Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing and adding this to your favorites/alerts!
I ended up having to split some of these upcoming chapters in half, starting with this one. They were getting to be so long. This chapter and the next one ended up totaling 24 pages and I write single-spaced. I'm sure a good editor would be horrified at how much seemingly unnecessary stuff I leave in, but since this is not a professional work with professional publishing, I edit very little out. Enjoy!
fire1 - I have considered all possibilities and bi-weekly updates will probably be what I resort to in the future. For now, though, I will stick with the weekly updates.
charliepittlevy - It is possible to hold two thoughts at once. Jon can be grateful that the one lie Ned Stark told protected him from being murdered and at the same time find it galling that his honor is not stained. He is at least able to reconcile to himself that he can do some bad things in the name of love and duty and still be considered honorable. It's all about intentions.
For anyone who asks questions and doesn't get answers, I did not answer because of spoilers.
Chapter 28
Jaime IX
Jaime rode up to High Garden with all the swagger of a new king, his spirit soaring into the heavens. Once again he was wearing a Lannister crimson leather jerkin, complete with black trousers with a gold stripe up the leg, and a black and crimson cape behind him. Pod sat on a horse looking uncomfortable dressed in a usual brown jerkin and dark trousers with only a heraldry patch indicating he was of House Payne. He had forgotten that Pod was unfamiliar with horses and could only barely keep things together. It was only because the horses they'd ridden on were so well trained and well bred that they hadn't given him issue. Gerion was flanking him on his other side, sitting ramrod straight. He had given Jaime a crooked smile when they first jumped on their horses and it remained there.
His one hundred Lannister soldiers looked resplendent in their armor, lined up in their columns with the extraordinary discipline that Tywin Lannister had schooled in them.
Behind them the ragtag nomads known as the Shepherds followed on horses provided by High Garden with a large wheelhouse to bear the women, children, and a merchant's carriage full of goods. He had not missed the puzzled look on Garlan Tyrell's face as they followed the Lannister party.
Under different circumstances, Jaime might be embarrassed, but nothing could tarnish his good mood. Rhaegar's harp was once more securely fastened to his back and he relished in its comfortable weight. A week before making landfall, Jaime had stepped onto the deck one morning and very nearly went into shock at the sight before him. The musician Cyrus had the case of the harp next to him and he was cradling it in his lap like a babe while he cautiously plucked at its strings, adjusting the tuners.
Jaime's blood surged and his vision filmed over red as he stomped over to the man. Cyrus had only looked up when he was on top of him, but he quailed under the murderous glare as Jaime leaned over him.
"Y-yes?"
"That's mine," Jaime snarled.
"What? But I found it!"
"He means it was his before the Ironborn stole it from him," David stepped in to rescue his follower. He didn't quite dare try placing a restraining hand on Jaime, but he was looking at him warily as if he expected him to demand the man's head.
Cyrus deflated. "Oh. Right. I, uh, I apologize. H-here," he said, carefully strapping the harp back into its case, handing it back to Jaime like his firstborn had been demanded of him.
"Did you not see the Targaryen Seal?!"
Cyrus scowled at him. "I'm not familiar with Westerosi houses and seals!"
"You have it back, that's what matters," David said, trying to diffuse the situation.
Jaime was still glaring when he turned and rushed the harp back down to his room, locking it in the chest that typically housed their pillows and blankets, pocketing the key. When he returned, Cyrus was still sitting on the deck looking morose. His daughter awkwardly patted his shoulder.
"You still have us, father."
"A poor consolation prize to be sure," he replied.
She swatted him and he chuckled before finally getting to his feet. She dashed off below deck and came back with both of their violins in hand. They played duets the rest of the day, easing much of Jaime's ire. More than his ire was the overwhelming emotion he felt at not failing to keep the harp safe. For what was sure a first time, he thanked the gods for the Ironborn's sticky fingers.
Unlike the Lannisters, the entirety of the Tyrells stood outside their home awaiting his arrival. Plump and pompous Mace Tyrell stood at the front with his chest thrown out like he was a prized rooster. His son and heir, Willas Tyrell, stood next to him, standing straight with his right hand resting on a polished cane. His chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a simple pony tail and he was studying Jaime like a scholar studies a specimen. Lady Alerie Tyrell stood next to her firstborn and was arm-in-arm with Margaery Tyrell. While the mother had a small graceful smile, Margaery beamed and was as radiant as the sun. Lady Olenna Tyrell stood on her granddaughter's other side, not even attempting to look anything other than bored. Her bodyguards, right and left, stood respectfully behind her along with the rest of the household.
Jaime's good mood dampened as he looked them over and thought about their fate in the other life. His sister murdered half the family when she blew up the Sept and then he had completed the job for her when he sacked High Garden. As far as he knew, the only one to escape unscathed was Garlan Tyrell and his wife. All the rest were slaughtered like cattle.
If I deserve to rot in the seventh level of hell for one crime, it's for aiding and abetting my sister in their destruction, he thought miserably. That had, by far, been his bleakest moments. His sister had treated them cruelly the entire time they were in King's Landing and he had done nothing other than support her. He was the stupidest Lannister indeed for not seeing his sister's madness sooner.
He brought his spirits back up again by just imagining Robb Stark's face when he saw his betrothed for the first time. Jaime dismounted when Ser Garlan did, followed closely by Pod and Gerion.
"Lord Jaime, I would be pleased to present to you my father, Lord Mace Tyrell."
"Lord Tyrell," Jaime said with a carefully schooled expression.
"Lord Jaime, I welcome you to my home," Mace replied rather stiffly. His voice was steady, but a yellowish blue indicating the stress or nerves he was feeling beneath his calm demeanor. He waved his hand forward and as was custom, servants presented the bread and salt. Jaime obliged, dipping the bread in salt and taking a small bite. The guestright ritual caused his stomach to turn to lead now that it was tainted with his recollections of the Red Wedding incident.
"May I present to you my family: My firstborn Willas Tyrell. He breeds the finest horses in the Seven Kingdoms."
Willas close his eyes for the briefest of moments in what could only be exasperation. "I am pleased to see you are here and in good health. When you had not arrived on time, we wrote your king. He has quite a lot of faith in you, my Lord," the young man said to him. His voice was as deep and blue as the ocean, but his face and voice were just as carefully schooled as Jaime's.
Jaime felt his face soften and his heart sing. It felt good to know someone had faith in him yet again after so many years of being forced to trust no one. He fretted over Aemon's welfare. Although he knew he was in good hands with his uncle and Ser Barristan at his side, he felt like he was abandoning his own son to go to war and was forced to pray that he would remain unscathed. Aemon was also a settling presence and his words had a habit of cooling Jaime's volatile temper. Cyrus and his family's music were currently the only things that could soothe him, especially since he'd had to spend so long unable to train.
"The king is kind and honorable. Your worries were not without justification. I had a...minor run-in with an Ironborn ship," Jaime replied.
Willas gasped. "The Ironborn are typically not so bold."
"These ones were and they have paid for it with their lives," Jaime said, his voice ending in a growl. He only regretted that he hadn't had the opportunity to kill more of them.
"Move along! Some of us would rather return to their comfortable chairs," Lady Olenna barked from down the line.
"Grandmother," Willas said, but it was spoken in a bored tone, clearly knowing his admonishments would go unheeded.
"You know better than to 'grandmother' me."
"My apologies, my lord."
"The reputation of the Queen of Thorns precedes her," Jaime replied, bored of the introductions himself. He was never one for diplomacy, but he was bound and determined not to fail Aemon.
"My beautiful wife, Alerie Tyrell," Mace continued.
"Lord Jaime, we do hope you'll find High Garden hospitable." Unlike her husband, her voice was a gentle sky blue.
"Thank you, my Lady," he replied. He turned up the Lannister charm and smiled at her, placing a gentle kiss on her hand. "Although I have not seen High Garden yet, I doubt it's any lovelier than you."
He saw the surprised in her eyes, before it was quickly hidden, but then she smiled more widely and said, "You're too kind, my Lord."
"My daughter and golden flower, Margaery."
"Welcome to High Garden! I do hope you'll be staying with us for the time being. I am eager to see the greatest sword in the Seven Kingdoms train," she replied in a playful green voice.
"Margaery," Lady Alerie admonished, a light blush coloring her cheeks.
"What? I want to see so I can compare him to Loras!"
"As much as I love our brother, Margaery, I rather doubt Loras is better than Lord Jaime," Willas said with a rueful smile.
"I imagine my stay will depend entirely on how the negotiations go," Jaime said, casting a brief eye over to Mace and Willas. The former looked stern and would be forbidding if Jaime didn't think him such a fool, but Willas' carefully crafted demeanor revealed nothing about the kind of mood they were in. They seemed susceptible, but only the actual negotiations would tell.
"Careful, girl, he plans to marry you to the king's cousin, not take you as his bride himself," Olenna said to Margaery tartly, watching him with a sharp eye.
"Grandmother, nothing prevents me from watching the men train," Margaery replied demurely.
Jaime closed his eyes, struggling to reel in his impatience.
"I think we've been out here long enough. Our guests no doubt wish to freshen up before the feast tonight," Garlan said.
"Yes, let's," Jaime jumped on the opening. "Allow me to introduce my uncle, Gerion Lannister."
Olenna Tyrell actually gaped for a moment and then laughed, "Gerion Lannister! The last anyone heard of you, your ship was wrecked in Volantis."
"The reports of my shipwreck and possible death were greatly exaggerated," he replied with a crooked smile.
"I'd be curious to hear of your travels through the Free Cities," she said with a twinkle in her eye.
"Perhaps another time, my lady," Gerion replied at the stony look Jaime gave him.
"This is my squire, Podrick of House Payne."
Podrick shuffled closer and gave a slight bow. Margaery directed her smile at him and he blushed, casting his eyes to the ground. Margaery seemed undeterred and offered her hand to Podrick. He grabbed it and planted such a chaste kiss, Jaime wasn't even sure his lips had actually touched her skin. "My Lady," he said, his voice a wobbly yellow. He'd have to school the boy on how to properly greet lords and ladies.
"How very fortunate for you to be chosen by the great Lord Jaime Lannister as his squire," Margaery said.
"Y-yes, my lady. I'm very fortunate," Pod replied and he tried to stand a little straighter.
It only just occurred to Jaime that Pod might receive a little undue scrutiny for being his one of two squires, after he had turned down Loras Tyrell. He'd already outlasted Aemon as his squire. He hoped his words on the boat before their capture made Podrick confident enough in himself to believe it was a position that was offered rightfully to him.
"And that colorful bunch?" Olenna asked, throwing the Shepherds a look of bored disdain.
Jaime turned and saw David dismount with a spryness that defied his age and walk up to them boldly. "Our colorful bunch is known as the Shepherds. I am David Reeft, the leader, and without a doubt the best healer this side of Westeros," he said, cocking his head in an arrogant way and a challenging smile.
Jaime glared at the healer. "Forgive David his rudeness. My uncle has been traveling with this group and they were the ones to free me and Pod from the Ironborn. As the saying goes, a Lannister always pays his debts, so they are accompanying me."
"Are you sure he's not another Lannister? Certainly sounds like one," Olenna scoffed.
"I saw a creature once called the Thorny Devil. Are you sure there's no relation?" David replied his eyes glittering with scorn.
"David," Jaime shouted. If he had his way, the damned healer would be stuffed in a trunk for the rest of the visit with food shoved in through a hole at the top.
Olenna's eyes widened at the insult, but then she laughed. When she was finally able to speak, she said, "Oh, I like this one! Too many curtsy, doff, and weedle, never saying what they mean. It's a breath of fresh air. Come with me, I'm curious to hear what kind of stories you can tell." She reached over and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the rest of the crew.
Jaime glared and then glanced at his uncle who looked both alarmed and contrite at once. He flicked his eyes over the rest of the Shepherds and they all had expressions that were a combination of shock and awe. They cringed when they saw his eyes.
"H-how dare he insult my mother! I want him punished," Mace bellowed.
"I feel grandmother would object to that," Willas said wryly. "I do not envy the first target that crosses their path."
"I apologize for his behavior. I've never seen him act like that," Jaime said, still simmering with anger.
"See to it that it does not happen again," Mace blustered.
"It was inappropriate and we expect better behavior as he and his group remain guests here. Emphasize that it should not happen again," Willas said, but there was no fire to his voice. "Please, follow Margaery. She'll lead you to your quarters. Marla, please see that the Shepherds are placed in the guest servants quarters." A plump young woman approached the closest man of the Shepherd's that Jaime hadn't caught the name of yet.
Lady Margaery stepped forward and wrapped her arm around Podrick and began dragging him away, chatting the whole time. Jaime and Gerion followed. Others might object to her grabbing someone other than the Hand of the King, but as he was still simmering in his anger and thoughts, he was grateful for her tact. What the hell does that healer think he's playing at? He had heard many times from Cersei and even Tyrion how prickly the Queen of Thorns was, but that gave a healer with no status no right to engage her like an equal.
Jaime barely noticed the room they set him up in and was just grateful for a bed that didn't sway with the ocean waves. Pod and Gerion were just across the hall. He only vaguely heard his uncle requesting them baths. He wanted desperately to collapse on his bed, feeling shaky from the introductions. This is not my strength. I'm doing this because you need me to, Aemon, Jaime thought, releasing a long slow breath. What he wouldn't give for another knowledgeable soul to be present. His uncle was never good with diplomacy and had been too long from Westeros to be of any real help. Podrick, of course, was just a boy. He was the Hand, he was expected to carry the air of authority and knowledge.
The bath did allow him to relax and he stayed in it for sometime before he was forced to pull himself out and ready for the feast that evening. He ended up going to Pod's room and giving him whispered instructions as to what would be expected. The vast majority of it boiled down to: "Let me do the talking." Pod might be engaged and in that circumstance, his topics were limited to speaking of his training with Jaime, about his House, and the boring parts of their journey to the Reach.
He knew the Tyrells loved extravagance and displayed their wealth at every opportunity, but even as a Lannister he felt it excessive. The halls were decked out in the Tyrell house colors of green and gold, with tapestries and gold filigree everywhere. Servants were waiting on the wings to be brought forth with a mere snap of the fingers and there were ten courses to the meal.
Lady Olenna invited David Reeft to sit up at the main table, but he declined in favor of sitting with the rest of the Shepherds. Unlike in Winterfell, where noblemen and soldiers occasionally rubbed elbows together, the hall was empty of all but the most important family members. Jaime watched Gerion look longing after David as he left the hall, seemingly split between being with his real family and his adopted one, but Jaime saw David give a small shake of his head and his uncle sat back with a sigh.
Jaime leaned over and whispered, "I need you here, uncle. I need your stories to be the source of entertainment. I can't carry this by myself."
"Very well, Jaime. I know how important it is for you to succeed," Gerion replied in an equally low voice.
The hall was a cacophony of gold yellows and greens as the voices floated up and around, pinging against the walls and bouncing back. It seemed any large gathering of humans was difficult to stand as the colors overwhelmed him. He had to fight to keep his attention wandering and focused on his hosts instead of following the colors that no one else could see.
Initially the conversation was very limited as they ate. There were entertainers, jugglers, musicians, and acrobats dancing through the halls, but once they were deeper into their courses, Willas finally spoke up and said, "Lord Jaime, I realize the negotiations start tomorrow, but I feel it is necessary to get the full story of how King Aemon Targaryen came to take his throne."
Jaime seemed to mull the question as he took a sip of his wine, but in reality he was stalling to delay the uncomfortable truth: he would have to tell them about his raping by his sister. Every ounce of his being protested the idea, but were it to be left out, people would assume that he had been on the block ready for execution for a legitimate reason. It's not like his raping was a secret, it was simply information that had yet to filter down this far. The only aspect he found comfortable about it being public knowledge was that it could not be used as blackmail material at least.
He closed his eyes and collected himself, breathing in and breathing out. He took another sip of his wine. Everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath.
"I'm just going to state right now that this isn't particularly good dinner conversation, but it needs to be said. It's publicly known in the North how Aemon came to be king, so here it is."
He launched into the explanation before he could second guess himself, starting with his injury by the bear. Margaery, her mother and Garlan Tyrell's wife gasped as he explained about the raping. Willas Tyrell's face drained of all color and his fork shook in his hand. Garlan gaped. Even old Mace seemed disturbed. Olenna Tyrell was the most collected, but her lips were pursed in a terse frown and she looked troubled. His uncle Gerion had a pinched expression and Pod now just stirred around his food on his plate looking upset.
Then he explained how Aemon ran out to prevent Ser Illyn Payne from taking his head, how Aemon de-handed Ser Illyn, and he died from his subsequent injuries. He further explained how Aemon had convinced his uncle to back him and they made sure that Robert's men were kept to a minimum during the execution to make sure Robert surrendered quickly. It was explained how Ned secreted Aemon away to the North under the guise of his bastard.
"Hmm, Ned Stark has...changed. I never would have expected him to turn against his friend Robert," Lady Olenna stated, her gaze far off into the distance.
Jaime made no comment. He was very leery of Lady Olenna. He understood the reason for her poisoning Joffrey and that the domino effect of the deaths that followed had benefited her and also backfired on her, since it led to the death of the rest of her family. But she was plenty cunning without Jaime helping.
He didn't care about decorum as he took another long draught of his wine and then instantly had it refilled. The Tyrell family was looking at him with a mixture of shock and pity. It made his ears burn and he wished for nothing more than to duck out of the rest of the feast.
"If-if I had been aware of the details, I wouldn't have asked you to convey that. Please forgive me, my lord," Willas said.
"It's public knowledge. You would have found out eventually," Jaime replied in a dead voice, studying his own plate of food with unmatched intensity.
An uncomfortable silence filled the hall, which Gerion broke, "Who would like to hear about the time I stowed aboard a merchant ship disguised as a slave?"
Jaime snorted. Phrased that way, the topic didn't sound any better than what they were discussing. He had no doubt his uncle had censored a good chunk of the story, but it had the desired effect of putting smiles and laughs back on the Tyrell's faces. As there was little else to do on the ship, Jaime had asked Gerion for his stories, so he paid little attention to them now.
At some point, Cyrus' twin boys, Monterion and Matthias, got up to the raised dais off to the side and played a duet on cellos and Jaime felt himself relax, listening to the rich sounds. Music also emanated in colors and right now the boys were playing a simultaneously soothing and energetic piece, so that soundwaves of blue and green filled the hall.
As the guest of honor, Jaime was forbidden to leave early and so he suffered several more hours of conversation and entertainment. Instead of talking politics or the current situation, however, he ended up speaking with Garlan and Willas Tyrell about weapons and to a lesser extent animal breeding. He would in all likelihood need a new horse and since Willas Tyrell was famous for breeding some of the best horses in the land, he was especially attentive.
Finally, the Tyrells broke for bed. Margaery Tyrell once more led them to their rooms. Jaime almost collapsed against the door and listened to the sounds of the crackling fire in the grate. Peace and quiet at last, he thought. He took a moment to once more center himself. Large noisy gatherings like a feast weren't enough to trigger his headaches, but they were an exhausting event all the same. He changed into sleep pants, but since the weather was still quite warm, he left off the shirt. He was just slipping a knife under his pillow when he felt the rough texture of parchment. He snatched it up and unfurled it:
The Ironborn have been spotted off the coast. Be wary.
It was a tidy and perfectly legible script. He studied it intensely for a few moments, wondering if it perhaps had a message more hidden than the obvious. He eventually decided it didn't and tossed it into the grate of his fireplace to be consumed.
Too little too late, Varys, he thought with only a trace amount of bitterness. The script may not have had a hidden meaning, but the message suggested hidden truths all the same. Varys had accepted his bargain. He could now rely on the Spider to do his bidding in the Red Keep and since the Spider knew about the Ironborn, he felt it was safe to assume that Baelish had indeed sent them. Or Varys is playing two games; he sent them and then warned me too late about them, he mused sardonically. That was getting complicated and while the Spider was sly, he was reasonably trustworthy in his previous life. It made much more sense that Baelish was the fiend responsible for his imprisonment with the Ironborn.
He gritted his teeth. Could he trust Varys? He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and as he did so, a plan formed in his mind. It would rely very heavily on Varys' loyalty. He turned it over in his mind. War is always risky. This is the best shot we have of taking King's Landing with minimal bloodshed.
Jaime was going to do it.
Reluctantly, he pulled himself from his bed and knocked on Pod's door. He waited a few moments and knocked again. The boy answered, blinking his eyes blearily. "Pod, I need you to find David Reeft and bring him to me."
"Yes, ser, um, I mean, m'lord," he replied. He closed the door for a moment and then opened to reveal himself mostly dressed, with his shirt hanging loose, and he dashed down the halls.
Jaime went back to his room to wait. It took some time, likely because Pod was unfamiliar with the castle, but eventually there was a knock. Jaime opened the door and ushered them in silently.
"What is it you want, my Lord?" David said, looking irritable and exhausted, though he had yet to change out of his clothes.
Jaime was quiet for a moment, wrestling with himself about whether he could trust this man. David at least gave him the space to be quiet. Jaime finally said, "I need a favor."
"You're certainly asking a lot of me."
Jaime scowled. "Trust me, if I had my way, I'd never ask anything of you again. But this could mean the safe taking of King's Landing with minimal loss of life on both sides."
David huffed. "Certainly a worthy goal. What do you want?"
"I need to get a message to someone inside the Red Keep. I can't use ravens. I can't trust that it'll actually reach them."
David rubbed his chin as he thought. Then he snapped his fingers and said, "I have just the man. Young Pod, would you go fetch Cyrus for me? His family's in the door across the hall from me. Take care you don't wake the children. I don't need Delphine breathing down my neck."
"Yes, ser," the boy said and was off again.
As soon as the door shut, Jaime fixed him with a hard stare. "While I have you alone, don't you dare do anything that stupid again."
"Hmm?" David glanced up at him.
"Insulting the Lady Olenna? Are you mad? You could have ruined the negotiations with that stunt. Never do that again," Jaime whispered fiercely.
David glared back. "Do you know why I'm such a good healer?"
"I don't care."
"It's because I am very good at reading people. I read the situation. Whatever Lord Tyrell thinks, his mother runs the house, not him. You want your negotiations to go through, you have to please her. While I'm sure you made a good impression between lords, she was standing over on the far end, rotting of boredom. She needed someone to challenge her and it's clear that everyone is too busy bound by social constraints to do so. A no-name healer with no political capital is the perfect person to smash social conventions. So that's what I did."
"I don't care how you think it might have helped. I am the Hand of the King. It is my job to secure the Tyrells as allies. If you don't run something like that by me before doing it, I will cast you out of my sight."
David glared for a moment then sighed. "I apologize for at least not informing you ahead of time. I know how intent you are on doing your duty to your king. Your uncle lectured me too."
"Never did I think I would hear that my uncle - a man known for not taking a situation seriously - lecturing someone else about proper etiquette," Jaime said, turning angrily away from the man. A tense silence fell between them as they waited.
Cyrus finally entered and while he looked tired, he was all business. "What seems to be the issue?"
Pod peered in from the door and Jaime said, "Stand at the door and make sure no one listens in from that side. I'll let you know when we're done here." He then turned to Cyrus. "Keep your voice down. All walls have ears. I need you to go to King's Landing, get into the Red Keep, and deliver a message for me."
Cyrus blinked at him. "That doesn't sound too difficult."
"It's being besieged, at the moment. You'll have to sneak in," David said.
"Can you do it?"
"Let me guess, you want me to sneak in under the guise of a musician and entertain the troops, is that your angle here?" Cyrus looked pointedly at David.
"Nothing you haven't done before."
"Sure, but not in the middle of a siege."
He's done something like this before. Why would he need to do that? Alarm bells were ringing in Jaime's head, but he shook it to ignore it. He didn't have the option to second guess himself. "We don't have any ships to blockade the harbor. You should be able to get in by sea. Grab a ship from a port and take it to King's Landing. I'm sure they must have supply ships that are bringing in food."
"Okay, am I to just deliver a message?"
"Yes, but you also need to prep the Red Keep. I'm going to see if we can sneak in through hidden tunnels, but I have to get the king's approval first."
"How the hell are you going to let me know what you're doing? I can't just wait at the tunnels every night."
Jaime rubbed his forehead trying to think. "Well…"
"I know, if you get approval from the king, raise our flag the day you intend to sneak in," David said.
"Your flag?"
"I'll show you sometime."
"And if you aren't going into the tunnels?"
"Find a hiding place in the Red Keep and pray," Jaime said.
"That's comforting," Cyrus groused. "So what message do you want me to bring?"
"You know how to do the cypher trick, right?"
"Of course."
"I'll write you something in cypher. Bear with me, I'm not the best at writing."
Jaime pulled up a couple parchments of paper. He wrote the keyword to his cypher on one sheet and then the alphabet out. It was indeed slow going. David and Cyrus helped him understand the trick better and finally he sealed and stamped the parchment.
"When do you want me to leave?"
"Right now."
"Now?!" Cyrus stared and groaned.
"You need time to get to the Red Keep. You have to go now."
"What about my price?"
Jaime blinked. He'd gotten so used to David asking for nothing that he really expected his men to be the same way. "What do you want?"
"That harp."
"That is my king's." Cyrus remained silent, seemingly torn. "Tell you what, the king and I will raise you to a lordship and you can buy your own damn harp."
Any normal person would have leapt at the idea of being a lord, but Cyrus actually thought about it before nodding. "Fine, but I am telling my family farewell. I'll never forgive myself if I die and I just left without saying anything."
"Fine," Jaime gritted through his teeth. He dug through his things and loaded up a bag of gold dragons. "Use this to get you a horse and buy your passage. Don't you dare tell your family what you're doing or where you're going."
"I'm smarter than that, Lord Jaime," Cyrus sniped at him, snatching the letter out of his hand.
Jaime felt it best that he not see off his infiltrator. It'd be suspicious enough that one of David's men left in the middle of the night. Instead, he finally went to bed, but he couldn't help but notice a pale aura on the horizon. Dawn was already here. He groaned. Negotiations were going to be held just after breakfast. He took to his bed only for Cersei to trouble him once more.
Jaime cracked open an eye. Judging by the light of the sun spilling in, he hadn't slept more than a handful of hours. He groaned, rolled onto his back, and rubbed a spot just above his eye.
He had a headache.
The negotiations have been delayed long enough. I can't delay them again, he thought. Hopefully, they would be done by the time he had his seizure and then he could seclude himself away from the Tyrells for the rest of the day.
He forcefully rolled out of bed and began readying himself. When he stepped out into the hallway he nearly ran into Cyrus's wife, Delphine. She was standing outside his door with her hands on her hips, giving him a cross look. He glanced up and down the hall to find it empty, then whispered, "How long have you been here?"
"Not long," she said in a low, threatening red tone.
"What can I do for you?" His voice pulsed orange with impatience and irritation.
"I want you to know that if anything should happen to Cyrus, you won't live long enough to regret it," she snarled at him.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "It's treason to threaten the Hand of the King."
Instead of answering, she merely raised her head up to look down her nose at him, just like any Westerosi noble lady, before turning to glide through the halls.
He shook his head of her presence, wincing at the throb in his skull. The headache reached a new level, as morning light suffused the hallway. Though the sun had only just risen, there was already a stifling warmth to the air, and Jaime wished he could simply shed himself of his shirt.
He found the hall with little trouble this time around. The Lady Olenna, Mace Tyrell, and his wife had already sat down to eat their breakfast. Lady Alerie gasped upon seeing him and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Lord Jaime. We would have gladly sent Margaery to escort you."
"It's no trouble. You need not worry yourselves over it," he responded. He was satisfied with the slight wavering blue of his voice, assured that his pain and discomfort were well hidden. David, Cyrus' family, and a few others were already seated at their own table. All of the Tyrells, save for Margaery were also already present. His uncle and Podrick were missing, but he merely shrugged that off. Poor Podrick was up half the night guarding his door from eavesdroppers; he needed a lie-in.
"Well, looks like the Hand of the King finally felt to grace us with his presence," Olenna Tyrell said. "My, you look exhausted. Were the beds not comfortable enough for you, my lord?"
Jaime flickered his eyes over to the Queen of Thorns. Her voice was all green with her excitement and mocking. It wouldn't surprise him at all if she knew he'd been up all night sending out people on important errands. "On the contrary, I've become so used to my bed swaying that it bothered me when it didn't." He locked eyes with her, desperately trying to read her face.
"Pardon my tardiness. I am pleased you didn't wait for me," Margaery said with her usual smile, floating into the hall in a beautiful and airy lavender gown, her hair done up in an intricate style. It broke the tension and Lady Olenna turned to glare at her granddaughter.
Jaime quietly closed his eyes and turned to his breakfast. He never had an appetite when his headaches were lurking, but he grabbed a hearty breakfast all the same. He needed to keep his weight and his muscles up in this timeline.
When Gerion joined him a few minutes later, he nodded at him in greeting. Then he leaned over and muttered, "The negotiations are after breakfast. I would appreciate if you could attend them with me."
He looked at Jaime with a raised eyebrow. "You want me there?"
"Yes, you're a Lannister. Just sit and don't say anything. I imagine Mace Tyrell, Willas, and Lady Olenna will be at the negotiations. I may be the Hand of the King and the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, but I can't just sit on one side and have them all on the other side. The power dynamics would be off."
Gerion blinked at him. "I never thought you would take stock in things like that."
"It's been ten years since we last spoke, uncle. You'll find I've learned some things," Jaime replied, unable to hide the mocking in his voice.
Gerion snorted with laughter. "Imagine that."
After breakfast, Lord Tyrell seemed to think that heading straight to negotiations on a full stomach was bad for everyone's constitution, so it was delayed yet another hour. Jaime wondered if Mace was actually smart enough to attempt a power play to fray Jaime's temper. If so, it was working. He went outside to a courtyard and watched the children play, leaning against a wall out of the sun. The twin boys and Podrick had wooden swords in their hands and his uncle and Callum were patiently taking them through the steps. The girl, Lucille, was sitting in the grass wearing a decidedly smug smile. He couldn't hide a smile as Gerion showered Podrick with praise for his foot placement and grip.
"My Lord," Jaime snapped his head to his side and couldn't hide the wince at the sharp pain that stabbed through him.
Lady Margaery smiled at him. "My father is ready for you. Shall I show you the way?"
Jaime called Gerion over and then offered his arm as was the polite thing to do.
"Lord Jaime, would you be so kind to tell me of King Aemon Targaryen? I'm sure I wasn't the only one who was shocked to learn another Targaryen lived."
"He's a dragon raised by wolves. He has so much of the usual Stark honor that it practically pours from his veins. He's clever though."
"A maiden's dream?"
Jaime cast her a wry look. "He's some maiden's dream."
She tried desperately not to look irritated, much to Jaime's amusement. "That's something, I suppose. If it's not too much, once the negotiations are complete, I want to hear more." She knocked on the door and then opened it.
Jaime watched her leave with a pleased smile. Gerion was standing there and raised an eyebrow at him in question. Jaime just shook his head and pushed the door open.
Mace Tyrell, Willas, and Olenna were already seated at an oblong table on one side.
"Well, Gerion, what brings you to the table. I wasn't aware you'd been back for long. Do you support this Targaryen king?" Lady Olenna asked.
Gerion seated himself across from her and said, "I'm here for the view of course." He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her.
Did the Lady Olenna actually blush? Jaime would have been intrigued except another offhand comment from his side started the negotiations. Why can't my uncle take something serious for an hour? He thought, having to fight to keep himself from rubbing his head both in exasperation and agony. His stomach was starting to churn as the headache intensified. He instead closed his eyes and counted as he breathed.
For once, Mace Tyrell didn't bother saying anything, but just frowned over at Gerion. Then he said in orange tones, "First things first, I want to know why my golden rose is unfit to be queen to the Targaryen king."
"Father, please," Willas said. His voice though mostly blue was tinged purple with anxiety.
"Mace, don't be more of an embarrassment than you already are," his mother snapped. "Mind, he does need a queen, but I assume he has one in mind." Olenna's voice was like a whip crack of forest green for her mocking.
"Indeed, he does, my lady. Surely a house as loyal to the Targaryens as you were in the past are aware that Aemon still has two living family members."
Willas and Olenna glanced at each other and then nodded. "Though I had heard that the girl - Daenerys was it? - was married off to some horse lord."
"Oh? That's mere speculation and rumor. I suggest checking with your sources again," Jaime said. His own voice went from a measured teal to a yellow-green with the lie. You better be right about this Aemon, he thought. They needed that horse lord to be dead before the year was out and according to Aemon, that's what was going to happen. He hoped his small lie merely muddied the waters. "Aemon intends to re-establish the Targaryen bloodline."
"Presuming of course that he is Targaryen," Olenna said with a terse frown.
"You received the journal by Septon Maynard, correct?" He was starting to sweat and it had nothing to do with the pressure of the negotiations. He struggled to keep breathing evenly. Gerion gave an odd look, but he ignored it.
"We did and I have read it front to cover, more than once. It is an impressive find, but it is merely one account. What corroborating evidence is there?" Willas said.
"Lord Stark himself. He was there when his dying sister gave birth. She gave King Aemon to him and begged him to keep him safe." His own voice was beginning to waver in purple tones. The light was getting sharper, harder on the eyes.
"Hmm...Lord Stark is known to be an honorable man. How interesting that this is the lie he slips past everyone," Lady Olenna said with not a little bit of glee.
"Lord Jaime, are you well?" Willas asked.
"I'm f-fine." Did he really just stutter? He could feel his heartbeat in his ears and the light pouring in was only getting brighter.
"Jaime?" Gerion touched his arm. "What's happening?"
"Oh shit nooooo." He moaned and buried his face in his hands, trying to regain control, but it was like a boulder rolling down a hill. Once it started, there was simply no stopping it. "D-don't panic I'll be f-f-fff-"
The world went white and the last thing he heard was his uncle scream, "Jaime!"
