Chapter 23 - A Brat with a Crown
Jaime Lannister walked through the tall halls of King's Landing, wearing his tan leather coat with the folded collar. His handless wrist stuffed firmly on the inside so no one could see it. His sister was having a new one made for him, whatever the hell that meant. She could barely look at him since he came back. He could barely look at himself. He hadn't even been to see his little brother. He could still hear Brienne's screams and the severing crunch of bone and flesh from the blade that took his hand. He could remember the pain and horror of losing his sword hand. And then the mysterious warrior arrived, out of nowhere with no armor and no sword, beating five men half to death with nothing more than a shield and his own two fists. He couldn't even do that on his best day with both hands. These memories haunted him greatly. He wondered what it all meant.
"Sir Jaime," called a voice. He looked up from his thoughts to find Brienne. She certainly was one of the tallest women he had ever met. Jaime was thankful that he could at least find accommodations for both her and Steve.
"Lady Brienne," he said too formally.
"Where is Sansa Stark?" she asked.
"I'm sure she's around here somewhere," he said casually, attempting to walk away, but Brienne put a hand on his chest to stop him.
"I pledged an oath to Catelyn Stark, and you made a promise," she said sternly.
"And you think Cersei is just going to let her walk out of here? She's betrothed to Joffrey," he answered. Brienne removed her hand from him.
"That doesn't keep you from your oath," she scolded. Jaime shook his head and scoffed.
"Why not have Ser Rogers do it?" she suggested. The Kingslayer glared at her.
"Do what? Smuggle her out of here? I don't care how many men he can fight. They'll both be killed by the time they reach the front gates," he declared. Brienne let out a long breath through her nose.
"And why do you call him Ser? He's not a knight," he added out of spite. Brienne kept her head down but looked up at him with eyebrows raised.
"That we know of…" he muttered, looking away.
"Um, I think defeating five of Lord Bolton's men all while saving us with barely a weapon would make him one. What else would you call him?" she retorted. He sneered.
"If you dislike him that much, why are you protecting him?" Brienne dared to ask. Jaime could not look her in the eye, and she was tall enough to be equal to his eye level.
"You could have told them the truth. What happened. Who he says he is, but you didn't," she added.
"And you think any of them will believe any of it?" he answered finally meeting her gaze.
"Maybe they will, maybe they won't. That still doesn't explain why you're helping him," she said calmly. The Lannister sighed.
"Speaking of which, where is he now?" she added.
Steve Rogers left his chambers wearing newly tailored clothes that matched more of his current environment. They weren't flashy, thank goodness, but the rich dark blue tunic with long sleeves and a high collar with leather pants to match did make him look like a newly anointed lord. He hated them. It was hard to find something that fit his broad shoulders, so they were freshly made. The fabric looked nice, but possessed zero flexibility, and how they had to tie it in the back made him feel trapped. Steve accepted the kind gesture regardless. He was instructed to lay low, but he grew restless. He kept his shield wrapped in leather and hid it under his bed for safekeeping before roaming the castle. Jaime told him he would look too conspicuous if he constantly carried it around, but once he saw the tall men in gold and black armor with helmets and swords clanking around the entryways, he begged to differ. Many rich-looking people fluttered about around them as they patrolled. Steve could only assume that they were the security. Their metal get-up and capes sort of reminded him of Thor, and he wondered what he must be doing right now.
"You seem to be blending in quite nicely," said a grizzly voice from behind. Steve turned around to find a man with a sharp haircut leaning in the shadow of a pillar. He was the smug man from the meeting, gazing upon his rich-looking clothes with a sliver of envy. He walked slowly towards Steve. A nearby child scrubbing the floor watched them curiously.
"You must have done something extraordinary to have gained an audience with the Queen and the small council… then again, you did single-handedly bring back her brother from the clutches of the Starks," he said in a sinister tone. Steve narrowed his eyes. The man walked closer.
"That's one way to put it, I suppose," Steve deflected. The man walked closer.
"I wonder… why would Catelyn Stark trust a nobody from the Reach to deliver him when she had Brienne of Tarth?" he continued. Steve scoffed as politely as he could and shook his head before answering.
"Why don't you ask the men who attacked them?" he said in his Brooklyn accent. Littlefinger's eyes widened, and he walked closer to Steve without ever blinking, fixated on him. He smiled but the corners of his eyes didn't move. He attempted to square him up, but Steve remained unfazed, standing taller than him with a light smirk, showing off his high cheekbones and strong jaw, even if he didn't realize he was doing it.
"Oh, I have… I heard you took out his men with nothing more than a shield, which I find… very hard to believe," he whispered in a menacing tone, "I also find it hard to believe that you are from the Reach… that's an unusual accent… where are you really from?" the smug man challenged. Steve waited a beat before answering when luck struck the iron hot. Distress could be heard from the main hall. Steve left the smug man to investigate. Littlefinger followed from a distance, as did the child.
Steve entered a very large room with stained glass windows with rich colors and seven-star designs. Many nobles lined up around the pillars and walls, leaving the center open, watching the ruckus unfold. At the furthest end of the circle, under the largest stained glass star, an ugly iron throne made of swords could be found. On top of it sat a young man adorned in glittering, golden attire. A horned crown rested on his blonde head, while a crossbow planted itself firmly in his small hands. He had it locked and loaded at a beautiful, young girl with red hair and a blue gown. She knelt before him in tears, terrified.
"You're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons," said the pompous brat, holding aim.
"Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part," the girl pleaded. Steve furrowed his brows.
"I beg you, please…" she sobbed.
"Killing you would send your brother a message. But my mother insists on keeping you alive," the boy king said, lowering
his weapon, "Stand," he ordered, and she slowly removed herself from the ground.
"So we'll have to send your brother a message some other way," the brat added. Steve looked around the room. No one moved an inch.
"Meryn," the boy king called. A middle-aged man in shiny armor and a white cape with a permanent, determined frown approached, sword in hand. The girl quivered in fear.
"Leave her face."
Steve's eyes widened.
"I like her pretty."
The girl closed her eyes and held herself, but the blow never landed. Sansa opened her eyes to find a tall man with short blonde hair holding Ser Meryn's fist in one hand. The crowd murmured. Joffrey rose from his seat. Littlefinger watched eagerly from the shadows.
"How dare you!" said Meryn enraged. He held up his sword to strike when Rogers gave him a quick upper cut to his gut, slightly denting his armor and ripping a sliver of his own tunic just at the shoulder. Then, Steve spartan kicked him square in the chest, pushing him away so far back he fell flat on his back, dropping his blade. Sansa gasped. The Captain put himself between the girl, Ser Meryn, and this boy with a crown.
"I shall have your head for this!" the brat yelled, pointing his crossbow at this stranger.
"What is the meaning of this!" called out a male voice. The crowd grew silent. Steve dared not turn around in case the boy's trigger-happy finger just happened to slip. Tyrion Lannister walked up next to him with his sellsword, Bron. Steve recognized the short man from the meeting. He was Jaime's brother if he recalled. Tyrion looked over at a frightened Sansa Stark, silently thankful this new stranger shielded her. The kick to Ser Meryn was just icing on the cake. The child beater struggled to his feet. Joffrey lowered his weapon.
"What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?" the short man scolded.
"The kind who serves his king, Imp," snapped Meryn, shooting Steve a death glare, but Steve let his eyes fall upon the brat with a crown. One corner of his lip curled up in great disgust.
"King?" he said, not realizing he spoke out loud. It was the first time Tyrion had heard him speak. Joffrey's trigger finger itched.
"Careful, now," said Bron, walking around Ser Meryn, with a hand on the handle of his sword, "We don't want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak."
Tyrion approached Joffrey with strong confidence.
"She is to be your queen. Have you no regard for her honor?" demanded Tyrion.
"I'm punishing her."
"For what crimes? She did not fight her brother's battle, you halfwit!"
"You can't talk to me like that! The king can do as he likes!"
Tyrion walked up two steps just below the throne and stood tall. Steve had to admire the small man's courage.
"The Mad King did as he liked. Has your Uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?" said Tyrion calmly. Steve could visibly see Joffrey's quick breathing through his chest and flared nostrils. Tyrion, on the other hand, did not flinch.
"And without this man," he continued, gesturing towards Steve, "You never would have gotten your uncle Jaime back. You might want to show him a bit more gratitude," he finished, turning his back on his nephew. Steve felt something lightly snake around his arm. He looked to his side to see that the girl had wrapped her thin arm around his. She was trembling. Tyrion walked back to them.
"I apologize for my nephew's behavior," he said kindly to the girl. Steve raised an eyebrow and quickly glanced back and forth from the child on a throne of swords to the short man in well dressed, yet modest leather, attempting to find the family resemblance.
"Ser… Rogers, was it?" he asked Steve.
"Yes?" he responded slightly distracted.
"Will you escort Lady Stark to her chambers?" he asked. The Captain's face dropped as he stole another glance at the poor girl. Tyrion noticed the intensity behind his eyes. Sansa kept her head down.
"Uh, yeah… of course," he answered carefully. Steve tried to hide his confusion and concern, but he was never good at poker faces. No one had a greater gift than Romanoff. He did give Joffrey one last look before leaving. The last thing he wanted was to be shot in the back by some spoiled child.