Chapter 36: Jaime IV

A horn cut through the cluttered air.

The riders were already dismounting when Jaime emerged from within his tent; the sounds of hooves and boots and armour mixing in with all the others noises of camp. It seemed to be a half-dozen knights, with two-dozen other men in tow. "Jaime!" roared a shaggy-haired man from the front of the lot, the Lannister sigil proudly emblazoned on his surcoat in all it's red-and-gold glory atop his ring-mail. "We feared for you after the Whispering Wood," he said, clasping Jaime by the arms and pulling him into a brief hug. "Heard Stark's direwolf tore out your throat."

"Did you weep for me, Daven?" Jaime asked, a smirk on his face.

Daven snorted and shook his head. "I don't weep," he said. "I rage." Then his gaze softened and turned pitying when he saw the gilded hook at the end of Jaime's arm. "So it's true," he said. "The bastards took your hand. Which one was it?"

"Hoat," Jaime said. "Don't fret, he's long dead. And don't worry for me. I find there's much to recommend having one hand. Fewer urges to scratch my arse, for one."

Daven's smile returned with roaring bark of laughter. Jaime couldn't help but grin back. His cousin's laughs were infectious. But alas, the moment could not last. He had his duty to do, and wolves to watch out for. Jaime straightened himself. "Come inside, cousin. We have much to discuss."

Daven nodded, and followed him behind the tent-flaps. In the corner, Pia was mulling wine for them, occasionally chattering with some squire from his retinue. She shot him a look, and Jaime refused to meet her gaze. Another pang of guilt hit him, then disappeared again. He was here to decide the fate of an entire kingdom, not fret over the feelings of some smallfolk girl. And so, with the wave of his hand, Jaime sent them both away.

"I need to know what awaits me," he began once they were alone.

Daven shrugged. "The siege drags on. The Blackfish sits in his castle, refusing to bend, and we sit in our camps and threaten day after day to kill his nephew. Bloody useless, if you ask me. And boring. I'm itching for a fight. Tully ought to plan some sort of attack. And kill some of the Freys whilst he's at it. Like our own Lord Emmon," Daven spat the name like a curse. "Seven save us, that man. Still angry about not getting Riverrun. He's been a pain the whole time."

Jaime nodded and fetched the cups of wine once they had been heated. His mind was awash with thoughts as he pushed one into Daven's waiting hands and took a meagre sip from his own. "You were speaking of Freys you wanted dead..."

"Ah, there's some good ones too," Daven blustered. "But some of them are right whoresons, I tell-"

"Can I trust you?" Jaime cut in. Daven's eyes widened, his brow furrowed. "To keep my secrets, I mean. I know all too well you'll watch my back in the heat of battle. But I have orders from His Grace, and to see them completed it is imperative they be kept secret. I can ill afford loose lips."

Daven's look of outrage softened somewhat at that. Then his face hardened and he nodded curtly once. "You can trust me."

"His Grace wants the Freys dead," Jaime said. "Not all, but enough to atone for the Red Wedding."

Daven frowned in confusion. "His Grace? These commands are from Tommen?" he asked. "Not your father?"

"His Grace issued the orders, my father merely approved them."

Daven nodded, looking perhaps a tad surprised at that, and then asked: "But why?"

"Politics," Jaime said. "After the Red Wedding the Freys will not last long as Lord Paramounts of the Riverlands. The other Riverlords won't wear it, nor should they have to. So, to strangle any future notions of rebellion in the cradle, the source of the discontent must be removed. And it will help to bring the Vale lords and the Northerners back into the fold, too. To see justice done for Robb and Catelyn Stark, and all the lords and ladies who died fighting to protect them. We'll not be slaying innocents, mind. Just those who partook in the slaughter, those who broke guest right."

"I... I suppose I can understand that. So what am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing, for now at least," Jaime said. "The first priority for the moment will be bringing the Riverlands back under the crown's control. But once all the sieges have been ended and all the keeps have been captured..."

"We march on the Twins," Daven finished.

Jaime said nothing, but let the silence speak for itself.

"Seven save us all..."

"Give the gods some time," Jaime said, swallowing that last dregs of wine in his cup. "If His Grace has his way, they surely will. Now you must come with me to the camp. Time is being wasted that we can ill afford to waste. We can speak further as we ride."

Daven nodded, swigged the last of his wine and made to follow. He eyed Jaime strangely as they pushed past the tent-flaps. "You've changed, coz," he said.

"I know," Jaime said quietly. "Hopefully for the better."

"You seem more like your father," Daven said as they approached the horses. "Certainly cleverer than when I last saw you. Colder, too. But perhaps more dutiful."

Jaime felt his expression sour a little at the comparison to his father, but ultimately he kept his peace. His hook ached where his hand should have been. But, truth be told, he did not mind it much. He liked this life. At least he liked it more than King's Landing. Walking among the soldiers, between the tents, blending in among all the other men at the warcamp. There was a certain simplicity to it he liked. Like living among northerners, Jaime reflected. No time for backstabbing or treachery or conspiracy with a common enemy to rally against. For them the enemy is the cold, for us the Riverlords. And perhaps the ladies too...

Jaime suppressed the shiver that threatened to creep up his spine at that thought as he approached a mount and leapt onto it's saddle. Beside him, Daven did the same and the pair soon set off towards the great Tully castle, soldiers rallying behind them all the way to the siege. The rest of the warcamp would come tomorrow. "Be wary," one of the men warned. "There are wolves about." Jaime nodded. He already knew. They went some way in silence, before Jaime opted to call Daven over with a look.

"Tell me, in greater detail, the state of the siege."

Daven shrugged. "What is there to tell?" he said. "I've been having them building rams and siege towers, but we have yet to chance an assault on the walls. Meanwhile, Ser Emmon has raised a set of gallows. Every day he takes Edmure Tully out before the walls and threatens to hang him. Every day he returns back to camp with Edmure still alive. He wants to kill him, but so far I've been keeping him under control. I reckon he thinks that if the Tullys would be gone he'd get Riverrun back. But there's no chance of that now. His wife is pregnant, did you know?"

Jaime frowned. Another indication of the accuracy of his nephew's premonitions. "I know. He bedded her during the Red Wedding."

Daven's brows climbed up his head at that - at Jaime knowing such a specific detail - but after a second he seemed to accept it. "Well, Lord Westerling is of the mind that nothing ought to be done to Lord Edmure. He makes arguments of honour, but his wife and daughter - the one who was briefly Robb Stark's wife before he was slain - are hostages within the walls of Riverrun. Most likely he fears they'll be hurt if anything happens to Edmure."

"The Blackfish would not stoop so low," Jaime said. "Now I've gotten the facts, tell me your own opinion."

Daven cocked his head in thought. "We have the castle well encircled, but not much else. Half our host is made of Riverlords who came our way after the Red Wedding. I don't trust them to watch our backs in an assault. And even if it weren't so, we haven't the strength to storm the keep and guarantee a victory. Nor can we afford to starve them out. The Blackfish stripped this land clean and expelled all useless mouths before he closed the gates to his castle. He could hold quite comfortably for years. We... probably couldn't. The Freys have food coming from the Twins, but they claim not to have enough to share. And though we have fish for the men caught from the rivers, the horses are quietly going hungry. I send men out to forage, and half don't come back. Some desert. The others... We find them days later. Hanging from trees, mauled by what look like dogs-"

"Or wolves."

Daven nodded. "The shipments from the Reach helped somewhat, but most the grain went into the ground for the autumn harvest, so..."

"In other words, we have to find a way to end this siege, and quickly."

Daven nodded in agreement. "That would be my advice."

"I'll treat with them," Jaime said. "I mean to offer them generous terms."

"You are welcome to try, but I'd be surprised if it worked."

"Worry not, cousin," Jaime said, thinking of the orders burning a hole in his pockets, and of his oath to never again take up arms against a Tully. "I'll have this mess sorted one way or another."

"Hmm."

From then on, their journey continued more or less in quiet, till eventually Riverrun hoved into view. The grand Tully castle rose from the waters of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone like some great stone dromond with it's prow pointed downstream. It's walls suddenly seemed higher and thicker than Jaime had remembered them to be. If it does come to an assault, Jaime thought, then it will be a bloody one. But Tommen instructions, written as they were on the letters in his pockets, seemed plenty confident that Riverrun would fall. Jaime's stomach threatened rebellion at the thought of what he might have to do.

And if the Blackfish doesn't listen? Jaime thought. If that were the case then Jaime supposed either he'd have to truly become like his father, or else admit defeat and lead the assault himself. And then he would have to contend with the wolves...

No, Jaime thought, squaring his shoulders as they arrived and strengthening his resolve. I must have faith. Tommen's dreams have not misled me yet.

Looking around, Jaime saw for himself the state of the siege Daven had described. Riverrun was encircled by a fast-flowing moat, river water coming in one end and rushing out the other. So the siege was divided between three camps. Ser Emmon's seemed the most prominent, headlined by a set of gallows, a faintly bored-looking Edmure standing below the noose. Banners surrounded him. Mooton, Peake, Vance, Goodbrook and many more. But there were also banners missing. The Mallisters had not made an appearance, nor had the Brackens. And among those Riverlords assembled, few besides the Freys seemed enthusiastic.

This will be harder than even I expected, Jaime gloomily predicted as they rounded this side of the siege to Daven's own camp. Our new friends are no friends at all. Here was the command tent, the Lannister sigil proudly displayed. Jaime dismounted his horse, letting some stableboy lead it away as he pushed aside the tent-flaps.

"Here at last, are you?" Genna Lannister boomed, a slight grin on her face. She was a fat woman, but somehow she seemed more shapely than slovenly. Her breasts threatened to overflow her bodice, despite the fact that her waist was no longer as pinched as it once had been. Birthing four children had seen to that. Her face was broad and smooth, red in the cheeks, her neck thick as her head, her hips wider than her shoulders. Without words she pulled Jaime into a hug with surprising strength, planting deliberately sloppy kisses on his cheeks. "How are you?"

"Well enough," Jaime demurred. "What are you doing here?"

"Emmon had to come when he'd heard we'd been granted Riverrun," Genna said. "I thought it was a stupid idea, giving my fool of a husband such a great seat, but you can also imagine my displeasure at discovering that the castle was taken from us almost as quickly as it was given. Emmon was beyond irritating for a good long while."

"King Tommen takes a greater interest in the affairs of the realm than his brother ever did," Jaime said diplomatically. "He decided it was best that House Tully should survive this war, if such a thing were possible."

Genna's eyes narrowed in understanding. "He means for the Tullys to keep Riverrun?" she asked, incredulous. "But they won't accept House Frey as their overlords in a thousand years. It would only sow the seeds for more bloodshed. How could my brother have allowed this?"

"It was decided that the Freys would not last long as Lords Paramount no matter what we did," Jaime said. "The moment Lannister forces withdrew from the Riverlands the fighting would start again. The other lords would hardly bear being ruled by men who break guest right."

"So what is the plan?"

"As far as seats go, how satisfied do you think your husband would be with Harrenhall?"

Genna's eyes widened. "Very satisfied, I should imagine. Why?"

"Enough to turn his back on Lord Walder at the Twins, and bring some of his more honourable relations with him?"

Genna frowned. "Jaime... Gods be good... Are you saying...?"

"It was decided that dispensing justice for the crimes committed during the Red Wedding would serve to hasten the process of bringing the Vale and the North back under the authority of the crown. The Tullys did well to spread their influence to those kingdoms. We can use that goodwill to our advantage. And better that the Crown should be seen to be the arbiters of justice. It will help to increase His Grace's legitimacy."

"The grain shipments... They weren't just for a winter harvest, were they? They were to get the other lords to turn a blind eye."

Jaime nodded. "And when all is said and done, stability in the Riverlands will be secured in the same way as in the Reach. Carefully arranged matches between the surviving sons and daughters of the Riverlords, tying them together and conveniently to the Crown in turn. Needless to say, this is to remain a secret."

"Needless to say," Genna cackled in a delighted agreement as she shook her head. "This smacks of your father. Ambitious. The work of the kind of man who comes along once in a thousand years, indeed."

"It was Tommen's idea," Jaime interjected. "Not my father's."

At that Genna paused and cocked her head. "Is it true what they say about him?" she eventually asked. "Another Tywin?"

Jaime shook his head. "No. I don't think so. I think he's better."

Genna's brows climbed up her forehead. "High praise," she remarked.

"My father seems to agree," Jaime said. "I'd describe him as a mix of the best of all of us, muddled in with precious little of the worst. Dutiful. Cunning. A tad too soft-hearted, some might say, but never to the point of ruin. He still has a lot yet to learn, but he's learning fast."

"I remember when he was just a little babe, scared of his own shadow," Genna said. "I should go and meet this new king when I can. Get his measure for myself."

"You should," Jaime said. "But first Harrenhall. You'll have to go there once the siege is done. I left a good contingent of Lannister men there for you. They know to answer only to you. And once I'm done with the rest of the Riverlands I'll head north. Think you can keep your husband and sons from doing anything stupid when they hear?"

Genna waved her hand dismissively through the air. "I can handle my husband well enough," she said. Of course she could. Even after all these years, Genna Frey was still a Lannister in all but name. "More important is the siege. How are you planning to end it?"

"I'm going to treat with the Blackfish," Jaime said.

"That won't work," Genna immediately retorted.

"I mean to offer him good terms," Jaime said. "And I won't be alone."

Genna eyed Jaime carefully, eyes running up and down, flicking to his hook and then back to his face. "Terms require trust," she said. "The Freys broke guest right. And you, well, you are the Kingslayer. It might have been the Mad King you broke your oaths to kill, but you broke them all the same."

"I'm not the Kingslayer anymore," Jaime said.

"So I heard," Genna said. "But do you think the Blackfish will believe you? Do you think he'll care?"

"He won't have to," Jaime said. "Where is Edmure?"

"Out there, somewhere," Genna said, gesturing to the tent-flaps. "He should be back from the gallows, now. Why?"

"Edmure has been threatened with death already," Jaime said as he turned and made to leave, "so I'm going to go threaten him with life instead."

Jaime set off at a swift pace, marching stiffly across camp, making for Emmon's half of the siege. He made surprisingly quick time on his feet, and before he knew it he was across the river and wandering amongst Freys and the other Riverlords. Among the tents he wondered, till finally he saw it: The Lord of Riverrun.

His feet were caked with mud and his legs were bared. His hands were bound tight behind his back. Only a long silken tunic bearing the sigil of House Tully hid his manhood from view, long since sullied by mud and dust. He looked defeated, utterly broken. His head hung low. But when he heard Jaime's footfalls, he lifted his gaze from the ground and his eyes narrowed in recognition even as he licked his bloody lips to speak, his beard caked in filth.

"Kingslayer," he said, no doubt using the name to irk him in some stupid show of defiance.

"Edmure," Jaime acknowledged him, refusing to react. From within a nearby tent Lord Emmon emerged. With nervous, wandering hands, he seemed a fretful man. Even clad in mail and a little plate he looked small. Like a boy wearing a man's clothes. He was an eminently pitiable person, or perhaps contemptuous. In his old age, only a few white wisps still clung to his head. Time had only reduced him, and Jaime was sure that marriage to a woman like his aunt had not helped much. "Lord Emmon."

"Ser Jaime," Emmon greeted him reservedly, almost regarding him with suspicion.

"What is this business with Lord Edmure?" Jaime asked.

"I gave the Blackfish warning," Lord Emmon explained. "I told him his nephew would die he refused to yield. The same trick worked against Jason Mallister at Seagard. But it seems that Ser Brynden Tully is of a colder sort."

"You threatened to kill his nephew if he refused, and he refused. So then why haven't you killed Lord Edmure yet?" Jaime asked.

At that Emmon hesitated, reddening slightly. "If we kill Lord Edmure then we have no hostage."

"And if you don't kill him you prove your words to be a lie," Jaime said.

"I meant to preserve the lives of our men," Emmon said.

A likely story, Jaime thought scornfully. More likely our Lord Frey meant to weasel a way to take Riverrun for himself. "A noble goal," Jaime said. "But not practical. Go fetch a maid to run a bath and fetch some proper food for Lord Edmure here, and then go see your wife. I have already spoken to her. I need to speak to our prisoner alone."

Emmon nodded and set off. Edmure's gaze remained fixed on Jaime's face. "Why?" he asked.

Jaime knelt down to Edmure's level. "Emmon's mistake was trying to bargain with the Blackfish. Brynden Tully is an old man. Valiant, yes, but old. He has no children to care for, no wife to weep for him. The best he can hope for is a warrior's death. But you... You are yet young. Your wife is pregnant. You could have a future. And you are the rightful lord of House Tully. Which means that the fate of Riverrun is in your hands."

Edmure licked his lips again. "The fate of Riverrun..."

Jaime nodded. "I mean to treat with your uncle, and I mean to bring you with me. I'll send you back to him. Convince him to yield the castle and nobody dies. Your smallfolk will be allowed to continue their lives as before. The garrison will be allowed to go free, so long as Brynden takes the black. Your child will have a good match arranged for it. And you... You will be allowed to keep Riverrun along with most of it's lands for yourself so long as you swear vows of fealty to the crown, though you'll not retain your title as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands."

At that Edmure balked. "I don't believe you," he said after a while. Jaime could understand that. To Edmure it must have seemed too good to be true.

"When I was your sister's captive she made me swear to never again take up arms against House Tully," he said. "I'd rather not break that oath if I can avoid it." Edmure still seemed sceptical. Jaime reached down and pulled one of Tommen's letters from his pocket. "But you need not believe me. I have the writ from His Grace right here."

Edmure's eyes flicked over it, not quite reading it as much as observing it. Jaime folded the parchment back up and pressed it into Edmure's hands for him to peruse later on at his own pleasure. "And if I refuse to yield?" he asked.

"Then all that I'm offering you goes away," Jaime said. "Don't forget that I'm the son of Tywin Lannister. I am just as capable of cruelty as I am of kindness. We'll storm the keep. We'll show no mercy to anyone. And if your wife should birth your child before the siege is over, I'll be sure to send the babe to you. In a catapult."

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