This chapter was written as part of the Facebook challenge "Sur Votre 31":
- Invite : ''Letter''.
- Number of words: From 100 to 1000 words.
This chapter is a bonus of my work Joanna.
All the universe of Game of Thrones belongs to GRR Martin, DB & DW.
Enjoy reading!
The tension was palpable, as it was every time a battle was being prepared.
Except that this battle would not be like any battle Jaime had ever experienced.
Yet he had fought more battles than he could count.
But this one was not against another house, in which he would be followed by the bearers of scarlet banners with the roaring lion, ardently defending the honor of the House Lannister.
In this battle he would be one of the defenders of life.
Life against death.
He would not fight against humans. He would fight against the dead, who would have no pity and, above all, no fear of death.
They would not have a ball in the back of their throat, nor heavy entrails.
But Jaime would.
And this battle would soon take place.
But, while waiting for it, he had a completely different kind of fear.
He was in the great hall of the castle, sitting at the breakfast table with Tyrion, when Maester Wolkan came up to him:
''A raven for you, Mylord... A crow from the capital...''
Immediately putting down the mug of beer he was holding, he quickly grasped the letter from the maester's hands and thanked him.
With the man gone, Jaime put the message back on the table, without opening it, and took his head in his hands.
Black wings, black news.
What if something had happened to Cersei?
Cersei, whom he had left alone in King's Landing, pregnant to the eyes, as he again took command of the Lannister armies, perhaps in the final battle, but with an oath that he would return.
He could still remember her face and her gaze when he had taken her face between his two hands, one warm as the breezes of summer and the other cold as the winds of winter, kissing her forehead, trying to dissipate the anxiety that had veiled her eyes, then her lips moistened with tears, as if to seal his commitment.
He had placed his good hand against her belly, and the baby had given a violent blow at the precise spot where he had put his fingers, as if he was protesting his father's departure.
She could give birth at any time now.
He had seen her begin to have difficulty moving around, her breasts and back were starting to hurt, and she was not able to stand for very long.
He had been happy to be able to take care of her during her pregnancy, as he had not been able to do so for the previous pregnancies.
For the first time, Jaime was really going to be a father.
He remembered talking to her stomach when, at night, in their bed, the baby decided not to let his mother sleep. He had kissed the bump that their new little lion cub was forming.
For him, the slightest kick was magical.
He would cherish for the rest of his life the memories of the moments when Cersei was at the window, gazing pensively at the city, one hand on her abdomen, and of him coming behind her, leaning her against him to relieve her of the weight of the little one, surrounding her with his arms, resting his good hand on hers, intertwining their fingers and kissing her on the cheek. She often ended up sighing with contentment and closing her eyes with a sense of well-being.
They were so good, the three of them, the two together, as it had always been, and the fruit of their love, as it had always been meant to be.
But winter had come. For good.
And with it, the White Walkers.
Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow had come to King's Landing to ask Cersei for help in defeating the threat.
At first she had been reluctant to call a truce with their enemies, but all it took was a simple glance at Jaime and a baby kick to convince her to accept.
And Jaime was gone.
Ever since he had left King's Landing, he couldn't stop thinking about the two lights of his life.
To his two rays of sunshine in the gray winter sky.
To his Cersei and the little lion cub she was carrying.
He would be sick with grief if something happened to one or the other of the two loves of his life, or, by the greatest misfortune, to both.
Jaime had never been able, never wanted to imagine his life without Cersei, and since he had learned that she was pregnant and was planning to publicly confirm his paternity, he could not imagine his life without this small miracle.
A miracle. That's what that little one was.
A chance for Jaime to be the father he could never have been.
He had often wondered if he would be a good father, if he would be like his own, too obsessed with the idea of inheritance to love his children.
But how could he not love their flesh and blood, Cersei's and his, when it was their love that had united them?
Suddenly, he felt an immense wave of guilt run through him.
He should never have left. Never should he have left King's Landing. Never should he have left Cersei.
What if she died in childbirth, just like their mother forty years earlier? What if she lost the baby?
What if she was lying there, screaming in pain, alone, when Jaime had promised her that he would be with her forever?
He would never forgive himself.
No, he couldn't open the letter. The chances of it being condolences were too great.
Still, he had to.
He unsealed the blood-red seal, blood, like a bad omen, and unrolled the scroll.
His eyesight blurred with the tears that came to his eyes, and he barely managed to read Qyburn's handwriting.
Until the last sentence.
He let out a sob.
Tyrion looked at him worriedly, wondering what was going on, the thought of Cersei and the baby floating between them.
But Jaime, wiping his tears with his sleeve, smiled, and uttered a sentence he had only ever been able to say in his dreams:
''I... I am a father...''
Thank you for reading!
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Don't be too hard on English, it is not my mother tongue.