Ch. 4: Failure
Unsurprisingly, the mood was somber that night. It was hard to believe that just the day before, the Starks and their guests had talked jovially in this large room during supper.
Gone were the Stark children who had squealed and fought amongst themselves. The Stark bannerman no longer clicked their glasses and bellowed loud toasts as the cheered for their friends.
If it wasn't for Robert yelling after serving girls, Jaime would think he was back in the future again. The mood was that similar to when he and the others dined their last meal before the fight with the dead. Of course, the tactless scoundrel would still act the same after someone died. The King could care less about anyone but himself.
Poor Ned Stark gazed morosely at his friend's actions, too firm in his loyalty in the King and his honor to say a word. Even though he was the only one who could speak against the King without reprimand or being made a fool of by the bastard. Why, oh, why did Stark always waste his opportunities to challenge authority? But that was Stark, by the time he tried to take a stand, it would always be too late and lead to his death.
Enough about Stark. Jaime didn't need to think about him. Stark was nothing important in the scheme of things. Jaime needed to figure out what to do about Bran.
Could he kill him? The little boy who could grow into the one person who gave Jaime a second chance.
Jaime rubbed his right hand, feeling the smooth skin. He lost that hand once before as the Mother's punishment for harming the boy. Not again. Never again did he want to lose that limb.
But Cersei, she could get killed or thrown at the High Sparrow's mercy again if Bran told anyone what he saw. Jaime didn't want to lose her again, neither by death nor by self-righteous fury against the men and religious heretics who humiliated her.
He gazed towards his lovely sister. She was finishing her meal next to Robert. Their eyes met as she raise a small chunk of meat in her lips. She licked her lips, her tongue lingered as she winked at him. She then dropped her utensil on a large mound of her uneatened dinner.
After an expectant glance towards him, she wandered out of the crowded room.
Without a single thought, Jaime rose from his seat.
A warm rush of excitement rushed through him as he followed her out. He couldn't control his excitement or the questions rustling like relentless snow inside him. He need to know why; why she couldn't control her urges, and why he could never be enough.
They met in the crypts. Jaime wasn't surprised. The old, rugged tower was now a crime scene. The crypt was now the only place that would likely be empty and it was a perfect place for Cersei to spur the girl who had taken her husband's love.
He remembered the last time they did this, in the middle of one of Robert's drunken spirts as the fat oaf mauled seven unlucky women in a row (as Jaime's fellow knights had later told him). Cersei had moaned all about, "That scarlet Lyanna. The whore of the North. I screwed you this time for once."
In the present, as Cersei leaned against Lyanna Stark's statue, Jaime was certain that Cersei was thinking about how much she hated that girl. Most certainly ready to moan the very same refrain.
His body twisted towards her, moving on instinct, ready to get close again with the sister he once knew. She smelled of rosemary. A nice change from the smell of mildew that stank up the entire North.
As his lips met hers, his brain became empty for the first time in days. Such a relief it was to not think for a little while.
Unfortunately, the peace didn't last. Right as his lips reached her soft neck, his eyes opened to see her long, golden locks disappear. She was replaced to the cold woman he left behind in King's Landing. Short, blond hair, that was now lightly bronzed from nights imprisoned at the sept. Her green eyes cold, without an outside of emotion. His Queen still, but one who purposely dismissed her advisors and would leave the world to burn.
Jaime pulled away. Cersei grabbed his arm. Her image had returned to her younger self. He missed meeting her like this, so happy and confident, and, best of all, without the overwhelming resentment. But Jaime could still recognize the woman he wanted to be free from.
"Come on, Jaime, you had me waiting long enough," Cersei purred, pulling him forward. She began to pull his trousers downwards.
"I didn't come here for this." He pushed her hands upwards, pressing them tightly in his hands. "I needed to talk to you about the guardsman."
Cersei pouted. "He died. So what. Do I really have to pretend I care about a guy I never met."
"I know you were with him." Jaime told her, pulling his trousers back upright.
A flash of red burned in her eyes. "Dearest brother, you know I wouldn't do that to you. I was off listening to some boring Northern whore squeal over my husband as the poor guardsman embraced his nude fetish." Her mouth scowled in mock disgust.
"Don't lie to me. I know you've been fucking Lancel and Kettleblack and who know who else." She was a liar; just like the rest of his family. If his comment ruined their meeting, so be it. He now knew better than to believe her beautiful face.
"Jealously is rather unbecoming of you." His sister grinned, licking her lips. "But it is pleasing to know how much you really care."
"Cersei. Stop lying. I know you had him killed. Did you fuck him and then he threatened to tell Stark?"
Cersei groaned. "I really don't know what your blabbering on about. I had nothing to do with his death."
"He's blond. You're lonely. I refused to spend the day with you, but if I had, we would certainly have met in the abandoned tower. It is not too hard to figure out that you're the reason he's dead."
"You think far too highly of yourself." Cersei leaned her but against Lyanna's head, sighing heavily. "I was annoyed sure, but I was perfectly capable of going through my day without you looking over my shoulder every second."
"Cersei. Tell me the truth. I am not going to tell anyone."
Cersei pouted. "I thought you trust me. Tell me the truth."
"I.." Back then he had. But then too much happened for even him to believe her pretty words. "I did. I still love you, no matter what you did. You can tell me without being afraid."
"Do you want me to spell it out for you? Do you want me to say I flirted with Jacks, that I asked him to meet him in that filthy tower, and that I ignored my better judgment and actually complied?" Cersei spit out, her voice becoming louder after every word.
He did not to hear this. Not about her making love without another man. This was not his plan. He wanted to – what? Tell her that Bran saw her. Have her tell him to kill him so he could reason to himself that it was not his choice to kill the boy.
"Bran …" Jaime began to say, the next words got caught in his throat.
"What are you mumbling about now?" Cersei said, her voice than became softer. "I know this trip has been hard on you. It has been hard to the both of us. But soon we will be home again and free to continue on as the two of us, arm in arm, without even Robert getting in our way."
He wished that could be enough to satisfy him. But he lived through too much, knew too much, gained and lost too much, to be happy with that simple fantasy.
"I am sorry I cannot be who you want me to be." Jaime said softly.
"What are you going on about now? What is wrong with you?" Cersei screamed. "I do not get you. Not when your like this. Tell me something to make me understand."
"You demand it as Queen, the true and rightful ruler of Westeros." He saw the older Cersei again, winking at him as the dead rose behind her, ready to enact her bidding. This time the older Cersei looked had glass-like skin and ice-blue eyes. Just like a White Walker.
"Soon very soon. That will be true. I have a plan to make that so." Cersei's eyes glistened with excitement. "Just you wait. We will finally have the life we deserve."
Jaime closed his eyes, needing to hide from the monster appearing before him. Maybe, when he opened them again, he would see his sweet sister again. See the long, golden-blond hair and clean, untainted skin. See a woman surviving a wicked man as she awaited her son to rule Westeros and mold it into a better world.
"Jaime." Cersei sounded worried now. "Jaime. What the fuck is wrong with you now?"
"I can't do this. I need to go." Jaime opened his eyes. He still saw the White Walker with Cersei's face. The time travel was messing with his brain. It must be. "Go away. Get away from me," he yelled at the monster.
"Jaime." Icicle droplets were falling down the White Walker's face. "Tell what I can do. I'll do anything."
"Let me go." He whispered. The White Walker was in his head. He was still talking to the past version of his sister. "I'll be back. I simply need some time to ponder."
"Jaime, please. Don't leave me. I am scared. What if someone finds out?"
That she's a monster? Why would she care about that? And then, Jaime realized the truth. She admitted to it. She actually admitted to him about her involvement with the Stark guardsman.
"You admit it then. You were with him."
"Yes," Cersei sighed. "It did not mean anything. I was lonely. You know how I can be when I am lonely."
"I do," Jaime said softly. "I really do."
"You are ready then? Ready to be me and you again? Give the whore of the North what she deserves."
"Not tonight. I need some time."
Cersei nodded. "I see. I am not enough for you anymore."
Jaime laughed. "It is on me. It is all on me."
Jaime was surrounded by White Walkers. Everywhere he looked, he saw another lingering around the corner. He knew it wasn't real. That it was only his imagination getting to him. But it still frightened him, not being able to see people as human.
It was so cold and dark outside. The wind whistled and pushed him forwards. As Jaime shivered, he watched several servants lugging a large barrel towards the Starks guesthouse. The King likely asked for ale to be brought to his room.
One of the servant's glanced at Jaime, and he saw the barren skull of a wight. Instead of eyes, Jaime watched as blue maggots poured out of his eye sockets. The other's turned, each with the same appearance. The only differences were the colors of the maggots. Some were brown. Some were orange. The worst was the maggots that poured red like blood.
Shaking, Jaime rushed into a nearby building. The Stark's home.
As he wandered through the Stark's house, Jaime considered his options. He could silence Bran now. Wander into his room and, if the allussions of the dead continued, he would only see himself killing a glassy monster or an undead skeleton. Yet, even with that visual he was reluctant to kill the boy.
He had watched the boy now, witnessed him playing with his son. Seen the boy be willing to lie about seeing Cersei with the guardsman. Knew the young man he would become. But Bran had the Stark honor engrained into him at an early age. How long could Jaime hope the little boy would stay silent?
Jaime needed to stop thinking of Bran as a boy, as an ally and as a person. Bran was a member of a family that always sided against the Lannisters. Bran was an enemy. A faceless enemy who could ruin the better future Jaime envisioned.
A future where Cersei beamed as Tommen ruled in Robert's and Joffrey's place. A future where Myrcella married a man who adored her. A future where he gave Tyrion the lordship he longed for. A future where his little brother improved the Westerlands and found a woman who looked beyond his dwarfdom to become his wife. A future where the Starks stayed in the North and did not interfere with his family any longer. A future where Jaime befriended and knighted Sir Brienne again and forced Sir Barristan to initiate her as the first woman member of the Kingsguard.
Bran could ruin those dreams. Jaime had to kill him. It was what Jaime's family needed him to do.
But was it what the realm needed? Bran warned Jaime that he needed to work with Benjen Stark to garner wilding support against the Whitewalkers. How could he work with man, knowing he likely suspected that Jaime had something to do with the boy's death.
Jaime had always prided himself with the knowledge that his decision to kill King Aerys was to save the realm. That his decisions to help Cersei and his family were to preserve a realm that welcomed his family to the power they deserved. But that was before he truly realized how deplorable he became. He killed his own cousin. And for what? Freedom. Love.
But what was freedom and love worth, if he continued to fail his children and failed to become the man of honor Sir Brienne thought he could be.
Without even realizing it, Jaime found himself outside Bran's room. Here he was. His body knew the answer to his problem. He should do it now. Kill the boy. Protect his family.
Quietly, Jaime opened the door. A duet of a shrill yawn and soft whizzing rang across the room. It was the boy and his wolf, sleeping in harmony. The boy's small head lay sideways on his pillow. The wolf slept on top of the boy's legs, curling its front paws to clutch the wool bedspread.
He moved forward, his sword's scabbard brushing on and off his leg. As he stood to the side of the boy - No. This body was a Knight on the other side of the battlefield,- Jaime began to pull out his sword. He froze as the cold hilt burned his skin.
Blinking wildly, Jaime glanced at the boy's face. For the first time since Cersei's face twisted into a Whitewalker, he saw a regular human face. Jaime felt both relief and fear as he gazed upon the boy's familiar, lined eyebrows, pale white cheeks and a slightly reddened nose. He was relieved that he could see people as human again and fearful because he knew he couldn't do this.
He couldn't kill the boy. His hands left the sword's hilt and it dropped back in his scabbard with a cling.
Something let out a high sound. Jaime turned to find the direwolf growling. It must have awoken as he stared at Bran.
"Calm down wolf." Jaime hissed. "I'm leaving."
The direwolf clenched his teeth, prowling forwards. As Its teeth started to chomp, Jaime knew he was seconds away from being eaten by the wolf. It felt like he was in that cell again. The one where he sat, chained in the middle of a dirt pit, as he watched Robb Starks wolf as it spat slobber in front of his face and threatened to eat him alive.
"I don't mean him an-any h-harm." Jaime stammered.
The wolf continued to growl. It was as if it could read his mind and knew what Jaime had planned. As it growled and drool dripped down its mouth, Jaime tried to think of some way to survive. Maybe, if Jaime said its name, it would stop.
What did Bran call it? Some season, right? Spring? Winter? Fall? How Jaime longed for summer instead of this frigid fall. Summer.
"Summer," Jaime yelled. "Stay down, Summer."
To Jaime's relief, the wolf stopped chomping its teeth and it sat down, its tail thumping loudly on the floor.
Jaime glanced at Bran and found the boy still sleeping, completely oblivious to Jaime's near death experience.
The wolf grinned, saliva continuing to pour out of its mouth, but it was thankfully calm and unthreatening.
Jaime walked around the animal, careful to not step on its long tail. The wolf simply smiled and watched him leave without another sound.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jaime slowly walked in the Stark's home's dark, empty hallways. All he saw were shadows of various statues that were reflecting from the lanterns.
After he escaped the Stark's home, Jaime ran, his legs leading to the one place he felt safe in the whole of Winterfell.
For several minutes, Jaime panted and rested, cross-legged, in front of the Godwoods tree. Internally, he begged for an answer. How? How can he protect Cersei this time if Bran told Ned Stark what she did to that Stark guardsman?
"Bran," Jaime whispered. "What should I do? I failed. I completely failed at preventing a potential war between our houses."
The tree didn't answer. Not that Jaime expected it do. He just hoped that for once he would hear the Gods, even the blasted Northern Gods, would guide him.
"Maybe. It's my fear talking. I protected Young Bran. He's alive, with working legs, even." Jaime laughed, hastily. "Maybe, Cersei killing a guardsman instead of a family member won't lead to the same hatred between our families. Maybe, war isn't inevitable. Maybe, the kingdom can stay united to fight the dead."
He fell silent when there was no answer. The gods continued to abandon him. The Bran who had sent him back continued to be a memory.
He listened to the soft sounds of the trees branches for several more minutes. He hated every moment as he became more certain that no answer was coming.
"Answer me! Damn Old Gods! Bran! What should I do?" Jaime put a hand on his forehead, enjoying its coldness against his aching head.
"Lannister!" Cassel shouted behind him. Jaime would recognize that voice anywhere. Were the Northern Gods actually going to answer a southern man?
Jaime turned, relieved to see confirmation that he was seeing people as human again.
"Yes?" Jaime said calmly. "What can I do for you Cassel?"
"You're coming with me. You need to answer for your crimes." The dark shape of Cassel walked towards Jaime. Even in the darkness, his anger was obvious from his furious shouting. He sped forward, but was still a good deal of distance away.
"What do you think I've done now?" Jaime shouted back, trying to appear aloof as he lean his head against the tree. "Damaged your supply of ale? I think that is more the King's forte."
"He's a boy, Kingslayer. I never thought that even a person like you would attack a defenseless, little boy. But you have."
Cassel was not wrong. Jaime had done that before. But in this time, the door was closed while Jaime was in the room. How could he know? Especially since Jaime had left the room without hurting Bran even a little.
"I…" Jaime began.
"Whose hurt, Ser Jory?" Ned Stark emerged from the shadows.
Jaime shivered. What did the man overhear? Was he there listening to Jaime scream about Cersei's crime?
Cassel stopped ganging forward. "Lord Stark. I am sorry. I have terrible news. Your son was attacked. Tomard and I was patrolling your house after the feast, and, when we went to Bran's corridor, we heard his direwolf howling. We went into his room and found Bran with a dagger in his chest."
Stark frowned, closing his eyes, before opening them again. His face became firm, expressionless. "Did you see who did it?"
"No. But a servant saw the Kingslayer walking out of Bran's room."
Jaime froze. He had not heard anyone outside the room. Someone had seen him. This was just what he needed; the opportunity to be beheaded before he fixed the future. He didn't kill the boy. He didn't even touch him this time.
"Why were you in my son's room?" Stark's dark eyes watched him closely.
"I-I…" Jaime paused, thinking quickly. He really should have thought this through before going to the boy's room. "I was checking on him. He's close to my nephew. I knew he was startled by the earlier events like Tommen was."
Stark kept staring at him, his disbelief clear on his face.
Cassel snorted and provided more details to his accusation. "The Kingslayer somehow locked the direwolf in a chest. We found the Kingslayer's blood and some of fingers on top of that very chest."
"I have no idea whose blood and fingers those are. But there are not mine." Jaime showed his unblemished hands to both men, inwardly beaming at the sight of his right hand.
Cassel groaned. "I don't know how you did it. But I know your involved somehow Lannister."
To Jaime's surprise, Stark shook his head. "He wasn't involved. The person who killed Jacks must have stuck again. The Kingslayer was with my brother at the time of Jack's fall and was here when Bran was …" He closed his eyes, letting out a agitated breath. "Jory, please come with me to Bran's room. We can search for answers their instead of barking off the wrong tree."
Cassel sighed, "As you wish, my lord."
Stark nodded and started walking towards his house.
Before following the Warden of the North, Cassel whispered to Jaime, "I know you had something to do with it. You are going to answer to your crimes. That's my promise to you."
Jaime simply laughed as he inwardly cringed.
He began the day with so much hope that his actions would lead to a better future. But everything he did today led him closer and closer to failing in the worst way.
A war was coming. A war that was difficult enough to live through the first time.