Author's Notes - Good day, my lovely readers! I want to thank you once again for your patience and your continued support of this project! You're all such a blessing. =)
Thank you, Catzrko0l, for continuing to be beta reader. You are a gem among rocks!
: As I understand it, fics are not updating on any of the fandom pages, but the stories are still getting updated as far as I know. If it's not updating as it should, TDR can be found on Archive Of Our Own.
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Faccebook: The Dragon's Roar (Fanfic)
Twitter: GroovyPriestess
Chapter 121
Jaime XLI
Lord Eddard Stark's funeral was a mere week after his wounding. Despite all of the soldiers and activity, Winterfell felt cold and empty. While the atmosphere at Riverrun had hardly been celebratory at Lord Hoster Tully's funeral, it was far grimmer here. Lady Catelyn acted her part as the bereaved widow. She spent every moment of Ned's final days at his side and the moment his breath gave out she was prostrate with grief.
The new lord Robb looked so young and fresh faced. The impression was lessened as he stood hand-in-hand with his wife, Lady Margaery. Both were dry of eye, but somber. She already seemed a bit weary, but her time was also very close. Such a shame that Stark will miss the birth of his first grandchild by mere days, Jaime thought. He'd never fully get over his enmity against Ned Stark, but he pitied the poor man for that happenstance.
It eased Jaime's trepidation that he knew Robb was formidable and resourceful, but it would still take him time to fill in the shoes of his father. Jaime had every intention of building up Robb while he was still in the North.
When Jaime had first been in Winterfell, Bran Stark had been an excitable and cheerful boy. But now he had become solemn and serious and Jaime didn't think it had to do entirely with his father's death. He hadn't managed to find a way to approach the boy yet about his new powers. It was clear Bran could tap into them judging by the crows' attacking Roose like a thunderstorm of wings. Bran from the life before had never done anything like that, preferring to use the crows to scout the terrain for the Night King and the wights. It unsettled him that such a young boy already had the wherewithal to be so vicious, no matter the circumstances.
Still, he would have likely been as much a corpse as Ned Stark were it not for Bran's murder of crows. Even he hadn't expected Roose to violate a negotiation as he had. Was that really so different from the Red Wedding? he asked himself. Walder Frey and Tywin had been the instigators of that horrific event, but Roose had been all too happy to play along.
Everyone save the Bolton soldiers were in attendance for the pyre. Once all that was left were bones, the lords formed a corridor leading to the entryway of the Starks' tomb. Since the space was so small, only immediate family were in attendance for the burial.
Lord Domeric Bolton and Lady Alysanne Bolton were among those to pay their respects at Lord Stark's pyre. Domeric walked the halls of Winterfell almost on tiptoe, with the hateful glares of nearly every resident following him. Only the Starks themselves seemed unconcerned with his presence. While Jaime couldn't say he trusted Domeric, he'd held up his end of the bargain. He had also stepped up as lord when it mattered and prevented further bloodshed.
The Bolton soldiers were promptly ejected from Winterfell and banned from entering. A dozen Bolton men were determined to have been responsible for a greater portion of the misery of the Winterfell inhabitants. They had raped servant women, including Myrcella. Julianna was thankfully spared because Roose Bolton didn't approve of those types of proclivities. For all of his cold-hearted ruthlessness, Jaime was surprised to find that even the Leech Lord had a threshold for depravity. Every single one of the malefactors had accepted banishment to the Wall. This had greatly displeased Ser Loras and he had put them through the rigors of training until they all vomited and collapsed.
Jaime knew he hadn't left the children in the happiest of states when he'd set out from Winterfell previously, but now they were a great deal sadder and more fearful. He and Brienne had been forced to halt their lovemaking because little Julianna woke up every night screaming in terror and fled to their bed for comfort. Cassian had similar nightmares and Jaime took it upon himself to climb out of bed to comfort him. It left him exhausted and short-tempered, but he was careful not to direct his moods toward his family. It hadn't taken long for Cassian to overcome any misgivings he'd had about him and cling to him. It warmed Jaime's heart and made him achingly sad all at once.
At some point, Jaime had asked Lady Catelyn about his letters and was pointed in the direction of Maester Luwin, who had kept the letters locked up in his desk. He read the letters to his son as a means of soothing him back to sleep. At least that was going well.
Brienne was trying to reach out to the children. Jaime couldn't seem to help his overprotectiveness and was reluctant to let Cassian leave his arms. She hadn't yet held him, but they had spent a few evenings holding a private dinner with Joffrey, Myrcella, Julianna, and Cassian in attendance. He recalled Joffrey gawking at Brienne. In times past, he's certain the boy would have said something crass, but instead he remained quiet and kept his focus on his food for the rest of the evening. Ever the proper lady, Myrcella did her best to engage in polite conversation, however her eyes lit up when Brienne spoke of training with the sword, which prompted Myrcella to immediately ask for lessons.
The family dinner felt alien to Jaime. Even when his father was alive, they'd rarely had dinners together at the Red Keep, and there certainly hadn't been any children around to indulge. Seeing Brienne speak candidly of her training to Myrcella seemed like a mirror of the future where no doubt she would be indulging any future daughters they had in the same way. It made Jaime smile for the first time since arriving.
He was under no illusions that his and Brienne's relationship was mended, but their troubles seemed petty in light of what the children had suffered. Their focus had instead turned toward making the children feel safe after having been left so long in the neglectful care of Roose Bolton.
Their brief moment of happiness was punctured by the news of Ned Stark's death. Even now, happiness seemed so short lived.
The day after the funeral, Robb found him returning from yet another training session in the yard.
"I will go with you to dispense justice on Ramsay Snow."
"Very well—" Jaime began but was cut off.
"But not until Margaery has given birth," Robb stipulated.
Jaime huffed but nodded. Yet more delays and more time spent here, but he could understand. A pair of wild ox wouldn't be able to keep Jaime from Brienne's side when she eventually gave birth.
Despite Jaime's frustration at being stalled yet again, he put his mind toward minor projects. To kill two birds with one stone, he took to training both Podrick and Joffrey. As he feared, Joffrey was merely in the basics of swordfighting and frequently got his stances wrong. On the one hand, Jaime had to smother a smile as it was made evident how far Pod had come from the bumbling squire to a man who could match with a common soldier. Joffrey shook like a leaf in a strong wind upon stepping into the ring. Every single time he raised his sword, Jaime would bark at him to correct his grip or his stance. He flinched every time, though he did make the adjustments. He trained the boys for an hour every morning. Joffrey was stunned by this but sighed in relief. He'd then scurry off and hide himself in his room for the rest of the day. Beyond training him, Jaime wasn't sure where his future lay, but he was starting to doubt he'd be a passable soldier.
A mere week and a half after the funeral, everyone was woken by the pained screams of Margaery in her birthing bed. Jaime did his best to go about his routine as normal, but there was a certain tension in the atmosphere. Under normal circumstances, there would be a hum of excitement about the new addition to the household, but with it being so close to the old lord's death, everyone was more subdued.
At first Jaime skirted the room where Margaery was giving birth, figuring the family would want privacy. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he wandered that way. Robb was alone, pacing in front of the door restlessly.
"Any news?" Jaime asked.
Robb gave him a sharp look and sighed. "Not yet. The waiting might be the death of me. I wish I could help." His was a tremulous yellow with his fear.
"There's nothing you can do. This is her battlefield. She has the maester and her ladies. Everyone's rushing about to and fro; you'd be in the way."
Robb looked at him askance. "How do you know this?"
"I was present for the births of my nephew and nieces," Jaime grumbled, turning away uncomfortably. "It's enough that you're here. King Robert wanted nothing to do with the birth and would just leave the castle for a week and meet the baby upon his return."
"Huh-how? I want to tear my hair out for the waiting and the worry. I've been dreaming about this child since Marge told me of her pregnancy. If I'm not there to meet him the instant he's birthed, I might burst," Robb blathered, looking frantic.
"My nephew and nieces weren't more than legacies to Robert. A trophy not unlike the antlers he would hunt for. I'm sure you'll be a fine father," Jaime said. It took everything in him not to flinch at the next scream that rent the air.
"I just wish … my father could have met him," Robb mumbled.
Jaime shifted uncomfortably. A dozen things came to mind and he rethought every single one of them. Though he professed faith, he wouldn't speak to practicing it. It had occurred to him after the Gods had saved him from his own hanging, that it might be wise to follow the rituals. Only that thought was immediately chased away by another: he'd never practiced before and the Gods still found him worthy of their attention. What did it matter if he practiced the faith or not? "Well, er, I suppose, hmm, you buried him in the Starks' tomb. I know it's common for people to speak to the graves of those who have passed."
Robb rubbed his chin and nodded. "Thank you, Lord Lannister."
"You're a lord now too, Robb. It's just Jaime." With that he strode off, feeling confident that he'd made strides into bridging the gap between them. Now he had to take care that he didn't ruin it.
A few hours later, Robb delivered the news: a healthy boy who would be named Eddard. Cheers went up all around. Jaime congratulated him and then leaned in to whisper that they would be striking out for Ramsay in two days time. That seemed to deflate Robb's happiness, but he nodded and then returned to his bedchambers to tend to his wife and new son.
On the morning they were to leave, lords and servants alike poked their heads out at the activity in the courtyard. Jaime, Brienne, Pod, and Addam were putting their equipment on the horses and preparing to head out. Pod delivered rations to the dozen Lannister soldiers who would be accompanying them. Jaime had given Joffrey an open invitation, but the boy was still as skittish as a horse and he'd looked pale and shaken his head.
Jaime was just about ready to knock on Robb's door when he made his appearance. He was pale and exhausted, but he gave Jaime a wan smile and nodded. A dozen Winterfell soldiers then started filling the courtyard and readying their own horses.
"What's all this?"
Jaime turned to see Domeric Bolton eyeing them. He hadn't caught the color of his voice, but he stared down his nose at Domeric all the same. "Your father may be dead, but there is one loose end to tie up."
Domeric bristled. "Leave my brother out of this," he said, his voice a bloody red.
Jaime flickered his eyes over to Robb, but he saw no hesitation. "I will not. He is a rabid dog and he must be put down." He considered telling him the king had ordered it, but now that the shame of Roose clung to the Bolton name, no one there would bat an eye at the death of his bastard.
"My brother is an innocent," Domeric hissed.
"Is that so? We've been getting reports around the Dreadfort of peasants … disappearing, many of them women. We know he's in the area and given his relation to the Bolton name, he needs justice to be served."
Domeric glared, showing far more passion than his father ever had. He turned to Robb, "You're sanctioning this?"
"I am Warden of the North. I must see justice done," Robb growled, sounding not unlike his direwolf.
"Your father himself said that revenge is pointless." Robb turned to him, the rage building on his face. Jaime got the sense that Domeric had been about to say something that would likely have seen him expelled from Winterfell to spend the cold nights with his soldiers. He then said, "You're better than this."
"I will do what must be done," Robb snarled.
"Then I will go with you," Domeric replied.
"Your presence is not necessary," Jaime said coldly.
"You have no authority to keep me from joining."
"Very well. But if you get in my way, I will put you in the ground with your father," Jaime said. "You come alone. I will not tolerate Bolton soldiers in our ranks."
Domeric answered simply by quickly collecting his things and packing his horse. He was ready by the time the Winterfell and Lannister soldiers had packed their supplies. Jaime booted his horse and took the turn north towards the Dreadfort and the village of Long Hollow.
Given the atmosphere pervading Winterfell, the ride was silent for much of the day. Jaime would occasionally glance at Brienne. He noticed that she had a pouch of some type of herb and would periodically pull out a twig to chew on. Her nausea had persisted over the last month. Now that he'd lived through several pregnancies with his sister, it was easy to spot the signs. He thought about barring her from going on the hunt for Ramsay, but though she was ill, she was not an invalid. She never complained and he was certain she'd be able to hold her own in any fight. He was going to insist she see the maester when they returned so that there would be no mistake.
Though the ride was quiet save for the horses' hooves, strange sounds in the trees occasionally caught Jaime's eye. He was certain that Grey Wind and Ghost were nearby. The direwolves had only visited Winterfell once during the day when Robb had called, but otherwise preferred to lope free in the forest.
Once their tent was set up and a watch was scheduled, they all retired. Since they wanted to move quickly, the usual pavilions were missing and Jaime and Brienne had crowded into a simple canvas tent. Brienne tossed and turned in the dark.
Jaime considered her for a few minutes and finally decided it was useless to pretend otherwise: "When we get back, I want you to see the maester and confirm your pregnancy."
He felt her go as stiff as metal. "What did you say?"
"You're pregnant," Jaime replied lazily. "You're nauseous, you're tired, and it's been persisting for over a month now."
She was quiet as she absorbed this and asked, "How are you so certain?"
"I suffered my sister through three pregnancies twice. It's easy to spot the signs."
Brienne didn't give him an answer, but she rather abruptly turned her back to him.
Jaime sighed. "Did I do something wrong?"
"I'm not … mad at you," she grumbled, her voice orange with her frustration. "I promised myself I wouldn't fall pregnant while we were traveling."
Jaime did not answer her but reached out, searching blindly across her body until he found her arm and he squeezed it affectionately.
Brienne was still moody the next day. Jaime had felt her get up and he heard the distant sound of her retching in the trees. They did not tarry like the morning before. Camp was broken within the hour and they were all up on their horses. Jaime consulted his map and continued to lead the way. He thought about calling Domeric up for help, but he didn't quite trust him not to sabotage their mission by misleading them.
Over the days, the soldiers loosened up and filled the air with their calls and laughter. Addam teased Jaime about whether he could read a map and were leading them on a fool's chase. Robb had been unusually silent, but when Jaime had looked at him, he'd had a wistful look on his face. Every once in a while, Robb would strike up a conversation with him, asking about the Westerlands and Casterly Rock. Jaime told him what he could, but he'd only had a brief sojourn to Casterly Rock two years ago and had otherwise not seen it in forty years. Before King Robert had set them on the path to Winterfell, Jaime had occasionally received letters from his father on the state of the Westerlands, which suggested his father had uncharacteristic optimism about him eventually becoming a lord. In the time before, he had read nary a letter, sending most of them into the fire. What need would he have of such information when he was bound for life to be at the king's side? This time, however, he'd read the letters greedily. Most of them had been dry status reports that mentioned marriages, births, and minor difficulties that vaguely warranted his father's attention.
Midway through the second day, they came to a fork in the road heading east. Jaime consulted his map but Domeric confirmed what he suspected: "This is the road to the Dreadfort. If we take it, there will be another road to the North that will lead to Long Hollow." Though the North was huge, its roads were sparse. With that knowledge, Jaime turned them east.
On the evening of the third day, they ran into the fork as Domeric mentioned. They made camp next to it and prepared to head north again. The laughter and ease was beginning to fall away and the tension was increasing. Jaime had a feeling their quarry was close and he made a quick prayer to the Father that they wouldn't have to search the entirety of the woods for Ramsay Snow.
They rode into the village by midday, drawing the eyes and attention of everyone. Much to his surprise, he heard no laughter or the sounds of gleeful children. Most everyone appeared gaunt and afraid. Children hovered next to their mothers, even those who appeared to be ten-years-old. Jaime came to the center of the town and with his head gestured to his men to fan out around him so that they had a view of the entire village.
Jaime leaped down from Agro and surveyed the area. Then he shouted, "Good afternoon. I am Lord Jaime Lannister. We are seeking information on one Ramsay Snow. Our sources have led us here."
A noise drew Jaime's attention and he saw a man take off running towards the forest. Jaime snapped his fingers and Addam Marbrand nudged his horse to a gallop. Jaime followed swiftly on foot. Addam slapped the man with the flat of his sword and sent him falling to the ground. The man was slow to rise, but Jaime reached him first and shoved him back down by stepping onto his back.
"You, young fella, seem to know of whom I speak," Jaime began, bending down to speak to him.
The man gasped for air and his eyes glanced fearfully from Jaime to Addam, who was still circling him on his horse.
"I don't know nothin'," the man gasped, his voice purple with deception.
"Is that so? Why were you running then?" Jaime asked. His voice injected with a steely blue calm.
"My sheep. I need to get them."
Jaime stood back up and slowly eased his boot off of his back. "Yes, it's probably wise to corral them. I've seen wolves."
The young man trembled and slowly crawled away. He was gangly and pale. The fur on his clothes was matted and there were numerous holes peppering his shirt. They hung off of his body like he'd never had a good meal in his life. Jaime briefly considered bringing him to the camp and seeing if feeding him might loosen his tongue, instead he watched him leave. The boy glanced back at them and ran into the forest.
"Track him," Jaime ordered.
Addam gave no answer, just nudged his horse and began following. Jaime returned to his own horse and declared, "We ride after Addam. Robb, whistle for Grey Wind and Ghost outside of the village."
They encountered Addam waiting on his horse in a clearing. Jaime pulled his horse up next to him.
"Well?"
"The boy has all the grace of a drunken bear. We'll have no trouble following him," Addam said. He clicked his tongue and began leading the way.
Jaime smirked as he saw broken branches and a crushed path through the weeds in the dense undergrowth. He kept his eyes peeled for signs of movement and sound, but apart from their horses, all was quiet. They traveled for some time, moving slowly so as to keep the element of surprise. Jaime abruptly pulled his horse to a stop and held up a hand to stop everyone else. He strained his ears and heard the faint sounds of voices, though he was too far away to see the sounds or read their color.
He pulled his horse to the side and motioned to Addam, Robb, Domeric, and Brienne.
"I can hear them," Jaime whispered. "They're just up ahead. I think there are two voices, but there are probably more men than that."
"Should we scout?" Domeric asked.
Jaime narrowed his eyes at him, considering. "Seems risky. I think it best if we take them by surprise."
"We could be walking into an ambush," Domeric replied.
"Doubtful. They think they have time. If we rush them now, we'll catch them unawares," Jaime said.
"What does this Ramsay look like?" Robb asked.
"Dark of hair, eyes like Roose Bolton's. The smile of a devil," Jaime said, though he'd never actually seen Ramsay. He'd heard enough about him that the stories sent chills down his spine. Not only was he as dangerous as Roose, he was far more brazen and brutal, but surprisingly clever.
With that, they fanned out and formed a line as best they could. Brienne stole up beside him. "Are you sure about this?" she whispered, her voice orange with tension.
Jaime only nodded back. Be ready, he mouthed at her. With a motion of his hand, they all began moving forward. Just as they were a few feet from the clearing, they heard a terrible shrieking scream. At that, Jaime pulled out his sword and snapped his reins to send his horse running.
They burst from the trees. A half dozen men were standing in front of a rotted and broken house. One man was kneeling over the body of the poor boy, covered in blood. The bloodied man sheathed his knife and pulled out a sword. Jaime narrowed his focus on him. It had to be Ramsay. The man waited patiently instead of leaping forward like everyone else and then he swiped at the horse's legs. Jaime had to pull his horse back abruptly so that she reared and he turned. The man drew a bloody line on his horse's shoulder before Jaime was able to swing his sword and catch the man square in the face with the fat of his blade. Jaimed leaped off his horse to spare her any further pain and made to strike at the man while he was down. The man swiped his sword away with ferocious energy and scrambled back, his lips peeled back in a savage grin. They regarded each other for a moment, then Jaime took a step forward and began swinging his sword when a white blur slammed into his opponent and the man began screaming. Ghost was atop the man, savaging the man's hand until he dropped the sword.
"Ghost, heel," Jaime barked.
The wolf let go and stepped back to Jaime's side, but the fur on his neck was still bristling and his teeth were bared.
Jaime made sure to pull the man's sword away and then placed his boot on the man's chest and forced him back as he looked at him. The man was too busy clutching at his bloodied and ruined hand, but he growled. Jaime searched for the knife and removed it, tossing it away, but he took note of its smooth bone handle.
"Is that him?" Robb asked.
Jaime kept his foot on him and looked around. The skirmish had lasted barely a minute. All of the other men with Ramsay were dead. He did note one Lannister soldier had also been killed. Domeric was quickly hurrying over.
"Good work," Jaime replied. "Pale of eye. Smile like a devil. Just as I said. Fancy running into you, Ramsay Snow, and right after murdering a man."
The man barked a laugh, though he couldn't seem to contain his manic grin. "I'm not Ramsay! You have me confused for someone else."
Jaime sneered, "I've looked Roose Bolton in the eyes and I recognize them when I see 'em."
"He does have my father's eyes," Domeric murmured.
"Err … Jaime, you'll want to see this," Addam said from the doorway of the house.
"In a moment," Jaime said. "Bind his hands and keep three men guarding him at all times." Then he went to his horse and examined her cut. It was shallow, but blood still dribbled out and down her leg. He frowned over it and decided he would tend to her after he saw what Addam wanted.
Before walking into the building, he closed his eyes and breathed in, bracing himself. A woman was bound by her hands to the wall; the dress she had worn was ripped in a multitude of places. Worse still, her body was splayed on the floor with her legs akimbo. Her eyes were wide and unseeing and her skin was pale with a blue hue. Hanging on the walls were various items: a torn scrap of dress, a fur hat, and a bronze locket. There were also a number of instruments, sharp and curved blades. Every single one of them was caked in blood and clotted hair.
Jaime waved over Domeric. "Does this satisfy you of your half-brother's guilt in a multitude of crimes?"
Domeric peered in, his eyes widening and his mouth open. He quickly turned away and Jaime could hear him retch around the side of the house.
"We best burn the bodies," Jaime said.
"What of Ramsay?" Robb asked.
Jaime raised his eyebrows. "You're the Warden of the North. How would you deal with him?"
Robb considered it a moment. "My father never liked public executions, so a private one will do. It will be enough that he is removed as a threat from these villagers' lives."
"As you say," Jaime said, being careful to keep his voice neutral. Robb's voice continued to waver with uncertainty, but Jaime hoped that executing a menace like Ramsay would be an easy win. He was personally just glad that he could report to the king that Ramsay had been dealt with.
He sought out Brienne. She and Podrick were working with the men to stack the bodies.
"Make it through the fight?" Jaime said, his lips curling into a smile.
She scoffed, her voice orange with her annoyance. "My blade never once met flesh. Too few opponents to matter."
Jaime chuckled. "It's hard to know how many people are needed for excursions of these types. How about you, Pod?"
"I ran through a man, but not before he killed the soldier next to me," Podrick said, abashed, his voice a wavering yellow.
"You're not to blame for the soldier's death. It's the risk we all take riding into battle. Still, a kill! Your first! And you're alive to celebrate it." Jaime slapped Pod on the shoulder. The boy gave him a wan smile, but he was still troubled. Podrick was a good lad, but a sensitive one. He would never enjoy the fury and bloodlust of battle like Jaime did, but he knew his duty.
After an hour, they collected enough wood for a bonfire and set it up. It was determined that it would be best for the cabin to be burned and they went about putting the bodies inside and arranging it. Before the bodies were moved inside, Jaime took the bedroll from the dead Lannister soldier and laid it across the woman to give her body some dignity.
The whole time, Ramsay had been seated against a tree with three soldiers watching over them. He taunted and needled them relentlessly. At one point, Ramsay attacked, bowling over the soldier and attempting to run, but the other soldiers jumped on him and threw him back into the tree. A rope was then tied around him to prevent it from happening again.
"One last body to add," Jaime said, peering down at Ramsay.
In a final bid, Ramsay found Domeric's eyes and said, "We're brothers! Kin! It would be to your everlasting shame should I die."
Jaime's lips curled. Ramsay's voice was a strange mixture of steely blue and green with glee. There was no fear. Jaime glanced at Domeric.
"You're no brother of mine," Domeric said and turned to walk away.
"May the Old Gods curse you forever," Ramsay howled in a blossoming red rage. He was pulled from the tree and bowed over.
Robb pulled out Ice from where it was sheathed on his horse and took his position above him, "In the name of Aemon of the House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of … Robb of the House Stark, Luh-Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I sentence you to die."
Jaime watched him swing the sword down in a single stroke and Ramsay's head was removed. Apart from a few stammers, Robb had been sure and strong. Jaime nodded approvingly. "Good work."
They watched the house and bodies blaze until they were a smoking ruin. One evil gone from the world, yet more to come, Jaime thought, but he was satisfied for the moment. They returned to the village of Long Hollow bearing the items that hung on the wall. When he declared Ramsay and his men were executed, the village seemed to release a collective sigh of relief. They laid the items out. One woman took the piece of clothing and cried over it. They broke up a fight over the bronze locket. Jaime glanced over at Domeric, who looked appalled at the scrapping.
They stayed at the tiny inn, though their soldiers had to sleep outside. Jaime had them on the road back to Winterfell by the glow of first light.
