Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! Welcome back to TDR. You fine readers have all been absolutely marvelous with your support! I am humbled by the dedication you've shown this story. I hope you all continue to enjoy!
CatzRko0l continues to be such a wonderful and faithful beta! She does so much for this work. Thank you so much for all of your help!
Chapter 81
Jaime XXVIII
He sat at the base of the weirwood tree in King's Landing and waited. His eyes were closed and he had leaned back his head against the bark. The only sounds he could hear was the chirruping of birds and the waning buzz of late summer insects. He kept his breath even and attempted to meditate to keep his mind clear of the worries he had been fretting over in the last week.
Proposing to Brienne and getting her assent had caused Jaime's heart to soar and the weight on his shoulders to lighten ever so slightly. However, Aemon returning meant far more of the responsibilities that he had been overseeing for nearly three months had fully lifted. It felt like he could breathe easy for the first time in weeks.
In the days since Brienne had accepted his proposal, Jaime had made a point of inviting her to his solar every day where they would often share a plate of charcuterie. They would talk about nearly any and all things. Her company made him realize how lonely and isolated he had felt since Aemon had left for Dorne. His days passed quicker and his spirits had felt lighter.
He was itching to return to the training yard and duel her.
After a brief rest, Jaime opened his eyes and rose to his feet, grabbing a knife from his belt. You can take me out of the kingsguard, but you can't take the kingsguard out of me, he thought ruefully as he began slipping through the woods to root out any 'little birds.' As long as he was in the capital, he would continue to make his rounds around Aemon's meetings. Baelish was gone, but Varys and his spies still lurked.
He smirked to himself when he heard the stirring of a nearby bush and what sounded like a quick retreat. He wasn't expecting to kill, but he hoped he cut an intimidating enough figure that any servants who thought they might make a quick coin would slink off instead. After another quick round, Jaime sauntered his way back to the oak tree that stood in for the weirwood and leaned against it.
The rustle of grass made him crack his eyes open and found Aemon shuffling towards him looking strained, but Aemon gave him a crooked smile when they locked eyes. Ghost loped along with him. The wolf appeared as stolid as ever. He gave Jaime a courtesy sniff before Aemon sent him off.
"Go on, Ghost! Have fun."
They could reliably expect the wolf to root out anyone foolish enough to have taken cover nearby.
Jaime gave him a curt nod. "Your Grace."
Aemon's smile morphed into a scowl. "You would dare call me that after I had to listen to it all through the afternoon?"
"I am just reaffirming that I am not the king," he replied, smirking.
Aemon sighed in exasperation and his smile fell. "From what I understand, you came pretty close to being king."
Jaime huffed. "You know I never would have stood for that."
"We've been through this. No matter what anyone says or does, I trust you. You have proven your loyalty ten times over. How many so-called 'allies' would turn their own fathers in for treason like you?" Aemon asked.
"It might garner me another unfavorable reputation," he sneered. "A man so vile his own family members can't trust him."
"Only a simpleton would believe that. Few would dare to be called that and even fewer would dare to cross you."
A quiet settled between them for a moment. Jaime noticed Aemon working his jaw and exhaling a few times before he finally asked, "Have you spoken with your father at all since his arrest?"
Jaime shook his head. "I don't want to hear any more of his madness."
Aemon raised his eyebrows at him and said, "I was just wondering if he perhaps could tie all of the plots together."
"I doubt you can count on his cooperation. Even so, we have a paper trail of sorts. As I said earlier, Littlefinger was late making his escape. Ser Addam Marbrand was able to put out the fire and save most of what he tried to burn. We may never find all of the players, but we have enough of them. My father spilled most of the plan to me as I was arresting him."
Aemon blinked. "Do tell?"
"As you seem aware, the plan was to make me king after all. He was going to have Joffrey killed. His own grandson," Jaime said, shaking his head.
"That's why the children were kept in Winterfell," Aemon said, his voice reaching an increased pitch in his confusion.
"It doesn't make it any less shocking. Kinslaying. You don't have to bury the knife directly into the body to be guilty of it," Jaime replied, shaking his head with distaste. "And he may have committed it anyway…"
"Hmm?"
"Cersei," Jaime whispered. Even in death, saying her name left a dirty taste in his mouth and he shuddered. "She's dead. The Ironborn killed her in a raid."
Aemon was quiet. His very expression was torn between pity and uncertainty.
"You think your father told Baelish to arrange for… your sister to be killed?"
Jaime shook his head in bewilderment. "I'm not sure."
"We can always question him about it at trial. You'll be able to see the falseness of his words for yourself," Aemon said. "Would you like me to have Lady Maege prepare her bones and send them back to Casterly Rock?"
He grimaced. "Send her out to sea and let the waves have her. She will never lie in the Hall of Heroes."
"It will be done," Aemon replied in a soft, low tone. "You said Varys killed Baelish?"
"Yes, he did." He frowned severely at Aemon to show his feelings about it. "But… Baelish would've gotten away otherwise."
"You weren't able to get to him first?"
"He wasn't in the Red Keep. He must've known the plan was just as likely to go belly-up. Ser Addam and his men found him hiding out in an empty building by the docks which he apparently owns."
"You're right, he was ready to run."
"He was." Jaime swallowed. "Vicente tried to run him down on his own. Baelish killed him for his troubles."
Aemon grimaced. "I will be sure to personally give my condolences to the Shepherds."
"I attended the funeral, but I don't think David wanted me there. He didn't say anything, but he has refused to speak to me since his death. My Uncle Gerion told me he doesn't take deaths in his crew lightly."
"I would find him highly suspect if he didn't," Aemon said. "I shall find a way to honor Vicente."
"He earned it."
There was another quiet pause. Aemon's face was inscrutable, but Jaime thought back to Vicente's funeral where the Shepherds had gathered and sang to ease his passing. He hadn't properly seen any singing since he'd gotten back the ability to see sounds and was fascinated by the way their voices had risen in harmony, in the same deep blue tone. Unlike most crowds where the sounds were cacophonous and intermixed, giving him a headache, he found the synchronization from their voices soothing.
"I saw you were concerned about Varys."
"I don't trust him. He had to have known Baelish and my father were up to something from the very start. Even before you left for Dorne. Yet he said nothing to you or me. I'll credit that he may have been concerned that I would turn him over to my father, but…"
"He is the Master of Whispers. You have spoken to him?"
"Yes, he insisted on delivering Baelish's body directly to me."
Aemon snorted. "To make sure we knew who really brought Baelish in."
"Probably to make up for his pitiful job in actually protecting the king. He wishes to speak with you."
"I'll be sure to speak with him. We need to meet with all of the players who acted on my behalf and reward them for their loyalty. It's going to be difficult to find yet more things to give to the Tyrells."
Jaime rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. "I'm sure they have a list drawn up for you." He grew serious once more. "I do not trust Varys to have your best interests at heart. We should get rid of him as Master of Whispers."
"I hear your concern, Jaime, but I cannot punish someone who brought an end to one of my enemies. It would not look good in the eyes of court and it would make people even less loyal to me."
"This should be an exception," Jaime grumbled, but he saw the truth in Aemon's words.
"I will keep your warning close. It certainly doesn't seem without merit," Aemon said and he rubbed at his chin ponderously. "When you spoke with him did he speak truthfully?"
Jaime stiffened and drew his mouth into a severe line again. "Yes. He gave the same reason I said to you: he didn't dare come to me for fear I'd turn him over to my father. By the time he had sussed out my allegiances, it would have looked too suspicious to come to me so late. His words rang true, but that does not mean that those were his only reasons."
Aemon raised his eyebrows at him. "You aren't able to detect that. How did he know?"
Jaime felt like a child as he glanced away and scuffed his feet on the ground. "I was harsh to those who spoke false words at court. I didn't want them to believe that they could get a lie past you either."
"Does anyone else know?"
He shook his head. "I haven't told anyone. Not even Brienne." His face fell a little at that admittance.
Aemon seemed to catch some of his feelings towards Brienne as there was growing amusement in his voice. "How is Lady Brienne?"
Jaime forced himself to meet Aemon's eyes. "I have asked her to marry me."
"She didn't carve you up for dinner after that incident?"
"What incident?" He struggled to meet Aemon's eyes, but his friend's amusement only heightened.
"I would have expected better attempts at dodging than that. Do you think you're the only one who has told me what happened while I was away? According to Robb, your duels were the most exciting things that happened."
Jaime felt the familiar anger from that duel bubble up inside him. "I almost lost her! Again," he roared and then turned away, abashed at having yelled at his king in anger.
"You didn't lose her. She's still here. And you're getting married," Aemon said with a reassuring tone.
Jaime shook his head. "It's not official yet. I am still awaiting her father's blessing. I should've expected it by now. Mayhaps he's coming to court."
"I know we passed Tarth on the way to Dorne. It's close enough, he's probably sailing to King's Landing. It's not every day the Hand to the King marries your daughter."
He grimaced. "About that… I don't want to be Hand anymore."
Aemon snapped his eyes to his. "What?"
"I hate it. I am bad at it. These schemes and politics only serve to confound me. I was only just able to stop my father. You need a Hand who can stop schemes before they can even form! I'm not good enough."
"But," Aemon worked his jaw for a moment trying to find the words, "I can't do this without you!"
"I never said that I wouldn't help," Jaime replied. "You are ill-served with me as Hand. I nearly failed you."
"We both failed," Aemon countered. "I left the throne open to our enemies when I went to Dorne—"
"You had no choice."
"I could have waited until I had a firmer grasp on the throne. I was impatient."
"I did not disagree with your choice to go to Dorne. Leaving them languishing would have only made it harder for you to win them over. I just did not want to rule in your stead. I don't know how you manage being king."
"I manage because I have a good Hand. Or had. What will I do now for a Hand?"
Jaime had a knowing smile on his face, but he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You don't want your uncle as Hand?"
Aemon huffed. "He certainly wouldn't do any better than you if we're going to measure ability. Besides, we need him up North to handle preparations."
"The Long Night," Jaime whispered, his good humor having vanished.
"He can best serve the realm up there," Aemon replied, his face now tight with concern. He began pacing in frustration, running his hand through his hair. "I wouldn't mind another Northerner to take his place, but they follow his lead; they all hate the south. Certainly not Prince Oberyn because I trust him about as much as I would trust your father."
Jaime smirked. "Aren't you forgetting somebody?"
"Who?" Aemon narrowed his eyes.
"I think you know. I wouldn't leave without making a suggestion," Jaime said, hoping his face was suitably imploring.
"Tyrion."
Jaime nodded. "I think it's time. He's been left out of the loop long enough."
Aemon looked uneasy. "It's not that I don't like Tyrion or that I don't think he can be trustworthy, but… how can I justify giving Tyrion the position? Especially with the likes of the Tyrells vying for suitable recompense for their loyalty?"
"Tyrion helped secure your throne too. He was able to deliver my messages to Margaery. We were able to coordinate, to some extent, through Tyrion. He deserves a reward too."
Aemon scowled. "I'll have to find a way to deliver both of you what you… deserve. I really shouldn't take away your position, because it looks like I'm punishing you."
"Not if I ask to resign. To continue to reward the Lannisters, I will recommend Tyrion in my stead and you'll accept it."
"And you say you're bad at this," Aemon replied with a rueful smile.
Jaime glared at him. "I am bad at it. But we know for a certainty that Tyrion is good at it. I will breathe easier knowing that he is at your side."
"I would prefer you remain as Hand for the time being. Until… you'll be heading to Winterfell, won't you?"
"If you think I'm going to leave the children there after Lady Stark abandoned them—"
"Good, good," Aemon said and his good spirits returned. "I want to approach Mance Rayder and the freefolk as soon as possible. We need to get them across the wall with all haste. The freefolk respond to those who are powerful, good fighters."
"So you'll be sending the best swordsman in the realm?" Jaime glared at him.
"Well, if he's already going to be up there, I might as well," Aemon smirked back at him.
"So I will be going beyond the bloody wall?" Jaime growled, "Fine. As long as I don't have to live up there."
"Then it's settled." Aemon tapped his chin. "I'm going to also need a new kingsguard. Again. Will I ever have seven at this point?"
"You better. We have at least rooted out the corruption, finally. Didn't you give Dorne a choice in the kingsguard?"
"I did."
"He was there at dinner, wasn't he? If I'm not mistaken, that's Ser Daemon Sand, the Bastard of Godsgrace," Jaime said and his face soured.
Aemon only chuckled. "It was likely to be a contentious pick. He will formally take his vows tomorrow during court while I reward everyone for their efforts. He's already proved an asset."
"In one battle. It'll have to do. You keep a close eye on your kingsguard."
"I'll continue to wear the mail that Prince Oberyn gave me. That's what saved me from Trant."
Jaime continued to look suspicious, but he was quietly grateful. Everything would have been so much harder if Aemon had succumbed to another kingslayer. He would thank Prince Oberyn in his prayers, but never to his face.
"Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"
"I think I mentioned that Arya and Lucille were found in the tunnels? They're friends with Edric Dayne and he was able to find them. When I asked them why they fled to the tunnels, they mentioned the sounds of battle. That was true enough for Lucille, but Arya spoke only lies. Something else sent her into the tunnels."
"Hmm…" Aemon scratched his head.
"She was always a tough nut to crack. Not particularly trusting either. She may still not trust me considering my father's actions. Perhaps she'll trust you," Jaime said.
"I will keep that in mind," Aemon replied. "Anything else?"
"The wight has arrived." Jaime fished for the key in his shirt, grabbing the leather lead and pulling it out. "I haven't necessarily checked on it, but I assume it's still… alive. I had men loyal to me guarding it. I don't think my father much cared for uncovering what it was." He held it out to Aemon.
His friend snatched the key and placed it over his own head. "We'll be sure to show everyone the wight once the trials are over." They both shuddered as their thoughts brushed against the Long Night again.
"Jaime." He shook himself from his thoughts to focus on Aemon. He didn't like the knowing look Aemon was wearing. "Is there anything else?"
There was a moment as Jaime thought. "Not that I can think of," he said, shaking his head.
"You're not going to tell me about your seizures?"
Jaime sighed. "I don't know what you expect from me. I'm already doing everything in my power to prevent them!"
"Perhaps you should consider consulting with David."
"He doesn't have anything new to say. Or any words for me whatsoever."
"Don't act like it's so futile. You know you can force the issue if you want."
"For all of the good that will do me. He is a stubborn sort."
Aemon openly chewed at his bottom lip. "I'm just… concerned. You collapsed in the streets."
Jaime felt strained. "I didn't want to fail you."
"You didn't fail me. Take care of yourself. You're just as important as I am."
"Yes, Your Grace," Jaime snarked.
Aemon rolled his eyes. "According to you, I could have your head for that."
"What did you say about me being as important as you?" Jaime said again with a smirk.
"Well, I can at least look forward to having a more respectful Hand."
"What are you talking about? Tyrion may well be even worse once he's grown comfortable in the position."
"It seems impudence is a part of your line. I shudder to think how Brienne will cope with you."
"She'll duel me," Jaime replied matter-of-factly.
"Clearly a match made by the Seven."
They continued their verbal sparring as they left the godswood. Aemon whistled and Ghost came bounding out of the underbrush, as silent as his namesake. Jaime hadn't felt so confident in months. It wavered as he thought about having to tell Tyrion about the time before. He expected resistance. He prayed to the Seven that his brother would be amenable.
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please feel free to join The Dragon's Roar's Facebook group for future discussion. Search for The Dragon's Roar and look specifically for the '(fanfic)' designation. Please be sure to answer all of the questions!
