Chapter 24: Jaime II

Part of him would be glad to leave Kings Landing behind, Jaime knew.

As of late the city left a sour taste in his mouth. This was the place of his shame, of all his indiscretions. This was the place...

Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat. Let him be king of the ashes.

It was not an evil act, Jaime knew. He knew. But they had mocked and jeered him all the same, never knowing they all owed him their worthless lives. The time had still come, however, for them to learn the truth. The time had come for Jaime to confess his crimes before the kingdom. There was no other way, the king had said. The list burned a hole in his pocket. No matter. This was his only way back to honour.

But still, even as he pondered his own honour, Jaime wanted one last chance to be dishonourable.

One last night, Jaime thought as he pushed open the doors to the queen's chambers. He found her stood upright, staring thoughtfully at a winestain on the wall, shards of shattered glass scattered across the flagstones below. He watched almost awestruck as the dappled light danced across her golden hair. She had set aside her mourning dress by now for a gown of green silk. A ruby as large as a pigeon's head hung from a chain around her neck, nestled between her breasts.

Even now, he still found her beyond beautiful.

She turned to him as she heard his footsteps. "I had hoped by now you would grow tired of that wretched beard," she said, brow furrowed. "All that hair makes you look like Robert."

"Robert's beard was black," Jaime argued, stroking his chin. "Mine's gold."

Cersei scoffed derisively. "Grey, more like." She reached over and pulled a single silver strand from his beard. "All the colour's drained from you, brother. You've become a pale, pitiful little ghost of yourself. It's all the white, I expect. I prefer you in red and gold."

Jaime smiled. I prefer you in nothing at all. He wanted to push her back against the wall and kiss her, have her here and now and roughly. "I will make a bargain with you," he said instead. "Relieve me of my duties for an hour and I'll give you command of my razor."

She licked her lips, her look souring slightly. "I command you already," she said.

"Then command me," Jaime urged, leaning forwards. Up close she smelled strongly of spiced wine and sweat.

"I'm not in the mood," she snapped suddenly.

Jaime glanced again at the winestain on the wall, the remains of the glass littering the floor below. "Why?"

She paused, looking him up and down. "Ser Osney..." she mumbled. Was he the cause of her foul temper today? "Knights! Tell me, do your wits all leave you when you swear your oaths?"

Jaime's quirked a lone eyebrow with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Cersei stiffened, jaw clenching and unclenching. "Nothing," she spat dismissively. "Now leave me be. I'm in no mood for you."

Jaime left Cersei's chambers quietly seething, marching stiffly. But no matter what he told himself, Jaime still pined for his sister. The most beautiful woman in the world...

Now was not the time for such thoughts, Jaime chastised himself, not when his duty was calling.

He walked to the throne room, and found the king awaiting him on the Iron Throne, flanked by Ser Balon Swann and Ser Loras Tyrell. When will he have to face his shame? Jaime wondered as he gazed at Ser Loras. Everyone knew he was a sword-swallower. They had to know.

Jaime turned and stood before the court, waiting and watching as all the lords and ladies filed into the gallery. He felt his father's gaze behind him, but determinedly ignored it. Petitioners filed in through the doors and one by one the king heard them. Almost an entire hour passed without incident.

And then, finally, it happened.

Lord Mathis Rowan entered the court, Tommen's Master of Works, and after feigning a little fuss, the king waved him through his guard and allowed him to whisper a few hurried words into his ear. The words they shared were irrelevant. This was all staged, a lie. No matter. It would suffice.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," the king called gravely down to him atop the Iron Throne, waving Lord Rowan away. "Please present yourself before the throne."

Jaime felt the pit in his stomach deepen as he walked stiffly into the centre of the throne room and turned to face his fate. Lord Tywin watched the proceedings with interest from his place of pride on the steps to the Iron Throne. Did he know? "Your Grace," Jaime said, kneeling.

"You are known by many as Kingslayer," Tommen began, and Jaime felt a little pang of impotent anger at the name as he arose to his feet again. "But I don't think anyone cared to ask why you broke your oaths and betrayed the Mad King."

"Your Grace..." Jaime pleaded in a moment of practiced weakness, even as he hardened his heart.

"The truth, Ser Jaime," Tommen insisted, eyes narrowing.

Jaime did his best look haunted, gazing out into the middle distance as he began his mummery. "The Mad King was obsessed with wildfire before he died," Jaime tentatively said, voice thick with emotion. "He used it to roast the flesh off all those he thought his enemies. Murderers and rapists at first, nobody any decent person would object to seeing burned, but as time passed his lusts for the flames grew more and more insatiable. His pet pyromancers were only too eager to serve.

"His last Hand was one," Jaime recalled. "Lord Rossart, a burning torch as his sigil. I should have drowned him instead of gutting him-"

"Ser Jaime!" Tommen interrupted.

Jaime snapped from his rehearsed reverie. "Yes, Your Grace. My apologies. Where was I...?" Jaime itched the beard on his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, yes. The flames. You see, Your Grace, it wasn't just criminals the Mad King wanted burned near the end. He burned Lord Rickard, of course, and that should have been enough for me to slay him, but I kept my sword buried in it's sheath, bound by my oaths. But then he gave the order during the Sack of Kings Landing, and I just... broke."

Tommen leaned in, listening with supposedly rapt attention. "What command did he give, Ser Jaime?"

"Burn them all," Jaime recited, eyes shut tight in remembrance. "I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, or you'll burn with all the rest. All the traitors."

"The Mad King asked you to slay your own father?" Tommen questioned after a long moment, lone eyebrow raised.

"Aye," Jaime said, nodding. "But that wasn't what made me turn. There was something else he ordered."

"And what was that, Ser Jaime?" The rest of the court suddenly seemed as enraptured as the king, eager ears awaiting his words.

"Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat," Jaime chanted. "Let him be king of the ashes. The Mad King had ordered his Hand to plant wildfire throughout the city, you see. And if the war didn't go his way, he wanted... No, he ordered the city immolated."

A hush fell through the throne room. Without even having look, Jaime could tell he was achieving the intended effect. But they didn't quite believe him, not yet. They wouldn't till they saw proof; a proof that would soon be provided. Mercifully, however, Jaime's role in this mummery was soon to end.

"I did what I did to save this city," he continued in a hoarse voice, almost whispering. "It was a choice between my oaths as a knight, and my oaths as a member of the Kingsguard. I chose my knighthood over my white cloak."

Tommen nodded. "Very well," he said gravely.

"Your Grace," Jaime interrupted as expected. "May I ask... Why now? You never... Everybody just assumed... Nobody ever cared to ask that question till today."

"Because we found some," Tommen said. "During some of the works I commissioned to repair the damage done to the city during the siege. After Lord Mathis told me that, it wasn't hard for me to make the connection to the Mad King's obsession with wildfire. I merely wished to confirm my suspicions, or failing that, be made aware what group of people would think to place jars of wildfire beneath my city."

"Of course, Your Grace," Jaime said, nodding in understanding along with all the watching lords and ladies.

"Now," Tommen said, "I will ask, Ser Jaime, if you have any knowledge of where the Mad King had his Hand put the pots."

Jaime gulped. "The Dragon Pit, the Great Sept of Baelor," he said to many shocked gasps from the lords. "The Red Keep..."

Tommen blinked as if he was genuinely blind-sided. "Truly..." he trailed off, the court hanging off his every word. "Truly the madness of the Targaryens knew no bounds."

"The Mad King was obsessed with wildfire," Jaime said again. "He would have bathed in it if he'd had the balls."

"That's enough for now," Tommen said, and turned to his Master of Works. "I think, Lord Mathis, that we have a great deal of work ahead of us making this city of ours safe again once Ser Jaime has written us a list."

Lord Rowan nodded gravely, brow furrowed with worry. All around, all the lords seemed to share his look of consternation. Still, the ploy had worked - their opinion of him had increased immeasurably. Even Lord Tywin, stood stern beside the throne, seemed a little shaken if you knew where to look. But now that he had told the truth about what the world thought was his darkest deed, the time had come for him to finally pay the price for his crimes.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," the king called out, "none can deny that in killing the Mad King you did a great service to the realm. A service for which a reward is long overdue. And yet, you also killed your king. You could have knocked him out, had him bound, done a dozen other things, but you slew him instead. This is a crime, no other word for it, a crime for which you have not yet been punished.

"And so I have decided on your fate," he continued. "You will venture forth from Kings Landing on the morrow to the Riverlands with a small company of your choosing, and commit yourself to restoring order to that portion of my realm. Once this task is complete, and only then, will you be allowed to choose your own fate. You can continue on the Kingsguard, your honour restored, or you can choose to depart from my service."

Jaime bowed his head, respecting the king's decision. Stood beside the throne, his father's eyes seemed to glimmer with... something. Hope, perhaps, that his heir was finally coming back home?

Jaime continued ignoring him as he wound his way back to his own chambers for the night. He readied all his things, sent his list to Lord Rowan, and sipped his wine balefully in silence, watching the sun crawl below the horizon. Tyrion came and offered his congratulations, and the pair shared japes and tales as the sun went down, and then he up and left the moment night fell, and Jaime was alone again. He had wanted to say something, but by the king's orders he was forced to let the remaining secrets he had sour his soul. Tyrion would never the know the truth about his beloved Tysha.

The shadow of the city and the glimmer of the sea filled his gaze as Jaime leaned back and sighed.

He was only ripped from his reverie in the small hours by another visitor. He turned his head and gazed out at the doorway, and found Cersei stood awaiting him in the door, clad in a slimmer, thinner gown, shimmering red and gold in the candlelight. She walked to him and offered no words, reaching down and pulling his lips to hers. Jaime's passion stiffened in his breeches, and he had his wish after all.

One last night...

He had her on his table, tearing her gown away and revealing her glory underneath. She wore nothing to slow him; no stockings, no smallclothes. His hands wandered all over; her lips, the nape of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, the curve of her waist, the dimples at the base of her back, her plump arse and the tight little hole hiding in the middle between her buttocks. She spread her legs wide for him, welcoming him into her wetness with a soft moan. After so long without her, Jaime spared her no mercy; he lost himself in her flesh.

"Oh, Jaime!" she moaned as they mated. "Yes, yes, yes. Do it now, do me now. Jaime Jaime Jaime." Her hand looped around the back his head, pulling him closer, and he silenced her with a kiss, attacking her lips with an unspoken ardour. "Yes," she said breathlessly once he broke away. "My brother, my sweet brother, just like that. Don't leave me, don't leave me."

Jaime slowed slightly even as she nibbled his ear and stroked his hair and kissed a line down his neck. His passion dulled a little between his legs. She's seducing me, he realised as he neared his finish, changing his mind at the last minute as he withdrew from within her and sprayed her belly and breasts with his seed instead. That certainly explains her sudden change in mood, Jaime thought.

"I don't have a choice," he said after he was done.

"I am the queen," she said. "You are mine to command. And I command you to stay."

"You must know the king gave his commands before the entire court," Jaime argued. "I can hardly ignore him."

"Then talk to Tommen," she said. "He knows about us; he can surely be made to understand. You are my brother, the only one I can trust."

"Have you spoken to him?" Jaime asked.

Cersei stiffened and scowled. "He's proven nearly as robust in his defiance of me as Joffrey was."

And a great deal cleverer too, Jaime thought. Joffrey truly had been a cunt. "Then what do you expect me to do?" Jaime asked. "You're the boy's mother, not me. I'm only his uncle. You of all people should know that Tommen's mind is made up. And father is firmly in favour of his decision, so it's hardly as though I can appeal to him."

Cersei scowled again, quiet infuriation furrowing her brow. "That boy..."

"Your son," Jaime reminded her. "And your king as well."

Cersei suddenly stood up from her seat on the tabletop, gathering up her torn gown and dressing herself hurriedly. "I must be off," she said stiffly.

"Stay a little while longer," Jaime pleaded, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to her chest.

Cersei shook her head, gently pushing him away. "No," she said. "No, the risk is too great."

Jaime watched her leave longingly, and then tossed and turned the rest of the night. He awoke bleary-eyed to the harsh rays of the sun shining through the hangings in the early light of the morning. Armour clattered as he dressed himself and gathered his things. Ser Illyn greeted him silents as he ventured from his room and headed to the place where he would depart. The tongueless man would be a valuable tool, now that Bronn was gone. A whetstone against which he could sharpen his skills; a secret-keeper for his shame.

Forty knights and many guards awaited him outside the Red Keep's stables. Half were westermen sworn to House Lannister, Ser Addam Marbrand at the helm. Ser Dormet stood waiting, ready to carry the king's standard. Jaime observed his group with a keen eye even as he clambered atop his charger. Together, they left the Red Keep and set off into the heart of the city.

Looking around, Jaime could see the king's orders at work. Men gingerly lifted aged pots of wildfire out from the ground - new holes already dug under the buildings - and carried them slowly to carts filled with beach sand. From there they would be taken... somewhere. Presumably to the Guildhall of the Alchemists to be destroyed, but with Tommen there was no telling. What do his dreams tell him to do? Jaime wondered.

Lining the edges of the streets he rode crowds of well-wishers were arrayed to wish him farewell. Tommen's trick may have worked perhaps a little too well, Jaime thought as he ignored them and rode on down the thoroughfare to the gates.

"My lord," one man asked from beside him, "will you wave your golden hand and give the smallfolk a tale to tell their children?"

"I don't have a hand," Jaime bit out. "I have a hook."

There were others as well, arrayed beyond the gates. The royal crowd of well-wishers stood at the edge of the wood, the king standing strong at the helm, his remaining Kingsguards looming over him. There was Lord Tywin, Tyrion, much of the Small Council, and finally Lady Brienne.

Jaime sighed and cursed under his breath and slowed his horse with his reigns. He had hoped for a clean break from this place, but it appeared that his torment was not yet done. He stopped his steed and clambered back down to the ground, and had to endure a whole lot of eager hand-shaking and well-wishing from the lords, before finally he got to Lady Brienne.

"This is my squire," she said, nudging a girl that rose just above her waist, dark of hair and grey of eye. Arya. "Lyra."

Jaime offered her a stiff, uncertain nod even as she glanced up at him with murder in her gaze, and then he turned back to face Lady Brienne. "She suits you," he said awkwardly.

Lady Brienne nodded. "As does all this gallantry and gold suit you, my lord."

Jaime stared at her, the usual squirrel's nest of hair brushed neatly back, her armour polished to a shine. He felt the sudden urge to lean in and kiss her. "It suits you finely enough as well, wench," he said instead with the ghost of a smile.

Brienne snorted and let out a breath of laughter in better humour than Jaime would have expected from her. Something about her had changed, Jaime thought, but it seemed for the better. She was smarter, less stubborn. Impulsively, Jaime pulled her in and pressed a peck to her forehead before he moved on, watching amusedly out of the corner of his eyes as she blushed a bright red. The king dismissed her, and after offering Jaime one last parting look she left with her squire in tow.

Now, only Tyrion and Tywin and Tommen awaited him, and two members of the Kingsguard he was supposed to command.

"Brother!" Tyrion began. "Off to play the peacemaker, are you?"

Jaime lifted his hook. "Thought I'd try my hand at it," he japed.

Tyrion's mismatched eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh," he said, "I'm sure the Riverlords will be thrilled to have you riding to their rescue."

Jaime shrugged, a smile tugging on his lips. "I've faced worse in my time," he said. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Well," Tyrion replied with a wry smile, "just try not to lose any more limbs on the way."

Jaime snorted. "I'll try my best, little brother."

Next was Lord Tywin. "Jaime," he said severely, eyes hard. "I'm glad to see you have some sense."

"Lannisters are no fools," Jaime reminded him sourly. "I haven't forgotten who I am."

"Yes," Tywin said simply, gaze gleaming with a quiet satisfaction after having finally gotten his way.

And finally, Tommen stood patiently awaiting him. "Your Grace," Jaime greeted him.

"Just Tommen for today, I think," he said, looking around. "Come with me, Uncle. I have some things I wish to tell you away from prying eyes and ears."

Jaime followed his king deeper into the wood, around a thicket of trees so that all the rest of the men fell out of sight. It looked like one of the Kingsguard might have wanted to protest, but a stern glare from the king struck Ser Loras dumb again.

When they were finally free of any onlookers, Tommen launched at him with a tight hug. "I'm going to miss you, Uncle," he said into his breastplate.

Jaime awkwardly patted his son's back with a gauntleted hand. "I'll miss you too." Tommen pulled away, eyes sharp again, and reached down into his belt and withdrew some crumpled letters from under his coat. "What are these?" Jaime asked as he took them.

"Insurance," Tommen said. "The Riverlands is a dangerous place, Uncle. Those there contain various orders that should enable you to do as I bid without too much obstruction from the Riverlanders or their Riverlords. Don't open them now, you can do that later. And finally, I have reason to believe that Lady Catelyn is not as deceased as she seems, but lives on as a vengeful wraith of her former self."

Jaime quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. "Is this a bad jape?" he asked, but Tommen's face did not turn. Jaime paled. Tommen's dreams haven't been wrong yet, he reflected with horror.

"No, Uncle, it is not," Tommen replied grimly. "That last letter was written by Arya Stark. That one with my seal on the top. In the event you wind up in the Lady Catelyn's undead custody, I want you to show her that. It might just stay her hand from lopping off your head. With it I have also packaged something else. Orders to slay all the Freys involved with the Red Wedding. That should help your case a little more as well."

Jaime nodded hesitantly.

Tommen smiled. "Do not fret, Uncle. And remember: Though regular steel may not slay such a wraith, Valyrian steel will still do the trick. May I see your sword?"

Jaime withdrew the unnamed blade, Valyrian steel shaded a morbid blend of smoky grey and scab-coloured crimson. Tommen took the blade into his own hands and inspected it with the dappled light shining through the leaves.

"Did you give it a name?" he asked.

"Not yet," Jaime said, shaking his head.

Tommen nodded his head, eyes transfixed to the metal. "Well, then you'll allow me to name it instead?"

Jaime shrugged again as Tommen looked over the sword. "As you please."

"Men say you broke your oaths when you slew the Mad King," Tommen began grandly. "I disagree. I say you broke your oaths when, like last night, you bedded your own sister, your own queen. This steel had an honourable owner, once."

Of course the king had known. Of course. His dreams must have told him. Jaime looked down in shame. He had no excuses to offer.

"It deserves an honourable owner once again," Tommen continued. "You'll break your oaths no longer, Uncle, and I think your sword should reflect this fact."

Jaime looked at the blade the king held in his hands.

"Oathkeeper will be the name," Tommen declared as he offered him the hilt. "For the blade and it's bearer both."

Jaime nodded sharply as he accepted the newly-dubbed sword.

Oathkeeper.

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P.S. May be subject to a rewrite or edits in the future