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'Signs and Portents', written by Daenys “The Dreamer” Targaryen. 114 Before Conquest.
The Final Prophecy
'The Dragon will fall by the Hand of the Just, but another will rise from the smoke and the tears.'
He watches as the last preparations are made before the royal army is ready to march. They’ll leave King’s Landing at first light on the morrow, cross through the kingswood and try to circle Stannis army while they are laying siege at Storm’s End. They have forty thousand capable men at this point, but only half are coming with him. Jaime can feel the thrill of the fight coursing through his vein. Stannis won’t see what it’s coming for him. He not only bores people to death, his foolness also does the job pretty well.
Not that he would choose Renly to be Lord of Storm’s End either, so he can understand Stanni’s anger over that to a certain extent. The youngest Baratheon is too green, and it shows in every decision he has made so far, both in Lordship and war strategy. So much so he had to ask for help of the crown so he wouldn’t lose Storm’s End to his older brother.
But Jaime is not the king, so this isn’t a problem that concerns him.
“Ser Jaime” as if summoned by his thoughts, Rhaegar stands beside him.
“Your grace” The king’s gaze is focused on the men working in front of them, and Jaime knows he’s remembering the Siege of Pyke, when The Greyvjoys rebelled against the crown. It had been glorious, Jaime, Rhaegar and Edward Stark fighting side by side. A corner of Jaime’s mouth lifts up, a smirk playing on his lips “Feeling nostalgic?”
Rhaegar gives him a smile of his own.
“It’s a shame we can’t relive Pyke” The king drops a hand to Jaime’s shoulder “But I trust you to end this quickly. And when you come back, if the gods are kind, you’ll have a nephew or niece to meet”
Jaime’s smile doesn’t falter, even though the sting the words cause is very much there. Not as strong as before, when he watched his sister walking down The Great Sept of Baelor to marry the very man Jaime calls his king. Time made it hurt less, made him used to the fact she was no longer his.
Time, and his friendship and respect towards Rhaegar. There’s not a better king he would choose to serve.
Still, Jaime wouldn’t call it painless, seeing Cersei heavy with a child that wasn’t his.
“I hope so. I look forward to teach him or her how to use a sword. Something their father can’t do as masterful as I can” Jaime replies, and Rhaegar barks a laugh.
“Dine with us tonight. I’m sure your sister will want to see you before you leave on the morrow.”
I very much doubt it. Jaime thinks.
“I’ll be there” it’s his answer instead.
He sees the way Cersei cradles her belly, her hands delicately caressing through the fabric of her dress, and he hopes that this time, she will be allowed to hold her child alive.
Twice Cersei tried to give Rhaegar another heir. Twice she fought to deliver them to this world. And twice she saw them lifeless, never drawing a breath, never opening their eyes.
He drinks with Tyrion before going to sleep, and both commiserate on their father’s disappointment over the Lannister kids, even though Jaime doesn’t feel right talking about the death of Cersei’s children as if all that is to it to consider is their father’s expectations.
“Do you think this time the kid will be born alive?” Tyrion asks.
“The maester says everything seems normal, last Rhaegar told me. The baby is moving, kicking… it’s alive. I hope it stays that way”.
He hugs his brother before leaving to his chambers.
“You come back alive brother. It can’t be just me and Cersei having to deal with father’s sweetness”.
“It’s Stannis”. Jaime says, feeling every inch the Golden Lion he is. “I’ll come back to life myself just so you can kill me if I ever lose to him. Although if he starts talking in the middle of the battlefield, I cannot guarantee I won’t fall on my on sword”.
When the sun comes up, Jaime gets ready to leave King’s Landing, strapping his sword on his back.
The Lion’s Claw.
The weapon was a gift from Rhaegar when he named Jaime Lord Commander of the Royal Army in addition to his position as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Valyrian steel, as huge as Dawn, Arthur Dayne’s sword, or Ice, Ned Stark’s own weapon. Every time he strapps the sword to his back, Jaime feels as if there’s nothing that can stop him. That’s what he was made for.
The King and Queen watch as Jaime leads the army away from King’s Landing, the sun shining through the clouds, the blue of the sky drawing Jaime’s attention from the path ahead. For some reason, even though crimson red was always the color of his house, blue has always had a strange effect on Jaime. As if it calmed him down and excited him at the same time. The possibilities of the future in front of him, the freedom the blue sky represented when watched from below by a mortal man.
It’s a secret I’ll carry to my grave, but if I was to choose a favorite color, blue would be it. He smiles, thinking about his father outrage if he was ever to find out such a thing.