"Jaime, a word, if you will," came the solemn voice of Pycelle.
The two knights halted near the edge of the godswood. Jaime had scarcely noticed his companion's presence since their parting from Lyanna and Benjen, too preoccupied with his own indescribable elation.
Turning to face the older man, Jaime was surprised to find a worried frown further creasing his already wrinkled visage.
"What troubles you?" Jaime inquired, his lips curling into a confident smile. "You seem worried, my friend."
"Indeed, my lord, and not without cause," replied Pycelle, his eyes darting nervously between Jaime's. For a few heartbeats, he hesitated before speaking his mind. "I feel compelled to urge caution regarding Lady Stark."
"What do I have to be cautious about?" Jaime shrugged dismissively. "I am merely interested in a good sparring partner."
"As your comrade in arms, I must implore you to be careful," Pycelle cut in. "Do not act in any manner that might be deemed...unbecoming, with Lady Stark."
Jaime's brow furrowed in confusion. "Unbecoming, you say? What precisely do you mean?"
"I saw the way you looked at her," Pycelle replied gravely. "I have seen such looks in many young faces in my time. Such things can and oft do grow into heated passions, and passions unchecked lead to unnecessary trouble."
"I assure you, there is no heated passion between us," Jaime retorted.
"Did you find yourself unable to look away when she fought? Were you entranced by the way her hair danced in the air or the way she moved with the speed of a viper?" Pycelle asked pointedly. "Think on it, my lord. If the answer to any of these is yes, then I must insist that you exercise caution."
Jaime felt his good mood dissipate quickly. The Grand Maester's condescending tone was all too familiar, reminding him of countless tedious lectures from his peers. The kind of teachings where Jaime was frequently made to feel foolish for not grasping the obvious.
With a calming breath, Jaime decided to play along, hoping to prove the Grand Maester wrong and end the matter once and for all. He followed the instructions and recalled the scene of stumbling upon the Starks duelling and his own battles against Lyanna, all with startling clarity.
He started with her fighting form: the way she struck, parried, and darted from side to side. Then his thoughts wandered to the headband that tied back her hair, how lovely it would look loose and flowing in the wind. Next, he remembered her striking grey eyes and her charming smile. Soon, he found himself grinning from ear to ear.
"My point exactly," the Grand Maester said.
Jaime was startled, as if struck by a blow, and snapped back to the present, meeting the older man's gaze. There was no hint of amusement, as some maesters dared to show whenever they caught Jaime off-guard. Just the grave look of one who had been unfortunately proven right.
Jaime's voice faltered, his tongue slow and awkward to answer for once. Heat reddened his cheeks, leaving him feeling exposed, like an open wound.
"Being taken with someone is nothing to be ashamed of," Pycelle offered.
"Yet you're doing a marvellous job of making me feel otherwise," Jaime retorted, his temper rising. "Alright, Lady Stark has... caught my interest, what of it?"
"Nothing, so long as you maintain the necessary self-restraint, no issues will arise."
"What restraint? You speak as if I'm halfway ready to sail across the Narrow Sea with her!" Jaime huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "Besides, she's betrothed to Baratheon."
He tried not to sound too dejected by that fact.
"If betrothals and marriages were enough to douse the flames of passion," Pycelle waved a dismissive hand. "Our history books would be a great deal shorter and less bloody. You know as well as I what awaits us, Jaime: division and strife between the lords caused by an affair between you and Lady Lyanna is something we can ill afford at this time."
Jaime looked away to some far off point. Months ago, if he had met Lady Lyanna, he would not have spared a thought about any of what Pycelle was saying. If she had caught his eye, then yes, yes he would have pursued her. There was no point in denying it, even privately. He had very nearly crossed the line with someone far more forbidden than Lyanna after all.
In the silence that followed, Pycelle approached and laid a hand on Jaime's right shoulder. "Consider Geralt too," he said in a soft voice. "The Others' threat is a great burden on him. He feels partially responsible for bringing it on us because of his role in the Second Conjunction. Do you think he needs this to worry about as well? Do you think he would approve of your actions if you crossed a line with Lyanna Stark?"
Jaime turned his gaze back to the old man. There was pity and understanding in his eyes, and Jaime didn't doubt their authenticity. But he also remembered Pycelle's confession of playing the game of thrones. How much of that was he using now to manipulate Jaime? Anger threatened to burst from him, and he felt himself halfway to accusing the old man of the very thing.
But then, he thought of Geralt's dismayed look, and just as quickly, the rage shrank and crawled back to some dark corner of Jaime's mind. He felt ashamed and defeated.
The Witcher had made it abundantly clear that he would neither tolerate nor support any romantic foolishness when they discussed Maris Whent's one-sided infatuation with Jaime on their first evening at Harrenhal. And this would be orders of magnitude worse.
"... Fine," Jaime said after a while, his voice small and face downcast. "You've made your point. Lyanna Stark will be my sparring partner and nothing else."
As Jaime looked up to hold Pycelle's gaze, the Grand Maester said nothing. Jaime wondered if he doubted his sincerity. "I mean it, nothing beyond that," Jaime insisted, his voice earnest. "I'll swear another oath in front of the weirwood if that's what it takes for you to believe me."
For a few moments more, Pycelle remained silent. Jaime was about ready to storm back into the forest when the Grand Maester finally nodded. "Alright," he said. "Alright, I am glad to hear that. And, I will of course keep this between us. You have my word on that."
Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. "Aye, you have my thanks," he said, looking down at the ground. Others take me and my good sense.
"Take heart," Pycelle said softly. "Lady Lyanna is but a passing interest. I'm certain a good wife will one day capture your heart."
Jaime couldn't help but scoff at the thought of being remotely interested by Lysa Tully. Capture my heart? I'll sooner wed a rock.
Over the next few days, Jaime's promise would be put to the test.
The two of them and the Starks would cross paths several times during that period. Jaime suggested they alternate between a handful of spots good enough for sparring practice to ensure no one else stumbled upon them. Pycelle benefited from this arrangement, observing and applying what Benjen taught him about scouting through the woods on the way to each sparring area. It also gave Jaime and Lyanna a chance to speak during their walks between sparring areas.
With their "guardians" within earshot, neither Jaime nor Lyanna could afford too much liberty with what they discussed, so they focused on battle. However, at her or his sly prodding, the conversation would sometimes shift to other topics. For example, when Jaime mentioned the harrowing experience of galloping through a burning castle of damned, screaming souls to break a curse, Lyanna revealed her own love of horseback riding.
When he would mention her betrothed, and the myriad of ways Geralt had bested him in every single sparring match, Lyanna would scarcely keep herself from bursting with laughter. But the conversation with Pycelle was never far from Jaime's thoughts. Like a blow, it jolted him from becoming too enamored with Lyanna. It certainly got him to stop bloody staring at her so much.
Lyanna proved to be an able student as well. When Jaime warned her that she tended to leave her left side more exposed, Lyanna took it to heart and prompted Jaime to attack her there until it wasn't so glaring. Likewise, her cat-footed footwork kept him alert. What she lacked in strength, she made up for with surprising speed and a marked ability to feint him with an attack, only to suddenly shift, reposition, and attack again.
Indeed, though it pained him, circumstances forced him to keep his interest in her at bay. Jaime found these days pleasant and all too soon to pass.
"The king has sent for us," Geralt announced as the Five sat in his chambers one day, their lunch served at his request. "He's called for a meeting in King's Landing. He aims to coordinate with as many influential people as possible, to manage operational and logistical issues in the war effort before we head out to our individual tasks."
Lord Pycelle stroked his shortened beard thoughtfully. "Lord Quellon will be significantly delayed, given the distance of the Iron Islands from the capital," he said. "And Lords Tyrell and Martell will also be absent."
"I cannot speak for Mace Tyrell, but Prince Oberyn is already in the city. He arrived two days past," Oswell replied after taking a sip of wine. "It seems he grew impatient waiting for my brother to announce the tourney again and took his personal ship there."
Arthur grinned. "No doubt he's irritable and full of fury for missing out on all the 'fun' here," he said. "Still, Oberyn is a well-known warrior and leader in his own right. He's also spent considerable time in Essos, gaining knowledge and experience that will benefit us."
Jaime's voice was calm as he asked, "When are we expected to depart?"
"In three days," Geralt replied, taking a bite of the baked ham. "Ser Brynden will leave tomorrow morning for Riverrun to begin early preparations for the war. The rest of us will head for Maidenpool, where a few ships from the royal fleet will be waiting for us." He looked at all of them, though his gaze lingered longest on Pycelle. "Get some rest, all of you. We have a few hard days of riding ahead of us."
With that, Jaime knew it was over. Sneaking around a sprawling castle to train in secret was one thing. But on the road, where they would be forced to move quickly and any absence would be quickly noticed? The Red Keep was an even worse place to try it. There was no way they could continue.
After lunch, a restless and despondent feeling overcame Jaime. He wandered aimlessly through the intact paths and halls of Harrenhal, burdened with a thousand considerations. Eventually, he found himself back in the godswood. The silent woods were illuminated by the yellow and orange hues of the afternoon sun, which brought him some comfort. The colors reminded him of Casterly Rock, and he was distracted by those thoughts for a while as he sauntered on. So much so that he scarcely realized he had reached the edge of the weirwood clearing until his eyes fell upon the blood-red leaves.
He stopped and stared at them. It had been a while since he had been there since swearing the oath. Jaime was not afraid to face it again; he had made his choice. However, with them back inside the castle, and Howland serving as the voice for the tree's power, there was little point in returning. Jaime almost turned to walk away when he noticed someone circling the tree.
He recognized her at once. The wild brown hair falling down her shoulders and back, the blue dress etched with an intricate pattern of white snowflakes. Her hand softly brushed against the white trunk as she circled it.
I should leave her be, Jaime thought to himself, even as his feet carried him forward. It was just the two of them, with no watchful eyes or keen ears from a younger sibling or concerned Maester. He realized he might not get a chance to speak to her like this again.
"Lady Stark," he called out, his voice showing an ease he didn't feel at all. "We must stop meeting like this."
She turned sharply in his direction, looking quite like a startled owl. Then the surprise passed and a smile graced her features. But there was something wrong about it. To Jaime's eyes, it looked sad, strained.
"Ser Jaime," Lyanna replied, her voice more formal than she usually adopted when speaking to him. "Yes, we should. I fear my heart cannot take any more surprises."
Her gaze left him and went somewhere far away for a moment. Then she shook her head, her locks of hair gently swaying. "Forgive me, I am… in a troubled mood today."
That much was clear. Jaime was unused to this. Lyanna Stark was usually bursting with energy, smiles, and laughter. To see her this way dampened his mood. "If it makes you feel any better, so am I," he said, moving closer to the tree. "Feels like my head is stuck in a fog and my body moves of its own accord."
"Aye, that about sums up my own feelings," Lady Stark sighed, pressing her back to the trunk as she gently sat on the grass.
Jaime did not sit next to her, exactly. He mirrored her position, settling down several paces to her left, his face forward, though his eyes kept risking glances at her. They sat in silence for a while. The soft touch of a summer breeze cooled the heat, making the red leaves above them rustle gently.
"The colors are beautiful," Jaime said, caught up in the splendor of the summer foliage. "Nothing like the godswood in my home. Ours is in a cave where an old and ugly weirwood has entwined everything with its roots."
"Our godswood is drearier," Lyanna replied after a moment. "We don't get as much sun up North, but we have snow. The way it dances through the air and how the soft winter breeze sings through the branches - I could stay there for hours."
"I'll have to visit it when I go to Winterfell," Jaime said.
"I wish I could be there now," Lyanna's face fell. "Away from whatever others have planned for me here..."
Jaime suspected what she was referring to, but a fear of voicing it kept him silent for a few heartbeats.
"...Benjen," Lyanna said, uncertainty lacing her voice. "He overheard Brandon and Ned talking about my brother's betrothal to Cat at the sparring ring today. With the war coming, Father thinks it's best to hasten the wedding plans. Brandon is going to King's Landing with us. I assume they will be wed there before he, Father, and Ned head to the Wall."
"And you fear that he'll hasten your marriage to Baratheon," Jaime concluded with a terrible finality, his gut twisting with dread.
"Benjen swears that Father made no mention of my betrothal. He brushed off Brandon's question about it," Lyanna grew small. "But who's to say that he won't change his mind later? A few weeks ago, none of us thought we'd be going to war with the Others. Anything is possible after that."
Jaime was at a loss for words.
"Perhaps if Robert wasn't a swine, I could stomach this better."
Her mouth curled, and her hands tightened into fists atop her knees. Fury simmered in her eyes, barely contained.
Outside of joking about his failed attempts to best Geralt, Jaime and Lyanna didn't talk about Baratheon. He suspected she was no admirer of his, but he didn't expect such clear revulsion.
"Did you know he already has a bastard daughter?" She asked, turning to face Jaime. "And that's just the one anyone knows about. I happen to know he's had many... conquests in and around the Vale. If my father wasn't here, I know for certain he'd have already fucked every serving girl in the castle. Gods, I'm not convinced he hasn't found some way to do it anyway."
Jaime knew there were many such men across the Realm, lords and baseborn alike, who left a trail of bastard children in their wake. Some recognized, most left to their obscurity.
As he paused to consider the matter, Jaime realized he had never given much thought to what the wives, or in this instance, the betrothed ladies of such men, thought or felt about these actions. He hadn't even considered what they would think about marrying someone they disliked for any reason. Facing such emotions now, Jaime found himself utterly lost for words. He had expected to do something to make her feel better, but he was about as useful as a broken sword.
"I'm sorry," he said when no other words came to mind. "I'm truly sorry you find yourself in such a position...and that I can't offer you more."
Lyanna's gaze held his for a few heartbeats. The fury that had risen fell along with her face. She looked very alone and small.
"Thank you, Ser," she said in a quiet voice. "Truly, it was nice to be listened to, at any rate."
"Take heart, my lady," Jaime fought the urge to reach out and take her hand. "Your brother says nothing has changed yet, and I doubt he is unaware of how you feel about this matter."
"I tell Benjen everything," Lyanna replied, her eyes staring at something far away. "All the same, with everything that's changing-"
"Not every change is for the worse. Yes, the Others have returned, but they won't catch us unawares. We have a few experts around to turn the scales of the war in our favor," Jaime smiled. "If that doesn't convince you, look no further than Pycelle and me for proof. The Grand Maester was a craven not too long ago. I practically carried him to safety during our first battle against Harren. But when the deciding moment came, he found and gathered his strength and helped save his friends and the whole castle from Harren. Now he trains thrice as hard as men a quarter of his age to do it again."
"And you?" Her head turned, and grey eyes locked with his.
"To put it plainly, I was a total arse. As opposed to mostly one," Jaime shook his head with laughter. "I thought all I'd ever need to beat anyone was a witty retort and a good blade. If you tried talking to me about this a few months ago, I would have brushed you off and gone to fight someone. Or gone riding until my thighs were sore."
Jaime paused to let his words sink in before continuing.
"I'm not claiming Robert is certain to become a man worthy of you. Perhaps he will go and come back from this war unchanged at all. He may not return at all. He may wake tomorrow, slip, and break his neck down a flight of stairs," that got a chuckle out of her. "But you said so yourself: the limits of possibility have changed. Geralt says they have none at all. You may feel trapped now, but tomorrow? Who knows."
Lady Stark's eyes fell imperceptibly. She didn't appear as relieved as he had hoped she would be by his words, but neither did she seem quite as terrified. "Thoughtful" was the word he'd settle on.
"Mayhaps you're right," she said after a while. "I can't deny that all is or will be as bleak as I thought. All the same," she bit her lip, "I wish I could have more sway over which path things go down, instead of waiting and hoping they turn out better."
Once again, Jaime found himself at a loss. If his father pressed him to marry, Jaime could refuse. He could weather being disowned or pushed to the side in whatever plans he had for House Lannister. He had means of earning coin and making a life for himself. Lady Lyanna didn't have that luxury. Most ladies didn't, he realized. She could fight and protect herself, certainly. But if she refused, she could not simply walk away. She would be locked up and held until the marriage ceremony, or sent to the Silent Sisters, or whatever the Northmen had that was similar to them if she tried to run or sabotage the betrothal.
For a few brief moments, he considered sabotaging the betrothal, waiting to flee from Harrenhal, taking their chances out in the world. Free to go where they wished and do what they wanted. But it was only a passing, impassioned flight of fancy. Jaime felt the weight of his responsibilities and duties right behind him. The shadow of its branches and leaves hovered over him. No, even if he ran far and kissed and laughed the days away with her, he wouldn't forgive himself for abandoning his friends when they needed him.
Suddenly, Jaime keenly felt the limits of possibility. "I think it's time I went back," Lyanna said as she got back on her feet, her hands gently brushing away the twigs and leaves. "I don't want my family to worry."
"Aye, that sounds sensible," Jaime agreed.
She turned to face him. The gentle breeze that passed through the clearing blew harder, and in that moment, her dress and hair danced in it. Jaime stared at her, admiring the way she looked down on him. Grateful and sad, worried and indebted, pained eyes with a warm smile. "Thank you, again, Jaime," her voice carried the same mix of emotions. "I wish you good fortune in all the days to come."
She curtsied, gazing at him for a moment longer, then turned away. Her shape vanished into the trees soon after, the soft sound of her footfalls vanishing until only silence was left at the heart of the godswood.
It only broke with Jaime's reply, "You too, Lyanna. You too."