Chapter 6
~Jon Arryn~
When Jon had been informed that a Dornish ship was spotted in the harbor, flying a flag with the Martell sigil upon it, he knew sending a page to escort its passengers to the Red Keep would be seen as an insult. So even though he was still busy trying to sort through the paperwork the previous Hands had haphazardly kept 'organized' in the Tower of the Hand, Jon had ordered several of his knights to accompany him down to the docks.
Is it going to be Prince Doran or Prince Oberyn? I suppose they might send Elia, she does have the most experience in King's Landing. It would be nice to get a proper explanation of what happened in Maegor's Holdfast. Still, I can't imagine a woman of Elia's constitution will have the strength to last through the lengthy talks of the peace terms so it's probably one of her brothers.
Jon briefly contemplated if all three of them would show up, but quickly dismissed the thought. Until the peace was ratified, they were still on opposing sides of the war and no ruler, no matter how trusting, would allow his whole family to enter deep into the enemy's territory with so small a guard.
Stannis should be taking Dragonstone at this very moment so if we can bring Dorne into the fold, there will be nowhere left in Westeros safe for Targaryen loyalists.They'll have to accept our victory or flee to Essos.
As the Dornish boat got closer, Jon was able to get a better look at the people upon its deck. The sailors moving about, throwing ropes to and fro, were Dornish but a number of the passengers were clearly not.
In fact, is that Eddard? What is Ned doing there? I thought he was looking for his sister in. . . Dorne. Shit. And he's got a bundle in his arms. This complicates things.
Once the gangplank was secured, Jon noticed Eddard hand off his bundle to a companion before walking down to the dock. Jon's unasked question was answered when Eddard stumbled as soon as he touched down.
Ah, sea legs. Didn't want to risk dropping the babe.
Once the party was on the dock (though Jon noted one of the men, fully kitted in armor, remained on the boat), they made their way over to Jon. "Lord Arryn," Eddard said. "It is good to see you again. While there are several introductions to be made, I believe my nephew is probably the one holding all your attention?"
Jon mentally cursed that it was a boy. A daughter would have been so much simpler. Still, there were steps that had to be taken first. Forcing a smile on his face, Jon responded, "Ned, you know you don't have to be so formal with me. But yes, introduce me to the little fellow."
Pulling the blanket back, Eddard did just that. "This is Lyanna's son, Jon Snow. I hope he can someday be Jon Stark."
Jon looked down at the babe which shared his name. It seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep, blinking its grey eyes and yawning. Jon's forced smile became a real one.
You may have the blood of a dragon but I'm sure you'll have Robert cooing at the sight of you.
Looking back up, Jon asked, "And what of the rest of your companions?"
"These are Lords William Dustin and Howland Reed, loyal Northerners who have travelled with me ever since we raised our banners." Jon gave each man a polite nod, which they returned. For Northerners, they were rather unremarkable in appearance. Howland was a bit on the short side, dressed in scaled armor and had a trident across his back. William was of average height, with a thick beard and thicker hair. He was dressed in a suit of chainmail and had a bastard sword hanging at his side.
"This is Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell and his paramour, Ellaria Sand." That answers the question of which Martell came. And he brought his bastard lover with him. Jon resisted the urge to sigh. I get the feeling he's going to be poking for reactions the entire time he's here. It will probably be an effective tactic too. While Oberyn was dressed modestly, his red doublet and sand-orange trousers reflecting his house colors, his lover was. . . not. Her bright orange dress was open in the front, closing just below her navel, and while it reached her ankles it had slits up the sides to show off her legs. Her chest was only protected by a set of shimmery golden undergarments. She's woven pink flowers into her hair. Where did she even get flowers on a boat?
"And this is Torrhen Snow, formerly a sellsword of the Company of the Rose. I've promised him a lordship in return for his services."
"And if he doesn't get it, I'm giving him a lordship in return for his services!" Oberyn said before Jon had a chance to greet the foreigner.
"Just what services did you do to earn two offers of lordships?" Jon asked as he extended a hand and carefully regarded the man.
Based strictly on appearances, Jon could believe Torrhen was a foreign sellsword, he was dressed in a style that was very clearly not Westerosi. He wore a wide-brimmed brown hat that had a long crease across the top. The entire lower half of his face was covered by a dark blue cloth, which only brought out how pale his skin really was. It appeared Torrhen had a simple white shirt on, but that was mostly covered up by a red blanket that he had wrapped around his torso and arms, only his hands poked out the bottom. His brown trousers seemed to be composed of two layers, the inner completely covering his legs whereas the outer layer was only across his front, though it stopped before reaching his crotch. Based on the sound when he stepped forward, Torrhen was wearing spurs despite having come off of a boat.
Bit skinny though. Would expect a man that fights for a living to have more muscle.
"Howdy, your Lordship," Torrhen said in an impressively deep voice as he shook Jon's hand. His accent sounded Northern but there was something else there, which would make sense if he spent significant time with the Company of the Rose. Though Ned only said he was a sellsword there, not that he was raised there. Something to ask him about later. "I'm the one that snuck into the Red Keep and rescued Elia and Rhaenys, got them to Dorne. Then I used that goodwill with the Martells to rescue Lyanna from the Kingsguard keeping her prisoner."
Jon blinked in surprise. "What?"
Torrhen shrugged. "Having a noble family indebted to me is good, but having a noble family indebted to me that was on the winning side of the war is better."
"That's, uh, that's a good point." Well, he's definitely a sellsword. Still, this is a good thing, no sworn obligations means he'll be easy to predict and reward. And it sounds like he's already well covered in that regard so it shouldn't cost the crown anything. "Ned, what lordship were you thinking of granting Torrhen?"
"Probably the Dreadfort, because all the Boltons are dead. . . from the grey plague."
"I see." The Bolton's were one of the Stark's principal bannerman. Giving up such a large holding to a foreigner. . . then again, if the grey plague still infects the castle. . . ugh. That is going to be a quagmire of problems for several years, I think. I don't envy Ned having to deal with that. "Very well, let's get to the Red Keep. There's much to discuss and the streets of King's Landing are not the place to do it."
The trip back to the Red Keep seemed to take twice as long as the walk to the docks, though whether that was because Jon's thoughts were occupied with worrying about all the ramifications of Ned's reveal or because they were walking uphill, he wasn't sure.
I'm getting older, no doubt about it.
Once they reached their destination, Jon had a page take Oberyn and his lover to their rooms. While the Dornish were an important matter that needed to be handled, they were not the top priority at the moment, the issues of royal succession and marriage were. Deciding that the small council chambers would be the best location, Jon sent another page to gather the necessary members for the meeting while he escorted his guests there himself.
With Lord Dustin and Lord Reed standing guard outside, Jon took his seat at the end of the table, opposite the King. "We don't currently have a Master of Laws, Coin, or Ships. You may make use of their seats for the time being."
They didn't have to wait long before Lord Tywin entered the chamber alongside Grand Maester Pycelle. While Tywin wore a thick ermine cloak, the two were otherwise looking rather similar which Jon had to wonder whether or not it was intentional. Both were bald, though Jon was reasonably certain Tywin shaved his head. Both men had thick facial hair, though Tywin limited his to mutton chops compared to Pycelle's long, snowy beard. And both wore red, though Tywin was primarily in crimson to match his house colors while Pyclle's robes were closer to red velvet.
Why does he wear red instead of the more usual grey that is typical of his order? Jon wondered. Hmm, probably Aerys, now that I think about it.
Though Pycelle merely hobbled to his seat, Tywin paused at the entryway of the room, eyeing the occupants. Jon thought he saw Tywin's eyes narrow when they passed over Ned and the babe in his arms, but the look was gone as quick as it came and Tywin walked forward to take a seat at the table.
No sooner had Tywin sat down then the doors banged open and Robert strode in with Barristan on his heels. "Ned, you're back! Tell me you have good news."
They must have come straight from the sparring yard. Robert's black hair was matted with sweat and his clothes were rumbled and dusty. Barristan's armor was clean and gleaming white, so it was unlikely that he had been Robert's partner.
"Lyanna lives," Eddard responded. "But it's more complicated than that."
"Before we get into that, we're still waiting on-"
"I'm here, Lord Hand," Varys said with a light titter, apparently having quietly slipped into the room behind the king.
Jon resisted grimacing at the baby faced eunuch. Everything about Varys unnerved Jon, the childlike giggling, the soft features, the feminine voice, the long robes, even the fragrant scents he normally wore.
Just because he lacks a manhood doesn't mean he needs to dress and act like such a woman.
"Right, then," Robert said as he sat down. "We're all here. Where's Lyanna? What's with the babe in your arms? And who's the man in the funny hat?"
Eddard took a deep breath before speaking. "Lyanna is back in the North, we sent her there to give her time to recover from her ordeal. This is Torrhen Snow, formerly a sellsword of the Company of the Rose, he's the reason Lyanna is walking free instead of still locked in a tower in Dorne."
Torrhen raised a hand to give a brief wave at Robert, but otherwise didn't do or say anything.
"And. . ." Ned said, shifting in his seat, clearly not wanting to say what he was about to. "The babe is Lyanna's son, Jon Snow
Robert slammed a fist down on the table and glared at the bundle in Eddard's arms. "You mean that thing is a dragonspawn?!"
"It's Lyanna's son, my blood," Eddard countered, his voice as cold as ice. "I'll do whatever I have to to protect my family, Robert. You know this."
Jon watched as his two wards stared at each other. Judging from the twitching of his face, Robert was at least thinking on Ned's words but neither of the two seemed willing to break the silence. And no one else wanted to either.
At the sound of a cleared throat, everyone in the room turned to look at the source: the foreigner Torrhen Snow.
"Your Grace, my understanding is that Lady Lyanna is your betrothed. She is to be your wife, your queen, correct?" When Robert nodded, Torrhen continued, "Given how important children are to the noble families of Westeros, especially the royal family, I feel I should point something out that Lord Stark hasn't yet mentioned. When Lady Lyanna gave birth in Sunspear there was a lot of blood, I've killed people that made less of a mess, we had a maester there as well as several midwives, so you can trust me when I say that Lyanna has been rendered barren from the experience, she'll never have another child."
The silence in the room was palpable as everyone realized the enormity of Torrhen's statement.
The first person to speak was Pycelle. "With the overthrow of the Targaryens, the family that united Westeros, the realm could descend into chaos if it's not shown that the Baratheons will provide the stability that Aerys did not."
"And one of the surest signs of stability is a clear line of succession," Tywin said. "You need an heir of your body, having two brothers is not enough."
And Tywin has an unmarried daughter. If he wasn't right, I'd have to say something for how obvious this was. Jon sighed.
"I'll not just toss the woman I love aside for convenience," Robert argued before turning back to Eddard. "You said you sent her North. Why?"
Ned frowned and looked down at the babe in his arms. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it wordlessly.
Again, a cleared throat brought everyone's attention to Torrhen. "While the exception of Lord Stark, this is my first time meeting any of you, so forgive me if I give offense. But am I correct in saying that none of us have had the experience of being raped? And that none of us have had the experience of giving birth to our rapist's child?"
"Obviously not," Pycelle said with a harumph. "We are all men, we cannot get pregnant."
"So then you admit we can't know what it's like? To go through all that? To spend nine months with a baby in your belly, feeling it grow, and loving it because it's yours? But also hating it because of who its father is?"
"Lyanna's a strong woman, a Northern woman, are you implying she's some weak-willed maiden that faints at hardship?" Robert growled.
Torrhen shook his head. "Not at all your Grace. Based solely on what she had to say in regards to the Kingsguard that held her captive, she's no demure child, taught me a few new curses. But after everything she went through, she's not in the right state of mind to be around large groups of people, which is something she'd be required to do if she was to become queen."
"She'd be queen, she wouldn't be required to do anything she didn't want to!" Robert shouted.
"She'd be required to consummate the marriage," Ned said, finally speaking. "And I'm worried that doing so would just remind her of Rhaegar."
Robert jumped to his feet, his chair falling to the floor behind him. "Don't you dare compare me to Rhaegar," he hissed out through clenched teeth as he ground his knuckles into the table.
Ned shook his head but remained in his seat. "You're not listening to me Robert. This isn't about you, it's Lyanna. About what she needs to get better."
"Even if she can get better, if she's truly barren then the crown will pass to one of your brothers at your death, your Grace," Pyclle said. "That has not always worked out well for the realm in the past. When Daeron died in Dorne, Baelor took the throne. While the smallfolk still call him Baelor the Blessed, there's little doubt he was a terrible king. What's more, when Baelor died without children the throne passed to his uncle, Viserys which in turn gave us Aegon the fourth, better known as the Unworthy."
"Which led to the Blackfyre Rebellions," Tywin finished. "I trust you can see why we're concerned about this issue, your Grace?"
Did Tywin and Pycelle plan this? It's remarkable how easily he can follow up what the Grand Maester is saying. I can't let this go on, I need to take charge. Otherwise Robert will just get angrier and angrier.
"Robert," Jon said, standing up and using the same tone as when the boys were younger and had gotten into a stash of Dornish wine. "Torrhen had a point in that we can't know what Lyanna went through. As such, we have to defer to what her closest relative has to say. And since Eddard decided to send her back to the North until she's better, that's where she'll stay. Unless you mean to say you want to kidnap her and force her into marriage? While I don't know if bedding her will remind her of Rhaegar, I'm sure that that will."
Robert recoiled as if struck.
"I agree that you need to be married and sire an heir, but I also acknowledge that you love Lyanna and doing so with someone else would feel like a betrayal, particularly after the war we just fought. We can push the issue of finding you a queen back a year. In that time the realm should stabilize, tempers will cool, and any remaining Targaryen loyalists can be stamped out. But after a year, we will revisit this."
Robert nodded like a scolded child. He bent over and picked up his chair, righting it so he could sit.
I wish I could have done that in private. The King shouldn't be chastised in front of people, it erodes the image of his authority.
"Moving on. . . or moving back," Jon continued as he sat back down. "Lyanna's son. What is to be done about him?"
"I'm willing to raise him in the North, in Winterfell," Eddard said. "As a bastard he has no legal claim to any lands or titles. But to avoid a repeat of the Blackfyres, when he reaches his majority I can bring him to King's Landing and have him formerly renounce any and all claims through his father."
"You'll raise him? Not Lyanna?" Jon asked.
"I don't know what her life's path will be. Maybe she'll want to help raise her son or maybe it will be too painful for her. Whatever she decides though, I'll raise Jon as if he's my own son."
Robert let out a long breath. "Probably for the best. You're the most honorable man I know Ned. If anyone can take a drago- a bastard and teach him loyalty, it's you."
"Very good. It's always best to handle such matters without needlessly shedding blood," Varys said, speaking for the first time since taking his seat. "I do have a question though, one I'm sure Ser Barristan would also like to know. What happened to the Kingsguard that held Lady Lyanna?"
"Prince Oberyn and I killed them," Torrhen answered plainly.
"Really?" Robert leaned forward and eyed the foreigner. "You don't look like much and you're telling me you and that Dornish snake killed three of the best knights of Westeros?"
Torrhen nodded. "We tried to resolve things peacefully, but they wouldn't let Lyanna leave. So I took out Dayne with a rock, Whent died to the poison on Oberyn's blade, then Hightower just kinda lost his head at seeing his two fellows go down so easily and was short work for us."
"A rock?" Barristan repeated. "Arthur was the best swordsman of all of us. Dawn was a blade on par with Valyrian steel. And you claim to have killed him with a rock?"
"That's the thing about great swordsmen, they tend to assume their opponents want to beat them using swords." Torrhen tapped a finger against his temple. "Catch them by surprise and all that skill with a sword means nothing."
Barristan was silent for a moment before asking, "What did you do with their bodies?"
"Buried them in the sand where they died."
When Barristan didn't respond, Varys spoke. "You seem to make a habit of killing knights most men would hesitate to meet in battle."
Robert cocked his head to the side as he regarded the Master of Whispers. "What are you talking about? Who else has he killed?"
"Torrhen slew Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch when he rescued Rhaegar's family in Maegor's Holdfast during the sack of the city."
I wonder if Varys knew that before Ned told me that down at the docks. Which would be worse? Trying to sound well informed or after only just learning about it or him knowing about it for months and only now bringing it up?
"Really?" Robert asked in surprise as he leaned forward yet again, his face eager. "I've seen Clegane, the Mountain That Rides was an accurate title. How'd you kill him? A very large rock?"
"Snuck up behind him while he was trying to get his cock out after he killed Aegon." Torrhen brought his hand up and dragged his thumb across his throat. "He died before he knew I was there."
Robert's disappointment was visible as he slumped back. "Bah, where's the honor in killing a man in that manner? I was hoping for an intense duel."
Torrhen shrugged. "If it makes you feel any better, I killed the other guy whose name I've already forgotten-"
"Amory Lorch," Varys provided.
"Yes, him. I killed him by crushing his skull in my hands. He tried begging me for mercy but since he was about to kill Rhaenys when I stopped him, I didn't feel like he deserved it. What kind of scumbag tries to kill a three year old girl? Lord Tywin, they were your bannermen, correct? Are rapists and child murderers so commonplace in the Westerlands that they've become landed knights?"
Jon gave a slight frown. As a foreign sellsword Torrhen clearly wasn't aware of the political climate of Westeros, nor the players. The Warden of the West, the man responsible for the Rains of Castamere, did not tolerate such blatant disrespect from anyone. A Lannister always paid their debts, as Torrhen would someday learn, no doubt to his dismay. You should have warned him Ned.
"I sent Clegane and Lorch to secure the royal family," Tywin said stiffly. "If what you say is true, they didn't follow my commands."
"Ah, well then it sounds like I did you a favor, getting rid of such bloodthirsty morons. The world is better off without them anyway." Torrhen started to stand up but paused mid-rise. "As I'm just a sellsword, I assumed the only reason I was brought along for this meeting of important lords and the king was to tell my story. I'm sure you have other realm-impacting decisions to make and you don't want little ole me listening in. But I could easily be wrong, was there anything else you wanted from me, my lords, your Grace?"
Robert waved a hand. "I don't have any other questions for you. You can go."
Though Jon had a few more questions, as did Varys and Barristan based on their expressions, no one was about to countermand the king.
"Excellent." Standing up fully, Torrhen pushed his chair back into place and made to leave but paused after a few steps before turning around. "Ser Barristan, would you happen to know where Ser Jaime is at this moment?"
The Lord Commander gave Torrhen a look of suspicion but answered anyway, "In the White Sword Tower, I believe. Because he and I are now the only living members of the Kingsguard, we have to work in shifts. Why?"
"I wanted to meet him and shake his hand. It's not every day I get a chance to talk to a man that slew a tyrant. Ser Jaime is a real knight."
He admires the Kingslayer for what he did? I guess loyalty really isn't prioritized among sellswords. I hope Ned realizes what kind of vassal he's getting. Eddard was regarding Torrhen with a queer expression on his face, like he was just seeing him for the first time. Or maybe he's just trying to make up for insulting the Lannisters? That's unlikely to work. Tywin had briefly furrowed his brow at Torrhen's words but was already in the process of blanking his expression.
In fact, pretty much everyone in the room seemed to be mulling over Torrhen's words as he left.
"What an odd fellow," Robert said after a moment.
"Disrespectful too," Pycelle complained. "Keeping his face covered in front of the king."
Robert shrugged. "I just assumed he was ass ugly."
~Jaime Lannister~
Having finally finished his stretches, Jaime stood up and unsheathed his sword. His opponent, one of the few people Jaime could honestly call a friend, waited across the practice room swinging his own sword back and forth.
"Finally done with your dance moves?" Addam Marbrand asked with a smirk. "I thought you were a knight, not a mummer about to go on stage."
"I'd say you're about to eat those words Ser but I think we both know it's far more likely you're about to eat some dirt," Jaime responded, a matching smirk finding its way onto his own face.
"Ha! The servants keep this room clean enough there's no dirt on the floor for me to eat, fool!"
With that, the two men rushed forward and clashed swords. If this had been a real battle, if Jaime had been truly trying to kill Addam, the fight would have been much shorter. Addam was a decent swordsman, better than average certainly but he was no match for Jaime. But this was just a spar, so Jaime stayed on the defensive and focused on enjoying the moment.
As he dodged a swing he let his mind forget about how people were calling him Kingslayer behind his back. When Addam didn't fall for his feint, Jaime wasn't thinking about how Lord Stark had looked at him sitting on the Iron Throne. Using his shield to deflect Addam's thrust, Jaime ignored the haunting face of Rhaegar from his dreams, judging Jaime's inability to protect the royal family from his own father's men.
But someone clearly did protect them. Lorch is dead and Clegane is still missing.
Unfortunately, Jaime's thoughts distracted him enough for Addam's foot to catch the back of Jaime's knee, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Damn it, Jaime thought as he quickly rolled to the side, having to leave his shield behind to avoid Addam's sword. The whole point of this was to avoid thinking, not get lost in my thoughts.
That was part of the reason why he had asked Addam to spar with him. They had grown up together, Addam had been a page in Casterly Rock. While Addam was perfectly respectful in public, when it was just the two of them he treated Jaime as another peer, which was exactly what Jaime wanted right now. He wasn't a member of the Kingsguard, he wasn't the son of Tywin Lannister, he wasn't the Kingslayer, he was just Jaime, Addam's sparring partner.
"What's this? Am I about to win?"
Jaime hopped to his feet and brought his sword up before Addam had the chance to hit him. It spoke of both men's trust in the other that they didn't bother with training swords, they used live steel, knowing that they wouldn't seriously hurt the other.
"Just letting you know what it feels like to be winning, since you so rarely experience it," Jaime said.
No thoughts. No worries. Everyone else doesn't matter, just this, here and now. This matters. Parry. Parry. Dodge. Thrust. Pull back. Dodge. THRUST.
Addam froze, the tip of Jaime's sword resting under his chin but above the neck of his armor. The copper haired man chuckled. "Damn, really thought I had you there for a moment."
Jaime pulled his sword back. "Best two out of three?"
"You did promise I'd eat some dirt and yet you're the one that fell over. So yes, I'll give you the chance to not be a liar."
Jaime retrieved his shield and grinned as he assumed a fighting stance. "Well now I have to beat you because I'm many things, but a liar isn't one of them."
Before they could begin the second round, they heard the sound of jingling out in the hallway, indicating they were about to have a visitor. Jaime was surprised when the man entered the room, revealing that it wasn't a suit of armor or a coin pouch making the noise, but a set of spurs still on the man's boots.
Odd outfit, but whatever. Who am I to judge? Still, wonder why he's covering his face? Custom of Essos or some other reason? Battle scars?
"Ah, Ser Jaime! Glad to have found you. I'm afraid I don't know your companion however," the man said in a surprisingly deep voice.
"I'm Addam Marbrand, and it's normally polite to introduce yourself before asking others for their name."
"You're right, you're absolutely right. My apologies, my manners have atrophied a bit from spending so much time in Dorne. They are rather informal there and I'm afraid it's rubbed off on me. I'm Torrhen Snow."
"A Snow that just came from Dorne?" Jaime asked. "Sounds like the step up to a joke."
Torrhen paused and seemed to put more thought into Jaime's quip than Jaime himself had. "That's a good point, I'll have to see if I can work a decent punchline out. Anyway, I wanted to come meet you."
Jaime sighed. Another Northerner that wants to see the man that so stained his own honor by killing the King he had sworn to protect. "Alright, well now you've met me. Satisfied with what you see?"
But he didn't answer Jaime's question, instead he said, "You know, you're probably the first knight I know of that's worthy of the title. Everyone else has a habit of forgetting their vows when it's convenient. You didn't. You killed the king when it was needed. The only regrettable part of your action was that it wasn't done sooner."
Jaime had not been expecting that response. Judging from the startled, "What?" beside him, Addam hadn't either.
Torrhen walked forward, his dark eyes boring into Jaime's own. "In the name of the Warrior, you were charged to be brave. What can be braver than standing up to your king when you know he's wrong?" When Jaime didn't respond, Torrhen continued. "In the name of the Father, you were charged to be just. Aerys burned his vassals without a proper trial, that's not just, that's murder. Is it not just to kill a murderer? You were charged in the name of the Mother to defend the young and the innocent, and in the name of the Maid to protect all women. Tell me, Ser Jaime, how did Aerys treat his wife? While she wasn't young, she was an innocent woman. Did the Kingsguard protect her?"
"No," Jaime said, his voice quiet but sharp. "No, we did not protect her. 'Not from him' I was told."
"And that," Torrhen said softly. "Is why I consider you a proper knight. A real knight. People may claim you lack honor, because you refused to follow a mad king. But you have a better honor, that of moral decency. Whatever else you may do in your life, just know that when you slew Aerys, you were a hero."
Jaime clenched his fists as he stared at the man before him. No one, not his father, not the new king, not judgemental Eddard Stark, not even his friend Addam, had talked to Jaime about why he killed Aerys. Everyone just assumed they already knew the answer. And here was this unknown Northerner that not only was the first person to bring up the subject with Jaime, but he didn't judge him for it. Not only had he guessed Jaime's reasons correctly, he agreed with them, saying Jaime had done the right thing.
Who is this man?
"How?" Jaime asked as he found the strength to speak. "How did you know about that? About Queen Rhaella."
"I suppose I should have given myself a proper introduction instead of just my name. I apologize a second time." Torrhen gave a slight bow. "I'm Torrhen Snow, formerly a sellsword of the Company of the Rose, I came across the sea because I thought the war was a good place to make some money. I ended up rescuing Elia and Rhaenys from your father's bannermen and took the pair to Dorne. At which point I rescued Lyanna Stark from the Kingsguard keeping her prisoner."
"Shit."
Addam's blunt exclamation caught Jaime by surprise. He couldn't help but laugh. It was a needed laugh, allowing him to ease his muscles and his body. Torrhen's earlier words, confronting Jaime and his motivations, had caused too much tension, like a bow that had been pulled too far.
"So Rhaegar's family is safe?"
Torrhen looked off to the side as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Not exactly. I didn't make it in time to save Aegon. The Mountain had killed him by the time I arrived."
And just like that, the tension was back.
"So it's true then? My father really did send them to. . . no one actually told me. . . I had hoped. . ." The words just wouldn't come, Jaime couldn't voice his thoughts. He was aware of his father's reputation but Jaime had never personally known the victims before. It had never occurred to him that the victims might be innocent. They were just nameless faces in stories of the past.
"Rains of Castamere. Your father doesn't allow people to impede his authority. And the Westerlands sat out the majority of the war, he needed something to present to the rebel leaders to prove he deserved a seat at the table."
"I know!" Jaime shouted but quickly deflated. "I just. . . I didn't want to believe it." Jaime was silent for a moment before he sighed, straightened his back, and looked Torrhen in the eye. I can't change the past. I can only do better going forward. Let's start with establishing a proper relationship with this man. "Prince Rhaegar charged me with keeping his wife and children safe. To my failure, I didn't even think about them that night. But you did. Thank you."
Torrhen extended an arm. "As I told your father, I wanted to meet you and shake your hand. That's enough for me."
Jaime laughed and clasped the outstretched hand. "You're a sellsword and I'm a Lannister. Are you sure about that?"
"I've already got offers of lordships in the North and Dorne. I don't want the Westerlands taking an interest in me too. I'm an upstart foreign sellsword, too much attention will be bad for my long term health, I think."
"That's surprisingly astute of you," Addam said.
"There are old sellswords and there are bold sellswords, but there are very few old, bold sellswords. It's important to have a retirement plan that is achievable, which requires knowing one's limits."
"You are not what I expected of a sellsword," Jaime admitted.
"Thank you," Torrhen said with a chuckle. "Actually, there is one thing you could help me with, or direct me towards someone who could help me."
"Of course," Jaime replied earnestly. "What do you need?"
"I promised Rhaenys I'd look for her kitten that got left behind. His name is Balerion, his fur is completely black. I imagine he's still somewhere in the Red Keep."
Addam spoke up, "I have some men that aren't doing anything important. I can have them go looking. Can even go see about that now, if we're done sparring?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes I suppose we're done with the room for now," Jaime said. "Unless you wish a match with me, Torrhen?"
"I've fought three Kingsguard, I suppose there's nothing wrong with adding another to the list," Torrhen said as Addam left.
Jaime paused in his walk to where the training swords hung. "That's right, you did mention you rescued Lady Stark. What happened there?"
Torrhen didn't immediately answer. "Tell me, how much did you know about what happened between Rhaegar and Lyanna?"
"It never came up when I was with the Prince," Jaime admitted as he grabbed two training swords, passing one to Torrhen. "I only know what the rumors said."
As the pair assumed fighting stances, Torrhen spoke. "I avoided discussing the subject with her, didn't want to tread on traumatic memories, so I'm also uniformed on a lot of the specifics. But the basic gist is that Lyanna was being held in the ironically named Tower of Joy, and that the Kingsguard would not allow her to leave until she gave birth, presumably because of Rhaegar. Since I had a maester and an army of midwives waiting in Sunspear, I objected to leaving her alone in a tower with only three knights for company."
Torrhen and Jaime slowly circled each other in the ring. The clinking of Torrhen's spurs constantly gave warning anytime he began to move.
"I tell you the truth Jaime, I attempted to resolve it peacefully. Despite my opinion on their morally questionable behavior, I really tried to talk things out."
"But they wouldn't disobey the Prince."
"They would not," Torrhen agreed.
Jaime leapt forward, swinging the training sword. He wasn't trying too hard at the moment, just looking to test Torrhen's reactions. He was fully prepared to pull the swing if Torrhen didn't block in time but not only did the bastard get his sword in position but he struck Jaime's weapon so hard it almost flew out of his hand. He's stronger than he looks.
"Arthur Dayne knighted me," Jaime said, not entirely sure where he was going with the conversation. "During the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood. I was a squire for Lord Sumner Crakhall at the time, I saved his life from Big Belly Ben. But it was Arthur who knighted me. 'For valor shown on the battlefield' he said. It was one of my proudest moments. That he, of all people, was the one to do it."
Torrhen nodded and advanced on Jaime's position. "From what I hear, he's up there with Aemon the Dragonknight. Never have better knights served worse kings.
Torrhen's sword struck Jaime's shield and his arm practically went numb under the blow. That did however give Jaime the opportunity to stab at Torrhen with his sword as the sellsword was still pulling his sword back from the attack. Yet somehow the man was able to whip his weapon around to block Jaime's strike.No wonder he didn't ask for a shield when I gave him the sword. He's fast enough that he doesn't need one.
"How did he die?"
"Rather than try and rush myself or Oberyn with his fellows and quickly win, Arthur chose to duel me in single combat."
Jaime smiled as his sword parried Torrhen's. "That sounds just like the Sword of Morning. It was how he defeated the Smiling Knight."
"There's little difference between fighting honorably and fighting stupidly, in my opinion, when lives are on the line. So we never even crossed blades, he died to a defly thrown rock."
Jaime paused in his motions which nearly cost him but he was able to quickly duck underneath Torrhen's swing. "Arthur Dayne died because you threw a rock at him?"
Torrhen let out a laugh that didn't seem to have much mirth behind it. "As you may have noticed, I'm quite strong."
"Quick too." Jaime wasn't giving praise in an attempt to flatter, Torrhen was genuinely an extremely tough opponent. Still, as fast and strong as Torrhen was, Jaime was realizing that the man was quite unskilled with a sword. He seemed to be relying on his brute strength to win, swinging the blade like a club and hoping to simply overpower Jaime. Which is not a bad strategy, given his situation. Still, I think I can win this, assuming I make no mistakes.
Jaime focused more on dodging Torrhen's ungainly attacks than trying to block them. So far, it was working. Jaime was getting the feeling back in his limbs and Torrhen didn't seem inclined to try anything new. He was quick enough to parry any attack Jaime made but didn't make use of that speed in his footwork. It's almost like he never had a teacher. Has he always been this strong or did he just not wield a sword until he was already a man? Either would explain why he never learned any proper technique.
"I suppose you have quite the legacy to uphold," Torrhen said after several silent moments of neither combatant making any headway in the duel. "You and Barristan. You need to make sure membership in the Kingsguard remains prestigious, and doesn't just become a title for toadies and killers that happen to be bodyguards."
"I'm not sure I follow."
"There's only two of you left, that means five new faces. Men tend to act like their peers, the people they surround themselves with. So will those five men act like you or will you and Barristan start to act like them?"
Jaime aimed a kick at Torrhen's leg while at the same time he thrust his sword at the man's shoulder. The foreginer ducked underneath the sword and met Jaime's kick with one of his own. Legs tangled together, the pair lost balance and collapsed to the floor. Jaime was able to quickly scramble to his feet and bring his shield up but Torrhen was much slower to rise.
"Think I landed on my spurs," Torrhen said with a wince.
"There's a reason people take theirs off when they're done riding."
"Yeah, but it's part of the look. My outfit wouldn't be complete without them."
Jaimed made a show of looking the man up and down. "You've got a rug draped around your shoulders. I may not have an eye for courtly dress that my sister does, but even I can tell you look ridiculous."
"It's a poncho!" Torrhen argued, his voice going oddly high. "Clint Eastwood rocked this look."
I may have touched a sensitive subject. "I'm sure it was all the rage from wherever in Essos you picked up the style. But in Westeros, people will give you queer looks for it, at best. More likely they'll talk about you behind your back."
"Oh, good," Torrhen said happily. "That was the reaction I was going for. I want to be the strange foreigner that people occasionally gossip about."
"What?"
"There are many ways I could present myself to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. One thing I absolutely don't want to do is appear as if I'm reaching past my station," Torrhen explained as he finally resumed a fighting stance. "I'm just a sellsword who stumbled into a lucky situation, so that's what I need to portray myself as. By continuing to wear odd clothes from places I've been to, I reinforce that I'm not a Westerosi, that I'm just a foreigner, that I don't know what I'm doing or how I'm supposed to dress. That will make people assume I don't know what I'm doing."
Jaime could follow Torrhen's thought process, but he wasn't sure he understood the goal. "And then they'll assume you're easily manipulated and can be taken advantage of. You'll just end up making yourself more of a target."
"Uh. . . wait, what now? I thought they'd leave me alone because I'd be too much of an oddball for them to want to associate with."
Jaime used Torrhen's surprise to step forward and attack him but the sellsword got his sword up in time to block. Jaime shrugged as he pulled back. "Depends on the holding you'll be getting. Do a lot of smallfolk live there? Mines? Fertile farmland? If there's something that a noble can take from you, they'll try."
Torrhen let out a low groan. "Pretty sure I'm getting the Dreadfort, the Bolton holdings before they all died. . .uh, of the grey plague."
"I don't know many of the Northern houses but I recognize that name. The Boltons were major Stark vassals. That's quite the reward for you. And if that's the case. . ."
"Then my strategy won't work," Torrhen finished. "Fffffuuuuuuuuck."
"I don't think you need to play the part of a clueless foreigner, you are one," Jaime said and then quickly added, "At least when it comes to politics."
"You are not wrong," Torrhen said. "I was never great at dealing with people, was too much of an odd child. Probably why I retreated to books."
Jaime stepped forward and attempted a series of lightning fast strikes as he asked, "You read a lot? My brother does the same."
Torrhen calmly parried Jaime's attacks while answering. "I got along with one of my brothers but other than him, yes. I spent more time reading than probably anything else growing up. How about your brother? I've heard some stories, but I'm willing to bet they're incorrect."
"Tyrion is a dwarf and my mother died giving birth to him. That's about the only thing I've heard correct in any of those stories," Jaime snarled.
"I believe you," Torrhen answered plainly. "I've heard stories about Dorne, having spent time down there I can say they are not accurate either. Makes me wonder how many other stories are incorrect. History is written by the winners, after all."
Jaime frowned as he spun sideways to avoid Torrhen's counterattack. "History is written by maesters."
"And if the maesters' don't want to lose their head to a pissed off noble or see the book they spent years of their life writing, they make sure it says what the noble wants it to say. How many books portray Aegon The Conqueror in a bad light?"
"Aegon was a great man, he forged the Seven Kingdoms," Jaime answered automatically. Disparaging Aegon was just. . . it was not done.
"But he wasn't perfect, no one is. Therefore he had flaws, possibly big ones. We simply don't know what they were because no one wrote them down."
"But. . ." Jaime tried to argue but his thoughts just wouldn't collect. It was even becoming hard to dodge the attacks, so off kilter had Torrhen's words made him.
"Oh relax, I'm not saying he was a horrible human being or anything. My point is merely that books and stories only tell half the story, if that much. In one hundred years, how will your killing of Aerys be viewed?" Torrhen paused in his motions. "Hells, how is it being viewed now?"
"Alright, I can see your point," Jaime conceded. Kingslayer. I'm the Kingslayer.
"If you wanted, we could probably put a positive spin on the killing, get the realm to like you. Shouldn't be that hard given Aerys' cruelty."
"Huh?"
Torrhen rested his sword on the ground and leaned on it like a cane. "Aerys was an absolutely horrible person, I'd rank him next to Maegor in terms of just how bad. It should not be that difficult to get people to want to praise the man that killed him."
"I swore to protect that king with my life," Jaime answered flatly. "That is all people care about."
"Actually, I have a question about that. Aerys had been raping his wife and burning people alive for a while, but you didn't kill him earlier. Your father's army was in the city, Aerys was doomed. It wasn't like you needed to do it, you could have sat back and waited. But instead you killed him. Why?"
Swallowing heavily, Jaime regarded the man in front of him. "I swore to keep the King's secrets. Can you not let me keep at least one of my vows?"
Torrhen raised a single eyebrow in response. "You haven't broken all of them. You kept your vows as a knight because they were more important than your vows as a Kingsguard. Better to be a good person than a good bodyguard. Just need to make sure people know that about you."
"I don't care what people think of me."
"Bullshit. You want people to think you don't care what they think. I know because I'm the same way. I would read books growing up because that was easier than dealing with everyone, but at the end of the day I still wanted to be liked, still wanted to be loved. I just didn't want to expend the effort necessary to fit in and was afraid of failure. So I ran and hid, same as you're doing now."
Jaimed snorted. "Hiding? I'm a Kingsguard in King's Landing, everyone knows where I am."
"Not your location. You're hiding behind a. . . a mummer's farce. You're presenting to the world that you're an aloof knight with blackened honor but that's not you. You care about people. You cared about the queen, you cared about Rhaegar, you cared about his family. So tell me, what made you care enough to finally kill the King?"
Jaime was silent for a moment. He wasn't even sure why he was hesitant to tell Torrhen the truth. Maybe it was because Jaime really didn't want to be a liar, he wanted to keep as many of his vows as possible. And this one seemed so insignificant with the king dead, his secrets did not matter anymore, the only benefit to breaking that vow would be how people viewed Jaime. What's more important? To have honor or have the appearance of honor? It was an important question, Jaime would stain his honor just so people would think he hadn't stained it.
What kind of knight do I want to be? Like Arthur, like Rhaegar. Would they still be the ideal knights even if everyone hated them?
A great number of the Northerners and Stormlanders did hate Rhaegar for what happened to Lyanna. Jaime didn't believe the stories, as Torrhen had pointed out they were being told by the winners. Did that change anything? Was Rhaegar any less a knight?
No, Jaime finally decided. No, he was not.
With a shake of his head, Jaime gave Torrhen his answer. "No, I swore to keep the King's secrets and that's what I'll do. Let people think what they will, I'll know I stayed true to my vows."
Torrhen didn't respond, he just stared at Jaime while continuing to lean against his sword.
"You say I made the right decision in killing Aerys, so trust my judgement in this."
With his free hand, Torrhen raised a finger to point at Jaime. "You. . . urgh." Dropping his hand, Torrhen looked away and shook his head. "I can understand wanting to keep your honor, it's just. . . have you thought this through? The long term ramifications on your psyche of all the Seven Kingdoms looking down on you for something they should praise you for?"
"Si-key? I'm not familiar with that word."
Torrhen pinched the bridge of his nose as he looked at Jaime. "Right, sorry. Your. . . soul, I guess. Having damn near everyone this side of the Narrow Sea hate you, it won't be good or easy, and you've got many, long years ahead of you."
"A knight doesn't do what is easy, he does what is right."
"All right, you've made your decision, I'll let it be." Torrhen paused as he started to lift his sword back into stance. "Actually, wait. One last thing, then I'll let it be."
"Very well. One last thing, then we can see if I'm able to beat you."
"The thing, the reason that made you kill Aerys, it's not going to come back to bite anyone in the butt, is it? Like, it wasn't a bunch of money sent to Braavos and you'll spend the next ten years protecting Robert from Faceless Men or something right?" Jaime was going to respond in the negative, but Torrhen kept speaking, seemingly as much to himself as to Jaime. "No no, Faceless Men would be too precise. They wouldn't actually stop the armies, just the leaders. And it wouldn't send the right message anyway. Aerys was insane but he still had an ego, he was the king and wanted everyone to know it. He'd want something more, something big, something. . . involving fire."
He seems to be getting close to figuring this out, so long as he doesn't get confirmation from me, I don't see the issue. It's not as if I'm sworn to stop him.
"But not just fire, fire is too ordinary. Smallfolk and nobles, they deal with fire. Aerys was a Targaryen, Targaryens use wildfire. Fire fit for a king."
Jaime kept his face blank. Show nothing, say nothing,my honor depends on it.
"What would be a big thing with wildfire? He could drink it like Aerion, try to turn himself into a dragon. . . but that wouldn't warrant killing him. Hmmm." Torrhen snapped his fingers and looked Jaime in the eye. "Summerhall."
I think he's got it.
"Rhaegar was born the day Summerhall burned. Aerys would want a repeat of that. Burn the Red Keep, and he'd arise a dragon to smote the invaders. Is that it Jaime? Did Aerys order wildfire stored in the Red Keep?"
"I swore to keep the King's secrets," Jaime intoned emotionlessly.
"Jaime, I think you might misunderstand why I'm asking this," Torrhen responded, his voice grave. "This is no longer about your honor. This is about the fact the wildfire gets more potent and more sensitive the older it gets. If there's wildfire in the Red Keep, a servant or hell, just a mouse could jostle the stuff and set it off. Maybe not today, but someday in the future, this place could all go up in green flames if I'm right."
Jaime felt the blood drain from his face. It gets stronger with age? It doesn't just. . . go bad?
Torrhen grabbed Jaime by the shoulders and shook him. "Yes or no. Is there wildfire in the Red Keep?"
"Not just the Red Keep," Jaime said as he realized the implications. "In the Dragonpit, the Great Sept of Baelor, the city gates. There are caches all over King's Landing."
"We need to go find Robert, your father, Lord Arryn, fuck. We need to evacuate the damn city."
"Ye-yes. Yes, let's go immediately."
Jaime was so busy rushing towards the door that he barely heard Torrhen mutter to himself, "Can't believe I didn't screw that up."