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Chapter 41

Jaime XIV

Jaime looked out the window of the Tower of the Hand and sighed wistfully. The weather was beautiful and calm. He could see knights and lords down at the training grounds while he stewed up in the Tower of the Hand. How did Aemon talk me into this?

Thinking about him, though, brought a flash of anger on and he stifled it as best he could. He had been in such a rage over the Clegane decision that it had eventually brought on a pounding headache and forced him into bed for a seizure. He'd have to work on keeping his emotions controlled. He still couldn't quite believe it. A Stark - raised as a Stark at least - had simply trampled tradition without thought of consequence and chipped at yet another foundation stone of the Kingsguard.

I did not spend nearly thirty years of my life, in this one and the last one, to see yet another king put a knife into the Kingsguards' back. At least he's not foolish enough to put feckless cunts like the Kettleback brothers on there, he thought with a huff. One of his greatest regrets from the previous life was how his sister and her idiot son had filled the Kingsguard with their foolish lackeys, completely incapable of actually protecting the king. Gone was the stalwart, skilled organization that he had long admired as a child. He may have allowed Cersei to convince him to join the Kingsguard, but he was already halfway there after he fought with Ser Barristan the Bold and squired for Ser Arthur Dayne*. Never had he wanted to be someone more than the Sword of the Morning. His knighting by him was the proudest moment of his past life and this one as well, though he did have a few proud moments now.

Back to the problem at hand then, he thought with a sigh turning back once more to being Hand of the King. It had been one thing to negotiate alliances, it was another to actually do the business of the kingdom. Already the details were getting away from him. The day before he had his first council meeting. Next he'd be having a meeting with all of the lord paramounts to inform them that Aemon intends on sending a good portion of each of their armies home.

He could imagine this decision to be met with ire from his father. The Westerlands army valued him as the heir to Casterly Rock, but they were still beholden to his father. Between the two of them, who were they more likely to follow? Lord Jaime, future heir and current Hand to the King - outranking his father - or the still formidable Lord Tywin? If he were a captain in his father's army, he would certainly have difficulty going against the old lion. It was a likely end in doom. It was why Aemon kept more of his firmer allies around. It wrankled him that the Westerlands couldn't be better trusted by Aemon, but that would all change whenever his father finally met the Stranger.

We just have to be patient. Take this one step at a time, he cautioned himself as he had told Aemon as well. That was the only way he was going to stay ahead of this position. That said, there was still so much to do that he was of a mind to recruit some help. That would have to wait for now. First, he was going to humor himself.

"Pod, would you inform Lord Mallister that he is summoned to the Tower of the Hand."

"Yes, m'lord," Pod replied, looking up at him with wide eyes, but he strode away with his head held high. They had been working on his posturing as well as his fighting skills. As squire to the Hand of the King, he ranked higher than all the other squires, second only to Olyvar Frey, and it was important that he be treated respectfully on behalf of the Hand.

He thought back on their training session the other day where they ended up sharing the same space as Brienne of Tarth. He had turned over the encounter countless times and while she had stormed away, he felt the encounter had gone well, despite what Aemon said. He had treated Brienne worse in the previous life and she had stayed around.

She had an oath to keep then, he thought. As far as he could tell there was nothing really keeping her in King's Landing though. He had tried to do a little digging on her activities without being obvious, but that was impossible where Brienne of Tarth was concerned seeing as she was the only noble lady within King's Landing besides Lady Delphine. The rest had fled with the threat of war. They would be back soon though.

However he couldn't treat her with gloves. That would incense her even more. He was certain at least part of the way to crack her shell was to acknowledge her worth as a fighter, but it seemed in this life she had not gotten away from the teasing and the jeering of her fellow knights either. She mistook much of his teasing as mean-spirited when it was meant to be taken in jest. He had been more cutting in the previous life, even after they'd formed a friendship, but he decided to ease up on that at least for the time being.

At least I don't have Renly's death hanging over my head, he thought. She seemed equally enamored with him in this life as the last. It was truly amazing what a little kindness shown to her could win and, if he was honest, a little pathetic. She should demand a higher standard of loyalty and friendship, but that would disqualify him as well as the rest of the knights in the kingdom save for those from the North and Dorne.

He attempted to look busy with a sheet of parchment in front of him, but he had barely read a word of it while he waited for Lord Mallister. It was the letter he was trying to write to Lady Catelyn regarding the care of his bastard. At just the thought, he closed his eyes and turned the parchment over to keep from reading it. He had already written a few nasty letters with every single threat he could think of under the sun to what would happen to her if she mistreated any of the bastards in her care, but especially his. He hoped it would help get the anger out of the way for his final letter. Aemon had insisted, after all, that he not damage the Lannister's relationship with the Stark's.

There was a knock at his door.

"Enter," Jaime called out.

Pod walked in with the formality of a soldier at battle and announced, "Lord Mallister has arrived, m'lord."

"Thank you, Pod," Jaime said. He regarded Jason Mallister for a moment. The lord was looking around his quarters curiously. Apart from a single tapestry with the Lannister lion behind him, the room was otherwise bare of Lannister paraphernalia. Unlike his father, he didn't feel quite like he had to live in the house colors. He had, after all, lived as a Kingsguard for most of his life and they were expected to live spartan. Even as Hand, he merely had one shelf of books, a simple desk and chair, and his sword at his desk and that was all.

"Lord Mallister, I wish to get right to the point: you are familiar with the healer David Reeft, are you not?"

"Yes, my Lord, I am," he replied and fidgeted nervously, his voice a wavering violet.

This struck Jaime as odd. His behavior was also peculiar when he was speaking to David, he thought and rose from his chair to speak on a more even level.

"What can you tell me about him?"

Mallister blinked. "What would you like to know?"

"What was he like as a boy?"

"He was a strange lad, even back then. Most boys, even the servant boys, preferred to bang sticks together to practice sword fights. Not him. He was almost always reading, even as a boy who hadn't even gone into his lessons," he said, his eyes taking a faraway look.

"He attended lessons with you?"

"Yes, he did. I was a few years older. His mother assisted the maester with his healing. Maester Tamal liked the boy and asked my father to be able to teach him. I think my father hoped that he might one day serve me as a maester, so he attended lessons with me. He was a few years younger than me and already smarter."

Jaime raised his eyebrows at him. I bet. David must have come by that smugness early on, he mused and felt his fingers clench. "How did that make you feel then?"

Mallister shifted and Jaime once more raised his eyebrows in question, but the man stayed silent.

Finally, Jaime said, "I have no interest in passing judgement on whatever happened between you two. I just want to know more about him."

Lord Mallister swallowed, looking at his feet, and then up again and said, "As you can imagine, it was quite embarrassing that a boy who was three years younger than me standing me up in my lessons. My father upheld him as an example to aspire to. 'Fighting is all well and good, son, but having your wits about you will allow you to beat any opponent before you step onto the battlefield,' he said. Of course, being so young, he just made me angry. My friends, Asher and Tomas, teased me viciously about it. One day, I saw David standing at the edge of a cliff staring out at the ocean. This had been going on for a few years at this point and he was about eight-years-old. I was fed up with a servant being smarter than me, the heir to Seaguard. So I ran at him and shoved him off the cliff."

Jaime's heart actually leapt at the retelling. "He survived that?!"

"By some damn miracle. He was on death's doorstep for better than two weeks. That was about how long I couldn't sit. Servant or no, my father was furious at what I had done and striped me for the rest of my life over it. I regretted it as soon as I had done it. It seemed to take forever for his body to hit the water and I'll never forget his scream." Mallister's eyes had been far off and when they finally connected again with Jaime's he said, "I have lived with that regret everyday since. I may not have killed him, but I snuffed out that childish energy. His hand used to always shoot up to answer the Maester's questions. Never again. He simply did his work and went about his life without speaking a word to any of us again. I wondered if perhaps the fall had made him mute, but he apparently spoke with his parents. When the War of the Ninepenny Kings was upon us, he leapt at the opportunity to join the war, probably to get away from me as much as make his own way in the world. He disappeared among the ranks and I never saw him again until a few days ago."

"Thank you, Lord Mallister. Your account was most illuminating," Jaime mumbled, deep in his own thoughts. As a child he had leapt off cliffs around Casterly Rock, nearly two dozen feet high. He had remembered being grounded for a month for that stunt. He had been to Seaguard before and those cliffs were considerably higher. "Anything else?"

"I don't think so, just that he was a damn good healer under the tutelage of the Maester. I'm not surprised he decided to simply be a healer rather than a Maester. He had a gift, that is to be sure," Jason Mallister said, his voice back to an even turquoise now that he was certain Jaime had kept his word.

"You're dismissed," Jaime said, having already banished him from his mind. Well, it's easy to understand David's fury now. He would certainly never forgive or forget attempted murder. If that had been him, he was certain his father would have eradicated the boy and his family just as thoroughly as he had the Reynes and the Tarbecks.

I've pondered a curiosity long enough, he thought. It had been comforting to resolve a little bit more of the mystery of David Reeft. He could understand him a little bit better. It would make it easier to predict his moves now, but still not a certainty judging by the fact that Aemon appeared to be privately consulting him if his appointment to the small council was anything to go by. He was not the first man who was not a lord to be on the council, but he was likely the first peasant, with no real title or status. He wouldn't begrudge Aemon that at least, since the only other healer available was Pycelle and he wouldn't put it past that old coot to slip Aemon poison.

He ran his hand through his hair yet again, feeling an ache generating there. Thankfully this did not feel like the usual ache that brought on a seizure but the kind of ache that suggested he was trying to keep track of too many threads. He needed help, but first there would be some much needed groveling.

"Pod, would you find my brother and tell him that I wish to see him," he said through the door.

"At once, my lord!"

He imagined it would be some time before he saw his brother. Tyrion never did deign to be commanded like some commoner and with their relationship currently on the rocks, he had a feeling his brother would drag his feet getting here. I have plenty to do until then, he thought and sat once more at the desk, setting the letter aside and deciding to work on the plan for which armies were to be sent home.

Forrester is another northerly House on par with the Umbers and the Boltons. That could stand to harvest their trees. Wood will be a hot commodity during the Long Night, he mused to himself, shuddering as he thought back to those frigid nights that were enough to freeze the nose right off your face.

As he had predicted, his brother only decided to show up as the sun was just above the horizon. There was a knock at the door and Pod squeaked through the door, "Tyrion, m'lord."

"Send him in," Jaime called.

Tyrion sauntered in like he was the lord of Casterly Rock and bestowed upon him a condescending expression, promptly taking a seat without it being offered.

"About time you showed up," Jaime said hotly.

"Now what could you possibly need from me? Am I your rebound now that you and the king have had your first tiff?"

"Don't try my patience. Unless you'd rather stay ignorant of what was bothering me when you wanted to do some drinking," Jaime said.

This seemed to stop Tyrion from his next cutting remark and it seemed to make a great effort to control his tongue. Finally, he said, "Will I need wine for this?"

"We'll both need wine for this." He grabbed a bottle of wine that was courteously left by servants at the beginning of every day and poured generous goblets for the both of them. He was pleased to see Tyrion looked unsettled as he eyed the cup. When he sat back down he unearthed the letter that he had spent so long contemplating and stared at it, wishing that the parchment would fill with the words that he needed to say.

"Does it have to do with that letter?"

"Yes, but it's one I'm writing," Jaime replied, stalling. He closed his eyes and breathed a few times and then opened them and whispered, "Do you remember when Cersei raped me?"

A darkness fell over Tyrion's face and he nodded slowly, closing his eyes as though he wished to strike it from his own memory.

"Aemon informed me the other day that Cersei is pregnant."

Tyrion groaned and pinched his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Then he said, "I'm an ass."

"You didn't know," Jaime said, then he took a deep draught of the wine, reveling in the way it warmed his insides when they felt so cold.

"I'm sorry, Jaime."

"It's not your fault."

Tyrion gave him an exasperated look. "I'm sorry for the way I've acted. I know you've had it tough and we both know this kind of work is not your strength. I saw how...perturbed you looked and I still tried to push when I should've known better. You're my brother. I know you well enough by now to know when to keep my distance, but I've been a rather slow learner."

"It's not all your fault. I know I haven't been very forthcoming. It's...it's complicated. Maybe one day you'll know the whole truth, but that news right there is at least part of what's been on my mind," Jaime said, staring into the deep red wine rippling across the surface with his breath, unable to look Tyrion in the eye.

"So what's to happen to the child?"

"Aemon has arranged for it to be raised at Winterfell."

"With the other bastard Lannister children then," Tyrion said, nodding. "Good. This one is even less likely to be accepted by father."

"Mmm," Jaime grunted, his fingers tightening around the stem. Just the thought of his father knowing anything about this child raised his hackles. No matter if it was borne from his most hated sister, it was still his child, and he would do right by this one like he couldn't with his others. "My only concern is Catelyn Stark has a rather terrible history of treating bastards poorly. I need to tell her the rules regarding this one."

Tyrion's face grew darker still. "Do you thinks she's mistreating our nephew and nieces who are already there?"

"I doubt it. She's probably just ignoring them, which is about the best they could hope for. But this child will be an infant. It can't be ignored. I don't want just a wet nurse taking care of it. I...I want to write letters to the child and have the lady read them," Jaime confessed, feeling his insides squirm. A baby would hardly understand or care about the words being read to it, but if he was going to acknowledge this child, it would be from the moment of its birth. So no matter how many months or years it took to finally take the child under his wing, it would know that it was not forgotten like countless other bastards were.

Tyrion perked up and said, "Good idea, brother. I knew if you ever had children you would be a good father."

"Father would call it weakness."

"It is not weak to care for your children. If he thinks so, then that just sheds a light on his own weaknesses as a father. And look how we turned out."

"A dwarf and his golden heir now the Hand of the King?" Jaime said.

"Exactly, though you turned out far better than you probably should have."

"I've had time to think about what I truly want to do," Jaime mumbled. A whole two lifetimes. "I just...don't know what to write. I've already written a half dozen other letters filled with all the horrific threats that I can imagine, but Aemon did warn me not to damage the relationship with the Starks. Especially if I want all our bastards treated well while at their home."

"Glad to see that you can recognize good advice from your king, even when you have such a terrific row as you did the other day," Tyrion said, raising his cup in cheers.

"He was wrong about the Kingsguard, that doesn't mean he's wrong about everything. Can we move on from that now? I would like your help writing this letter and...maybe with some of my other duties."

Tyrion sighed. "The king has currently got me helping to decipher the accounts Lord Baelish took for the kingdom. He shouldn't be Master of Coin again. The twisted nature of the numbers leaves me feeling icky. I don't like it."

"If he returns," Jaime muttered.

"Why not give me an official position within the Keep?"

Jaime gave him a wry look. "You know why. It probably won't last forever, but until it does...help?"

Tyrion sighed. "And I throw myself upon my sword."

"What else are you going to do?"

"Drink and read and maybe have a whore or two?"

"You'll still have time enough for that," Jaime replied. "Let's get to work."

*In this universe, Jaime was squired to Ser Arthur Dayne because there was a lot of conflicting information out there when I initially researched it.