Author's Notes: Good day, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you, beautiful readers for all of your support with a work like The Dragon's Roar. It means a great deal to me to have an audience I can share my work with.
CatzRko0l continues to be an absolute rockstar! I greatly appreciate all of the work you do. Thank you so much!
Chapter 80
Jaime XXVII
He sat at the desk in his solar and stared straight through the piece of parchment that he was delicately holding between his fingers. He understood the words, but was having difficulty comprehending them. It had only been a week since the coup. After his seizure in the streets, he had woken up in his bed alone and disoriented. It had taken Tyrion and Ser Addam telling him the coup had not been a dream to calm him as he frantically tried to piece things together.
Lord Tywin Lannister had been arrested and was imprisoned, awaiting trial. Ser Addam had asked for Reach men to guard his cell day and night, so there was now no chance his father would be able to sway Lannister soldiers to set him free.
Varys had been detained with Petyr Baelish's dead body. He had come so close to slipping through their fingers. It was clear he hadn't had as much faith in the coup as his father had. However, Varys had put his scheming to bed once and for all, much to Jaime's ire.
Varys had been a poor Master of Whispers as he had failed to suitably inform either him or the king of the coup. Perhaps, though, with Aemon gone, Varys felt he couldn't speak of secret coups to the son of the man who was planning them in case Jaime gave him to his father. But Varys had his ways. Jaime felt he could have done more, but all he had were his suspicions. That's all he ever seemed to have.
I'm not good at this, he thought as he rubbed his eyes and finally put the note down on his desk, flipping it over so that he could not see the words. He'd been fighting with a small headache since he'd woken up, but had managed to keep it at bay.
The other good bit of news to come after the coup was Lady Arya and Lady Lucille both crawling out of the woodwork in the morning, admitting that they had taken refuge in the tunnels when they heard the sounds of battle. At least in Lucille's case. Arya's voice was purple with a lie, but he let it slide. Perhaps Aemon could get her to speak. Jaime wanted to kick himself for assuming that the children wouldn't know about the tunnels. It was a relief to see them healthy and whole, but it was the only other success.
David the healer had continued to dutifully deliver headache tonics and sleeping potions, but only grudgingly. His own facial scars had healed like a patchwork with great creases for scars where his apprentice had stitched him back together. His glare only served to distort his face even more. Jaime had already offered his condolences to David and the Shepherds for Vicente. While everyone else had accepted gracefully, David remained mute and furious.
He had done his best to avoid them in the meantime. He hadn't known Vicente long enough, but their grief and pain was apparent with every motion. They had cleared a space and burned his body outside the walls of King's Landing. Jaime had taken his horse Agro and lurked outside the ring of light, closing his eyes to make a silent prayer that the Stranger see him through to the other side. They had started to sing a hymn that was both mournful and haunting, in a language he did not recognize and it followed him as he returned to the city.
While Jaime hadn't known him well, Vicente had been instrumental in passing information. And even after David had been injured, he had done his mightiest to keep up the charade for Baelish. Without his efforts, the weasel would have scampered off long ago. He and Aemon would have been forced to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.
Even now that Baelish was dead and his father was in prison, news kept pouring in regarding the havoc they had wreaked. Robb Stark, Domeric Bolton, and Lady Margaery insisted on a meeting once he had woken from his sleep. His seizures frequently left him groggy and dull-witted, so when they informed him that Lord Roose Bolton had taken Winterfell by breaking guestright, he could only blink at them uncomprehending for several moments. Then as the words finally took meaning in his head, his sense of victory evaporated and he felt like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach.
Roose Bolton had his son. His newborn son, Cassian, was at the mercy of Roose Bolton who had a penchant for carrying on the time-honored tradition of flaying, as was his house symbol.
Domeric was brave enough to step up with his hands spread. "Now, my lord, my father was under strict orders not to harm any of the children."
The rage that had started to build out of the despair contorted Jaime's face. To Domeric's credit, he did not recoil when Jaime locked eyes with him, but he did swallow nervously.
"Your father has my SON!" Jaime roared.
His voice wavered in yellow but remained truthful. "My father is… many things, but he is smart. He wouldn't dare—"
Jaime surged forward and Domeric finally fell back as Jaime punctuated each word with a step forward. "Your father broke guestright against his own liege lord! He committed treason against his king! What are a handful of children's deaths to him?"
"Lord Lannister," Margaery said, stepping up and daring to at least partially get in the way. Her usual cheery smile was replaced with a look of worry and strain. "The children are hostages. I'm sure Lord Bolton thinks he will be able to strike a deal, using them for leniency."
She drew in a shuddering breath as Jaime turned towards her. "For his sake, that better be his decision."
Aemon had successfully negotiated for Dorne's support and then his ship had been attacked by a contingent of Westerlands and Stormland forces. Ser Meryn Trant had very nearly mortally wounded Aemon, but he had gotten away with a nasty bruise and killed Trant for his efforts. Yet it was another sign of just how close his father had come to killing the last male Targaryen. Even if Tywin had never managed to get control of the throne, Aemon's death would still have thrown the kingdoms into chaos. The Starks would have taken control of the throne, but their lack of initiative and understanding of the game would have seen them eaten alive. The realm would fracture and the Night King would march right over their corpses. It was their good fortune that Baelish couldn't tell a good fighter from horse shit.
Then the letter from the day before had come to him. Lady Maege Mormont had delivered it herself. Jaime thought it took every ounce of her control to not grimace and then she had gruffly mumbled an apology and held the letter out to him.
He eyed her suspiciously as he took it then unrolled it and everything seemed to dissolve around him.
Lady Maege of House Mormont,
The Ironborn have raided Bear Island. They came in the dead of night. The watch sounded the alarm but there was much confusion and chaos. Ten are dead. Among the victims is the long held prisoner Lady Cersei Lannister. Her wounds were dressed, but as she remained so weak from starving herself, she succumbed within a day.
My deepest regrets,
Maester Krennik
He heard Lady Maege speak, but her voice was so distant it sounded like it came to him from the bottom of a well. His twin whom he had been clutching as he was born into the world was now dead. She had stolen a bastard from him, his mind from him for a period of time, and had nearly stolen his heirloom of Casterly Rock. Two bodies, one soul, she had said often during their fucking—he refused to call it lovemaking. Yet she had been dead for a week or more and he had not known. Just as she had died in the time before without his knowing when or how.
Jaime wasn't sure what happened to Lady Maege, but when he was finally dragged out of his thoughts he could see the telltale orange of the setting sun as it shined through his window. Had he really been staring at that letter for hours? He had risen and taken the jug of wine the servants left and poured out a generous serving and indulged.
Even as he drained his first cup, he felt the simmerings of rage building. First he learned that Cassian was being held hostage in Winterfell and now this. Why do I care what happened to her? He thought, grinding his teeth, and then taking another long draught. She ruined my life once and came damn close to ruining it again. Maybe she finally understood the fear and terror she had caused in so many poor servants and younger ladies. The wrong end of an Ironborn sword is a fitting end. A pity they didn't take her for a saltwife, but I suppose even they have standards.
He began clenching and unclenching his empty fist as his rage built. Yet underneath it, he felt a devastating sorrow and emptiness that threatened to overwhelm him. She got what she deserved. She got what she deserved, he told himself. Yet he couldn't seem to believe it.
Jaime grabbed the carafe and hurled it at the door. It smashed and red wine splattered across every surface. Chunks of red, glossy and matte clay littered the floor in various sizes. He heard a tremor at the door in the form of a knock. The door opened a crack and Podrick carefully peaked through. He stared in surprise at the dripping wine and shards of clay.
He opened his mouth to speak and his voice wavered, "Sh-shall I call a servant, my lord?"
"Leave me be," Jaime replied.
His voice was so quiet, he wasn't sure Podrick would hear it, but the boy quickly pulled away and closed the door with a snap. He stalked his solar, his hands clenching and unclenching as they searched for more to destroy even as he did his best to keep his temper in check. This was where a training dummy would have served its purpose, but he hated the idea of anyone seeing him in that state, especially Brienne.
He hid himself away, blowing out the candles that kept the solar lit. He remained restless and paced the dark like a caged lion unable to shake the raw emotion that had been welling up in him for most of the last several days. Once it was clear he would not be calming down, he rooted through his desk for a sleeping potion. He nearly spilled it in his urgency to uncap and drink it down.
The potion typically quieted his mind and allowed him to find rest, but his thoughts were like a river overflowing its bank. He dreamed of Cersei mounting him, her smile grew ever wider as her skin peeled away to reveal the skull beneath. A baby screamed and screamed. Jaime was too far away to see, but Roose Bolton was standing at what appeared to be a workbench, his form blocking the view of the babe. Yet Jaime saw him pick up wicked sharp instruments and the child's screams reached a fever pitch as he saw Roose Bolton work.
Jaime bolted awake in the early morning hours and vomited into his chamber pot and fell back into bed, unable to find sleep for the rest of the night. He was exhausted, but the emotions that had crippled him the night before had left him spent and numb.
A knock at the door barely caused him to stir, but then Tyrion was barging in, full of mocking cheer. Jaime had flicked his eyes to him and then back to the ceiling, staring at it dully. No amount of cajoling, wheedling, threats, or even promises of Brienne made Jaime shift. Tyrion had snooped his desk to understand what had caused this mood and apparently found the letter. He left. Only Podrick dared enter the office all day to bring a tray of food.
He remembered only bits and pieces of that day, most notably the sound of the door creaking when Pod came in to deliver yet another tray of food. His mind drifted, but he would come to in fits and starts, not quite sleeping but not waking either. The last time he started, he found the day had rolled around and night had set in. Everything was quiet. He pulled himself out of bed. The Lannister guards standing at his door all started as he opened it and stepped out.
"My Lord?" One of them asked, but he didn't acknowledge it.
The grounds were deserted save for the Reach soldiers on rotation. Everyone else in the Keep was asleep. Despite the dark, he felt the eyes of the soldiers on him as he walked past them at a sedate pace. His feet led him past the dark and gnarled silhouettes of trees and found himself at the hearttree. He stared up into the crudely carved face.
Jaime studied it, his eyes carefully tracing the whorls and gnarls, and then he muttered, "You better protect my son. Protect all of the children."
He stood in the cool night air and breathed. The Tower of the Hand remained stuffy from the heat of the day, so the crisp air reinvigorated his lungs. Then he turned and tread back to his bed, able to collapse and find sleep once more. He was still tired when he woke up in the morning, but had managed to find peace for the time being.
All of the burning fires he had been managing were either snuffed out or down to crackling embers, he decided it was time to address a certain warrior woman. He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began writing. It took him far longer than he would have liked, but he preferred to do it himself. In his mind, the formality was less important than the personal touch and he was not in the mood for any needling by Tyrion. After he had crossed out words, written and rewritten to his satisfaction, he got another fresh parchment and wrote it out as neatly as he could manage.
He left the letter open to dry on his desk and cracked open the door. "Pod, I request Lady Brienne's presence."
"Yes, m'lord," Podrick said and his voice vibrated with hidden glee. The poor boy appeared genuinely happy that he was of a better mind.
I'll need to find a time to raise that boy to knighthood, he thought. Podrick's training had been neglected as the king's duties consumed Jaime. There was still much to be done, but things would be returning to normal in short order.
Jaime checked himself in a mirror. His hair was a tad long but tamable for the time being and he was glad to see the ragged edge of his rage was no longer visible on his face. He then paced the room as he waited, but unlike other times where he was wild and frantic, his steps were ponderous as he thought. His head snapped up and his heart leapt when he heard a tapping at his door.
"Come in," Jaime commanded. He stayed standing at his desk.
"Lady Brienne, m'lord," Podrick said with a short bow.
"Thank you, Pod. Leave the door open."
Brienne stepped inside but went no further. Her face was closed like a drawbridge pulled up to fortify a castle. "My Lord Hand," she murmured by way of greeting, but was otherwise quiet.
"Did you get my letter?"
"What letter?"
He paused a moment. "The one that Lady Margaery sent to you."
"I received it," she replied plainly. Though her face was guarded, he saw her fists clench.
"Good." Jaime nodded and considered his next move. He walked over to her and said, "I would like to formally apologize. I should never—"
Crack! His face was whipped to the side with the force of the slap and he involuntarily winced. But he nodded as he brought his eyes back to hers. "I deserved that."*
Brienne drew herself up proudly.
"I apologize for my words to you in the training grounds that day after Kettleblack attacked you. They were uncalled for and they hurt. You fought admirably that day and I humiliated you."
Jaime noticed Brienne seemed to be struggling with the decision to speak or not. Finally, she said, "I accept your apology."
"Thank you. Then shall we move onto the next order of business?"
She blinked at him and he thought he saw a slight widening to her eyes as the smirk grew on his face. He went back to his desk and snatched up the letter, holding it up. "I wrote this letter this morning to your father, Lord Selwyn of Tarth, the Evenstar. I ask for your hand in marriage."
The declaration staggered her. She took a step back and her mouth hung open in shock, trembling, her eyes shining with emotion. Her courage failed her and she looked to the ground.
"You're surprised? I thought you read my letter?" Jaime asked. He hoped she recognized the slight teasing in his tone for what it was.
Brienne dared to meet his eyes and he could see a flicker of anger in her face. "I thought it was a jape," she blurted out.
"I was afraid you might," Jaime whispered. "But I meant every word. I admired you the moment I—uh, the moment we crossed swords for the first time. You have more honor in your fingernail than all the knight's within the Red Keep."
Jaime was beginning to feel lightheaded and he swayed where he stood. Since he had been a one-handed shadow in the life before, he had dreamed of saying those words. He nearly bit his tongue off when he almost made mention of the bear pit that would be wholly unknown to her. But he had no doubt after spending so much time training with her, that this Brienne was not so far removed from the Brienne he knew. His heart still fluttered the same in her presence as it did in the time before. The moment didn't feel real.
"I'm not so certain you aren't mocking me," she said with a growl.
He started after having lost himself in her eyes and gave the barest shake of his head. "No, truly. I love you and I want to marry you. Read the letter yourself." He held it out to her.
She took it with much hesitation and read it. The letter was nearly a repeat of what he had sent to her through Margaery, though without the warnings against the Lannister army or his father.
"I will head straight to the maesters to send it by raven. But I will only do that if you agree to the match," Jaime said.
Brienne shook her head. She looked defeated. "No, you can't want me."
Jaime raised his eyebrows at her. "My own father tried to dictate to me what I wanted. He's imprisoned now."
"You're beautiful and I am ugly. No one wants me," she said.
He couldn't keep back the small chuckle. "You have seen my face, haven't you?"
She scoffed. "The scars do little to take away your beauty. You're fiercer. My ugliness does nothing for me."
"You're not ugly. Your eyes—"
Brienne looked back at him and there was a kindling of hope.
"They're the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. As blue as… sapphires."
She only sighed and continued shaking her head. "I will not do. I think you'll have better luck with another."
"I don't want another," Jaime snapped, his patience beginning to fray once more. "Any other woman would get on my nerves with her simpering and fawning. But not you. You would challenge me. You would actually fight me and not be afraid to. I never feel so alive as when I'm fighting and I'm at my most alive when I'm fighting with you!"
Jaime took a step and grabbed her hand, gingerly planting a kiss on it and then held it. He was fiercely determined as he held her gaze. "What will it take to convince you? Shall I duel you as well?"
Brienne snorted with laughter, but the hope was ever brighter. "You would win."
"Conceding already?"
"I have yet to defeat you."
"There's always a chance."
She finally squeezed his hand back. "I'm not sure I'd want to this time."
Jaime now stared up at her in wonder. She offered him a tentative smile. Is this it? He smiled. It was a strange feeling. It felt like it had been years since he last wore a true smile. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. He saw the briefest flicker of uncertainty in her eyes until he closed the distance and kissed her. Her lips were as dry as he remembered and feelings that he had long grown alien to him welled up in his chest as he held her. How long had it been since he kissed her?
She had initially tensed beneath his hands, but then she relaxed and her hands bunched the fabric of his shirt as she clenched him. Jaime thought he heard a disappointed sigh as he pulled away. He stared into her eyes tentatively, afraid he had crossed the line. Her eyes were closed and fluttered open with a small smile of contentment.
"I will marry you," Brienne said.
|-The Dragon's Roar-|
Aemon XXVI
Aemon's relief was palpable when he saw King's Landing again, but so was his disappointment. It had struck him the day of the ambush that it had been nearly four months since he'd sent Ser Barristan to find Daenerys. There was a real possibility that she would be waiting for him upon his return. But the Rhaella was not at port. Perhaps that was not such a bad thing. He winced at the thought of Daenerys being greeted by Jaime. In that instance, he'd hoped that Ser Barristan would have alleviated her concerns about Jaime, but after his own uncle's resistance at accepting Jaime's loyalty, perhaps that was too much to expect.
His longing for Daenerys was becoming unbearable since he realized how close she likely was. He would have to remind himself not to immediately plant a kiss upon seeing her gentle smile. He had tried to put her out of his mind, but he was growing weary of that. Just a little longer, he told himself.
How did Jaime cope with not being able to touch Brienne?
That aside, he never thought he would be so grateful to see the city ever. He could not see any signs of fire, so all seemed to be in good order. There was a party waiting for his dinghy to arrive and he recognized the blazing red armor of Jaime from where he waited at the foot of the dock. As the dinghy grew closer, Aemon noticed there were a mix of Lannister soldiers and Tyrell men in their green attire. He raised his eyebrows and pondered quietly.
His uncle, the Hound, Ser Torrhen Karstark, Ser Arys Oakheart, Ser Preston Greenfield, and Ghost shared the dinghy with him. Prince Oberyn, Sarella, Ser Garlan Tyrell, and the rest of the Kingsguard would follow separately.
As soon as the dinghy hit the dock and was tied, Aemon stood and climbed out of the boat. He did not wait for his Uncle or his Kingsguard and walked straight to Jaime.
His friend gave him a quick bow and said, "Welcome back to King's Landing, Your Grace. Are you well?"
He was taken aback by Jaime's lighter posture. The Jaime he had left had been moody and frustrated, on the verge of sulking when told he would have to manage the kingdom as Hand. There was a light in his eyes and the barest glimmers of a smirk on his face. The strain that had characterized Jaime since he had taken the position of Hand appeared to have lifted.
He frowned in suspicion but nodded. "Thank you, Jaime. I am well. I'm sure you've heard the news, but I was able to successfully negotiate an alliance with Dorne. Prince Oberyn will be joining us at the next Small Council session as part of our bargain." He had to smother a smile as Jaime's face darkened ever so slightly.
"That is… welcome news, Your Grace," Jaime replied, his voice dipping into drollness that was much more familiar. "We have much to speak of. Shall we head to the Red Keep then?"
"Of course," Aemon said. The soldiers parted and Jaime could see Ser Loras standing at the rear. He stiffened upon seeing Aemon and gave him a curt bow, refusing to meet his eyes. He merely gave Ser Loras a passing glance. As far as he was concerned, the humiliation Ser Loras had suffered was enough penance for his misdeeds. It was clear that if Jaime had allowed him to accompany the party then he was controlled. All the same, Aemon was still glad for the Myrish mail. A small chink was all of the evidence that was left where Meryn Trant had attempted to mortally wound him. He continued to wear it.
Aemon did stop short once he reached the street and saw the carriage waiting for him. He turned and leveled a glare at Jaime who looked entirely too innocent. His growing smirk gave him away.
"What is this?"
"We have much to discuss, Your Grace. I thought we'd start here."
There was a moment of silence. "I am healthy enough to ride a horse."
"But I won't be able to hear you over the voices of the people, Your Grace."
Liar, Aemon thought.
"Your Grace, what's the matter?" His uncle asked.
Jaime's good cheer instantly evaporated and his face became stony. "Lord Stark," he greeted in a biting tone.
Aemon sighed. "Very well, let's get in. Come, join us, Uncle." He could only imagine Jaime's ire by having to be in an even closer proximity to his uncle. He certainly couldn't blame him at this point.
"Ghost, follow!" The dire wolf was far too big to fit in a carriage, but he trusted his wolf would keep pace with the carriage. The kingsguard and the rest of the entourage knew better than to let any harm come to his wolf.
He sat on one side with his uncle and Jaime sat on the other. Jaime had his eyes fixed on him and seemed determined to ignore his uncle's presence altogether.
As soon as the carriage started bumping along, Aemon began, "Is all well? Your letters caused me great concern."
"As well as can be expected after an attempted coup," Jaime grumbled and the strain returned to his face.
"Tell me." The quarters in the carriage were close enough Aemon would have no trouble hearing, but he leaned in all the same.
"Lord Tywin Lannister marched the Lannister army into the city to take the Red Keep. He and a handful of soldiers personally broke into the Stark quarters and attempted to murder Robb Stark."
His uncle drew in a quick breath and stiffened next to him. Jaime ignored him. Aemon felt the breath leave his chest and he was almost grateful for the sturdy walls of the carriage. He had been so certain upon becoming king that the lion's share of attention and threats would be focused on him. He had nearly forgotten that by having Robb as his heir, he would be considered yet one more person to dispose of.
"Robb Stark is alive. I was there to squirrel him away and catch my father in the act. He has been arrested and is awaiting trial in the dungeons."
Aemon sagged in relief. "Good work, Jaime. I knew I could count on you." While he hadn't expected Jaime to glow with pride, he was surprised at the grimace on his face.
"It would've been better if he'd never been able to act at all."
"We both know he was never going to let the throne be taken from his blood lightly. I am grateful that you were willing to stand against your own father and stop him."
Jaime drew himself up until his own hair was brushing the ceiling of the carriage. "Of course, Your Grace. My loyalty to you will never waver."
"I know." He couldn't keep his eyes from flickering over to his uncle, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Jaime took notice and his expression soured once more.
"What of Baelish?"
"He was not in the Red Keep at the time of the coup. I sent Reach and Lannister soldiers into the city to hunt him down. Vicente directed Ser Addam Marbrand and his contingent to the ratholes he had discovered. He lost his life trying to catch him. Baelish slipped through our nets and straight into Lord Varys'. He's dead."
Aemon blinked. "Truly?"
"Yes, he will no longer be a threat, Your Grace."
Aemon heaved a sigh of relief. "That is welcome news. We always knew he was a sly one. Cutting off all of his escape routes was always going to be tricky. But...Varys?"
A shadow fell across Jaime's face. "I've placed him under strict guard. He acted of his own accord and failed to do his job properly as Master of Whispers. I don't trust him, Your Grace."
"Hmm," Aemon grunted in acknowledgement, turning away to stare out the window as he thought. It seemed likely that Varys had confronted Baelish. Neither men were fighters and he doubted one would be able to physically overcome the other. "How did Baelish die?"
"Crossbow bolt. One in the gut, one in the heart."
The only death more fitting is the throat slice Arya gave the last Baelish, he thought. Both had drowned in their own blood. "I intend to speak with Varys."
"I should be there when you do. Baelish was like a rat with an uncanny sense of danger" Jaime ground his teeth together. "He tried to burn evidence. Thankfully, he was left rather short on time. A few pages were lost, but most of it is still intact. Ser Lyn Corbray can be tied to his misdeeds in the Vale as well. But I will know if Varys is hiding anything."
"Ser Lyn Corbray?" Aemon cocked his head at him.
Jaime winced. "Pardon, Your Grace. A great deal has happened while you were in Dorne. Ser Lyn Corbray came to King's Landing demanding that the Vale forces be returned due to the Mountain Clans harassing soldiers and travelers in the Vale."
Aemon frowned.
"Yes, the quarantine was broken on the Eyrie. The Blackfish left his post at the Bloody Gate and that is how Baelish learned of your deception. He was trying to get Ser Lyn Corbrary to move more allied forces out of the city now that Lord Yohn Royce was dead. But I caught him in a lie. He dueled for his honor and lost. I broke his arm. He remains imprisoned in the Tower of the Hand. The Shepherds have been overseeing his care to make sure no poison could be slipped to him."
"That doesn't sound like the Blackfish," his uncle interjected.
"No, it doesn't," Jaime admitted in a dull voice.
Aemon furrowed his brow. If the Blackfish had a known reputation for being steadfast, then abandoning a post the king had assigned to him was unlikely. No doubt Baelish had a hand in his removal, but then where was he? He would have to make inquiries. He hoped he wasn't dead.
"We have also arrested Lord Leo Lefford, Cortnay Penrose, and half a dozen knights. They actively participated in the plan to commit treason." A shadow fell over Jaime's face and he cast what Aemon could only describe as a nervous glance at his uncle.
"What is it?"
Jaime worked his jaw, having trouble getting the words out and then said, "Domeric Bolton confessed that his father, Lord Roose Bolton, has taken Winterfell."
"What?!" His uncle burst out.
Aemon felt his heart fall in his chest. "How?"
"He took advantage of guestright."
Aemon gritted his teeth and felt his knuckles crack as he clenched his fists. "I thought we had circumvented his treason! That is awfully bold."
"My father promised him support as Warden of the North and a politically advantageous match between Domeric Bolton and Alysanne Lefford," Jaime replied. Whatever had put Jaime in a reasonable mood before was gone. His face was nearly ashen with grief. "The plan was to kill you, your uncle here, and then Robb."
"And that way Tywin would have control over the Stark heir." Aemon's face was thunderous as he sat back in his seat. His brothers—Cousins— had been in danger. Even young Bran, whom he'd thought would be safe in Winterfell, had been put at risk by his taking the crown. There was no game more loathsome than the game of thrones.
"And over Joffrey. They needed Joffrey as a pretext for taking the throne."
Aemon studied Jaime. He had clearly had time to manage this news as he remained calm, but he was wavering in a way that Aemon had never seen. He hadn't wanted to ask, but he knew he had to: "What about the other children?"
"This was my father's opportunity to kill Cassian."
"Cassian?" His uncle asked.
"My son," Jaime suddenly snarled. "My son could be dead! I hope Lady Catelyn will have made every effort to protect him and his half-siblings."
His uncle shifted uncomfortably and they both noticed the look of guilt on his face.
"Uncle…"
"Catelyn sent me a letter some time ago to tell me she was leaving for Riverrun. She wanted to be there to ease her father's passing. She took Rickon so that he may know another grandson," his uncle said.
Aemon stared at his own uncle with a mixture of shock and dismay. "You didn't think to tell us this?"
"They are in the North. Far from the conflict. It was supposed to be safe!"
"Did Lady Catelyn take Cassian with her?" Jaime asked. His eyes burned with intensity.
"I-uh, his name was not mentioned," his uncle said.
Jaime fell back fuming and abruptly turned to look out the window. Aemon massaged his temple. Although he was pleased his confidence in Jaime had never wavered, he had dearly underestimated the level of trouble that could be caused outside of King's Landing. Winterfell taken, his and Jaime's families now at further risk of death in the hands of Lord Bolton. He hoped Jaime and his uncle could set aside their differences and come to an understanding, but Aemon was certain they would need a push in that direction.
"Uncle."
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"I want you to apologize to Jaime."
"With regards to his son?" His uncle asked, his brow knitted in confusion.
"For your words in Dorne."
His uncle blanched. Jaime stared at him expectantly.
There was a moment of silence as his uncle searched for the floor of the carriage for the words to say. His uncle finally raised his eyes to meet Jaime's. "I apologize, Lord Lannister, for maligning your good character in front of the Dornish."
"Oh, thank you, Ned Stark," Jaime replied in mocking. "But that doesn't undo your poisoning of my reputation. What did he say?"
"He accused you of murdering Robert Baratheon."
"Stark, if I had murdered Robert Baratheon, it would've been with a sword in his back, same as Mad King Aerys. Poison is for the weak."
"Jaime, you have been steadfast by my side. You arrested your own father to save my throne. I will make it known throughout Westeros," Aemon said. For the first time since he'd arrived, he felt old. Any progress that had been made between his uncle and Jaime had been undone by careless words. And a thousand miles away, Lord Bolton held Aemon's and his family's home.
"Thank you, again, for saving Robb." His uncle at least looked appropriately contrite.
It did little to mollify Jaime. "Robb is a good man. A little overzealous, but he has his heart in the right place." Aemon could tell Jaime wanted to say more, but he was doing wonders holding his tongue.
They all jumped at the knock on the door, not having noticed when the carriage stopped swaying. "We have arrived, Your Grace."
Aemon stepped out and stared around the yard. Noblemen and women were going about their business as usual. Upon seeing him, they stopped in their tracks to bow or curtsy. Everything looked normal, but he could feel a turbulence in his heart and he couldn't decide if it was merely the news he had heard or whether things were more unsettled than they appeared.
"I have more to speak with you about," Jaime whispered in his ear.
Aemon turned to him and whispered, "Let's meet in the godswood after dinner."
* - I do not condone domestic violence in a relationship by any party.
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