Author's Note: Good day, lovely readers! Your response to the last chapter absolutely floored me. Thank you, as always, for your unending support! Please enjoy this chapter. =)
Unfortunately, I have an announcement. I've been chugging along, churning these chapters out since January. I have finally reached my limit. I need a small break, therefore the next update will be pushed back to September 5th. I hope you understand.
As always, Catzrko0l has donated their time to ensuring this chapter is flawless. Do give them some love!
Chapter 78
Jaime XXVI
Ser Loras glared at the air in front of him and began grinding his teeth. "Petyr Baelish." He hesitated a moment, continuing to glare and said, "He was behind your incident with the Ironborn."
Jaime scowled. "That's nice to know."
The young Tyrell shrugged, looking sullen. "You were my enemy."
"It doesn't matter. Your accusation would never have held up," Jaime replied, turning away to stare across the yard at the soldiers reaching over to help injured ones and start clearing bodies. "I only see Reach and Lannister soldiers here. Where's everyone else?"
"I don't know. The Reach armies were at the rearguard. We attacked the Lannister army's back. I never even saw who was fighting at the front," Ser Loras said, still sounding sullen.
Where's Brienne? An unreasonable fear shot through him and he immediately tried to soothe himself. She's fine. She's a warrior. Better than all of the men here, he thought. Or she would be if she hadn't been injured. It had been two weeks since her duel with Ser Osmund. Her arm should have healed, but perhaps she had suffered customary weakness from her lack of training for that time.
"Lord Jaime, wait!"
Jaime was already halfway down the stairs. He rounded on Ser Loras and commanded, "Assess your men. I've already assigned you the areas you're to search. I will be back!"
He struck out into the mass of soldiers. He side-stepped, dodged, and slid around countless numbers of men as he made his way to the Maidenvault where he expected Brienne to be. His heart was in his throat and a headache was beginning to build between his eyes, but he would not be able to move forward until he could be certain that she lived and was in good health.
"Jaime?"
At his name, he glanced over to see Ser Addam Marbrand helping one of his soldiers to stand.
"Addam! Follow me," he said, continuing to make his way over to the building.
Once through the soldiers, Jaime charged at the door and grunted in pain as his arm hit it at an awkward angle and it barely budged. He glared at the door, but when he tried the handle, it only opened a sliver.
"Brienne! Brienne, are you in there?"
"Jaime?" He could hear her voice, but not see her. "What is happening?" She sounded more curious than anything.
"Are you safe?"
"I can handle myself," she grumbled.
"This is a battleground! Of course, I'm concerned," Jaime snarled back, feeling his headache flare.
"Not in love, I see," Addam said. Even in the darkness, Jaime could see his knowing smirk.
"Shove off, Addam. I'm glad you're safe, Brienne. Is everyone in there well? Why can't I open the door?"
"We barricaded it," Brienne replied, though she still sounded sullen.
"Good thinking!"
"Well, we were able to prepare because of your note."
"My note?"
"The note you sent earlier this evening telling us the coup was to happen tonight. We put our trunks against the door to stop anyone from coming in."
Even through the cracked door, Jaime could tell that Brienne's voice was a perfectly honest and excitable aqua. But Jaime narrowed his eyes and tried to follow what she was telling him. Someone had sent a note informing them of the coup. Did it have his name signed or did Brienne just assume it was from him?
"Who-" He cut himself off, deciding he didn't have time for an interrogation. He would have to confirm in the morning. "Well, I, uh, I'm glad you heeded my note. Stay behind here. I'll let you know when it's safe," He said and turned to head back through the soldiers to check the other buildings.
"Not safe? The coup is done," Addam said. His voice continued to be green with smugness.
"She doesn't need to know that," Jaime replied. When he reached the next shared quarters that housed the Northern lords, he found they too had barricaded the doors per a note that they said was sent by him. Who could have sent the notes? His mind was too frazzled to contemplate it, but the revelation felt like oil sliding across his skin. In the morning, but first, I have to...find...Baelish. And...the girl, Arya, he thought, rubbing at his temple.
"Jaime…" Addam began, his tone now a suspicious violet.
"Let's get back to Ser Loras. We need Baelish now." He headed back before Addam could raise any more objections. "Search the north side," Jaime commanded. "We'll divide up and search the south and the docks. Cover the entrances. We don't want him slipping out. Beware of the goldcloaks! I suspect he's paid them off seeing as they failed to sound an alarm. Don't attack them unless they attack you."
The mass of soldiers were organizing. The maesters had been roused from their beds and were working their way among the wounded. He thought he saw David and his apprentice, Julian, also assessing soldiers.
Ser Loras continued to look unhappy having to defer to him, but he said, "I selected a number of Reach soldiers who remain uninjured. There are two hundred total."
"Good," Jaime said. "Divide them into groups of twenty. I want your men to fan off from the Red Keep and focus on Flea Bottom, the Street of Sisters, and the Guildhall of the Alchemists."
Ser Loras frowned at him. "I thought we were looking for Baelish."
"We are. But Robb Stark's little sister, Arya Stark, is also missing. She's about one-and-ten with short dark hair and gray Stark eyes. It could be she's out in the city somewhere. Or…"
"Or Baelish has her," Ser Loras finished, the alarm clear on his face.
Jaime shuddered at the thought. By the Seven, he better not.
"Ser Addam, I want you to also divide your men up into groups of twenty. Tackle the south side. Seal off the harbor. Make sure you head off any avenues of escape. But I want you specifically to take Vicente with you and go to Baelish's brothel. See if you can pick up his trail and track him from there."
"Very well," Ser Addam said. "What about you?"
"I have to find Arya Stark. She's more important than even Baelish. I will take Robb Stark with me and we'll search the Red Keep and maybe the city. If I think Baelish has her, we'll join your search for him. Is that clear?"
"I'll leave you men to command as well. They'll still be wearing the white cloth on their arms," Ser Addam said.
"Good. Ser Addam, Ser Loras, we can't let Baelish escape," Jaime said, holding each of their gazes for a moment.
"We'll get him. Men, let's move out!" Addam shouted to be heard.
Jaime had already turned away and headed back towards the Stark quarters. The room they had chosen to keep Robb Stark, his lady wife, Margaery, and Lady Sansa in had been specifically chosen to be close at hand. Jaime deliberately made noise to announce his arrival and the gray sounds of his footsteps felt like gravel being flung at his head. He gritted his teeth and swallowed the building nausea.
"My lord," Delphine said with a quick nod. "What is it?"
"The coup has been averted. You can come out now," Jaime reported. Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa were the first to exit. The young Stark girl had been sobbing and Lady Margaery held her close in her arms and whispered soothing words into her ear. Upon seeing Robb, Jaime grabbed him by the shoulder and began dragging him away.
"Is this necessary?" Robb asked, shaking himself out from Jaime's grip.
Jaime glared at him. "Time is of the essence, boy. Your sister, Lady Arya, is still missing. You're her family. You know her best."
"I-I don't know what she does."
Jaime stared at him in irritation. "Have you not paid any attention to her at all?"
"She's always running off. She trains a lot. I have seen her with that one girl and boy a lot…"
"You mean Lucille?" Jaime asked. He had a vague memory of the two girls fighting each other when he had been staring in admiration atBrienne.
"I… guess?"
"It must be. Lucille never stops talking about Arya and Edric," Lady Delphine spoke up. "I'm sure she'll want to help. Let's go. She and the boys will be in bed."
They went back up through the Stark quarters. Jaime glanced over to Robb Stark's room, tempted to make sure his father was still in cuffs. His heart raced at the notion that he may have slipped away somehow and he slowed so dramatically Robb Stark ran into him. He noticed the boy looking at him in puzzlement. He shook the thought from his head and continued forward. Uncle Gerion could be trusted with his keeping. There was no time to second guess himself. They ran across the courtyard to the Tower of the Hand.
"I'll go get her," Delphine said, disappearing into the room
Robb was grinding his teeth and pacing. Jaime worked to clear his mind. He had to be able to think if he wanted to cut Littlefinger off. The weasel's best bet was to flee to Essos. With any luck, Littlefinger wasn't yet aware that the coup had gone awry and Addam would be able to catch him before too long. However, organizing and marching took time. He prayed to the Seven that they were not too late.
"She's gone!" Both men glanced up in alarm to find Lady Delphine looking pale and frightful. "Lucille is not in her bed! The boys were asleep. They didn't see anything!"
"Two girls missing," Jaime said, drawing his mouth into a thin line. I don't like the sound of this. Baelish owned brothels after all. He could easily spirit either girl to a brothel and never be found. Lucille would be forced to perform for men for the rest of her life, but Arya Stark would be sold into marriage to the highest bidder. Jaime felt bile beginning to rise in his throat and he had to clamp his teeth together to keep it down.
Robb growled and blew his breath out like a raging buffalo. "I will get Winterfell soldiers and we will hunt him down!"
"I have men already! Let's not waste our time gathering more. Let me think," Jaime began, but his heart was now pounding with the added pressure and it was equally matched with the pain resonating in his head. He dug his knuckles to rub at his temple, easing his pain for a moment. "My lady, please, wait here. We'll find her. We'll find her and Arya."
Lady Delphine stiffened and an angry light came to her eyes, but in the next moment she deflated. "Y-yes, my lord, just… please, please, bring our daughter back to us."
"Right now, I don't think Baelish has the girls. He would've had to sneak past the rest of you Shepherds earlier in the night. You saw no one else down in the tunnels right?"
"No, no one," Lady Delphine said, wringing her hands in desperation.
It was then Robb shouted, "The wolves! Nymeria! Maybe she can track Arya."
"Go get her and bring her to your quarters," Jaime ordered. They went their separate ways as Jaime tracked back, yet again, to the Starks quarters. It was irritating him to go back and forth, feeling like he was merely running in circles. The wolf could be a good lead. In a matter of minutes, Jaime saw two direwolves loping toward him with Robb running after them.
Robb seemed to notice the frustrated puzzlement on his face and said, "I need Greywind to control Nymeria. She only listens to Arya. He's the leader of the pack."
They let the wolf into the room and she sniffed about, blowing out her breath on occasion as if something was caught in her nose. She then left the room and went around the corner into the dining area and sniffed around the entrance to the underground tunnel.
"No, Nymeria. I just came from there! We need you to find, Arya," Robb coached with a sliver of impatience.
Jaime clenched his hands and rubbed at his forehead as the pain only got worse. Could it be she was smelling Baelish or at least someone else's scent as they escaped with the girl? He tasted blood in his mouth at that thought. Please let it not be…
Robb led the wolves out into the darkness and Jaime followed. The soldiers still in the Red Keep milling about shied away from the enormous wolves and gave them a wide berth. Nymeria took up the lead once more and rounded the corner of the throne room and led them past the servant's quarters. She began snuffling and whimpering at an open window. Robb threw himself down onto the ground and peered in. "Arya? Arya, are you in there?"
"Can you see anything?"
"It's too dark. I see… furniture. Crates? But there's no one in there," Robb said as he pulled away, his face crestfallen.
Jaime grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. "If Baelish has them, we need to stop wasting our time. Hurry! Let's head him off at the docks. It's his only way out!"
"Do you think they could be in the tunnels?" Robb asked.
Jaime shook his head in confusion and regretted it immediately. His stomach heaved and he had to turn away to vomit on the ground. His headache reached a crescendo. He clenched his teeth as he willed for the pain to ebb.
"Are you...well?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Jaime grumbled as he tried to clear his vision. "It's pointless to search the tunnels. Baelish wouldn't keep them in the tunnels, he would only use them as a means of getting them out. It would take far too much time to find the right path when we can just head him off at the docks."
"Oh-okay, I-I trust you know what you're doing. But a sword! I need a sword," Robb said and ran off back towards the grounds, the dire wolves were hot on his heels. Jaime ground his teeth together and ran after him, still feeling unsteady after vomiting.
The first soldier they ran into, Jaime snapped, "You! Give him your sword!"
Jaime could hardly see him in the dark, but the man simply pulled out his sword and held it out to Robb hilt first.
"Let's go," Jaime said, heading back to the Tower of the Hand. The men Ser Addam promised him were waiting outside and at his word, they fell around him. Ser Callum joined as well, babbling about how Lucille was 'family,' but Jaime paid him little mind.
He was hoping he would relax as he entered the city, but his mouth felt dry and his hands trembled from the blood coursing his veins. His head continued to pound and every step he took on the pavement felt agonizingly slow. Panic. He never thought he would understand what such a thing would feel like, but he could admit it was the only word to spring to mind with what he was feeling. Aemon loved Arya like his sister. He'd been torn and miserable when there had been the probability of being forced to marry her off and now she was missing and in the hands of a weasel like Baelish? Jaime wasn't sure that even Aemon would have room for forgiveness in his heart if something had happened to Arya.
Jaime's heart pounded in his ears and a cold sweat broke out over him as he felt a wave of heat hit him like he'd just stepped into the Dornish Desert. His gaze wavered and he staggered to a halt.
"My lord, are you well?" He didn't know who'd spoken.
"Fine, fine. We need to get to the docks. Secure the docks," Jaime said, but his voice sounded far away, even to his ears.
"What's going on?" Robb's voice sounded so youthful.
"He's seizing." That had to be Ser Callum.
"No, no, I can't—I can't fail. Baelish. Arya. Lucille. I have to find them." Jaime was only vaguely aware that he'd stopped and was swaying on his feet. He could barely see through the pain and his vision blurred. His eyes felt heavy, but he struggled to keep them open.
"Go ahead. I'll watch him. My lord, you need to sit. Sit. My lord!"
His vision went dark and there was a slight pain as he crumpled to the ground in his armor.
|-The Dragon's Roar-|
Petyr III
He fumed as he scrambled to put last-minute valuables into his bag. One stack of parchments would grant him the contacts and leverage he needed in Essos to stay hidden, one of the only copies of Fire and Blood: The Targaryen Dynasty would fetch him a hefty sum of money from a collector, Prince Rhaegar's priceless dagger—well, everything had a price—and several pouches of gold dragons. And then he had to burn everything.
Petyr was perfectly aware that Tywin Lannister was an aging old fool. He still had cunning, guile, and an unmatched lust for power. Further, he had the might, the name and the determination to see nearly every bit of it done. It was going to be messy, these things always were, but in the end the Lannisters would take the throne and Petyr himself would clear the path to marry Lysa. Once Tywin died—potentially sped up, if needed—the rest of the family would be ripe for the picking. He would give credit that Lord Jaime had attempted some clever ruses, but he was not all that smart. Petyr could have had him chasing shadows in no time, leaving himself and his family vulnerable to the real threats. All it would take was time and he had plenty of that. But first… this coup had to go off without a hitch.
For all the old lion's cunning, Petyr had not anticipated him having a blindspot the size of a galleon ship for his golden son. He'd long had his doubts about Jaime Lannister's loyalty. His every step, every gesture, every movement suggested he was in lockstep with King Aemon Targaryen. But how could he be? After suffering in the presence of the last Targaryen king and murdering him, Lord Jaime should have been just as wary of the bastard dragon as his father.
Petyr had thought Aemon had lost his mind, appointing the murderer of his grandfather to Hand of the King. In hindsight, it had been a brilliant move, securing the Westerlands to his cause and using the might that Lord Jaime represented to ensnare the Reach as another ally. King Aemon had surely reaped the initial rewards, but then he grew too comfortable. He left Lord Jaime to rule in his place and put them in the perfect position to break the throne from his limp grasp.
Tywin had assured him that his son would fall in line. And to ensure that he had, Tywin went to his son himself and made clear the dragon's dishonorable actions by imprisoning a woman with a fraudulent letter. King Aerys II had not been as sharp as a knife one day and then as mad as the High Sparrow the next. His injustices had started small before he moved on to bigger ones. Tywin had been certain that would be enough to forever set Jaime against the mad Targaryens and remind him that his family was the only one he could trust.
Jaime had played his father for a fool and plotted behind his back. Petyr's alarm had spiked when his spies returned with information about the Northerners and Riverlanders whispering to each other about a coup taking place. When he'd raised the alarm to Tywin, the old lion had moved up the timetable to execute the coup a full three days before it was originally planned.
Despite the change in time, Petyr's ears and eyes reported that most of the Riverland and Northern lords had barricaded the doors to their own quarters. Then the Tyrells had turned and started attacking Lannister soldiers. Lady Olenna had betrayed them. Now Petyr was forced to take his leave and start near the bottom again, all because he had assumed Tywin Lannister had the wit and cunning to beat a dragon in wolf's clothes. He certainly hadn't lacked for that, but his own son standing in his way had surprised them all.
If the meddling healer hadn't saved Lord Jaime from the Ironborn, Petyr would have found a way to have had him killed. Much like Bronze Yohn Royce, Lord Jaime had proven himself far too staunch and stubborn to keep alive.
Petyr jumped as he heard a resounding boom on the door. He was out of time. He swatted the candle onto the scattered parchments that littered his desk. His eyes kept flickering from the fire to the door as he tensed to run. The flames seemed to take an achingly long time to spread. The door splintered under the weight of the soldiers and would not hold for another blow.
With a cry of frustration, Baelish picked up the crossbow and turned his heels to the other side of the building.
The door crashed behind him and he heard Vicente yell, "There he goes! Get him!"
He cursed under his breath that he hadn't made it beyond the door to not be spotted. However, he did smirk as one man called out, "We need to put out the fire. Put it out! This is evidence!"
It was likely they'd be able to salvage some of the parchment, but certainly not all of it. It would have to do.
Petyr cut through the hallways at breakneck speed, glad, at least, that there was no one else residing inside who could potentially betray him. The rooms he passed were empty. Even his own hideout where he spilled the candle had minimal furnishings, with a rough desk and a chair for sitting. He kept the majority of his parchments split between the brothel and this place in the event that either abode was exposed. Though the information in this particular building was further hidden behind a facade near his desk. He hadn't wanted to chance everything being found on a lark, but now it was impossible to hide.
He only had the barest glimpses of the outside through windows that were barred and partially covered to keep the integrity of his secrecy. Thankfully, it appeared to be primarily dark and quiet in this part of King's Landing. If he had waited much longer, the net would've closed around him, but he could slip through like an eel.
His speed began to flag as he approached the door out onto the streets. He cursed himself for his lack of stamina, his fitness being something that he never considered a priority since he had never been particularly swift or strong. He burst through the door and managed to make it a few more steps before he found some wooden crates and decided to get his bearings and rest. His secret quarters were at the far end near the dock. He could see torches down the way as soldiers fanned out, but they were not yet remotely close. He could catch his breath.
The drumming of footsteps from the hallway he had just left caught his attention. Petyr growled and gritted his teeth. If he was hearing correctly, the person running after him was alone. He pulled the crossbow from his back and, using the crates, positioned it and steadied his aim.
Petyr felt his heart leap with glee as the traitor, Vicente, burst into the opening and slid to a stop, glancing around wildly for his trail. A token for my troubles, he thought and released the bolt. Vicente had just noticed him, but he grunted and fell back as the bolt landed squarely into his chest. Petyr threw back his head and allowed himself to laugh.
"You thought you could pull one over on me. You were never as good as you thought," Baelish called out to him.
"Man down!" A voice called from the hallway.
Baelish abandoned the crossbow and started running once more for the small rowboat he had stowed away for his escape. He wouldn't have time to reload the crossbow and it was too cumbersome to bother with. His exhaustion was forgotten as he chuckled at his good fortune of at least killing one person who he had discovered to be a knife in his side. He would live to see another day compared to that foolish boy.
His heart soared when he found his little rowboat bobbing in the waves, blissfully untouched. He threw his valuables in, cast off the rope, and began rowing. He breathed a sigh of relief as the boat left the dock behind and not too soon, as he saw soldiers running up the path.
"There he is! He's getting away!"
"Find a boat. Something!"
By the time they sorted themselves out he would be well on his way. Captain Aurich had a large ship that could only be anchored offshore. He still had some ways to row, but it was the only ship where the deck was partly lit by lanterns.
His shoulders burned with the effort and he was starting to feel the creeping exhaustion that was common after staying up the whole night. He was nearly to the ship and he could tell a lightening of the sky heralded the coming dawn. Looking back at the dock, he managed to chuckle between breaths as he saw a pair of rowboats making their way after him, but they were so far off, their lantern lights looked like little more than fireflies.
Petyr grinned when he felt the rowboat bump into the side of the larger ship. Ropes lowered from above and he attached them to the ends of the boat, then waited with mounting satisfaction as he was slowly pulled up onto the deck. Despite the soreness in his shoulders that he attempted to rub away, he was smiling. The coup may have been a failure but he would always live. There would be more plans. Now that he knew Lord Jaime could not be depended upon to turn against his king, he would find a new angle of approach and a new lord to parlay his fortunes to. His brothel business was lost to him, but the money he had invested in several banks under an array of aliases would be available to him in Braavos. He would have a headstart on any letter that attempted to make it to the Iron Bank.
When he jumped over the side onto the deck, he found Captain Aurich standing nearby, watching him with a neutral expression. He was a grizzled old fellow with yellowing teeth. His favorite article of clothing was a red coat with golden embroidery, but its quality had faded with the years and the constant assault of seawater. Yet Petyr never saw him without it.
"Ah, Captain, you have my thanks for staying close at hand in these dire times," Petyr said with an ingratiating smile. He dug into the pocket of his long coat and shook a small bag of gold dragons. "As promised, here is the other half of the payment that I promised for your troubles. Now, if you please, we must be heading out to Braavos immediately."
He was a tad unnerved when Captain Aurich's expression didn't change, but the man drew the string on the bag and opened it to sift through the coins. Then he nodded and said with a small, satisfied smile, "My cabin is ready, as you requested."
"Much obliged," Petyr replied. He picked up his bag once more and started towards the great cabin on the stern.
Petyr opened the door. He heard a twang and felt a sharp impact that almost slammed him back. He stopped in shock and his heart plummeted as he glanced down to the bolt sunk almost to the fletching in his upper guts, right under the ribs. He struggled to tear his eyes up from the incongruous sight, but someone moved, and he found Varys sidestepping him to close the door behind him. He moved quietly, but much faster than usual, almost like a trained fighter.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, so crude, " Varys said.
Petyr didn't know if he referred to the crossbow or something else. Somehow the pain that he should feel hadn't come yet and he didn't know what to think of it. He was still breathing, even as his heart pounded in his ears and a sweat broke out all over him, but his knees gave out and he slid down the door. Dread filled his very core, but he felt the beginnings of fury start to bubble up beneath it.
"Why? You would help the Targaryen and his dog, the Lannister? Really, Varys, I thought you were better than this," Petyr said, trying to keep his voice level, but he swallowed and his eyes kept falling to the crossbow bolt protruding from his own chest. It all seemed unreal, as if it was happening to someone else.
"I have my reasons. I would have been… mostly content with you burning it all down. Your usual brand of chaos served my needs perfectly. For a time. However, you have outlived your usefulness, and now you are only of value to me dead. After all, I have to prove my own usefulness to the victors and what better way than to give them you? I could have allowed you to live, but then I am afraid you made that impossible when you began spreading those nasty rumors about me. That is one step too far," Varys said, staring down at him with a superior gaze.
"You spilled my involvement in Lord Jon Arryn's murder! I was only giving you a taste of your own medicine," Petyr snarled back. He was beginning to shiver and he groaned as a wave of pain crashed over him.
Varys cocked his head. "Now, why would I care about upsetting that? That would've quite deftly taken a whole kingdom away from the dragon's list of allies and made it that much easier to tip the scales. His kingship would never have been secured as long as Lady Lysa held out and I rather doubt the boy's commitment to wage war against a woman."
Petyr drew in a shuddering breath and the fear came crashing down upon him. He had miscalculated. Varys was a master at hiding his lies, but everyone had ticks they could not control. The ring of truth was in his very words and expression.
"Huh-how did he—?" Petyr stammered.
"I'm unclear on that myself. They revealed to me their knowledge of my connections with Princess Daenerys. I knew then that that was how I could remain as Master of Whispers and curry their favor. So I took it," Varys replied, his voice deeper, devoid of his usual simper. "Another thing they made clear is that your days were numbered with them as King and Hand. They were determined to bring you to justice. I have to admire the effort, as pitiful it was. Undoubtedly, they underestimated you. But you underestimated them in return. Now, I am sure they would have preferred to have you alive and talking. But we can't have that, can we? I am afraid that they will have to be satisfied with your body, that would serve well enough. "
Petyr suddenly realized, through the fog that was filling his head, that Varys had been winding the mechanism as he talked.
"No, wai—" Petyr heard the clink of the crossbow as it released and then pain exploded as the bolt ripped into his chest. Petyr tried to draw in another breath to scream, but the agony that twisted his insides cut it off. The last thing he could feel was the warm, metallic taste of his own blood filling his mouth and he spluttered as he drowned in it.
