All rights belong to GRRM and HBO.
This is my first written piece in several years and for all intents and purposes, my first story ever. Expect this to be a large story spanning more than several chapters detailing this new world that will emerge with our beloved and most hated characters.
I would appreciate all constructive criticism regarding the story, characters, plot, syntax, and so on.
Jaime I
Aerys cackled once more as he had done for hours on end.
The air grew stale as the messenger brought news of the Lannister army's arrival outside the city gates. Aerys' cackles grew louder and more strained as he whispered in hushed tones, seemingly only speaking to himself as his advisors surrounded him.
"Your Grace, it would be wise to not allow the Lannister army inside these walls," Varys muttered gently. "Lord Tywin is no friend to you and he has waited out this war for much too long to come to our aid now."
Aerys giggled in his throes of madness once again, the stench of his putrid breath reaching Jaime from where the Iron Throne sat. His hair was unkempt with his nails as long as twigs that would surround a tree, his indigo eyes feral and blazing with an insanity that had long taken root.
"He is my old friend, here to help defeat the Stag." Aerys said firmly with a strength that was most unexpected from the old prune. "He will wish to be named Hand again and will support us with the might of the West. This, I know."
Jaime bit the inside of his cheek hard, knowing that his father would no doubt put the city to the torch and hand it to Robert on a silver platter. It was how he was, always backing the winning side and making sure the Lannister name remained strong. His father would never be on the losing side, no matter how many gifts were thrown his way. His pride could never allow it.
Aerys giggled trapped in the throes of insanity. They echoed throughout the empty keep as Pycelle hastened towards him, leaning into his ear.
"Your Grace, Tywin Lannister is your steadfast ally and has always been a true friend to the Crown. He is here to defend the city against Robert's host," Pycelle whispered.
Aerys laughed once more and pressed his hand against his chest, seemingly playing with something. "Open the gates to the Lion! Let him bow before the dragon and beg for a reprieve." Aerys bellowed with bated breath as he shuddered to himself, seemingly in arousal.
Jaime grimaced and knew he had to sway the king, especially if the people of the city could be saved. "Your Grace, I beg you, do not let my father's army inside these walls," Jaime exclaimed, "Surrender peacefully to the rebels, it's the only way.."
"A green boy like you knows nothing of brotherhood or friendship." Aerys yelled in a fit of maniacal rage, his eyes alight with fire and fury. "Another word and your tongue will be doused in wildfire."
Jaime felt fear as he remembered Rickard Stark.
Rickard Stark, the noble Lord of Winterfell who stared down the Mad King.
Rickard Stark, who burned alive in the same room.
Rickard Stark, whose son desperately tried to save him.
The screams and the horror that followed with the calamity that day as everyone stood and watched.
He froze for a moment before bowing lightly and returning to his post, gnawing his lip at what was to come. He did not want to share the fate of the Starks. A lion could not survive fire any better than a wolf could.
Varys briefly looked in his direction before scurrying away, his seemingly confident facade shattered. He nervously glanced at the King before casting his head down and slipping behind Balerion's dragon skull, the darkness casting a black shadow over it as the atmosphere became morose and decadent, almost as if the heavens knew of the fire and bloodshed that would come.
_—0—_
An hour passed as Jaime fidgeted with the hilt of his sword and he heard the screams coming from what seemed to be the direction of Visenya's Hill. He thought of the Princess Elia and her children and part of him wished to escape his duties and go to them to bring them to safety, but the faces of his sworn brothers clouded his mind with their judgemental gazes filling him with dread. If he abandoned his post in guarding the King, he would surely be blamed for anything that would happen to him.
The words he swore to the Kingsguard echo in his head, his golden armor weighing him down as he felt his knees shake ever so slightly.
Defend the King. Obey the King.
Jaime glanced back at Aerys who hummed to himself in delight, seemingly unaware of the screams and shouts that came from the city. He seemed to grind himself against the Iron Throne, his arms were covered with more and more dark scabs – some of which had already begun to decay and rot, filled with a pus that had no doubt emerged from the tainted madness that had overwhelmed the King.
Jaime thought of Rhaegar and his promises, of the sweet sounds his harp would make as he sang to the common people, of the chivalry that Jaime hoped to mirror – had only his prince been victorious at the Battle of the Trident, perhaps he would not be here forced to make an impossible choice without the guidance of his brothers.
He had hoped to be honorable, he had hoped to be dutiful, he had hoped to achieve glory. He had joined the Kingsguard for all and more, and to be by the side of the one he loved most in this world. He closed his eyes and imagined the sweet feeling of golden locks in his hand and felt his heart weigh heavy. It was times like these where he needed and missed his other half, when nothing else in the world mattered.
The loud squeaks of a pair of shoes brought him to attention as Rossart, the supposed Hand of the King, giddily ran towards the King in glee who then began whispering in his ear. Aerys seemed to be at full attention, which was unusual for how he had usually been these past few months, and a dreadful yet evil smile covered his face as he muttered to the decrepit pyromancer.
Rossart emitted a throaty chuckle as he bowed his head so far that his head practically touched Aerys' toes and once again giddily ran out of the Red Keep while Aerys began to chant religiously.
"Burn them all… burn them all… burn them all…" Aerys chanted, again and again as he gleefully wiggled himself, cutting himself further and further on the Iron Throne.
By the Gods, he's truly gone mad. The city is on fire, he has lost the war, and all he can show is glee.
Jaime took a last look at Rossart. The pyromancer turned back and smiled devilishly in Jaime's direction before skipping out with a horrifying happiness. Jaime wrestled with his thoughts, attempting to understand what they could have planned before the realization suddenly hit him.
Rossart is the Grandmaster of the Alchemist's Guild.
Wildfire.
The madman plans to use wildfire. He's going to burn the city to the ground.
Jaime panicked. He felt his knees buckle as he almost fell to the ground, using one of the pillars as support for himself. He thought of Ser Jonothor Darry's words to him when he protested Aerys and his violation of Queen Rhaella after he had burned Lord Rickard Stark alive. We are sworn to protect her as well, Jaime had said.
We are, but not from him.
Jon's words repeated in his head again and again in chorus with the screams of Rhaella, echoing from her bedchamber, and the guilt that followed as he was forced to stay his hand. The faces of the royal children, Princess Elia, his father, his uncle, the millions of faceless people in the city who cried out in terror as fire consumed them. His oaths repeated themselves to him in a chant as Aerys giggled gleefully in the background, seemingly lost to the terror he would unleash.
Defend the King.
Obey the King.
Keep his secrets.
Do his bidding.
Your life for his.
Jaime held his head with his hands as he struggled, the weight of everything falling onto himself at once. His legs gave in and he fell to his knees, his armored kneecaps clattering to the floor and echoing across the Red Keep. His golden armor tainted with sweat and weighed down with the blood of a million people, all on his hands.
Your life for his.
Your life for his.
Your life for his.
The blank words of his sworn brother echoed in his head and heart. He was only seventeen, he was too young for this, too young for the Kingsguard, too young for duty. He missed the comfort of his home, he missed Casterly Rock, he missed his siblings and his father. His mother.
I am too young to die.
I do not want to die.
I can't let the people of this city die too.
He thought of Cersei's sweet lips and how he would never feel them again. He thought of Tyrion who he would never laugh with again. He thought of his mother's sweet gaze before she passed.
He knew what he had to do.
He was a knight of the Kingsguard, but he swore his knightly vows first before anything else.
He lifted himself with a heroic strength and rushed towards the Red Keep exit to find Rossart as the yells and screams of the Mad King followed him. He had to kill Rossart before he could ignite the wildfire. He had to protect the city. He had to protect the children. The children. The royal children.
Elia and the children won't be safe anyways if the city goes up in flames. I have to save the city. Rossart has to die.
He looked around and realized he had no idea where Rossart had gone. He had not seen which hallway he had run down. Jaime felt defeat – it was too late. He was gone.
The city was gone.
I am a dead man walking. I cannot escape the city in time.
It is over.
In a blink of an eye, explosions erupted across the city. First, all along Visenya's Hill as green wildfire burst from the crevices of the street and Visenya's Hill burst in flames. The fire erupted further under the Great Sept as the city was flooded in flame all across King's Landing.
The children are dead. The Princess Elia is dead. My father is dead. The people are dead. Thousands.
I have failed.
Dejectedly, he began to shake and feel his legs give way as he leaned against a pillar in horror at the scene that unfolded before him. The fire embraced the city before him and covered the streets as he saw an army escape the city furling many banners — Stark, Royce, Umber, Reed, Blackwood, Tully, and more.
But not the Lion of Lannister. Those banners were nowhere to be found.
So my father pays the price for waiting so long. And he is no doubt, dead.
He felt that he should feel more pain for the death of his father which had likely happened, but he felt numbness — nothing but dread. Dread at the millions of people who failed. Dread at failing his duty. He felt defeat.
A thundering roar shook the Red Keep as the world rattled before his feet.
"LANNISTER!"
Jaime turned and saw the Mad King lift himself from the Iron Throne and walk down the steps with a confidence that Jaime never expected him to possess. Jaime stepped forward towards him in awe as he unsheathed his sword and readied himself in a fighting stance, just as Arthur Dayne had taught him.
He knew what he had to do. The Mad King had to die, for he was responsible for all the death that had come.
Aerys unclasped his doublet and reached into it, picking up an abnormally large vial the length of one of Aerys' nails. He undid the cork and a devilish grin slithered onto his uncouth face and his yellowed teeth emerged, presenting the serpent within.
"Your accursed line will end, Lannister. And here, mine rises in fire and blood."
Wildfire.
The vial is fucking wildfire.
Before he could charge at the Mad King, Aerys poured the vial of wildfire down his throat and let out his last laugh. Fire began to erupt from his mouth and the scabs pocking his skin, the wildfire erupting in sync across the Red Keep in an image that could only belong in the seven hells.
Jaime felt himself freeze as the smell of burning air surrounded him. He did not know air could smell so vile and wretched, that such calamity had a sense of smell. The heat erupted around him and he felt the skin melt off his skull as he stared in complete horror at the image before him, the screams growing louder — until he realized the screams came from himself and yet he could not stop his own mouth as he felt his lips become parched and his tongue shrivel. He felt completely immobile and darkness take over.
As he felt himself fade, he swore he could see a serpent grow before him in the flame as the darkness finally took over and his eyes closed forever.