Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope you're all doing well! Forever and always, thank you so much for your support in writing this fic. I took a bit of a break from TDR, but I'm back to writing it and feeling more excited than ever! It seems like I feel this way about all future chapters, but I am excited to show you what I've got in store!
Catzrko0l is such a wonderful beta and every writer should be so lucky to have one as dedicated and hard working as you. Thank you so much for all of your help!
Discord: permanent invite in my profile
Facebook: The Dragon's Roar (Fanfic)
Twitter: GroovyPriestess - still waiting on a clear alternative to Twitter, but nothing standing out so far.
Chapter 127
Jaime XLV
He shot awake with his knife held in front of him and saw the burly form of Ghost at his feet. Jaime sighed. "Aemon, is that you?" he whispered.
When the wolf gave a nod of its head, Jaime continued, "We're to negotiate at noon tomorrow. I'll wait for you."
With that, the dire wolf disappeared into the night. Jaime huffed and turned back over. He wished there was an easier way than communicating through a wolf, but it would have to do.
After the meeting with Mance, he and the other lords returned to their section of the camp. Jaime didn't bother with the pretenses of looking busy and he openly observed the wildlings closely. Tormund's Thenns were raucous and boisterous. It was the liveliest of the camps, full of drinking, games, and brawling. He saw plenty of crossover between Thenns, but the leaders of each tribe had their own ring of friends and they mostly kept to their own. These leaders watched him just as fiercely and suspiciously as he watched them. While Tormund was highly respected and not one to trifle with, he didn't adhere to the same isolation as some of the others.
Later in the day, the leaders converged on Mance's tent, no doubt to hear the news about their visitors. Jaime had shaken his head in frustration, dearly wishing it was possible to pay one of them to report back to him, but gold had no more value to a wildling than a fancy bauble. Perhaps it would've been wiser to bring more furs and weapons to barter with. But he had a feeling that trying to earn the information he wanted would take more than a simple wolf pelt.
Jaime stared up at the tent, willing himself to fall asleep again, but the same thoughts kept looping around in his head. Despite the fact that the wildlings desperately needed to cross the Wall to escape the scourge of the Others, they were just as prepared to bypass the negotiations and simply attack to get through. Should they tear open the gates, it would weaken the Wall and make the rest of Westeros just as vulnerable.
While Mance himself could hardly be considered a part of the uneducated rabble, this was not a place of fancy words or posturing. If his father had been smarter, he would've thrived in this situation. Jaime was determined to draw on every ounce of Lannister cold-hearted arrogance his father had ground into him since he could walk and talk.
With that, Jaime felt himself relax into sleep.
The hustle and bustle of the camp waking up around him roused him from his slumber. While traveling, they subsisted on hard cheese, cold cuts, and bread. But now a soldier handed him a plate of freshly cooked sausages and potatoes, which he wolfed down with gusto. Once he had his fill, he sought out Stannis who was looking as dour as ever.
"What do you want, Lannister?" Stannis growled, his eyes as cold and hard as stone.
"Should the negotiations go as planned, you will be in charge of ruling the wildlings. We expect you to show no mercy as too many of the wildlings' worst deserve none. But in my observations last night and my conversations with the king, wildlings don't respect anything but brute strength. I expect to do the fighting should there be any today, but as you will be leading them, you may yet have to prove your strength. Be aware of that and train."
Stannis sneered, "I may not have your skill, but I've seen little here to indicate much skill. They lack formal training."
"They make up for it by fighting dirty," Jaime said smugly. "You shouldn't expect fairness more than they should."
Stannis turned away, his expression terse. "You need not worry for me, Lannister."
"I don't," Jaime said, a new edge to his voice. "The wildlings can overrun you and throw your corpse to the wolves, but if they become a problem in Westeros, they will then be my problem. The last thing we need is to be fighting another battle against an irrelevant enemy."
With that, Jaime left Stannis. Stubborn old bastard, he thought. He's worse than Ser Barristan. No matter the old knight's prejudices, he was committed to his role as kingsguard and could be trusted to follow hot on Aemon's heels wherever he went. And he was a damn good fighter too. It was a shame he would resist being reassigned so as to avoid the shame of the king letting him go.
He next found Addam. His friend had been busy keeping order in the camp, but he was the one the soldiers went to with information or issues. A package of beef jerky had gone missing, which Jaime was sure was down to a wildling's sticky fingers. Worse yet, tensions were already starting to build. Soldiers were reporting the Thenns and their cohorts circling the camp like wolves. By the sounds of things, they were either sizing up their prey or planning a raid. Addam had already put another five soldiers on guard to supplement the ten already safeguarding their supplies.
How much control does Mance have over these Thenns? Aemon had given him a rundown of all that he'd encountered when he traveled with the wildlings for a month. While he hadn't been in the main camp for long, Mance seemed to have been able to soothe tempers between Thenns enough that banding their tribes together to form a massive camp for protection made more sense than continuing to take their chances. But could he actually keep them from harassing or attacking what the wildlings might consider interlopers?
King-beyond-the-Wall or no, his power seemed tenuous at best, especially since he lacked a tribe of his own to command. Jaime was concerned that a key component of the negotiations was to not be overrun by furious wildlings if things don't go as they want. With that, Jaime made it a point to speak with all of the lords—especially Stannis—to make sure their men were prepared for a fight to leave.
At around noon, Mance made his way to their camp with half a dozen wildlings who flanked him in approximation to a kingsguard. They were a ragged bunch with a variety of furs and weapons.
"The tent is not big enough for everyone, so we will be holding the negotiations in a clearing nearby. If you will follow me," Mance said.
Robb rushed to the front, much to Jaime's surprise. Unlike his father, Robb did have a head for strategy and diplomacy when he put his mind to it. Were it not for a few boyish mistakes and that damnable Stark honor old Ned Stark had bred into his children, he would have been able to give Tywin a run for his money. Much to his delight, Robb had been attentive and an eager student since venturing beyond the wall.
There were larger paths for horses to cross, but they turned north to follow a scraggly trail through the woods. Just as Jaime was beginning to wonder if Mance had other plans for them, the path opened up into a sizable round clearing. The trees encompassing it were large and when Jaime peered up at them more closely, the branches above them appeared to be intertwined into a halo. Although it was in the far north where little grew even during the spring and summer months, a curtain of snow-covered moss hung down from the branches, which made it feel ancient and otherworldly.
Mance noticed Jaime's interest and said, "This is the Children's Veil. It's thought that the children of the forest used their magic to form the moss and the giants weaved the branches together. It's a sacred place where no blood may be shed. You are safe here."
Jaime felt the tension ease a little in his shoulders at the assurance. The wildings were often superstitious and it seemed unlikely they would dare incur the wrath of whatever gods they followed. Perhaps they too had a guest right of a sort. Even though most Westerosi lords would consider themselves above superstition, they still held guest right and particularly kinslaying inviolate. However, if his father and the Freys could still breach that protocol, there were wildings who just as easily would as well. He kept his hand hovering close to his knife.
"Robb, call for the wolves," Jaime said.
The boy blinked at him, but then dutifully put his fingers to his mouth and gave a sharp whistle that shattered the quiet. As their group laid down blankets to make seats for themselves in the snow, the leaders of the Thenns trickled in.
Jaime straightened up and watched everyone closely. Being able to see sounds had been useless among the general hum of activity in the larger camp, but here he would actually be able to sense intent. As was the case from the night before, some looked at him curiously and others glared. Tormund was the lone exception, giving him a savage grin, but Jaime remained unmoved. He let Robb be the youthful energy of the group.
Once the wildling leaders had settled, Mance spoke, "The King Aemon Targaryen—"
"We need to wait," Jaime interjected.
The wildlings stirred and hissed like a harassed snake, but Mance merely stared at him.
"Call the wolves again," Jaime commanded Robb.
Robb eyed him suspiciously. He whistled again and then whispered, "What do we need the wolves for?"
"Because we mean business," Jaime replied in an equally low voice. "Direwolves are huge. It will make an impression to see them at our side."
Robb remained skeptical, but he simply nodded.
They could hear the wind shaking the boughs of the trees, but everything below the halo remained untouched. Jaime doubted the myth behind the place, but its appearance and the unnatural quiet gave it an eerie and magical quality. Time drew out like a knife until Jaime heard the telltale sounds of snow crunching and the heavy pants of the wolves.
A few wildlings reached for their weapons, but Mance raised his hands to stay them.
"Big, beautiful monsters," Tormund whispered in awe.
Ghost ambled up beside Jaime, breathing rancid hot air into his face. He wrinkled his nose and muttered, "It took you long enough…." Greywind settled down next to Robb, who threw his arm over his wolf and languidly petted him. Ghost laid down in front of Jaime and Stannis, the latter of whom was frowning down on it not unlike Tywin would have.
"Apologies. Please continue," Jaime said, gesturing once more to Mance.
"King Aemon Targaryen of the Seven Kingdoms below the Wall has taken notice of our plight and has sent a party to hear our case. As I understand it, the king is familiar with the threat of the Others and the Long Night. Yes?" Mance said, his voice made waves of a commanding orange. His face was stiff and drawn.
"That he is," Jaime replied. "The Gods gave him a vision."
"Which Gods are those?" Mance asked.
"The Old Gods," Jaime replied.
This generated a murmuring among the other wilding leaders. "A dragon king who acknowledges the old tales then?" Mance asked, his voice a mixture of blue and purple as he probed.
"He was raised as a Stark in Winterfell—"
"He is my brother," Robb interrupted, his voice a barely contained giddy green. "If not by blood than by circumstance. There is a servant by the name of Old Nan who told us stories of the children of the forest, Bran the Builder, and the Long Night."
"The Night's Watch ranger and uncle to the king, Benjen Stark, reached out to you on the king's behalf and also captured a wight and brought it south to show the other families. We know the threat is real. We come here to address it as much as you," Jaime finished.
"Then you should know that there are half a million wildlings that live here beyond the Wall," Mance said, his voice turning slightly orange with fiery bitterness.
"Indeed. It would be unfortunate to add further to the army of the dead," Jaime replied. "It would be pointless to have a harder fight on our hands if necessary."
"We have every intention of getting past the Wall."
"The king wishes nothing more than for you to live below the Wall. There is land called the Gift that belongs to the Night's Watch. The king is willing to give you permission to settle it."
Jaime saw wildings whispering with green excitement over the prospect.
"However, if the wildings are to pass the Wall, you are to follow our laws and our king. We will not tolerate less from any of our other citizens," Jaime said, allowing a growl to enter his voice.
The silence that fell was stiff and indignant. Only Tormund seemed amused and he let out a guttural laugh. "A hard bargain for this lot," his voice was an interesting mixture of orange and green. Whatever amusement he felt, the proposition chafed him as much as the others.
"We don't hold with your king," the man with the skull helm and bones decorating his chest barked.
"That's too bad. Because you're not getting across that Wall unless you do," Jaime said in a voice that was icy blue.
"Mance is our king!"
"He is nothing below the Wall. That doesn't mean he has to be nothing. The king is prepared to grant Mance a unique status."
"King?" The woman who had been at the entrance to Mance's tent tentatively suggested, though there was nothing innocently curious about the way she said if the orange hue of her voice was anything to go by.
Jaime glared. "Certainly not king! A king does not share his title. A constable of sorts. It will allow you to manage the wildling settlement."
"Not lord?" Mance asked, though his voice was teal with amusement more than offense.
"Stannis Baratheon will be your lord," Jaime replied.
At a look from Jaime, Stannis said in a steely blue voice, "I will uphold the king's law. There is to be no murder, no stealing, no smuggling, no rape, or you will be punished for it."
The wildlings' hackles raised at the utterance and voices grew more raucous. "It is our way! That is our culture, our justice," one of the wildings said and a few others shouted in agreement.
"It is against the law and it will be dealt with accordingly," Jaime said, in the same firm voice.
"You call these negotiations?" Another spat. "You wish us to simply join in the kneeling or else." Red and orange cries of assent floated into the air, the sounds blending together like a breathing fire.
"There is a small amount of room for flexibility. Either you submit to the king's laws or you can stay behind. But we'll still allow your women and children to cross and spare them a cold, dark fate at the hands of the army of the dead."
This created a fervor. Mance looked at Jaime in disgruntlement, but Jaime tipped his head and allowed himself a small smirk. Robb looked askance at him and opened his mouth to object, but Jaime shot him a glare and swiped with his hand to cut him off. There was still time for a victory, but they had to be unmoved by the turmoil.
While most of the wildlings had a tone of red or orange, Jaime guessed that they were largely bluster. It seemed more likely that they would play at abiding by the king's laws and then do as they please below the Wall. Stannis had to remain firm and set them straight. Thankfully, it was his greatest talent.
"Why are we even bandying words with the likes of these southron sots?" The man with the skull helm shouted. "They're weak! It's better that we punch through."
Jaime's glee was building. They were not more than a few steps away from a declared duel. His blood was already surging with energy and he had to clench his fists to keep them from shaking.
"Ho ho! Rattleshirt talkin' tough words but can he actually walk 'em?" Tormund roared and broke into laughter.
"Shut it, Tormund! Wouldn't take you for one to be so quick to kneel," said the woman with a wrap around her head and a distorted face, looking unimpressed.
"I said no such thing and I'll gut ya if you say otherwise again, dogshit! It was my party that found them battling a 'undred wights. They were outnumbered. But that blond fucker there fought with the strength of a giant and killed a White Walker. Tell me, Rattleshirt, have you killed a White Walker?"
Silence fell to the gathering and all eyes turned to Jaime. He had just been ready to jump to his feet and goad the man Rattleshirt into a fight. The last thing he had anticipated was Tormund daring to sing his praises. Admittedly, there was no Brienne to fight over and this one knew him with both of his hands. Perhaps this would go more smoothly than they had expected.
"Didn't you also say he fell under a spell when he killed it?"
"Seems that way, but does he look spelled now?" Tormund said.
"He looks hungry," Mance said, a calculating look in his eye.
At that, Jaime broke out into a ferocious grin. "Hungry indeed. I thought you wanted a fight."
Rattleshirt scowled. "I will not be made a fool by a southron kneeler! If you want me to even consider going south of the Wall, you'll have to prove your might. Ain't no fuckin' worth in following a man who can't best me."
"Anyone with half a gut full of grog could best you," Tormund shouted.
Rattleshirt drew his sword and brandished it. "Step close and I'll tickle your innards."
"Lord of Bones, you will not brandish a weapon here! There is to be no violence," Mance roared.
Reluctantly, the Lord of Bones sheathed his sword, but his mouth was still curled into a snarl when he turned to address Jaime. "Very well, not here. I challenge you, southron. I'll prove to them you're all piss and vinegar."
Jaime's grin was wolfish. "Gladly. Time and place?"
"We have training grounds on the south side of camp. Meet there midday," the Lord of Bones said.
"The perfect spot for your humiliation. Sounds like our negotiations are on hold until then," Jaime said, rising to his feet. The others followed his lead as well.
They were quiet as they left the Children's Veil. Jaime saw Robb glance around and then asked, "Can you beat him? I know you're the greatest, but …."
"You would doubt me after watching me deliver Ser Lyn Corbray's downfall?" Jaime asked in mocking shock.
"Are you going to kill him?" Robb asked, looking skeptical.
"A duel hardly calls for death. But if it comes to that, then I will do what I must," Jaime replied. "Trust me."
"You have yet to steer Jon wrong. Sounds like a safe enough bet," Robb said, shaking his head with incredulity. "I just hope this doesn't backfire."
"It won't," Addam spoke up. "There was a fair amount of posturing, but this Lord of Bones was on the cusp of spilling blood. Violence is a first resort instead of a last one. That's how they live. That's how they choose their kings."
"No doubt Mance Rayder rolled a few heads to become King-beyond-the-Wall," Jaime said.
"To think, Jon didn't spill any blood," Robb muttered.
"We'd hardly consider that a strength. The reason why it wasn't a detriment to Aemon is that he was clever. He made allies swiftly and used them effectively to make more allies," Jaime said. It pleased him to see Robb watching him like a pupil would a maester. "It made little sense to challenge Aemon when he has the likes of the Westerlands and the Reach at his side. Why bother also throwing men at the city walls when he can just sneak in and yank the rug out from under the holdout?"
"I was a little disappointed that we never fought in a real battle," Robb said.
"You'll get your chance. There's always time enough for fighting," Jaime said. "If they'll have it, I would encourage you to train with these wildlings while we're in their company. They can teach you a thing or two about fighting. Just be wary they don't simply knife you in the gut." Robb was old enough to take care of himself, but Jaime was still going to watch over him. Aemon would have his head if Robb died.
"That Tormund seems game for it," Robb said thoughtfully.
"He's just as sly and dirty as the rest of them. Don't be disarmed by his … charm, if you can call it that."
Both Robb and Addam chuckled.
Jaime spent the hour leading up to the fight limbering up. He stretched his muscles, now stiff from cold and disuse after the last few days of travel. He jumped and tried out his footwork, deliberately sliding his feet across the ground, to check his boots for grip. He flexed and cracked his fingers to get the blood moving through them so that they wouldn't go numb during the fight.
Robb watched from the sidelines and grew increasingly nervous as the time approached, though he was working on not wearing his thoughts on his sleeve. When Jaime decided it was time to head over, Robb, Addam, and Stannis followed him, along with half a dozen Lannister soldiers not currently on duty.
"Are you sure you can do this?" Robb asked, barely audible above the sounds of the camp.
Their entourage was drawing a lot of attention and Jaime could see men, women, and children leave off on their cooking, tanning, sewing, or playing to fall in behind him. He grit his teeth and did his best to simply let all of the wisps of color that followed him flow by unacknowledged. He did not need to end another fight with a seizure. He could wave away one spell with suggestions of White Walker magic, but not two.
"I am wounded that you have so little faith in me."
"Forgive me, my lord, but your moves …."
"Were sloppy? They were intended to be. I was loosening up, not going through stances. I need to be prepared for an icy ground," Jaime said.
"Relax, son," Addam said, dropping a fatherly hand on Robb's shoulder. "I've trained with Jaime since I was a boy. There are none better."
"Not anymore at least," Jaime murmured, his eyes going distant as he thought back once more to Ser Arthur Dayne. He wished that was a death the Gods saw fit to change, but it was not to be.
The Lord of Bones was already with his circle. In the time since they separated, he had painted two dark stripes beneath his eyes. Jaime eyed him up, making note of the butcher's knife at his belt, a slimmer and small bone knife handle poked out between the folds of the fur he was wearing on his left side, and a knife that was inartfully hidden, strapped to his right thigh. The men behind him held three large dogs at bay. They were lunging, barking, and frothing at him.
Jaime had his sword and the knife in his belt; he was going to fight as cleanly and honorably as possible. But he was not above a bit of trickery. He had little doubt that those dogs were going to be loosed on him; it made him wish that Ghost was more easily commanded to deter such nonsense.
"What's the matter, blondie? Lost your nerve?" the Lord of Bones said.
Jaime slid his eyes from the dogs to him, his expression now one of deadly seriousness. "Do you know what they call me, Lord of Bones?"
"A cunt?" He replied with a great guffaw of laughter that his supporters echoed.
Jaime smirked. "Kingslayer. I killed a king. I was of the kingsguard and I broke my oath to kill him. So tell me, Lord of Bones. What chance do you have against me?"
The Lord of Bones seemed unsettled by the implication and it quieted the people around them. Even to them, the thought of trying to kill their King-beyond-the-Wall was unthinkable.
"You're all words. Show me action," Rattleshirt shouted.
"As you wish," Jaime said, his voice deadly quiet.
Jaime unsheathed Brightroar, allowing it to glitter in the sun. He wondered if the wildlings were familiar with Valyrian steel and could spot one. He turned to his side to make a smaller target and then he waited. In a duel, both sides were primed to fight and Jaime enjoyed dragging out the first moment to trick his opponent into making a mistake in their frenzy. Rattleshirt was no different. He screamed and barreled forward. Jaime merely side-stepped him and swiped at the back of his feet, tripping him up. He managed to catch himself before falling face-first in the mud. Rattleshirt wheeled around, his face twisted into a rictus of fury.
As I thought, Jaime mused, sloppy. Uncoordinated. The man's never known a moment of real training. Easy pickings.
This time, when Rattleshirt barreled forward, he was ready and followed Jaime's pivot. Though his sword movements were clumsy, his blade was quick as he slashed and stabbed for the kill. All were blocked by Jaime in an almost lazy manner.
They danced once more. Rattleshirt was getting better with every maneuver. Perhaps he is capable of making a ploy, Jaime thought, but his skill was still below par for the kingsguard. Rattleshirt was beginning to breathe hard and sweat was dripping from his face despite the cold. Jaime's blood was roaring in his ears and his focus was locked entirely on the other man as he watched for trickery.
They locked swords again. The shrill pings of steel on steel echoed through the air. Jaime was beginning to feel the ache of a coming headache as the quick sounds flashed like white stars across his vision. He was reaching a point where he'd have to end it quickly. Jaime just saw a movement of Rattleshirt's hands before he abruptly jumped away and the slim, bone-handled knife missed its mark in an attempt to slip it between his ribs. Now Rattleshirt was openly dual-wielding the two, thinking he could get the upper hand. While Jaime didn't let the other knife out of his sight, he focused on Rattleshirt's sword as it was more unwieldy.
Rattleshirt had enough and threw the knife, which Jaime batted away with his sword. His attention was diverted for just a moment, but in the next instant, one of the dogs came rushing in, snapping at his ankle. He slashed at it and it jumped away. Rattleshirt ran at him, so Jaime pulled his own knife to keep the dog at bay and handle Rattleshirt with the sword.
Jaime let out a cry of pain as the dog sank its teeth into his ankle, pulling him off balance. The boot took most of the bite, but Jaime focused his attention still on Rattleshirt to make sure he didn't get a killing blow. But instead of taking the chance, Rattleshirt made a hand signal and a second dog was loosed. It came running straight for his face, so Jaime leveraged the ground to drive his sword up through its throat and out its back. The third dog came at him, but Jaime couldn't get Brightroar out in time. He let it fall and changed the knife from his left hand to his right to slash at the third dog. He left a bright red streak across its muzzle and though it yelped, it latched onto his wrist.
Pain stabbed through him and he growled as he tried to wrench his arm out and simultaneously kick the first dog still gnawing on his ankle.
Rattleshirt grinned at him, "Can barely handle even a dog or two. Not so tough now, it seems."
"Handle me by yourself then. We saw how that was working," Jaime snarled.
"Nah, I've seen enough." Rattleshirt grinned with blackened teeth as he raised his sword up for a final blow.
Jaime braced himself, prepared to roll out of the way. He could still get out, he just needed room to free himself of the dogs.
Suddenly a white blur crossed his vision and the third dog was yelping horrifically as Ghost had its neck in his jaws and started shaking it violently like it was a rabbit. Jaime turned when he felt the pressure leave his ankle and saw Grey Wind had similarly rushed and was biting to tear out the first dog's throat.
Jaime hurriedly picked up his sword, allowing the dog's corpse to slip off it, and rushed Rattleshirt. The man had been so surprised by the dire wolves that he didn't even raise his sword to defend himself. Jaime swung with the flat of his blade across his chest. The force sent him to the ground and Jaime raised his sword again and brought the broadside of it across his face. The skull helm shattered, leaving Rattleshirt's face a mess of bone and blood.
Jaime was breathing hard, wincing against the pain in his leg. "Looks like I won," he said, then he made a show of spitting on his opponent. He tried to be blasé and unaffected, but his ankle was tender and he favored it as he walked. Addam and Robb were pale with concern as they rushed over to him.
"We need to get you looked at," Addam began, but Jaime's attention was on Robb.
"Never interfere in a duel again! He may not be expected to fight honorably, but I do," he snarled.
"It wasn't me," Robb exclaimed, recoiling at Jaime's rage.
"He's right. He didn't whistle for the wolves. They came on their own," Addam soothed.
"Even if I could've seen them coming, I wouldn't have stopped them. They would have run right over me."
Jaime frowned. Aemon, he thought through gritted teeth. It irked him that the king may have thought the help was necessary, but given they were trying to make an impression, direwolves coming to his aid against dogs was far more arresting and likely only further added to his mythos.
"Very well. I … apologize for yelling at you," Jaime said with a heavy sigh.
Addam made to loop his arm around Jaime so that he could more comfortably walk back to camp. Jaime tried to slip out of it.
"I can walk on my own!"
"But should you? I'm not a healer, but I think a maester would agree with me. Come now, we both know how important it is not to stress injuries earned by fighting if you don't want to be made cripple."
With some reluctance, Jaime relented and threw his arm over his friend. He was in no hurry to be a cripple again.
"Haha! What did I tell you, Rattleshirt! You're not shit without your dogs." They turned to see Tormund leaning over Rattleshirt. It seemed after the fight, most of the wildings simply peeled away and left the wilding in the mud. "That blond twat could have put in you a grave with the first two moves. You're just lucky he has any pity for you at all!"
"Should we help him?" Robb asked quietly.
"No," Jaime said, giving an exhausted shake. "This is their way." Even as they turned away, an old woman started slicing into the dogs and carving them up for meat after Ghost and Grey Wind had gutted them. The direwolves were once again by their sides, their faces bloody from ravaging the dogs. The wildings eyed them with fear and wonder as they trotted back, as tame as dogs. Yes, the direwolves coming to his aid might yet work in his favor. He wondered if Aemon had thought about that or not.
They didn't have a maester, but there was a soldier in Stannis' army versed in wound care. The skin on his wrist was ragged and bleeding, but worse yet the muscle was twisted and had to be set into a makeshift cast. He was told he was to hold it in the same position for a month if he wanted it to heal correctly, much to Jaime's frustration.
When they pulled his boot off, there were neat holes on both sides, dribbling blood. They were cleaned but otherwise in good shape, but the healer still cautioned him to remain abed for the rest of the day.
Once the healer left, Robb poked his head in. "Is it serious?"
"My wrist could be," Jaime said, scowling at himself. "I know how you Starks are about honor. If a wildling asks you about the duel, don't say a word against the dirty tactics. They'll think you're weak. We can't have that and I will be miffed if I injured my wrist for you to sully our impression."
Robb twisted his mouth into a grimace and said, "It still wasn't fair…."
"It was never going to be fair," Jaime shot back, wincing at the angry red ribbon of color in his voice. He dialed back his tone since his frustration wasn't meant for Robb.
"Then why didn't you fight dirty?" Robb asked, his voice teal with curiosity.
"Because I wanted to prove to them I didn't need unfair tactics to win. I suppose that's moot now," Jaime replied bitterly, his voice now a more tamed orange.
"Didn't you say you hated being called kingslayer? Why then did you give them that name?" Robb asked.
Jaime raised his eyebrows. "It's about power or others' perception of it. Tell me, what did you think of me as the kingslayer before you learned the truth?"
"Uh … well … um." Robb stumbled for a moment, then hardened up and said, "I thought you were a cad with shit for honor."
"But were you afraid of me?"
Robb considered it for a moment and then nodded. "Even my father called you the greatest swordsman. I didn't dare wish to be on the wrong end of your sword."
"Exactly! You were afraid. Everyone was. While it was undeserved ire, a reputation like that has its uses. For cases just like this. Mance got to where he is by being far more brutal and dangerous than others, of that I have no doubt. There will come a time when he is supplanted with a fight to the death, but for right now, he commands. Being called kingslayer means that I have the skill to topple Mance. That's where their thoughts will be."
Robb contemplated it. "Seems ill-conceived to rule by false impressions."
"Is it false?" Jaime asked. "I am still considered the best swordsman after all. That's why Aemon sent me here to negotiate. Even Stannis could bandy words and do it well enough, but you need me to deliver the force."
"Aemon planned this?" Robb asked.
Jaime blinked. "We planned it together."
Robb sighed. "Will I ever be in his inner circle?"
"There's no avoiding it now. You're the Stark in Winterfell. It's you who will be arranging the forces and supplies for the Long Night. You can send a raven for recommendations, but we are relying on your expertise. Your wife, Lady Margaery, has a good head on her shoulders as well. I suggest you make use of her," Jaime said.
"I was kept out simply because my father was lord?" Robb asked, his voice becoming orange with ire.
"Your father could have included you at any time and the king would have welcomed it. Otherwise, there's little reason to include you. It was not Aemon's obligation to include you; it was your father's," Jaime said matter-of-factly.
Robb was silent as he contemplated. "Thank you. I found our conversation … enlightening."
"Off with you then. I need my rest," Jaime said, giving him a half-hearted wave of his hand.
