Chapter 3: The End and the Afterwards
Jaime Lannister recognized the glares from Stark's guardmen. They were the same he encountered in his previous life all those years ago. Last time, he hated them for their self-righteous fury. This time he accepted their anger, knowing that he deserved their scorn. In his previous life, he had almost killed Young Bran on this very day. An action that would have, if nothing had changed, continued onto a broken path that led to their sworn family's destruction and his own.
So he ignored them, not even bothering with a characteristic smirk. He preferred to watch his youngest son and an unburdened Brandon Stark. Tommen looked happy as he clashed his wooden sword against Young Bran's. It was nice to see his gentle boy smile, his small crooked teeth peeking out.
The boys had become quick friends this time around. It was strange how a simple hello would change the course of history. Jaime had wanted to greet Bran as he once was and to try to give Tommen a freer visit. This time Tommen would not stay under his mother's smoldering grasp. He will have a chance to be a child. A child unrestricted by family feuds.
So far, his plan had worked. Tommen and Young Bran had done everything together the past few days. They ate like twins, ran amok like squirrels who chased after rats, and talked like conspirators planning an adventure through Essos.
He could have easily left them alone today, but he decided to not tempt fate.
Earlier, before breakfast, Cersei had sneaked into his room, as she had done the first time around. He had felt a familiar urge to fuck her and kiss her neck covered by her long, golden hair. He had felt so relieved to have her again, sane and whole, unhaunted by their children's deaths.
Yet, he dismissed Cersei's offer. He was still haunted by the Queen who burned the Sept of Baelor with wildfire and ruined the legacy of the one good deed he ever committed. The Queen that he felt for one night had returned to her previous, sane self. The Queen who refused to help with the fight against the Long Night.
In answer to his refusal, she had been angry, but unsurprised. She had just pouted and insulted his cock. She had, thankfully, recognized that it was too dangerous with Robert so close. A sure sign that there was still a chance to prevent her other self's madness.
When he had told her that he wanted to spend some time teaching Tommen about sword fighting, she had warned him about being too close.
While the family dined together, she had tried to convince Joffrey to join in, but the foolish monster had wanted to join in the hunt. Joffrey likely hoped to impress his false father. Good riddance, Jaime had little desire to interact with the future King.
During his demonstration, Tommen and Bran had heeded his every word and watched his every movement like crows. It brought back memories of being three and ten namedays, where he would watch Lord Sumner Crakehall's moves carefully and would mimic the Lord's smooth slashes of the sword and the Lord's firm stance. His fellow squire Merrett Frey had once talked over one of such demonstrations, leading to Lord Sumner making a surprise attack on the fool. Frey, despite being strong enough to lift a carriage, was no match for Lord Sumner and quickly tripped over his own feet. Lord Sumner appeared so invincible that day. For so long, Jaime thought he was as good as his teacher. Tommen and Bran certainly thought so with their looks of awe and excitement.
If only they could see Jaime as he grunted and failed to stuck Widow's Wail into multiple members of the undead. If only they saw him falling to the ground, wiggling about, as he tried to dodge the wights' endless attacks. If only they saw him struggle to raise his sword with his left hand and his golden hand falling to the ground. They would be rightfully unimpressed then. They would then recognize how weak he truly was.
Why did it have to be him? What hope did he have to improve the future?
Older Bran had foretold him here, but so far nothing else had occurred like the greenseer had warned. He had promised so much assistance in this endeavor and failed to deliver. No Stark had creeped up behind him. No King had listened to his thoughts about the danger of the undead. No Lady had offered him a deal.
"Kingslayer." The voice spooked him. A Stark had just creeped up behind him.
Of course, just when he experienced doubt, the first of Older Bran's promises had come true.
"Stark." He nodded at the man as he went to stand next to him. It took a second for Jaime to recognize the man. Of course, this man could lead the fight against the White Walkers and wights.
His new companion smiled fondly at Bran. The little boy lost concentration and waved at the dark-haired man. Leaving Tommen open to slam his wooden sword against the back of Young Bran's neck.
Jaime cheered as one of Stark's men cursed that his son was a cheat. He instinctively brought his left hand to his sword, before stopping himself. Insults were just insults. Foolish, blank words.
"Get in positions for the next round," Jaime ordered and the two boys immediately got in line.
They waited patiently for his signal. Once he raised his left hand, they started again, laughing heartily.
"It's nice of you to teach Bran to fight. He has wanted to be a knight since his fifth name day." Benjen Stark gave him a false grin.
"What do you want?" He had no need for pleasantries. Even if this man, as Older Bran had said, was going to be his ally.
"To thank you for treating Bran well. I heard you were friends with his namesake."
Ned Stark had mentioned that strange rumor a few days before. He gave the same answer to the night's watchman, "You heard wrong. I simply like Young Bran. He's a good friend to my nephew."
"They seem to be as good as brothers already. I'm sure you see Brandon in Bran. Both are bold and playful."
"Oh." Jaime sighed. The man was still staring at him. Most likely he needed Jaime to discuss the rumor in further detail. "Unlike the rumor you heard, I never knew your brother. The only times I saw him was when he foolishly provoked the Mad King and later strangled himself to death."
He still remembered trying to hide a laugh in that quiet, mournful throne room. Brandon Stark had reminded him that day of a chicken squealing before being slaughtered. The other men had frowned at his rude laughter. Except for Aerys, who had joined in, and had heckled loudly.
"Then, what were you doing speaking to him at the Godwoods the other night?" That was new. Ned Stark had accepted his answer and had chosen to instead demand that Jaime stay away from his children. A demand he was happy to ablige to, except for Young Bran.
"I don't know what you refer to." That was true. As far as he could recall, he had stayed far away from that tree that had changed everything.
"Stop lying, Lannister." Benjen growled. "Ned told me about what he saw and about the talk you both had that night of the welcoming feast."
"I'm sure it was a delightful conversation. Where we exchanged gifts and fought over the last lemon cake." Maybe something did occur that first night when he drank worse than Cersei and Tyrion combined. That was possible. He did have a terrible memory after drinking.
He remembered a facing hallucinations of the past that first, terrible night.
He remembered entering the Great Hall and finding Robert and Cersei glaring at each other as they ate at the head table. For a second, he saw Lady Sansa Stark and the knee-bender Jon Snow in their place, with the Dragon Queen holding court.
He remembered glancing at the table where the Stark children sat with his children. For a second, he thought Unsullied had taken their place.
He remembered feeling hopeful when he saw Myrcella talking cheerfully with little Sansa Stark. Myrcella had snorted when the redhead shriek after Arya Stark flung some food in her hair. For a second, he saw the huge Tarly boy reading some dusty tomb and Tyrion whistling sorrowfully in their place.
He remembered grabbing a goblet of ale and rushing out of the room to the empty corridor. For a second, he saw Ser Brienne of Tarth block his path and glare at him with her beautiful, sapphire eyes.
He remembered immediately gobbling the ale down his throat. Briefly, before his memories faded into a drunken hue, he heard her say something comforting.
He remembered nothing more before he had woken up the next morning in the woods with ale dripping on his chin, dirt along his legs and leaves in his hair.
In the present, Benjen schooled his face and said, "I guess you were too drunk to remember. Typical. Nothing better than a Wildling, you Lannisters."
"I never imagined a Stark as one of the insulting sort. That's more reserved for me and my kind."
"I know." Benjen smiled faintly. "Nevertheless, I come here on the behalf of the Lord of Winterfell, Ned Stark."
"His little lapdog. Or are you his direwolf?" Jaime smirked.
Benjen ignored him. "Lord Stark wishes that you refrain from spending time from his children."
"He made that request a few days ago. I told him I would abide to his most unhospitable request. I understand his concern with the disgraceful Kingslayer influencing his darling children."
"Yet, you still interact with Bran."
"He's friends with my nephew. Others would notice and question me if I stopped spending time near him when he's playing with my nephew. I'm sure you want Young Bran to have a friend."
"I think it's more than that."
"Yes, my secret friendship with his dead namesake. Delightful theory."
"Lord Stark wanted me to ask you what you are planning."
"I have many plans. Plans upon plans." One of the plans includes this man standing in front of him. Older Bran's first warning made sense. He wanted Jaime to trust Benjen Stark to handle the Wildling issue while he tackled the Robert and future War of Five Kings debacle.
"Does the plan include what you did to a certain Hand?"
This man was bold. Jaime could admire that. "I had no part in Arryn's illness. Poor Grand Maester Pycelle had to deal with an untreatable affliction."
"What's going on here?" Jaime felt his throat close up when a ghost of his past appeared behind him.
"Nothing to worry about Cassel." Benjen smiled at the guardsman. "We are simply discussing the remarkable improvement in Bran's aim."
Jory Cassel smiled, his blue-grey armor glinted brightly from the sun. The smile disappeared when Cassel turned to Jaime. "He's remarkable. Is he not, Ser Jaime?"
Cassel was surprisingly respectful. Jaime clenched the handle on sword. He did not feel guilty. It was war. He killed Cassel for Tyrion. He was not guilty.
In turn, Cassel place a hand on his own sword's handle.
Jaime tried to steady his breathing. He was here to make peace with the Starks. There was no point to a fight. "Young Bran is quite good, for a novice. But I have to say Tommen is much better. This is his first time practicing and he already unhanded Bran."
Cassel grasped his sword harder. Jaime loosened the grip on his. This was hilarious. Cassel really thought he stood a chance if this led to a fight. "Bran is far better than your nephew can…"
"I say they are evenly matched," Benjen interrupted.
Cassel chuckled. "Always the equalizer, Benjen."
"Or he's just the type of person who lacks a solid opinion," Jaime blurted. He despised people who tried to cool fighting with baseless words.
Cassel scowled at Jaime. His hand instinctively started to pull out his sword.
Some beast growled. A direwolf ran in between Jaime and Cassel. Jaime prepared his sword for the beast's advance. He still had nightmares of Robb Stark's beast breaking through his cage and chomping at his face.
Instead of lunging at Jaime, like he expected, the beast growled at Cassel. Jaime then realized that the beast appeared more silver than grey. Greywind had not come to demolish him as prey. This must be Bran's wolf; somehow he felt Jaime's link to Bran.
Jaime turned from the two men, planning to call Bran to help with his direwolf. He tensed when he realized that Tommen and Bran were no longer there.
Oh Seven Hells.
"Shush, I'm not here to hurt you," Cassel was attempting to calm the growling direwolf.
Not again.
"Summer, it's all right." Benjen was trying to calm the direwolf now.
Tommen and Bran are probably out exploring.
"If you sit, I'll give you a nice treat." One of his companion's said. He couldn't care which.
Bran said nothing about falling being his fate.
"Down wolf," Jaime snapped. He didn't have time for this. He need to check on Bran.
He would not need to choose.
The direwolf immediately dashed to Jaime's side and sat against his leg. Jaime's leg shook from the close contact. Undeterred by Jaime's fear, the direwolf simply smiled up at him, his tongue hanging out.
The direwolf was not supposed to like him. Jaime had hurt his owner without one ounce of guilt.
Benjen and Cassel were also surprised, if there open mouths were anything to go by.
He needed to remain calm. The direwolf could act irrationally for all he cared. He need to make sure Bran remained unharmed.
"Do either of you know where Bran went?" Jaime asked them. "They are no longer there." He pointed at the training yard.
Benjen shrugged. "They must have gone exploring."
Cassel cursed. "Bran might be showing your nephew how to climb towers."
"Dammit." Jaime clenched his fists. He pushed the direwolf away and ran off towards the empty towers.
Fate could be changed. He just needed to find them before they started climbing. He could hear Benjen and Cassel running behind him.
When he reached the abandoned tower where he and Cersei made love so many years ago, he starred at the empty courtyard.
Where were they? Where else could he fall?
"What are we doing here?" Benjen asked behind him.
"I thought. I thought they were here. But there not. Where else could they fall?" Jaime stared at Benjen and Cassel. This was hopeless.
A cool silence brewed between them. Bran's direwolf dashed back next to him, alert.
"Uncle Benjen." They turned to find Arya Stark walking over to them. The future assassin appeared so small and harmless. "You need to come. Now." She whispered something in her uncle's ear.
The direwolf licked Jaime's hand. He immediately slapped it away, brushing the slobber against his armor.
"What's wrong, Arya?" Benjen asked, squeezing her tiny hand.
Impatient, the direwolf raced forward, dashing around the tower.
"No time. He's injured." Arya tremored, a sharp contrast to her future, stoic self.
Older Bran was wrong. He had no chance to change the future.
"Where?" Arya led them to the other side of the tower.
What was he going to do? Once they found Bran, they would surely run up the stairs in the tower and find Cersei and whoever she had fucked. This couldn't happen.
Mrycella. Tommen. Cersei. He needed them safe.
Jaime turned the corner and gasped. A tall blond man lay crooked on the ground. Jaime noticed the man's similarities to himself; the trimmed beard, and the high-cheekbones. He ignored the tinge of sorrow he felt about the confirmation of Cersei's infidelity.
Beside the man on the ground, Bran cuddled near Tommen and clutched a steel cap that was adorned with the Stark sigil.
"Jacks." Cassel wiped sweat off his forehead, tears threatening to fall from his eyes.
Jaime nodded his respects. He then realized that Tommen looked haunted. What did he see?
"Tommen," he said softly, placing a hand on the boy's sweaty back.
Sniffling, Tommen stood up and clutched his legs. He rubbed his son's back. "It's going to be all right."
Tommen shook his head, tears now running down his cheeks. "I tried to save him. But I was too slow."
"It's not your fault." Jaime told him softly.
Jaime ignored a staring Benjen, who suddenly huffed.
"… like that. He fell from the tower," Bran was telling Cassel. Jaime noticed that the boy refused to meet Cassel's eyes. Bran was surely lying about something. Did he see Cersei's tryst?
"I'm sorry," Tommen mumbled, his eyes squinted towards Cassel.
What was he supposed to do? He didn't want to kill Bran, but he didn't want Cersei killed for adultery.
Sure, the boy was lying for the moment, but Ned Stark would surely convince him to tell the truth.
Bran's direwolf glanced at him. The direwolf's cold, blue eyes tore into his soul. If the creature was human, Jaime was sure he would be pleading to him.
Don't hurt Bran, please. The direwolf would say. Please.
Bran had told him that there would be no afterwards. Then, Arya Stark had died after she killed the Night King.
A few days later, Bran had called him to the Godswood tree. "I was wrong," The greensear had told him, lying his broken body against the Godwood tree. "The end is the beginning of your future and the end of mine."
He had escaped fate, yes, but Jaime did not know if he had the courage to let Cersei suffer in exchange for Bran's life.
Jaime sat next to Tommen, letting the boy fall into his arms. He needed to stay calm. He needed to not act hasty. Bran might have saw someone else with the guardsman .
Oh, he hoped that his worst fears were wrong. Because, if not, he would need to be ready to make a terrible choice.