Jaime slipped out of bed early, unable to sleep.
Cersei didn't even stir, though the Stray momma cat and her kittens that slept in a nest made of an old cloak of his under his bed blinked blearily at him. Jaime slipped her a small piece of meat from last night's dinner and left the room.
The Rock was both quiet and busy in the early mornings. Servants buzzed and ran every which way, preparing for breakfasts and baths and demands from the lords and ladies, nearly completely silently in respect for those who still slept.
Jaime nodded at the few servants who looked at him, acting completely nonchalantly so they'll think he was supposed to be awake a full two hours before the sun was up.
In his past life, he would work nights, bartending in a club in West Village, New York City. It was an old speakeasy that had been transformed into a gay club in the 90s, discreet and welcoming. Jaime has fond memories of the friends and family he had made there, humming along with the crowd as he prepared drink after drink, all night long.
Oh, how he wished that Westeros had something other than wine and ale. He knew how to make a good homemade moonshine and even some nice basic berry rum and mead, but a good vodka or tequila was beyond him and the materials Westeros' had to offer. When he was older and it was less suspicious, Jaime was going to blow everyone's mind with a good Pina Colada or a Bloody Mary, he promises that much.
…Well, as soon as he figures out how to get pineapples or tomatoes. Those were important too.
His feet had taken him to the kitchens, where they were beginning to prepare the food.
There was zero kitchen hygiene, which made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Bacteria was, unfortunately, not discovered yet. In fact, most basic medical ideas were not discovered yet.
He sucked his teeth in thought as he pondered if there was cowpox in Westeros and if it will prevent the smallpox he knows does exist. If he spreads cowpox around the Rock, then there's going to be a way higher rate of immunity of smallpox, and maybe that will strengthen the overall immune systems of his family.
"Lil'lord?" A voice broke him from his thoughts. Jaime blinked at the cook who was kneeling in front of him, the kitchen nearly crawling to a halt as they watched the unusual sight of a lord up so early and in the kitchens.
"Hello," Jaime said. "I want to make breakfast for my mother."
The cook looked at him strangely, "You do?"
Jaime looked at some of the meats slowly being prepared, "Maybe just the bread. They say I'm going to have a baby sibling today, but mother is going to fight for it, so she'll be hungry. I want to make her some bread for her fight."
The cook grinned, and Jaime could hear some of the kitchenmaids cooing at him. "We can do that, mi'lord. It'll be ready by the time the sun rises and the rooster's second crow."
"I want to do it by myself," Jaime insisted. "You can't touch the bread."
"As you say lil'lord."
The cook leads Jaime to a bench that had already been dusted with flour, but no dough had been prepared yet.
The cook helped Jaime grab the ingredients, like the giant sack of flour that he couldn't even lift, but Jaime grabbed a few of his own, like the small pot of honey and the butter.
Jaime had made challah several times in his past life, though he had always preferred the lazy way of just buying it. Too many times he had put his food in the oven and forgotten about it until the fire alarm was blaring, so he always deferred to the method that guaranteed him actually eating the challah in the end.
"That's it, lil'lord," The cook, a man named Tyrone, praised. "Nead it nice an' firmly. Like a cat."
Without thinking, Jaime meowed, causing the man to burst into laughter and the kitchenmaids to titter.
"Now we leave it to rise, lil'lord," Tyrone said. "It'll take a good hour, perhaps I could interest you in some breakfast? We have some chicken ready."
Jaime eyed some of it, and debated his risk of getting salmonella. Then, he thought about how he needed a lot of protein for sword fighting. Unfortunately, the balanced diet won.
"It didn't touch any pig meat? Or rabbit, or squirrel?" Jaime checked. "And their throats were slit cleanly with a sharp knife?"
"I think so, mi'lord?" Tyrone looked confused.
Jaime sighed. He tried. It's near impossible to observe kashrut when this world doesn't even have monotheism and so doesn't understand what kosher or religious dietary restrictions are. The closest they got was when Baelor 'the Blessed' fasted for forty days, and even then the man cheated with bread and wine.
"I'll have some," Jaime agreed, taking a plate another cook passed over. It had chicken and a small cut of cheese on it. Jaime really, really , wished he was back in New York with his family.
"I don't eat meat with cheese," He passed the cheese back onto another plate.
"Oh?" Tyrone looked like he was making a mental note of that. "Upset your stomach, lil'lord?"
"A bit," Jaime replied, feeling not that bad for lying. A childish insistance to not eat two foods together may be forced by his father if he found out, but a supposed lactose intolerance wouldn't.
"My daughter was the same, mi'lord. Don't you worry, it'll pass once you get older," A different kitchenmaid spoke up.
He doubts that. "Does your daughter work in the keep too?" He asked instead.
"Aye," The woman lit up at the chance to discuss her daughter. "She's going to be one of your new siblings' wetnurses. Her name is Jeyne, she's given me two grandsons now."
"Are your grandsons my age?" Jaime politely inquired. There were barely ever enough kids for him to play with. If anything, there were too many of them, greedily reaching for what a friendship with the future Lord of Casterly Rock could bring. Even then, none of them wanted to chase cats or climb walls with Jaime, they all preferred to ride or fight constantly. Jaime loved both, but not every day always.
"Oh no, lad, they're three years and six moons." She grinned, "A while yet before they'll be running around underfoot like you."
"Meryl!" Tyrone snapped, mood changing quickly, "That is our lord's son, do not be too familiar!"
"It's alright," Jaime swiftly stepped in. "Hearing 'lord' every sentence spoken gets rather tiring. Father isn't here, and I want to hear more. Nobody talks to me about normal things, they all want to know about coin and horses and swords and being heir. Miss Meryl, could you continue, please?"
Meryl's eyes sparkled at his manners, and the other maids were cooing again at how he was such 'a sweet boy' to even his servants.
Meryl was happy to indulge him in hearing more about how 'low-born' lives are, with a few other brave servants chiming in from time to time.
Soon, however, Jaime was back to laboring over his challah. He had nearly forgotten about the task he originally came here for, so embroiled in hearing different stories, Tyrone had to fetch him to inform him that the dough had risen.
"I can do this part myself!" Jaime said, pulling the bowl to himself.
Tyrone nodded indulgently, "As you say, lil'lord. I'll go check the ovens and then help you put it in."
Jaime thumbed the small star of David he had made from wire and carried in his pocket, before starting a quick and slightly mangled separating of the challah, with a whispered blessing and a small piece of dough being tucked into his pocket to burn later.
"What a nice braid, lil'lord!" Tyrone said, helping him load the tray into the oven. "And some rolls too, I see."
"I had extra dough," He shrugged. "When will it be done?"
"Half an hour, lil'lord," The cook wiped his hands on his shirt. "Shall I fetch you once it's done?"
Jaime shook his head, "I want to help."
"Help?"
"I can wash pots," Jaime offered.
"Leave that to the scullery maids, lad," Meryl stepped in at Tyrone's baffled expression. "You can help me cut the apples. A cooks' knife can be seen as a very small sword."
"He could cut himself," Another cook immediately protested. "My lord can wash berries."
"Pah! He could cut himself running and scraping his knees. Let the child live," Meryl dismissed the other's concerns. "Here, lad, I'll show you how to do it."
In the end, Jaime could add some honey-drizzled apple slices to the plate of bread he made for his mother.
"There you go, lad," Meryl patted his head fondly. "Now, do you need some help taking that upstairs?"
"No thank you," He lifted it carefully and then dug into his breast pocket, pulling out a silver coin. "Here, for your grandsons. Buy them some toys for me."
"Oh, lad, I cannot–" She tried to humbly protest.
"Too late! I'm leaving, bye!" Jaime cheekily replied, speedwalking to the door with his prize in hand, laughter at his audacity echoing behind him.
He definitely got way more looks for walking around the Rock with a full plate of breakfast in his arms; a distant cousin who was an early riser did a double take when he walked past and Jaime could hear them muttering about needing to sleep more.
"My lord?" Ser Brynnon, a knight from his mother's personal guard retinue, blinked at him when Jaime arrived outside his mother's room.
"Can you please open the door for me, ser? I have my hands full."
"Did you grab a tray from a servant?" The poor man questioned him.
"No. I went to the kitchens and helped make breakfast." Jaime replied, then plucked a roll off the plate. "Here. It's called challah bread."
The knight took the roll like Jaime was ET offering a glowing finger, but obediently opened the door for him.
Jaime puttered into the room and placed the plate on a table, before slowly approaching his mother's sleeping form.
Midwife Alanna said she was going to induce labor today since Joanna had been having small contractions for the past five days with no sign of stopping or increasing. That might have been what killed her last time; prolonged labor creates infections and that kills in a land without penicillin.
Jaime pulled himself up onto the bed and curled up next to his mother.
"I love you," He vowed, cuddling closer. He had never prayed over a pregnancy or a birth, however, he remembers saying blessings over children from his synagogue during special occasions, so he tried his best to adlib from that basis.
His mother barely even stirred, exhaustion written deep in her bones. He hopes she lives.
The door of the room opened, his father walked in, and then stopped when he saw Jaime curled up against his mother.
"Jaime," He said. "Let your mother rest."
"Issalright," Joanna slurred softly. "Ima wake."
Jaime winced, "Sorry mother."
She blinked blearily and waved him off, "Shush. You're no more than a warm lion cub in my bed. Your father, however, needs to learn to open doors quieter."
Jaime smiled at his father's fond look at her teasing, "My apologies, wife, however, I do believe my house words are 'Hear Me Roar'."
"Mhm," She hummed and slowly pushed herself up so she could sit. "What has you climbing into bed with me, my little cub? Did you have a nightmare, sweetling?"
"I made you breakfast," Jaime clambered out of the bed to go grab the plate.
"Made?" His mother echoed.
"The bread and apples!" He nodded, "It's challah and honeyed apples. I asked the kitchens to make your breakfast myself. They say that childbed is a woman's battlefield, and I get hungry when I train, so I thought I'd make you a special meal myself."
"It looks good, sweetling, thank you." Joanna brightened at the thoughtfulness of her son.
Tywin leaned over and stole a roll, "Not the best use of your time."
He bit into it and then frowned down at the bread like it had personally offended him.
"Yet a delicious one?" Joanna finished his sentence for him. "Praise your son, Tywin."
"It will be useful for you to know how to prepare and cook the basics, should you need to," Tywin said instead. "However, I would prefer it that my heir not be doing menial tasks."
Joanna gave him a look. Tywin gave her a look back. Joanna raised an eyebrow.
"You've made a good loaf," Tywin admitted defeat to his lady wife.
"I know," Jaime replied cheekily and stole a final roll from the plate. "I'm going to wake Cersei and give her this. I'll return by the final rooster's crow, mother, father."
He could hear his father's sigh at his decorum as he left, but he didn't mind. He got a few more precious memories of his mother.