Part of him would be glad to leave Kings Landing behind, Jaime knew.
As of late the city left a sour taste in his mouth. This was the place of his shame, of all his indiscretions. This was the place...
Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat. Let him be king of the ashes.
It was not an evil act, Jaime knew. He knew. But they had mocked and jeered him all the same, never knowing they all owed him their worthless lives. The time had still come, however, for them to learn the truth. The time had come for Jaime to confess his crimes before the kingdom. There was no other way, the king had said. The list burned a hole in his pocket. No matter. This was his only way back to honour.
But still, even as he pondered his own honour, Jaime wanted one last chance to be dishonourable.
One last night, Jaime thought as he pushed open the doors to the queen's chambers. He found her stood upright, staring thoughtfully at a winestain on the wall, shards of shattered glass scattered across the flagstones below. He watched almost awestruck as the dappled light danced across her golden hair. She had set aside her mourning dress by now for a gown of green silk. A ruby as large as a pigeon's head hung from a chain around her neck, nestled between her breasts.
Even now, he still found her beyond beautiful.
She turned to him as she heard his footsteps. "I had hoped by now you would grow tired of that wretched beard," she said, brow furrowed. "All that hair makes you look like Robert."
"Robert's beard was black," Jaime argued, stroking his chin. "Mine's gold."
Cersei scoffed derisively. "Grey, more like." She reached over and pulled a single silver strand from his beard. "All the colour's drained from you, brother. You've become a pale, pitiful little ghost of yourself. It's all the white, I expect. I prefer you in red and gold."
Jaime smiled. I prefer you in nothing at all. He wanted to push her back against the wall and kiss her, have her here and now and roughly. "I will make a bargain with you," he said instead. "Relieve me of my duties for an hour and I'll give you command of my razor."
She licked her lips, her look souring slightly. "I command you already," she said.
"Then command me," Jaime urged, leaning forwards. Up close she smelled strongly of spiced wine and sweat.
"I'm not in the mood," she snapped suddenly.
Jaime glanced again at the winestain on the wall, the remains of the glass littering the floor below. "Why?"
She paused, looking him up and down. "Ser Osney..." she mumbled. Was he the cause of her foul temper today? "Knights! Tell me, do your wits all leave you when you swear your oaths?"
Jaime's quirked a lone eyebrow with confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Cersei stiffened, jaw clenching and unclenching. "Nothing," she spat dismissively. "Now leave me be. I'm in no mood for you."
Jaime left Cersei's chambers quietly seething, marching stiffly. But no matter what he told himself, Jaime still pined for his sister. The most beautiful woman in the world...
Now was not the time for such thoughts, Jaime chastised himself, not when his duty was calling.
He walked to the throne room, and found the king awaiting him on the Iron Throne, flanked by Ser Balon Swann and Ser Loras Tyrell. When will he have to face his shame? Jaime wondered as he gazed at Ser Loras. Everyone knew he was a sword-swallower. They had to know.
Jaime turned and stood before the court, waiting and watching as all the lords and ladies filed into the gallery. He felt his father's gaze behind him, but determinedly ignored it. Petitioners filed in through the doors and one by one the king heard them. Almost an entire hour passed without incident.
And then, finally, it happened.
Lord Mathis Rowan entered the court, Tommen's Master of Works, and after feigning a little fuss, the king waved him through his guard and allowed him to whisper a few hurried words into his ear. The words they shared were irrelevant. This was all staged, a lie. No matter. It would suffice.
"Ser Jaime Lannister," the king called gravely down to him atop the Iron Throne, waving Lord Rowan away. "Please present yourself before the throne."
Jaime felt the pit in his stomach deepen as he walked stiffly into the centre of the throne room and turned to face his fate. Lord Tywin watched the proceedings with interest from his place of pride on the steps to the Iron Throne. Did he know? "Your Grace," Jaime said, kneeling.
"You are known by many as Kingslayer," Tommen began, and Jaime felt a little pang of impotent anger at the name as he arose to his feet again. "But I don't think anyone cared to ask why you broke your oaths and betrayed the Mad King."
"Your Grace..." Jaime pleaded in a moment of practiced weakness, even as he hardened his heart.
"The truth, Ser Jaime," Tommen insisted, eyes narrowing.
Jaime did his best look haunted, gazing out into the middle distance as he began his mummery. "The Mad King was obsessed with wildfire before he died," Jaime tentatively said, voice thick with emotion. "He used it to roast the flesh off all those he thought his enemies. Murderers and rapists at first, nobody any decent person would object to seeing burned, but as time passed his lusts for the flames grew more and more insatiable. His pet pyromancers were only too eager to serve.
"His last Hand was one," Jaime recalled. "Lord Rossart, a burning torch as his sigil. I should have drowned him instead of gutting him-"
"Ser Jaime!" Tommen interrupted.
Jaime snapped from his rehearsed reverie. "Yes, Your Grace. My apologies. Where was I...?" Jaime itched the beard on his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, yes. The flames. You see, Your Grace, it wasn't just criminals the Mad King wanted burned near the end. He burned Lord Rickard, of course, and that should have been enough for me to slay him, but I kept my sword buried in it's sheath, bound by my oaths. But then he gave the order during the Sack of Kings Landing, and I just... broke."
Tommen leaned in, listening with supposedly rapt attention. "What command did he give, Ser Jaime?"
"Burn them all," Jaime recited, eyes shut tight in remembrance. "I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, or you'll burn with all the rest. All the traitors."
"The Mad King asked you to slay your own father?" Tommen questioned after a long moment, lone eyebrow raised.
"Aye," Jaime said, nodding. "But that wasn't what made me turn. There was something else he ordered."
"And what was that, Ser Jaime?" The rest of the court suddenly seemed as enraptured as the king, eager ears awaiting his words.
"Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat," Jaime chanted. "Let him be king of the ashes. The Mad King had ordered his Hand to plant wildfire throughout the city, you see. And if the war didn't go his way, he wanted... No, he ordered the city immolated."
A hush fell through the throne room. Without even having look, Jaime could tell he was achieving the intended effect. But they didn't quite believe him, not yet. They wouldn't till they saw proof; a proof that would soon be provided. Mercifully, however, Jaime's role in this mummery was soon to end.
"I did what I did to save this city," he continued in a hoarse voice, almost whispering. "It was a choice between my oaths as a knight, and my oaths as a member of the Kingsguard. I chose my knighthood over my white cloak."
Tommen nodded. "Very well," he said gravely.
"Your Grace," Jaime interrupted as expected. "May I ask... Why now? You never... Everybody just assumed... Nobody ever cared to ask that question till today."
"Because we found some," Tommen said. "During some of the works I commissioned to repair the damage done to the city during the siege. After Lord Mathis told me that, it wasn't hard for me to make the connection to the Mad King's obsession with wildfire. I merely wished to confirm my suspicions, or failing that, be made aware what group of people would think to place jars of wildfire beneath my city."
"Of course, Your Grace," Jaime said, nodding in understanding along with all the watching lords and ladies.
"Now," Tommen said, "I will ask, Ser Jaime, if you have any knowledge of where the Mad King had his Hand put the pots."
Jaime gulped. "The Dragon Pit, the Great Sept of Baelor," he said to many shocked gasps from the lords. "The Red Keep..."
Tommen blinked as if he was genuinely blind-sided. "Truly..." he trailed off, the court hanging off his every word. "Truly the madness of the Targaryens knew no bounds."
"The Mad King was obsessed with wildfire," Jaime said again. "He would have bathed in it if he'd had the balls."
"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."
...
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