Jaime stares at the Oak Spoon , the gift of a Lannister King to Ser Leonine the Hedge Knight of the Spoon. It had never been his favored story, perhaps, when it came to the history of the Knights of the West, but it had been memorable enough for the ridiculousness of a knight saving a King with a spoon. An oak spoon, which made Jaime at least understand it had been sturdy as most of his earliest training swords were oak, but still utterly ridiculous. Memorable, a gift from a Lannister King, and from a near enough Isle of Hethers.
The blade is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen, and it lays at his mother's feet. In respect, in gratitude, a silent pledge to his mother. The girl of the Knightly House, Melara, looks over to his father, sea-green eyes wide and flickering to the hold he had on her shoulder. Jaime cannot recall his father ever holding someone in such a careful manner. It was not affectionate, but it was careful, which was queer enough. He can only remember Mother earning his easy, casual touch.
"Are you recently injured, Lady Melara?" his father's voice was not… Gentle. But it was quieter, less cold, as he looked down at the girl.
"I was whipped this morning, my Lord. Treated enough to move."
Jaime felt as if the world had been taken from beneath him.
As if someone had hit him in the chest.
Poisons and beatings mother said. She was whipped just this morning. And she only frowned. I scolded her. I scolded a girl who had just been whipped by some cruel monster for simply leaving my sister to her own devices for a few hours-
Jaime feels as if he cannot breathe. He had not- not even known her name before today and she had been in need of saving, of rescuing. Jaime Lannister has never felt so small, so useless and stupid.
I wish to be a knight, as grand as Ser Aruther Dayne or The Blackfish, yet I have been so stupid to miss the suffering of a Lady before me?
Bile rises in his throat.
"How many lashes? I will add it to the hundred that they will endure in hours," said his father, simply.
Melara blinked.
"I cannot recall, Lord Lannister. I find it was easier not to count as it happens."
"A maester will examin you. Any scars?"
"More then I can see or count, my Lord. He favored whipping, but it was not too uncommon for the maid to employe other means. She… She was creative. She found it amusing to change the method."
His father's jaw worked furiously.
Jaime Lannister cannot breath.
"Two hundred lashes."
"With a horsewhip if you please. It was their favorite way," said Lady Melara.
His Lord father hummed. Hummed. Jaime watched as his father squeezed the girl's shoulder, just a quick flex of his fingers.
"I have a larger whip for my war stallion. It should be enough for the to suffer their lashes without dying."
"I would suggest spacing the lashes by some number and time, Lord Tywin. Otherwise they will go into shock… Ah, they will become numb to it and not feel it as keenly. I always made sure they would be harder on me at first to numb the pain," said Melara, softly.
Jaime Lannister very nearly looses his broken fast at the admitice from the girl, from how she would manipulate her Uncle to lessen her pain- which is why she did it with Cersei, because it was beaten into her that was the only way people would follow her wishes. By manipulating the people around her. Because they hurt her otherwise.
He is a fool.
A fucking fool and not worthy to be a knight.
"Lord Jaime, are you well?"
Melara is looking at him. Looking at him with wide sea-green eyes.
They are beautiful, Jaime realizes. Wide, clear as the Sunset sea in the best light, mostly green with a touch of a soft blue.
He has never realized. Just as he had never realized she was hurting with no one to trust around her.
Jaime cannot breathe. He wanted to be a knight, a knight worthy of songs, and he couldn't even see someone harmed in front of him-
A warm hand settles between his shoulders. Small, delicate and fragile.
Jaime cannot breathe.
"Jaime," a soft voice, a girl's voice, Melara's, gentle and kind, "Can you follow the pace of my breath? Take a breathe with me."
She sucks in a big, exgaterated breathe.
Jaime struggles to do the same. But he tries. The hand on his back circles, soothing. Another hand touches his cheek. A thumb traces the arch of it, so softly.
"Good," she said softly, "Now let it out."
She lets out a woosh of air. Sucks in another. Jaime tries to follow her.
"In, out, in, out," she said gently.
Jaime eventually realizes that he can indeed breathe.
"Jaime, what happened?" asked His father, cold and frowning.
Jaime almost wilts, had it not been for Melara's letting her hip rest against his.
"A mounted moment of anxiety, Lord Tywin. It's quite common when one has received a shock or upsetting news. Lord Jaime, did you witness everything today?"
He wished her voice wasn't gentle. He is a poor excuse of a person to never realize the pain she was in. He feels caught in her wide, kind eyes. How could she be so kind, so smiling when no one until today has done anything to help her?
"I- I- Forgive me, Melara," the name sounded so strange on his tongue, and he was ashamed that he hadn't even known it.
She had lived in Casterly Rock for nearly a year, suffered within its walls, for nearly a year, and he hadn't even known her name.
"Nothing to forgive. This is a horrible thing to learn. I understand such cruelty is not something you would know readily, Lord Jaime."
She smiled. Soft and smaller then he had ever seen her smile before. And he wondered if it was more real then before. He admired her, he realized. Admired how calm she was, how lovely she was for all the horrible things that had happened to her. He swallowed.
"Jaime," his mother's voice was soft, "Will you escort Lady Melara to the maester's surgery? I… I beleive I must start arranging Melara's rooms to be moved to the Den."
Melara jumped.
"My Lady-"
"All for the best, Melara, you are a ward of the Lannisters, and you will reside within the family's wing… You will have a guard, I think. Tygett, if you will follow the children for now until I can assign one?."
"Gladly, my Lady. Melara," he doesn't think he has ever heard his Knightly Uncle so gentle, "Sweetling, Jaime, lad, let's go. "
Jaime offered his arm. It felt like a lacking gesture for all she had suffered, but it did make some of the tightness in his chest lessen.