Author's Notes: Welcome back to another chapter! The letters have ended. The huge time jumps are over with. This is the beginning of the end my friends. Feeling some mixed emotions about that: excitement, trepidation, nervous. I hope y'all enjoy what I have in store for you!

Thank you so much for your support of this story, dear readers! You've been marvelous!

A million thanks goes to Catzrko0l for their continued dedication as a beta! You've been awesome!

I also, of course, have owe a million thanks to RileyRoxx. I can't tell you how thrilling its been to see TDR get the podfic treatment. You're amazing!

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Chapter 147

Jaime LI

His heart was in his throat as he stepped off the lift in the den beneath Casterly Rock. The place was in pandemonium as soldiers hurried to and fro, grabbing pieces of armor, weapons, and dragonglass daggers.

Aemon had issued the call. All armies south of the Crowlands that were slated to battle the Long Night were to gather in King's Landing. When he'd first woken up in his bed in the White Tower twenty years ago, the fight for the Long Night had seemed so far away. But now it was upon them.

He felt the usual restless energy that hit him before an impending battle and struggled to keep from fidgeting. At the same time, the cacophony of sounds pinged against his head, threatening to bring about a headache. He shut his eyes against the noise and squinted to see where he was going. It had been months since his last seizure. Given the stress that was about to be his constant companion, it would be a miracle to keep the streak going past King's Landing, but he was going to try.

To distract himself, he imagined cleaving through wights, giving them all of the ire, heartache, and fury he'd felt since the last time he'd fought them. They were far better prepared than previously. Though there had been frustrations—several thousand of his men still lacked the appropriate furs to fight in the freezing cold—they were set to meet the threat at the Wall with more than three hundred thousand strong. They had thousands of dragonglass daggers; one for almost everyone. The pyromancers had made it to the Wall and, by Lord Commander Mormont's accounts, were busy brewing wildfire to catapult at the undead.

There had been no catastrophic losses in the intervening years. Though the Ironborn were a tad slim on numbers, they were nearly useless in a ground fight anyway. Lady Yara was commanded to have her Ironborn patrol the waters and keep them free of pirates. The comparison between the time before and this one was otherwise night and day. Everyone had fallen into line and knew their part.

Jaime would never have hoped to be anywhere near this formidable.

And, yet, there were still obstacles. The Blackfyre continued to be a pest that hovered around the edges of their planning. David had received an account that suggested the Blackfyre and his army had boarded their ships and were now sailing, presumably to Westeros. That had been four months ago. The next time they heard of his movements, he was apt to be just off their shore. Given the lack of furs for a few thousand of his men, he decided that those would stay behind to aid in the battle against the Blackfyre.

Even despite the Blackfyre, Jaime had never felt more confident. The only thing he hadn't anticipated was parting with his children. They were all lined up by the horses, in various stages of misery. Julianna had grown into a lovely young woman. Though she had similar timidity as Myrcella, she contained herself with a placid smile. Cassian stood next to her, already seven. He'd opened up as he had grown, but he was still a thoughtful and sweet child. He reminded Jaime of Tommen and felt his heart ache at the thought. Though he was still new to sword fighting, he was picking it up as quickly as Jaime had as a young lad. He, too, was composed much like Julianna, though his smile was sad.

Tydus' eyes were dry, but he was glaring unhappily much to Jaime's amusement. Galladon was sniffling at his side and continually rubbing his eyes. The maids held the twin girls, Joanna and Jocasta, who were upset, though they didn't seem to know why. He had a feeling they'd start crying once they rode out of the Lion's Maw.

Brienne was first as she went down the line, starting with Julianna. They embraced and she planted a quick kiss in her hair. Cassian had entered a stage where he thought hugs were girly, so she acquiesced with a quick kiss in his hair as well.

Jaime offered Julianna a hug. "It's not your job to keep them out of trouble, but keep an eye on them for me," he said.

"Of course, Uncle. But come back home," she said, her voice a wavering light blue and thick with her tears.

"You know I will," he said, giving her a cocky smirk.

He held out his hand to Cassian. The boy looked at it curiously and then put his hand in it, staring up at Jaime with so much adoration that it made his heart feel light in his chest. "You have a good head on your shoulders, son. Keep studying, both the sword and your lessons. Be sure to help your siblings when they need it and protect them if you can."

"Yes, father," he said. The blue of Cassian's voice was more like a calm day on the sea, but there was just the smallest tremble that belied his inner torment.

Jaime bent down to address Tydus, who remained stubbornly angry though Jaime could see the tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. "Should anything happen to me, you are destined to be Lord of Casterly Rock. Listen to the maester, listen to Cassian, listen to Devan, to Lord and Lady Alexandratos. You're young and you need some years on you; they are older and wiser. Rely on them."

"Why do you have to go?" he wailed, stamping his feet, his voice a vibrant red with his anger.

"It's my duty. To the Westerlands, to Westeros, and to the king and queen," Jaime stated. "You will learn that some day. With any luck, I'll be able to teach it to you. Stay out of trouble."

Galladon wasn't yet old enough to try and hide his tears. "But I don't want you to go!"

"You'll be lord of Tarth. When we come back, we'll go to Tarth, and your grandfather can show you the reins," Jaime said.

"When is that?" Galladon asked, hiccuping through his tears. His voice wavered a watery blue.

"It'll be some time, but it will happen. I promise." Galladon threw himself into his arms and Jaime held him for a moment.

The last were the twins. Brienne still held each of them in her arms and they clung to her, despite being nestled up against the cold metal of their mother's breastplate.

"I will miss you, girls. Stay out of trouble. Keep your brothers on their toes."

"Read to us?" Joanna asked, her voice a querying teal?

Jaime shook his head. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. Not for some nights. Cass'll read to you. He needs practice."

"Sure, I guess," Cassian said with a noncommittal shrug.

"I want the story about the little birdy," Jocasta whined.

Jaime pecked both girls on the cheeks. Brienne gave them one last squeeze before setting them down.

"We best be off. We'll want to make at least ten miles before nightfall," he said.

Brienne gave them all one last kiss and then hopped on her steed. They both gave one last look at the children and rode through the Maw into the gray misty daylight. There were still soldiers rushing to put out campfires and getting their things together, but Jaime was confident they'd be ready to march by the time they reached the outskirts of the army.

He glanced over to Brienne. Though her eyes were dry and resolute, he thought he saw pain there. He reached over the gap between their mounts and took her hand, catching her attention. "They'll be fine," he assured.

She scoffed. "I know they will be. I just wish I could see them."

"We shouldn't be fighting for more than a few years," he replied.

Brienne gave a noise of frustration. "That's only the Long Night. The Blackfyre will be here in the south. Are you certain a thousand men will be enough to guard the Rock?"

Jaime raised his eyebrows. "Yes, they can hole up in the Rock for years. This won't be like the Tyrells with Stannis. If the Blackfyre even manages to make it to the Rock, there will be far more for him to worry about than the occupants of a single castle."

She sighed. "I trust you, of course. I was simply at ease before knowing the Army of the Dead is in the far North. We'd stop them long before they reached this far south, but the Blackfyre …."

"Aemon and Dany have the dragons. He doesn't stand a chance and he's a fool if he thinks he does," Jaime replied.

"What kind of fool dashes himself and his army needlessly on the rocks of an impenetrable cliff. Surely it's not stupidity. He has to know about the dragons," Brienne retorted.

"I'm sure he does. He could simply be that prideful. Perhaps his plan is to take Rhaellon out from under Aemon and Dany to bond with her? But they have already anticipated that and she's large enough she could torch the army by herself," Jaime replied.

He did often wonder to what point the Blackfyre was driving. Were his eyes only for the throne? Or was he going to attempt to ingratiate himself by way of espousing their family ties? They could hardly ignore the mercenary armies he'd taken over in his bid for power. Were they merely a means of substantiating his claims as a Blackfyre descendant? Given the Blackfyre family history, the goal was likely violence and it was the primary language Jaime spoke.

When they reached the crossroads where the Rose Road met the Gold Road, Jaime turned to Addam and his Uncle Kevan. "Take your men to Highgarden and wait for me there. I'll be returning with a smaller party, so our journey will be shorter."

"If the Tyrell army moves, should we follow?" Addam asked. Though his voice was a calm blue, his face was the gravest Jaime had ever seen him. They'd spent the journey so far with Jaime enunciating to command how high the stakes were.

"Ser Garlan should be leading the Tyrell army. He's an excellent commander and perhaps an even better swordsman." Jaime smirked, "I haven't yet tested my mettle against him. As to following him? I trust your judgment in the matter. Just remember to let me know the plan should you leave with him."

"Of course. Fair winds, Jaime," Addam said.

"And to you as well," Jaime replied.

Addam clicked his tongue and pulled his horse toward the Rose Road and raised his voice, "Southern Regiment, to me!"

The army looked like a school of fish as a large segment slowly siphoned toward the southeast as Jaime, Brienne, and the rest turned north to continue on to King's Landing. Although he was marching forty thousand men, they made good time going up to King's Landing, covering up to fourteen miles in a day. He feared his restlessness may have pushed them harder than he'd meant. He kept his eyes strained in nearly every direction, always alert for a messenger horse to appear out of nowhere with urgent news. But they never came. It didn't keep him from wondering if the Blackfyre had been sighted.

He never thought he'd feel relief upon seeing the towering shape of the Red Keep come into view. Splayed out before him was another sea of canvas tents and numerous other flags, largely from the Stormlands and the Crownlands from what Jaime could see.

Dorne and Reach have yet to arrive, he thought. He wasn't certain that he could trust the Dornish to stick to their plan and send the better part of their forces north. Although he could sympathize with not wanting to leave his home vulnerable, it had to be done. If Ser Garlan was, indeed, leading the soldiers of Highgarden, they were apt to be well-trained and formidable.

"Captain Falkan, see that the men make camp. I will be in the Keep for the foreseeable future. I'll send a messenger when I know when our next move will be," Jaime commanded.

"Yes, my lord," Falkan replied and, just like Addam, he turned his horse off the road and raised his voice to be heard. Like a flock of birds coming in for a landing, the army fanned out and streamed into the grassy fields to find a place to make camp. Not wanting to spend another minute on the road, Jaime hustled the horses toward the city.

Just as they went through the city gate, Jaime heard a noise like thunder and unconsciously ducked as a large shadow passed overhead. His mouth went wide as Rhaellon swooped low overhead as she came in for a landing at the nearby Dragonpit.

They're formidable now, Jaime mused, unsure if the thought filled him with joy or dread. He didn't think he'd ever quite get over the dragons' immense ferocity. He only remembered Drogon flying in and laying waste to several hundred of his men in a single breath.

The dragons are allied to us just as they were before, he lectured himself as he had countless times before, but it never alleviated his fear.

They rode through the gate and found the grounds crowded and alive with activity. Along the far wall were a myriad number of makeshift smithies. Though the smithy hammers pinged dully against the metal they were working, the cascade of color forced Jaime to pinch his eyes and he quickly focused his attention elsewhere. Horses were also being led out and shod in preparation for the long trek north. The yard was thick with waves of gray wherever he looked, since he focused his attention on the ground and tried to shut out all other noise.

As he turned he caught a young boy dressed in finery, holding the hand of a servant, though he appeared to be dragging her into the fracas of the activity. His hair was silver.

Jaime dismounted and the others in his party followed suit. He approached the boy. "Why, is that Prince Daeron?" he asked loud enough to catch the boy's attention. The child's eyes were wide and his face was alive with the awe and excitement of the activity. Jaime bent the knee. "It is good to finally meet you, my Prince."

Daeron's face turned to shock at the deference. "You're a lion. Are you a Lannister?" His voice reverberated with the excitement of bright green.

"Lord Lannister, at your service. This is my lady wife, Brienne," Jaime said, gesturing to Brienne who'd stepped to be shoulder to shoulder and bowed herself.

"Papa says you're both the best sword ever!"

"Oh, I don't know if I can say that anymore. I have some competition," Jaime replied, turning to smirk at Brienne, who blushed graciously. Though she had been pregnant for much of the last 6 years, Brienne had hardly been idle.

"You must be Lady Brienne," the boy said, showing a gap-toothed grin. "Papa's told me about you too. I wanna see you fight him."

"If your father, the king, asks it of me, I will do so," Brienne said.

"I'd be eager to see you train. With the likes of Ser Barristan Selmy, surely you will be as stellar as he is by now," Jaime replied.

Prince Daeron giggled. He opened his mouth to speak when another voice interjected.

"That's enough, Jaime. I don't need his head to be as big as yours," Aemon said, with a crooked smile, as he walked up and lovingly ruffled his son's hair. Although the green of his voice was more subdued, he appeared no less excited.

"But papa, his head isn't any bigger than yours."

Jaime laughed uproariously, taken by surprise at the comment. Aemon and Brienne were chuckling as well. The poor prince just kept looking between them with a bewildered expression.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just an expression, son. Jaime doesn't really have a big head. It's just his ego."

"What's an ego?"

"Well, uh, hmm … why don't you go ask your mother?" Aemon said

The prince sighed and rolled his eyes, which got Jaime chuckling.

"Don't roll your eyes at me. Why don't you go to your room and read? It's a little bit too crowded out here."

The maid took his hand and began walking away.

"Well, I see the prince is doing well. Has he started training yet?"

Aemon's smile saddened and he shook his head. "No, not yet. I want him to start when he's seven. That's still almost two years away."

Jaime raised his eyebrows and struggled to keep from commenting.

Aemon sensed his reticence and said, "Let me guess, you've already started training your boys."

"It was … what I was most looking forward to as a father. Who knows when I'll be back?" Jaime replied plainly.

"You bring up a good point. I think I'll revisit that with Dany then. I'd like to get in at least a few lessons before we leave."

"I'm sure she's concerned," Jaime prodded.

"She didn't want him to hurt himself. And to be fair, I didn't start sword training until I was seven as well. But … I'm not sure I want to miss the beginning," Aemon said.

Even with the knowledge of his previous life, Jaime had long felt that Aemon was an old soul at heart. He'd never had the eyes of a young man, at least not as long as he'd known him. He was far too grim and morose for a man of twenty-and-six and it was only made worse by the heavy burden the crown placed on his young head.

"I'll let you get settled in. Now that you're here, I intend to hold a meeting tomorrow with the other lords. Since many of our best commanders are staying here in the south, I want to make it clear to those going north how I expect the war to be waged," Aemon said.

"Aren't you going north, too?" Jaime asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Not immediately. I had planned to fly there on Rhaegal once they reached Winterfell."

"Ah, I should've known."

"I must say, riding dragons makes traveling convenient. Dany had to talk me out of flying down to Casterly Rock to surprise you," Aemon teased.

"Why didn't you? You could have met my hellions in all of their crazed glory," Jaime replied, his own voice a surprising mixture of green and orange.

"Yours they are," Brienne added.

Aemon laughed at the glare Jaime shot her.

"They're yours too!"

"I was not a hellion," Brienne shot back.

"I doubt that, my lady. Not since you insisted on learning the sword."

"Wanting to learn the sword doesn't mean I was an absolute terror. Quite the opposite," Brienne shot back.

Aemon smirked. "As tempting as that offer sounded, Jaime, there is simply too much to do around here. I I wanted to be there for the children, I needed to be here in case something arose."

"You wouldn't have stayed for more than a week," Jaime wheedled.

"Perhaps once the Long Night is won, I'll consider such small pleasures as visiting a friend," Aemon said. "Now don't forget to visit your brother."

They went their separate ways as Aemon headed over toward the smithies putting together the last of the dragonglass daggers. Jaime ordered his men to find their quarters. Then he turned his attention to the Tower of the Hand and led Brienne, Pod, and Uncle Gerion up the several flights to his brother's quarters.

Though he found his brother buried in parchment, he immediately abandoned it to greet them all cheerfully. He led them to the side chamber with a set dining room table, and then rang a bell. In a matter of moments, servants appeared bearing platters of spiced lamb, rolls, roasted pork, boiled greens, seasoned potatoes, and caramelized apples for dessert. Pod tried to dismiss himself, but Jaime and Brienne both insisted he stay.

"You've been sharing every meal with us for the last six years. I don't see why this should be any different," Jaime said.

"This is a family meal," Pod insisted.

"By this point, you could be counted as one of our own," Brienne added.

"No one has corralled the children better than you. I imagine you're sorely missed at the Rock," Jaime said with a chuckle.

"I'm surprised you brought me," Pod said, reluctantly taking his seat at the table.

Jaime's humor lessened. "I promised you a knighthood. No better chance to earn it than on the battlefield. Your mettle still hasn't been properly tested. And neither has yours." He glanced at Brienne as well. The moment weighed heavily in the air at the implication.

"They've had nearly ten years living with you. Surely that's mettle tested enough," Tyrion teased.

Jaime took the opportunity to flick a spoonful of mashed potatoes his brother's way. The spoonful fell far short, globbing on the table and Tyrion laughed.

Brienne scolded him, "Honestly, Jaime! I better not catch you doing that in front of the children."

"Why do you think I'm doing it now?" Jaime replied cheekily. He missed the camaraderie with his brother. Both of his uncles were a bit too old and, apart from Brienne, everyone else was far too deferential. It was simply not a relationship that could be replicated and he hoped that the idea of creating a bank brought Tyrion back to Casterly Rock in due time.

The next day he and Brienne were summoned to the strategy room. Upon stepping through the doorway, Jaime had abrupt flashbacks to Cersei standing to the side as the painter put the finishing touches on the floor-sized map of Westeros. However, instead of a painted map, Aemon had a large table with a map of Westeros spread across its breadth. While it wasn't as large as the floor map, more than a dozen lords could still crowd around it.

It took him longer than he'd admit to shake the sense of deja vu as well as dread that had descended upon him. He relayed the plan that he and Aemon had been exchanging in their letters as if it was second nature to him. It took him until halfway through it to notice disgruntled looks thrown in his direction. It puzzled him for a moment when Brienne suddenly shifted next to him.

"Lord Redwine, you'll keep your ships stationed at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Should you need to fall back from that position, you'll be able to take your ships to gain some distance," Jaime said evenly before flicking his eyes to the culprit. "Lord Tarly, do you have something to say?"

Randyll Tarly was startled to be caught and though he glowered—when did he not?—he refocused his eyes to the map, abashed.

"No, my lord."

"Come now, don't be shy," Jaime said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "It sounds to me like you're asking for a duel."

"What?" Lord Tarly said, startled.

"Perhaps Lord Tarly wishes to duel my Lady Brienne. Though she was an excellent swordswoman before we married, her skills have only grown under my tutelage in the time since.

"Jaime …" Brienne whispered to him, discomfited.

"No," Jaime snapped, "We may come to a point where Lady Brienne is commanding soldiers, some of whom may be your own. I will not suffer disrespect from you or them. You will give Lady Brienne her due or I will consider it an insult to House Lannister and I will have my pound of flesh."

"Need I remind you that Queen Daenerys will similarly be participating in battle," Aemon declared. "She commands Drogon, the greatest of the dragons. Does that not command your respect as well?"

"If you want to live, you will work together. Whether you have a cock or a cunt, every man and woman at the Wall is there for its defense," Jaime retorted.

"Take extra care not to insult any of the free folk women, lest you care to be relieved of your cock," Aemon warned.

The many lords around the table shifted nervously and murmured amongst each other. Though Jaime couldn't hear the words, their voices ranged from a mistrusting purple to a tempestuous reddish-orange.

Randyll continued scowling, his voice orange like a flickering flame. "Why are we to head north when there's a threat set to land on the Reach's doorstep? We're needed there to protect our homes. The North is to handle northern affairs."

Though there wasn't a murmur of agreement, Jaime noted a few nodding heads, particularly Dickon Tarly. His father had a head for tactics on the battlefield, but he allowed his ego to get the best of him it seemed.

"Lord Tarly," Jaime began with a mocking smile, "I have it on good authority that Ser Garlan Tyrell informed you of the plan when you convened in Highgarden. It was determined that you'd lead the Reach in the North. If you had an issue with that, you should've brought it to him."

Randyll drew himself up. "You showed us a single wight and mobilized the continent based on that. There hasn't been a whisper of a sign since. How do we even know it's still a threat?"

Jaime glared. "You're a pledge to lord paramount House Tyrell. Your standing is not high enough to hear the reports we receive from the Wall. I personally delivered the king's treaty to the wildlings and was ambushed by no less than a hundred wights. They are indeed a threat."

"A hundred wights and yet you stand here before us," Randyll sneered, his voice now dipping fully into red. "Even for a fighter as skilled as you, I have my doubts a small party would've lasted against so many."

"You are treading dangerous ground, my lord. I suggest you consider your every word," Jaime snarled.

"That's enough," Aemon snapped.

Jaime had been leaning ever closer with each sentence, but he pulled back at Aemon's words. It likely wouldn't spare Randyll from a challenge on the training grounds, assuming the man had the balls to spar against him.

"I know you're concerned about your lands and rightly so," Aemon began. His voice was a firm bright orange. "However, you were told the plan. We have designated more than a hundred thousand men, including Westerlands and Crowlands men, and a dragon to the cause of defending the Reach and Dorne should the Blackfyre attack. There are an estimated half a million wights beyond the Wall." A profound silence followed that declaration. "That is why you are still needed at the Wall. The Starks have a saying: the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. We are the Seven Kingdoms, united under a single banner. United, we can repel any force. Divided, we will crumble; the Long Night will sweep over the land and ensure that darkness and death will come to each kingdom should we divide.

"We have spent the last six years preparing for this war. Now, if somehow the Army of the Dead is repelled and we can declare victory, then that is when the northern armies are to march south to rout the Blackfyre," Aemon said, punctuating each point with a finger. "Is that understood?"

When his words were met with nods, he stood back and waved his hand at Jaime to continue.

Later, as Jaime promised himself, he challenged Randyll to a duel in the training yard. He was surprised when Randyll considered him for a moment and then called his son over. "Dickon, as you well know, Lord Lannister has no equal. I imagine you could learn a thing or two from him."

Dickon gave his father an uneasy look, but as with any obedient son, he simply replied, "Yes, Father."

Jaime made sure the boy was limping by the time he was finished with him. They were no more than bruises and would be healed before they even left King's Landing, but the lesson would stay with him forever.

After dinner, Jaime hustled Brienne out the door to take their horses and a group of four men.

"What is it now?"

"A surprise," Jaime said, with a disarming smile.

Brienne raised her eyebrows. "You mean trouble." Her voice was a suspicious mix of yellow and purple.

"No, truly. It's a surprise for, well, not just you. The family."

"Well, before you had my wary attention, but now have it in earnest," Brienne replied.

"A little more enthusiasm would be appreciated." Jaime had a mocking green tone to his words that danced around Brienne.

When they were approaching the place, Jaime turned to watch her and grinned when he saw the realization come over her. She turned to him, intrigued. "New armor? Or a new sword?"

He only smiled cheekily and she rolled her eyes. Still, she dutifully followed him into Master Tohbo Mott's shop when they arrived. The man himself was not to be seen, but then he poked his head through a bead curtain and bustled over to them.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, Lord and Lady Lannister. Are you here to pick up your order?"

"Yes, Master Mott," Jaime replied.

"If you'll excuse me while I go retrieve it."

They waited patiently. Jaime inspected the impressive array of weapons on display: short swords, claymores, scimitars, maces, and a variety of daggers. Most of them had simple black leather for the grip and unpolished steel on the crossguard. When he ran a finger along them, they were dull to the touch.

"Ever considered learning another weapon?" Jaime asked.

"Yes, but it never went further than that. It took years to become skilled with the sword and it will take years still to keep that skill. I hardly see room in my future for another weapon," Brienne replied.

"The children will grow and marry, and then you'll have little else to do. I think that would be a fine time to expand our horizons." She snorted when he wiggled his brow.

Look toward the future, he thought to himself. He had never feared death—even less now after having already died once—but he desperately wanted to see their children grow. After all, they had only a good two weeks of sword training before Aemon had sent out the call. He still had so much he wished to teach them. The old Casterly Rock master of arms had told him that the key to winning a battle was having something to fight for. Jaime had taken the advice to heart; he hoped it would see him through this.

They turned when the beads of the curtain rattled. Master Mott had returned with a sword wrapped in gold silk. He flipped the ends of the cloth back to reveal a scabbard of red leather with typical golden Lannister filigree. The crossguard and metal showing was golden in the light. A gold topaz the size of a pebble made up the pommel, and the leather of the grip was the same red of the scabbard. He revealed a sliver of the metal and he gasped at the sparkle that caught his eye. When he pulled it fully from the scabbard, it glittered as though covered in a layer of gypsum.

"That is my finest steel, forged in the fires of the dragon Rhaellon's breath. Each dragon's flame is unique to it and often carries the colors of the dragon itself. Rhaellon is cream-colored, but there is a glitter to her scales when the light is right. I'm unsure how much David has told you, but we have come to call this metal Dragonsteel. I'm afraid it does not hold its edge in the same way that traditional Valyrian steel does, but it's highly durable. I used scrap or old metal for our first initial experiments. Though they did not see battle, they saw the training yard and returned to us as fresh as when they were first fired. Since the steel was melted under dragonfire, it can only be unmelted by it." It was clear by the tone of Master Mott's voice that he was quite proud of the sword.

"Valyrian steel is sharper than other steel. Is this similarly sharp?" Jaime asked.

"I'm afraid we could only test it on so much. It is able to go through one layer of steel like a knife through butter, but it would take some effort to get through second and third layers, though not more than an extra swipe or two if your aim is true," Master Mott said.

"Does it kill wights like Valyrian steel?" Brienne asked.

"Impossible to say, my lady. There is magic in dragon flame. David is convinced that the same magic is imbued in the steel and should work, but we were not able to send any of our test daggers to the Night's Watch for confirmation," he replied soberly.

Jaime grimaced. He misliked the thought of heading into battle with untested steel, especially against the wights. He would have to keep a dragonglass dagger close at hand in a real battle.

"Thank you, Master Mott. This is most impressive. I'll be sure to report back to you my findings about its effectiveness against wights," he replied, and tossed a sizable coin purse onto the counter. "The rest of your payment."

"Thank you, Lord Lannister, I am pleased to serve your House," he replied, with a small bow.

Once they stepped out of the shop and climbed atop their horses, Brienne said, "I recall now you speaking about David's experiments with the sword. You sounded skeptical."

"I still am," he admitted. "But I … trust David. He's not a merchant aiming to snatch up any gold dragon he can. Of that at least I can be sure."

He carried the sword back with him, but once they were in the safety of the Red Keep, Jaime stopped to fiddle with his belt. Then he held out Brightroar to Brienne. "You're going North whereas I'll be going south. I want you to have the proven steel. I'll keep this one."

Brienne stared. She'd held and certainly even trained with Brightroar in Casterly Rock, but she'd never once asked to carry it. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. I know I'll sleep easier at night knowing Brightroar is in the most capable hands."

He thought Brienne's blue eyes were shinier than normal and he was dazzled by them.

"Thanks," Brienne said, her voice a rosy pink. A color he recognized as love. "What are you going to name that sword?" She asked, nodding to it.

He cracked open the sheath again to look at its sparkles. Oathkeeper was the first name that came to his head, but this wasn't that sword. It lacked the significance of the moment.

"Why don't you name it," he offered.

Brienne tilted her head, studying it. "I'm not sure. It reminds me of the white of Tarth's beach."

"There's a thought. Perhaps we should bequeath this to Galladon when he goes to Tarth."

"Or," Brienne began, "perhaps we start a tradition like the Daynes. The best swordsman in the family carries it until their death."

Jaime smirked. "Does that mean you think I am the best between us?" He chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "The idea has merit, but I prefer to see it in action before we make that determination." Then he turned his attention to the sword and contemplated. "Daybreak?"

"Would it be too close to Dawn?" Brienne asked.

"When the light catches, you can see pink like the sky at dawn. I bought it to fight against the Long Night."

"Sounds apt."

"Daybreak it is," Jaime said with some finality. If they were to start the tradition as Brienne suggested, the name seemed a fitting companion to Dawn. He vaguely recalled questions he'd asked of Ser Arthur Dayne about his sword, given the legend surrounding it. It was nearly fifty years hence and though he remembered little, he did recall Ser Arthur telling him that Dawn chose its wielder. Without a doubt, Daybreak didn't carry the same magic, but perhaps he could use it to carry on the lessons imparted to him by the great Ser Arthur Dayne.