Updated: 9/19/21
Chapter 7
Jaime I
Jaime flanked King Robert on his left side as they rode deeper into the Wolfswood outside Winterfell. He had his usual passive expression on his face and he wanted nothing more than to go back to Winterfell and train with Jon. With every day of practice, Jon's skills were coming back and he was quickly catching up to him. He was going to be a great fighter someday, even better than the lifetime before. However, due to all of Jaime's other obligations, he was unable to train with Jon for more than an hour at a time. Things would get better once they left Winterfell, but they would never have the kind of alone time Jaime wanted. He'd already wasted half his life guarding kings who weren't worth protecting and it would still be some time before they were ready to throw Jon's claim into the ring. He eagerly awaited that day, but for now he had to make sure Robert didn't get himself killed before they were ready.
"A glorious day for a ride, don't you think, Ned?"
"Aye. It could not be more fit for your last day in Winterfell."
"You have done me great honor, Ned. I would expect nothing less from you."
Jaime rolled his eyes. Any time the two of them were together, they would fall all over themselves to compliment the other. It was a nice change of pace to Robert fucking any woman he could get his hands on, but it was so sickeningly sweet, he had to struggle not to shout, "Just kiss already!" Even if taken as a jape, it still wouldn't go well with either of them.
"Where's the best place to find boars?"
"They're all over the woods, Your Grace. It's just a matter of tracking them."
"For the last time, Ned, you can call me Robert! I get enough 'Your Grace' from all the pussyfooters in King's Landing; I don't need you to fall on your face and kiss my feet too."
"I'm just setting a good example for my son, Your Gr-, Robert," Ned replied.
"Robb will always have an ally in King's Landing, since your daughter is set to marry my son. Isn't that right, Joffrey?"
"Yes, Father," Joffrey said, but when his father turned he made a face at his back. Robb saw the face and rolled his eyes, but no one else commented.
Just give it a few years, Robb, you'll have a better ally than that brat, Jaime thought.
This Joffrey didn't have the same malicious cruel streak as the one from Jaime's previous life, but he was still an obnoxious spoiled idiot who had yet to learn swordplay at any level. Jaime had tried in the previous life to put Joffrey through his paces, but he hadn't bothered with this one. He had anticipated an even greater pushback from Cersei since they were barely on speaking terms.
He fretted at the thought of Jon being left alone and what Cersei might do or say to him in the meantime. He was a capable man, but she was vindictive and he would not put it past Cersei to stoop to the lowest level to hurt Jon and by extension him. It was important that Jon stay in Winterfell though. He had to make sure Bran didn't climb the Broken Tower.
Since he'd been the threat in the tower the last time, Jaime wasn't sure how long he had to wait before he could breathe easy, but if he remembered correctly, the hunting party had barely been gone when he'd thrown Bran off the tower. They'd already been riding for some time and they had yet to hear the panicked staccato of hooves of a messenger bringing them back. Even so, his back was so tight from the tension, he was certain his tendons could be played like strings on a lute.
"Well now," King Robert said quietly and reined in his horse. "Look at the rack on that bull!"
"Most impressive, Robert. But I thought we were hunting boar?" Ned asked.
"Time enough for that. Joffrey, come up here, son. Make your old man proud."
Joffrey puffed up and booted his horse closer to his father, the Hound once more following closely behind him.
Joffrey lined up the shot on the crossbow, but it shook in his hand as he leveled it.
"Keep it steady, boy, or it'll go wide."
"I'm trying!"
The crossbow released and the bolt went flying, clattering into the buck's antlers. It bellowed and dashed off into the trees and there was a release of breath from everyone, a few in frustration, and in Jaime's case he was trying to keep from laughing at his nephew's incompetence. Cersei has hobbled him. He's never going to be worthy enough to be king.
"Seven hells, boy, not even close!"
"I almost had it! It hit near its head!"
"I want that buck. Let's go," Robert said, booting his horse again and everyone continued trotting off. Joffrey fell back from his father and pouted, but no one bothered to try and cheer him up. They took the horses more slowly as Robert searched for his target and Jaime was abruptly reminded of the life before when, for a few years or so, he had the ability to see sounds, even for creatures that made almost no sound. Hunting then, which could be touch and go, suddenly became bountiful because he could scrounge up creatures that were hidden. For a short period of time, he was a hero and the North praised him for his prowess. But then he'd learned of Brienne's death and lost almost all will to live. His heart wrenched painfully just thinking about her and he grimaced. The only reason why he ate the food that Tyrion gave him and even participated in training and fighting, was because he knew Brienne would never forgive him if he just gave up on saving the world. He had ensured that the Night King had fallen and his misery had ended at the same time, until he had awakened back in his younger body on the day of Cersei's wedding.
He had been so confused and frightened. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to make it through the wedding ceremony. Everywhere around him he saw ghosts, so many people who were supposed to be dead, but were back to enjoying the wedding as they had before. Ser Barristan had asked him if he was ill, because he was pale and sweating.
The sun. I haven't seen the sun in months, he thought and he relished the way the light fell on him and heated his skin. He had been living in the cold for so long that he never thought he would be warm again. He never wanted to leave its warm embrace.
The first few months back in his younger body had been the most tumultuous of his life aside from the Long Night. His fighting skills had been sloppy with the return of his hand and his instincts were backwards. Ser Barristan had been really concerned then. Cersei had harangued him for acting odd and for also refusing to fuck her. Robert had been more unbearable than normal in his relentless use of the nickname Kingslayer. His own lord father had lectured him every day while he struggled to piece things back together.
The nightmares were the worst. Every night he dreamed of icy blue eyes, cold and dead things grabbing him, the grating sound of bone snapping as he struggled to get out of their reach before they dragged him down into a deep, dark cave where they began to feast on his flesh while he was still living. Other nights he dreamed of Brienne's death, and even sometimes Podrick's. At the time, it was only himself, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Mandon Moore who were guarding the king. The other four had yet to be chosen, so they had to pull long shifts. At one point, the king gave them all the night off and had half a dozen guards at his door and the queen's. Mandon came very close to beating him up that night when he screamed loud enough to wake everyone in the White Tower. Only Ser Barristan had stood in his way. Even for all of Ser Barristan's disappointment at his slaying of the king, he had a rather fatherly concern regarding Jaime. He had, after all, known him since he was a squire.
Ser Barristan shoved Ser Mandon out the door, speaking to him in a hushed tone so that Jaime could not hear what they were saying. Once closed, Barristan turned the lock and walked back over to the bed, staring down at him with a pensive look.
Jaime was sitting on his bed soaked in cold sweat and shivering uncontrollably after screaming himself hoarse. In that dream, he had failed to save Brienne and then he had failed to save himself as he suffocated under the sheer weight of the undead that had piled on top of him.
"What has gotten into you?"
"It's nothing. It's just a dream," Jaime rasped out.
"Are you sure? I have never seen a mere dream affect you in this way. What was it about?"
"I died, alright? I dreamed of my death."
"What kind of death?"
"A burning death," Jaime grumbled. He'd had those nightmares too, long before he had slain the Mad King.
"We heard you shouting a name. Brienne? Who is that?"
"I don't know a Brienne."
Barristan frowned. "I knew a Brienne of House Rollingford, but she's older than me and likely dead by now."
"I don't even know of House Rollingford."
"It would have died with her. Not sure she ever married."
Jaime rolled his eyes and shook his head, though he refused to meet Barristan's gaze.
The old man wasn't pleased at being ignored and he said, "Do you need to take a leave of absence?"
"There's already few enough Kingsguard as it is. I'll be fine."
"You haven't been the same since the king married your sister. You barely speak to anyone, your nightmares are worse, and your eyes…."
"What about my eyes?"
"I look into your eyes and I see someone who has seen a greater carnage than anyone else, who knows a greater fear than the human mind was meant to encounter."
It unnerved him how close Barristan had come to hitting the mark.
"You weren't there at the end. You don't know what I saw," Jaime said, all the emotion gone from his voice and his eyes were like chips of stone, cold and hard. "I'd like to go back to sleep. I apologize for bothering you and Ser Mandon."
Ser Barristan grimaced, but let him be. Jaime followed him to the door and relocked it once he left.
He had decided that night that he needed to write down what he could remember. He'd never been particularly skilled at writing, so it was a challenge, but as he practiced, his writing became more legible; the memories took on a more structured form as he was forced to catalog them in chronological order. Six months later, he had written nearly five whole books of his memories. As he reread them, he became certain that the memories were real. They had in fact happened and for the first time he acknowledged that the Seven must have brought him back with his memories intact to prevent the coming conflict so that the whole of Westeros would be united in time for the Long Night.
The other reason he thought they might be real is because he had little to nothing in the way of imagination. He would never dream up a scenario where he, the would-be hero, would lose his swordhand, the hand he thought had defined him! He also never expected to fall in love with a brutish-looking woman taller than he. There was simply no moment he could imagine where Cersei would become the Mad Queen, following in Aerys' footsteps by using the wildfire that Jaime had so feared.
When he had come to this conclusion, a great weight seemed to fall from his shoulders and he was able to breathe again. Furthermore, he found that he hated what he had become after killing Aerys. Yes, the new name of Kingslayer had made him bitter and caused him to lash out by committing incest with his sister and cuckolding the king. But his father had also worked so hard to turn him into the arrogant snob who considered himself superior to everyone and looked upon them as sheep, when deep down he'd never thought any such thing. His Aunt Genna had always told him he had his mother's heart, and though he remembered little about her, the one thing he did remember was her kindness. She had always been considerate of other people, no matter their station or their name.
If his mother had lived to see what he'd become, she would have died from the shame. He had to make things right. He was already making new strides by refusing to sleep with his sister. Just seeing her caused his blood to boil and he'd had to work hard to stifle that anger. He also decided his hair had to go. He'd only kept it long for his sister, but it was insufferable in the heat of the summer, so at the first opportunity he'd gone to the palace barber and instructed him to sheer it to the short haircut he remembered.
He had taken great pleasure at the expression of horror that befell his sister when she saw him for the first time with his new haircut.
With his old memories organized and his new purpose discovered, a peace of mind Jaime had never known had descended on him for a time. Ser Barristan had been puzzled at his turnaround, but didn't question it since they could all sleep through the night now.
Everything had been fine for a time, until he realized he was going to spend the rest of his natural life guarding a king and a queen whom he despised. After years of the same routine, day in and day out, the same abuse from both of them, he decided he'd be doing the world a favor by killing himself. Then the gods had turned him around with a new hope that he might actually serve a worthy king once more, and that hope had sustained him until now.
A snapping of twigs to his left brought him out of his reverie, but he could see nothing through the thick brush. He glanced at all the other people in the party, but none of them gave any indication that they'd heard anything. When it didn't come again, he shrugged it off and refocused on the hunt, though nothing of any interest was happening.
"There it is," King Robert hissed. "Robb, you take a crack at it this time."
"But Father," Joffrey cried out and everyone shushed him as he spoke a little too loud.
King Robert glared at him. "You already had your chance. It's Robb's turn. Make your father proud, son."
Robb somehow sauntered forward on a horse and pulled out a bow and arrow. His hands were steady and his breathing even as he pulled back the arrow. Quiet descended on the group as they waited with bated breath. The arrow left his bow with a small twang and the animal screeched in pain.
"Beautiful shot, Robb," the king roared and he booted his horse closer.
"Good work, son."
Robb beamed at his father.
Jaime finally laid eyes on the animal and he had to admit that it was impressive with what looked to be a sixteen-point rack. The arrow Robb used had dug deep into its neck and it had collapsed to the forest floor as its lifeblood pooled on the ground.
"We'll eat well tonight!"
Robb jumped off his horse and strutted over to the elk, pulled out a hunting knife, and ended its life more swiftly by jabbing it in the side where its heart should be.
Suddenly, a big bellowing grumble reached their ears and they all looked around.
"Robb," Ned hissed at him.
His son was just starting to hurry back over to his horse when a giant bear stumbled out of the undergrowth. It was easily twice the size of the grizzly that Brienne had been forced to duel and it loomed over Robb and roared.
Jaime didn't even think. He kicked his horse and urged it forward, coming between the Stark heir and the bear. He pulled out his sword to menace the bear, but his horse screamed and reared. His boots slipped out of the stirrups and he was dumped onto his back in front of the bear. The horse took off at a gallop, disappearing into the forest.
"Robb! Ser Jaime," Ned Stark shouted. He seemed torn about what to do, but then grabbed for a bow and arrow.
Jaime leapt to his feet and said, "Get out of here, boy! This isn't a fight for you."
"But—!"
"Go," Jaime snapped back and leveled his sword. An arrow zipped by and buried into the shoulder of the bear, which roared furiously. It took great pains not to laugh that he was battling a bear, yet again, but it stung him that Brienne wasn't there at his side. He was grateful to have a weapon this time and he danced around in front of the bear as it lurched forward. He dodged one of its massive paws and leapt in to bury his sword into its ribs, but when he tried to pull it out, the sword wouldn't budge. He yanked again, but nothing. He let go of it as the bear swung its massive paw again. For a moment, he could swear that its black eyes flashed orange like a fire had been lit in them, and then pain tore through his head and he slammed to the ground, falling into darkness.
