"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.
...
AN :
After some consideration, I'm thinking of republishing this fanfic. The webnovel algorithm hasn't been very kind, and a friend advised me to try reposting while releasing chapters simultaneously. I believe this could be worth trying, so I'm giving it some thought.
...
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