Author's Notes: Happy holidays, everyone! I hope they have been good and that they continue to be good! As always, thank you so much for your reading, for commenting, and gracing this fic with your alerts and Kudos. It means a lot to me!

I started 2019 by posting Chapter 41 - Jaime XIV. I will end the year by posting Chapter 63 - Jaime XX

All told, I will have posted 106,225 words of content for TDR.

I would like to thank catzrko0l for being such a loyal beta reader. They have been instrumental in making these chapters cleaner!

Chapter 63

Jaime XX

"Welcome to King's Landing, Ranger Benjen Stark," Jaime said.

There was no mistaking the frown and the ranger's furrowed brow for anything but annoyance. As was typical with the Stark clan, he wasn't happy to see him. At least most of them weren't happy to see him. Robb Stark and Arya Stark addressed him cheerfully enough. Arya in particular was usually thrilled since that meant a master class in sword fighting was imminent. Lady Sansa bestowed a smile on him, but her voice trembled with yellow nerves whenever she greeted him, so he put her smile down to expectation than any kindness.

He supposed he shouldn't expect smiles when he refused to smile himself. There was far too much on his mind to fix his face into something more approachable, though he had worked on softening the severity of his expression. He hadn't wanted to scare the smallfolk that beseeched his council in court after all. He still smirked at fools who tried to get the better of him, either in a conversation or in the training yard. Nothing was quite so fun as showing arrogant sods the other side of his tongue when they thought they had the measure of him. They never did. Brienne was the only one who could bring genuine smiles out of him.

"How fares His Grace and my brother, Lord Jaime?" Benjen offered by way of greeting. His voice was a curious mixture of blue and yellow.

"His Grace, King Aemon, is negotiating an alliance in Dorne. Lord Stark accompanied him," Jaime replied and was pleased his voice was a steady blue. Most of his speech had been tinged red of late. After Robert Baratheon had died, a search was conducted targeting the servants primarily. Then two days later, a servant's body washed ashore with a crossbow bolt through the heart. It was clear to Jaime that someone had been tying up a loose end, but the trail went cold and they could do little more than move on with their lives. Stannis and Renly were still alive at least and with the Night Watch's arrival, he'd be shedding Renly.

With the death of Robert Baratheon, rumors began popping up. The first and most brazen among them was that Aemon deliberately poisoned Robert to avoid bringing him to proper justice. It didn't matter that Aemon had been keeping him alive since the coup and planned to execute him once the Seven Kingdoms had all been successfully brought into the fold. But whispers had also emerged that Queen Cersei's bastard children were legitimate and she'd been coerced to say otherwise and that her fasting protest was actually forced starvation by Aemon to silence her.

The last bit of information had infuriated Jaime the most. Someone had snooped his desk and had undoubtedly found the letter. It was the kind of information that the healer's spy, Vicente, would've censored from Baelish, so it had clearly been someone else. He had been foolish to have stormed away from his desk, no matter the fury he had been feeling. He couldn't afford anymore lapses.

After that incident, he had finally taken the healer up on a goblet of dreamwine and had an undisturbed night of rest that had cleared his head of the persistent fog that pervaded it. He was calm and the tension had eased from his shoulders and head. The ever-present worry about his father and Littlefinger was always lurking in the back of his mind, but it was muted for the time being and he would enjoy it while it was. He could now focus and fulfill his promise to Aemon of running a tight ship, but the healer only allowed one goblet every three days. It was better than nothing though he considered going to the new Grandmaester that had arrived a few days prior. He was a Hand and shouldn't be subject to the whims of a lowly healer, but he was afraid the Grandmaester would ask similar prodding questions about his needs for a sleeping potion. Even if the entire kingdom now knew of his seizures, he'd still prefer to keep that information to himself.

Under normal circumstances, the Hand of the King would not greet a party of Night's Watch members at the dock, but Jaime had last left the Red Keep for Robb Stark's wedding. When Podrick had announced the Night's Watch's arrival, he had practically leapt at the opportunity to escort them. He had taken Podrick and his Uncle Gerion, much to his bemusement. However, it also meant the arrival of the wight and he wanted to ensure that nothing untoward or tragic befell it. After all, it was their proof to the world that the Long Night needed to be addressed as quickly as possible.

Jaime's eyes fell on the trunk that two crows were hauling out and he asked, "Is that it?"

"Yes, Lord Jaime, it's in there." Benjen said, watching with him as it was placed on the back of a cart.

"Is it still alive?" He purposely lowered his voice so that only Benjen could hear it. He didn't need any curious ears.

"Yes, my Lord. I checked every day."

"Good. Please accompany us back to the Red Keep. We have more members for the Night's Watch," Jaime replied. With a curt nod, he turned and mounted his horse.

"We can always use more men," Benjen said, mounting a provided horse so that he could ride alongside Jaime.

"Any news from the Night's Watch?"

"The wildlings continue to gather in large numbers north of the Wall. I have convinced Mance Rayder that the king is interested in a—"

"Any other news?" Jaime asked sharply, glaring at Benjen. The man gave him an irritated look, but Jaime drew his own mouth into a firm line and gave a subtle shake of his head, nodding to indicate the smallfolk around them. These bloody Starks! They can't understand when discretion is necessary.

Benjen huffed and said, "The refortifying of the other abandoned castles is progressing, but slowly. We simply don't have enough men. And the men you have in the cells won't be enough. We need more. Much more."

We need an army up there, Jaime thought. There were only a few thousand men to man the wall. Each fort needed ten thousand at minimum. It was an issue that had to be addressed, but only after the realm understood the danger. Before that, no one would support resources going to the Wall outside of himself, the king, and the North. There would be infighting over favoritism and that was something they couldn't afford for now. At least with Margaery now married to Robb Stark, it would be the Reach's problem too; he and the king could then count on their support to protect their darling flower.

"Anything else?"

"Lord Commander Mormont would like to thank His Grace for assigning his ambassador Rodrik Cassel to Castle Black. The recruits have never been so prepared. Ser Alliser Thorne has become full of life and vigor now that he knows the Targaryen legacy lives on."

"I'm sure the king will be overjoyed to hear that," Jaime replied dryly. Aemon and members of the Night's Watch had frequently swapped stories around the campfire in the time before and Jaime had heard that Aemon hated Ser Alliser, as did many others. As far as Jaime was concerned, he hadn't done enough to train the boys into fighting form. If Ser Alliser hadn't shown improvement, he would recommend Aemon lean on Lord Commander Mormont to make some changes for training. It wouldn't do to have boys abused to death when every man was necessary.

Once they had reached the Keep, Jaime insisted on escorting the trunk all the way to the dungeon where it would be locked in a cell just in case.

Once the crate was in place, he wavered, staring at it. He then turned to Benjen and asked, "Where's the key?"

"Here, my Lord." The key was on a chain necklace and Benjen pulled it over his head and dangled it to him.

Jaime took it, but hesitated to put it on. Then he turned around and put the key into the lock.

"What are you—"

"I have to be sure!"

"Is my word not enough?" Benjen asked.

"Not to me," Jaime replied. "Is it bound?"

"Yes, behind its back. In chains."

"What key opens those?"

"The one I just gave you."

Convenient, Jaime mused. His hand trembled as he gripped the key and turned it, hearing the lock click. He glanced back. Benjen was staring at him in alarm, Podrick was uneasy, and his Uncle Gerion seemed puzzled. The guards remained inscrutable.

He put both hands on the lid and raised it a few inches. Blazing blue eyes shined out at him. It lunged and screeched, but he'd already slammed the lid back down and locked it. It rocked the trunk with enough force to quake it and move it a few inches.

Jaime backed away slowly. When he rejoined the party, Pod and his uncle were wide-eyed and petrified. The guards too looked frightened and speechless.

"None of you will speak of what you saw or heard or smelled this day. No detail whatsoever or I'll ship you off to the Night's Watch where you can see more of them. Is that understood?" The guards nodded vigorously. "Good. A guard will be sent to relieve you in six hours," Jaime commanded. He locked the cell door and then put the key over his head and hid it under his shirt. He wouldn't remove it even to sleep.

It was bound to reach the rest of the Keep that Jaime was keeping something secret under guard. He expected someone to try to sneak a peek. He would be assigning his best guards on a rotation to be changed every six hours, with his Uncle Gerion overseeing them. His uncle had given him an odd look, but didn't question him.

Once Jaime, Gerion, and Benjen had found their way back to the office of the Hand, Gerion asked, "Jaime, what was that thing?"

Benjen opened his mouth to answer, but Jaime hurriedly cut him off, "I'm not at liberty to say, by order of the king. You'll know when His Grace is ready for you to know."

Gerion frowned tersely. "What can I expect from this thing?"

"Since it's been in a trunk and it did not break out—" Jaime looked over at Benjen for confirmation, who nodded. "— the expectation is that it will stay there until the king returns and we can announce it to the entire kingdom."

"Dare I ask, announce what?" Gerion said. Jaime did not like the purple notes of suspicion in his voice.

"You will learn when the king announces it and no sooner," Jaime replied firmly. "Uncle, I cannot stress how important it is that this not get out early. Do this. If not for me then for the realm." With that, he went around the desk and took his seat.

"Does it...need fed?"

"No."

"What in Seven Hells…?" Gerion muttered, but Jaime turned to Benjen.

"Now, Benjen, I would like to discuss the supplies needed in the Night's Watch. What is your most pressing need?"

"Armor. We trade for our food with the other Northern houses and there's always hunting, but we're running low on metal. We're having to start choosing between weapons and armor. Armor wins every time. We need live people." He was pleased to see that since the docks, Benjen's voice had calmed from the uncertain combination of blue and yellow to a straight sky blue. He rather doubted he had changed a Stark's mind about him so quickly, but Benjen seemed to have found his actions around the wight agreeable.

"I see," Jaime said as he wrote it down. "Would you prefer the raw material then or whole armor?"

"The less work we have to put into the armor, the better."

"King Aemon is mining for dragonglass on Dragonstone. Eventually, we hope to start shipping it to the Night's Watch, but that may not be for some time."

"That would be most useful, Lord Hand. If we want to fortify the remaining forts in a timely manner, we'll need actual masons, mater—"

BOOM!

The tower shook. The wine in a goblet from hours earlier sloshed. All three men looked around in alarm.

"You felt that?" Jaime asked.

"Yes, Lord Hand, what was that?"

Jaime shot up so quickly the chair tipped over and hit the ground with a loud crack. He rushed to the window overlooking the city and peered out. His eyes rapidly swept over the horizon as he desperately looked for the telltale sign of dark smoke. After a moment, he could feel his heart slowing as everything appeared peaceful and still.

He finally turned to them and said, "What in Seven Hells happened?"

"I don't kno—"

The piercing scream of a woman rent the air. Jaime rushed out with Benjen and his uncle on his heels. Pod fell into step behind them from where he stood outside the door. The Lannister guards stayed where they were as they were ordered to. More screams joined the woman's as they barreled down the hallway.

A servant girl had dropped a basket full of towels and was clutching at her face staring at a man in the yard. They rushed to the figure huddled on the ground, who was clutching at his face and screaming in agonized red tones. Green flame licked at his clothing. Jaime and Gerion collapsed onto him, trying to pat out the flames. Pod kicked the sand up to help smother. Eventually, Jaime ripped off his own doublet haphazardly and beat at the clothes until he couldn't see flames anymore. The figure stopped struggling and laid on the ground, his agonizing screams turning into guttural howls and low moans. They flipped him over.

"David?!" Gerion cried out.

The healer was barely recognizable. The flesh on his face was shredded and bits of it hung off, revealing bright read meat that was slowly bleeding.

"Quick, get the Grandmaester," Jaime shouted to Benjen. He nodded and pushed his way through the crowd that had formed around them.

"Noooo," David managed and he grabbed Jaime's wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. "Jules. Get Jules."

"I'll go fetch him," Gerion cried out and ran towards the streets.

There was a low buzz of chatter as nobility and servants alike pushed at each other for a closer look.

"What happened?"

"What were those green flames?"

"Who in Seven Hells is that?"

"Get back," Jaime snarled and the crowd recoiled a few steps from his temper. He gave the healer a more thorough examination to determine the extent of the damage. He was wearing a heavier dark coat that was now patchy and burned, but it had protected the rest of his body from more severe burns. Then Jaime reluctantly returned to his face. While there were bloody scrapes across his forehead, the primary damage was to his right cheek, his eye barely escaping the worst. His breath continued to escape in wheezes and he intermittently moaned in pain.

A breeze suddenly chilled the sweat on his skin and he recalled he had pulled off his shirt to help the healer and was now kneeling over him, bare-chested in the courtyard. He examined the shirt and found it dirty and torn. He tossed it to Pod. "Dispose of that. I'm going to take him to a room," he announced. He began to pick David up only for him to shrink with a soundless scream.

"I need to take you to a room," Jaime replied firmly and quickly lifted him into a cradle.

David let out low howls of pain and his body trembled uncontrollably. "Cold...so cold…" David whispered into his shoulder.

Jaime saw a couple of servant girls lingering. When they saw his eyes fall on them, they tried to nonchalantly wander away, but he barked, "You two, follow me!" They grew pale and trembled like they were being led onto the gallows, but Jaime went to the Tower of the Hand and climbed up a few flights to a room. He had one of the women open it. Though the tower was almost empty—he made his father stay elsewhere—the rooms still had ready-made beds like it was an inn waiting to be filled. He deposited the healer onto the pristine sheets and frowned as blood instantly began dripping to stain them.

"Build a fire," Jaime commanded and then turned his attention to the healer. Then he kicked open a nearby trunk and pulled out one the thick winter blankets and spread it over him. He wished to do more, but he had no knowledge of healing and dared not to peel the clothes away lest he commit an error that killed him.

A tentative knock was heard at the door and Jaime lunged for it. Pod held up a brown leather jerkin. "A new shirt, my lord."

"Thank you, Pod," Jaime said, pulling it on. It was one he typically used for training and internally praised the boy for having the sense to not sacrifice another nice shirt.

There was another knock at the door and this time Pod opened it. The new Grandmaester Brunal stepped in, followed by two middle-aged maesters. He lacked the long fine beard of Pycelle and instead had fluffy white hair that stuck out of either side of his cheeks like they were whiskers on a cat. His face was rounded and he deliberately stuck his chin in the air like he was the king himself. He marched over to Jaime and bowed.

"My Lord Hand, I came as soon as I heard. This is him? Oh, the Seven save me." His voice was oddly orange. He bent over David and began prodding the pieces of flesh still clinging to his skin. "Incredible that he's still alive! Someone said there was a fire? This looks more like blunt force—"

David let out what could only be described as a weak growl and despite the pain, his eyes were fixed in a glare on the Grandmaester.

"Fuckyouiwanjules." David's voice continued to be a weak and wavering red color. The sentence was spoken so quickly and with the minimal amount of movement that Jaime almost couldn't decipher what he heard.

"You'll take whatever healing you need," Jaime demanded.

"I'm unsure of what healing I may be able to apply, my lord. It may be that administering Milk of the Poppy and letting him pass peacefully may be for the best.

A choking gurgle of laughter erupted from David and was cut off abruptly. He fixed his eyes on the Grandmaester. "Nomilk"

Grandmaester Brunal huffed, "You're only prolonging the inevitable. Death comes for us all after all."

Even in the ragged remains of his face, the healer somehow managed a sneer, "Not today."

"If you're of no use, then leave," Jaime snapped.

Grandmaester Brunal pursed his lips, muttered something to the accompanying maesters, and headed for the door. Just as they reached it, another knock sounded. Brunal opened the door to his Uncle Gerion and whom Jaime remembered as Julian Grey, Lady Delphine, and a red-headed woman. He had never interacted with the healer's apprentice, but he recalled him as kempt young man with characteristic noble haughtiness. He was less kempt now, with his chestnut hair having not been groomed and his shirt was wrinkled like he'd just thrown it on.

"I came as quickly as I could," he began, but halted in his tracks and stared in shock.

"Oh Gods," Delphine said, putting a hand to her mouth. She hugged the other woman for comfort.

"He asked for you, so I assume you can fix him?"

The question jarred the man and he rushed over, putting a bag down next to the bed.

"Delphine, get me boiling water and a pan. Leona, fresh towels! Be quick. Gerion, you need to be outside. There's not enough room for all of you," Julian commanded. He bent over David. Instead of using his bare hands to poke the skin, he instead pulled a pair of tiny metal tongs and gently brushed the surface, wincing every time he caused David to flinch. "If he's fortunate, there may be enough living tissue here that I might be able to sew it back together and reconstruct this part of his face. Given time the flesh will reattach and fill in what we couldn't save. If there isn't...I'm unsure how he might survive; this would be uncharted territory for even us."

"You're going to try at least?"

"As long as the patient is willing, we'll damn near do anything. It's only when we're certain the only road is death that we don't try. David?"

"Doit," the healer replied. "Nomilk."

Julian gaped. "I don't have to tell you this is going to be excruciating."

"Itis. Nomilk."

"Very well. My Lord Hand, I must ask you to leave. This is going to take some time."

Jaime unstuck his throat, "Come, Pod. There's nothing more that we can do here." He commanded the servants to be at Julian's disposal. When he left, the apprentice was laying out each of his tools on a piece of cloth, all of which were either sharp or wicked looking. He was glad to not be at the other end of those.

He met Gerion, who was pale and tense. "How is he?"

"Alive," Jaime weakly replied.

"Will he live?"

"It's too early to say. Excuse me, Uncle, I have work to do."

Instead of going back up to the Hand's solar, he headed down to where David's laboratory had been set up. The door was hanging open and it did not seem damaged in the slightest, but the entire floor was covered with either glass or splashes of wildfire. A cart full of wildfire flasks stood in the far corner of the room and appeared to be untouched, but he could see David had pulled at least half of the top layer of flasks. He hadn't been experimenting very long and had made little progress. The worksite was clear of items and there was now a blackened charred spot where he had been working. Jaime wondered briefly if he could pressgang the rest of the Shepherds into cleaning it up, but there was likely little to be gained from that. If Baelish and Varys hadn't known before about wildfire, they did now.

Even though Jaime wanted to hide the remaining flasks, he was even more hesitant to touch them. He didn't trust that he wouldn't be in the same position; the bear claw was enough of a scar, he couldn't imagine what the healer would look like with his skin stitched together into a semblance of a face. He closed the door and posted two guards to prevent people from snooping and headed back up to his solar.

Ranger Benjen was waiting for him at his door. The Stark offered him a smile that was more of a grimace, cleared his throat, and said, "I wasn't sure where you disappeared to. Do you wish to continue conducting business?"

"Uh, y-yes," Jaime replied and winced at his own stuttering. It took actual effort to get his head back on straight to take notes once more. His thoughts kept drifting from the task at hand as they churned like the ocean.

Jaime didn't particularly like the healer. He was sardonic, disrespectful, and far too keen. That keenness had its uses as David played a dual role as Jaime's own personal whisperer. Whatever he could say about his negative qualities, there was no denying that he was loyal and he took the extracting and manipulating of information seriously. Now that Jaime's middleman had been silenced, he had no means of contacting the boy Vicente. He was too known of a figure to do so directly without putting the boy in mortal jeopardy. From what he understood of his operations, David had deliberately kept this half of the business from the rest of his group. He had no way of knowing who would step up to take his place, if anyone even could or did. He rather doubted it'd be Julian Grey. The apprentice ran David's clinic in his absence.

How had the incident occurred? Was the healer simply careless or did this rise to sabotage? It was clear that Baelish was making moves, but catching him in those moves was nigh impossible. He considered having it investigated, but he figured he would come up with as much evidence as he had with Robert Baratheon's murder.

Once Jaime had catalogued the supplies the Night's Watch was desperate for, he dismissed Benjen Stark and poured himself a cup of wine and downed it. The walls felt like they were closing in. Far too many aggravating events had occurred and he could feel a headache developing. If he went to sleep, he could likely forego the oncoming seizure.

Without the healer, it felt like the lantern that Jaime had been holding to catch the lurking shadows had been snuffed out. He had no means of developing a new whisperer to handle the spiderweb David had spun. Blind as he was, he would no longer see the oncoming threats and they would surely eat him and Aemon alive.