TW: SA/Mentions of rape/abuse
III.
Kairos
Vile.
Vile, vile men.
In every continent, in every city. She would be a rich, loathsome woman if she counted how many men tried to use her whether for her name or body. Her true belief was that there were no good men, just ones with morals, untethered to their horrid tendencies. Like now, when she bucked against the usurper, thrashing about to help the women being dragged from their homes.
What a lawless land, one she planned to fix.
His good hand clamped over her mouth, "do you want to get us killed?" Jaime breathed into her ear, her back pressed deeply into his bold chest, "-you help those women, we will die here."
He kept her close, if not for the ties on her wrist - she would have been able to break free, "this is what happens when you bring war to this land. People become scared, men turn into beasts — this is the price of war."
Her eyes bulged when the screaming in the nearby hills became a crescendo, the women's pleas for help suddenly muffled by the dreadful laughter of men. It reminded her of traveling the vast Dothraki sea on her silver. When Drogo's men would rape the sheep women. Over and over. Their value only lie between their legs. Not again. She learned the hardest lesson of her life due to her naïve heart that wanted to help. The catalyst to her life spurned from helping Mirri Maz Duur in a situation akin to this one. Back then, she tried to save them all. Collected them all like gifts, in rudimentary righteousness that went against the old customs of the Dothraki.
If I look back I am lost.
Bile rose to her throat, burning her tongue.
She stopped her fight, cheeks red from anger, "Cersei is laying waste to any fields, any valleys that will be of use to you and your army as you march to her from Dragonstone. Do you understand? She refuses to give you any advantage." His words tickled her ear, he was so close.
When he trusted her not to bolt, Jaime slowly let her go.
The wailing continued. The pleas for help from the town set aflame left Daenerys feeling empty. That empty void cried out for the women and children pleading for help. She turned her head, jaw clenched to suppress the need to help. Without any weapons, without her children — what could she do?
"This is your family's warden. You're a Lannister of Casterly Rock, yet your retch of a sister sister lay waste to the people in her charge!" Daenerys shivered from her anger, voice seething.
They were atop a hill, one of the many that led to the Kingswoods, at the crutch of land that bled into Lannisport — they were now deep in the land he grew up in. One more night, they would be able to see the mighty siege of power. The true seat of strength in the west, Casterly Rock. Once, Jaime's late father told him that his family needed to respect the rock, this land would be their legacy. Their name, and their land.
That would all be that's left of them.
If Cersei didn't destroy them first.
"Perhaps stroking a war with the Queen regent wasn't what you thought it may be, Princess — but this is war. You're not naïve enough to think that it's only the men on the field that lose their lives. Lose everything they care about."
Daenerys bit back the words as sharp as her children's teeth, bristling — she could see that he truly believed the words he was saying, "have you no loyalty to your people? I am not the one burning this land. I'm not the one allowing thieves and rapists to run rampant! These cries are blood on your family's land!"
Jaime tightened the rope around her wrists, dragging her closer to him as he led them away from the madness, "coming from the woman who's family's words are fire and blood. My dearest brother is the witty one, though I find the irony in your statement laughable. Perhaps he's been rubbing off on you. Or has he lost all of his quips after coming into contact with you?"
"Do not talk about my hand." Her words were slow, lethal.
The older Lannister brother scoffed, "he was my brother long before he became your hand. I'll speak of him as I wish."
"I've made a promise to him," her voice no longer carried the anger of her sigil, they were soft — almost sweet, honey on her lips, "that I will burn your sister once we've won the war. Quick, painless. That is all he's asked of me, how does that sit with you? Your precious sister who's legs you spread—!"
If she wanted to anger him, she accomplished her goal. He grabbed her by the nap of her hair, tilting her head back to look up at him, her cheeks flush from the movement. "Let's make a deal," he seethed close to her face, eyes darting between her full lips and brilliant violet eyes, "I don't speak of Tyrion, and you don't speak of my sister."
"Then say her name," Daenerys baited him once again, "the unrightfully throned Queen Regent."
Jaime wanted to speak, wanted to bear his sister's name for all to hear. His chest tugged painfully tight.
"Say her name," the Targaryen goaded, her eerie calm convinced he would cave. If he didn't say her name…She would win, again.
His lips parted, ready for the challenge — Daenerys lips tilted upward.
The Kingslayer felt inclined to inch his lips forward, he waited there for what could have been an eternity, inwardly battling with himself. Instead pushed her away from him. Their only tether his hand on her arm. "We're leaving."
He pulled her away from the village. Across these fields, one more night. One more night. Both parties yielded the fight. The scrubs of exhaustion were beginning to affect them. Daenerys had gone through worse, survived worse. With the little food they were able to catch, living off of water from the streams and rivers, she knew they wouldn't make it to Casterly Rock without eating something with substance.
Soon.
Hours passed, the sun beat down on them. It would be the last true heat until winter engulfed them. This was child's play compared to the red waste in the east. When her lips were so chapped they bled. When she said goodbye to her silver, her bloodriders slaying the animal for meat. Her most beautiful gift from Drogo. Other than her children, other than the dreams of Rhaego — there was nothing of him to remember him by. As if to calm the emotions within her, her intricate braids swayed past her waist — the bells attached to her hair chiming to remind her that she was protected.
Even in the west. Far from the vast Dothraki sea.
When they finally settled in the lush, rocky hills — the sun was high above them.
If Jaime noticed a change in her demeanor, he didn't say anything — he did wonder why she adopted the odd customs of those barbarians.
They walked for hours that day, her feet hurt— Daenerys closed her eyes. Willing Drogon. The welcomed fetter to her child tugged at her, it pulled at her heart. An invisible song that called to him. She toyed with her mother's ring, wondering why the memories of her past were crawling at her back. For so long, she looked forward. She looked west, towards the throne. Towards her family's right. Towards defeating the usurper. Towards avenging her family. Yet here she was, so close — a flight away. With two armies, nearly every noble house at Dragonstone kneeling for her.
Except now she was tied to Jaime Lannister.
Being dragged away from her birthright.
If Tyrion brought the army to Lannisport, they would lose weeks. Jon Snow did not have the patience to wait. His urgency to have their armies ready for the long night knew no bounds. Every day they spoke about it. Many times in her chambers he would speak to her in confidence. It was one peculiar night when his fingers combed through her hair, lips pressed against the back of her neck — when he asked her if she truly believed him.
She turned to face him, violet meeting a stormy grey. "Did Eddard Stark have grey eyes?" After their initial time spent refusing to understand one another, it came to be that they got along quite well. In their late night talks with her dragons calling to them in unison, he held a sturdy — honorable view of the world. As did his father. She learned eventually.
"No, my mother did. I've never met her."
"…I didn't know my mother, either."
"It may not mean much, or my place. I never intend to defend the repercussions of Robert's war….My father has committed his sins, but he truly felt like your family should have been spared. My sister told me he stopped Robert Baratheon from killing you. That was one of his final decisions before his execution."
Daenerys swiped her thumb over his thick beard, the black curls rough against her hand, "…thank you."
Their decision to stop their budding relationship hurt. Political reasons, mostly. It was their mutual decision that the North would never follow a southern leader again. Perhaps, after the war — there may be a chance. There were too many enemies, too many lives to be saved. Their love could wait. It would be selfish, especially as they were so close to the long night.
First, they needed to get rid of Cersei. Once the realm was united under the Targaryen banner — they could defeat the white walkers….For the first time, Daenerys wasn't sure what the outcome of that battle would be. Her visions in the House of the Undying led her to the throne, snow adrift in the great halls her ancestors built.
Winter is coming.
The man playing the harp.
The blue rose.
The woman surrounded by blood.
If I look back I am lost.
How long have those words carried her?
Daenerys shifted away from the gold cloak, praying her children would come.
"Are you calling those beasts?" Jaime riled her, the steady sound of a river up ahead. There was a cluster of inns clear across the valley floor. Straying far off the main road, the possibility of running into anyone would be slim. Lush greens, trees heavy with the weight of vibrant colors introducing fall set a beautiful backdrop. If they hugged this ledge, they would be able to wind their way down to the river's edge.
"They're not beasts," she held her chin high, "they're my children." The golden haired knight paused, weathering to say something in response. The slight fault in his step put her on edge. Their heated discussion the day prior stood firm between them. If he could understand just how it came to be that she birthed three mighty dragons, perhaps he would be in the same conundrum that most men found themselves in when in her presence. A man could never understand the wails of a child at a mother's breast, and like human children, her children awoke to the flame at her breast.
Even Tyrion, the cynical, intelligent bastard he was — fell at her feet.
Naming him as hand was one of the best decisions she could have made. It wasn't beyond Jaime that Tyrion saved the entirety of their family during the battle of Blackwater. He saved the entirety of King's Landing, for that matter. Unknowingly, two hated and revered Lannister brothers saved an entire population, twice.
Perhaps they weren't as different as their father made them out to be.
"There's a waterfall beyond this hill."
The Targaryen did not respond, simply followed. Her eyes were trained on his back, willing a hole to burn through his armor. The gold lion mocked her, taunting her. It's claws gleamed with the light that peaked through the yellowing leaves. She lowered her brow, loathing their sigil. When they managed to make it to down the steep hill, Daenerys could hear nothing but the deafening roar of the waterfall beside them. The gleaming, emerald waters glittered in the gaps of sun that poked through the high canopy of trees.
She paused, allowing herself to take in the flourishing vegetation, the clear waters. They stopped at a ledge fifteen feet above the ensuing basin. They were both tired, this would be their last stop before they absolutely had to find some food.
"Can you please untie me so I may bathe?" The grime on them both could rival the poor souls in Flea Bottom. Jaime surveyed the area around them, it would be a daunting task for her to escape at this point. If they kept a steady pace, they would be at Casterly Rock late in the night. From here it would be less of a hike. Trepidation sat in his gut.
Daenerys kept calm, turning so she could offer him her wrists behind her back. She titled her head to look to the side over her shoulder, giving him a prolific view of her side profile. This was on purpose, as a woman she was no fledgling in knowing where a man's eyes took him. Daario once told her that her side profile should be painted, kept in a museum for centuries for the world to see.
"I won't run, I have little idea where we are," she added, waiting.
"Convincing," the Lannister mused through her options, finding that it would be a daunting task to escape him. If he lost her, she would run into his sister's sentinels, or the traveling packs of rogue raiders.
Slowly, he untied her with his one hand. Once free, Daenerys stretched her shoulders — the muscles and joints popping from the longevity of their awkward position. Her wrists were sore, branded a harsh pink from the coarseness of the rope. "Are you sure it's wise to trust me? I've killed many men without so much as touching them."
Jaime began the last trek towards the basin, "I witnessed it Princess, you burn them alive. It's rather craven to hide behind the jaws of an ugly beast and claim those murders as your own."
Daenerys jaw ticked as she followed after him, "and yet when I do fight with my dragons, it's me that is blamed. You need to choose whether it's my guilt to bear or not for argument's sake."
The lion sighed, dropping to his knees to splash water and his face and drink with his cupped hand, "my brother is willing to argue semantics, Princess. You'll find I'm rather droll when it comes to arguments of the tongue."
The cool water felt heavenly. It dripped down his neck, chilling his skin under the heavy armor. He sighed, wanting to wade through the water to wash the death and ash off of him from the battle . Though he knew he couldn't take off his armor by himself. Daenerys sunk herself next to him, admiring the water. It was pristinely clear, one of the hundreds of pools of water within the acreage surrounding Casterly Rock.
"No quip?" He retorted, deciding he didn't like her unbidden silence. It was too eerie. A different type of silence. Unlike his sister, who's silence was clear, thinly veiled anger that promised violence.
"A wise man told me once that not all statement require a response."
"Smart man."
After they both drank their fill of water, effectively quenching the dryness of their throat from traveling — Daenerys began to delicately uncoil her heavy braids. Meticulously, as if Missandei were doing it herself. Slowly, the bells were tactfully put on her lap. Her fingers deftly worked through her soiled hair. The grease from her hair after days worth of travel and sweat left her fingers slick. After some time, she sighed happily when her hair was unbound, cascading over her shoulders in thick rivulets of silver waves. She gently scratched her scalp, the tension from her braids easing from her forehead.
Jaime watched in mild fascination.
It wasn't the same as the girls he grew up with who combed their hair wishing upon knights.
It was a cultural custom, another facet she must have picked up from the Dothraki.
When he thought she would ask for him to look away, Daenerys began to strip of her leathers and armor, placing the bells from her hair on top of her clothing. She peeled the leathers off wide hips, pulling off her armor and setting everything beside her helm. Standing tall at her rather short height, he inadvertently turned his gaze away. He was used to seeing a woman naked, one woman. For the sake of her modesty, he refused to look.
Daenerys kept a level gaze on him, taking a step towards the pool, "you can look, Lannister."
Jaime trained his eyes on the waterfall, "do they not wear clothes across the narrow sea? Most women are abashed to be naked around men, wedded or not." To distract himself, he began pull at his armor — refusing to ask for help. The clasps needed two hands, not his pathetic single hand.
The Targaryen strode over behind him, as naked as her name day. She began to help him undo his amor without his ask, "the Dothraki take one another in front of the entire horde," she explained calmly. Her natural scent coiled around him.
With slight work, she nimbly unclasped his back — pulling the armour from his shoulder on his right side, "as do beasts in the wild," he responded, still refusing to look at her.
Daenerys ignored the jab, "on my wedding night Drogo took me under the moonlight in front of his entire khal in a lake." The memory seemed so distant, she would never forget it, yet each time she fondly remembered that night — it felt like a lifetime ago. A different girl experienced that night, not the woman she was now.
He dropped his shoulder to pinch out his other arm, "romantic," he drolled sarcastically — now free of the heavy metal on his body. In his breeches and chainmail, he rolled back his shoulders. Daenerys strode past him, giving him no other option than to look.
In front of him, half waded in the water stood a Queen. Not a Princess, a Queen.
Her body was delicate, yet hard from training. A slim neck led to dainty shoulders, the swell of her breasts trailed his vision to the softness of her stomach. Back dimples greeted him when she looked back at him over her shoulder, not at all ashamed by his leerful eye. In her leathers he already had an eyeful of her rear, quickly understanding why so many men fell in love with the damnable woman.
He shrugged off his chainmail, clearly annoyed.
Daenerys ducked her head under the water, the grime and violence washing off of her. She held her breath, scrubbing at her skin and filing her nails through her hair. It could have been an eternity that she spent under the waterfall when a strong hand gripped her arm to hoist her up.
Inhaling sharply, the defeaning noise surrounded them.
"I can't allow you to kill yourself."
Daenerys glared up at him, face to face with a broad chest. Not nearly as broad and muscled as Drogo's, with less coarse hair than Snow. Soft golden hair tickled her chin, briefly she looked down to where the water lapped at his waist, that same forbidden trail of hair burning into her brain.
His grip on her seemed to tighten, his knuckles white. The hard tips of her nipples brushed against his skin when she tilted her head up in a way that made him feel nothing like a Lannister, but a mere bug under her boot.
"I would never kill myself, Lannister. Not until I've come home to my birthright, not until I've broken the wheel our families have subjugated countless of innocent lives to awful circumstances." Her voice cut through the waterfall.
Her words lathered him in honey, their gaze never faltered. Two proud individuals caught in a snare of circumstance. Jaime broke their dead lock, his thumb running over her forearm as he looked down. Their thighs were touching, and for more times than he could count since their battle — he got the overwhelming sense to kiss her. If he shifted, his member would skim her stomach. She stayed deathly still, tempting him. Measuring him. For a moment, they both held their breath.
Other than Cersei, the guile to kiss a woman never overcame him. Even then, it was her that always called him. This was different. It was the same feeling when he held his sword in hand, a freedom or tether that pulled him.
So instead he dropped her arm, swimming into the deeper edge of the pool — allowing the cool water to stop the familiar ache in his loins.
—
They arrived at the edge of Casterly Rock late at night when the moon hung over them. Her hands were tied again, but she held her head proud when the large Lannister flags bellowed in the sharp wind. So close to Lannisport, the air chilled her skin from the ocean's breeze. Her hair braided once more, her bells chimed as a host of banner men arrived on horses — a large host, considering she was but one woman and they needed the lot of them to guard her to get her to King's Landing.
"Leave it to the Golden Knight to catch the last dragon, it's an honor to see you alive Ser Jaime."
He kept a tight hold on Daenerys, "did you perhaps believe I may die in that battle, Darland?"
Daenerys kept her chin up, her jaw clenched.
The hosts liege withered under Jaimie's hard words, "of course not." The stranger had all the physical markers of a Lannister, yet held none of the respect or bravado that Jaime conjured by a simple stance.
"How did you know we would be arriving tonight?" Jaime commanded.
"Cersei has had a special guard surveying the area, considering your traitor of a brother would likely come to take Casterly Rock. We figured it would be tonight that you would arrive."
"Rather fortunate guess," Jaime surveyed the entirety of the group. Still not letting go, he planned to take Daenerys to the cells within his home, "I'll be taking her — on the morrow you will—"
Darland Lannister cleared his throat, "under the command of Queen Cersei Lannister, we have direct orders to bring Daenerys Targaryen to King's Landing unharmed."
Of course, Daenerys knew the Queen would want her unharmed so she could inflict all the torture herself. She looked between Jaime — the man that once protected her with his life, and his fellow clansmen.
"No," Jaime punched once again, shoving with her past the large host of men. "I will be taking her to my sister myself. Or would you rather we discuss this with Cersei and how you're disrespecting my orders? My sister has quite a few ways of dealing with those that don't listen."
The man faltered, knowing that no matter what — Jaime would be the one person Cersei would ever listen to, would never harm. Except, it must have been a dawning realization for the twin when Darland grabbed her, many of the men conjuring their swords — pointed at the Kingslayer.
"She requests you stay here to take charge of Casterly Rock while we escort the usurper." A piece of parchment folded from the man's pocket.
"If you were to disobey orders, we are to arrest you."
The color seemed to drain from his face, realizing that his sister no longer saw him as an ally — but as another body to dispose of. She no longer trusted him, it seemed. The madness struck her. The week of safely taking his captive to Casterly Rock rang the same bells with the Queen as it did with Daenerys. If he wanted her dead, he would have handed her off to his sister's men long ago. They would never hurt him, it would have been safe. They should have already been in King's Landing. Daenerys' head should have been on a spike covered in tar. Cersei must have suspected he would have a bleeding heart for the girl he took care of for so long. His sister was clever enough, and had an adept memory to perhaps realize Jaime was the one to kill Gregor Clegane on the day their father stormed the capital. Years knotted his alibi, years of his sister carefully crafting his lies into truth led to the most recent battle against Daenerys. He failed. That was his test. Jaime could feel the emptiness within him clench, that nothingness filled with more contempt for his sister.
Like Tyrion once told him, 'my dear stupid brother, Cersei knows you better than you think you know yourself.'
Coming to the rock bought him more time to make a decision.
That time was enough to allow his sister to make her decision to kill him.
There would be no way for Jaime to win this, they both knew.
Daenerys tugged away from Jaime, who still refused to let go. They both knew her fate once he did. If Tyrion or Drogon didn't appear in time and she reached King's Landing before they did — she would be dead. A fate worse than dead, the idea of her would be gone. The Targaryens would no longer reside in this damnable world. Somewhere in their formidable eternity, there was a god laughing at the folly of her house. They watched her fear in her mother's womb, they brought her onto this land in a ruthless storm, taking her mother with it. The years of peace in her childhood were antiquated, long lost as the gods saw fit to wrangle the power of her ancestors. They gave them dragons, and took them again. Only to give her a destiny as the Mother of Dragons. The gods continued to enjoy her suffering.
No longer.
The Targaryen shifted, the bells on her head singing a low, fruitful song.
"Let her go, Ser Jaime." It was the final warning.
There was a standoff, Daenerys caught in the middle. Never one to balk from a fight, Jaime threw her to the side, retracting his sword and slamming it into his cousin. She fell hard, scrambling to stand when she bore witness to the infamous Golden Knight fighting his sister's bannermen. Jaime clashed swords with his cousin first, others jumped off of their horses — a mesh of red clanging metal. It seemed sinful that someone as important as Jaime Lannister fight against his own people that admired him.
Daenerys closed her eyes, calling for her children.
Drogon, Drogon please.
Another hand yanked her upwards, throwing her onto a horse. "Jaime!" She called for him. With one hand, he killed his cousin — the sword impaled in his throat. His sword ran true with the dozens of men who surrounded him. He dodged and swung viciously, nearly buckling when someone hit him in the back.
Daenerys began to punch the man that held her on the horse — leading her farther away from him. She refused to be taken like this. She twisted until her foot came in contact with the man's face, loosening his grip.
She tumbled off of the horse, a sickening lurch invading her stomach when her head hit the ground with a grotesque smack!
She ran back to the fight.
It was instinct, something innate in her as panic tore through her. He was surrounded, and it was clear that as the hill of bodies grew — he couldn't hold them off any longer. It took her back to that time when she was crying, refusing to leave him. When her whole world shattered, when he was the last piece of her childhood, his golden hair the last thing she could spot from when they were far off the shore. Watching him fight that damnable beast of a man so he could save her.
They would die here, and everything she worked for would be for naught.
Her armies, her alliances.
Daenerys closed her eyes, inhaling — praying, conjuring her children.
A large, shrill roar shook the earth around them.
A shadow loomed under the moon.
Daenerys looked up, the tether to her children taut as two more shadows appeared. They swooped down, catching the attention of the men fighting her captor. More shrill roars, something inhumane. The men paused, looking up to the enlarging shadows.
They had never seen a dragon.
Nor three at once.
Jaime took the opportunity to distance himself from them.
As if he knew what were coming next.
From her distance, she stumbled to the grass.
When Jaime was a safe distance away, Daenerys bore into the night. "Dracarys!" the lineage of all previous dragon riders hurled her voice into a timeless echo.
Three large, billowing flames lit up the cold night, the heat warming her cheeks.
The host lit up in flames, melted in their metal suits.
All three of her children continued to burn the men, circling — feeding off the men's screams.
Jaime ran towards her, sword in hand. "Daenerys!"
She was too enwrapped in her children, too relieved to notice the knight she left had come back for her. He grabbed her by her hair, yanking her upwards with a sword to her neck. As if he could feel the metal on his own neck, Drogon whipped in their direction. Viserion was quick on his brothers heels as they landed, large wings extended, making themselves even larger to intimdate the man shaking behind her. They both screamed into the night, teeth flashing — knowing the danger their mother was in.
"You come with me quietly, you understand?"
Jaime appeared in front of them, beaten and limping.
"I will be taking her, you traitorous bastard. Have you no loyalty, Kingslayer?" The unknown knight kept his sword slick to her neck, "or was her cunt that exquisite?"
The blade nicked her skin when Jaime took another step towards them. Adrenaline made it feel akin to a scratch. The sting led to a trail of blood down her neck, causing her dragons to squeal again — the scent making them manic. They inched closer. Drogon bared his teeth, roaring. Rhaegal landed behind them, mimicking his brother's panic. Daenerys kept deathly still. The look on Jaime's eyes flicked behind them, relief drawing forth a smirk to his face. It was fleeting.
"You're a fool. A worse fool than my sister."
Confusion lasted for a second, before the man could slit her throat — an arakh landed in the back of the man's skull. The sword and body fell together in a sick heap.
Daenerys looked behind her to see her blood riders sweeping towards them on horseback. A small group, one that wouldn't be noticed by Cersei's guards excavating along the King's road. It must have meant that Casterly Rock—
Tyrion appeared beyond the ancient walls of his forefathers.
With him, Grey Worm and a small portion of the Unsullied marched behind him. "They seized Casterly Rock…" she murmured to herself, her dizziness growing.
When her blood riders appeared beside her, making sure the knight was dead — all spears and arakhs pointed at her captor.
Perhaps it was the ringing in her head that made her confused. Her vision was cloudy when she realized that the blood wasn't stopping. Her fingers touched her neck, now covered in blood. She was slow to realize that he didn't just knick her neck, he punctured a deeper wound close to her artery.
She fainted, barely caught by Jaime who set her down, quickly tackled by her blood riders. They screamed in the Dothraki language. Grey Worm ran forward, putting pressure on her neck to stop the bleed.
Jaime squirmed in silent horror when the color drained from her pristine face.
"Arrest him!" Tyrion bellowed the order.
Somewhere deep in the night, the last noise Daenerys heard was the Kingslayer calling after her, screaming alongside her children.
-tbc