"The Lightning Lord is no danger. Lysa Arryn will take his head, and then he will stay dead. Even if Dondarrion cannot die, she will rip out his tongue." Cersei said.
Tywin glared with disdain at his daughter. Jaime was reminded of his childhood at Casterly Rock when his father would fire off questions about the maester's lessons at the dinner table. Leaving for Crakehall to squire for Lord Sumner had been a great relief.
"Have you learned nothing in fifteen years as Queen? It would take a week of hard riding to reach the Eyrie from Gulltown. You have to pass the Gates of the Moon and climb the Giant's Lance. Dondarrion did not go to the Eyrie. He is calling on other lords."
Kevan nodded. "There are several houses closer to Gulltown. Royce in Runestone, Waynwood at Iron Oaks, and Redfort. None of them have any love for Littlefinger. Baelish used to brag that he had friends in Gulltown, but no one raised a finger to Lord Beric and his men. We don't know where the Lightning Lord is now."
"Lysa Arryn did not support the North before. She is unlikely to do so now. We can keep the Vale on our side by granting favors and titles." Tyrion said.
"Are you offering yourself as a husband to Lysa?" Kevan asked, with a half smile. "Gods, no. Lysa Arryn is mad. Why else would she want to marry Baelish? Besides, she tried to take my head. My big head, not my little one." Tyrion quipped.
"Why would anyone want to marry a wretch like you?" Cersei sniped.
The question hung over the table like a drunk guest at a feast. With Cersei as Queen and Jaime as a kingsguard, Tyrion should have been heir to Casterly Rock. His brother might be a dwarf, but a potential head of House Lannister was a worthy match for any woman, certainly the twice widowed Lady of the Vale. That Tywin did not rebuke Cersei meant that Tyrion would never be given that title. Succession to Casterly Rock would be a serious problem.
"Lysa Arryn does not want a new husband. She wants revenge for Lord Baelish. We will give it to her." Tywin said.
"How do you plan to do that?" Tyrion said curiously.
"We declare Snow an outlaw for the murder of a Lord Paramount. Petyr Baelish was a loyal servant of the throne and Lord Protector of the Vale. Snow took his head out of spite."
"Littlefinger was not murdered." Jaime protested. "He tried to kill Snow with a crossbow in the dark – Joffrey's crossbow. When he failed, Baelish attempted to steal the elixir. Then he ran away like a rat. Baelish deserved to die."
"Only a few people know that. We will tell a different tale. Baelish was a good and kind lord who wished only for peace and prosperity for the realms. Snow is a mad beast who burns and beheads enemies. The taint is in the blood. Like Aerys the Mad, Snow would be cruel and unforgiving, a second Maegor the Cruel, with a thirst for torture and murder."
"There is a problem with this story." Tyrion said. "What about the plague? And why was Baelish in Maidenpool?
"Petyr Baelish and his plague doctors discovered the cure to the plague. Snow stole the secrets to the elixir before killing them all." Tywin said.
"Those are all lies." Jaime angrily exclaimed. "Baelish was the thief. The so-called plague doctors were thugs from the Vale. Baelish tried to steal the elixir. He used wildfire to burn down the tower. He didn't care how many died as long as he could get his hands on the medicine. How can we defend such a man? A cheat who conned those desperate for a cure to the plague."
"Baelish is dead. Lysa Arryn controls the Vale. She will grasp at any straws that paint her late husband as a hero. We will smear Jon Snow so that people think of Aerys and not Rhaegar. The Iron Throne must blacken his name – Snow the Butcher, Rhaegar as a rapist, Lyanna Stark as wild and wanton - the mother of a bastard boy." Tywin said.
"Lysa Arryn might fall for this pack of lies but no one else will. Everyone knows that Snow cured the plague." Tyrion said.
"Men believe what they wish to believe. The crown has titles and lands to pay for loyalty. Our enemies do not. We cannot allow the Vale to join this Daemon. We do not need every house to swallow the whole tale; they only need to have enough doubt to not join a rebellion. The ravens will fly out tonight."
Jaime stood up abruptly. He had never had patience for intrigue and deception. He walked to the door, ignoring the surprise of his siblings.
"Where are you going?" Tywin said, his voice cold.
"You don't need me to send out ravens, Father. I am not good at lying. I will be in the yard with the other knights." Jaime left.
The knight with the purple unicorn crest winced as the heavy sword crashed into a shield. Robert Brax was a fine fighter - quick, strong, skilled but no match for his opponent. Jaime lashed out, forcing the white cloak to give ground. Then Jaime raised his shield too high, appearing to give an opening to strike at the legs. As Ser Robert rushed forward to press the attack, he slammed the buckler down, catching the sword arm. The gauntlet and vambrace prevented much damage but the force combined with a kick in the shins toppled the unicorn knight. In a flash, he pounced, pinning down the sword arm with a shield, and pressing the right knee against the breastplate. Jaime raised the sword in the air, ready to thrust down.
"He's already dead, Jaime." Addam Marbrand called out.
In a real fight, Robert Brax would have been a corpse. Jaime could have plunged the sword through the gorget or slits in the helm. He could also drop the blade for a moment, and take out a rondel dagger that could easily pierce gaps in the armor. That was how knights often died on the battlefield, stabbed by a long, thin blade through the head, neck, armpits or groin.
He got up, and extended a hand. "Well fought, Ser."
Robert Brax groaned, and stripped off his helmet, revealing a large purple bruise on the right cheek. "I did not land a single blow. If that is a good spar, I would hate to see a bad one."
The yard was filled with soldiers. Some watched awestruck while others licked their wounds. Jaime had defeated a dozen men, including Crakehall, Bywater, Lydden, Westerling, and Ilyn Payne. Of those, only the Strongboar came close in strength, and Jaime was far faster.
"Are we done fighting? Or do you plan to beat us all to death?" Ser Lyle boomed.
Jaime laughed. The sweat of fighting had almost washed off the stench of the Small Council meeting – almost. "No one is ever done fighting. But that is enough for today."
He took his meal with the men in the guardhouse. A large leg of lamb, basted in honey, mint and cloves, had been roasted on a spit over a blazing hearth. The smell wafted over the trestle table, piled high with mugs and tankards of ale and wine. A fat cook carved slices of roast lamb off the bone, and dumped a pan of drippings on the bread. In Maegor's Holdfast, the kitchen would have skimmed the fat, and cooked the sauce into a gravy, but here there was no need. Hungry men did not care about such niceties.
"Your father has sent out the ravens." Addam said quietly. The hall was loud with the clink of knives and the chatter of men talking over their drink and food.
Jaime was not surprised. Lord Tywin was not someone who hesitated after making a decision. "Have you seen the message?"
"Copies were given to the City Watch commanders. Bywater's men like to talk. They say that Snow murdered Baelish for the elixir."
"Do you believe that?" Jaime asked.
The guardhouse quieted down. "Baelish is a pimp. He could count coins and beat whores. But curing the plague? His doctors saved no one. They just stole gold." Addam said.
"Jon Snow is a hard man. I saw that at the God's Eye and the Twins. But he is not a murderer. And he could give two shits about getting rich. If he killed Baelish to steal the cure, why did he turn around and give it away?" Ser Lyle said.
"It was Baelish who wanted to murder others for elixir." Jaime responded.
"We believe you, but we know the whoremonger. Not everyone does, particularly those outside King's Landing. Some might think Baelish is just a lord on the Small Council. And there are stories that Snow is a sorcerer and a bastard. That was before we knew of his dragon blood." Addam said.
"So some nobles may believe these ravens." Jaime said.
"No one will call your father a liar to his face. There is still respect for the Old Lion. It is not what nobles believe that matters. It is what they do. Will they fight for this Daemon? Will they fight against him? We do not know." Addam said.
Jaime tossed away the note from Cersei asking him to visit that night. It was not just the spectre of Lancel and the Queen's other lovers. He was unhappy with the white cloak. Joffrey was the third king that he served. None of them deserved his oath. It was Cersei's plots that had tied him to this life, that had trapped him to the Iron Throne. No, he would not blame his sister's golden cunt. He had made the decision to kneel.
He flipped through the White Book to a passage that he had read so many times. Ser Arthur of House Dayne. The Sword of the Morning. Why did the best knight Jaime had ever known have to die in the Rebellion? Arthur Dayne should have been Lord Commander, and dealing with the troubles of the Iron Throne. Not me, Jaime thought. I only wanted Cersei. So I gave up Casterly Rock, joined my heroes, and found out that they were not so heroic at all. Good men, but not good enough to stand against the king.
Jaime heard a quiet knock on the door. The hour was late, and Cersei would be a fool to come. His quarters were private but there were always spies and servants in the Red Keep. He stepped to the door and saw a mop of golden curls on a plump face through the crack.
"Tommen!" Jaime let the boy enter, after glancing into the empty corridor. "What are you doing out so late? Your mother would skin you alive."
"I wanted to see you, Ser Jaime. I had questions and I couldn't sleep. And you are the best one to talk to about this." The words rushed out of the chubby mouth.
"Me?" Jaime said, the doubt clear in his voice. "I am not the best with words. Tyrion is better at such things."
Tommen frowned. "Uncle Tyrion departed for King's Landing. I overheard his servant Bronn say that they plan to visit brothels."
Jaime sighed. Tyrion's well-known love for whores had not changed since the news of Tysha. With the city's return to normality, his brother would likely be at Chataya's. Jaime hoped his father would not hear of the visit. "What can I do for you?"
"You went to Maidenpool. Tell me about Jon Snow."
There were so many swirling stories. "He is a dragon. A dragon that cured the plague."
"Is he the rightful king?" Tommen asked.
That was the question on many minds. 'His father, Prince Rhaegar, should have been king. As Prince Daemon, Snow has the best claim, but that may lead to war."
"There is a way to prevent that." Tommen said eagerly.
"There is?" Jaime saw no way out. It was only a matter of time before war broke out, and the great houses chose their sides. "How?"
"Grandfather wants Lannister blood on the throne. Snow will have the support of the North and many other houses. Snow could marry Myrcella, and become king."
"What about Joffrey?" Jaime asked.
"Joffrey is a terrible king. He is cruel and …." Tommen stopped for a moment, lost in his mind. "Myrcella would be a good queen. She is kind and clever. She would make peace between the Lannisters and the Starks. She could unite the realms."
"Myrcella is already betrothed to Trystane Martell."
"The third child? Why would anyone prefer the youngest Martell over Jon Snow? Myrcella deserves more than anyone else. She is the best of us."
Jaime looked at his youngest son intently. "You don't want to be king?"
"I would be a bad king. I have no head for numbers or plots. I am not a fearsome fighter, or cunning like Grandfather. I would be happy with a small holdfast, in the Crownlands. Myrcella could charm Snow into granting us lands, even Joffrey."
Jaime doubted Joffrey would be forgiven. Taking Ned Stark's head had been a grave mistake. Myrcella was a better child than House Lannister deserved. Stronger than Tommen, kinder by far than Joffrey. She was brave, bright, and courteous. Had Rhaegar been king, he might very well have betrothed his second son to Myrcella Lannister.
"I am sorry, Tommen. Joffrey would never step aside. My father Tywin would see it as a sign of weakness for House Lannister. Your suggestion is a good one. In time, Snow might come to care for Myrcella and she would rule well at his side. They might even be happy with each other. The gods will not allow that." The gods were not to blame though. The fault lied with men.
His son looked down upon the ground. "Oh - I hoped Cella could come back to King's Landing. I guess I was just being stupid. I miss her." Tommen began to cry, fat tears running down his plump cheeks.
Jaime tried to comfort the boy, patting him awkwardly on the back. He could never be a father to his children. He did not care about Joffrey but Myrcella and Tommen were a different story. They deserved better than their wretched parents - Cersei, Robert, and him. The young paid for the sins of their elders, even princes and princesses.
Jaime had fallen asleep last night after reading the White Book. He paid little attention to the men that joined after the Rebellion. Trant, Moore, Blount, Greenfield, Arys Oakheart, Balon Swann, the Hound, Loras - a few of these might be half decent with a sword but his mind turned again to the Kingsguard under Aerys the Mad - good men serving a bad king. In his dreams, he saw the proud fierce faces of five ghosts - the Lord Commander, Ser Oswell Whent, Prince Lewyn, Jonothor Darry, Arthur Dayne. Did they rebuke him for his failures or urge him to follow the true king? Jaime could not say. He did not remember their words when he woke.
"Jaime, the maesters are here." Addam said.
Half a dozen knights sat at the round table. Ser Addam Marbrand sat to Jaime's right hand side. A squire poured a cup of cold water as Frenken, a plump man with red hair, approached with two Lannister red cloaks in tow. He gave a short bow, before taking a seat.
"What news, maester?" Jaime asked.
"The production of the elixir is going well. We have made enough to store in the barracks around King's Landing."
"Store? Shouldn't we use any medicine to treat the sick?"
A look of discomfort passed over Jacelyn Bywater's face. "The Hand ordered the gold cloaks to keep stockpiles for any outbreak."
"An outbreak? There are thousands already sick. They need a cure now." Jaime slammed his hand on the table.
"Lord Tywin means an outbreak among the red cloaks, or the gold cloaks." The Commander of the Watch said.
"Ser Jaime, the smallfolk prefer to be healed in the plaza. They get food and drink with the elixir. Many septons have taken the cure there, and not at the Sept of Baelor." Frenken said.
"Letting the Tyrells receive all the credit is not wise." Addam argued. "People will believe there is dissension between the lions and the roses. That will mean more rumors and whispers."
Jaime wondered whether the Tyrells were plotting against the Throne. Then again, everyone in King's Landing plotted. The city was full of liars and schemers.
A heavy thud could be heard against the wall. The sound was followed by more crashes, and then a loud hue and cry from the guards. A frightened page scurried past the door. "My lords, the castle is under attack!"
The knights in the room drew their blades. Jaime did not, focusing instead on the clamor - not the screams of servants and yells of men at arms, but the steady thump, thump, thump against the stone. "What is that noise?"
"Rocks, my lord. They are throwing rocks at the keep." The page answered.
"Jon Snow! The Starks must be at the city gates!" A knight cried.
"Snow left Maidenpool three weeks past. He could not have sailed to White Harbour and returned with an army. It takes many moons to call the banners." Jaime said.
"It is not Northmen, Ser. The smallfolk are rioting." The page cried out.
"But why?" Addam Marbrand asked, perplexed. "The city is doing much better. There is bread. Trade has returned and the plague may soon end."
Jaime stood and made his way up the steps to a high window, covering his face and neck with a shield. He peered through the glass to see the chaos outside - crowds of men and women, loud cries of anger, tongues of flames licking the air. Mobs poured through the streets, throwing rocks, hurling curses, and setting fires. Smoke billowed over Aegon's Hill from the great unnamed square at the center of King's Landing. Jaime cursed loudly.
"Seal Maegor's Holdfast and the gates to the Red Keep. Have messengers sent to the barracks to inform our men to protect the water wagons, docks, armories, guardhouses and barbicans. We cannot allow the city to fall to pieces." Jaime remembered the sack of King's Landing by his father's forces. Thousands had died in the looting and chaos.
"Should we put out the fires?" Ser Jacelyn asked.
"Not yet. If we try now, that might only inflame the mob. Find out why they are angry. Do your best to capture the protestors, not kill." Jaime turned away from Jacelyn to the young page. "Boy, tell the other white cloaks to join me. That is an order from their Lord Commander. Go – there is no time to waste. As for everyone else, come with me." Jaime headed to the castle walls.
An hour later, fires still burned in King's Landing. Archers patrolled the battlements of the Red Keep, and lines of spearmen kept a wary eye on the doors and gates. The mob still seethed but the initial fury had dwindled. Jaime had made clear that fighting would be a last resort. He surveyed the city from the ramparts atop the massive drum tower overlooking the King's Way.
Guards slammed two unshaven men against the dirt of the cobbled square. The captives glared at Jaime and the other white cloaks with resentment and loathing. Something was off. That was not the normal reaction of smallfolk to knights.
"We found these men near the Hook, gathering stones to throw at the Red Keep" Addam said.
"You will be punished for this." Ser Jacelyn said.
The first man spat, the blob of bloody spittle landing on Bywater's mail shirt. A gold cloak raised an iron cudgel, only to be restrained by Ser Addam.
"Why are you rioting? What happened to start this?" Jaime asked.
"It's his fault." The prisoner pointed a bony unwashed finger at the captain of the City Watch.
"Me?" Ser Jacelyn said. "What did I do?"
"You killed him. He was a good man, and you killed him." The second prisoner raged. "The gods will punish you for this crime. The Father, the Mother, the Warrior."
"I have not killed anyone." A confused Bywater said.
"Not with your sword. But you ordered the death. He died for us."
"Who died? And when?" Jaime asked.
"The healer at the square. The maester with the red apple on his sleeve. The gold cloaks killed him this morning."
"Owen Fossoway?" Addam asked, shocked.
"Yes, that was his name. He was a good man. He healed the sick and gave us food and drink. And now he is dead on your orders."
Ser Jacelyn was not the only one disturbed by the news. Several knights edged away, darting their eyes at Bywater with suspicion. The gold cloaks watched their leader warily.
"I had nothing to do with this. I swear that to all the gods. I would not harm a healer." Bywater insisted, appealing to Jaime.
"I believe that. Ironhand is not a liar, and he was in the Red Keep this morning." Jaime declared. "Tell us exactly what happened."
"I was in the square. My boy had the plague but was getting better thanks to the healer and the elixir. Three gold cloaks pushed to the front of the line. We thought they carried a message but the men stabbed the maester. They hacked away until the body was drenched in blood. Then the cowards ran away, back to the Red Keep."
"There are four thousand gold cloaks in the city." Jacelyn said. "I did not give this order."
"Then who did?" The prisoner demanded. "Who killed the healer? Give them to us, so we can tear them apart. Until we find the gold cloaks, the city will burn."
"No one will confess to the murder. The killers could hide for days." Addam said.
"We do not have time for that. We must stop the rioting and fires in King's Landing." Jaime said.
"Ser Jaime, if I send my men into the city, they will be attacked." Ser Jacelyn said.
The mob would stone any gold cloak they saw. The red cloaks and kingsguard might also be in danger. Still, there was one person who might soothe the crowd. "Gather your men at the castle gates. I will be back soon."
"What about these two?" Addam asked.
"Let them go." Jaime ordered. "Their anger is understandable. Owen deserves justice. We will not get that by killing or jailing rioters."
The Maidenvault was quiet, and the servants turned away as Jaime walked down the long hall. He came alone, leaving the other white cloaks and knights behind. It might have been better to summon Loras but the Knight of Flowers was stationed at Maegor's Holdfast guarding Joffrey. Jaime wondered if this was a fool's errand. Still he had killed a king once to save King's Landing and Tyrion was somewhere in the burning city.
The giant guard opened the tall wooden door to the chamber. Jaime could hear soft sobbing. Inside, half a dozen ladies sat in a small circle, among them Lady Leonette. Jaime steeled himself and entered.
"What do you want, Kingslayer?" Ser Garlan hovered over his wife. Her eyes were red with weeping, and she was surrounded by Lady Margaery and cousins.
"I am sorry for your loss. I only found out just now." Jaime knew the words were inadequate. Then again, he was known for a fearsome sword, not a silver tongue.
"We were told earlier." The Queen of Thorns said, sitting in a corner with several matrons. "Every servant in the castle knows. Murdered by gold cloaks in the square built by Jaehaerys, before sick women and children. Who would commit such a brazen deed?"
"No one knows. The death was a great surprise."
"Really? Who benefits from the killing of Jon Snow's friend?" Olenna said sharply.
Jaime winced. "I had nothing to do with this. I wager that Jacelyn Bywater's surprise was no act either. I did not know Owen well but I never wished him any harm."
"You may not have, Kingslayer, but then you do not lie well enough to be trusted with plots." The Queen of Thorns retorted. "Who gave the order? Who would want Owen dead?"
"My brother died for me." Leonette spoke in a soft and tremulous voice. "He died because he asked Jon Snow for help. That saved my child and my life but Owen paid with his own." The lady covered her face with her hands. She had no tears or words left.
Garlan placed a hand on her arm. "What do you want, Kingslayer? Have the decency to allow us to mourn privately."
"King's Landing is burning. The mob has stopped for a moment, but they are gathering fuel and stones. The crowd will go on another rampage before tonight."
"So what? There have been riots in this shit city before. There will be riots again." Garlan said.
"But there doesn't have to be one. You are Owen Fossoway's good brother. The crowds will listen to your words." Jaime said.
"And what will I tell the mob? That the Lannisters killed Owen?" Garlan scoffed.
"We do not know that. Tell them that we will bring the murderer to justice. Say whatever you need to calm them down so that King's Landing does not burn." Jaime said.
"Why should I save your arse? The gold cloaks are supposed to keep peace in this damnable city. They can't because they killed him." Garlan replied.
"The Watch reports to your uncle, Ser Kevan, the Master of Laws. He reports to your father, the Lord Hand. The Hand is responsible to the King. So who bears the responsibility for the death? He that sows the wind, will reap the storm." Olenna asked.
"If I knew who gave the order, I would arrest them." Jaime declared.
"Would you, Kingslayer? I wonder." Olenna chided.
Leonette stood up abruptly. "Owen did not like bloodshed or war. He was a man of peace. He died as he would have wanted - healing the sick and helping the poor. My brother would not want violence in his name."
"Dear girl, you are far too merciful." Olenna grumbled.
"Very well, my men will help calm the city." Garlan said. "But I am not doing this for the gold cloaks or the Lannisters. This is for Owen, so that his deeds will not be lost in time. I will bring his body back to Cider Hall, so he can be buried with his forefathers. We will not forget my goodbrother, and his role in curing the plague."
Jaime had no doubt about that. The death of Owen Fossoway was terrible for the Iron Throne. And that was before the news reached the Reach and the North.
Hours later, much of the city was cleared. Ser Garlan was true to his word. The knights of the Reach - many related to House Fossoway by marriage - dispersed the crowd with words and not swords. Septons and maesters pitched in, explaining that while the murder was a terrible crime, burning down King's Landing was not the answer. The smallfolk gave the gold cloaks suspicious looks but the fires were quenched and the mobs dispersed.
They found Owen's body on Visenya's Hill, on the Street of the Sisters, surrounded by holy brothers and sisters of the Faith. It was a ghastly sight - the throat was slit, and a dozen deep gashes marked the ruined head and neck. Jaime shook his head in disgust. A single blow was enough to dispatch an unarmed man. Did they butcher the healer as a message? Or were the killers simply incompetent? For all their posturing, gold cloaks were not soldiers.
"His head is crowned with blood." A knight pointed at the red stained locks.
"The wounds are on his face and front. See the cuts on the palms to protect his head. Owen did not run away from the killers. He died bravely." Garlan said.
"Ser, the Silent Sisters can drain away the blood, and bathe the body in herbs and salt. That would preserve the body and hide some of the marks." A septon said.
"No." Garlan lifted the corpse onto the bier. "Let everyone see how my good brother was killed. Blood will have blood. Owen's killers will not rest easy. Either the gods will grant justice, or we take it with our own hands."
Jaime watched the Tyrell knights depart for the Red Keep. On both sides of the great street, rows of smallfolk and soldiers bowed their heads to pay respect. The dead could not cry out for justice, but the sight of the body, so foully murdered, would not be soon forgotten.
The unrest over, Jaime made his way northwest to the Hill of Rhaenys. The riots had not touched the Street of Silk, and the Blue Pearl, Mother's and other fine establishments did a brisk business as the sunset. The brothels were armored in gold – not just the cloaks of the city watch, but guards, merchants and tradespeople. Working girls stood near the doors and flaunted their attractions - a flash of smooth legs, a hint of plump breasts, and a false smile.
He found Tyrion at Chataya's, drinking wine with three girls. They were lovely, particularly the dark-skinned beauty with sandalwood eyes. Even her laugh sounded genuine, unlike the shrieks and giggles from the other two. An observer might have guessed that everyone in the dark candle lit room was drunk but brothels, even high class ones, did not waste Arbor Gold on whores. Not when they could sell the vintages for real gold.
"Time to go." Jaime said, as the girls stood up to leave.
"Wait. Wait. I paid for another hour of companionship." Tyrion looked aghast.
"You have been here an entire night and day. Besides, we must return to the Red Keep. After the riots, the Hand will want a report from the Small Council." Jaime closed the door.
"Riots? What riots?" Tyrion guzzled down his goblet, drops of wine dripping down his chin.
Jaime shook his head. "You must be very drunk not to hear anything. Owen Fossoway was murdered by three gold cloaks this morning. Bywater has no idea who gave the order and the entire city is shocked. I spent the entire day putting out fires and calming down the crowds. Luckily, Ser Garlan and his men were willing to help."
His brother immediately sobered up. "Where is Owen now? And the Tyrells?"
"Ser Garlan took the body back to the Maidenvault. The other Tyrell women are waiting there with Garlan's wife. The Reach plans to bury Owen at Cider Hall."
"Thank the gods. That is the best outcome we could hope for." Tyrion said.
"What do you mean?"
Tyrion found a basin of water, and washed his thin flaxen hair. "Someone had to pay for bringing Snow South. It might have been Leonette and her infant. Better a third or fourth son of House Fossoway than a Tyrell. Imagine if they attempted to kill Ser Garlan. The might of Highgarden would turn against our house."
"You knew about this, Tyrion?" Jaime asked in outrage. "Why did you not tell me?"
"I did tell you." Tyrion shot back. "I said that Joffrey was enraged most by Ser Garlan. The insult to the Iron Throne was clear. We were lucky to stop him from attacking the Tyrells when you were in Maidenpool. Then, he found out that Jon Snow was a Targaryen."
"So Joffrey ordered Owen's death?"
"Who else would it be?" Tyrion answered his own question. "Who would be foolish enough to kill a man in broad daylight, with thugs wearing gold cloaks? Father might plot treachery with their bannermen against the Tyrells. Cersei would threaten Margaery or throw Loras into the black cells. Only Joffrey could be this reckless. He cut off Ned Stark's head when you were a prisoner at Riverrun. He hired a lackwit to kill Bran Stark at Winterfell. Worse, he paid with Valyrian steel that could be traced to the royal court. Joffrey killed Owen Fossoway to send a message about his strength. The boy is as witless as he is proud."
"If this becomes known…"
Tyrion waved a stubby arm to dismiss the idea. "No one will know, or at least not for certain. The assassins are likely dead already. Joffrey may be a fool but Tywin is not. Our Lord Father is good at covering up for crimes. That is why he is a great Hand. Kings rarely suffer for their sins. Who will punish Joffrey? Jon Snow and Robb Stark are far away. The Tyrells will marry their rose to the king. As for the Martells, the Tullys, the Arryns, the Baratheons, the Greyjoys - will they give a shit that some minor noble was killed in King's Landing? Joffrey may still piss away the Iron Throne but the death of a healer does not matter."
But he did matter. Owen Fossoway saved Westeros from the plague. True, Snow discovered the cure, but only because Owen sent a raven. After returning from Maidenpool, the acolyte spent the rest of his short life healing the poor and sick. If Owen did not matter, who did?
I am a knight, Jaime thought. Since childhood, that was all he had ever wanted. Knights defend the young and innocent – even from kings.
Author's Notes
There are two primary references here. The first is the Fritz Leiber story, Ill Met in Lankhmar. The second is to the Ill Made Knight, the third of the four books in T.H. White's The Once and Future King. The take on Lancelot is quite remarkable. Neither story has a happy ending.
Storm of Swords Chap 11 tells the story of Jaime being raised to the Kingsguard. It is quite clear that Cersei manipulates Jaime with sex into joining her plot. Cersei's sexual wiles made Jaime think that "Casterly Rock was a small price to pay to be near her always." That plot, like much of Cersei's schemes, ended poorly.
It is well established that Addam Marbrand is one of Jaime Lannister's good friends. The knight of the Seashells is Raynald Westerling. Here, he doesn't die at the Twins.
In the Middle Ages, cutting off a nose as a punishment was not uncommon. That is where the phrase "Don't cut off your nose to spite your face." comes from. In this case, the pursuit of vengeance can become especially damaging.
Book Jaime and Show Jaime are quite different interacting with the kids. In the book, the focus is almost entirely on Joffrey. Tommen really is neglected or bullied by his mother. Book Jaime thinks of the kids as a squirt of semen in Cersei's cunt. On the HBO show, he is much more humanized, and they pull on the heartstrings before killing Myrcella. I imagine that GRRM, in his medieval England mindset, realizes kids were used as currency to benefit your family.
It may seem strange that Tyrion, whose relations with his father are so crappy, would worry about his child with Tysha. My theory is that you never truly escape the shadow of your parents. Family matters - both positively and negatively.
In medieval times, marriage was often arranged for political and economic reasons. For example. Henry II married Eleanor of Aquitaine, who was 11 years older and divorced from a marriage to Louis, King of France. Eleanor retained the wealthy duchy of Aquitaine after the annulment, which almost certainly helped Henry II raise an army to fight for the English throne. Henry became king two years after the marriage because his rival died of illness.
It is an interesting question whether Margaery could ever divorce Joffrey. Kings have divorced queens, usually because they did not bear a son, a la Henry VIII. The issue would be the Faith. The Church had a strong interest in granting divorces to extract concessions from rulers. Over the Middle Ages, the papacy gained great power by becoming the arbiter of marriages.
The Antonine Plague, also known as the Plague of Galen, spread from Asia Minor to the Roman Empire in 165 AD to 180 AD, killing perhaps a quarter of the Roman Empire. We think today that the disease was smallpox. Many historians argue that this plague was a major religious turning point because Christians fearlessly took care of the sick and needy. In fact, some papers argue the death rate in Christian enclaves was half the broader community. This is all about the other aspects of care that Owen mentions - food, water, warmth. So Owen's caring for the sick is a new thing - at least in Westeros. Perhaps they had hospitals in Essos.
Slynt and the other corrupt gold cloaks are not at the Wall. In the books, Slynt is promoted from a minor villain in KL to a nuisance for Jon Snow at the Wall. It is not necessary here.
In the first Alayne Stone chapter, in a Feast for Crows, Baelish boasts to Sansa that "I am well loved in Gulltown, and have some lord friends of mine own as well." That may be true while he is alive and has gold and titles to bestow. No one besides Lysa will miss a dead Baelish.
The actual quote is that "Men in general are quick to believe that which they wish to be true." Julius Caesar qualifies the comments more than Tywin does. Baelor Hightower also says something similar in the previous chapter.
Myrcella gets a raw deal but it is fairly clear from a number of views, that she has a good nature, head and heart. She would be a good queen. Tyrion's scheme to pacify the Dornish costs her life. Whether that is a comment on the cruelties of war/politics, or the bad blood between the Martells and Lannisters, or the incompetence of the Sand Snakes and Arianne is not clear.
"Blood will have blood" comes from Macbeth. People might recognize the description of the dead Owen - red locks, slit throat, crowned with fatal blows - as the murder of Banquo.
Jaime's parting thoughts are similar to Barristan when Joffrey strips him of the white cloak. Selmy says to the royal court "I am a knight, I shall die a knight." Real knights care a great deal about honor. Of course, as Baelish noted to Ned Stark, honor can carry a very high price.