Wife of the Wolf, Husband of the Sun

Chapter Sixty-Five

His shoulders were aching and his back felt like it would break from the weight of the armor that he wore but he still had a few more hours before he came to the end of his duty for the day and would be able to return to his cell in the White Sword and lay down on his uncomfortable mat and get some sleep before his next duty that he had sworn his life too called for him.

At the very least his next duty would be a sweeter one as he was expected to keep guard on Cersei tonight, it had been such a long time since he had seen her. Harrenhal still left something of a bad taste in his mouth when he thought of it. Cersei's plan had come out of nowhere and still shocked him even when he thought back on it.

He hadn't wanted to marry Lysa Tully, he was certain that he would much prefer taking the black than he would marry that insipid cow but of all the plans he though that his sister might have come up with this was not the one that he had actually expected. When only a thought it seemed perfect, he wouldn't have to marry Lysa Tully or indeed anyone, no Kingsguard could take a wife after all.

Bur while he had chosen to follow Cersei into this madness of a plan at the time, how could he have actually refused her? She had thrown him into the dragon's pit and the King had been staring at him with those dark indigo eyes that almost seemed to raidate a sense of madness and the king had burned little children alive for no greater crime than stealing a loaf of bread from the kitchens of the Red Keep.

What would he have done to him and to Cersei and to Uncle Kevan in that moment if he had said that his sister had been mistaken and that he had no desire to serve in the Kingsguard? It would end with all of them being tied to a pyre and burned alive. So he had smiled and swore that all he had ever wanted was to serve the King however he could.

He was certain that Uncle Kevan had been on the edge of having a heart attack after he had said such and he didn't want to think what Father might have thought about all of it, Aunt Genna certainly wasn't pleased either and if there was anyone whose disapproval he feared as much as his Father's than it was his Aunt.

But he would bear the disapproval of his Father, his aunt and all of his uncles if it meant that he could have stayed with Cersei for the rest of his life, he had always loved her and put her before anyone else and he could not see a time when that wouldn't be the case. So long as in the end he had Cersei, could stay with her, then surely it would all be worth it.

It had to be, considering that he had already said the vows and there was no going back now. He had knelt in the castle sept of Harrenhal with all of the members of the Kingsguard surrounding him, they had all looked so fine in their white cloaks like something out of one of the songs that he had used to listen to when he was a boy and one of the travailing singers would come to the Rock, hoping to gain his Father's favor.

It had never worked, there was never much laughter in the Rock to start with but after Lady Joanna had died then any hint of warmth that might have lived in his Lord Father had been long extinguished and laughter was a seldom thing to be found in the Rock after that. He couldn't remember how long the Rock had been in mourning after his Mother had died, it seemed to have lasted forever.

But then, grief did, didn't it?

But while Lord Tywin might never have approved of the singers, that did not stop them from coming and he never banned them and thus Jaime had heard dozens of songs about knightly valor and chivalry and he had gotten it into his head that he would be a knight, and not just any knight but he would be the greatest knight of all time. Surpassing even Selwyn of the Mirror Shield, Aemon the Dragonknight, Duncan the Tall and even Barristan Selmy.

He had thrown himself into his training, spending what seemed to be endless hours in the courtyard with the master-at-arms and clacking wooden training swords together with Addam Marbrand and trying to insist that he needed to stay and train and that it was much more important than attending lessons whenever Aunt Genna and Uncle Kevan would come and retrieve him for them.

And it always had been them, Father was often too busy to come and get him to attend his lessons himself, Uncle Tygett came to get him once and when he had tried to convince him to let him stay his uncle had grabbed his arm and dragged him to his lesson, his arm had ached for hours afterwards. That was the last time his Uncle had been sent to get him and he had left the Rock and hadn't been back for months.

Uncle Gerion was always his favourite, he would always smile and laugh and ruffle his hair before snatching up a wooden training sword from the rack in the courtyard and commanding him to show him exactly what he had learned. Gerion Lannister was six foot tall and was as skilled with a blade then as Jaime was now, if not better. If he had wanted too then his uncle could have knocked him to the floor without even trying.

But more often than not Uncle Gerion had always let him win, falling to the ground and giving a performance that would make a mummer blush as he shrieked about how he had been vanquished and how he would never be able to pick up a sword ever again, it had always made Jaime laugh until his chest had hurt. Uncle Gerion had always been his favourite Uncle.

The training had paid off, he was soon enough sent to be a squire for Lord Summer Crakehall, the man had been old and slow and demanding but he was never unfair to him and never as cruel as some men could be to their squires. He still remembered the day that he had told Cersei that he was going to leave the Rock, even as a young girl his sister had never cried but she had cried that day.

She did not come out to see him off and Jaime had rid of with Lord Crakehall and his men, trying to hide his own tears from them. Not that he had truly managed to succeed at that but if Lord Summer had seen his tears then he did not mention them.

Being a squire had been an awakening call as to what the path of being a knight was truly like, he was expected to rise before the old lord and to go to his pillows only after the lord had taken to his. Most of his fighting days were done so he rarely had to tend to his sword but he was still expected too bring him wine, empty his chamber pot and when they were on the road it fell to him and the other squires to build the fire and skin whatever animals the hunters had gathered.

There had been plenty of days when he had gone to his bed with aching muscles, sure that in the morning he would not be able to move even an inch but no matter what his body screamed at him, he still forced himself to get up and while the ache after a long, hard day never truly went away he always found it a little easier to bare each time.

He moved up from wooden training swords to dull blades and then from dull blades to live steel and soon enough none of the other squires in the yard could stand against him, that made him more than a few enemies if he remembered rightly, that Frey boy had never liked him before hand but once he realised that Jaime could actually beat him with a blade he seemed much more intent on humiliating him.

Thankfully, there was just as many squires who also wanted him to teach them what he knew and soon enough he had enough loyal friends to protect him against anyone who might want to do him any harm. The thought of those days made him smile even now, smile in such a way that only the memories of quiet nights alone with Cersei or the memory of Tyrion's smile when he gave him a gift could make him do so.

And then the days of the Kingswood Brotherhood had come, the fires burning deep in the woods, the whistling of arrows through trees as Wenda the White Fawn laughed in the distance. He had squired for Ser Arthur Dayne during his duel with the Smiling Knight and it truly had to be one of the proudest moments of his entire life, he still remembered how the pride had burned in his gut to battle away the fear as he knelt in front of the royal box when Ser Arthur remembered how he had served him when the King had asked his opinion of him.

He had not aged overly much since those days, there were a few lines around his eyes which looked more tired than he remembered and if you looked closely you might indeed see some slight streaks of silver among the mass of dark curls atop his head but other than that the knight had not changed at all. He still looked as glorious as he had ever done with his great sword Dawn forged from star metal slung over his back.

But for however fine and glorious they all looked, that did not change the fact the entire ceremony was possibly the most miserable experience in his entire life. He had broken his fast on a large meal and two cups of wine in order to steady his nerves and he needed to very badly have a piss and the incense that burned at the Septon droned on and one made his head light as well as making him feel as though he was going to be sick.

But soon enough it was done and he was a member of the Kingsguard, the knights laughed and clapped him on his back and gave him his congratulations and despite how unsure and miserable he had been only moments earlier he couldn't help but smile. After all, few younger than him had ever been named to the Kingsguard and serving and guarding the King was one of the greatest honours that any man could achieve in their life.

And he would be able to be with Cersei, it would have to be in secret of course and he would have to deal with all consuming rage he felt whenever the Prince placed his hands on her or held her close or gods forbid actually tried to kiss her in front of him. But, he would bear with it all for Cersei. Rhaegar Targaryen might have her in the bright light of day but when the night came in and the sun was replaced with the moon, that would be the time for the two of them to be together.

He still remembered the excitement, the fire that spread under his skin when she had touched him again after so long being apart. It had taken all that he had to not throw her down on to the ground, peel her out of her corset and her skirts and just take her there and then. She had been complaining when he had pulled at the strings of her dress, telling him that they couldn't and then that was when the crying had started.

The babe. Her babe. And she did at least look like her Mother, which meant that she also looked like him. For half a moment he might have been able to pretend that she was his daughter and that Cersei was his wife and they were some place far away from everyone who knew them where they could just be them and nothing more. But then the babe had opened her eyes and Cersei had told her the name that her real husband had given to the child.

Rhaenys. Named for her ancestor, the younger of Aegon's two sisters if he remembered correctly which it was possible that he was not. Perhaps he should have attended more of those lessons when he was a child after all. But whether she was the older sister or the younger, it was without a doubt a Targaryen name for a Targaryen babe.

Even the thought of it now, standing next to the Iron Throne in his heavy plate armor still filled him with a strange rage. It wasn't a knightly thought to have but in that one moment he had wanted too scoop the babe up and throw her at the wall. He hadn't of course, whatever else she was the girl was still his niece and he knew that Cersei would never forgive him if he hurt her, but that didn't change the fact that in that one moment he had wanted too.

What did that say about him?

He was spared from having too give it too much thought when the sound of the sobbing of the damned filled the throne room, a pale skinned woman with copper curls falling around her face and grabbed in a green silk gown that was ripped across the chest and shoulder so she had to hold it up with one hand in order to stop it from falling and exposing herself to the entire court, her eyes were red raw from weeping and she let out a scream as the guardsman threw her in front of the dais.

The Spider took that moment to approach the Throne, bending his head to whisper into the King's ear. Varys was ever a strange creature, dressed in flowing robes of silk and smelling like someone had thrown flowers over a rotting corpse in an foolish attempt in order to try and hide the stench of death. His face was white with powder and the slippers on his feet meant that his footsteps didn't make even the hint of sound which almost made it seem as though he glided when he moved.

He was an unnatural creature and a dangerous one, always willing to whisper secrets in the King's ear and bringing any traitors forward to him even if the treason was something as small as a boy stealing bread or a lady's maid whispering of how mad the King actually was. Any crime seemed to be enough for the King to send word to his Pyromancers.

And the guilt of the Lady who had been dragged before them had clearly already been decided, the pyre had already been built and a group of five Pyromancers were preparing the fuel for the fire under the careful eye of Wisdom Rossart. The vile little man had almost a permanent place at Court at the King's side and if not for the fact that Jon Connington already held the role than he did not doubt that the King would have made the Pyromancer his hand by now.

And if Jaime was Connington then he would be watching over his shoulder, the fondness that the Prince had for the young griffin was not shared by the king at all. If Jaime were him and the King asked for his resignation as hand, well, assuming for a moment that he would ever want to be hand, then he would...well, in truth he wasn't sure what he would do about it.

Jaime did not consider himself to be dishonest about himself so if someone tried to force him to give up something that was his, then he would fight and die to defend it. Having said that however his pride did not so overtake him to the point where he would wager his skill with a sword against the jade piss of the Pyromancers.

In the end he imagined that it didn't matter much, he was never to be hand of the King nor did he wish to be and if Jon Connington wished to die for his pride then that was up to him. He certainly never complained when the King had men and women and children tied to the Pyre to be burned so perhaps the King might not be rid of him after all.

"My lords and ladies, I am your King and while I am your king treachery shall never be tolerated and it shall never be forgiven." The King's voice was as weak as ever but even so there was a hint of iron in it, more the sort of rusty, sharp and broken iron that you were more like to cut yourself on and have the wound it inflicted fester than the iron you would use as a weapon but iron all the same. "The woman who lays before me is a traitor, she has spread lies and falsehoods and is part of a plot to see me removed from my throne. There can be only one response."

"Mercy! Mercy Your Grace!" The lady cried and as Jaime looked at her he realized that he did know her, the name did not come to his mind but he had seen her face more than once. He had often seen her sitting at feasts, her head bent speaking to a man that he had always assumed to be her husband or walking arm with one of her companions.

If that man was her husband then he was not here to protect her or defend her against the King's accusations and while Jaime could see several of the ladies companions, their faces were stone as their friend and mistress plead for mercy, her entire body shaking with the force of her sobs.

But then Jaime could not judge them for that, he was a knight and sworn to protect the weak, the helpless, children and women and neither he nor his brothers in white budged a muscle nor raise a voice at the sight of her distress.

You are sworn to guard the king, not to judge him. Those words of the Gerold Hightower ran around and around in his head, since the day he had spoken them to him when the King had one of the cooks from the kitchens bound to the pyre, convinced that he was trying to poison him.

They were the words he filled his head with whenever someone was tied to the pyre, a stable boy or a knight or a lord. Traitors all, in the eyes of the King. There were the words he used to block out the sounds of the King and Queen in their bedchamber when he was forced to stand on duty outside the door.

The Queen begged for mercy as well but her brother, her husband and her King had none for her. He had tried to say it to Ser Hightower, they were sworn to protect Queen Rhaella as well and the Lord Commander had agreed with him with a nod and a serious frown on his face and but for a moment, Jaime thought that the older man might have agreed with him and might have done something.

But not from him. Those had been the words that had truly made him see, that the King was to be obey without any question or judgement from them even if he was a monster. The king was the king and they had sworn to serve him and serve him they would even if they meant beating a woman, butchering the helpless or burning children alive.

And the King had no mercy in him now, he waved away the woman's cries and pleas and the guardsmen grabbed her by her arms and dragged her kicking and screaming over to the pyre. Their faces were hidden behind helms and Jaime wondered if they were glad of that, that none could see their faces.

It was all quite familiar by this point, the woman was tied to the pyre as the Pyromancers finished building up the fuel at the bottom of it. The black rats scurried away from the pyre as Rossart came forward with a lit torch in hand, once the woman had seen him she shrieked and shirked sounding like an animal being butchered more than anything else.

"Wait." The King's voice sounded out, louder than a war drum. The woman took to sobbing again this time out of relief, she must have believed that she had been saved. That the King had shown mercy but Jaime knew better by now, the King was simply delaying her execution for some reason.

Perhaps he wanted to use the wildfire? The King certainly had shown love for the substance, he was almost as giddy as a child at the thought that he might get to use it to deal with traitors but as of late the wildfire had made no appearance at court, that had not stopped the burnings of course as traitors still needed to be dealt with but they were fed to orange flames instead of Jade ones.

"Ser Jaime, you shall be the one to deal with this traitor. Take the torch." For a moment, he hadn't been able to understand what the King had said. He knew what all of the words meant on their own but when all of them were put together in that order they made no sense, as though the King had spoken in another tongue all together.

All the eyes of the court were on him and Jaime forced himself to speak around the knot that had formed in his throat. "Me, your grace?"

"Is there someone else at court called Ser Jaime that I am unaware of? Yes, you, you fool. I am not best pleased at having to repeat myself. This woman is a traitor and you are a knight of the kingsguard. I therefore command you to take the torch in Wisdom Rossart's hand and execute her." The king grinned then, mocking and cruel. "Come now, did you not once beg me the honor of serving me? Well then, serve me."

His own words tasted foul in the King's mouth but Jaime could do naught but nod, turn and march stiffly over to where Rossart was waiting. He handed the touch over with a smile that made Jaime want to knock all of his teeth. Jaime sighed slightly and walked over to the pyre.

The woman's eyes were red from weeping but no noise left her now, she had used all of her air up and her head was bent. Her skin had taken on a light pink hue from all the exertion she had given. But she saw Jaime and her lips quivered, a hollow whisper escaped. "Ser, please. Mercy."

Jaime closed his eyes, thought of Cersei, and shoved the torch into the mound of wood and cotton that stood below the pyre before marching back over to the dais.

It had caught fast and the flames were already licking at her feet by the time he had made it back to the Dais, Prince Lewyn had the honor of guarding the King alongside him and his dark eyes shone with something that might have bit pity. Jaime didn't think that he had ever been pitied before in his entire life.

The woman lasted longer than most before she started screaming, though how much of that was bravery and how much was the fact that she didn't even have the strength to scream by the point Jaime did not know. Silk soon took to flame and coppery hair was wreathed in flame not long after.

When she did finally start screaming, it was over before too long. The smell was not, it always seemed to linger and Jaime wondered if it would ever leave the hall. The noble lords and ladies did nothing as always, coughing into handkerchiefs or spraying vast amounts of scent around.

The pyre snapped and soon enough the flames died down, the King gave the order that the lady's husband Lord something-or-other was a traitor to the crown and a fugitive from justice, whoever would bring him to the Red Keep would be richly rewarded indeed. The king then dismissed the court and then thankfully Jaime as he coughed and stood before making his way to the kings door, Ser Lewyn and Varys following after him.

Jaime went straight to Cersei. She was in her chambers, sitting at a table with a map spread over it and a flagon of wine next to it. A goblet was clutched in her hands and her green eyes were narrowed at the map, in a glare that could kill a man. She spun when the door opened and Jaime could see the start a scathing rebuke in her eyes but it was gone and her features softened when she saw that it was him.

Jaime took her into her arms and kissed her deeply, holding her close to him. Where she belonged and where he belonged as well. "He's burned someone else, I can smell the ashes." Cersei whispered and she clung that much tighter to him.

He couldn't tell her, he just couldn't. She would not understand and he had not wanted to do it anyway, the king had killed that woman whoever she had been. It wasn't his fault.

"What are you looking at?" He asked as he pulled away from Cersei and walked over to the map, it showed much of the Riverlands and the Crownlands. six marks had been made on the paper, one where the Neck let out into the Riverlands proper via the causeway, another at the Twins, one near Lord Harroway's town, two were near Harrenhal, one close to the God's Eye lake and the final one was at the edge of the map towards the south east, something that was not shown.

"Nothing, just a map." Cersei said in a mummer as she took hold of Jaime's wrist and pulled him away and into a kiss, she tasted like cloves and cinnamon and nutmeg and something that was so unmistakably Cersei that he had no words for it. "I want you, it's been too long. I want you inside me."

Jaime wanted to take about this, he knew his sister and she was upset about something but before he could Cersei spoke again. "Come now, my Lord Husband away and he is like as not to be back for days. Right now, it's only you and me. Please Jaime, I love you so much. I need you. Please."

Was that it? She missed Rhaegar? He had been gone for only a few days though he had to admit it was odd, and sudden as well. The crown prince was not known for unexpected hunts and he had taken a heavy guard with him, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold as well. He had been surprised that the King had allowed it.

But the Prince had been more melancholy as of late, he had simply smiled sadly when he had been asked what he meant to be hunting before he rode out of the gates with not a word. The Queen had not been there to see her son off either, which was more than a little odd as well.

But he didn't want to think about Rhaegar right now, nor did he want Cersei to think about him. All he wanted her to think about was him.

She was his as he was hers.

Even if only in secret.

Even if only in moments like this.

Jaime claimed her lips in a kiss that was sure to bruise before he picked her up, Cersei never weighed anything in his arms, and carried her over to the bedchamber. His sister pulled, and the white cloak of the Kingsguard came off, fluttering down to the ground.

Jaime did not care and he kicked the door to the bedchamber shut behind them.

End of Chapter Sixty-Five

Welp, I'm back and sorry for the delay.

Life's been a bit hectic as of late but another chapter done and dusted and I hope that you like it a lot.

Please review, follow and favorite if you enjoyed. Constructive criticism is always welcome and wanted.

With a ton of love,

DiscordantSymphony