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Chapter Text

The Mad King has barely fallen down when Jaime remembers who else is in the castle. Aegon is king now, he thinks. I must fetch him and Elia. And Rhaenys. With that in mind, he runs upstairs, to where he previously was before he got news of Aerys' absurd plan to burn the city.

He hears screaming as he comes closer. What is happening? Are they in danger? Willing his feet to run faster, he opens the door to find Elia holding Aegon in a corner, looking frightened at the window. He turns in her gaze's direction and finds a helmet popping up. A Lannister-colored helmet. My father's men, he realizes.

There is no question of their goal—it's obvious they are there for Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys, and not in a good way. After all, his father is out there sacking the capital in Robert Baratheon's name.

But Jaime hasn't been a Lannister since he was cloaked in white. His last name is merely a way to identify him apart from other Jaimes, not a proclamation of family loyalty. He may have just killed the king he swore to protect, but this is different. Neither Elia or the children are threatening to kill innocents; they are the innocents whose lives are in danger.

All these thoughts come at once and confusingly on his mind. He knows what he must do, however, and so he does. In the blink of an eye, Jaime is by the window, using his foot to push the man down the tower. He hears the sound of his armor colliding with metal, and he looks down to see two men falling. One is huge—he must be the Mountain. Father sent Gregor Clegane to kill Rhaegar's heirs, it dawns on him. He wants to be horrified, but… his father is the same man who extinguished two Houses for not paying taxes. It doesn't surprise him that he sent a killing machine to get rid of Robert's rivals for the throne.

Taking a deep breath, he turns to Elia. "Let's go to the throne room," he tells her. "It's the safest place to be at the moment. They can't question Aegon's claim."

She nods wordlessly, her once frightened expression turning resolute. She is a sight to behold like this, he thinks as he grabs Rhaenys from under the bed and leads the way out.

As they go downstairs, he remembers what awaits them in the throne room. "Your Highness," he whispers urgently to Elia. "I must tell you something before we enter."

"Say it quickly, Ser Jaime," she whispers back. "Who knows what awaits us inside."

He gulps. Now or never. "Aerys is dead." He then lowers his voice even more. "He wanted to burn the whole city down. I—I killed him to prevent that."

She raises her eyebrows. He expects her to scream at her to drop Rhaenys and get out of her sight, but instead she asks, "Did anyone see you doing it?" He shakes his head. "Good. We'll keep this between us. You did the right thing, but I doubt those arrogant lords will see that."

He's so shocked that Elia ends up being the one leading them to the throne room.

The Lannister army is already there, looking puzzled at the king's corpse. One of them, who he recognizes as Lord Marbrand—his childhood friend's father—glances at him upon his arrival and asks, "What happened here?"

He takes a sharp breath and shakes his head, remembering Elia's instructions. "I was upstairs," he says instead, "protecting the royal family from this very army." His voice grows sharper by each word. "It seems that my father has sent men to kill the remaining Targaryens, aside from sacking in the city in the name of a wannabe usurper."

Many soldiers look at him with wide eyes, seemingly remembering only now that he is not Tywin Lannister's heir, but a member of the Kingsguard, loyal to the Crown they just defied. Elia takes advantage of their stunned silence to announce, "Now that Aerys is dead, the Iron Throne falls to his grandson Aegon, sixth of his name."

She looks at him and then points at said throne with her chin. He nods in understanding, places Rhaenys on the floor and positions himself between the damned chair and his father's men. He hears the sound of steps, then Elia's voice again. "Kneel before your king," she says, "and we may consider a pardon for your disloyalty to the Crown."

Chapter Text

In the end, they all kneel—Lannister army, Northern army, Robert's army, Valemen, everyone who arrives at the Red Keep to find Elia holding the new king in her arms, with Jaime at the stairs of the throne and Rhaenys curled at his side.

On Elia's orders—for she is obviously her son's regent—the surviving Golden Cloaks have all lords arrested. Their soldiers are sent to wait for their commanders' fates outside the city. Someone drags Aerys' body away and cleans the horrible smell. Finally, when things are more or less calmed down, Elia takes Jaime to speak in private. "I will be my son's regent," she tells him. "I won't trust anyone else for the job."

"Of course," he agrees, because it's the truth. Even the loyalists should not be entirely trusted anytime soon, in his opinion.

She frowns. "Your father will either be executed or sent to the Wall, you know that, right? His crimes against the city's people cannot be overlooked, not to mention the murder attempt by his men." He nods in sound agreement. Lord Tywin will certainly deny having given any orders to the men, but that won't save him. The sack happened under his command, and all of his soldiers' actions fall under his responsibility. Such is the burden of a lord—especially a Lord Paramount and a Warden. "I need someone reliable as Warden of the West, Jaime."

"Tyrion is not like our Father," he replies sincerely. "He is a good kid, and I'm sure he will grow to be a good man, loyal to Aegon."

She shakes her head. "I can't count on a child," she insists. "If I let your brother in charge, who knows what your family will tell him about Aegon and House Targaryen. It must be you, Ser Jaime."

He blanches. "Yo—Your Highness," he stammers, "I'm a Kingsguard. We serve for life. Is this bec—"

"No", she is quick to answer. "Like I said, you did the right thing. I know of Aerys' obsession with wildfire as well as you do; it does not surprise me that he'd burn the city before ever surrendering it to Robert Baratheon." She shudders. "And I also know you were not named for Kingsguard due to your excellency at swordsmanship, Ser, as skilled as you are. We both know you've been a glorified hostage this whole time, just like me, to ensure your family's loyalty to the Crown."

It didn't work so well, huh, he thinks, but doesn't voice it. Instead, he says, "There is no precedent for dismissing a Kingsguard. What will the realm think of it?"

"You won't be unceremoniously dismissed," she states firmly. "The truth of your nomination will be revealed before court, as well as my good father's cruelty, and you will be honorably released from vows sworn under duress."

She's clearly thought of this before. Did she come up with the idea while waiting for the throne room to be emptied, or has she thought of his situation before, and imagined a solution even before it could ever be truly considered? He doesn't ask, just nods. "I'm at your service, Your Highness." He pauses. "Your Grace?"

She chuckles. "I suppose I'm Queen Mother now, aren't I? Don't worry too much about titles, Ser Jaime. Get used to the idea of being Lord of Casterly Rock instead."

"Please don't do it where my father can hear," he pleads. "He's always insisted on calling me his heir despite my position here; I don't want to give him the satisfaction of getting his 'only heir' back."

Elia grins at that. "Alright. I'll do it after his trial. Whether he is executed or sent to the Night's Watch, he won't be around to hear of your release."

He nods in gratitude, and they part ways.

His last duties as Kingsguard—not that anyone but him and Elia knows that yet—are to guard the baby king as his mother passes judgement in his name.

Robert Baratheon is the first brought to justice. He is found guilty of starting a war against the Crown and trying to usurp the throne. "However," Elia declares, "I am aware that the war began because my goodfather called for your head after killing your intended goodfather and goodbrother. I cannot pardon what you did, but I won't sentence you to death for it. You will be sent to the Wall instead." Jaime doubts anyone else would have been so kind as to spare the man's life, but he agrees with her. This war has not been a thoughtless rebellion, but a furious answer to a madman's cruelty.

Next comes his father. Elia has no kind words to spare him, and is harsh when he tries to deny his involvement in her murder attempt. "Either you ordered your men to kill me and the children, or you are unable to control your soldiers. Regardless, you led a sack against the capital that led to numerous deaths and rapes. This is punishable by death… but, as a mercy, I will give you the option to take the black." Without a single look at his son, Tywin chooses the black. Jaime hates the relief he feels at knowing he won't die; why, if his father brought him nothing but sorrow and shame?

Then, it's Eddard Stark's turn. Unlike with the others, Elia shows compassion towards him from the beginning—after all, Stark was the most wronged in all of this, having lost his father and brother while looking after his sister. "You will go without further punishment," she finishes, "as long as you agree to send your firstborn to the Red Keep when they turn five years old, to be fostered."

He nods solemnly. "I already have a son waiting for me at home, Your Grace," he states. "Robb will be sent here when the time comes. I thank you for your mercy. I do wish to ask you permission to look for my sister Lyanna, as her disappearance has been the reason for my House's rebellion."

She accepts his request and dismisses him. After he leaves, Jon Arryn comes. He thinks Elia will send him to the Wall alongside Robert and Tywin, but in the end she merely strips him of his lands and titles. "Your wife will also be allowed to get her marriage to you annulled if she wishes," she adds, "as it was a hushed affair done against her will, unlike her sister's wedding to Lord Stark."

He fights the urge to chuckle. Rumours of Lysa Tully's despair at her betrothal to old man Arryn came to them in the middle of the war. Varys 'let it slip' that she had been handed to him after losing her maidenhead to a minor boy lord, whose name Jaime did not care to learn.

Other lords come and go, being sentenced according to their roles in the rebellion and their loyalty to their punished lords. Most Notherns are pardoned, save for Roose Bolton, who is sent to the Wall after accusations of serial rapes come to light. Most stormlords are pardoned for their reluctance to follow Robert and their vows of loyalty to the Crown. A few lords of the West and the Vale choose to follow their former liege lords to the Night's Watch—mostly old men who are leaving their houses in their sons' hands, but his uncle Kevan is among them, much to his chagrin.

Elia is exhausted at the end of the day, and so is he. Aegon has already fallen asleep on her lap. "I can put Rhaenys to bed," he offers timidly. "I've done it before."

She smiles gently. "I know. If you are offering… I'd be glad."

He finds the princess running around Ser Barristan's legs, asking for tales of battles. Jaime is quick to draw her attention to him, though; Rhaenys always liked him best out of the entire Kingsguard. When she asks for a bedtime story, he goes on about Ser Galladon of Morne until he hears her soft snoring.

He is spared of the task of overseeing the prisoners' transportation to the Wall, for it falls on Barristan's hands. As the party leaves the city, Elia calls for him in front of the remaining court. "Your Grace," he greets formally, lowering himself to one knee.

"Arise, Ser Jaime," she says gently from the throne. "Lords and ladies, we are here today to rectify a wrongdoing done by my goodfather. As you are all aware, Ser Jaime was made Kingsguard in the tourney at Harrenhal—the youngest knight of the order's history. What you may not be aware of, is that Aerys did not name him Kinsguard out of recognition of his prodigy at swordsmanship. No, it was not his talent that the king saw, but his value as a hostage. Like me, Ser Jaime was kept inside the Red Keep as a way to ensure his family's loyalty to the Crown.

"From the way I see it, my lords, Ser Jaime made his vows under duress, and his service a punishment for crimes not even yet done by his father—for we know Tywin Lannister remained neutral until the very end of the war. As such, it is clear that Ser Jaime's nomination is not valid, and his vows should no longer be in effect under the new king. Despite this, he still protected King Aegon from his own father's bannermen, thus proving his loyalty to the Crown.

"Jaime Lannister, I thereby honorably release you from your vows. Do you wish to renew them, this time on your own volition?"

Part of him wants to say 'yes', but he knows this is not what she wants from him—and frankly, not really what he wants for himself either. "No, Your Grace," he replies, bowing. "I'd rather serve the Crown in other ways, if you'll allow me."

She smiles and nods. "I do. Therefore, I confirm your position as Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West. I trust you will remain loyal to your king and will restore your House's reputation after your father tarnished it."

"You will never see reason to doubt my loyalty, Your Grace," he replies swiftly. "Thank you for your generosity."

He takes his white cloak off and delivers it to a servant. Then, he goes to his chambers, where he strips off his armor for the last time—since he will have Lannister armor when he goes back to the Rock—and begins to pack.

Three days later, he bids goodbye to Elia and Rhaenys. "Please come visit," the little princess begs. "I'll miss you, Ser Jaime."

He smiles and hugs her. "Of course I will come visit," he replies, raising his eyes to Elia.

She nods. "Lord Jaime will be back soon, my dear," she assures her daughter. "His work is not done here."

He stands up. "I will come back with my sister, as you asked," he says. He has a feeling he knows why Elia wants both twins in the capital, but since she refuses to give further details, he decides not to press. "See you soon, Your Grace."

She waves his goodbye as he turns to join his bannermen. Dread fills his gut as he begins his journey. These men were his father's until a sennight ago, ready to fulfill his most heinous orders. How will he manage them from now on and ensure such cruelties won't happen under his watch?

After a long and tense journey, he is greeted by his siblings. Tyrion has a childish smile which drives him to hug his brother tightly, while Cersei seems unsure of how to feel about him. Part of him is hurt by this, but another part can (sort of) understand her—after all, his return home happened at the cost of their father, and his sister has always admired him the most out of the three siblings.

His aunt Genna and his uncles Gerion and Tygett are also there to greet him, with smiles and hugs. "Welcome back, Jaime," Genna tells him with feeling. "Now you are to become the man you were always meant to be."

He smiles sadly at her. He never felt like Casterly Rock truly belonged to him; he wanted to be a knight and be with Cersei, both of which went directly against being lord. But now he has a duty not only to his father's people (his people now) but to the Crown as well. He will not fail his king.

It's Tyrion who guides him through the castle halls and corridors, chatting incessantly about what happened since he left two years ago. It warms him to have his brother back, but he's slightly disappointed that Cersei excused herself as soon as greetings were done. Unbidden, his mind goes to that night in that old inn in Eel Alley, when they gave themselves to each other and he accepted her suggestion to have him nominated for the Kingsguard so they'd be together. It's a memory he's treasured all this time, the one he went back to every time he had to stand guard as Aerys burned his perceived enemies. Cersei's plan failed, but he could never regret what they did that night—but does she feel the same? Or does she regret giving her maidenhead to her brother only to lose him immediately after? Does she even love him still? Or has their time apart dwindled her passion for him, and now he is nothing but her twin in her eyes? His heart thumps in desperation, but he hides it all behind a smile as he tries his best to pay attention to Tyrion's rapid rambling.

Finally, his brother leaves him by his chambers' door. "It's your old one," he explains, "for now, of course, until Father's is emptied for you to occupy it."

His breath hitches. "I'm not sure I should—"

"Nonsense. Father paid for his bad deeds, you ought to be rewarded for your good ones."

He shakes his head and grins at his brother. "You speak way too well for a ten-year old, you know that, right?"

Tyrion grins back. "Someone has to be the brains of this duo, since you are already the beauty."

"You make me sound like a swooning maiden."

"Well, some would say you do look like one."

"And by 'some', you mean yourself?"

Both laugh at that. Tyrion bids him farewell and walks away from him, presumably to his own room. Letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, he pushes the door open.

Cersei is inside, wearing a half-open crimson robe.

Hours go by until he's called for supper, and only then he realizes he has yet to take a bath. "You can tell them you fell asleep," Cersei whispers as he's still panting from their last round.

"Good idea," he replies, heavy-breathed.

They miraculously manage to show up for dinner looking perfectly dressed, as if nothing had happened between them. Genna asks him about the events in the Red Keep. "All we know was that your father and your uncle were punished for their involvement in the sack, and that you were honorably released of vows made under duress. It got us a bit confused, Jaime."

He sighs. "I was guarding the royal family," he begins, "when we caught sight of two soldiers climbing up the tower we were in. When they got close enough, I noticed they wore Lannister armor—they were my father's men." He later identified their bodies as belonging to Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. "I shoved them out, and we headed to the throne room. Aerys was already dead, but no one had yet tried to claim the throne. Naturally, Princess Elia claimed it for her son, as he was next in line."

"But Father was there in Robert Baratheon's name," Cersei says, frowning. He hadn't talked about what happened in the capital when they were abed—in fact, they barely talked at all. This is as new for her as it is for the rest of the family. "Surely you—"

"I was sworn to protect the king," he interrupts. "With Aerys' death, the title falls on his firstborn's son. Robert was a wannabe usurper, sister. Had he won, surely this story would be told differently, but he didn't."

She squeezes her eyes at him, looking nothing like she did earlier underneath him. What is going on? Why would she want Robert Baratheon to win?

Tyrion shakes him off his thoughts with a question. "Do you know who killed Aerys?"

He shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly to mask his emotions. The memory of cutting the man's throat still makes his insides twist, no matter what Elia says about the rightfulness of his actions. "When I left King's Landing, investigations had reached a dead end. I fear we'll never find out."

The next question comes from Uncle Tygett. "Why did Kevan join your father in taking the black?"

"It was his choice," he replies. His uncle grimaces. "After Father, Lord Baratheon, Lord Stark and Lord Arryn were judged, their bannermen were called. They had the choice of following their liege lords' fates or swear loyalty to the Crown and be pardoned. Uncle chose to follow Father."

Aunt Genna shakes her head and sighs. "Kevan has always been blindly loyal to Tywin," she laments. "As much as I love my brother, I doubt I'll ever understand why Kevan would give up his family for him."

He feels oddly compared—after all, did he not give up his family for Cersei? He doubts Uncle's feelings for Father go beyond those of brothers, though. Would he give up everything for Tyrion? He has no idea.

Speaking of Kevan… "Where is Aunt Dorna?" His uncle's wife has yet to be seen since he arrived. She wasn't there for the greetings, nor is she here now.

"She went back to Cornfield as soon as we received the news," Cersei answers, "carrying baby Lancel with her." She drinks from her cup. "I suppose it's good that she didn't stay around to hear that he chose his brother over her and their child." He nods. He didn't know about Lancel's existence, thanks to the complete lack of communication with his family after being admitted to the Kingsguard, but he wholeheartedly agrees with his sister. It's a truth Aunt Dorna doesn't need to know, for it will only bring her heartbreak.

"Has Queen Mother and Lady Regent Elia named her son's Small Council?" Uncle Gerion asks.

He frowns, trying to remember if she did. "She kept Lord Varys as Master of Whisperers," he replies, "but dismissed Pycelle as Grand Maester. I suppose Ser Gerold is to remain Lord Commander, if he's still alive. There had been no news of him when I left, nor of Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur." The two latter knights have gone missing along with Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna, and did not show up even when the Crown Prince returned to King's Landing. He supposed Lord Stark will bring news when he fetches his sister, wherever she is. "I don't know of anything else, though."

"Has she not invited you?"

"She knows me well enough to not offer me a position," he counters. "My current titles are to keep me busy enough, I think." He suddenly remembers her request before he left and turns to his sister. "She did ask me to go back to King's Landing with Cersei as soon as I was properly settled in the Rock."

His twin arches her eyebrows. "Why?"

"She was vague about it," he replies, not wanting to share his suspicions with her.

The conversation goes on as Tyrion and Unlce Gerion ask about his time as Kingsguard. He does his best to tone it down, but there is only so much he can do to avoid telling his family about Aerys' madness. By the end of supper, everyone wears expressions of shock, to various degrees.

Days later, Cersei confesses that Father had told her he'd arrange a marriage between her and Robert as soon as he ascended to the throne. "He wanted to take you off the Kingsguard," she tells him, "but I was sure it wouldn't ever happen. I knew it was the perfect chance for us to be together."

He kisses her then—they are alone in his chambers—but when he retreats, it's with a frown. "He shouldn't have made you promises he could not keep."

"The war seemed won when Rhaegar died," she counters. "That's why Father marched to the capital."

He rolls his eyes. "Typical. But alas, he failed."

"Thanks to you," she slips.

He raises his eyebrows. "Should I not have protected the princess and her two children?"

She doesn't hesitate. "We could have been together now, with no one between us!"

"Oh, no one but your husband, who would be king," he reminds her. "Are you so naïve to think we'd be able to be together inside a castle full of spies? You've lived there, Cersei, surely you must know about Varys' 'little birds'. We'd have to come up with the most elaborate schemes just to get a couple hours together. Is that the life you wanted for us? Is that what you wanted me to have sacrificed two children and an innocent woman for?"

She takes a step back and looks away, blushing. "I… I had thought we'd manage."

"Perhaps," he offers, "but I can't see it going in a way that would make us happy. Things are easier now, with both of us here, without a crown and a white cloak between us."

"We still have to hide," she reminds him.

"I know that. The only way we wouldn't hide was if we ran to Essos and wore new identities… but I doubt you'd want such a life." The idea sounds good to him, although Rhaenys' voice asking him to visit reminds him of his new duties—duties he cannot abandon, not when the baby King needs him to fulfill them.

She shakes her head. "No, I would not. But… Do you really think we'll last? You are the naïve one if you do. I'll have to marry sooner or later, Jaime. I'm sure Queen Elia wants us in the capital to propose a match for me."

He sighs. She's guessed his own suspicions. "I fear so, too. But Aunt Genna has stayed here, hasn't she? Depending on who she offers, we can ask for the groom to move here. That way we'll still be together and easily accessible."

"You'll have to marry soon, too. Probably sooner than me."

"And conveniently, my future wife will have to come here. It's still a better solution than 'Queen and Kingsguard sneaking around'."

She nods to the side. "Well… when you put it like that, it does sound a bit ridiculous."

He chuckles and pulls her close. "I'm glad you finally see reason." And then he kisses her, and soon they cease to talk.

Chapter Text

The most unfortunate part of the journey to the Wall is not that he, the Great Lion of Lannister, is chained up and stuck in a cage. No, the worst part is that he shares said cage with Robert Baratheon.

One would think Tywin would have regretted siding up with him as soon as it became clear he'd fall in disgrace, but he has never been one to dwell on regrets. Now, however, he wonders if Elia Martell's survival wasn't, in fact, a mercy for the realm.

Robert manages to behave as a drunkard without a single drop of alcohol inside him. He keeps raging at the injustice of being given a lifetime sentence for fighting for what he believed was right, raging at the fact he never even got to know where Lyanna Stark is, calling the royal family by crude names, and so on.

And that's only their first day.

The second is filled with crass descriptions of how he will break his future vows to the Night's Watch—notably, the celibacy ones—as soon as he can. He keeps boasting about it until Ser Barristan tells him to shut up. Robert even tries to get a rise out of the old knight, but Selmy threatens to cut his tongue, which is thankfully effective.

His brother Kevan is sacked with them as well, silent as a rock. Tywin wishes to know why he chose to follow him to the Wall, but has no wish to ask about it with Baratheon nearby, so for the time being he doesn't say a word to him.

It goes on for the whole moon turn spent on the journey. Robert—just Robert, as neither he or Tywin have titles anymore—switches between silent sulking, whimpering, shouting and japing. Obviously, he prefers the sulking, but those days are the rarest.

The only way to escape the man is to dwell on his own thoughts, and those are not the brightest place at the current moment. If Tywin lets his mind wander for long enough, he'll be consumed with rage with no viable outlet.

He knows Robert's rebellion was all but won when he invaded King's Landing; it was why he did in the first place. Before, when nothing was certain, he refused to risk his heir's—for Jaime would always be his heir, not that monstrous excuse of a person called Tyrion—safety by siding against Aerys, but also refused to agree with anything coming from that man, directly or indirectly. No one knows why he sentenced Rickard and Brandon Stark to death, nor why he called for the heads of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon, but nobody could conceive a good reason for it, not when his son disappeared with Lyanna Stark. For that alone, Tywin chose to remain neutral, not wanting to risk picking the wrong side.

However, he wonders if maybe he should have just sided with Robert from the start. Clearly, his son did not appreciate his efforts to keep him alive, and instead sided with the royal family. He killed two of his bannermen in an effort to protect two children whose grandfather took him as a glorified hostage and made it public that the Lannister army committed treason against the Crown. Had we won, there would have been no treason. Had we won, Aegon and Rhaenys would be dead, as there would only be Robert to take the throne. Cersei would be queen, and I could point Kevan as my heir instead of Tyrion, if Jaime happened to perish. A boy who turns his back on his house cannot be my son, my legacy.

So, really, the one to blame for his current—and future—predicament is his own son. If Jaime had chosen his family over his forced vows, Robert would be king, Cersei would be queen, and Tywin would work in the shadows to assure the realm would run as it should.

If he wanted to clear any doubts that his son was a traitor to his house, it was solved when he did not move a finger or say a word to save him from his punishment. He did not grace him with the benefit of his stare, but, for all he knew, Jaime agreed with his sentence. After all, he very much doubted the man who saved the royal family would not be able to convince the woman he rescued to agree with a lesser punishment.

(A small part of him whispers that, had he been the one in charge, he'd have given even harsher sentences, but he shuts it off.)

He wonders what is to happen to the rest of his family. For all he knows, Jaime will stay as Kingsguard; his extreme loyalty won't be overlooked. Princess (Queen?) Elia will likely reinforce Tyrion as new Lord of Casterly Rock, and gods know what will happen to Cersei—the only one who, so far, hasn't disappointed him too much. He hopes at least Genna will educate the imp well.

Perhaps he should not think too much about his house. After all, he's been cast out, and soon his last name will be merely an identifier, a memory of his past glory. The sooner he lets that new reality set in, the better—or else he might end up emulating Robert.

Finally, he sees the Wall from a distance. Even in his poor mood, its sight captures him. For all of his life, Tywin never ventured north of the Twins, always busying himself with matters of the West and the capital. The scenery from the Neck and beyond was all new to him, but he barely paid attention to the wasteland surrounding the Kingsroad. Now, though, there is something to see and admire.

As they approach the Wall, he sees it is indeed a massive building, taller than the highest castles. He remembers tales of its constructions, the legendary figures behind it, but always dismissed them as bedtime stories. As they reach the place, though, and he is pulled out of his cage, he wonders if there isn't some truth to the stories—how can an ordinary human build something so tall and large?

They receive a cold and pragmatic greeting from Lord Commander Qorgyle, who explains that there are no lords, knights or peasants in the Night's Watch; they are all black brothers, to be treated equally. Bullshit, he thinks, allowing himself to curse inside his own mind. As if anyone would give me the same treatment as a random rapist or thief.

Nevertheless, he listens to the welcoming speech in silence, with as much grace as his chains allow him. Afterwards, they are escorted to their new quarters. Thankfully, Tywin is to share his with Kevan.

They were allowed next to no possessions, although he's been told the new Lord of Casterly Rock would send his personal belongings in time. If it's really Tyrion, he has his doubts—although maybe his imp son will want to get rid of everything touched by him as soon as possible. As such, he spends very little time unpacking and settling in, which gives him time to talk to his brother.

"Kevan," he calls, almost solemnly. "Tell me true, why did you choose to follow me to this wasteland? You had a wife and a son at home, and, from what I've heard, a choice I was not allowed to make. Why, then?"

His brother doesn't answer immediately. In fact, for several moments it seems that he won't reply at all. Until, "I couldn't stand by while you were disproportionately punished. Not when I approved of your methods and helped you strategize. I was your right hand in this, brother; if you go down, so must I."

He finds no suitable reply for that. He didn't really know what to expect from Kevan's motivations, but a mix of loyalty and guilt was not it. His brother doesn't add to his answer, and so they go to the dinner hall silently.

On the following day, he discovers Benjen Stark is among the new recruits—although he seems to have joined the Night's Watch by choice. Baratheon approaches him and, treating him the same way he'd likely treat his friend Eddard, asks what his reasons are—getting no answers out of the boy.

Apparently, since most of the recruits this time are lords and seasoned soldiers, they are overseen by another lord, Jeor Mormont, instead of the usual master-at-arms (whoever he is).

The fighting trials are rather easy. The Night's Watch values the use of any weapon, from sword to hammer and bow-and-arrow, so it's not hard to prove his value in that regard. A fortnight later, he introduces them to Castle Black's maester Aemon Targaryen—whoa, he did not know the man was still alive—and sorted half of them into steward services. Tywin and Kevan got into that first half, while Robert and Stark followed Lord Yarwyck elsewhere.

Elsewhere, as he found a sennight later, was the dungeons, where he was tested as a potential builder. Although his performance was not as great as it was in the other tasks, he did not do too badly either—he did have some experience in Casterly Rock's mines, after all.

In the month he spent as a recruit, a young man arrives from Storm's End. He introduces himself as Donan Noye, and offers his services as a smith. Robert recognizes him instantly, and expresses his condolences over the loss of his arms during the siege.

Then, he overhears them talking at dinner. "How are things back home?" Baratheon asks.

"Your brother Stannis was appointed as Warden of the East," Noye replies. "I think it had something to do with making sure he stays loyal to the Crown, after he bent the knee to the new king. He raised that smuggler, Davos Seaworth, to knighthood and lordship."

"Stannis will not sway from his vow," the former lord comments. "He barely declared his support for me, his brother, because I was going against the Crown. But I thought wardenship of the East would stay with the Vale."

Tywin did not even know Jon Arryn had lost his wardenship—although it does make sense, in hindsight. Donan Noye shrugs. "I have no idea, m'lord. All I know is that Lord Stannis was the one to suggest the Wall for me, after making it clear I was no longer suited for smithing for his house."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, he did not lie, did he?"

Part of Tywin wants to ask if this smith has any news of his house, but instead keeps his mouth shut. The man only has any news of post-wars dynamics because he lived in Storm's End until recently; he won't know anything that doesn't concern House Baratheon. I will know soon enough, he reminds himself, when I receive my belongings, or at least Kevan receives his.

A couple days after Noye's arrival, Lord Commander Qorgyle announces they will all say their vows at late sunset. When the hour arrives, they all gather at the local sept—crowded with the unusual amount of recruits—and kneel to speak their vows.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post."

No wonder prisoners are sent here. A sentence to the Night's Watch is a sentence to be forgotten from history. Few of its members make a name for themselves, and most are unknown outside the Wall. These are vows to waste away at the edge of the world.

"I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

These last words make absolutely no sense, and sound a bit like arrogance. They try to make themselves look important, while all they do is shove wildlings away. Pathetic, and yet this is his life now.

After they finish their vows, Lord Qorgyle assigns each of them to their posts. He, Kevan, Robert and Stark are all made rangers… However, he and Baratheon are sent to Shadow Tower, while Stark remains in Castle Black and Kevan is sent away to Eastwatch-by-the-sea.

He wastes no time approaching Qorgyle when he is finished. "There must be a mistake," he begins. "My brother and I shall not be parted. We work better together—"

"Are you two lovers, to not be parted?" He retorts in response. "If so, tell me now, and I'll concede for the switch. Your vows do not forbid you to take male lovers, only women. Otherwise, do not bother me."

He doesn't know what drives him angrier: the insinuation that he would engage in incest, or the Commander's dismissive tone. "I won't tolerate being treated this way. If you do not give me the respect that is due—"

"You are due the same respect as everyone else," the other man cuts him short. "You may have been a great lion of Lannister, you may have been feared across the Westerlands and even by the rest of the realm. Here, you are a member of the Night's Watch. We have use of your skills, but not of your reputation. If you plan to sabotage your work here, we are more than used to lazy brothers, and we know very well how to deal with them." He begins to turn away to leave. "Now, if you excuse me, I have real matters to look after. Prepare to leave for Shadow Tower tomorrow. When your belongings arrive from Casterly Rock, I'll have them sent there."

Despite his internal fury, Tywin can't help but feel some sort of renewed respect for the Lord Commander. Not everyone would speak to him like that, even those who could get away with it relatively unscathed. Well, he will find a way to escape Robert Baratheon and join his brother once again, he's sure of it. He just needs to follow his orders for now and bide his time.

Chapter Text

Nobody really minds that he and Cersei share a tent on their way to King's Landing—after all, what could a pair of twins possibly do? They take full advantage of it, despite the mandatory silence that conducts their passionate nights. They do get some sleep, of course; just enough that they are not visibly tired the following morning.

He wonders what he'll find in the capital. He left without any news of the remaining Kingsguard or of the Starks. Has Ned Stark found his sister? Did Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell return from whatever they were during the war? What will they say when they see Jaime again, now stripped of his white cloak and named Warden of the West?

He is greeted by Ser Arthur himself, who sends him apologetic looks all the way from the entrance to the throne room, where Elia awaits them with King Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. The latter rushes to hug his legs, and he crouches down to give her a real hug. "I missed you, Ser Jaime," she whispers.

"I missed you too, Princess," he whispers back. "Now, let me go see your mother and brother, won't you?"

He begins to stand up, but she grabs his hand and leads him to the Iron Throne, forcing him to stay curved as he walks. Only when they are right before the steps she releases his hand, allowing him to straighten up—only to bow immediately after. "Your Graces," he greets mother and son.

"Lord Jaime," Queen Elia greets back. "I'm glad you were able to return in such short notice, and bring your sister along. Come over here, my lady, let me see the sister of the man who saved me and my children."

Soon Cersei is by his side, curtseying. "Your Graces," she greets them smoothly. "It is an honor to be here."

Small talk is carried for a short while, and soon Elia dismisses them to get settled in their assigned chambers. Ser Arthur guides Jaime to his, but stops him before he can enter. "May I have a word, Lord Jaime?"

He smiles politely at the man. "There is no need to call me Lord, Ser Arthur," he replies. "You were the one to knight me and help me be the man I am today. Of all people, you earned the right to not call me by any titles."

Ser Arthur nods, but still looks a bit forlorn. "I'd like to apologize," he begins, taking Jaime by surprise. "You should not have been left alone in the Red Keep, responsible for four members of the royal family at once."

At that, he tenses up. Did Elia tell him about Aerys? "You left before the war," he says, trying not to choke on his words. "I doubt you even knew there would be one after you left with Prince Rhaegar. You are the last person I'd blame for it."

The Kingsguard shakes his head. "Still, the moment Ser Gerold showed up… I should have offered to follow the prince. It was wrong of them to leave you here all by yourself. It was pure luck that you were by the queen's side, and not the king's, when the sack happened."

He swallows hard. He doesn't know. "I could have protected King Aerys," he mumbles.

"At what cost? We both know how mad the king was in his last years. You saw it first hand. I know the vows we took, but perhaps you were relieved of making a tough choice by not staying by his side."

Oh, but I made that choice. He's not going to tell Ser Arthur that, though, even if his words imply that he would understand his actions. Instead, he asks, "Where were you, Ser Arthur? Where did the prince take you?"

He sighs. "Queen Elia can tell you the story better. I only followed Rhaegar's orders. Rather blindly, in hindsight." He then turns away. "I'll leave you to rest, Jaime. It is good to see you again, and I'm proud of the knight you've become."

"That means the world coming from you, Ser," he replies sincerely as he opens the door to his room. "Thank you."

Over dinner, Elia updates him on everything that happened while he was away. "I summoned Jon Connington while you were still here, to retake his position as Hand. He was Rhaegar's trusted ally, and I trust him to look after his son." Something in her voice tone implies there is more to it, but he doesn't question it; it's not his place to do so. "It took awhile to find him, but he's set to arrive in a sennight."

She goes on to list all the other members of the Small Council so far: Ser Gerold and Lord Varys retained their positions as Lord Commander and Master of Whisperers, respectively; Mace Tyrell was rewarded for his loyalty with a nomination as Master of Coin; Paxter Redwyne was named Master of Ships after Lord Velaryon's death was confirmed; Gerold Grafton, a Valeman whose father led loyalist forces in Gulltown against his own liege lord, was named Master of Law. Pycelle was sent back to Oldtown, and the Crown currently awaits the new Grand Maester to arrive.

"Beg your pardon, Your Grace," Cersei asks sweetly, "but why was Pycelle dismissed?"

"There are several sources that claim that he was the one to advise my goodfather to open the gates, despite everyone else's warnings not to do so. It may have been innocence of his part, or treason against the Crown; I'm in no position to judge. Either way, I'd rather not have him as Grand Maester."

His sister nods. "I understand, Your Grace."

Jaime takes the opportunity to ask for more news. "How is Queen Rhaella, Your Grace?"

"On bedrest," she replies, "due to her heavy pregnancy. I sent a trusted maester to care for her, but she and Prince Viserys won't come back to the Red Keep for the time being."

He nods in understanding. "And what of Lyanna Stark?" He asks.

Elia's face falls. "Dead," she announces solemnly. "Her brother found her in Dorne, being guarded by Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower. He told them Aegon was the new king and that he was there with my permission, so they let him in without a fight, but Lyanna was already in her last moments. They barely had time for a goodbye."

Cersei bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable, and Jaime shakes his head in disbelief. "What did she die of?"

"Birth fever," she states somberly. "She had given birth two days prior, to Rhaegar's son."

Seven hells, he curses mentally. So the dead prince and the Stark girl really had sex while missing from the world. Was Lyanna willing, or did Rhaegar rape her? He wonders if he truly wants to know the answer. Instead, he asks about the son's whereabouts. "When Ned Stark came back with the child," the queen replies, "I knew it was Rhaegar's. He tried to pass up as his own bastard, probably fearing my reaction to finding out my husband's infidelities, but I wasn't fooled. I changed his sentence, then. He no longer has to send his firstborn to be fostered here, but instead will raise his nephew as if he was his own son."

Jaime honestly finds this change better. Instead of giving the Crown another child to bother themselves with, the queen relieves herself from the obligation of raising her late husband's bastard—after all, a royal bastard, especially one whose existence is acknowledged in front of the entire court, cannot be let to fend for himself. And he somehow doubts Elia would let an innocent child grow up without protection.

The queen's voice upon telling of Rhaegar's betrayal sounded so… resigned. Did she know where he was all along? Does she know why he abducted Lyanna Stark and fuck her until she got pregnant, and why he took three Kingsguard solely to watch over her?

He wishes he was brave enough to ask these questions, but feels it's not his place to do so.

They continue to have their dinner, until, at one moment, Elia breaks another news. "My former lady-in-waiting, Ashara Dayne, died a fortnight ago."

He inhales sharply. He has a very vague memory of Lady Ashara; they met only a couple times before Elia, then a princess, dismissed her for unknown reasons. "What happened to her?" Cersei asks in his place, sounding properly sad.

"Suicide," Elia replies, sounding truly sad. "No one knows why, though."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Your Grace," his sister offers, and he repeats her condolences.

The dinner goes quietly after that. Since Rhaenys insists on following him to his chambers—with Ser Arthur watching over her—he doesn't go to Cersei's that night.

The bomb is dropped the following afternoon. "I wish to unite the Crown and House Lannister," Elia tells him and Cersei. "Since both Targaryen males are too young for any marriage offer, it falls on my birth House to establish such an alliance."

He and his twin exchange glances. It can only mean one thing. Oblivious to their silent communication, the queen continues. "I know I can trust Lord Jaime to remain loyal to the Crown, but this alliance is one that should be cemented by marriage. As such, I come with an offer: wed Cersei Lannister to my brother Oberyn."

For a moment, neither of them know what to say. His sister says, quietly, "Your mother once proposed this union to our father, and he refused."

"I know," she replies gently. "I was there. She also offered me to Lord Jaime. I've always known why your father refused us: he considered us too low of a prospect to his children. He wanted you to marry my late husband, Lady Cersei, and for your brother to marry an heir of a Lord Paramount—something I wasn't, not really, with my brother Doran as next in line for Sunspear." She caresses Aegon's bald head. "However, my brother is still unwed, and although he is not heir, he is to run Sunspear in our brother's stead, as Doran is coming to the Red Keep to claim a seat in the Small Council. I ask you two to consider this offer and give me an answer tomorrow night."

It gives them the perfect excuse to retire to a single room—Cersei's. They lay together twice before any actual talks are held.

"If Prince Oberyn holds Sunspear," Cersei says, "I'll have to stay there."

She doesn't sound as shaken as he feels. "I can tell Queen Elia to find another match," he suggests.

"Are you really going to refuse her, after she just praised your loyalty?"

Damnit, she's right. "I'll still find a way to keep us together," he assures her. "I'll talk to her, see if there's any other way." He kisses her collarbone. "Leave it to me."

She nods weakly. He dresses up and leaves her chambers to retire to his.

He asks for a private meeting with the queen after breakfast. She looks worried, and her first question is if everything is alright with him and Cersei.

He takes a sharp breath. It's now or never; he doesn't know any other way, and he's desperate. "Your Grace, your marriage offer to my sister is great, for both of our Houses," he begins, "but there is something you should know. Something that… makes us wary of accepting it."

She still looks concerned, but nods. "Go on, then. I'm listening."

He gulps. "Cersei and I… we love each other, Your Grace, and we'd rather not remain apart."

He looks at her intensely, hoping she will understand his implication. As realization dawns on her, she lets out a gasp. "You mean… like my goodparents?"

"Nothing like Aerys and Rhaella," he snaps. "Forgive me," he adds immediately, "but—"

"No, I understand," she cuts him off. "You don't rape your sister, I assume."

"She's willing as I am," he says firmly. "In fact, she came to me first; I'd never be brave enough to make the first move. If—If you want to compare us to Targaryens… I'd rather us be Old King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne."

At that, Elia actually chuckles. "You know, it sounds almost adorable." She stands up and looks him in the eye. "I'm sorry, Lord Jaime, that your love is an impossible one. I wish I could say that I'd give you two my blessing and that would be alright, but we both know it isn't."

He's taken aback. "You don't—are you not repulsed?"

"Should I be? Rhaegar wanted to wed Rhaenys and Aegon, and, like we just said, his parents were siblings as well. I may not understand how you and your twin bear romantic feelings towards one another, but I'm not fond of judging people harshly simply because I don't understand what they do. It's clear in your eyes that you cherish your sister very much, and—admittedly, I can think of a few men who could easily drive me to my brothers."

It's his turn to chuckle, but his mirth is short-lived. "I supposed I can't call this match off."

She sighs. "You can, but frankly, I don't think it's wise. Instead, I have another offer." She sits at his side. "Marry me."

He almost chokes. "What? Your—Your Grace—"

"I'm not keen on remarrying and being forced to bear children at the risk of dying," she explains. "Marrying me means you won't have to bed anyone other than your sister, and gives both couples an excuse to visit one another. Your sister gets a position of power, and nobody will dare question your loyalty to King Aegon if you are married to the Queen Mother and Regent."

He blinks. "If Father finds out both of his children married the Martell siblings he refused years ago, he'll be pissed." He grins. "It doesn't sound a bad idea at all, Your Grace."

She laughs quietly. "Are you going to marry me just to spite your father?"

"Spitting Father is often a wise reason to do things," he argues. "Besides, you just gave me leave to be with Cersei while married to you. Any other bride, and I'd have to come up with crazy schemes to sneak out to see her."

"You are denying yourself heirs," she counters.

"I have Tyrion as heir," he shrugs off. "Not to mention a horde of cousins who can fight over that seat in case both of us die without issue. If that is truly your wish, Your Grace, I accept your marriage offer."

A moon turn later, a double wedding is held at the Sept of Baelor: Queen Mother Elia Martell to Lord Jaime Lannister, and Prince Oberyn Martell to Lady Cersei Lannister.

(Except for that day, Jaime and Cersei manage to spend every other night together.)

Chapter Text

Ser Denys Mallister, his new commander, is an aging man, courteous and stern at the same time. Like Qorgyle, he makes it clear that no one will get superior treatment for being highborn—each one of them must earn their place and respect.

They are introduced to Maester Mullin, who barely resembles a maester with his sword at his hip. "I used to be a hedge knight in my youth," he says when Tywin's eyes stay on the weapon. "Roamed around the Reach until I realized life in Oldtown was easier, especially in the Citadel."

Mallister's second-in-command, Qhorin, introduces himself as Halfhand and greets them with his half-maimed right hand. "Don't let it fool you," Commander Denys says. "Qhorin is as good with his left hand as he used to be with his right. Don't underestimate him in a duel."

Qhorin is so reputed that he has a second-in-command of his own, Blane—why he doesn't just say he's Mallister's third-in-command, he has no idea. Knowing both he and Qhorin are not highborn makes Tywin believe a little bit that, perhaps, blood does not matter in this part of the world.

Fortunately, he is not to share a room with Robert, but with Ser Endrew Tarth, Shadow Tower's master-at-arms. "Selwyn Tarth's third brother," he says when he asks about his relations with the Tarths in the stormlands. "A third son doesn't have many prospects, especially there."

Tywin knows next to nothing about the Sapphire Isle, so he doesn't reply to that. In Casterly Rock, even the tenth son has their value and usefulness; before him and Kevan, no Lannister has ever taken the black, no matter how lesser they were in the family tree.

The fact that the first two were the Lord of the Rock and his trusted brother makes his insides twist. My son and that Dornish princess ruined my legacy.

He sighs, willing such a thought out of his head. No matter how angry he feels about his fate, there is nothing he can do. Nowhere in Westeros desertion and treason are so efficiently punished as the Night's Watch. If he ever considers leaving, the only remotely safe place to go is beyond the Wall, and Tywin would rather die than join the despicable wildlings, the sole reason this damned building exists. No, he will make a name for himself here, like Bloodraven before him. Tywin Lannister, the Great Lion, won't be forgotten by history.

Finally, his belongings arrive. It isn't much, actually; Tywin never realized how many of his possessions were family heirlooms—meaning they'd never be shipped to the Wall—until his package arrives from Castle Black.

The note coming with it is written by his sister. It is short and concise, so unlike Genna, and the words on it make his heart sink even further. Jaime was honorably released from the Kingsguard under the reasoning that he was coerced into taking his vows. He is now Lord of Casterly Rock, and, a sennight ago, married Queen Mother and Regent Elia Martell. Cersei wedded Prince Oberyn Martell, who holds Sunspear while his brother lives in King's Landing as a member of the Small Council.

In another world, he'd certainly be happy. Both of his true children hold positions of power, either de facto or through marriages. As the Regent's husband, Jaime may have as much influence as his wife in decisions on the baby king's behalf—perhaps even more, depending on who else makes the Small Council. With Oberyn Martell ruling Sunspear, Cersei will be Princess of Dorne in all but name.

However, he still remembers their mother showing up in Casterly Rock with them shortly after Joanna's death, assuming her friendship with his deceased wife would be enough to establish marriage alliances between their families. He promptly rejected the two Martell siblings, offering only Tyrion. The fact that his children made the decision of honoring a dead woman's wishes, going against his, makes his blood boil. Jaime's doing, most certainly. I have no doubts he'd come up with such an idea to spite me.

Though maybe he's giving his son too much credit. Jaime was never a plotter; proof of it lied on his alignment with the then losing side—which only won because of his aid. If this double wedding was a plot, he doubts it was his. Queen Elia's, most likely. She takes my power from me, then my son, in every possible year. What better sort of revenge?

To his surprise, it's Robert who distracts him. "Renly wrote me a long letter saying how much he misses me and my weird jokes." He laughs. "He calls my jokes about drinking and whoring my way to an early grave weird. Ah, the innocence of youth!" He laughs louder, swinging his hammer, which came with Renly's letter. "Did you know I have a bastard daughter in the Vale? I asked Jon to look after her, since she's all I'll leave behind. Mya Stone, my legacy. What do you have to say of yours, Tywin?"

He sighs, grabbing a random hammer from the small selection at the armory. "I hope your bastard brings you more pride than my trueborn children." And thus they begin to spar.

Over the following days, he gets acquainted with some of his… sworn brothers—it is not a term he'll get used to anytime soon, he thinks.

Robert's roommate is Mance Rayder, the son of a deserter with a wildling woman. His body is similar to the wannabe king's, but there is something… delicate about him. Sensitive. Rhaegar-like. Maybe it's his habit to play and sing during dinner, and to whistle while training.

There is Stonesnake, a man presumably in his thirties that refuses to call himself by any real name. Either his history pre-Night's Watch is recognizable, he ponders, or he's real name is just to ugly or stupid to be mentioned aloud. Qhorin praises him as the best climber in the entire order, leaving Tywin wondering why that is so important.

Ebben is described as the go-to man when you want information. "He can make any man give up his secrets," Commander Denys states, half-proudly, half-warningly. Immediately afterwards, the man offers to sit down and talk while drinking ale. Tywin is pretty sure it was a jape.

There is Squire Dalbridge, called as such for having allegedly squired for King Jaehaerys II. Tywin doesn't remember him, but that doesn't say much; he hadn't been in Aerys' father's court for all of his reign anyway. It is a bit surprising that his skills lie with bow and arrow, but he supposes archers are useful when it comes to repelling wildlings from the Wall.

There are many, many others; nearly two hundred men live in Shadow Tower, and Tywin knows it will take time for him to acknowledge them all. Time he absolutely has, of course.

He gets his first mission a fortnight after his arrival. A ranging meant to go until the Bridge of Skulls, where wildlings often go to cross the Wall and venture into the Seven Kingdoms. "It is a dangerous place," Commander Denys warns. "So you new recruits, follow Qhorin closely behind. Don't do anything without thinking at least twice and avoid direct confrontations at the bridge until you are acquainted with it and confident to move around without much fear of falling."

As it is the first ranging for some of them, Tywin included, Qhorin sticks to a route close to the Wall, never losing sight of it. "We'll go straight to Westwatch," he announces when they begin to march, "where we'll make camp. From there, it's a few hours ride to reach the Bridge of Skulls and the Gorge. With spyglasses, we can spot wildling groups from the castle still."

Ser Endrew, unfortunately, doesn't go with them, but Mance Rayder does, and he makes sure that no moment of their ride is spent in silence. When he isn't whistling or singing, he's talking, asking questions about his new 'brothers' and sharing stories about himself without prompting.

"My last name comes from the raiders killed by the Free Folk right after I was born," he tells them. "I was raised by men who swore off women and children. I don't even know how I got to be fed!"

"Maybe one of your fathers snuck a good ol' wildling with big teats to keep you warm and fed," Robert declares loudly, and the other man laughs in agreement. Tywin rolls his eyes.

It is a relief when they arrive at Westwatch-by-the-bridge. In order to escape Mance's incessant singing, he asks Qhorin to show where they can watch the Bridge from. With a knowing grin, he guides him upstairs. "Mance can be quite irritating at first," he says without preamble or prompting, "but he cheers us up when nothing or nobody else can. Be it his wildling blood, be it his queer upbringing, there aren't many men like him, for better or for worse."

Tywin doesn't reply to that, and only speaks up when Qhorin points him to a window. "You don't need a spyglass to catch sight of the bridge," he says, nudging him forward.

Indeed, lenses are unnecessary to spot the building and to notice the deep vale below it. No wonder Commander Denys called it 'dangerous'. From where he stands, there doesn't seem to be any benches protecting the bridge's edges. Falling off would be way too easy.

The wildling group trying to cross the Gorge is small and easily defeated. Two men fall off the bridge, while the other two drag the three women back north. Tywin asks if they are to pursue them, but Qhorin shakes his head. "Our job is to repel them," he clarifies, "not extinguish them. As long as the wildlings stay in their lands and leave us alone, we don't mess with them."

When they go back to Westwatch, Mance manages to pull him behind. "He isn't being entirely truthful, you know," he says, in a warning tone. "The Free Folk is the closest the Night's Watch has to an enemy. Peace is rarely an option. Qhorin is just more aware than the others that eliminating them all is a fruitless effort."

Tywin frowns. "You speak as if the Night's Watch is in the wrong."

Mance raises his arms in surrender. "Look, I'm grateful for my sworn brothers. I'm alive because they looked after me when my mother died. But that doesn't mean I turn a blind eye to their faults. Nothing is perfect, Lord Tywin, or fair. You should know that, huh."

He decides he doesn't want to talk any further with the half-wildling man and rides ahead, pointedly looking ahead and doing his best to ignore his singing.

If this is to be his life from now on, he's sure he's in for a long one, no matter how many years he has left.

Chapter Text

After their wedding, she and her new husband only stay in King's Landing for two days—for Prince Oberyn only came to be wed, and has left pending business in Sunspear.

When Jaime accepted Queen Elia's marriage offer, she sighed in defeat. No, Oberyn Martell was not a bad prospect, but he was going to take her away from Casterly Rock and from Jaime—the other half of her soul, the man she had wanted to be but was denied, the only one capable of pleasuring her and making her feel whole.

However, her twin did not bring only a problem, but an attempt at a solution as well. "Queen Elia knows about us," he began, but before she could jump at him for being an idiot, he added, "and proposed that I wed her so we can have excuses to see each other."

She gaped at him. "She just—she was okay with it?"

He nodded, looking surprised himself. "Apparently, living with Targaryens can leave a person very open-minded." He sat in front of her and grabbed her hands. "Cersei, this is the best arrangement we can get. Any other wife, and I'd have to invent the most elaborate and insane schemes to get scarce moments with you, even if we remained in Casterly Rock together. Yes, we'll be apart, but that's what letters are for, and, when we see each other, there will be little need to sneak out."

She smiled sweetly at him, but suddenly realized something. "What about my husband?"

He frowned; clearly, he had not thought of it. "I'll remind her to speak to him… but, if the Queen Mother does not oppose us, why should her brother? Dorne is way more accepting of lovers and bastards. Our choice of lover is just peculiar."

"Prince Oberyn is still a man," she countered. "Men don't take cheating as well as women. How did she even accept it in the first place? She's marrying you knowing she'll be cheated on from the start."

"She doesn't want to fuck anyone anytime soon," he replied. "She's marrying me because I don't want to fuck her either, which means she won't get pregnant again at the risk of her life. She nearly died giving birth to the king."

She frowned. "But that means you won't get heirs."

"I told her, and I'll tell you. I have Tyrion. I'm not our Father to shut him out and treat him as a bastard."

She didn't like the idea of Casterly Rock going to her imp (half) brother, but she knew Tyrion was where Jaime drew the line of following her blindlessly, so she didn't argue. Instead, she took him to bed.

Now, though, as she rides away from her twin, she wonders about her future. Will she and Jaime truly get to see each other often? Will they truly be able to get together when they do, or will there be too many watchful eyes on them? Granted, no one expects non-Targaryen siblings to be sexually involved, but still—it's not out of the realm of possibility.

Her new husband's voice draws her back to reality. "There are some things we must establish between us for this marriage to work," he says from his place across her in the carriage. She sucks a deep breath and straightens herself. "Surely you must know that in Dorne, marriages are usually open businesses." She nods. "Ours won't be an exception. I did not bring her here out of respect for you, but I have a woman waiting for me in Sunspear. Ellaria Sand."

"A bastard herself," she remarks, keeping her voice neutral.

"From Hellhot," he confirms. "I had no real intention to marry her or anyone else. I'm not overly fond of the obligations trueborn children are thrust into. I have four bastard daughters—you'll meet them all when we arrive—and I raise them to be free to pursue whatever they want."

"That's an illusion," she replies without thinking twice. "They are only free as long as they stay in Dorne. If they leave your protection, they'll be shunned by the realm."

He arches his eyebrows at her. She expects some sort of admonition, but he just smirks. "You are right, my lady wife. But here is the problem—none of us are truly free in this world. Be honest, were you free to refuse me?"

"No," she replies quietly. "The decision fell on my brother."

"See? I wasn't really free to refuse you either, not with the match being arranged by my queenly sister. She may have said we were, but we both know denying her would not go very well. Highborns like us have our chains, and bastards have theirs. The question is, which ones are easier to bear?" He crosses his leg. "If my daughters want a goal in life that can only be achieved by legitimization, I'll give it to them. What I'd rather avoid is legitimize them only for their 'improved' status to become a burden, after it's too late for me to, say, bastardize them again. Our children will already have duties from the moment they cry for the first time. Let it be enough."

She doesn't reply to his speech. Instead, she turns her gaze away from him and to the front window of their carriage. However, it seems that he isn't finished. "All of this, my lady," he continues, "to say that, just as you must not expect me to be faithful to you, I won't hold it against you if you take a lover—or more. Whoever they might be."

The emphasis on 'whoever' makes her turn her head back to him abruptly. "What do you mean?"

His smirk widens. "My sister told me it all," he replies easily. "I had thought of making you spill the truth out first, but that would be a bit heartless. I know who your lover is, my lady. While I do find your choice odd, I think it is… of good taste."

Wait, what? "You think—"

"I'd certainly not be opposed if you invited him to our bed."

She needs fresh air right now.

"That being said," he continues, completely oblivious to her inner turmoil, "I only ask you to own whatever bastards you get. Don't try to pass them up as legitimate."

"Oh," she breathes out. "Okay, okay." She's still on the part where her husband suggested having her brother in their marital bed.

"They will want for nothing," he adds, still oblivious. "They'll all be Sands, and I won't allow anyone to pester on their father's identity."

"Thank you?" Has it always been this hot inside this carriage? She raises a hand. "I need to relieve myself."

Believing her wholeheartedly, her husband asks for the rider to stop. The fresh air indeed does wonders, and she actually takes the opportunity to relieve herself, if only to prevent any need to stop for real less than an hour from now.

Since they went to Sunspear by land instead of by sea—because Oberyn wanted her to get to know the scenery—they do not arrive at the castle straight away. "The shadow city," her husband announces as they leave the carriage to mount on horses. "Nothing compared to King's Landing or Lannisport, I'm afraid, but useful all the same."

She is not really used to horse riding—she's not Lyanna Stark, after all—but thankfully Oberyn seems to be aware of this and rides slowly across the small town. Its narrow alleys and serpentine streets remind her of some parts of King's Landing—not ones she liked very much, admittedly. They pass by loud brothels and crowded inns, as well as other places she's not able to name their function for sure.

The hot sun—does winter even exist in Dorne?—makes her sweat profusely and regret her sartorial choice for this trip. Her long-sleeved crimson dress is completely unsuitable for her new home's weather, and she sighs in relief when they stop by the gates of Sunspear.

They are greeted by Oberyn's uncle and castellan, Manfrey Martell, as well as the local maester and the infamous Ellaria Sand, who holds a tall girl's hand—her husband's oldest daughter Obara.

"My dear Ellaria is not her mother," Oberyn tells her as they dismount their horses and cross the so-called Threefold Gate to the main entrance. "She has yet to give me a child—fair, given we only got together a year ago. Obara's mother was a whore from Oldtown." His tone gets slightly sad at the last words, leaving Cersei to wonder about her fate.

Ellaria is all warm smiles and suggestive glances. Am I going to be invited to join her and Oberyn's bed, just as he all but invited Jaime to ours?

She gets her own chambers, although they are next to her husband's and with a connecting door between them. "All of our marital chambers are like this," he explains as he helps her unpack. "Not everyone enjoys its uses—my brother Doran is not fond of straying in his marriage, for example—but I suppose we will."

She just nods, taking a look at her bed and wondering how many people it fits. No, no, don't think of orgies. You only just arrived.

Ellaria comes in to help with the unpacking and assesses her outfits. "My dear lady," she exclaims, "you will melt under the Dornish sun with these clothes!" I'm already melting in this dress, she wants to say. Her husband's lover seizes her up and down. "I'll lend you a dress of mine so we can go to the market tomorrow. As Ob's wife, you'll have tailored dresses, obviously—even I do—but those take time to be sewed, and you need proper wear sooner than this."

It's the first thing she hears since arriving that doesn't leave her slightly dizzy, so she smiles politely at her and thanks her for the offering.

It is rather clear, in Cersei's eyes, that Ellaria is in her earnest to impress her—perhaps even befriend her. Even if I have no say in what Oberyn does, she thinks, I can still drive her away if I so desire. If this was Jaime, she'd plot this woman's demise from hour one, but, since this is her arranged husband, she's willing to give her a chance. She's sure that, with time, she will be able to seize Oberyn all for herself. Ellaria will be merely a guest to our marital bed if I wish to, not the other way around.

Sunspear's lord treasurer is actually a lady, Alyse Ladybright. "My brother named her as soon as Elia summoned him to join her son's Small Council," he explains. "He knows numbers are not my forte, and that I would need help."

She watches Lady Alyse carefully as they sit down to have a discussion about House Martell's financial reserves. There doesn't seem to be anything between them, but, given the speeches Oberyn has given her already, one can never be too sure. When the lady brings up the subject of charging families to leave their children in the Water Gardens—whatever this place is—though, her husband's harsh reaction makes it clear that she is not someone he will take to bed.

"I'll take you to Water Gardens as soon as things calm down," he promises when Lady Alyse leaves the room. "It is a beautiful place with a rich story that is not compatible with her ideas, no matter how well-intentioned she is."

Later that day, Ellaria fulfills her promise and leads Cersei to the shadow city. "I know a place where they sell dresses that fit your body frame just fine," she says as she fetches her from the solar where she and her husband were sharing a meal moments prior.

When they are away from any prying ears, Ellaria speaks up. "I know who I am," she begins, "and my position here in Sunspear. I know yours as well. I know you outrank me in every possible way, and that, in your culture, my presence may be considered a threat." She stops walking, and Cersei turns to her. Her face is serious. "But I love Oberyn, and I'll fight to stay by his side if needed be. I don't mind being overshadowed by you, or seeing your future trueborn children getting all privileges mine never will. What I do mind is that if you try to separate us, for whatever reason." She runs a hand through her long hair. "I'm open for whatever kind of relationship you want to have with me. Accept me in Ob's life, and you'll find a great ally in me. Try to tear us apart, and you'll regret making me your enemy."

Cersei lifts her chin up. "Give me your word that you won't stand between me and my husband either," she says sternly, "and I won't ever insinuate that you should be sent away." If things go her way, she won't have to say a word; Oberyn will tire of Ellaria on his own volition, and the bastard woman won't have leverage against her.

"You have my word," she replies firmly. Then, her face melts into a warm smile. "Now, let's get you proper clothes before you turn into a puddle."

As the days go by, she meets the other three Oberyn's daughters aside from Obara: Nymeria, a child of nine born in Volantis; Tyene, a child of seven whose mother is a septa from the Reach; and three-year old Sarella, daughter of a Summer Islander captain—which explains why her skin is darker than her half-sisters'. She also meets Prince Doran's children: Arianne, a seven-year old pudgy girl, heir to Sunspear, and two-year old Quentyn.

Ellaria takes all five girls under her wing and looks after the boy as well, which means Cersei must do the same to fall in her husband's good graces. Sarella, Tyene and Arianne seem to like her right away, but Obara and Nymeria are distrustful.

"You are not here to steal Father away, are you?" Nym asks on their first meeting.

She gives her a sweet smile. "My darling, if anyone stole anyone, was your father who stole me. I'm just an addition to the family."

When Oberyn takes her to the Water Gardens, Arianne and Tyene sit by each of her sides. "You'll love the Water Gardens," the heir princess says excitedly. Then she whispers conspiratorially, "Sometimes I like to swim there naked."

She suppresses a grin and feigns horror. Arianne giggles and proceeds to tell her all of her 'adventures' in the aforementioned castle. When Oberyn told her more about the place, she was vaguely reminded of hearing about it from Maester Creylen: how a Martell prince built it for his Targaryen bride as one of the many gestures of peace between Dorne and the Crown.

Arianne and Tyene try to take her to her friends straight away, but Oberyn stops them. "Let poor Lady Cersei see the place first, girls," he says with a smile. "Then she can meet your friends."

The Water Gardens are indeed exquisite. The ground is paved by pink marble to mark where people can walk without stepping on the garden, and white marble covers the multiple terraces facing the pools. Oberyn mentions that the main palace, where House Martell sleeps when they stay over, is built almost entirely on marble from Tarth. There are orange trees all over the place, and even in winter flowers blossom—oh well, Cersei is truly convinced now that winter doesn't touch Dorne.

When they are done with walking around, Arianne and Tyene drag her to meet some of their friends: Sylva of House Santagar, Andrey of House Dalt and Garin, one of the many orphans who spend their days in the gardens. "It is tradition to open the Gardens for the smallfolk," Oberyn tells her later, "from Princess Daenerys' time. They are the reason I can't let Lady Alyse charge families for letting their kids come in."

"Can't you only charge noble families, then?" She suggests. "You could say it is to help fund the place, to keep it always clean and new-looking. I doubt they'd oppose."

He hums. "It's a fine idea," he agrees. "I wonder why Lady Alyse did not bring this alternative up. I'll talk to her when we go back. Now, lady wife, am I wrong to assume you are tired?"

"No," she sighs, "you're not."

"Too tired for alone time with your husband, though?"

To be fairly honest, she's not much in the mood for sex today—but Ellaria's warm smile comes to mind, and she gives him her best seductive grin.

Chapter Text

After the wedding night, Jaime and Elia don't have sex again—that was sort of the purpose of their marriage, after all. Instead, they spend their nights discussing the more practical terms of their union.

"I cannot spend all my time here," he says, "not if I'm meant to be a real Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West."

"I agree," Elia replies much to his surprise. He expected resistance. "Perhaps you should spend half a year there, half a year here."

He finds the idea excellent. But… "That would mean half a year apart for us. Is it a good idea?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Everyone here is well aware of your duties to the West and mine to the Crown. Assuming our married would happen in any other way would be stupid of their part. And anyway, when Aegon turns four-and-ten and becomes truly the king, without need of a regent, I'll move to Casterly Rock with you."

"Really?"

"Of course. By then, he will be all but a grown man, and I'll make sure Rhaenys stays in court even if married. He will have his grandmother, his uncle Viserys and his aunt Daenerys." They just got news that Widower Queen Rhaella gave birth to a girl. Apparently, she came close to dying of excessive bleeding, but the maester sent by Elia saved her life just in time. "He won't be alone, and I'll visit him whenever possible."

It is odd to share a bed with anyone not Cersei, but, for the sake of shielding themselves from court gossip, that's what they decide to do. It's the peak of winter, so they get under many layers of clothes and sheets, and sometimes he wakes up to find that he ended up cuddling his wife while asleep. It's weird, but warm, and she doesn't mind, so he decides he doesn't either.

In daily life, he drops the titles when talking to Elia, but in council reunions—which he ends up being a part of, due to his status as Warden and the regent's husband—he refers to her as 'Your Grace', as if they had never exchanged cloaks in a sept.

And there are many council meetings. Even with the absence of a Grand Maester—why is it taking so long for the Citadel to send one?—there are many things to discuss, from restoration of places damaged during the sack to decisions regarding the hundreds of wildfire caches.

While he was in the Rock, Elia had the City Watch investigate 'rumours' of wildfire barrells spread all over the city, claiming she heard them from Aerys' most trusted counselors—all pyromancers, they knew. They confirm what Jaime heard from the Mad King before killing him: they are everywhere, spread across the entire city's underground.

Lord Mace insists the capital must be evacuated before the caches explode, and while his idea is sensible, there is the question of where all these people will go. King's Landing is the most populated city in Westeros and one of the most crowded settlements in the realm. Lord Paxter wisely argues that there is no way they can explain the need of evacuation to the citizens without causing panic, and that they should find a way to have it safely removed.

"Any word from the Alchemists' Guild?" Lord Paxter asks at the beginning of the current meeting.

It's Lord Varys who answers. "I finally found a pyromancer willing to talk without fear of being imprisoned. He says that, if these wildfire caches were recently made, there should be no problem removing them to safer locations out of the city. Given we are in winter, the chilling night is the perfect moment to take them out in the open, as the cold thickens the liquid substance."

"When can it be done?" Elia asks.

"Whenever Your Grace allows it."

"Ask them how many people we need for the job, and if any specifications are needed. I—We want these barrels out of here as soon as possible."

The Spider nods. "It will be done, Your Grace."

Next order of business is the city's restoration. After Jaime promised to use Lannister gold to fund it—as the sack happened on a Lannister's orders—he often has to tone down Lord Mace's suggestions; the man seems eager to drain Casterly Rock's reserves, for whatever reason.

"Four Seasons Inn was only damaged on its front," he states dryly at one point. "There is no need to reform its insides."

"But they are decaying!"

"They already were before the sack. Therefore, it's not the Crown's problem at all, which means I won't give any more money than strictly necessary. If the Master of Coin wants to fund the inn's interior redesign, I believe King Aerys left the Crown's vaults full upon his death."

Their discussion is thankfully interrupted by Aegon's cries in the corner. Elia turns to them and fixes her gaze on Rhaenys, who claims to have dropped him on accident, followed by hushed apologies. The king stops crying on his own accord, and the meeting is resumed, although with a different subject.

"Valemen are protesting against the punishment you gave Jon Arryn, Your Grace," Lord Grafton informs. "As you established, the lordship of the Eyrie must pass to his heir, which, following traditional rules of succession, falls on Harrold Hardying, a baby of age with His Grace. Many bannermen do not accept this choice, claiming he isn't a true Arryn."

"What is the boy's relation to Jon Arryn?" Jon Connington asks.

"He is his late sister's only living grandson. Lady Alys only had one son, who died in infancy, so continuation of her line relied on her daughters, who were all born as Waynwoods due to their father. Only two of them bore heirs. One was Lady Elissa, who married Denys Arryn, a distant cousin. Unfortunately, all three of them died during the war, although under different circumstances each. The other daughter of Lady Alys who had children was Lady Myranda, who married Ser Yves Hardying. That's where baby Harrold comes from. As Jon Arryn has no living children, and likely won't have any now that Lady Lysa got their marriage annulled, I had to look into his siblings' line. His brother did leave a son behind, Lord Elbert, but he also died in the war. As such, Harrold is the heir to the Eyrie."

Prince Doran shifts on his seat. The action seems to pain him, as he grimaces a little. "Why not pick one of Lady Alys' daughters then? I understand that this is not Dorne, but this isn't the Iron Throne either. Could a lady not inherit, since the next male claimant is a baby?"

"All dead, disappeared or taken by the Faith," Lord Grafton replies with a sigh. "The next pick would be the Arryns of Gulltown, but they are even more distant kin."

Elia sighs. "They want the Crown to choose another Lord of the Eyrie for them?" She asks.

"Either that, or restore Jon Arryn's titles."

"I won't reverse his punishment," she states dryly. "As for picking another heir, I can concede it if they bring me acceptable suggestions. Do they have them yet?"

"No, Your Grace."

"Then please. Lord Grafton, send them this message. When they bring suitable claimants, we'll analyze the candidates and pick one, if they can't reach a consensus."

Grafton confirms it will be done, and they move on to the issue of the Kingsguard. Ser Gerold says he is tirelessly looking for replacements for Jaime—at that he nods at the former sworn brother—as well as two Kingsguard slain in the Trident, Prince Lewyn Martell (Elia's uncle) and Ser Jonothor Darry. Jaime has good memories of the late prince, but the ones of Darry were not as good. Regardless, the two were great losses, hard to replace—especially when most of the good candidates, according to the Lord Commander, fought on the rebels' side. "It is awkward at best to name them for the Kingsguard," he argues, "if not straight up disrespectful."

Half an hour goes before Connington declares the meeting finished, much to Jaime's relief—though he has to admit, enduring council meetings is a hundred times better than standing guard to Aerys. As bored and irritated as he gets, he never feels the need to go away inside. He goes to his favorite activity while in the Red Keep: playing with the princess.

Finally, the Citadel sends a Grand Maester. Medwick is a man nearing his forties and was born a Tyrell, although he claims to have given up his last name upon forging his first maester chain. Jaime doesn't believe him for one moment, but neither him or anyone else is supposed to question the Citadel's decisions anyway.

However, the man seems earnest to prove himself. On his first day at the castle, he asks permission to enter the solar where he and Elia are breaking their fast—an habit quickly developed after they realized they were both early risers. "Your Grace, Lord Jaime," he greets after coming in. "I come here to bear some… news, regarding the events transpired in Dorne during the war. Events related to your late husband, Prince Rhaegar."

Elia stops lifting her cup midair and places it back on the table slowly. Jaime clears his throat. "Do you wish for me to leave?" He asks, because Rhaegar is not a subject either of them talk about if they can avoid it, and Elia has not given him any real information on him after she told him and Cersei about Lyanna's death and son.

She shakes her head, however. "I have a feeling I'll need someone to vent to," she explains as she motions for the maester to come closer. He's touched that she chooses him to be that someone, but refrains from saying it. It's not the right moment to do so.

Maester Medwick sits between them by the small circular table. "This document came to us midwar," he begins, placing a parchment roll on a clean part of the table. "We were well aware of the political crisis of the time, so the few of us who saw the document hid it away and stayed silent about it. However, the information here is too important to be ignored."

Elia unrolls the parchment and reads it in silence. Then, abruptly, she all but throws it at him. "Read it," she says snappingly.

Slowly—because otherwise he won't understand a thing—he begins to read it, and tries not to gasp at what he sees. It is a document signed by a Dornish septon, detailing the wedding ceremony between Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, followed by an annulment of the prince's first marriage. Just as he is about to ask why, he finds the answer a couple paragraphs below, in which the septon details the conversation in which Rhaegar tried to argue against the annulment, citing all cases of poligamy among Targaryens, but the septon refused to 'bow' to him.

"I don't understand," he says, finally. "I'm sorry, reading is not easy for me."

Elia seems resolute not to speak, so it's Maester Medwick who answers. "The text implies, at least to us in the Citadel, that the annulment was forced upon Rhaegar after he already married Lady Lyanna and consummated said marriage. As if it was an afterthought."

"It most likely was," Elia says dryly. "Are there any copies of this document?"

"Not that we know of, Your Grace. Given the septon died of a pain in his belly before the war ended, no more will be written about this."

"Good. I want this burned and forgotten. A forced annulment is as valid as a forced marriage, and if the septon did not consider Rhaegar's second marriage valid without annulling his first, then it isn't valid."

"I figured as much, Your Grace," the maester replies, nodding. "I'll leave it for you to do it, though, as it would be unethical on my part."

"Of course," she says, more gently this time. "Is there anything else, Maester Medwick?" He shakes his head in negative. "Then you are dismissed."

He stands up, bows to her and to him, and promptly leaves. For a long while, they don't exchange a word, even when Jaime stands up and grabs the parchment to throw into the fire—Elia only nods in permission when he raises the roll at her.

When he sits down, she begins to speak. "I always knew Rhaegar's whereabouts. I knew his intentions with Lyanna ever since he had the fabulous idea of crowning her in Harrenhal while I was right in front of him." She shakes her head. "You weren't there, were you?"

"No," he replies quietly. "Aerys sent me here before the tourney even began."

"Good. It wasn't a pretty sight."

"I heard that all smiles died when he crowned her."

"And it's the truth. Even Lady Lyanna's. It was like he had outed her as his paramour. Even if nothing else had happened afterwards, her honor was stained." She inhales sharply. "It was premeditated on his part. He told me he'd do it if he won the tourney, because it was the safest way to talk her into meeting him after the final feast. I told him how terrible of an idea it was, but did he listen to me?"

He shifts uncomfortably on his seat. "Beg your pardon, Your Grace—"

"There is no need for this formality when we are alone Jaime," she corrects him gently.

"Still… why did he want to talk to her so badly?"

She gets a faraway look in her eyes, and it takes a while for her to answer. "Rhaegar lived his life based on prophecies," she begins. "When he was younger, he believed himself to be the prince that was promised, and that his fate was tied to his birth under the flames of Summerhall."

He doesn't like the hollowness in her voice, but says nothing as she goes on. "Our marriage was not built on passion, but we were… friends, so to speak. Rhaegar would tell me all about his studies on prophecies and how he believed there was an urgent need to bring them to life.

"I never fully understood him, I must admit that. Why did he think he was the one meant to fulfill those prophecies? Why did he think they should come to fruition so quickly?" She sighs. "When I nearly died birthing Aegon, Maester Pycelle stated that a third pregnancy would kill me… I needed comfort, and he never gave it to me. Instead, he obsessed over getting a 'third dragon head'—a third child from his seed, so all three of his children could defeat whatever great unknown evil looming over us."

Her voice grows angrier at each word, and Jaime swallows all of his questions as she speaks. "I don't really know why he picked Lyanna Stark. When I asked, he gave me a lengthy and confusing explanation. After realizing I'd never truly understand his reasoning, and that I would not be able to stop him, I directed my efforts to guide him into doing what he wanted in the least damaging way possible. He did not bother listening, and look at what happened.

"I don't think he ever stopped to consider the political repercussions of his actions. If he ever did, he must have concluded the world's salvation was more important than 'petty squabbles' from nobles who did not know better. I doubt he ever thought his actions would lead to his and Lyanna's deaths. It could have easily led to his son's death, had his uncle not arrived when he did."

She doesn't say anything else, and Jaime doesn't comment. It's too much information to process, especially so early in the morning.

And to think I once admired Rhaegar and deemed him one of the best men in the realm, he ponders. How a man can change once he's out of the public eye. This last war was way more politically complex than Jaimed cared to understand; all he knew was the he had been Aerys' hostage to prevent his father from raising arms against him. Oh, and that it truly began after the Mad King burned Lord Stark and his heir for no justifiable reason.

But to think that, in the shadows, it began when Rhaegar decided that everything was fair and valid to bring some prophecies to life, including the abduction of a betrothed lady to impregnate her…

"Elia," he calls, trying not to choke on his own voice, "do you know if… Lady Lyanna was willing?"

Her shoulders fall. "No, Jaime. I have no idea." She finishes her cup of tea. "I'm sorry I dumped all of this on your lap. It's not anyone's idea of a good breakfast time."

"It's alright," he says. "You needed an ear to vent to, and if not your husband, then who would it be?"

His words were meant to reassure her, but apparently they lead her to some epiphany. She stands up and declares, "I'll recall my former ladies." She looks down at him. "I'll need ears to vent to when you go to Casterly Rock, after all."

Uncertain of what other response he should give, he merely nods and follows her out of the solar.

Aside from the late Ashara Dayne, Elia only had three other women as her ladies-in-waiting: Lady Larra Blackmont, Lady Alyse Qorgyle and Lady Valena Manwoody. She adds her goodsister, Lady Mellario of Norvos—who came with her husband, leaving their two kids to Prince Oberyn's care—to the group and, per Lord Paxter's appointment, calls for Lady Lynesse Hightower.

Elia suggests summoning her brother and Cersei to come with the Dornish ladies, but Jaime says it isn't necessary. "By the time they get here, I'll have to go back to the Rock. I know we agreed on six moons, but I didn't know I was going to stay when I came here."

"I understand," she agrees. "Spend your six moons there, then come back here. I'll find an excuse for either Oberyn and Cersei to come visit, or for us to go there."

"You have no idea how grateful I am," he says earnestly and sincerely.

She smiles. "You saved my life and my children's from your own father's bannermen, stood in Aegon's defense before half of the realm, accepted your position as Warden when you clearly didn't want to and saved me from social climbers with our marriage. This is a small concession in comparison to all you've done."

His throat is too constricted for him to speak, so he just nods.

When the day of his departure comes, Rhaenys asks to come along. "No, my sweet princess," he tells her. "You must stay by your brother's side. I promise I'll bring you to the Rock when he learns to use the privy."

Rhaenys nods enthusiastically, then runs to tell her mother that Aegon must learn to use the privy in two hours. The queen laughs and shakes her head at him with amusement. "You spoil her too much," she chastises softly.

"What can I say? She's the real reason I married you."

They laugh and wave each other goodbye.

Chapter Text

Aunt Genna comes to drag him out of the library when the sun is already down. "You won't skip supper," she says, gently but firmly. "Jaime won't appreciate your help if you starve yourself to do it."

He nods, conceding her point, and marks the page he stopped at before following her out. Ever since they received a raven announcing Jaime was the new Lord of Casterly Rock, Tyrion took upon himself to search every book about subjects that could help him. He knows his dear brother does not get along well with books, so he decided he'd do the reading while Jaime did the ruling.

Tyrion was barely able to hide his delight when word of Father's permanent departure came to them, and only made the effort when he saw his aunt and uncles were not as pleased—and when he found out Uncle Kevan had been sent away to the Wall too. Every time Tywin Lannister spent in Casterly Rock was a hellish one for Tyrion, and knowing his father would no longer torment him was a blessing—and so was knowing Cersei, his other tormenter, wedded Oberyn Martell and moved to Dorne.

Everyone was sad to learn that the twins got married without their family present, but Jaime's letter explained that Queen Elia did not want to draw too much attention to their weddings, given that the city just recovered from a sack. Aunt Genna disagreed, claiming that a double wedding—which included a royal one—would have been a great source of entertainment for the small folk. While he found her reasoning sensible, he could also understand the Queen Mother's point of view. People are not so easily predictable; the small folk's rejoicement at the weddings was just as likely as their revolt. A quiet double wedding was a safe option, especially considering how fragile the Crown's peace looked.

Tyrion may only be recently turned eleven years old, but politics are a passion of his, so he always tries to understand the current predicaments of the westerlands and Westeros as a whole. His father never bothered to answer his questions, but Aunt Genna and Uncle Kevan always did their best, which was usually enough.

After reading an account on his House's royal history, he is currently reading about economic principles—how money is made, how to determine a coin's value, how prices are established etc. He plans to take a look at Father's accounts before Jaime comes back from King's Landing.

For now, though, he must care for himself by eating supper and going to bed. Aunt Genna is right; his brother won't be very grateful if finds out that Tyrion neglected his health to help him out.

By the time Jaime arrives, Uncle Tygget has been teasing him as 'Casterly Rock's treasurer' for days on end. It matters not; he is confident his brother will appreciate his knowledge and ideas.

He still waits a whole day before approaching him on the subject. "Jaime, may I have a moment of your time?" He asks.

His brother looks at him in confusion. "You're my brother," he states. "You don't need to ask for permission to spend time with me, especially when I'm not holding an audience or a meeting. Come sit with me. What do you want to talk about? I see you are carrying heavy books."

As Tyrion tries to make himself comfortable, Jaime grabs said books and places them on the table. "I'm here to talk about money," he says without preamble. "More specifically, how to get money for our house."

Jaime frowns. "Is it a real concern? Aren't our mines enough?"

Tyrion shakes his head. "While you were in King's Landing, I checked Father's account and, along with Uncle Tygget, checked the remaining mines. If our calculations are right, they'll run dry in less than thirty years. It sounds like a long time, but… we wouldn't even be forty by then."

His brother shifts uncomfortably on his seat. "So we're bound to turn poor while we're still in this world," he says, sounded dejected. "Our house will crumble before we die."

"It doesn't have to be that way," he argues. "In fact, I'd say it is best for everyone if it doesn't. You see… Casterly Rock has the greatest household in the westerlands. We employ more people than the greatest farmers. If we lose our wealth and our power, those men lose their jobs and their source of income. The other Houses won't be able to hire all those people, which meant starving and dying families, which leads to an economic crisis. House Lannister's power keeps the entire West going. If the people even suspect we're running out of gold, they'd grow desperate."

Jaime takes a sharp breath. "You've thought long about this," he points out.

"It's not like I had much else to do without Father and Cersei to run away from."

He lets out a mirthless laugh. It's clear those two family members are not a subject his brother wants to touch on. Tyrion has no memories of Jaime and Father truly getting along; like everyone else, Tywin saw his children as cyvasse pieces to be moved around as he pleased. Cersei was a different story altogether, though. The twins were always extremely close; Tyrion saw that ever since he was old enough to understand the world around him. They behaved as if they were two halves of the same soul, completely in sync, even though, at least for Tyrion, their personalities clashed.

Cersei is ambitious, vicious and cold; Jaime is dutiful, warm and caring. Cersei wants to be powerful and feared; Jaime wants to be loved and respected. Cersei's eyes are pale and glassy; Jaime's shine like emeralds. Still, when together, they always moved as one—usually at the detriment of Jaime's otherwise good demeanor. Tyrion always loved Jaime, but he liked him better when he was away from their sister.

His brother takes him out of his reverie with a question. "Did you come up with a solution, then?"

"A few ideas," he replies. "First of all, I don't think we should rely our wealth on gold mining. As Maester Jaremy points out in his economy book, the more coins a society has circulating, the less valuable they get. A golden dragon could lose value to the point one would need two of them to buy the same item. We've historically kept most of our gold to ourselves to control this phenomenon, but it's an inevitability. Relying on money production alone is too risky of a business, especially as our mines run dry." Jaime nods wordlessly. Tyrion takes them as an incentive to continue. "So, while turning all of our gold and silver to coin is tempting, I say we should direct some of it to artesanal production. Jewelry, decoration, dishware and furniture adornment… this kind of thing."

His brother hums. "Our house has traditionally used gold in our armors and sword hilts," he comments. "Are you saying we should expand it to sellable goods as well?"

"Luxury items are a thing," he replies. "A huge thing, depending on the region. Take the Reach and the crownlands, for example. Since you are to split your time between Casterly Rock and King's Landing, you could find many potential trade partners."

Jaime nods. "Any other ideas?"

"Yes. The West has mines not only of gold and silver, but of many other metals. We should either take over some of them or fund our bannermen to mine them for us—in which case we get our money through taxes. And… Castamere."

His brother arches his eyebrows. "What about it?"

"House Reyne was once almost as rich as House Lannister thanks to their keep's underground mines. That was why they thought they could successfully challenge our family in the first place. But those mines have been untouched ever since Father sealed them in order to kill everyone inside the castle. There is no reason not to reopen them, and I think it's best if we do it before another House does and takes all the gold and silver for themselves."

Jaime glances at the horizon for several moments, brows furrowed in thought. Finally, he says, "Castamere is the fastest idea to work on. Give me a fortnight to solve all small issues here, and we'll go there to assess whatever remains that could be useful."

As promised, Jaime leaves Casterly Rock in Aunt Genna's hands as he and Tyrion depart. The ride to Castamere takes a sennight, and would have taken longer had Jaime not decided to ride straight to the place instead of stopping by other castles on the way, such as Greenfield and Wyndhall.

Uncle Gerion comes with them, and he and Jaime entertain Tyrion with their stories. He hopes one day he will have his own share of adventures to tell them, but for now he'll content himself with hearing theirs.

As per his uncle's account, they indeed find no actual castles upon their arrival, although enough structures remain for them to be sure they are in the right place. Jaime looks tense as he takes a look at the burned ruins, as if the sight brings him unpleasant memories. Maybe it does, he thinks, remembering his brother's refusal to talk about his service under Aerys.

"How sure can we be that the mines are still… useful?" He asks his uncle. "This place has gone untouched since the revolt, and it's been over twenty years ever since."

"I have no idea," he admits, "but there is only one way to find out."

Jaime nods, dismounts and calls for the workers they brought along. "We ought to demolish the entrances my father made to seal the people inside the castle's underground," he explains once more. "Be careful, though. As far as we know, there is a huge mass of water inside."

A man raises his hand, and Jaime nods at him in allowance. "Would it not be better if we break into it from above, then, m'lord?" He suggests. "That way, we can check how much water there is still inside without drowning."

"That's a great idea, actually," his brother replies with a smile. "What is your name, lad?"

"Yan, m'lord."

"Well then, thank you for your input, Yan. Do we have the resources to break the ruined floor?"

"Yes, m'lord," another man replies. "It would require the same tools we'd use to break the walls. In fact, it might be easier to break this floor. I advise we are all careful when stepping on it, since there must be a huge lot of water underneath.

Finally dismounting from his horse, with Uncle's help, Tyrion watches in awe as Jaime takes the second man's (Ferdinand) suggestion as well and guides the workers as if he was a lord commander. In one thing Father was right, he thinks. Jaime was meant for this, for lordship and command. He truly is a natural leader.

He helps his uncle set up a tent for the three of them as the men work. In the meantime, Jaime asks for Tyrion to remind him of what they should expect to find. "If the mines are preserved," he says, "we should find twenty-one gold mines and forty silver mines. I cannot say how full they will be, though."

"It's still a lot", his brother replies. "It should delay our dry-out for a decade, at least, which gives us more than enough time to come up with other ways to keep our economy running, as you put it back in the Rock."

Tyrion nods, his delight to have Jaime listening to him and taking his suggestions into serious consideration amazing him.

Their conversation is, however, interrupted when Yan shows up. "We broke in," he announces, "and there is a lake underneath, m'lord."

Jaime glances at Tyrion and Uncle Gerion, and follows Yan to the site, with his kin following him. A strange smell greets them when they reach their destination. A big crate is open in the middle of the burned castle. The water is dark green, close to black. "Do you think—" Jaime begins, but interrupts himself to take a deep breath. "Do you think this color and smell… could it be due to the corpses?"

Yan frowns. "They died two decades ago, m'lord. Surely there are no more bodies underwater?"

"We're talking about over two hundread dead people," Uncle Gerion offers. "Even if they no longer exist, their remains must have changed the water's composition. Bodies don't just pop out of existence, you know. This… this is their graveyard."

Yan visibly shudders. "Well," he says, "we can't know how deep this… lake is due to the coloring, but I think we could break the floor until we reach one of the sealed entrances. What do you think, m'lord?"

Jaime hums. "How long do you think it will take, Yan?"

"A couple days at best. We've covered this much in one afternoon already… Ferdinand was right, breaking this floor is rather easy."

"Good," he says. "Then do it your way. Hopefully there will be no actual bodies when we drain this water out."

There are, in fact, actual bodies when they empty the mines of the soiled water. The smell alone makes some of the men sick, and only Jaime stands it long enough to enter the opened tunnel. It makes Tyrion wonder what he faced in King's Landing that could have him grow used to the smell of rotten corpses.

After a while, though, he comes out looking a bit greenish. "I wasn't able to check as many mines as I wanted to," he admits, "but the ones I saw look untouched. Let's… let's leave it open for a few days, for the smell to go away. Then we'll take the corpses out and burn them. Then we'll assess the mines." He runs a hand through his face. "We'll go to Ashemark and spend the next sennight there. There is no need for any of us to endure this smell until it goes away."

Relief is clear in everyone's face as they go pack their things. Jaime takes a moment to recover before helping him and Uncle Gerion undo their camp and pack up. "It's horrible," he whispers. "Some bodies are practically intact, aside from having their hands and feet lost, for… whatever reason." He shakes his head. "Do maesters know what happens when a corpse stays underwater?"

"I never read about it," Tyrion replies.

"Never heard anything about it either," their uncle adds.

Jaime sighs. "Anyway," he continues, "it's an ugly sight. I saw children. Baby corpses. How—how could Father do that to infants?"

It is Uncle who gives him an answer. "For the same reason he wanted our king, his sister and his mother dead," he says gravely. "Kill a lord, and their children and grandchildren will avenge him. Kill the lord and their entire family, there will be no one to take revenge on you."

"It's better not to kill anyone at all," Jaime huffs. "That way nobody will feel any need to avenge anyone."

"Perhaps," he concedes, "but it was this… event that restored our House's reputation."

Jaime glares at their uncle. "What a reputation," he snarls. "No wonder Father and Aerys were friends for so long. He was Aerys without the mad rambling." He stands up, though not without difficulty. "And look at what happened to the king. Being respected and being feared are very different things. I'd rather be respected than feared. That's what builds a legacy."

At that moment, Jaime has looked more like a proud lion than their father ever did.

Ashemark is home to Jaime's closest friend, Addam Marbrand. For that reason, they are received with all the flaunt one can come up with in short notice. All of Jaime's men are invited inside the castle to feast alongside the lords, even though they still sleep outside the building itself.

Addam's father, Lord Damon, asks about his sister Darlessa—Uncle Tygget's wife—then about their family. Jaime tells them about Cersei with a lingering sadness in his eyes, but they light up again as he talks about their cousins through Aunt Genna. Finally, Addam himself asks about their work in Castamere.

"As my brother Tyrion wisely made his case," he says, "even Casterly Rock's mines are bound to run dry someday. We don't know when—hopefully not while we're alive—but they eventually will. As such, he suggested we got hold of the unexplored mines. Since we are in peacetime, why not reopen Castamere's mines now?"

It's a half-truth, of course—they know the Rock's mines will likely dry out before they die—but, as much as Jaime trusts his childhood friend, it would not be wise to spill everything out. Addam may not use the information against them, but his father could, and so could any other member of House Marbrand who shared supper with them. Even the workers, who are still unaware of Casterly Rock's mines' state, could spread word of them running dry, which could have very unfortunate consequences.

House Lannister's power always relied on their wealth, just like their predecessor, House Casterly. If they fell into poverty, they'd lose their status faster than one could blink. As such, it's important that they find other sources of income before it's too late.

They do spend a week lazing around Ashemark. Jaime and Addam spar twice a day in the yards, while Tyrion spends much of his time with Uncle Gerion and Lord Damon discussing politics and economy. Like Jaime, Lord Damon seems to find his input valuable. "Have you always been like this," he asks, "or is it an ability you developed after your brother returned from King's Landing?"

"That's Tyrion at his finest," his uncle answers for him. "Yes, he's always been like this, but he's shining under Jaime's rule. Our dear Lord is great at leadership, but terrible at reading, so his brother does it for him."

Lord Damon nods, humming in approval. "A fruitful partnership, from what I've seen. I pray you two can achieve great things together, Lord Tyrion. If this is what you do at one-and-ten, I look forward to seeing you as a grown man."

He can't help but beam at the man.

When they go back to Castamere, Addam goes along with them, claiming to be curious about the untouched mines. Tyrion briefly wonders if he wants to convince Jaime to let House Marbrand mine the gold and silver there, but he quickly brushes the thought aside; his brother made it clear the mining would be done by House Lannister, not anyone else.

(Frankly, the Marbrands had twenty years to claim Castamere for themselves if they wanted its mines—the same goes for the Westerlings in the Craig, who also live close by. Lord Tywin would have certainly given them permission, as both houses supported him in the failed rebellion. He doubts he'd dare try to claim these mines for his family now that the opportunity was essentially lost.)

The smell is still there, but lessened enough to allow them inside the tunnels. Besides, Uncle Gerion came up with the idea of them wearing pieces of cloth on their noses to shield them from said smell, which proves to be efficient. As the workers collect the corpses—some more preserved than others, and all indeed oddly missing hands and feet—Jaime, Uncle, Tyrion and Addam go further inside to inspect the mines.

Some of them are clearly half-emptied—predictable, given the Reynes obviously mined their gold back in their days—but most are either full or close enough to it. "This would take decades to mine," Addam comments.

"I wouldn't say decades," Jaime counters. "I plan to move half of Casterly Rock's miners here, and they are known for their speed. But I'd still give them at least ten years to empty all of this."

"You'll die richer than your father," he blurts out. "They said Tywin Lannister shitied gold, they'll say you burp gold after supper."

Jaime throws his head back and laughs out loud. "Shit gold, burp silver. What a reputation."

"There are worse reputations to have."

"True enough."

Despite the putrid smell, they manage to have a good time before heading back to the surface.

They drop Addam back in Ashemark before going back to the Rock. Jaime left a few workers under Uncle Gerion's watchful eyes; he is to come back home after his brother sends a trustworthy member of their household to look after the workers and ensure they would steal the gold or the silver. "I think we should direct part of the gold to pay for the reconstruction of Tarbeck Hall," he muses on their way back. "Rebuilding Castamere is counterproductive, I think, but Tarbeck Hall was the closest castle back then. I could give it to either Uncle Gerion or Uncle Tygget—maybe even Aunt Genna, if her husband agrees to change his name for Lannister. We could even rename the castle. What do you think of Lann Hall, in honor of our founding father?"

Tyrion nods. "A small keep like Clegane's would be enough, I suppose. No need to rebuild that entire thing."

"Maybe not, but Clegane's Keep is too small. No respectable Lannister would accept living in a castle of that size. We can keep it simple but big. I was thinking of Crakehall. You've never been there, have you?" He shakes his head. "It's smaller on the inside than you'd think, but it's because the castle is built around a large open yard. We could do something like that. It will carry the Lannister trademark pomp, but without actually costing much, I think."

"We need an actual architect to come up with it," he argues.

"If Maester Creylen is not up to the task, I'm sure he write to the Citadel to summon one who can."

"True enough."

Jaime smiles at him and reaches to huffle his hair. "I'm glad I have you with me, brother. I'd be lost without you, you know that, right?"

Tyrion smiles; words are lost somewhere in his throat, so he just nods.

Chapter Text

As the months go by, Jaime realizes how tiresome it is to rule, and is grateful he escaped the role of Regent—and that his role as Warden of the West is not as different as being Lord of the Westerlands, as the ironborn all but rule themselves. He doesn't want to even imagine how it would be if he was, say, Warden of the South, watching over the Reach and Dorne—although, come to think of it, the Dornish probably rule themselves as well.

He has to hold audiences every five days to cover all problems he has to solve. Most of the time, he only has to worry about the common folk who live around Casterly Rock and in Lannisport; however, he often has to clean up some random conflict between his bannermen or help a minor lord with a problem—something that, every now and then, requires a loan.

"Is anyone keeping track of how much gold I'm lending to these people?" He asks one night over supper.

"If Tyrion isn't," his uncle Tygett replies, "then nobody is."

With his mouth full, his brother nods that yes, he's keeping track of it. He sighs in relief, but then another matter comes to his mind. "How do I deal with payback? I mean, when do I call them to collect it, and how?"

All he knows about loans are the story behind the Reyne-Tarbeck revolt. His grandfather forgave them for… reasons, which in the long run led to the massacre. He doesn't think this story is useful for his current situation.

"Have you not established a deadline with them?" His aunt asks.

He frowns. "A year for Lord Banefort, fifteen months for Lord Yew." He remembers being more flexible with the latter due to his House's poorer status. House Banefort is one of the Lannisters' main bannermen, according to his memory; getting the money back should not be a problem.

"You will charge Banefort in your next visit here, then," Aunt Genna muses, "and Yew in the other one. You can demand all the money at once, or negotiate parcels. It's what I saw your father doing."

The mere mention of his father makes him want to do things differently, but he forces himself to think. None of what his aunt just said sounds unfair or violent, so there is no reason for him not to stick to it. "What if they delay their payment?"

"Charge fees," Tyrion replies after taking a sip of lemonade. "I read it is an effective way to make sure your debts are paid fast, and you even get more money out of it. If they don't pay, however…"

Silence falls, and he's sure he knows everyone is thinking of Jaime's loud opinions about his father's actions in Tarbeck Hall and Castamere. "I have a whole year to think about it," he decides. "I'm sure I can find a way that doesn't require those lords to meet the Stranger."

They nod, and the dinner goes through without the subject being touched on again.

Money is not the only thing Jaime has to concern himself with, though. Of course, one could argue money is always involved in one way or another, but sometimes it isn't the main issue.

Uncle Gerion reminds him of his duty to supervise the Rock's mines every now and then and get acquainted with the workers, so they won't feel so tempted to steal the gold they mine. "Their work is hard and often dangerous," he explains. "If they feel you are taking them for granted, they'll feel inclined to get gold for themselves."

He has been to the mines before, as a small child, but never bothered to pay attention to the people there, or even to what was done there.

Food is another issue. Although winter is not as harsh in the West as it in the riverlands, the Vale or—worse—in the North, it still hinders food production, which may impact the next season—as it's happening now, since autumn turned into summer way too fast for the fields to grow again. As it often happens, Jaime finds that, in order to prevent a crisis, he must import from somewhere, even if in small amounts. I'll talk to Lord Mace when I go back to King's Landing, he decides. Mayhaps my position grants me a better deal. Not that he knows what, exactly, he will tell him. Negotiations were never his forte; he never had to do it, frankly speaking.

He remembers Tyrion talking about the Reach as potential buyers of luxury items, but those are still under early production stages. He's only recently asked for a local jeweler to design new stuff they could produce and sell as Casterly Rock-exclusive—Aunt Genna's idea—so it is unlikely he will have something to offer Lord Mace by the time he has to go to the capital.

The lack of food is worrisome not only for his own people, but it increases the risk of raids from the ironborn, infamous for not sewing. Jaime can't remember how his father's relationship with House Greyjoy was, although he doubts it was a good one. Is there anything he can do to protect the western shore from being attacked, aside from surrounding it with ships and loyal captains? He knows House Farman has always been one of their main defenders, but they've often been insufficient to stop the ironborn from sacking villages and kidnapping women and children.

He should ask Tyrion if he has read anything about House Greyjoy and the Iron Islands in general. If he gets his uncles and aunt to join, perhaps together they find something they can exploit in order to establish an alliance that will prevent raids. He's pretty sure the ironborn won't marry a mainlander they didn't steal, but there might be something else he can use in his favor.

On top of that, there is the issue his cousin (or 'uncle', given how old he is) Damion brought to him two days ago: his daughter Lanna, who is only two years younger than Jaime himself, was dishonored by Antario Jast, a green squire of his age. Lanna's brother Lucion came with his father to rage about the matter, but Jaime shut him off and said he'd talk to Lanna herself before making any decision. Personally, he finds it odd that Damion would consult him on the matter, but he assumes it's a remnant of his father's rule, in which everything concerning a Lannister should go through him first.

Well, no matter. At least, with this approach, he can get to see whether Lanna gave herself away willingly or was forced. He has no intention to marry her off to a rapist. He sighs. He should have already talked to her, but the loans matter distracted him. Not knowing where to find her, he fetches a servant to summon her to his study—which he usually leaves for Tyrion, as he's the one who actually studies. Lanna comes to him half an hour later, and the two have a heartfelt conversation. His cousin tears up at the mention of Antario and admits to being in love with him. "But does he love you back, Lanna?", he asks. "I'd hate to give your hand away to a man who is only using you."

She glances away. "I don't know for sure," she admits, "but does it matter? Don't we have to wed, since we laid together?"

"Your father requested my aid on the matter," he replies, "which means I'm free to give or deny permission to carry this wedding through. As far as I know, your affair has been kept hidden between us and House Jast, right?" She nods. "Then your reputation should not be damaged. If the Jasts try to taint your reputation by spreading rumours of a whorish behavior on your part, we'll pay back by claiming he took you by force."

Her eyes go wide at that. "You'd do all this just to make sure I wouldn't marry a boy who's only using me?"

He sighs. "I'm not my father, Lanna. I care about my family, or at least I try to. I've seen the damage this kind of marriage can do at court, and I'd rather spare you the pain. Is Lord Antario nearby?"

"He should be," she replies. "I met him in Lannisport."

"Then take me to him," he asks. "I'm afraid I can't recognize him without help."

Antario Jast is all bones and no muscles or fat, which gives him an unremarkable look. Jaime can only hope he has a charming personality to compensate for it, otherwise he cannot fathom why his cousin fell for him.

As it turns out, his personality is just as unremarkable—he lacks the fire most Lannister carry—but he's agreeable and seems to fancy Lanna as much as she does him. Jaime gives his blessing for the wedding under the condition it is held in the Rock at earliest. "I won't force you to drink moon tea if your father didn't do it already," he tells his cousin, who confirms her father has not even suggested it, and she did not take it. "If his seed quickened, it's better if you are already married by the time you begin to show."

Since Lanna's blood relation to Jaime is fairly distant—her grandfather was his mother's half-brother—nobody finds it odd that the wedding feast is humbler than the ordinary Lannister affair. It helped that the groom's family is small, and that Lanna is meant to join her husband at his House's seat—much to his cousin's relief as her brother's wrath at the groom is still noticeable. Jaime distracts him by calling him to join all non-child Lannister cousins present at the feast—the two of them, Tyrion, Uncle Stafford's son Devan and Aunt Genna's son Cleos. Overall, it's a nice evening, and both Lanna and her father thank him for the effort.

When he departs this time, he makes sure to leave everything as organized as he can. Tyrion and Aunt Genna remain responsible for the castle's finances, while Uncle Gerion is officially made its castellan. He tries to assign roles for each family member, but eventually gives up and tells his uncle to trust whoever he deems best to delegate tasks.

As predicted, the jeweler he hired has no finished product for him to show to the court; the issue will be delayed until his next trip. Still, he's made progress with the mines in Castamere, and Maester Creylen has begun to sketch a new castle to build near it, as he and Tyrion had previously discussed.

As per Damion's request, he brings Lucion with him to the capital. His cousin thinks taking his son away from the Rock might help calm down his nerves; he still hasn't forgiven Jast for 'dishonoring' his sister, no matter how obvious it is that the decision to have sex was a mutual one between them, and Lanna was very much happy to being 'obliged' to wed him. It makes Jaime wonder whether this rage has some deeper roots…

Which, of course, brings Cersei to the forefront of his thoughts. When they parted, she promised she'd write to him, and he'd promised to write back, but so far no letter has reached him, neither while he was in the capital, nor now. He's willing to concede that she might have sent it to King's Landing while he was in the Rock, but shouldn't Elia have sent it forward to him, had that been the case? There is also the very real possibility that the raven got lost, but should she not have written another letter after noticing his lack of reply? As painful as it is to admit, the most likely possibility is that she didn't write to him at all—although he's still hopeful, and refuses to truly entertain that thought until he meets Elia and she denies having received word of his twin.

Oh, how he misses her. As good as it is to interact with his brother and cousins, Cersei's absence leaves him with a hole in his heart nothing seems to be able to fill. He had grown used to sharing her bed almost every night after being released from the Kingsguard and, even after nearly a year without her, he still misses her warmth. Will he ever be able to hold her again? Or will their promises to each turn out to be empty, broken by unfortunate circumstances?

He is greeted by his wife, her children—Aegon now runs to him alongside Rhaenys—and Rhaella, who has Viserys at her side and Daenerys in her arms. After proper greetings are exchanged, he tells Rhaella, "I thought you were going to remain in Dragonstone, my lady."

She sighs, shifting baby Daenerys from one arm to another. "That's still the plan," she replies, "but for now it is safer to stay here. Have you not received Elia's latter?"

"He didn't," his wife replies before he can even think about it—but she's right, he did not. "I got his missive warning of his coming a day after I sent mine."

"What is happening?" He asks.

"Come over with me," Elia says instead. "I'll explain everything when you get settles in our room."

True to her word, she explains the current situation to him as he unpacks, after sending his cousin to his assigned chambers. "You came back just in time," she begins. "Do you remember that council meeting when Grafton said the Valemn could not decide on who would be their new overlord?"

He nods, then adds, "You told him to tell them to bring suitable candidates to you if they could not pick one themselves."

"Yes," she confirms. "I thought we would have this issue solved before you came back, but months went by without Grafton receiving an answer. When he finally did, it was a letter from… one of the Royces, I can't remember which one, saying that they ended up picking baby Hardyng as the new Lord Arryn… with Jon as his regent."

That last sentence makes him stop. "That's… bold of them," he mumbles.

"Quite bold," she agrees with a sarcastic laugh. "Of course, Grafton tried to solve the issue with diplomacy, but they refused to listen. They claim that naming Jon as Harrold's regent doesn't go against the punishment he was given… as if I hadn't explicitly stated he couldn't hold any titles for the rest of his days. They want to pretend I merely took his old ones off, thus allowing him to take new ones if he so desires."

Her irritation reminds him a bit of when she vented to him about Rhaegar. "So what is the plan now? War?"

"War is a strong word," she says, more calmly this time. "But we are thinking of sending a small force there to seize Jon Arryn and whoever is leading this movement."

"And then what? Execute them?"

He hears her sigh. "I might send the rebel leaders to the Wall, just as I did with your father, your uncle, Robert and others, but I'm afraid there is no other way for the old man."

He stands up from where he is to look at her. "Why are you so adamant to send rebels to the Wall instead of executing them? Not that I'm criticizing, but…" He lets the rest of his sentence hang in the air.

She glances away for a moment before tuning her gaze back to him. "What if Rhaegar was right," she says quietly, "and there is indeed an incoming threat in the horizon? I'd rather send those men there than regret killing capable soldiers when the realm ends up needing them the most."

He has no reply to that.

As expected, the council disagrees on what to do with Jon Arryn. Doran Martell is in favor of having him executed, while Mace Tyrell thinks he should be afforded the same treatment as his father and Robert Baratheon—the Night's Watch. Throughout the whole meeting, Jaime finds himself wishing he had stayed behind with Lady Rhaella, looking after the Targaryen kids.

He has no good memories of the former Queen and Prince, as they spent most of their time hidden away from Aerys; hopefully he can rectify it now, and maybe Rhaella will forgive him for not defending her against her brother-husband. Would she understand that he was stopped from doing so by his oath to the king? Or would she be upset that he did not uphold his knightly vows over the Kingsguard ones?

He is shaken off his reverie by Grafton pointing out that the Eyrie is virtually impenetrable, and that Jon Arryn is most likely hidden there—he probably never left, according to him. "We'll need allies within the Vale if we want to get inside the castle," he adds. "Houses who do not support Jon Arryn."

Jaime frowns at that. "Who else is not backing him up, aside from you?" Since House Grafton remained loyal to the Targaryens during the rebellion—it's what made Elia name their lord as Master of Law, after all—it's reasonable to trust that they are not among Jon Arryn's supporters now. It'd be a really stupid move on their part.

Grafton clears his throat. "House Baelish, whose lord married Lady Lysa a couple months ago, has sent word to us that they do not support this 'farce', as their lord put it out. House Shett of Gulltown also pledges itself to the Crown, and so do Houses Corbray and the four Sistermen Houses."

Lord Paxter voices his own question. "Sistermen Houses?"

"Houses Sunderland, Borrell, Torrent and Longthorpe," Grafton replies easily. "The four Houses who rule over the Three Sisters."

Jaime is tempted to find out how four noble houses divided three islands amongst themselves, but figures out this is not the right time for that kind of question. Nobody asks it either, which adds to his resolve to keep his mouth shut.

Ser Gerold suggests that they lure Jon Arryn out of the Eyrie, but Grafton counters that he won't ever leave its safety if he can help it. "We must sneak in," he insists. "Otherwise we'll have to wait for the next winter, when all residents of the Eyrie go down to the Gates of the Moon."

"Are all of those Houses in open opposition to Jon Arryn?" Jaime asks, grabbing a miniature soldier—what it's doing there, he has no idea—and moving it around his part of the table.

"Only Houses Baelish and Shett, as far as I know."

"So if we want someone to sneak us in, House Corbray is our best ally," he ponders. He remembers the Vale map, and the Three Sisters are far enough that not only would Jon Arryn not bother with them, it would also take them some time to successfully sneak someone inside—longer than the Corbrays.

Grafton nods. "A few good men may do the job", he says. "All we need to do is seize Jon Arryn and take him out of the Eyrie."

"A nightly incursion is preferable," Jaime adds. "If we are to send few men, we'll want to take the path of least resistance. At night there are fewer soldiers guarding the castle."

Ser Gerold doesn't agree, however. "If the plan is to have someone from House Corbray play at supporter to sneak us in, there is next to no way we can go up the Eyrie at night. Who will believe someone wants to speak to Lord Arryn so urgently?"

"We'll certainly need to pass the Gates of the Moon during daytime," Jaime counters, "but from then on, we can take our time going up."

"The Gates of the Moon are not the only way to have access to the Eyrie," Grafton says. "It's the safest, but not the only one, and I think we can forgo safety. The mountain clans watch over all ways up the Eyrie, meaning we'll face them no matter the path we choose. It's them we must concern ourselves the most with."

Prince Doran is already playing with another miniature soldier. "Do those clans take sides on political conflicts, or do they tend to be neutral?"

Grafton answers easily. "They consider themselves independent of the Eyrie and the rest of the Vale. I doubt they are even aware of the political turmoil happening there." He sighs. "They haven't been much of a threat these last few decades, but one must always be mindful of them when going up to the Eyrie. I'll contact the Corbrays to lay out a better plan."

"So you don't think we should gather armies," Elia says in a questioning tone.

"If we are thinking of sneaking in, no, we should not," Grafton agrees. "And I truly believe, Your Grace, that this is the best approach to seize Jon Arryn and his main supporters. The Eyrie is impenetrable."

When they leave the meeting, his cousin tells him he received a letter from the Rock. He opens the missive to find that it was written by his uncle Gerion, asking him for confirmation that they must send troops to King's Landing to aid the Crown. He replies that, for now, it won't be necessary, but they should get ready in case things change.

Later, he asks Elia about Cersei. She replies, with a sad smile, that no, she did not receive any letters from his sister, although she has gotten news of her through Oberyn. "She seems to be adapting to her new life," she says carefully, "although he has noticed some tension between her and his paramour Ellaria."

He frowns. There is no reason for Cersei to be at odds with Ellaria Sand if the deal between her and Oberyn is clear—which, according to Elia, should be—unless she feels possessive over her husband. The idea does not sit well with him; has his twin moved on from him? Has she decided the Dornish prince has more to offer?

Come to think of it, what does Jaime have to offer to her nowadays? His cock? Oberyn has it, just like him. His heart? For all he knows, Oberyn has given his as well. His wealth and titles? Oberyn can actually share those with her. Cersei will never be Lady of the Rock through him, while now she is all but Princess of Dorne through Oberyn.

And his twin has always aimed for power. That's always been the one thing that separated them, since he has run away from power for years, and only took it for duty. The memory of her objection to his actions during the sack—how she confessed to having wanted the rebels to win so she could marry Robert and become Queen—still stings, no matter how often he tries to justify her words in his mind. Have they gone so far apart, they can no longer reach one another?

He sighs as he gets ready for bed—he's back to sharing it with Elia, who is no Cersei but still a friend. It's pointless to dwell on his sister when the truth may be something else entirely. He does ask Elia when she thinks they can meet her and Oberyn. "I was thinking of going to Dorne after this problem in the Vale is solved," she replies, sounding sleepy already. "I miss Sunspear dearly, and I think it will be easier for you and Cersei to be there instead of here with—you know, Varys and his 'little birds'."

He hums in agreement, and soon they fall asleep.

Chapter Text

It takes a while for Mallister to send him on a ranging mission beyond the Wall. His first missions were to the Gift, to collect wood and food for the Watch. Tywin felt the task beneath him, but refrained from speaking his mind after remembering the Lord Commander's treatment after he requested to be with his brother. As half-pleasant as Mallister and Qhorin can be, they seem to be inclined to follow their superior's style of command.

Fortunately, he is not sent with Robert or Mance, but with Stonesnake and Endrew Tarth, as well as other four black brothers: Harry, Eugene, Will and Edric.

Tywin dislikes all four of them. Edric was sent to the Wall as punishment for serial raping, and he is crass, to say the least. Harry is a farmer who remains wilfully ignorant of anything that matters, and whose reason to join the Night's Watch is unclear. Eugene is another criminal, judged by Lord Hoster Tully for violating the Rule of Six and killing his wife after ninety whips on her back; he once came out in the cold bare chested just to show the scars he received prior to being collected by a wandering crow—the fool boasted about surviving 84 whips. Will is not particularly bad; he just reminds him of his traitorous son, with his obsession with fighting skills and dismissal of all other matters.

He has nothing against Stonesnake, but nothing in favor either, so he sticks to Endrew's side. Noble born and highly educated, he is a pleasant roommate, and Tywin is glad to go out in the cold with him.

Not that it makes any real difference; most of the journey is marked by silence on his part, and his less-than-ideal companions only speak half of the time. This is a first for Eugene and Will as well, and both of them are the most talkative of the group.

Before sending them off, Qhorin explained their mission: collect concrete intel on wildling settlements near the Giant's Stair, which is located slightly northwest of Shadow Tower. The last ranging, led by Mance, accidentally found a settlement akin to a village, and they need more information to know whether they are merely establishing themselves there, or whether they must be pushed away.

"Can't speak for Castle Black and Eastwatch," Mance said at the time, "but half of the time, 'our' wildlings are not looking forward to going South."

Mallister agreed. "Our main problem is the Frozen Shore, but we can count on House Mormont's help. Castle Back and Eastwatch don't have noble houses nearby to aid them so promptly."

Robert and Mance are scheduled for a ranging mission on said Shore after he and his group come back from theirs.

After a few days, they reach the place known as Giant's Stair. Tywin quickly realizes the reason behind the name: after crossing a level section of the Milkwater river, they are face to face with a squared acclivity that does resemble a staircase. One cannot simply go up with only their feet—hence the 'giant' part of its name—but no exceptional climbing skills are required. Still, Stonesnake goes first, 'feeling' the way up for them to follow.

His childhood memories of running and climbing around the Rock may be few—he stopped doing so at nine years old, when the importance of legacy and lordship dawned on him—but they come in handy for the task. He is only slightly puffy when he reaches the top of the 'stair'. "They usually set camp a mile from here," Endrew explains after the last of them—Harry, of course it's him—finishes climbing.

As it is sunset time already, they decide to make camp a couple steps to the west, hidden among high and large trees to avoid being seen before seeing anything of value. Ever the early riser, Tywin volunteers to take the last watch and wakes all of them as the sun just begins to rise, as instructed by Endrew.

The Tarth man has to order Eugene to shut up thrice before they actually make progress on their walk to the reported wildling settlement. For a while, there is only nature to look upon—and he has to admit, the landscape beyond the Wall is of extraordinary beauty, with the snow resting just on the right places. If only it wasn't followed by so much damn cold…

Finally, they catch sight of tents and fires—it's been roughly an hour since sunrise, so either the wildlings have not woken up yet, or they keep the fire up in daytime as well, which would be understable—he would do it, at least, unless his fear of attracting enemies spoke louder than the damned cold.

"So," Will says quietly, "do we just spy on them, or do we go speak to them?"

"We spy first," Endrew replies, "then I go talk to one of them, and you follow my lead."

Tent by tent, the wildlings go out, gathering around the fire to break their fast. From the distance, he can't tell what they are eating, but he doubts there are many options available for them.

Tywin assumed Endrew would wait for breakfast to be over, but suddenly he stands up from their hideout and walks in their direction. He hurriedly follows him, and he hears his companions doing the same.

Most of the wildling, men and women alike, stand up immediately upon seeing them, some with weapons in hand. "We're here at peace," Endrew says, "if you are willing to talk first."

One of the men, with red hair and beard and broad shoulders, takes a step closer, a machete in hand. "We ain't here to cross the Wall south," he proclaims. "So you're free to go back to your good ol' piece of ice."

"Then why are you here?" Endrew asks calmly. "You must know this area is under our watch."

"But you ain't owner o' this," the man retorts. "This is our land, crow. So get out, or our little truce is over."

Tywin expected a fight, but Endrew nods and gestures for them to back off. When they are well away, he says, "They do intend to cross."

"How can you tell?" Eugene asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"His posture—their posture as a whole. He was lying, and if we hadn't left when we did, he and the others would jump at us. We're too few; we must go back and report."

Tywin frowns. "So we'll come back and attack?"

He shakes his head. "Not now. There are too many women and children. I doubt all of them intend to pass, so we'll keep watch. When they move, we attack those who do."

If it was up to Tywin, he'd stay until late night so he could use their fire to burn all the tents and kill everyone. Sparing the children would only mean those kids will grow up and turn into adults who will try to cross the Wall and get killed for the effort anyway, so why allow them to grow and sire more wildlings?

Nobody asks for his input, though, so he keeps it to himself as they make their journey back. He ought to suggest this to one of the commanders when he reaches Westwatch.

Chapter Text

Going up the Eyrie through the forest is easier than he expected. The mountain clains see them go by, but don't bother them—except one time when a group of five tried to ambush them, a poor attempt that backfired greatly when all of them met their deaths.

His main concern is Lady Lysa Baelish, who is accompanying them. Sending her along was her husband's idea. "I have no reputation to speak of in the Vale," he told them. "If my lady wife shows up asking to be taken back because I'm cruel, Jon Arryn is unlikely to refuse her."

Lady Lysa confirmed Grafton's suspicion that the former Warden of the East stayed in the Eyrie after his trial—at least, he was there when she left, four months after his return.

She is silent through most of their journey, only talking when spoken to or when asking to stop for a necessity or another. When they make their night camp—as they predicted they'd reach the castle the other night—he asks her, "My lady, are you, by any chance, aware whether the North supports Jon Arryn?"

She swallows her bite of meat. "I didn't catch sight of any exchange between him and Ned Stark. That doesn't mean much, though; it's not like we shared chambers and I was with him all the time."

He nods in acknowledgement. "May I ask why you volunteered to help us? You are about to claim your husband treats you badly just to lure Jon Arryn into a trap."

He says it as gently as possible, so she doesn't think he's accusing her of anything or being ungrateful. He still remembers how Lysa was when they met for their almost betrothal; sweet and shy, but quick to take offense if her quiet anger at the dinner table was anything to go by.

She doesn't seem to be offended by this, though. "I assume you're asking if I have personal motivations for this. I do. Jon Arryn was never particularly cruel, no, but he was arrogant beyond measure. He thought I should be grateful that I wedded him, the head of a Great House, despite no longer being a maid." She grimaces. "As if I hadn't given it to the man I wanted to wed. But no one bothered to ask what I wanted, and Jon treated me with indifference. I was a means to formalize an already established alliance.

"When the Queen Mother gave me leave to annul my marriage, I sought after Petyr. He was still unbetrothed and very much willing to welcome me to his home. I wasn't going to seek my father's approval, not after what he did to me." She sighs. "Sorry for unloading this on you, my lord."

"No problem," he says sincerely. "I asked, you answered."

"I didn't give you any direct answer, though. I suppose it's easy to guess, but I ran away from my marriage in search of love, and I'm aiding you now because I think Jon Arryn should accept defeat. I understand why he rebelled. Who wouldn't? But his ambition to place Robert on the throne failed, and it's time he stops hiding behind his arrogance and accepts his fate."

He can't tell whether she truly means her words or is just saying them to appease the Queen Mother's husband and hide less honorable motivations—not that he'd blame her for being driven by petty revenge. Regardless, he thanks her.

Their second day goes by rather smoothly, even though the way gets steeper the higher they climb. He has to help Lady Lysa a few times, but it's otherwise alright until they reach the Eyrie's entrance.

Before they can be seen, they put their helmets on. Before they marched, they all procured helmets and sets of armor with a similar color scheme to not raise suspicion. They are meant to pose as Baelish guards who betrayed their lord in favor of their lady.

His helmet hinders his hearing, so he doesn't make out what Lysa says to allow the gate's guards to let them pass. By their pitied expressions, she must have made her case of being mistreated by her new husband. If any of them wonders why they didn't get a warning of her arrival from the Gates of the Moon or the Bloody Gate, none show it.

Their walk to the castle is quiet and uneventful. Lysa leads them to the main hall, where, to his delight, Jon Arryn is sitting with a baby—presumably Harrold Hardyng—talking to other men. He stands up upon seeing his former wife and speaks to her with a suspicious face. She replies to him, looking incredibly sad, and his expression softens. Jaime is not overly fond of faking abuse to get to the man, but neither of them saw an alternate solution, so he swallows his guilt at the plot device once again.

Then, suddenly, Grafton takes his helmet off. He doesn't really know what clued him in it was time, but he follows his example as the Master of Law announces all the men in the room are imprisoned in the name of King Aegon IV Targaryen.

They stop by to pick up Lysa's husband in his castle, then prompty head to Gulltown, where a small but heavily guarded ship awaits them—courtesy of the Arryns of Gulltown, whose support was a pleasant surprise announced by Grafton shortly before their departure from King's Landing.

At first, Jon Arryn's allies are loudly furious about their imprisonment. Many threaten them and the king, others call Queen Elia by crass names, and a few try to predict King Aegon's downfall. The old man stays silent, though, and Jaime can't make out whether this is a good or a bad sign. He talks to Grafton to reinforce security and have more soldiers taking watch at night, just in case.

The only man who tries to run is Ser Vardis Egen, a young man who would have gotten away with it if Jaime wasn't just as young and agile. He is sentenced to death right away, and one of the Crown's soldiers is tasked with carrying his bones to his family's castle, which is located too far from Gulltown for them to pass by it.

The voyage to King's Landing is short, thanks to the good weather, and Jaime entertains himself by thinking of Elia's suggestion to travel to Sunspear after the trials. He will have to send word to Casterly Rock that he will stay for longer than six months this time, but he doubts his family will berate him for visiting Cersei. He's not the only one eager to get news on her, after all.

He also takes his time planning how to train Lucion. He's never had a squire before; nobody would send their sons to squire for a fifteen-year old knight, even if he was a Lannister, and soon after he got in the Kingsguard, stuck in the Red Keep as a glorified hostage, with no substantial contact to the outside world—and busy watching innocents burn, the now Dowager Queen Rhaella be raped and the now Queen Mother Elia try to shield her children from their grandfather's cruelties.

Back to the point… He doesn't really know how to train a squire. He remembers his lessons from Lord Crakehall, then what few things Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan taught him while they fought against the Kingswood Brotherhood and its Smiling Knight, but he's not entirely sure how to pass them along to his cousin. He tries to simulate his teachings in his mind, but it ultimately fails. Perhaps I can ask for Ser Arthur's assistance, he contemplates. Surely he has some wisdom to share, and I miss talking to him. He's been distant since he came back from Dorne.

In fact, all three Kingsguard knights who came back with Ned Stark avoid conversation with him. He doesn't understand; it's not like they know he killed Aerys—Elia swears she hasn't shared the information with anyone, and he trusts her word. Ser Barristan is his only former sworn brother who actually talks to him nowadays. So far, the only explanation he's able to come up with is that their silence has nothing to do with Jaime and everything to do with them. But what would 'everything' be?

He's snapped out his reverie by the sight of the Red Keep in the distance. Sighing in relief, he leaves the deck and goes to his cabin to get changed to cleaner clothes.

The first trial is Jon Arryn's, held a week after their arrival. In the meantime, Jaime and Elia distracted themselves by organizing their trip to Sunspear. He doesn't hide his smile from his wife, and she seems happy for him—and for herself too. "I miss home," she said once. "And Rhaenys and Aegon have been begging to go there for a while."

He was the one to tell the five-year old girl they were going to visit her mother's birth home. She jumped on him to hug him after he delivered the news, and he spent an entire afternoon playing with her and telling her the few tales he knew from Dorne.

Now he stands near his wife as she conducts Jon Arryn's trial. Lysa Baelish testifies about her time in the Eyrie following his first trial, and how the entire Eyrie behaved like his sentence meant nothing. Other nobles gave more insight to what happened in the Vale. As most of the old man's possible defenders are also imprisoned, there isn't much in his favor.

Finally, Elia and Lord Grafton decide to execute him. In public, they declared he does deserve mercy after it was given the first time and rejected; in private, Elia doubts he'd last long in the Wall anyway.

The others' trials go quickly after the first one. Those who are also facing a second trial are sentenced to death. As for the rest, they are divided between those who took active roles in the rebellion, but were not in King's Landing in the end to be trialed, and those who did not get involved or were sons of lords who died in the war. The former group is sent to the Wall, while the latter is offered a pardon if they bend the knee and accept whichever overlord the Crown picks for the Vale.

When the last man is sentenced, Grafton announces the Vale is to be ruled by Lord Jason, the head of House Arryn of Gulltown, as a reward for his pleasantly unexpected support in the ordeal. His sister, Lady Rowena, will inherit the local seat in his place. The two siblings, who arrived a day before Jon Arryn's trial, bend the knee to King Aegon. Jaime sends a small, silent prayer to the Seven, asking for some peace this time.

Chapter Text

After nearly a year, Cersei can safely say things are not going as well as she thought they would.

One, Ellaria Sand is still around, despite her efforts to get Oberyn all for herself. The bastard woman notices, as she promised she would, and begins to retaliate. If her husband notices they are competing for his attention, he doesn't show. He even suggests, more than once, that the three of them should sleep together, only for Cersei to politely refuse—Ellaria never says a word, either because she doesn't want to get caught or because she wants Cersei to be 'the difficult' one in their love triangle.

Not that she loves Oberyn. She enjoys sex with him—how could she not, when he is so much skilled in women's pleasure—and his company is amiable, but love is a strong word she'd rather not throw away, at least not in her mind.

In the time they are married, Cersei only got pregnant once, only to lose it soon after finding it out. Oberyn mistook her frustration with sadness and tried to comfort her. "Not every marriage blossoms so soon," he explained. "Look at me and Ella, we are together for longer and have yet to have children of our own."

However, shortly after her loss, Ellaria announced her own pregnancy, and she has yet to lose it. Despite her best efforts, Cersei can't shove away the thought she did it on purpose to get back at her. (Yes, yes, it's an irrational suspicion; pregnancy is not something that can be so neatly planned.)

On the bright side, she gets along well with the children. Obara flowered a few months after her arrival, and, as Ellaria was away with Oberyn on a visit to Hellhot, it was Cersei who guided her through the beginning of her womanhood. Those days spent together strengthened their bond, and now her husband's firstborn always goes to her in times of need.

She has yet to forge such a bond with Nymeria and Tyene, but Sarella is a sweet girl who straight up falls in love with anyone who gives her attention, and Princess Arianne likes to have a lady of a Great House around to teach her about ruling.

Prince Doran's wife Mellario showed up two months after Cersei's arrival to fetch her son Quentyn—understandable, given his age—so there are no boys in Sunspear, only in the Water Gardens.

Oberyn talked to Lady Alyse about only charging nobles to leave their kids in the marbled paradise, in order to fund its maintenance, and the new law passed, much to Cersei's satisfaction. She already has left a mark in Sunspear, as small as it is. Of course, she aims for more, but for now this is enough.

It is only when Oberyn announces his sister is coming with her family that Cersei realizes she hasn't written to Jaime once, busy as she was with her plans to win her husband over. What is he thinking of me now?

It dawns on her that she doesn't miss her twin as much as she once expected to. For all the passionate night they shared over their lives, with or without sex, his absence doesn't sting all that much. It was much more noticeable in her first weeks, since they had spent every possible night in bed since his return to Casterly Rock, but Oberyn is a fairly good replacement—a more experienced one, even, who drives her to the edge quicker than her brother ever did.

Still, when she hears of his impending arrival, she smiles. Due to their lack of written communication, she's sure they have a lot of catching up to do before falling back in bed. Perhaps Jaime can give her the viable child she was denied not so long ago.

Much to her irritation, Oberyn has Ellaria greet Queen Elia and Jaime alongside them, as well as Princess Arianne. From the distance, she catches sight of Prince Doran, his wife and son.

Jaime looks as handsome as ever in his crimson jerkin and mustard-colored breeches. His hair is cut short, and it's clear his last shave was before leaving King's Landing—even so, his stubble is pleasant to look at, enough that it leaves her already excited for later.

It doesn't help that Oberyn leans to her ear and whispers, "I'd like to try out the three of us. Or four."

She might even allow Ellaria in her bed if it means having Jaime to herself. The Sand woman is eyeing her twin with desire, so the possibility is not far-fetched—although not the most pleasant to imagine.

Queen Elia is courteous as always, and so is Jaime in a public setting. He kisses Ellaria's knuckles chivalrously, oblivious to her heated gaze as he claims it's a pleasure to meet her. Prince Doran greets his brother and daughter warmly and smiles sincerely at Sand, while Cersei only gets a polite greeting. It's to be expected, she reminds herself. He's known Ellaria for at least two years, and he barely ever met you. Give yourselves time.

Princess Arianne guides her parents and brother to their old chambers, while Ellaria is responsible for accommodating the staff that came with the royal party. It leaves Cersei and Oberyn alone with the royal family as they go to Queen Elia's old room. "We cleaned another room for King Aegon and Princess Rhaenys," she says, "as we did not know whether you two would want to share chambers or not."

Jaime and Queen Elia exchange glances and sigh almost at the same time. "We won't," the Queen answers for both of them. "As good as my husband is as a bed fellow, I like my privacy, and I think he can say the same."

"Definitely," Jaime agrees. "Especially since we absolutely don't need human warmth to sleep well here."

Her goodsister laughs at that, and it annoys Cersei that the two of them have inside jokes—and they sleep together in King's Landing! Granted, it seems that bed sharing is all they do, and there are no feelings to keep them together when given the chance to spend their nights apart.

"Oh, but human warmth is just as welcome here," her husband quips in. "You'll soon find out this is no issue at all, Lord Jaime."

Queen Elia glares at her brother, seemingly catching on his meaning. She has to talk to Oberyn before bed time; she wants Jaime all to herself before sharing him with her husband, and Ellaria is not a certainty in this arrangement.

They give the royal family time for rest, during which Cersei talks to her husband. "Please, let me have one night with Jaime before throwing yourself at him," she pleads.

He laughs. "Of course, my dear," he replies smoothly. "I was under the assumption you'd get your meal first, then invite me for tomorrow night."

"If he agrees," she replies. "I'm not sure he will." Jaime doesn't strike her as someone who would engage in orgies, but then, she didn't find them appealing either until Oberyn suggested having one with her brother.

During dinner, Cersei sits in front of Jaime and entangles one of her legs with his, rubbing skin against skin while they eat. Her twin's gaze grows heated as time passes by, and she sees he can barely restrain himself when it's time to retire for bed. Only Princess Rhaenys is capable of tearing his eyes away from her—she noticed, in King's Landing, that he has a soft spot for the girl.

He doesn't hide his intentions when he follows his sister instead of his wife. Queen Elia glances at him with a hint of amusement, which is odd in her eyes—then again, the Queen was raised in the same culture as Oberyn, and she did marry Jaime aware of his relationship with Cersei.

They don't talk at all for the first hour, too busy touching and kissing one another. It is only when they decide to take a break that she is able to bring Oberyn's proposal up. "My husband knows about us," she says, "and he was wondering if you'd be up for an addition to our bed."

Whatever reaction she expected, Jaime sitting up and squeezing his eyes at her wasn't one of them. "Your husband," he all but hisses. "The one you've been fighting with his lover over, instead of writing to me?"

She sits up, letting the bed sheets fall. "What?"

"You think I'm not aware? Your husband wrote to my wife that you and Ellaria Sand are not getting along. I've known you all my life, Cersei. I knew it was no coincidence you were quarrelling with Oberyn's paramour. Tell me, sweet sister, what does he have that I do not? A larger cock? A better tongue? More skilled hands?"

Her eyes go wide. Never, in a million years, she'd think this would happen. Oberyn always acted oblivious to hers and Ellaria's subtle exchanges, and yet he caught on enough to report it to his sister. Then Jaime, who never saw a thing, quickly guessed the reason behind their conflict.

"You are imagining things, Jaime," she replies, raising her hand to touch his arm.

He recoils. "You two were whispering to each other when we arrived—"

"He was asking to get in bed with us!"

"How often do you two fuck?"

"I—I don't know, Jaime! This is my marital duty!"

"He married you while fully aware of our relationship, and he already has a woman to warm his bed. There is no need for you to do the same."

This conversation is getting ridiculous. "Jaime, my marriage is not the same as yours. Queen Elia has two children already and, as you said it yourself, you have an heir in Tyrion. I have a duty to give Oberyn trueborn children."

"Do you?" He counters. "He won't inherit a damn thing. He may rule Sunspear now, but it is only in his brother's name. When Prince Doran dies, his daughter gets Dorne, not your husband. So tell me, Cersei, where does your obligation lie?"

She stands up, uncaring if she's naked. "I refuse to let you turn me into a villain," she snarls. "You have it all, Jaime. Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, husband to the Queen Mother and Regent… You have all the power to make all the changes you want. Who am I here? All I've been able to do is to convince Oberyn to pass a ridiculously small law that might fall as soon as Doran comes back! If I need to spread my legs to grow in influence over my new home, how can you judge me?"

Jaime's face suddenly goes from angry to sad. "But power is not what I aim for, Cersei," he argues, sounding strangely soft. "I use it to achieve other goals, yes, but I don't say or do things in order to gain more of it. This was always your ambition, never mine."

She doesn't understand. "But we are one and the same," she counters. "One person in two bodies. How can you not want power when I do?"

"I just don't," he replies. "And, frankly, Cersei, I don't think we are one person in two bodies. We may be whole together, but we're also whole while apart. And you know it, deep down, otherwise you wouldn't have chased after Rhaegar, and now you wouldn't be fighting for Oberyn's attention. You know you are whole all by yourself, and you've been telling us otherwise because… well, I don't know why." He shakes his head. "I've been telling this because I believed it. I did it for a long time, but… I've realized the truth."

"This doesn't have to change a thing," she insists. She cannot lose her brother, not like this. "You… you don't have to be faithful to me. We can live our lives, then, whenever we get to meet, we can… well, do what we just did. Get fun. Pleasure. You satisfy me in ways Oberyn cannot, and I'd bet it'd be the same for you."

He looks even sadder as he stands up, and she realizes it was the wrong thing to say. "If we were one and the same, Cersei," he says quietly. "You'd never have propositioned such a thing." He begins to dress up. "I fucked you all these times because I wanted you like a husband should want his wife. I loved you like a husband should love his wife. I still do… but I can't keep going like this. And neither should you have to." He buttons his shirt up. "I hope you can find true happiness here, sister. I really do, and I think you can if you let yourself try. But I can't be part of it anymore."

With that, he opens the door and leaves the room. Slowly, she sits down on the bed. There is no reaction, no feelings, nothing.

The rest of the week goes awfully. In the morning, her husband knocks on the door connecting their chambers. When she opens, he asks, "How did it go?"

"There won't be orgies," she snaps. "If you truly want him, you have to do the work yourself."

Instead of snapping back, though, he softens. "Are things over between you two, then?" She hangs her head low, which is answer enough for him. He pulls her into a hug. "Perhaps it's for the best. Keeping up a relationship with such a big distance between you two is next to impossible."

There is no judgement, and she fights off tears.

She and Jaime avoid talking to each other beyond formalities. Queen Elia looks at her softly, as if aware of what happened between them—though, if she and Jaime are as friendly as they appear, he may have told her.

Even Ellaria treats her more gently, although it might be because Cersei hasn't made any move on Oberyn this week. To be honest, she lacks the energy to do so while her twin is within her sight.

Their awkwardness cuts the royal trip short—a week instead of ten days. Jaime tentatively hugs her goodbye, but makes no promises to write to her or anything of the sort. She doesn't either. She doubts they'll speak to each other anytime soon.

This changes things. If Sunspear is all she will ever have, with no Jaime even as reprieve, she must not continue to live on as she does now. She must sit down and think of how her life has to be from now on.

Chapter Text

He doesn't share his plan with his superiors right after they report their findings, as he doesn't want them to think of it as impulsive. Indeed, he takes a whole day to imagine its details, so he can bring as much information as possible to the table.

After breakfast, instead of going to the yards, he goes to Mallister's chambers. Fortunately, the man is only reading letters when he arrives. "Lord Mallister, if I may have a word," he says politely.

His submissive tone seems to satisfy him, for he easily lets him in. "What is the subject of such an early visit, Lord Tywin?" he asks. "Was there anything missing from Ser Endrew's report?"

"No, there wasn't," he replies, sitting on a vacant chair in front of the commander, "but I'd like to talk about our findings, indeed. As Ser Endrew reported, a medium-sized group of wildlings have settled near the Giant's Stairs. He is fairly sure they intend to cross the Wall, as he said in the meeting."

"Indeed, he said it," Mallister agrees.

"I asked Ser Endrew if we were going to go back there soon to attack them before they crossed, and he said no. He explained to me it would be better to wait for them to cross then fight those who do. However, as new as I am to all of this, I disagree, and I've come here to propose another strategy."

Mallister doesn't reply right away, taking his time studying him. Finally, he says, "Tell me what you think we should do. You are new here, yes, but I gather you are an experienced battle commander."

"I am," he agrees. "Well, the fault I found in Ser Endrew's plan is that, from what I've gathered about the Night's Watch, we should prevent crossings, not just stop them when they are already happening. This strategy is not effective anywhere."

"So you want to push them away before they come closer to the Wall?"

To be honest, that thought hadn't even crossed Tywin's mind. "From what little we saw of them, I fear it won't be enough. We'd only delay the inevitable. No, my lord, my idea is to eliminate them before they stir trouble."

Mallister raises his eyebrow. "Your suggestion is to kill them while they are still in their camp." It isn't a question, but he nods anyway. "Well, Lord Tywin, while I try to take all ideas into consideration… this is a strategy we try to avoid. Ser Endrew reported the presence of women and children. While we do catch and execute women—spearwives, as they call themselves—they are not even half of our prisoners." He sighs. "Most wildlings live and die beyond the Wall, sometimes not even seeing the Wall up close. It is not fair to deny them their lives because of a handful who try to escape. It isn't honorable."

And there is the word: honorable. Tywin knows, from that word alone, there will be no further discussions. "I apologize for my suggestion, then, my lord," he says. "I'll go back to the yards."

He finds Qhorin Halfhand training with other crows, and he offers to spar. As they duel, he says, "Is it protocol to wait for wildlings to cross the Wall to attack them?"

"Yes," he confirms. "At least here in Shadow Tower. I cannot speak for Castle Black and Eastwatch-by-the-sea. Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering how effective such a strategy is, and if it wouldn't be better if we prevented crossings instead of just stopping them."

At that Halfhand blocks his blow and holds him in place. "I can guess what you're thinking," he says, "and I'm saying it already: no." He retreats, putting his sword back on his belt. "Don't even mention it to Mallister."

"Noted," he says politely.

He doesn't mention his idea to anyone else for the rest of the day. He observes the other black brothers instead, trying to guess which ones will support his plan. He's seen what honor leads someone, and it's nowhere he wants to go. Someone in Mallister's position should be practical, not honorable. If they eliminate that entire group, not only there won't be any need to wait for them to reach the Wall, word of it will spread to the other wildlings, and they will think twice before coming near them again.

Shadow Tower already faces problems due to the wide openings the wildlings have to escape—the abandoned Westwatch and the entire Bay of Ice, uncovered by the Wall. They should not make their lives even harder by waiting for trouble to come in their direction.

A week goes by before he decides to approach Shadow Tower's third-in-command. While Blane seems to follow Mallister's and Qhorin's ideas, he also seems to be much more open-minded. As such, when he gets a moment between the two of them, he says more or less the same words he used with the other two.

"It's a risky plan," Blane says when he's finished. "I'm not comfortable with killing women and children. If you have leave to go, you should pick someone else to go with you."

He assumes Mallister and Qhorin approve, he realizes, and does not correct the man. Instead, he thanks for the advice and leaves to reflect on who to call.

Begrudgingly, he picks Eugene and Edric, as they are the most ruthless among those who went with him the first time. He tells them their mission, although sanctioned by their commanders, is meant to be conducted discreetly due to its controversial nature. If we succeed, it won't matter whether I had Mallister's or Qhorin's approval or not.

Other five men are picked by either Tywin or his companions. Part of him feels he's lowering himself by working with all these commoners, but life taught him to see value in the humblest of servants when they were of use, so he endures.

A fortnight after his trip to the Giant's Stairs, they march back there in the dark of the night. No reports of crossing attempts have reached them from the Frozen Shore, nor from Bear Island, but that means nothing. For all they know, the wildlings are biding their time, waiting for the Night's Watch to forget about them before they take action.

If everything goes according to plan, they'll never get the chance.

The full moon is bright enough that they don't need torches to climb the Stairs. Edric tries to light one up when they all reach the top, but Tywin quietly tells him not to. "We'll draw attention to ourselves," he explains, a bit exasperated—in his defense, he should not have to teach that to the man at all. It is obvious.

Step by step, they reach the settlement. He can see two big bonfires in the distance. "We'll light up our torches there," he tells the others, "with those flames, then we'll throw them at the tents." It is not the first time he explains the plan to them, but, given Edric's attempt a few moments ago, he wants to make sure everyone is on the same page.

Each one of them carries two torches on their backs—sixteen in total. All wildlings seem to be either sleeping or fucking, so nobody comes out of any tent at their approach. Perfect.

They run from the settlement as soon as the screams begin. Despite their hurry, they are still careful when they go down the Stairs; it won't do to leave dead rangers behind.

The moon is still high up when they return. Tywin reminds them of their need for secrecy. "I will personally report to Mallister in the morning," he declares, fully aware he won't do such a thing. Not before he and the others realize the good he's done for the Night's Watch.

Another fortnight goes by. Surprisingly, their secret mission remains as such; the men only comment that night amongst themselves, in whispers no one else can hear. Tywin even puts up a show of kinship so they won't betray his trust.

However, when Mance, Blane and Dalbridge come back from a visit to Westwatch, he is summoned to Mallister's office and is met with the commander, Qhorin and the three rangers.

"There was a small camp of wildlings by the Wall when we reached Westwatch," Mance says when he asks the reason behind his summoning. "They were not trying to cross; they were waiting for 'crows' to show up, because they wanted to have it out with us."

At Mance's side, Mallister sends him a stern glare. "A month ago, you came to me with an idea to deal with the wildling settlement at the Giant's Stairs. I listened, and I advised you against it. You asked Qhorin and Blane about it, likely hoping for a different answer, and got no support from either of them. And still you went along with it."

"We found survivors of a very much provoked fire," Blane adds. "They were rightfully furious, because never before had the Night's Watch attacked innocents this way, for all the animosity between us."

Tywin clicks his tongue. "Yes, I took matters into my own hands—"

"You disobeyed your superiors, you mean," Dalbridge mumbles.

"—but you left me with no choice. Lord Mallister, I understood your hesitance, but if there is anything life has taught me is that honor cannot come before reason or practicality."

Mallister lets out a mirthless laugh. "'If there is anything life has taught you', you say. If by 'life' you mean how you dealt with your father's vassals years ago, then I suppose that is the kind of lesson you'd learn."

He stands up and paces around the table, although he looks oddly calm. "I was still in Seagard when I heard about Castamere and Tarbeck Hall. Your reputation precedes you, Lannister, and perhaps I should have foreseen your contempt with my veto on your plans. I suppose I thought you had learned the importance of hierarchy in your time before the Night's Watch and would respect when I told you 'no'. Clearly, I was wrong.

"You mistake me—us—for the Starks, don't you? All 'bloody honor' and no sense. In that case, I have bad news for you: the Night's Watch is far from honorable. We are full of criminals, as you should know since you are one yourself, sent here for treason against the Crown. We often have to face hard choices, with no honorable path to follow. Still, we try to be marginally decent, and avoiding excessive killings is part of it.

"But, as honor and morality are beneath you—since you are oh so practical—let me explain all the faults in your plan, Lord Tywin. Unlike with Houses Reyne and Tarbeck, you left survivors to tell the story. Perhaps this was on purpose, because you wanted word of the incident to spread. You wanted the rest of the wildlings to know the Night's Watch wouldn't cower before them, or whatever else you think about our approach. However, you underestimate the intelligence of the Free Folk. Mance, care to explain to our brother how his plan was doomed to fail?"

Mance nods and sighs. "For centuries, the Free Folk has defied the Night's Watch by crossing the Wall. Even though we push most of them back, every year a handful of them escape right under our noses. They are smart; always picking up routes we don't know or don't care to watch over. If word is spread that the Night's Watch now burn settlements in the dark of the night, they will simply change their strategy to something even harder for us to track."

He blinks. He hadn't thought of that possibility, truth be told. Qhorin raises his eyebrows. "The Great Lion of Lannister did not think of all possible outcomes, huh. It does not surprise any of us, and do you know why? Because that's exactly what happens when you act out of pride and arrogance."

"Which is why you will no longer be a ranger," Mallister adds, announcing his punishment. "You'll be a builder. You won't ever work alone, and you'll spend most of your time in the lower levels, fixing the Wall's structure. But this will be after your imprisonment ends."

"My imprisonment?"

"Of course. You'll spend two months in the ice cells before assuming your new post. Also, any and all letters you receive from the South throughout the next year will be kept from you, unless they inform you of the death of someone in your family. Do you have any questions?"

He takes a deep breath to compose himself. "No, my lord," he replies sternly.

"Good. Qhorin and Blane, would you please escort him to his cell?"

The second and third-in-command stand up and grab him by one arm each. He does not protest as he is taken to the dungeons and placed inside a cold cell literally made of ice. There are no windows and no one for company, and he suspects this will be his life from now on, even after he leaves prison.

Chapter Text

"Would you rather stay here for a time," Elia asks, "or do you want to go back to Casterly Rock?"

He flinches. The Rock is where he's built most of his memories with Cersei. Aside from there, the only other two memorable places are the inn in Eel Alley, which he's never passed by since that one night, and his old room in the Red Keep, also too far from where he spends his days as Elia's husband. "I'll write to my family to tell them I'll stay here for two more months," he decides.

"Rhaenys and Aegon will be pleased," she says, "and so will I. You're a good friend, and I like it when you're here."

He smiles at her and closes his eyes, sighing. Then he moves from the bed to the study, where he begins to write the letter.

To Gerion Lannister.

Uncle, I know I said I'd go back to the Rock after visiting Cersei in Sunspear, but we've run into some complications here in the capital. Nothing big or worrisome, but, as the Queen's husband, I cannot leave the city in good conscience.

I believe I'll be back in two moon turns. If there is any trouble, let me know.

He doesn't like to lie to Uncle Gerion, but there is no other way. He can't tell him he's staying on his own volition because he wants his Cersei-shaped wound to heal a little bit. He's not supposed to carry a Cersei-shaped wound in his heart, not when she's alive and well.

He thinks over writing a brief report on her wellbeing, but decides against it. He doubts he can write anything without letting some bitterness escape through his fingers.

It's hard to convince himself breaking things off with his sister was the right decision. Despite the hurt, he still loves her romantically; staying far from her during the rest of his time in Sunspear was among the hardest things he's ever done.

But staying together would only lead to misery. Jaime was doomed for heartbreak from the start, he knows it now. Best to rip it apart when they are still young, with plenty of time to move on and no complications between them. Briefly, he imagines Cersei birthing children with Lannister coloring, children he'd likely never come close to, and he shudders. I made the right choice, he reminds himself.

After five days of brooding, he wanders off the castle and finds the royal sept. He stops by the entrance, unsure of what to do.

In his two years as Kingsguard, he never stepped foot inside it on his own. The few times he did was due to Elia, when she wanted to pray. Even their wedding was held in the Sept of Baelor instead of this one.

Just as he turns to leave, a man in white robes shows up—the local septon, he remembers from the one time they crossed paths. "Lord Jaime," he greets him. "Good morning. Are you coming in?"

He toys with the edge of his shirt. "I was just passing by. I won't trouble you—"

"Nonsense," the septon raises his hand dismissively. "My morning duties and prayers are done. I have nothing else to do. Come in; it's been a long time since we last saw each other."

He holds back a defeated sigh as he follows the man inside. The septon before him is neither old or young; Jaime guesses he's in his 40s. Despite living in the Red Keep and attending mostly to the royal family and other highborns, he isn't dressed luxuriously like the septons in Casterly Rock.

The inside of the sept is not as humble as its priest, although it doesn't compare to others he's seen. Each god has an assigned altar, built from marble and illuminated by colored crystal windows. Wooden benches are positioned in lines in front of each altar, and there is an additional one between the Mother and the Father.

"May I know your name, septon?" he asks as he walks, because if he's going to spend some time here, he should know how to address the other man.

"Marc, my lord," he replies. "I grew up at the edges of Weeping Town, in the stormlands, just shy of Dorne—I'm saying this because you are probably wondering about my accent." He chuckles and nods; he indeed was. Wordlessly, he stops in front of the Stranger's altar. "Many people came to this exact place after the war," Septon Marc says behind him. "Everyone had something to say to the Stranger."

"Too many people died needlessly," he comments.

"Isn't it always the case with wars?" Jaime turns to see the septon smiling sadly. "Two powerful factions decide they cannot solve their problems with conversations and force men under their protection to fight—and die—for them."

He glances back at the Stranger. "Would you say every war is unnecessary, then?"

"I can't speak of all wars, my lord. I can't even speak of this one, as I do not know details of its origins, nor do I want to. But I can safely say most men who die in wars are not those who declared it."

Jaime's eyes travel down to the floor, unable to argue. The septon is right, after all. "Then why do the gods allow war to plague innocents?"

Septon Marc doesn't miss a beat. "The gods gave us free will," he replies. "War is not what they wish for us, but a price that is paid for our freedom, because we do not use it responsibly."

He glances up again, now looking at another altar. "And yet, we pray for the Warrior to bless us in battle. Are you sure all the gods don't wish for war?"

"My lord," he replies carefully, "you seem to have forgotten: these are not seven separate gods, but seven facets of one god only."

He blinks. "Oh," he lets out. "It seems that I have indeed." Truth is, he skipped religious lessons whenever he could. The few he listened to were actually Cersei's, and her septa was more interested in teaching her about wifely duties than doctrine.

They fall in companionable silence until Septon Marc speaks up again. "What have you come here for, my lord?"

He frowns. "You invited me in."

"Because I found outside the sept looking lost and hesitant. What troubles your soul, truly?"

He stares at the septon for quite some time. Can he tell him about Cersei? "How do confessions work, Septon Marc?"

The man smiles softly. "You tell me your sins, I pray for your forgiveness and assign you a penance in the gods' name."

"Do you keep secrets for people who confess their sins to you?"

"It is a prerogative, especially since the Faith Militant was disbanded."

"Good; I have confessions to make, then."

Septon Marc nods and guides him to a secluded room. A long silence falls between them as Jaime tries to think of where to start. Although he's not entirely sure of the importance of a confession, or whether the Seven do know mercy, he figures he should at least try. Perhaps his Cersei-shaped wound can truly begin to heal if the gods forgive him for incest. Eventually, he talks, starting with lesser sins. Septon Marc listens attentively to him with a neutral expression. Then he drops his main one. "I'm in love with my twin sister," he says, "and we've been together for years, until we broke things off in Sunspear."

He pauses, waiting for a reaction. Septon Marc shifts on his seat. "When you say 'together', do you mean carnally speaking?" He nods. "How old are you, Lord Jaime?"

"Eight-and-ten," he replies.

"And you've laid with your sister since…?"

"The first time we consummated our relationship was when we were fifteen, Septon. It was here in King's Landing."

The septon sighs in… relief? "You had me worried for a moment, my lord. I'd be greatly concerned if it happened earlier."

He swallows hard and tells him about how their physical relationship began. It is hard, because there are holes in his memories, but it is enough to leave Speton Marc alarmed. "It is good that it is over, my lord," he says when he finishes.

"Please, don't tell anyone about it," he insists. "It would ruin my sister's reputation, and she doesn't need that, especially now that we're over."

"Would it not ruin yours as well?"

"A little, but… May I speak freely, septon?" He nods. "All sins of carnal nature are more blamed on the women than on the men. People say men have needs, while women should only endure their marital beds and never find pleasure in the act."

Septon Marc sighs. "A shame," he says. "One of the many signs of how low the Faith has sunk."

That is not something Jaime ever thought he'd hear, especially from a septon. "What do you mean?"

He smiles sadly, just as he did not long ago. "Pardon, my lord, this is your confession, not my venting hour."

"You seem to be in need of an ear to vent to," he replies, "if I may be so bold. Would you rather have me finish my confession?"

"By all means, my lord. What else to have to say?"

He hesitates. As heavy as Aerys' death weights on him, he is too curious to continue. "For now, I am done," he says, unwilling to outright lie. "My sins with my Cersei were those burdening me the most. Anything else can wait for some other day."

"Of course. Bow your hand, please, my lord."

Jaime does as told, and Septon Marc murmurs some prayers as he rests his hand on his head. Then, he pushes his chin up so they are face to face. "As a penance, you'll fast for the next holy days within a year." Jaime smiles in acceptance. Then, the man relaxes. "Are you sure you want to know what troubles a septon's mind? Discussions of the Faith are usually not what lords and knights envision as ways to pass time."

He shrugs. "I am merely the Regent's husband, septon. I should have returned home days ago, but I'm postponing my departure to let myself heal from my separation. I have nothing else to do with my time." In truth, he could go to the yards, but there is only so much sparring one can do before they tire out. "So, what do you mean by 'the Faith has sunk'?"

It takes some time for Septon Marc to reply. "It must be odd for you to hear it, my lord," he says. "After all, the Faith creeps into almost every aspect of our lives, even of those who hold little to no belief in the gods. Knighthood oaths are bound to the Seven, political alliances are blessed by them in marriage vows, little girls are raised by septas, and so on. But, as a religion, the Faith has lost its essence."

"And what would this essence be, Septon?"

"The actual faith. Devotion. A belief in the Seven Who Are One and what it should represent to our lives." He sighs. "Do you know where the Faith was born?" He shakes his head. "In Essos. Andalos, to be more precise. The Seven have always been linked to political power; it is said the Father Above crowned the first King of the Andals, Hugo of the Hill, and the Maiden was his wife. It sounds strange, doesn't it? The Maiden being someone's wife and bearing him sons?"

"It… does, indeed."

"There is a reason for that, but it is not the time to talk about it yet. Anyway, back then, even though the Seven were behind every coronation—every king and queen backing their claims on the gods' will—the Faith and the Crown would go their separate ways. Priests followed civil laws and bureaucracy, while the Crown would obey the gods as everyone else.

"When the Faith came to Westeros along with the Andals, things went more or less the same. Whenever we could judge a monarch for their sins, it went the same as if we were judging anyone else. Yes, there is a social hierarchy, one we've always backed up, but in many things men are equal; sin included.

"And we didn't teach only what was sin—what was wrong. Do you know why incest is a sin, my lord, or lying with someone out of wedlock in general? Do you have any idea why we insist a man and a woman stay loyal to one another when they get married?"

He fidgets with his hands. "Bastards are a burden for families," he says slowly. "And women should be sure of who fathers their children. Siblings can sire abominations, or so I'm told."

Septon Marc shakes his head. "Your point of view is of a noble, of course, but the Faith is for all of us," he says. "When a man and a woman with no possessions other than the clothes covering their bodies get married, what damage does a bastard bring? What inheritance is messed up, when there is nothing to inherit? What difference does it make whether they consummate their love before or after their wedding vows? And what difference does it make whether this man and this woman are related?"

He clicks his tongue. "I don't know, septon."

"Of course you don't. Many of us, those at the service of the Faith, have forgotten. Some have never been taught where all these rules come from. We don't understand our own morality; we just… memorize rules and try to figure out how they work in the society we live in." He shifts on his seat. "You may be surprised to learn there is nowhere in the Faith's books saying women should not find pleasure in bed, for example."

Jaime tilts his head, but says nothing. "There is an answer to all those questions I've told you," he goes on. "One teaching, hidden between the lines of The Seven-Pointed Star, which explains why the Faith talks so much about sex. It is its purpose. Why the Seven Who Are One allowed us humans to enjoy an act that, in other humans, is done with the sole purpose of procreation. It is love. The gods have fashioned us with love, my lord. It is our great glory, and our great tragedy as well."

He takes a pause to breathe. "I don't understand," Jaime says. "There are many kinds of love, are there not?"

"Yes," he agrees, "and not all of them involve sex. I wasn't finished, my lord. There are many kinds of love. In fact, each god represents a kind of love. Remember what I said about the Maiden bearing a king's sons?" Jaime nods. "That is simply because the Maiden represents romantic, sexual love."

"It doesn't make any sense," he replies. "Should the Maiden not represent friendship, or something of the sort?"

"Oh, no, that is for the Smith," Septon Marc says. "Friendship is represented by the Smith, for he builds strong relations, which endure even when faced with great adversity."

"Forgive me, Septon, but that sounds… Shouldn't they switch? Shouldn't romantic love be the one that lasts?"

"And it does, but the foundations are different. Remember, we are not talking about amicable relations between lords and kingdoms, we are talking about genuine friendship between two people who are not family nor lovers. Such a bond is forged chain by chain, piece by piece, through all the things you've shared. It's about two people choosing each other without any interests behind it; there is no coin, no carnal pleasure, no political alliance motivating it. Do you have any bond like that, my lord?"

He thinks of Addam Marbrand, who's been with him since childhood and whose House was already tied to his through his uncle's marriage. He thinks of Elia, with whom he bonded through the hardships they faced under Aerys. "I do," he replies, smiling softly.

"Good. We should always look for friends in this world, no matter who we are: noble, royal, peasant, maester, septon, black brother… the Smith's love is one of the most accessible, for we can find true friends anywhere if we are willing to look. As for the Maiden's love… My lord, what do we say when we talk about romantic love? Do you… walk into love for someone? Climb towards it?"

Realization—or part of it—dawns on him. "No," he says. "We fall in love."

"Exactly." Septon Marc smiles. "We don't get to choose who we love, although we can—and must—choose what to do with it. The first step is a pull, taken whether we like it or not. The Maiden then offers two paths: you can embrace it or let it go. The right answer—the Maiden's choice, as it was called back in the day—depends on the person. You said you fell for your sister?"

"Yes, when we were small children."

"Oh, I am not talking about your childhood. I'm talking about when it turned carnal."

He hums. "As I told you, we were fifteen."

"That was when the Maiden offered you these paths. Can you tell me why you should have let it go?" He shakes his head; of course not. "Because sibling love does not belong to the Maiden. Family love is split between two gods: the Mother, who looks after parents and their children, and the Father, who watches over the rest—siblings, cousins, uncles, aunts and so on."

He flinches. "My love for Cersei and Tyrion doesn't hold a candle to what I feel for my cousins."

"I'm not saying those feelings are equal, my lord, only that they are watched over by the same god, because they bear similarities in nature. The connection you feel with your siblings is of shared blood. It is very different from the nature of your connection with your parents, as well as what you'll feel for your children, when you get them.

"In the world the Seven had in mind for us, a child would be the ultimate expression of love between a man and a woman. For that, parents love their children without reservation and vow to care for them. In turn, in a child's eyes, a father and a mother are those who give them life and care. They learn what love is through them. Again, this is in an ideal world; I am well aware this doesn't always happen."

Unbidden, his thoughts go to his father, and he nods in understanding. "Back to my original point," Septon Marc continues, "the Seven are split because these kinds of love are meant to stay separate in order to work. You and your twin share the Father's love, not the Maiden's. When you were presented with the Maiden's choice, and you chose to embrace her love, you fell into a trap—one not made by the goddess, but by your heart itself. These two loves don't mix because it can only end in misery. And it doesn't matter whether you are a Targaryen or not."

He blinks, remembering how this talk began. "But the Doctrine of Exceptionalism—"

"And that is the moment the Faith began to sink," Septon Marc cuts him off. "When we distorted our beliefs to a man's will. King Jaehaerys wanted to end the fight with the Faith, which is an honorable wish, but he didn't want to let go of his sister-wife. The High Septon should have refused to bless the union. In Andalos, people married outside the Faith as well; it was what we called 'civil marriage'. For whatever reason—I think it was due to cultural intertwining with the First Men—we lost civil marriage as an institution, and all weddings began to require a priest's blessing. Still, the High Septon had no obligation to bless a wedding that went against our beliefs. Instead, he accepted a false doctrine that claimed the Targaryens were above other humans because they rode dragons."

"Were they not?"

"Special abilities do not change one's nature. We're all still human. Proof of that is that the King and his Queen outlived most of their children. Queen Alysanne died first, with only three of her children still alive, and two of them didn't even speak to her anymore. But the Doctrine of Exceptionalism was the first fall down the stairs. In many other times, the Faith turned a blind eye to atrocities and bowed to the King's will. One only needs to look at Baelor the Blessed. How can one call him such when he imprisoned his sisters against his will and decided he was the one with power to elect the High Septon?"

"Maesters claim he had visions."

"Everyone has visions if they drink enough, my lord. The Most Devout should never have taken Baelor's words at face value. He vouched for a man who didn't know a single prayer, then for a child."

Jaime briefly thinks he has learned more about House Targaryen's history today than he usually did in a fortnight of lessons in the Rock as a child. "Back to the point," Septon Marc continues (although Jaime wanted to hear more examples), "as the Faith distorted its beliefs to conform with the wills of kings, we forgot our essence. We forgot about the Seven's message—the seven loves we should live and fight for. We forgot why there are rules and sins, and now we only 'teach' children what they should not do without giving them an explanation. Do you know why we bless political marriages?"

"Because there are no civil weddings anymore?" Should I bring this idea to the Small Council sometime? It sounds good.

"Oh, that is definitely a factor, but this kind of marriage always existed. We used to bless them under the Crone, as hers is the love for duty—children born under the Crone's love should be as loved as those born under the Maiden's. The Warrior's love is not for violence or war, but for your home. You defend your land because you care for it. Then, there is the Stranger's love, the one I'm most fond of: universal love, for all living creatures. Can you imagine why this love belongs to the Stranger?"

He doesn't need to think for long. "Death is universal," he replies. "The Stranger comes for us all, so he holds love for us all."

Septon Marc nods. "Well, I think this was all I had to say. I apologize for taking so much of your time, my lord."

"On the contrary," he replies sincerely, "I think I learned a lot today. Thank you for your lessons, septon. I'm glad I followed you."

The man smiles, and bids him goodbye as he leaves the room and the sept. Later, when Elia asks about his whereabouts, he tells her he had an enlightening talk with Septon Marc. "I'd repeat it all to you if I thought I'd be able to," he adds, "but I think it'd be better if you hear it from the man himself. He's a good teacher."

"I might do it if I get some free time," she replies, sighing dramatically. He laughs, and so does she.

He doesn't bring the idea of civil marriage to the Small Council's table just yet. It is something he'd rather keep to himself for time being; let it settle in his mind. For so long, he's made decisions on impulse. With Cersei, it was good; she liked his impulsive, beastly side. Now that she no longer stands by his side, he has to let go of that, as it has no place in his new life. He's been doing rather well in the Rock, but only because he assumed he'd unload it all in bed with his sister. He must make greater efforts to keep his good, measured behavior up.

As usual, he spends more time with Elia's children than doing politics, despite technically being a member of the Small Council. He still engages in conversation with some of its members—notably, Mace Tyrell and Doran Martell, as he considers their Houses to be the most likely buyers of the luxury items he's supposed to see ready when he returns. He talks a bit to Paxter Redwyne as well.

He does try to negotiate to buy food from Mace Tyrell's stock, but he claims his grain is only enough to feed the Reach. Negotiations fall short, and he decides to bring the subject up again in his next visit.

He also tries to get Ser Arthur to talk to him, but two months are clearly not enough. He tried to get Elia to bring him along to Sunspear, but she refused, claiming none of the three Kingsguard who stayed over in Dorne should go back there anytime soon. "It won't do them any good to relive their memories," she said before picking Ser Barristan and two of the new Kingsguard, Ser Hyle Hunt and Ser Osney Kettleback.

If only he knew what memories they didn't want to relive. He knows Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell followed Rhaegar to Dorne with Lyanna. When Rhaegar left his second wife's side, he left her with them plus Ser Gerold. After the war ended, Ned Stark went to retrieve his sister and came back with the three knights, Lyanna Stark's bones and her baby son.

Are the bad memories ones about Lady Lyanna? Did they witness her death? Were they forced to stand by as Rhaegar mistreated her, or, gods forbid, raped and struck her like Aerys did to Rhaella? Do they regret siding with the prince? Or is the truth something else entirely?

He leaves King's Landing without these answers once more.

There is a rather long to-do list waiting for him in Casterly Rock, as his brother gleefully tells him. He grows up and gets annoying, he notices, exasperated and fond at the same time. After his fallout with Cersei, spending time with Tyrion promises to be as refreshing as looking after Rhaenys and Aegon.

"First, the items you commissioned arrived last month," he says. "The artist is still here as our guest, waiting for you to inspect it. We invited the jeweler who designed them as well, and he arrived yesterday."

"Has anyone else seen it?"

"Aunt Genna has. She has her reservations, but decided to keep them to herself until you arrived. Are you coming?"

He nods and follows his brother to a chamber on the second floor, near where Cersei used to sleep in. Their aunt finds them midway and comes along. When he opens the door, the items are sprawled on the king-sized bed.

His first inspection is to determine what exactly he's seeing: necklace pendants, earrings, rings, tiaras, bracelets, brooches, lockets, silverware, candlesticks. On his second inspection, he grabs each item to check if there are any defects. "Some things don't match the design," he mumbles, recalling what the maester showed him before his trip to King's Landing. "Were they changed while I was away?"

"No," Aunt Genna replies. "Some of these are indeed defective."

He nods slowly. "Tyrion, would you please bring Maester Creylen, the jeweler and the artist here? I want to take a look at the designs and find out what went wrong."

As they wait for the men, Aunt Genna points out the flaws she saw. Her ability for it is way above his, so he just nods along, even when he can't see what she sees. "Have you talked to him about it, Aunt?"

"Not yet," she replies, shrugging. "I'd rather have you to back me up."

He sighs. "It shouldn't have to be this way," he says. "I spend half of every year in King's Landing, and I trust you, Tyrion and my uncles to run things in my name."

She smiles softly at him. "I know, and, had he come here while you were, say, away in the Vale, we'd have solved this without you. But he's been here for less than a month, and everyone thought you'd be here by then anyway."

"If you say so," he breathes out.

Eventually both men come. All six of them compare the drawings to the finished products, and Jaime asks the artist (Enry is his name), "Why did it happen, lad? Was it because you thought it'd be better the way you did it, or—"

"No, m'lord," he mumbles. "I never stray from designs, unless I talk to the person beforehand. Problem is that… some specifications were written instead of drawn, and I can't read."

He looks over at the designs again. Indeed, some details are described in words rather than in illustrations. "Is it not usual for you?"

"No, m'lord. Usually, everything is drawn out in detail."

He glances to the jeweler, Oswell, who sighs. "I couldn't draw everything I wanted, so I wrote it down. It didn't occur to me that Enry couldn't read."

An idea pops up in his mind, and he looks back at Enry, the artist. "Would you like to learn?"

The man startles. "M'lord?"

"Would you like to learn to read?" he asks again. "This was the first time you faced trouble in your profession because you can't figure out written instructions, but you're young, so there's bound to be more, especially if these things sell as well as we hope they do. So?"

Enry glances around nervously. Jaime takes a deep breath and turns to the maester. "Maester Creylen, would you teach Enry how to read and write if he's willing?"

"Of course," the man nods.

At that, Enry's hands shake a bit. "How much would it cost?"

"Nothing," Jaime assures him.

"Oh, good," he breathes out, clearly relieved. "Then I would like to, yes. Do you think I'd be able to teach my son when he grows up, or does it have to be a maester? I hope to pass my craft to him someday."

"Anyone can teach how to read if they have enough patience for it," Maester Creylen replies swiftly. "Don't worry; it's easier than it looks. I think you can learn within three or four months. In the meantime, I'll read these instructions to you so you can remake these items."

"Do you think you can reuse this gold and silver?" Jaime asks. Enry nods. "Great, then we're all settled."

The next matter is Lord Banefort, who wants to talk to Jaime—and only Jaime—about the money he's supposed to give him back. "He came here a fortnight ago," Tyrion informs him, "and decided to wait for you in Lannisport."

Jaime sends Cleos to retrieve the man, who arrives at sunset. For a moment, he thinks of postponing the conversation to the next morning, but then he remembers how he didn't like to talk to the man and decides to get it over with.

At first, Lord Quenten Banefort—why does he have a Dornish name anyway?—asks for a delay. Jaime offers him two options: pay part of the debt now and settle the rest on a later date, or delay it entirely with fees. Banefort tries to talk himself out of both options, but concedes to the latter. To Jaime's pleasure, the man is out of the Rock right after breakfast.

To his relief, he receives reports of increases on food production across the westerlands. With luck, he won't have to negotiate much with Lord Mace when he goes back to the capital.

On the next day, he receives Damion in his study, who thanks him profusely for taking Lucion out of the city for a few months. "I told him about Lanna's pregnancy and he didn't bat an eye," he says with delight.

"How many moons is she?"

"She's supposed to give birth at any given moment, according to her last letter."

He recalls how he wanted to rush her wedding to Jast so there wouldn't be a scandal if she ended up pregnant. It seems I was right, after all, he thinks.

After solving the most urgent issues, he goes to Maester Creylen to check on his progress on designing the new castle to be built in Tarbeck Hall's place. It is mostly done; he's sorting out details like gardens and walls.

A month after his return, he learns Addam is taking care of some issues in Lannisport and takes his older cousins to drink in the city. Cleos, Lucion and Devan follow him to the inn Addam's staying in, and they spend the night at the docks. Cleos tells them about a drinking game he learned in the Twins. "My cousins would drink every time Grandfather slapped a girl's ass," he says. "Twice if the girl was from the family."

"Ew," Devan comments with a grimace. Jaime nods with a neutral expression, recalling Cersei.

"We can drink for every sailor's curse," Addam suggests.

"We'll be dead before sunrise," Jaime replies, chuckling.

"Okay, we can pick a specific curse."

Lucion frowns. "Isn't there a better game, cousin? I don't want to spend the night listening to sailor's talk."

"Fair enough," Cleos replies, opening a bottle of cider. "There is one in which… Well, let's say I guess something about you, Lucion. If I guess it right, you drink, and I go again with someone else. If I'm wrong, I drink, and it's your turn."

Jaime raises his still empty cup. "I like this one better," he says. "We get drunk while pretending to forge strong family bonds." The Father's love, he remembers from Septon Marc.

"Did I just become a Lannister?" Addam asks with a laugh as they get their cups filled. The Smith's love.

Cleos begins the game with Lucion. "You spent your months in King's Landing with whores."

Jaime turns to his cousin. "Drink," he orders. Lucion was rarely ever found in the castle, but, by the time he came back from Dorne, he already had a list of favorite brothels.

"That's an easy one," Lucion argues as he takes a sip. "Of course I did. Who wouldn't?"

Cleos immediately turns to Jaime. "You didn't," he quips.

Chukling, he takes a sip. "If it wasn't for Queen Elia, I'd be a septon in all but name," he adds, because he doesn't want to face questions about whether he and his wife are sexually active or not.

Cleos turns to Addam and guesses his intent in Lannisport, but he gets it wrong, so it's his friend's turn. Over the next hours, Jaime drink only three more times: when Devan guesses he was propositioned by Oberyn Martell in Dorne, when Addam guesses his encounter with Lysa Tully (now Baelish) was awkward and when Cleos guesses he learned how to sew while disguised as Cersei when he was a child. "But I can only mend a torn piece of clothing," he adds. "Can't count on me to sew a maiden's cloak."

They all end up sleeping in Addam's room, and Jaime is the only one who isn't nursing an unbearable hangover in the morning after.

Chapter Text

Within a month, Jaime is called to check the fixed items by Eryn. He takes Aunt Genna along, who nods approvingly. "I'd like for you to make a replica of each item," he tells the artists after paying him for what he's already done. "Depending on how well these are received here and in King's Landing, we might need to make many more."

Eryn nods, but his brows are furrowed. "Mass production would take a while, m'lord."

"We'll hire other artists as the need arises, but no getting ahead of ourselves for now." The young man shrugs. "How are your reading and writing lessons going?"

He smiles shyly. "Good, m'lord. It is easier than I expected, even if some things are harder to get than others."

Jaime smiles back. "We've all been there, lad. Keep up with the good work."

Days later, the maester calls him to check on the visuals for the new castle to be built in Tarbeck Hall's place. It looks similar to Crakehall, as he asked, but a few touches to make it resemble Casterly Rock as well. "Is this a fountain?" he asks, pointing out to a blue circle in the centre.

"It is, my lord," he replies.

"Where are the training yards?"

"Right outside the main walls," he replies, pointing at the eastern corner. "I figured to place the gardens at the centre, hence the fountain."

"I see. I'd like for my family to take a look at it as well."

Maester Creylen tilts his head. "By 'family', my lord, do you mean your aunt?"

He chuckles. "My uncles and brother as well, Maester."

"Very well. After lunch?" He nods.

Uncle Tygget looks lost when the castle's design is presented, and he quickly excuses himself out of the solar they are gathered in. Tyrion is quick to analyze everything twice over, though, and he makes several suggestions Jaime would never have thought of by himself.

"I'm still unsure of what to do with it," Jaime admits when the maester leaves.

Aunt Genna raises an eyebrow. "I thought you'd give it to a Lannister. Start a third branch."

"It was the original idea, yes, but… I'm not that confident about it anymore. It was a Lannister who ordered Tarbeck Hall's burning. It doesn't feel right to hand it to another Lannister."

A short silence falls until Uncle Gerion nods. "Understandable. It doesn't sound right in my ears either. Why not a prison, then? Maybe not like the one they have in Dorne—I've heard it's horrible—but a comfortable prison for nobles and lesser criminals."

"Or perhaps for greater criminals," Tyrion quips. "If we place enough guards, it would be the best place to imprison a killer."

"I thought we executed those," Jaime comments.

"But there is always a trial, isn't there? They could wait for it in a heavily guarded prison. The trial itself could be held there."

He hums. "I'll think more about it. If you have any other suggestions over the next few months, I'm all ears."

"There's no rush for construction to begin," his aunt reminds him. "If you even want to talk to your wife about it… Perhaps the Crown might find a use for a new, ownerless castle."

He nods slowly.

As he gets things more or less done in the Rock, he begins to go out more with his cousins and friends, and even makes a few more in Lannisport. Day by day, his Cersei-shaped wound heals. Some places are still haunted by her shadow, though; most are in the castle, which is why he never wastes an opportunity to get out of it.

On his fourth month in the Rock—he won't spend less time at home because of his delay to return—he and Tyrion go visit their cousin Lanna. He's hesitant to bring Lucion along, but he insists on meeting his baby nephew. Of course, he invites Damion to come with them, both so he can see his daughter and grandson and to make sure Lucion behaves.

It all goes well, except for his bubbling awkwardness when Lanna announces she named her son after Jaime, in a way to thank him for his kindness upon dealing with the near-scandal months ago. Jaime Jast sounds like a jape, but he refrains on saying anything other than 'thank you'.

On his final week before leaving for King's Landing, two maids come to him asking to learn to read and write. "We've seen how that artist, Enry, is thriving," one of them, the older one, explains. "How his craft improved. We'd like to know if it'd make a difference for us too."

He bites his lip; the younger maid's eyes dart to it in seemingly a reflex. "If Maester Creylen is able to teach you, I see no problem. I think it will be good, actually."

They nod, and the older maid drags the other out of the room. It is far from the first time a servant girl or woman eyes him with interest. He knows he could take one of them as a lover, especially since Elia does not expect fidelity from him. But, truth be told, he has yet to feel desire over anyone after Cersei, even if thinking of her no longer hurts as it did when he left Sunspear.

Besides, after his talk with Septon Marc, he's decided to take his vows as seriously as he should have from day one. If he won't fuck Elia, he won't fuck anyone. It's not like he will die due to lack of sex.

(Speaking of Septon Marc, he has to fast on his last day in the Rock, as it is the Smith's Day.)

Tyrion repeatedly asks to go with him to King's Landing. At first, Jaime is hesitant; his brother has always been a great help, and, at the age of thirteen, he's proven to be better than him in several aspects that being a lord entails.

Sometimes, he wishes he could just pass the Rock over to Tyrion, but he doesn't want to risk him suffering ridicule. Their father's shadow still lingers in some corners of their home, and he doesn't want it to become too apparent.

However, only a few hours after they are out in the Goldroad, they catch sight of bandits attacking a girl. Jaime wastes no time grabbing his sword to chase the men away, leaving his brother to look after the girl. In the end, Tyrion doesn't follow him to King's Landing, as he decides to take her to Casterly and have her injuries treated. Jaime sends half of his soldiers with him.

The rest of his journey goes on without trouble, and soon he's at the capital once again. As always, he is greeted by the king, his mother and his sister. He does his best to hide his surprise at their size—Aegon is a chubby four-year old, while Rhaenys is an adorable six-year old girl now. Both of them grew up a lot while he was away, and his heart squeezes at the thought.

Deep down, he can admit to himself that he loves these kids. How could he not, after spending so much time with them, playing with them and cuddling them to sleep?

Now that everyone is used to his comings and goings at the Red Keep, no one bats an eye when his wife unceremoniously hugs him in greeting. He hugs her back in the same relaxed way. "How has it been without me?" he asks with a grin as his soldiers are guided to their rooms and he follows his wife to their own.

"Boring," she says with a chuckle, but her eyes betray her emotions. Something happened, though he can't say what.

Before he can ask, though, Rhaenys urges him to follow her to the gardens. "Jaime just arrived, sweetling," Elia reminds her. "Let him take a bath and rest before you kidnap him."

The princess pouts, but lets it go, dragging her brother instead. Finally, they enter their chambers. As soon as his wife bars the door, he asks, "What's wrong?"

She frowns, looking confused. "Nothing. I always bar the door when we're here, remember?"

"That's not—I'm talking about the corridor. I asked how things have been without me, and you said it was boring. You chuckled, but it didn't reach your eyes."

She blinks. "Oh, that." Her frown goes away. "It's nothing wrong, per se, but… It should be addressed between us sooner or later."

It's his turn to frown now. "Tell me, then."

She sits on the bed and gestures for him to sit at the chair in front of her. "Aegon and Rhaenys like you better than my ladies," she says. "At first, I thought it was because you aren't always here, so there isn't an opportunity for the novelty to wear off. But, three months ago, Aegon referred to you as… 'father'."

He's glad to already be sitting down. "W-what?"

"Rhaegar rarely ever saw him, Jaime, because he ran away with Lyanna only a few months after his birth. Aegon was not even two years old when the war ended. He has no memories of his father. You, on the other hand, have been around for most of his life. You are married to his mother, you play with him, hug him, lull him to sleep… In his eyes, you are his father."

Gods. Isn't it what he was thinking about without directly thinking of it? "I… I'd never presume to replace Rhaegar."

"What is there to replace?" She sighs. "Truth be told, a father figure would be good for both of them. There is only so much I can do, especially with my duties as Queen Mother and Regent. Since we're married, you're the closest they'll ever get to one."

He swallows hard. "Have you not taken a lover, Elia?"

She smiles sadly. "To what end? I told you when I proposed, Jaime: I am not interested in fucking anyone anytime soon. Moon tea is not foolproof; I've seen it fail with Ashara and with me."

"You?"

"I didn't want to get pregnant straight after getting the maester's permission. Granted, I had to take it in secret, because Rhaegar wanted a second child soon, but Ashara did not face that trouble. Also, it's not such a cheap drink that I can drink whenever I want. Only whorehouses can afford it regularly, as their owners buy it in large quantities and charge their clients for it. For nobles and royals, it's twice the price." She shakes her head. "I don't plan on taking a lover in the foreseeable future."

He nods slowly, catching what she doesn't say: I won't fuck another, but I won't fuck you either. Not that he didn't already know that, of course.

"Of course," she continues, "I won't pressure you. Being a father to another man's child is no easy task."

He smiles. "It is with Aegon and Rhaenys," he replies. "I cannot claim to love them as my own kids, but… I see you all as family, and I do love them as such. If this truly pleases you, Elia, I'll let them call me 'father'."

She smiles back. "I'd be glad."

For as much as he thought being a father figure to Aegon and Rhaenys would change things, in the end they stay more or less the same. Aside from the sappy tears that threatened to come to surface when each of them tried the word on their tongues for the first time, their dynamic barely changes. There are no new social expectations, and the Small Council and the castle staff don't treat him any differently. It is as if he'd been their father all along, ever since he donned the Lannister cloak on Elia's shoulders.

A fortnight after his arrival, he shows the luxury items he brought to Lord Mace and Lord Paxter, who ask for several copies of each one. He writes to Enry that mass production is authorized and requested, and gets a reply by the man's own hand, saying he can get it done by the time he's back in Casterly Rock. Jaime gives the lords an eight-month deadline, as he plans to have the items delivered directly to Highgarden and the Arbor. When the deal is made, he gets half of the money right away.

One day, he asks Elia if she talked to Septon Marc. "No," she replies sadly. "I haven't had the time."

"Why don't I stay with the kids for a day while you visit him?"

He takes the King and the Princess to an orphanage, where, under the watchful eyes of Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan, they play with the orphans as if they were all of the same station. It's a sight to behold, and Jaime makes a mental note to take them out of the castle more often.

Barristan shares tales he heard from Duncan the Tall himself about King Aegon V. Rhaenys asks how he met the famous knight. "I unhorsed him once in a tourney," he explains softly. Jaime is impressed that he doesn't brag, but, then again, Selmy has never been the bragging type. "He was the one to nickname me 'Bold'. Afterwards, he invited me for a few rides, and we talked during it."

Arthur is as awed by the stories as Jaime and the children, which means Barristan has not shared them with his sworn brothers in a long time. Absurdly, it makes him feel like he's still one of them.

When they arrive at the Red Keep, Elia is still in the sept, so he leaves the kids with Lady Valena Manwoody to get bathed and redressed. He goes to the sept's entrance to wait for his wife, and, even though nobody could see him from the inside, it doesn't take long for her to show up.

He offers his arm and leads her to the gardens. "Septon Marc indeed had many interesting things to say," she comments after a short silence. "I like the idea of civil marriage and the old marriage vows."

"Do you think we should try to revive them?"

She hums. "I asked him the same thing. He advised me to speak to the High Septon first, as no matter of the Faith should be ruled by the Crown without his permission."

"Fair enough," he agrees. "Do you plan on doing it?"

"I was thinking we should do it together," she replies, "if you don't mind."

He gives her a small smile. "Of course I don't mind. I'm your husband, Elia; wherever you go, I follow."

"You make our marriage sound way more romantic than it truly is."

He laughs, and she laughs along. "I'm a romantic at heart," he quips.

"Of course you are."

They talk a bit more about Septon Marc's speeches to each of them, then go back to the castle, where they have dinner with the children.

They schedule a meeting with the High Septon a month after Elia's conversation with Marc. As High Septons let go of their names when they rise to the position, the current one is usually called 'the bulky one'—apparently, he used to work as a smith before being elected, forging ceremonial weapons and jewelry.

Indeed, the High Septon's arms are as strong as the Smith's statue in the Sept of Baelor, although his robes make it impossible to tell whether his abdomen is muscled or not.

He takes them to a secluded room behind the Maiden's altar. As the Queen, Elia should be the first to speak, but, on their way to the sept, they agreed to let Jaime talk first. They did not know how the High Septon would receive their words, so he'd speak without telling him it was Septon Marc who told them. Elia would agree to the ideas without mentioning she personally spoke to the septon as well. They'd only reveal Marc's name if asked.

As such, Jaime tells as much details of his conversation as he can without revealing his confessions. The High Septon certainly guesses he must have admitted to some carnal sin, but his expression betrays nothing. At the end, he says, "Indeed, this septon you spoke with is correct. Our Faith's current practice is vastly different from the ways of old, although I'd argue it is not necessarily a bad change."

"Isn't it?" Elia asks. "Wouldn't it be easier for all of us to follow the Seven's laws if we knew why they are what they are in the first place?"

"Perhaps," the High Septon concedes. "To be fairly honest, I've never put much thought on it, though it seems that you two have."

"Yes," Jaime confirms, "and we'd like to know if it is possible to reinstante some of these ancient practices, such as the old marriage vows."

"You mean to perform different rituals depending on the wedding's nature?" The High Septon arches his eyebrows. "It may not be well received by your highborn peers."

Elia shrugs. "It could be an option," she argues. "Leave the 'new' vows available, as well as the old ones. I think many nobles would be happy to not have to pretend they are marrying for love, especially if we manage to get the Small Council's approval for instanting civil marriage."

"We don't want to pass the law now," Jaime adds. "We want to see how people will react to the revived vows first. If we see a high demand for the Crone's ritual, we'll bring it to the Small Council."

There is a short silence, after which the High Septon hums. "It will be quite a legacy for your son's reign, Your Grace. It may not be a good one, however."

"We are willing to try," she says with a soft smile.

"I will bring the matter to the Most Devout," he promises. "I cannot give you a deadline; my brothers are woefully capable of dwelling on a subject for months on end."

Both he and Elia shrug. "We are glad you did not dismiss us right away," he replies.

"I was elected by the Most Devout due to my willingness to hear different opinions. It would be unwise of me to stop doing it now."

The rest of his stay in King's Landing goes by without a hitch. He takes Aegon and Rhaenys to other orphanages, including one that receives children of whores—it causes a bit of a scandal in the Small Council, but Doran quickly shuts them off by citing the Water Gardens near Sunspear, where kids of all stations go play with one another.

A few days before his departure, Elia suggests that they travel to Dragonstone when he comes back. "You've never been there, have you?" He shakes his head. "It's a nice place; I liked living there. Besides, it's been a year since we last saw Rhaella and her children. Viserys is eleven by now, I think, and Daenerys must be three years old. I miss them, and I miss my former good mother."

He sort of misses the former Queen too, so he agrees without hesitation. "Who does rule Dragonstone, by the way?"

"Viserys," she replies, "with Rhaella as regent."

He hums, but says nothing else.

The journey back to Casterly Rock is uneventful, giving Jaime time to realize he hasn't gotten a single letter from Tyrion after he reported the girl they rescued was well. In fact, he hasn't gotten news from his family at all, even if he regularly sent letters of his own. Does that mean nothing of importance happened? Lord Banefort should already have shown up by now with his debts to pay, he thinks. Is he waiting for me? Or has my family dealt with him, and they forgot to warn me? Did they come up with a solution for the new castle?

He shakes these questions out of his mind. If something really bad had happened, someone would have sent word—either a family member or a bannerman. He will find out what has gone on back home soon enough.

Chapter Text

After Tysha assures them none of her injuries are serious, Tyrion puts her inside the carriage Jaime left with him and tells the remaining men to ride back to Casterly Rock.

"Thank you, m'lord," she mumbles after they stop fussing over her. "It was very kind of you."

Her voice is fragile, and Tyrion's heart squeezes at it. "I did nothing a decent person wouldn't do, if they had the means. Most of the merit goes to my brother, to be honest. He chased the bad men off."

"But you are the one who stayed to take care of me," she counters shyly, her cheeks flushed red. She looks adorable like this.

"What happened out there, if you don't mind me asking?"

She sniffs. "My father was a crofter," she explains. "Winter was hard on us all, but Father's lands didn't… didn't recover with spring. Neither did he, and now it's just me, mother and my baby brother. We have to wander far to find supplies we can afford. I was goin' out to buy 'em when the men showed up. They taunted me, sayin' they wanted my—my cunt, m'lord."

Her entire face is flushed, but his attention is drawn to her watery eyes. Lovely eyes, he thinks as he stares at them. Her yet unshed tears suit their blueish color.

"Did they touch you?"

She shakes her head. "You came right on time, m'lord."

He nods slowly. "I'm glad," he mumbles. "May I know your name?"

"Tysha."

It's a sweet name. "I'm Tyrion." She may have already figured he's a Lannister, what with the lion banners and all that.

As night quickly approaches, they stop by an inn. Tysha gasps when Tyrion attempts to book a room for herself and insists it isn't needed, for she can sleep at the stables. "If you don't want your own room," Tyrion replies, "you may share it with me. It may even be safer."

She looks around nervously, and he follows her eyes to find a few men staring at her with lust. She wordlessly nods in agreement, then. He tells the innkeeper to bring them dinner and wine and guides her to the room.

After the first wine glass, she loosens up enough to share a bit more about herself: how her father died right after the first spring flower blossomed due to an illness he caught in the final year of winter. How he always babied her and said she was the daughter he always dreamed of, while her mother seemed to have despised her from the moment she was born. She never wanted a girl, she says, only a boy. How her life improved slightly when her baby brother was born, because her mother was too busy doting on him to bother her. How it got worse again when her father, the only person who ever loved her, was gone, leaving her alone with a woman who openly wished she was the one who had died, but still demanded she run around the house's errands.

"M'lord was kind when no one else was," she confesses, about to cry. She has only taken two glasses, as Tyrion quickly realized she'd get too drunk with a third one.

In turn, Tyrion talks about his mother, lost to him before he could open his eyes; his father, who hated him for it and for his looks until he finally paid the price for his many, many crimes; his sister, who also hated him, but is now also too far to hurt him; his brother, who loves him as if he hasn't brought grief to the family since his first day in the world; his aunt and uncles, who treat him with kindness but nothing close to Jaime.

When she says he deserves all kindness and goodness in the world, he impulsively kisses her lips. Then he remembers what caused them to meet in the first place and retreats. "I'm sorry—"

She kisses his lips in response. "M'lord has nothin' to be sorry for," she replies. "You'd never hurt me."

I love this girl, he thinks as he kisses her again, and again, and again. He thinks it as they take each other's clothes off, as he climbs up and down her body to explore it, as she cries when he takes her maidenhead, as she kisses him with tenderness and sings for him afterwards.

"Marry me," he mumbles as he lies next to her.

She looks at him with wide eyes. "M'lord, I'm just a crofter's daughter," she argues.

"If it mattered, I wouldn't ask you," he replies. "I love you, and I want you to be mine until the end of my days." He gulps. "If you do not want the same, I understand. I'll—"

She turns to him and places her hand on his cheek. "I love you, Tyrion," she says with conviction. He smiles at the use of his name. "I love your lips. I love your voice, and the words you say to me, and how you treat me gently. I love your face. I'll marry you if that's what you want."

In the morning, he tells Ser Harold, the knight Jaime appointed to command the remaining guards, that he and Tysha want to get married. "Are you… sure?" he asks, looking between the two of them with visible confusion.

"Yes, I am," he states firmly.

The knight sighs and tells two men to find a sept for them to get married in. In the meantime, Tyrion looks for a cloak to put around her shoulders, and one of the workers at the inn helps Tysha get ready for the occasion.

Within three hours, they are wedded before gods and men, and Tyrion is utterly in love.

They have their wedding night in a cottage behind the sept, where Tyrion wants to spend a fortnight, but Tysha, now fully sober, talks sense into him like the wife she is. "Your family will worry," she says.

"My brother is on his way to the capital."

"You said your aunt and uncles care for you too," she counters. "Of course they'll worry!"

"My guards can tell them I'm safe."

She shakes her head. "I won't let you get in trouble for me, husband." Oh, how he loves that word coming from her lips. "My family won't miss me. At best, Mother will be angry I didn't get back with supplies, but nothin' more. Your family already misses you, I'm sure."

He's not looking forward to arguing with his wife on their first day of marriage, so he agrees and tells Ser Harold to prepare the carriage for the journey back. The knight looks relieved.

The ride to Casterly Rock takes only a few hours, which makes sense given he and Jaime caught Tysha half a day on the road, and the only reason they didn't go straight back there yesterday was the late hour. Still, he feels apprehension bubbling in. While Aunt Genna, Uncle Gerion and Uncle Tygget are not his father, they are his siblings, afforded the same upbringing. Moreover, their reactions and opinions cannot be brushed aside.

There is no one but a servant to greet them, who, when told the humbly dressed girl at his side is the latest Lady Lannister, simply bows and goes to fetch his aunt and uncles to meet him at the main solar. Tysha's hand is sweaty when he takes her there, so he tries to comfort her. "Just be yourself," he says, "and they will love you as I do."

She smiles, but does not calm down.

Uncle Tygget is the first to arrive, but he simply greets each of them with a nod. Uncle Gerion does the same, and there is a short awkward silence before Aunt Genna finally arrives. "I've heard congratulations are due?" she says in a tone that sounds like a question. She then lands her eyes on Tysha. "Oh," she lets out.

He gulps. "Aunt, Uncles, this is Tysha Lannister, my wife."

Uncle Gerion shifts on his seat with a surprised look—apparently, he was now told about Tyrion's wedding. Uncle Tygget nods and smiles slightly. "Congratulations are due, indeed," he says. "Welcome to the family, Lady Tysha. I hope you don't get lost in our humble home."

Aunt Genna, however, doesn't look pleased. Instead, her eyes narrow at his wife. "And what was your birth surname, dear?"

The way she says 'dear' makes both of them take a deep breath. "None, m'lady," Tysha replies.

"'M'lady'? You are not a noble, then."

"No, m'lady. My father was a crofter."

Aunt Genna takes a few more steps in their direction. "I see," she says carefully. "You said he was a crofter. What happened?"

Tysha hangs her head low. "He died, m'lady. It's only me, my mother and my brother now."

Aunt Genna hums. "And how much money does your mother and brother want?"

Tysha raises her head with wide eyes. "None, m'lady," she replies instantly. "My mother doesn't know about Tyrion and my brother is but a baby."

"Then how much money do you want from us to deliver to your home?"

His aunt is not subtle at all, and it makes his heart squeeze. "None, m'lady," Tysha replies quietly. "My home is here now. Mother probably thinks I'm dead."

"Why?" Uncle Gerion asks, speaking up for the first time.

Tysha turns to him with heated cheeks. "Tyrion and… and Lord Jaime found me on the road. Some men were attacking me. Lord Jaime chased the men away and Tyrion took care of me. He was kind, m'lord."

"Is that all it took?" Aunt Genna asks forcefully. "Kindness?"

"It's not somethin' I've had much of since my father died, m'lady."

At that, his aunt softens a bit, but not completely, and turns to Uncle Gerion. "Dear brother, would you mind taking the new Lady Lannister for a walk?"

Something seems to pass silently between them, and his uncle nods. "Come, my lady?" he asks, standing up and offering her his arm.

Tysha looks at him, and he nods. She takes a deep breath and takes his arm—rather clumsily. When they are out, Uncle Tygget stands up. "I'll leave you two to talk," he announces. Then he turns to Aunt Genna. "Don't trucidate the boy, sister."

"Of course I won't!" she exclaims as her brother closes the solar's door. She turns back to Tyrion. "Alright, nephew. I want to hear the whole story."

His voice trembles as he confirms Tysha's inicial account, then tells about their night at the inn and their rushed wedding. Aunt Genna's face is unreadable for the whole tale.

At the end, she asks. "How can you be so sure she is telling the truth? About her story, about her feelings?"

"She didn't want to marry me at first," he replies. "She feared I was acting impulsively."

"Which you were," she agrees, "but that is the least of our problems. She did accept your proposal in the end, didn't she?"

"Yes—but she was the one who convinced me to come back before you worried about my absence."

"But we assumed you were with Jaime on your way to King's Landing," she reminds him.

"I—I forgot that part," he admits sheepishly. "Still, she was concerned."

"Are you sure? Wasn't she more interested in learning what life awaited her as Lady Lannister? In finding out how much money she can take out of you?"

He can't contain his tears any longer. "Aunt," she begs, "stop. Tysha loves me, I know she does. She may be my only chance at happiness; please don't push her away."

"Oh, Tyrion," she says softly, then cradles his face in her hands. "I do want you to be happy. If Tysha really is who she claims to be, I am very glad you found love. But one of us must be rational about this, nephew.

"I was betrothed to my husband when I was a child, because Lord Frey wanted our House's money. And House Frey is noble and rich. Your grandfather spent money on a paramour who wanted to live like a true Lady Lannister. Perhaps she did not plan to meet you and seduce you, but who's to say she didn't take advantage of the situation?"

He hangs his head low. "She didn't," he insists.

"Gerion and I will be the judges of that," she replies. "Tygget is too soft on you to not be biased. But we won't drive her away unless we are absolutely sure she's lying. Is that alright with you?"

He nods. It isn't, not really, but he should have known things would not be easy. His aunt had reason to worry, though he did not agree.

Later, Uncle Gerion delivers his wife back to him. "She seems to be exactly who she claims to be," he tells him and Aunt Genna, without explaining how he reached that conclusion. He turns back to Tysha. "You'll still be watched by us, my lady, but I suppose there is nothing to worry about if you have nothing to hide."

Tysha nods quickly. "I'll learn all that must be learned about being a Lady Lannister."

"Of course you will," Aunt Genna agrees. "And that begins with learning to read and write. You cannot be the wife of Tyrion if you don't at least understand his passion for books."

Tyrion quickly takes over the conversation. "I'll teach you," he offers. His wife smiles and nods.

The months go by fast. Tysha is a quick learner, and soon she's able to (albeit slowly) read an entire book. Correcting her speech patterns is harder, but her posture is fixed soon, and, day by day, she learns her manners with Aunt Genna.

In the meantime, House Yew comes to pay the second half of their bet. Like the Baneforts, the Yews did not have enough money to pay it all at once, but, instead of subjecting themselves to fees, they chose to pay in two parcels. He uses the visit to teach Tysha a bit more about money—which she already knows fairly well, as she was the one who ruled finances at home.

Six months after his wedding, Jaime comes home, as usual. When word comes of his arrival, he turns to Tysha. "Go to the solar where I introduced you to my family," he tells her. "I don't know how Jaime will react to seeing you as my wife, so I'd rather he do it in private."

She looks nervous, but nods anyway and leaves. He gets dressed and goes to receive his brother at home. On his way to the main gate, his hands begin to sweat. Out of everyone in the family, Jaime is the one whose approval he wants the most.

After basic greetings are exchanged, Tyrion pulls his brother aside. "There is someone I want you to meet," he declares.

Jaime frowns, but nods and follows him. When the solar's door opens, his brother's steps falter. "I… Why is the girl we rescued on the Goldroad here, Tyrion?"

"Her name is Tysha, brother," he replies, "and she is my wife."

Once again, they tell the whole story of how they quickly met, fell in love and got married. Tyrion's hands are trembling, which earns concerned looks from his wife every now and then.

Jaime's face is as unreadable as Aunt Genna's was back then. When they finish, he asks Tyrion for some time alone with Tysha. He waits in the corridor, pacing nervously. Aunt Genna and Uncle Gerion seem to have warmed up to his wife, but one word from Jaime will be enough for the marriage to be dissolved. He shakes his head. No, he will fight for Tysha if needed.

Eventually, his wife leaves the solar and bends down to kiss his forehead. "Your brother is a kind man, Tyrion," she says.

"Should I be worried you'll fall for his charms, then?" he asks with a smirk, trying to mask his apprehension.

She chuckles and shakes her head. "Take a deep breath, husband. It will all be fine."

He swallows hard and enters the solar. Jaime is pacing around, stopping when he sees him. His brother looks at him with a hint of hurt in his eyes. It makes his heart sink. "I got no letter about your wedding, even though it happened six months ago," he says. "Were you really afraid of telling me of your marriage?"

Tyrion gulps. "I eloped with a commoner girl when, for all I knew, you could have been negotiating an advantageous marriage for me", he tries to explain, grateful that his voice did not crack.

Jaime shakes his head, hurt replaced by something more resolute. "I've done no such thing, brother", he states firmly. "I have to admit I was wary at first, but only because I was afraid Tysha could be using you to rise in status." Then, his voice softens. "But one conversation with her soothed my concerns. She's a sweetheart who's willing to learn her way around the household; that's more than I can say of many noblewomen. And she seems to truly love you. I won't stand in your way."

Eyes filled with unshed tears, he goes to hug his big brother. "Thank you, Jaime", he says quietly. "You have no idea how much your approval means to me." Father would never have let him out of this unscathed; it seems he forgot Jaime was Father's opposite.

Jaime crouches down and smiles before taking him in his arms. "You can count on me for anything."

A month after Jaime's return, Lord Banefort arrives. He and Tysha stay in the shadows, not wanting to draw attention to themselves but curious to find out whether the debt will finally be paid.

(They had a bet between themselves. Tysha wagered he wouldn't. "Mother always tried to postpone her debts until she was forgiven out of annoyance," she told him. "I don't see why a lord would not try the same.")

Indeed, she wins the bet. Lord Quenten uses several poor excuses to explain why he doesn't have the money yet, while Jaime listens silently, with a cold expression. When the lord is finished, his brother shifts on his seat.

"Tell me, my lord," he says, "why did you bend the knee to King Aegon after sacking the city in Robert Baratheon's name?"

Lord Quenten frowns. "We all knew your father would execute every single one of us if you were harmed by our hand, my lord," he replies as it was obvious.

Jaime arches his eyebrows. "You recognized me as his heir, then, even though I was Kingsguard at the time and none of you could know I'd be released."

"Your father always said he'd arrange it after Aerys' death—"

His brother cuts him off. "And yet, when said heir takes his rightful place, you decide you can mess with him by refusing to pay your debts in time. Tell me, my lord, would you have even thought about not fulfilling whatever deal you had with the mighty Tywin Lannister?"

Banefort's silence is answer enough. Jaime scratches his stubble—it's the first time he goes more than five days without shaving. He claims he wants to test a new look. "Do you remember what happened last time a vassal of House Lannister failed to give our money back?"

Lord Quenten straightens his back. "The Reyne-Tarbeck revolt went well beyond that—"

"Still," Jaime cuts him off again, "it was how it all began. I know my own House's history, my lord." There is a pause, long enough to be meaningful, then he goes on. "You did it because you believed I'm not like my father. You're right, I'm not. However, you thought my differences from him would deem me weak. You assumed I'd be another Tytos Lannister, another Laughing Lion. You're wrong. I'm neither." He stands up and goes down the stairs, looking Lord Banefort in the eye. "You won't be executed for your crime, my lord, and neither will your family. Killing you won't bring my money back. But there will be punishment. You, my lord, will aid in the reconstruction of Tarbeck Hall—not supervising it, but actually working on it, as a builder."

Lord Quenten looks scandalized. "My lord, this is hardly proper—"

"It is completely proper considering your crime," Jaime replies coldly. "You'll receive half the payment; the other half will remain with us to pay your debt. Meanwhile, I'll send a person I trust to be Banefort's castellan. They will also deliver the following messages: your family will be able to help you pay your loan quicker if they so desire. The men can choose to go to Tarbeck Hall with you or work in the mines; the women can help by teaching Casterly Rock's servants how to read. All of them will be subjected to the same manner of payment until your debts are settled. Do you understand?"

Banefort looks around the hall, where Tyrion knows his uncles and aunt are, watching everything. He cannot see their reactions, but clearly, whatever aid the lord wants to find in them, he doesn't, because he hangs his head low and mumbles, "Yes, my lord."

Even though he can only see part of his brother's face, he knows he's grinning slightly. "Good," he says. "Oh, and don't try to get away with your punishment in any way. I will know if you do, and there is only so much mercy I can give. If in doubt, I recommend you try to get informed on what happened to Jon Arryn after he tried to defy the Crown's punishment for him."

Lord Quenten has three sons and one daughter, as well as a wife, a middle-aged aunt, an old uncle and two cousins, one man and one woman, both married and with baby children.

All the men, save for the old uncle, choose to follow their lord to the building site. Jaime schedules to send them with the other workers in a fortnight, when construction will officially begin.

The old uncle, Lord Ur, joins the women in the task of teaching servants to read and write. Tysha offers to help with the babies, and Tyrion falls a bit more in love with her.

The months go by once again. Slowly, but surely, everyone sees the progress the servants are making, and how their performance at work improves. They exchange messages and write their day-to-day errands so they won't forget. Some of them begin to borrow books from the castle's library, and their conversational skills improve by tenfold.

One day, Jaime calls the whole family for a meeting. "I've decided what to do with the new Tarbeck Hall," he declares. "First, that won't be its name. After talking to many of you, I changed the castle's name to Renaissance, to symbolize a new era for House Lannister and the West. My brother and his wife will have it when it's finished, but they won't be its lord and lady, because it won't be a residential castle." He clears his throat. "It will be a school for those who want to learn to read, write and count."

There is a short silence, after which Cleos speaks up. "That's interesting, but how will that work?"

"We'll sort out the details as the castle is built," Jaime replies with confidence. "But we've all seen how our servants' work improved when they learned such skills. Same with artists and other workers who come here. Why not provide other people the chance?"

Some of their kin seems reluctant, but, in the end, there isn't much to object. Soon the meeting ends, and they leave one by one, until there is only Jaime, Tyrion and Tysha left. "That was a great decision, brother," he says. "The West will prosper even more under your rule."

Jaime beams at that. "Oh, Tyrion, Tysha, I have news. I wrote to Elia a fortnight ago asking if you two can go with me to King's Landing. We will go from there to Dragonstone."

Tysha's eyes go wide. "I've never seen the capital, or anywhere out of the Westerlands," she comments.

"Don't worry, Tysha," his brother says kindly. "It is not so different from here, and Tyrion and I will protect you."

"So Princess Elia accepted your request?" Tyrion asks, just to make sure.

"Of course, brother," he replies with a smile. "We depart in a month."

Chapter Text

Ellaria names her first daughter after the Queen Mother.

If one asked Cersei, she wouldn't think Queen Elia's name should be passed to a bastard, but clearly nobody cares about her opinion on these things. The child is Ellaria's, so Ellaria will be the one to name her.

Elia Sand it is, then.

Cersei takes advantage of the baby's constant need for care and attention to bring the other girls in Sunspear to her side. Just as Ellaria acted as their stepmother before her pregnancy, Cersei plays the same role now.

Oberyn is pleased by her behavior and rewards her with good fucks regularly. It helps soothe the pain Jaime's last words caused her.

At first, Cersei assumed she wouldn't feel his absence so much. After all, it barely stung during the year they didn't see (or write to) each other. Soon she realized why this time was different: back then, she could think of him fondly whenever she wanted, and she knew he'd be hers when they saw each other again.

This time, Jaime left her not only physically, but emotionally as well. And she still hasn't entirely figured out why.

A year and a half goes by like this. She entertains the children, occasionally helps Ellaria with baby Elia, fucks Oberyn and gets frustrated every time her moonblood comes.

Then, one night Ellaria announces she's pregnant again. Since Cersei stopped trying to push her away—instead focusing on getting the most of her husband's attention—Oberyn thinks there is nothing wrong going on between them now, and hosts a small dinner for the three of them to celebrate.

Naturally, Ellaria refuses the wine, and Cersei ends up drinking in her stead. After an hour of dinner, her tongue loosens enough for her to start talking about Jaime. "I saw some dogs mating and told him we should try the same," she tells them. "I didn't know what it was, of course. We were five, I think, or six. But it looked fun, and it felt fun when we did it."

She catches Oberyn and Ellaria exchanging glances. "And your parents were fine with it?" her husband asks.

She laughs. "Father never suspected us. He was never there to see it. Mother did, though, and she tried to separate us. She died not long after, so her plans foiled quickly." Her face falls, and she toys with her wine glass. "We were all we had. Tyrion was a baby, and I hated him for killing Mother, so he didn't count. Jaime and I were all that mattered."

Ellaria's eyes are wide, but Oberyn glares at his lover and nods at his wife. She takes it as a sign to continue.

"Father only paid attention to me when he told me I'd marry Rhaegar," she says. "You must remember then, Oberyn, why he rejected your mother's offer to wed us. He was saving me for the Prince."

"I remember," he replies. "But it didn't work."

She shakes her head, taking another sip. "Aerys told my father 'no' in a tourney held in Lannisport. I went to a witch to see what my chances were."

She swallows hard. "I asked her whether I'd marry the prince. She said no, but I'd marry the king. Of course, I assumed it meant I'd only marry Rhaegar after his coronation. Just to make sure, I asked whether I'd be Queen."

Another sip of wine. "She said, and I quote, 'Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.'

"My friend Melara shivered at my side, but I had one more question: whether the King and I would have children. In my mind, the only reason I'd be set aside would be lack of heirs. She answered, 'Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.'

"When Robert killed Rhaegar, Father told me he'd arrange for us to marry. When I asked about Lyanna Stark, he said no man would wed a dishonored woman. I… I thought that was how the prophecy would come true, but… well. Jaime saved the King, and here I am."

Oberyn and Ellaria don't reply to her rambling right away, giving her time to process what she just said. Oh gods, she realizes. I basically told them I wanted Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys to die so I'd be Queen.

She blurts out an apology, scrambles to her feet and leaves in a hurry.

She stays away from Oberyn and Ellaria for the next few days. The girls still reach out to her, but she avoids the adults most of the time.

Lady Alyse calls her for tea or walks around Planky Town, where they buy clothes, hats and other stuff. She seems to quickly catch on to her avoidance of her husband and his lover, but never questions it.

It's Oberyn who approaches her. "Cersei, my dear," he says in a neutral voice, "I have a favor to ask of you."

She stands from her chair. "Yes, husband?"

"The last rainy night in the Water Gardens led to many marble pieces breaking. We must negotiate more with the Tarths, but I cannot leave Sunspear now. I'd like for you and Ella to go."

She takes a sharp breath. There must be something else in this request. "How is she going to be addressed?"

"I suggest introducing her as your handmaiden. It would not sound weird to have a bastard as a lady-in-waiting here in Dorne."

She nods. Bait or not, she can't say no. "When do we go?"

A week later, she is alone with Ellaria Sand on a ship to Tarth. Not even Elia is onboard; Lady Alyse found a wet nurse for her.

They do get separate cabins, but, half a day after they sail, she is called for tea. She tries to hide her nervousness as she walks inside. This is a moment she's tried to postpone for as long as possible.

When she opens the cabin's door, Ellaria is sitting on a chair by a small retractable table. She sits on the other chair and takes her already filled teacup. "Camomille?"

"Cranberry," Ellaria replies nonchalantly. "Lady Alyse told me it was your favorite."

She nods and takes a sip. "Good," she says.

Ellaria smiles, but it soon falls, and her posture indicates the serious talk is about to begin. "How many choices did you make based on what that witch told you?"

She gulps. Of course it would be about that night, though she didn't expect her to talk about the prophecy. "Too many to count," she admits.

"Why?"

She stares at the tea. "I wanted to be Queen," she replies. "Father always told us the Lannisters were superior. When I realized I'd never rule the Rock, I decided I wouldn't settle for less than the Iron Throne."

Ellaria hums. "So, when the witch said you'd be Queen, you did all you could to ensure it would happen."

"I wasn't the only one who wanted it," she defends herself. "Father was just as invested, if not more. He took me to King's Landing and told me, in plain words, that I was to please Rhaegar."

"Wasn't he already married to Elia?"

"Yes," she confirms. "I never dared ask if he wanted me to be his second wife, or…"

She shakes her head; what once was an inconsequential possibility now feels like a heinous crime. Ellaria takes a sip of tea. "I'm not going to judge you for wishing someone's death in order to achieve what you want," she says gently. "People have been killed for far less, and I do hope you are not your Father in this regard."

"I'm not," she blurts out. As soon as the words come out of her mouth, she questions them. Aren't I? Wouldn't I have extinguished Houses Reyne and Tarbeck in his place?

Jaime would never even consider it. Not so long ago, she'd see it as weakness, but now it's just another evidence they are not one and the same, and that he was right to walk away from her.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Ellaria asks, "And, for this whole decade, you have not once considered being Queen would only bring you sorrow?"

She blinks. "What?"

Her fake handmaiden puts her teacup down. "Unless you misremembered the witch's words, she told you a series of unfortunate things would happen should you become Queen. First, you'd lose the crown before your death, because another woman would 'cast you down and take all you hold dear'. Second, she said all your children would die, and your husband would sire several bastards. Third, she said that, after all these losses, your own brother would kill you. And it all would begin with you becoming Queen."

She opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. She had never thought of it that way.

Ellaria shoots her a sad smile, seemingly expecting her lack of answer. "Imagine that," she continues. "There was no way you'd be Rhaegar's Queen in a tranquil manner. Either you'd be his second wife, causing the biggest scandal, or Elia would die, and your ascension would be surrounded in rumors of murder.

"If your brother had not saved Elia and the children, Robert would likely have been crowned. You'd marry him, but your reign's foundations would be the blood of three innocents—maybe more, if Rhaella, Viserys and Daenerys died as well."

Cersei swallows hard, but says nothing. "As to three golden-crowned children… it could be that they'd all be crowned at some point, or they'd all get your hair. Either way, you would outlive them all in this scenario." She takes a sip of tea. "Robert was rumored to be a whoremonger, wasn't he?"

She nods. Robert Baratheon's appetite for women was well known even before the war. "And Rhaegar eloped with another lady. You couldn't expect fidelity from either of them. And you wouldn't be faithful either, would you? With Jaime in the Kingsguard, I doubt you'd have broken things off."

She takes a deep breath. That was exactly what she wanted when she convinced her brother to join the Kingsguard at the time. Even though Rhaegar was her dream, Jaime was her passion. Our children would be golden-haired, she realizes.

"And then there is the last part," Ellaria adds. "You know valonqar means 'little brother', don't you?"

"My septa told me," she confirms. "High Valyrian."

"You once told us you were born first. It could be either Jaime or Tyrion—"

Cersei gasps. "Jaime would never harm me!"

"Not today," Ellaria agrees, "but what about after years stuck as a glorified bodyguard, having to resign himself with quiet fucks in the shadows, unable to be a father to his children? Because that's what would happen to you two, with either Rhaegar or Robert.

"Oberyn told me you tried to harm Tyrion when they visited Casterly Rock. You told us that night you blame him for your Mother's passing. Have you ever considered your actions would only sow hatred that could end in your death?"

The world spins around her. Tyrion is a monster, she wants to say, but Ellaria's argument cannot be denied. He loves Jaime fiercely, because their brother loved him first. The same goes for Uncle Gerion and Uncle Tygett.

And Jaime walked away when he could no longer stand their differences. Long ago, before they wedded the Martell siblings, he also pointed out they wouldn't be happy if she was Robert's Queen and he his Kingsguard. What would have happened years down the road?

If I was a good Queen, no one would resent me, only love me. But would she know to be a good Queen? Would she be another Alysanne? Somehow, she can't see that happening. At best, she'd be another Naerys, helpless and meek against an evil husband. No, no, I'd be another Alicent Hightower. Or maybe worse, another Rhaenyra.

The witch said she'd outlive her children. Would there be another war? Gods, if the children were Jaime's, we'd forever walk on a tightrope, with a civil war right below us. Would it be worth it?

She feels tears falling down her face, followed by hands on her shoulders. She blinks and raises her gaze to meet Ellaria's. "Words are just that," she tells her softly. "Their power is only as strong as you believe in them. You are not Queen; take that blessing and make sure the rest of her prophecy doesn't come to pass."

She swallows a sob. "How?"

Ellaria smiles and sits back down. "If you don't lay with Jaime, or any other Lannister, your children won't be 'golden-crowned'. If you only lay with Oberyn, you are even safer, though he'd never ask that of you—and neither am I. If you treat your brothers right, neither of them will grow to resent you to the point of murder. Be a good person, and I am sure these prophesied evils will not come true."

Lord Selwyn greets them with only a girl at his side. Despite her curiosity, she bites her tongue and refrains from asking where his wife is. She's either dead or sick, anyway.

He introduces the girl as his daughter and heir, Brienne. The girl is ugly, shy and incapable of curtseying properly, but she remembers Ellaria's words and crouches down to offer a hug.

Ellaria smoothly introduces herself as her handmaiden, but Cersei makes sure to tell she is House Martell's trusted advisor too, for all the knowledge she possesses. "Despite being a bastard, her father raised her well," she claims. Only later that night does she find out she accidentally told him the truth.

She quickly finds out (not-so) little Brienne prefers the yards over court. She could be Jaime's daughter if her looks didn't denounce her, she muses. Still, she fights against every instinct to dismiss her and entertains her with all stories of battles and knighthood she knows.

Ellaria proves herself to Lord Selwyn when she deals with the marble trade way better than Cersei ever could. When she realizes this, she listens attentively to their conversation, and even convinces Brienne to follow her. "You'll do this in your father's place someday," she whispers to the girl. "Tripping in your own worda is as bad as tripping in a duel, so we should pay attention."

Brienne is as capable of staying quiet as she is of being loud, as it turns out.

They stay for a week. Cersei does her part, Ellaria does hers and everything goes well. Lord Selwyn promises to ship the acquired marble within the moon turn and thanks her for all the kindness she bestowed upon his daughter. "Brienne hasn't gotten much of it since her mother and her brother died," he explains.

She makes sure to put on her saddest expression, even though she already knew it from the girl's occasional talks. "If you don't mind me asking, my lord, what happened?"

"My wife died of an illness shortly after our twins died in the cradle," he replies sorrowfully. "That was before the war. A year after it, when Brienne was four, Galladon drowned in the sea. It's been just us ever since."

Cersei sighs. "A motherless home can be lonely for little girls," she comments. "It was for me. Casterly Rock is full of Lannisters, but the hole Mother left could never be filled with anyone else." It's not entirely true, but it's not a complete lie either. "If you want, my lord, you can send her to Sunspear to be fostered when she's older. There is a place for everyone there."

Lord Selwyn's eyes sparkle, and he promises to think over the proposal.

When the island is far from view, Ellaria tells her, "It was nice, what you did to the little lady."

She stares at the sea. "You told me to be good, and the witch's words wouldn't come true. I supposed the first step was to treat a little girl well when all of my instincts told me to dismiss her based on her looks."

It is easy to be honest with Ellaria now that she knows some of her deepest, dirtiest secrets. Not all of them, though, she thinks, recalling Melara. Some must be taken to the grave.

"A good first step," she replies with a smile. "Keep going, Cersei. Soon you'll realize being good is way more rewarding, no matter how much effort it takes. Don't let an empty prophecy define you."

Chapter Text

Traveling with his brother is far better than with anyone else. His goodsister is a pleasant addition, of course, but she's still too shy when near him to make a real difference.

As this is the first time he is making the trip with a woman—a Lannister lady, nonetheless—he often changes his usual route to find inns for them to sleep in, to ensure her comfort. Tysha insists it's unnecessary, as she was a commoner until a few weeks ago, but he gently cuts her off.

"You are a Lannister now, Tysha," he tells her. "A lady of a Great House, among the higher nobles of Westeros. I know this is not what you asked for, but there are certain expectations we must attend. Sleeping out in the open is unacceptable for a lady in times of peace. Either you'll be labeled as a camp follower, or I'll be labeled as a cruel lord to his kin."

That argument shuts her up—from what little he's seen of her, it's likely more because of the risk to his reputation than hers—but doesn't succeed at concealing her discomfort at being treated like a highborn. Thankfully, Aunt Genna has taught her enough manners for it to go mostly unnoticed by the innkeepers.

In the Red Keep, he is received by Rhaenys crashing onto his legs, shouting, "Father! Father!"

He blinks, taken aback by the princess using his new 'title' so openly, but quickly recovers, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her up. "My sweet princess," he calls solemnly, "did you miss me?"

She nods. "Balerion missed you too," she whispers conspiratorially. "He doesn't let it show much, but he stole a cloak you forgot here to sleep on."

He hums and smiles. He bets Rhaenys was the one who stole his cloak and made it a small mattress for her cat. "Then I shall hug Balerion the Dread as well."

"He's not a dread, he's a cat! You always get it wrong, Father!"

He laughs. "Forgive me, Rhae," he says, lowering her to the ground. "Princess, I'd like for you to meet my brother Tyrion."

He turns to his little brother, who's eyeing him with suspicion, but quickly melts at the sight of Rhaenys. "Pleased to meet you, Princess," he says gently. "And this stunning woman at my side is my wife Tysha."

Tysha crouches down to greet Rhaenys with a polite smile. The girl beams. "You are father's brother and sister, right? So you are my uncle and aunt!"

Tyrion stammers, but his wife nods. "If Lord Jaime is your father, then that's true, Princess."

Rhaenys begins to ramble to introduce herself. As she talks to her 'aunt' and 'uncle', Jaime notices someone approaching. He raises his head to see Elia coming, with Aegon holding her hand as he walks. Glancing at Rhaenys to check if she's distracted by her own voice, he takes a step closer and crouches down, opening his arms to get Aegon.

The boy King doesn't disappoint. In an instant, he loses his hold on his mother's hand and runs to him. Jaime catches him, lifts him up to his shoulder and, with his free arm, envelops his wife on a side hug. "Hello to you two," he says.

"I'm starting to think my children like you more than me," Elia says, pretending to pout.

"Mama," Aegon protests, "that's not true! We just miss Papa!"

He chuckles. "Absence makes the heart fonder," he replies. "Come, let me introduce you to Tyrion and Tysha."

Of course, Elia and Aegon are greeted more formally than Rhaenys. After small talk is exchanged, Elia calls a servant to take Tyrion and his wife to their assigned chambers, while he goes to theirs, Aegon still in his arms.

Naturally, his brother doesn't wait for the next day to confront Jaime about their reception. "Father?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I did not sire either of them," he states dryly.

"Never said you did."

"Not now, but I bet you were thinking of a dozen japes."

He shrugs. Tysha hides her chuckle behind her hands. "So why are they calling you father? Don't they know who he is?"

"Of course they do. Rhaenys still remembers him, though the memories fade a little every time I come back here. But Aegon barely knew him at all, and, according to Elia, I've been more of a father to them than Rhaegar ever was."

His brother hums. "You seem to be adapting well to the role."

He feels his cheeks burn. "They are lovely kids," he replies. "I may not be their true father, but I love and care for them as my family."

Tysha smiles. "They are lucky to have you," she replies. "You are a good lord to your people, and… Well, we all saw how you treated them when we arrived."

His cheeks burn hotter. "Thank you, Tysha."

Tyrion grins. "All that it's missing is a Lannister sibling for them."

He chokes on air.

A fortnight after their arrival, during which Jaime showed the city around to his brother and goodsister, they depart for Dragonstone. They get a cabin for the royal couple and another for the children, but, in the end, Elia shares one with Aegon and he with Rhaenys.

He has to adjust his sleeping schedule and his habits around hers, but it's worth it to see her excited by every small thing on the ship and rambling about it all. His heart warms up with love for the girl, and he silently thanks the gods for gifting him with her and Aegon as his adopted children.

He wonders if they'd like a sibling. A Lannister sibling…

Sighing, he shakes his head. It's useless to think about it. Elia can't get pregnant ever again. He knew he was giving up on children of his own blood when he married her, and he must accept it as well as he's accepted the chaste life he signed up for when he broke things off with Cersei.

Aegon and Rhaenys are enough. More than enough.

The trip is short—they only sleep two nights because they left King's Landing after sunset. Soon Dragonstone can be seen, and Aegon pleads to sit on Jaime's shoulders to see the castle better.

They are greeted by Lady Rhaella, whose polite smile is brighter than he's ever seen, and little Lord Viserys, who looks more relaxed at ten years old than he did at six.

Elia hugs her goodmother and asks after Daenerys. "She's playing with the servants' kids," she replies as they go inside. Jaime lowers Aegon to the ground; it won't look good for the King of Westeros to be seen hanging on his stepfather's shoulders. "So many of the maids got pregnant around the time I did, this castle is full of toddlers and little children now."

"What if our Lord of Dragonstone?" his wife asks, smiling at Viserys.

The once Crown Prince (not that he's aware of it) shrugs. "I can find one peer or another if I go to the village," he says, "but I don't do it often."

He tries not to frown at the boy's speech, wondering if he sounded like that at ten years old. Tyrion did, he reminds himself. Nothing to worry about.

He and Elia are given adjoined chambers, which excuses them from sharing a bed. Rhaenys and Aegon are also given adjoined rooms, right across the corridor. Tyrion and Tysha are given one single room, far from them.

Jaime takes a bath and a nap before being called by Elia to meet Daenerys. He's already met her once, but she was a tiny baby, and now she's a spirited two-year-old who seemingly likes to run into people's legs. Aegon likes her immediately, but the King usually likes everyone. Rhaenys watches the pair, but tugs Jaime's breeches, asking to play with him. He's not that good at denying the princess, so he agrees.

The next two days go by similarly. Rhaella and Viserys guide them through the castle, then around the island as a whole. Elia, the Queen Mother and Regent, rides with King Aegon VI in front of her, and they are saluted by all those who see their formal garments. Behind them, the Dragonstone Targaryens ride in separate horses.

He rides behind them with Rhaenys, while Tysha and Tyrion share another horse at his side. His goodsister holds the reins, but Tyrion places his hands one hers, drawing circles in order to calm her. She is visibly nervous at the start, but, as she notices people are too busy looking at the boy King to spare her a glance, she relaxes.

They stop by a big inn to get lunch. As he helps Rhaenys pick her food, he watches as his brother and Tysha giggle at each other and share private conversations. When the latest Lady Lannister gives her husband a quick peck on the tip of his nose, he finds himself sighing.

It's been a while since he dwelled on his past relationship with Cersei, but seeing his brother happily married and in love triggers his memories of their time together. Flashes of the days they spent sharing rooms and beds dance around his mind…

And it wasn't like Tyrion's marriage at all, he realizes. As Rhaenys begins to eat without further need for his assistance, he turns to his own plate. We kissed and fucked and talked, but we never had this kind of tenderness, even when we were alone.

Their last conversation pops up in his mind: Cersei wanted them to keep their physical relationship despite their geographical and increasingly emotional distance. He refused, and he doesn't regret it, but now he has nothing. Elia is a dear friend, but nothing more. Although he knows she would not mind if he sought other women—as long as he was discreet about it, of course—he can't do it. She was cheated on once; he won't be like Rhaegar.

He raises his eyes to look at his wife as she helps Aegon with his meal. Could they ever be more than friends? Could the Maiden's love ever pour over them, or are they fated to be stuck with the Smith's?

On their third day in Dragonstone, Lady Rhaella and Lord Viserys hold a ball in the King's honor. Tysha panics over the lack of formal dresses to wear—she forgot to bring those given by Aunt Genna—but, thankfully, she and Elia are close enough in body measurements for his wife to lend one of hers to his goodsister.

As the two women get dressed in Elia's room, Jaime is the first to see them ready. "Tyrion might faint when he sees you, sister," he tells Tysha. "Dornish style suits you."

She blushes. "The Queen said the same, my lord," she replies, smiling. "It's also very comfortable."

"More so than the dresses you've worn in the Rock, I'm sure," he points out, grinning. Tysha begins to shake her head, but he waves it off. "Lannisters often put extravagance over comfort, and my aunt is no exception. But don't worry, she will love to know you looked well in a Dornish dress."

Then, he turns to his wife. He's used to seeing Elia in stunning dresses, but something about his one—and hybrid of Dornish and royal Targaryen styles, with colors of her son's house and her own mixed together—makes him pause. Eventually, he makes a show of grabbing her hand and kissing its knuckles. "Stunning as always, wife."

She chuckles and rolls her eyes. "Always the charmer, husband. You do not look so bad yourself. Shall we fetch my goodbrother?"

Indeed, Tyrion looks about to have a heart attack when he sees Tysha. He mutters something as his cheeks burn, and his wife crouches down to hear him. He whispers in her ear, and she gasps. "Tyrion! Not in front of your family!"

Jaime laughs out loud before he can stop himself. "And to think my brother once wanted to be the High Septon," he quips. "And this is your family now too, dear Tysha. Get used to it."

As Queen Mother, Elia gets the first dance of the ball, along with Rhaella. As he and his wife position themselves, he arches his eyebrows at the man joining Lady Rhaella. "She's dancing with one of her son's guards," he comments quietly. "I thought she would pick Lord Bar Emmon instead." The Lord of Sharp Point is part of the regency council for Viserys, and, being an old man, tends to spend more time in Dragonstone to avoid traveling.

"He's not just any guard," Elia replies quietly. The music begins, and so does their dance. She gets close to his ear so he can hear her next words, "Ser Bonifer tends to make himself scarce when Rhaella has visitors like us, but they got married last year."

"Oh?" he mumbles back.

"They met on a tourney," she continues. "Fancied each other from the start, but he's a landed knight from the stormlands, unfit to marry the Princess. But now there is nothing stopping them."

"Indeed," he agrees, right before twirling her. "But he is nobleborn, huh? Not smallfolk like Tysha."

"House Hasty," she supplies. "But don't ask me where their castle is. I think it's close to the Dornish Marches, but I could be wrong."

He grins. "Elia Nymeros Martell, born in Sunspear, a Dornish woman, doesn't know all the Houses from the Dornish Marches? What a shame."

She rolls her eyes. The first music ends, and another starts. They exchange partners and, as Jaime bows before Rhaella, he catches sight of Tyrion and Tysha joining the dance floor.

"Elia told me about your new husband," he tells the former Queen. "Are you happy?"

She smiles a true smile, albeit shy. "Very much so, Ser Jaime—oh, Lord Jaime. I'm sorry."

"You can call me 'Ser', my lady," he replies. "That's how you knew me when we lived under the same roof, after all."

"Speaking of which, how are you? You look at peace."

He smiles. "I am," he confirms. "I had given up on family and lordship when I took the white cloak; getting both of them is a bit surreal still, but nice all the same."

"Good," she says firmly. "Peace suits you."

"It suits you as well."

For the next song, Rhaella goes to Lord Bar Emmon, but, instead of grabbing Lady Sunglass, his previous dance partner, he hands her to Ser Bonifer. Elia goes to Tyrion instead of him, and he bows before Tysha.

"Does the man always bow before the woman when dancing?" she asks nervously.

"Yes, and the woman courtesies," he explains. "Why do you think I rushed to your side after the song ended? I knew Tyrion would be too enamored to tell you any of these things."

She giggles. "He wants us to retire early," she whispers.

"Feel free to do it," he reassures her. "This ball is for the King. You are here because you are married to the Queen Mother's husband's brother. Tiresome just to hear it, right?" She nods with an amused grin. "That means you have no obligation to stay for longer than an hour or two."

He shares one dance with Lady Sunglass before going back to his wife. She comments on Tyrion's joy regarding Tysha, and he can only hum in agreement. What else can he say to that? I wish we could be the same? It would imply he's in love with her, which… he isn't, actually.

Sometimes he wonders if his life would be easier or harder if he was.

Within the week, they are back in King's Landing. A day after their arrival, he and Elia receive a summon by the High Septon. They leave the kids with his brother and go.

"After a long deliberation," he says when they sit down to talk, "the Most Devout agreed to bring back the old vows and declare them as valid as the traditional ones."

He and Elia exchange glances and smile. "That's great," she declares. "I'm sure the changes will be welcomed by all, especially by the nobles."

The High Septon nods. "However, they asked for a demonstration," he adds. "To announce the changes before the court, and for at least one of the vows to be exchanged in public—either the Maiden's, or the Crone's."

He looks pointedly at them, and he sees Elia's jaw clench. He clears his throat. "I know a couple who might want to say the Maiden's vows, High Septon," he says. "My brother wedded a crofter's daughter in secret, afraid of our family's opinion. Now that he saw us welcome her with open arms, I think they may appreciate a more public ceremony. Unless, of course, if they Most Devout require the couple to be previously unwed."

Considering the way he was just staring at the two of them, implying he wanted them to renew their vows, he's not surprised by his agreement. "They can use the Maiden's vows to renew their wedding. It may be good to have the people hear those first."

"Great," Elia says with a smile. "We'll speak to them, then bring their answer to you."

To their relief, Tyrion and Tysha agree with it as soon as they call Septon Marc to help them explain the Maiden's wedding vows.

"I didn't think it would be a good idea to renew our marriage under the Crone's vows," Elia says quietly when they are in their chambers. "Not when we've pretended to be a real married couple for so long."

"I know," he replies. "I felt the same."

"I'm glad you brought your brother and his wife," she adds. "The Most Devout get the next best thing, and we were saved from having to explain to the High Septon why we didn't want to make ourselves an example to the people."

Per Tyrion's request, only a few Lannisters come to the capital to witness his second wedding: Aunt Genna, Uncle Gerion, Uncle Tygett and their spouses. After the Small Council is informed of the upcoming event and lectured about the 'new' vows by Septon Marc, a few other nobles come as well—the Dragonstone Targaryens, Lord Tyrell's wife and their firstborn Willas, as well as his mother, who also represents House Redwyne. Lady Sunglass comes too, but Lord Bar Emmon stays behind as a sort of castellan—probably an excuse to not take the voyage. Addam comes as well, but doesn't bring any other Marbrand.

Tysha wears a tailored dress in a mix of Dornish and western styles, which Aunt Genna enthusiastically approves of. Tyrion thanks him for giving them the perfect excuse to announce their love not only to the gods, but to men as well.

The Great Sept is half full with the noble guests when Tyrion arrives on Aunt Genna's arm and positions himself on the altar. Sitting on the front row, Jaime takes notice of a statue of the Maiden, placed on the altar's table with her eyes cast down, as if staring at his brother and soon at his bride.

The High Septon enters and positions himself behind the Maiden's statue, but in a way that makes him still visible—though not for everyone. He's not dressed in his usual grayish clothes, but in light pink robes. He clears his throat to call people's attention and waits for silence to fall before speaking up.

"Today, we begin a new era for the Faith of the Seven," he announces. "An era of restoration. Through the last few centuries, much of the essence of our faith was lost, replaced with empty rituals and seemingly senseless rules. But no longer.

"At the beginning of our faith, we blessed weddings according to their nature. Noble weddings were often blessed by the Crone, for hers is the love of duty, while those who married while in love were blessed by the Maiden, who holds the realm of romantic love. There was no need for an arranged couple to pretend to pledge their love for one another, but that was lost to time.

"Today, however, we renew this tradition. The old vows will remain, but the Faith now encourages the new couples to choose whose blessing they want, for the right blessing gives strength to the union. Many marriages would have lasted more if blessed by the right goddess.

"To begin with this new era, we introduce you to Tyrion of House Lannister, who will unite with his bride Tysha under the Maiden's blessing. So, we shall now begin the formal ceremony."

He opens the Seven-Pointed Star and begins to read a passage that sounds a lot like the one he heard on his own wedding, but changes in the second half when the septon turns the page and reads about everlasting love that lives on. "Our souls entwine in this realm," he says at last, "so we experience what we will live in the Seven Heavens, where we won't belong to each other, but live in unity with the Seven Who Are One, joined by the One Love which has given us life and will continue to do so until the very end."

He closes the book and calls for the bride to enter. The doors open, and he turns to see Tysha walking in Uncle Gerion's arm. At first, she wanted Jaime to lead her, but the High Septon wanted both him and Elia to witness the ceremony, so she chose the second Lannister she trusted most (excluding the one she wedded, of course).

Tyrion tears up at the sight of her, and Jaime smiles. Besides the dress, Tysha wears a bland beige cloak, symbolizing her lack of noble blood. Her eyes are also watery when she approaches the altar. Clearly, her joy at the upcoming wedding surpasses any embarrassment at doing so in front of a growing crowd—ever since the High Septon began talking, more people sneaked in the sept, certainly curious about what was going on.

The initial prayers are the same as the traditional ones. Halfway through, however, prayers about love, fidelity, trust, respect, admiration and fecundity are echoed. He takes a deep breath when he tells his brother and his goodsister to exchange the Maiden's vows. He was not privy to the rehearsal, so it will be a complete surprise.

"Under the tender but watchful eyes of the Maiden," they begin together.

His brother smiles. "I, Tyrion Lannister…"

His goodsister smiles back. "I, Tysha…

They say the rest together: "... promise to be yours and yours alone, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until the end of my days."

The High Septon nods. "For those who are wondering, in the Maiden's ceremony the cloaks are exchanged now, not before, for here they represent not only the bride's protection by the groom, but new beginnings for both of them. You may not cloak the bride and bring her under your protection and care, Lord Tyrion."

Uncle Tygett is quick to hand Tyrion the traditional Lannister cloak, as Tysha kneels in front of her husband. With trembling hands, he takes her cloak off and clasps his own around her shoulders, as he says, "With this cloak, I bring you to my home and my heart. With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you as my wife."

She smiles. "With this cloak, I begin a new journey under your roof. With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you as my husband."

They exchange a quick but sweet kiss, and Tysha stands up. "May the Seven Who Are One bless your union Tyrion and Tysha Lannister," the High Septon declares. "I now declare you one flesh, one heart, one soul; cursed those who seek to tear you asunder. Remember your vows, and may you walk in this realm as one until you are parted by the Stranger."

He glances at Elia, whose face is already marked with tear stains. "Beautiful, wasn't it?" he asks in a whisper as he and the audience applaud the newlyweds.

"More than I ever imagined," Elia agrees.

For a moment, he wonders if he'd ever say these vows. Rhaenys' cheers quickly distract him for these useless thoughts, though.

Chapter Text

He’s been pacing for what feels like hours when Tysha finally leaves the maester’s office with a shiny smile. “It’s true,” she tells him. “We will be parents within seven or eight moon turns.”

She crouches down so they can share a quick, chaste kiss. After they returned to Casterly Rock, following their second wedding in the capital, his wife began to throw up in the morning and sleep more. Aunt Genna was quick to suspect a pregnancy.

“Can we wait until supper to deliver the news to your family?” she asks timidly. “I’d like to have this for just the two of us for a while.”

“Of course,” he agrees immediately, feeling his eyes burn. “Let’s go to our chambers.”

In the end, they both cry while holding each other. Tysha once confided she assumed, for a long time, that she’d never live enough to have children of her own. As for Tyrion, he was told by his father that he’d never find a match for himself since he was old enough to know what it meant. To know their fears did not come to pass brings an overwhelming relief.

They talk a bit about plans for the baby. Coincidentally, Uncle Tygett’s wife is halfway through her first pregnancy; she almost didn’t go to King’s Landing because of it. His cousin Cleos’ wife is also pregnant, having discovered it while they were away, and he has a two-year old brother, Walder. “Our child won’t be without peers,” he tells Tysha.

“It would be nice if the Queen Mother got pregnant this year too,” she mumbles, “but I don’t think it will happen.”

He frowns. “Why?” He knows Queen Elia suffered a lot with her two pregnancies, but did that information reach a crofter’s daughter in the Westerlands?

“I… It’s not my right to meddle, but… She and your brother don’t look like a couple who… have relations with one another.”

His frown goes deeper. “Why do you think my brother is not having sex with own wife?”

She takes a deep breath. “The way they look at one another. Your aunt Genna ignores her husband most of the time and is rarely pleased to retire with him at night; we both know their marriage is far from happy. Your aunt Darlessa may not love her husband, but she does desire him. Your aunt Myranda does love Lord Stafford. It’s all in the eyes, in the facial expression.

“Queen Elia looks at Jaime pretty much the same way she looks at her ladies-in-waiting—with a little more fondness, perhaps, because he is the adoptive father of her children, but there is no desire in her eyes.”

It takes a while for her insights to settle in. Indeed, his brother didn’t act like a happily married man, though he was happily settled in his fatherly role. “An odd arrangement,” he comments, “and I suppose you’re right; no children will come from their end anytime soon. Especially since the Queen almost died giving birth to the King.”

Tysha raises her eyebrows. “She did?” He nods. “Perhaps she married your brother because he was already used to the idea of never having children of his own, hm? He was a member of the Kingsguard before, right?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “But why didn’t he tell me this, then?”

She shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t want you prying?”

He huffs, but says nothing. His wife may be right, after all, and, if Jaime doesn’t want to talk about his married life, it’s his loss. “Enough about my brother,” he decides. “Shall we enjoy a couple more hours to ourselves before we announce this child to the Rock?”

A couple months after their announcement, Uncle Gerion decides to wed one of their serving maids, Briony, after she turns out to be pregnant. “Is it something in the water?” Aunt Genna wonders aloud when her brother informs them of what happened. “This is the fourth pregnant woman in a row.”

Upon being informed of the upcoming wedding, Jaime, who is still in King’s Landing, asks his uncle to wait for him. He arrives a month later, with the royal family at his side.

“Why didn’t you warn us?” he hisses at his brother’s ear when they hug. Only he and Tysha are there to receive the royal party, which is underwhelming to say the least .

“Elia’s request,” he replies, shrugging. “Aegon is not fond of fancy receptions, and we agreed that ‘papa’s home’ should give him a more natural welcome instead.”

He sees Aunt Genna about to reprimand her nephew when they enter the castle, but the King catches sight of little Walder and leaves his mother’s hold to make a new friend, and she keeps her mouth shut—though not without pointedly glaring at Jaime for good measure.

Still, she, along with Aunt Darlessa and soon-to-be Aunt Briony, organize a small welcome feast. All the Lannister children are gathered to take part in it, so the King and the Princess won’t feel lost in a sea of adults.

Jaime sits beside his wife and engages in conversation with her and his family just fine, but, now that Tysha has pointed out, he can see how the couple behaves as friends rather than lovers. Indeed, our child won’t see a cousin born in King’s Landing anytime soon, if ever. Too curious to stay still, he calls his brother to talk in private on a balcony.

“Well, brother,” Jaime begins, “what was so important and private that you had to drag me to a secluded balcony?”

Tyrion feels his cheeks burn, but ignores it. “I’m simply curious,” he replies, “about whether my dear brother is truly married to his wife.”

Jaime coughs. “What?”

“I’ve watched you and the Queen for a while,” he explains, deciding against mentioning Tysha’s own observations. “You do not behave like a couple in love.”

His brother glances away to the sky. “Most noble marriages are not motivated by love. You heard what the High Septon said in King’s Landing about the Crone’s vows.”

“Which, I supposed, would have been the ones you’d exchange with Queen Elia.” Jaime nods. “Then why do you two pretend?”

He frowns. “We do not,” he replies.

“You share a bed.”

“It’s what married couples do, Tyrion. Aunt Genna and Uncle Emmon don’t because they don’t even like each other. Elia’s chambers have no adjoined room; it is easier for us both if I stay with her.”

He hums, still unconvinced. “I see. And when can we expect an heir to Casterly Rock?”

It’s his brother’s turn to blush. “I…”

“Not anytime soon, I suppose.”

He shakes his head. “Elia’s pregnancies took its toll on her,” he says, lowering his voice. “We married because I have little need for heirs, since I have you, Cersei and several cousins who can inherit. She may never be able to safely get pregnant again.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry, Jaime.”

“Don’t be,” he replies with a sad smile. “I was once a Kingsguard, remember? Marriage and children were not something I envisioned in my future. Elia, Aegon, Rhaenys… they are more than I ever thought I’d get. Let them be enough.”

Tyrion is sure there is far more to the situation, but he doesn’t pry any longer. Perhaps Jaime may feel comfortable with sharing more someday.

Five days after the royal family’s arrival, Jaime organizes a trip to Castamere and Tarbeck Hall. “The mines are fully operational now, right?” he asks Tyrion, who confirms it. “Good. I’d like to see it, and I think the kids will like it, now that the putrid smell is gone.”

Tysha is still at early stages of pregnancy and, while she can’t ride, she can travel in a carriage. As such, they join the Queen, the King and the Princess, while Jaime rides ahead with their uncles. Aunt Genna stays behind with her husband and children to take care of the household.

“I forgot to ask Jaime,” Queen Elia says at one point, “but who are the women and elderly men who teach the servants to write and read?”

Tysha giggles, and Tyrion huffs. “Members of House Banefort,” he replies. “Has he told you about Lord Banefort’s attempt to get away with his debts to our House?”

She nods. “He mentioned he sent the man to Tarbeck Hall’s site to aid reconstruction, and that half of his payment would be used to pay his debts, but that was all.”

“He must have forgotten the rest of the family is aiding him, then. Jaime said they could work for House Lannister to speed up the debt payment, and I think everyone joined the effort. The able-bodied men are in the reconstruction site, and the rest in the Rock. Some teach the servants how to read and write, while others work as servants themselves. It is quite the spectacle.”

Tysha shakes her head. “Don’t be so hard on them. They are learning, as I had to learn my way around noble customs.”

He kisses the back of her hand. “Yes, my dear wife, but it is clear that they are ashamed of what they do.”

She chuckles. “True, they are.”

“Can I learn to do servant work too?” Princess Rhaenys asks.

Before either Tyrion or Tysha can reply, her mother smiles. “Of course you can, Rhae, but you’ll have to wait until we go back to King’s Landing. Your father won’t let any of us do any chores in his home.”

The way the Queen calls Jaime her children’s father is very fond, and Tyrion smiles. Perhaps a loving marriage is not out of sight for his brother.

Jaime leaves the King and the Princess with Tysha as he, Tyrion and Queen Elia walk around the mines. His brother greets all the workers and talks to some of them about daily routines, work conditions and progress. The chief inspector is none other than their bastard aunt, Lynora Hill, and her husband Herold, a former miner who retired after losing fingers on his right hand in an accident.

“These mines are deeper and richer than you initially thought, nephew,” his aunt says. Although she never forgets her station, aunt Lynora has never addressed either of them with titles. She is their mother’s half-sister, after all. “It will take us decades to empty it.”

“Good,” Jaime replies with a grin. “Some of the workers pointed out their living conditions worsened after moving here, though.”

Aunt Lynora sighs. “There is a reason their wives and children have not yet moved. Have you seen real houses around here?”

Jaime frowns. “And there is no village nearby?” She shakes her head, and he turns to Tyrion. “Who did the Reynes rule over?”

He shrugs. “Themselves, I’d gather. Do you think they’d have gotten rich without mining much if they had people to feed?”

Queen Elia tilts her head. “Aren’t there noble houses surrounding Castamere?” Both brothers nod. “You should talk to them to see what can be done. Perhaps build a village between Castamere and another settlement, so the workers can be closer to… civilization and markets.”

Jaime immediately agrees. “A wonderful idea, wife.”

“The village should not be located near the reconstruction site, though,” Tyrion warns. “The Banefort men are there and might try to steal gold if they get somewhat easy access to this place.”

His brother agrees with him as well, and they decide to pass by Ashemark to discuss the issue with House Marbrand.

After the two-day stop at Ashemark, during which Lord Marbrand agrees to expand the local village in Castamere’s direction—under generous payment, of course—they head for the ruins of Tarbeck Hall. This time, Queen Elia decides to ride alongside her husband, leaving the children with their ‘uncle’ and ‘aunt’.

“Why is your belly a little round now?” Princess Rhaenys asks. “It looks like when Mother was pregnant with Egg.”

Tyrion lets a chuckle escape at the King’s nickname, and watches as his wife confirms her pregnancy. “You’ll get a cousin soon,” she says.

The King frowns. “Can we call the baby cousin? Papa is not our blood Papa.”

“But he calls you son and loves you as one,” Tysha replies. “Does he not?”

“He does,” the King confirms.

“Then you may call this child ‘cousin’ when they are born, Your Grace.”

The King grimaces. “We are family. Don’t me ‘Your Grace’.”

“It is our duty to call such,” Tyrion explains to the five-year old. “What else shall we call you?”

The royal boy looks deep in thought for a few moments, then announces, “I like the sound of ‘my king’. Just like you say ‘my lord’. But king .”

Tyrion and Tysha exchange glances and smile. “So it shall be,” he replies, “ my king .”

There isn’t much to see in the reconstruction site yet. One cannot yet see what will become the Renaissance, and the builders live in the village’s abandoned houses.

However, something draws his brother’s attention, for he asks Uncle Gerion to stay over for a moon turn or two to inspect the work, but it is only on the way back to Casterly Rock that he voices his concerns.

“Lord Banefort lives, coincidentally , in the largest house of the abandoned village,” he states. Tyrion did not pay attention to that detail. “When I noticed that, I asked around. A few workers told me he tries to get a privilege or another for himself or his relatives, but not often, and not much.”

“He must be wary of being reported,” Tyrion comments.

“Of course he is,” Jaime agrees. “But he and his family are workers . They are already being paid slightly more due to both their station and to compensate for the fact that we withdraw half of their payment. If they think they can get away with small privileges, they’ll find ways to get more as the reconstruction progresses. Uncle Gerion will remind them of their place. I warned him my mercy would only go so far, and I hope he does not prefer death over hard work.”

Queen Elia smiles proudly at her husband, and he wonders how much they influence each other on their views of justice. The King asks what is going on, and his brother softens upon looking at his adopted son.

“You saw what was being done on that site, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” the boy replies, “and you told us it was an old castle that was burned down years ago. And that you’ll rebuild it.”

“Exactly. Do you remember what I am, in titles?”

The King makes a face while thinking. “You are lord of… some lands. West.”

“Yes, and there are other nobles I watch over, right?”

“Right, like I will watch over everyone when I’m older.”

Tyrion is impressed at how much the King knows at the tender age of five. Then again, rumor has it that his blood father was an intellectual prodigy.

Smiling, Jaime continues, “Well, Egg, one of the nobles I watch over committed a crime. What happens to criminals?”

“They are punished,” he replies dutifully. “So they are being punished by working on the building?”

Jaime nods. “Nobles don’t usually do much physical work beyond fighting training. Most hate it. Imagine if I forced you to eat fish for a whole month.”

The King grimaces. “Ew!”

“Exactly! For these nobles, working on construction is like eating fish for you.”

“But this is so cruel!”

“It would be, but they are criminals, remember?”

Tyrion tries not to laugh. It is good that, for the young boy, forcefully eating fish is what he imagines as cruelty. His grandfather’s crimes are not in his infant memory.

He glances at Rhaenys, who watches the exchange with a rather thoughtful expression. Was she old enough to understand what was going on when Aerys was around? She’s seven now, and it’s been four years since the rebellion. Does she remember anything?

In the end, the royal family gets a complete tour around the Westerlands. No House goes unvisited.

From the reconstruction site, they go to the Crag, where House Westerling rules. Lord Gawen apologizes for the absence of his wife Sybell, who is in bed rest after giving birth the day prior to their third child. “A girl,” he announces with a tiny smile. “Sybell let me name her this time, and I chose Eleyna, for my grandmother.”

They meet the other two children, Raynald and Jeyne, a pair of squabbling kids who call the King and the Princess to play as soon as they see them. Despite the (admittedly small) participation of the Westerlings in the sack of King’s Landing four years ago, no tensions are made known between Lord Gawen and the Queen Mother.

Afterwards, they pay brief visits to House Estren in Wyndhall and House Greenfield in the castle of the same name. They also pay a quick visit to Banefort, which is currently overseen by Uncle Stafford and his family.

When they pass by Casterly Rock, Tyrion and Tysha decide to head back home, since pregnancy is making his wife get tired more easily every day. Their last visit is to Clegane’s Keep, reluctantly ruled by Sandor Clegane, who refused to be addressed by any title.

“He seems lonely,” Princess Rhaenys comments.

Jaime pats her head. “Some people prefer to be alone,” he explains without details.

Jaime and his family return to Casterly Rock a month later. The children have a lot to say about many places, though their favoritism of Fair Isle is clear. The royal family stays for another month in the Rock before going back to King’s Landing with Jaime, during which they celebrate the birth of Tyrek Lannister, son of Uncle Tygett and Aunt Darlessa.

A few days after the turning of the year, he wakes up with his wife’s screams. “It’s coming, Tyrion,” she says, gasping. “It’s coming—aaaaah!”

He quickly jumps out of the bed and runs to the door, shouting for servants, for the midwives, for the maester, anyone . The first to show up is his aunt Genna, who kicks him out of his own chambers. “This is a woman’s battle,” she states when he tries to protest, “not yours.”

Several women rush inside the room, nobles and servants alike. He stays with Uncle Emmon, who takes him to a far balcony and shares stories about his children and his family at the Twins.

“Was your father ever present during a birth?” he asks.

He frowns. “None that I know of,” he replies. “He was the one who taught me the best thing we men can do during a birth is to not disturb. ‘Not even maesters should be allowed in,’ he told me once or twice.”

“Aunt Genna said this is a woman’s battle.”

“Trust her in this, lad. Do women take part in our wars? Or do they wait for us to come back home?”

He nods, although understanding the situation does not make it any less agonizing. “What if Tysha… what if Mother’s fate befalls her, and I’m not there?”

Uncle Emmon’s features soften. “Your aunt may not love me, but even she wouldn’t want me to see her dying. I don’t think your wife would want your last memory of her to be her death. If the worst happens—which is not the rule, must I remind you—I think she will be comforted to know you weren’t there to see it.”

Fortunately, his uncle is right, and he worried over nothing. By sunrise, Aunt Darlessa calls him. “Your wife is well, though asleep,” she explains, “and you have a daughter.”

He smiles, but it falls. “Is she… like me?”

His aunt shakes her head. “She takes after her mother, it seems. Tysha said that I should ask you what to name the baby; she was too tired to remember which one you decided.”

He smiles again, and it doesn’t fall. “Joanna.”

Chapter Text

“She’s got your eyes,” Oberyn comments when their baby girl awakes from her first nap.

“And your skin color,” she adds. “I wonder how her hair will be.”

The baby closes her eyes once more, nuzzling against her mother’s breast. Myrcella Martell is her name, and she’s the most beautiful human Cersei has ever seen.

After years stressing herself over getting Oberyn a legitimate child, she was rewarded with a pregnancy when she least expected it. Although he would sometimes point to a handsome man and suggest him for her, she remained faithful, and only fucked other men when her husband invited one to their bed. As she grew fonder of Oberyn, she saw little need to seek other men.

(He gave up trying to have both her and Ellaria in bed at the same time. The two women’s camaraderie leaves little to no space for sexual desire.)

“Should I call for the wet nurse?” her husband asks.

She shakes her head. “Not for now. I’d rather stay with her a bit longer.” Once upon a time, she’d have handed Myrcella away at first opportunity, claiming tiredness. But she’s too overcome with love for her baby girl to wish her away.

Still, she yawns. Oberyn smiles fondly and closes the curtains. “I’ll take watch over you both,” he declares, sitting next to her on the bed. “Sleep, wife. You’re safe.”

And she knows he means it.

Although she has learned to care for the children in Sunspear, it’s only after Myrcella is born that she truly appreciates them. Her daughter is too young to play, of course, but the children are fascinated by her.

Her older half-sisters take turns watching over Myrcella as she sleeps, eats, takes baths or simply enjoys some time for herself. The younger ones are simply waiting for her to grow a bit older, and her cousin Arianne, the oldest (almost a grown woman), is in love with the baby.

Ellaria is, of course, the most helpful. They formed a genuine friendship in the time that followed their visit to Tarth. Sometimes she hardly believes how much her life has changed. All because she got drunk enough to open up and—more importantly—Oberyn and Ellaria were kind enough to listen and help with no judgment.

She’s been trying to do the same to others around her. She is slowly learning the names of her servants—Myrcella’s wet nurse is called Alia—and visits the people living near Sunspear and the Water Gardens every now and then. It’s still hard to afford the common folk the same courtesy she treats nobility with, but it’s rewarding.

Oberyn usually invites her to council meetings, and her voice is more and more heard as time passes by. Sometimes, she brings Ellaria’s ideas to the table—despite all the freedom and privilege she’s afford, the bastard woman doesn’t feel comfortable in taking part of Prince Doran’s substitutive council.

Life is good. Myrcella’s arrival is bound to make it even better.

The letter comes the day her daughter turns six moons old. “From Tarth,” the maester announces as he gives it to her.

She opens the letter carefully. As expected, it’s from Lord Selwyn.

Lady Cersei Lannister—Princess Cersei Martell (I realize I do not know how you are addressed),

You certainly recall your visit to Tarth a few years ago. You were a wonderful guest, and my Brienne talked about you often in the days after your departure. She is not a talkative person, but her admiration of you was clear.

She blinks in surprise. The Tarth girl admires her? They have almost nothing in common!

I’m a simple and straightforward man, my lady, so forgive me for being blunt; I’m not good with courteous words. Back then, you offered to have my girl fostered at your home when she got older. She is about to turn ten, turning into a lonely and sad girl. Her septa has been of no help, though Brienne refuses to explain why.

I would like to know if your offer is still in effect. If it is, I’ll go to Sunspear with her as soon as possible.

“Do you think I’ll be able to be there for her?” she asks Ellaria after she reads the letter. Myrcella is currently at her breast, emphasizing the reason for her doubts.

“Of course you will,” she replies without hesitation. “You’ll have help, anyway.”

She hums. “Sarella is her age, isn’t she?” Ellaria nods. “Though perhaps Obara and Nym will bond more with her, as they are better acquainted with fighting.”

“I think a baby will be good for her, too,” her friend adds. “She is Lord Tarth’s sole heir, right?”

“She is. I see your point; she can learn to be a mother without the burden of a child of her own. Oberyn won’t mind, will he?”

“No, nor will Arianne.”

“Then I’ll reply to Lord Selwyn saying ‘yes’.”

Three months later, she is there to receive Lord Selwyn and his daughter at the gates of Sunspear.

Chapter Text

The letter is brought by a black raven. Dark wing, dark words , they say; Jaime never believed this superstition, but he has a feeling the choice of raven is intentional.

Dear brother,

I know you are due to come to Casterly Rock within the sennight, for the opening of Renaissance, but I ask you to anticipate it. Not because we want to open it sooner; in fact, I fear it must be postponed at least for a moon turn.

Our uncle Tygett did not survive his pox. Aunt Darlessa found him dead this morning. Preparations for the funeral have begun, but we await your arrival to bury him. If you cannot come this soon, please warn us.

Your dear brother, Tyrion.

He sighs.  After his last visit to the Rock, his uncle had fallen sick with pox, which denounced his extramarital affairs. Aunt Darlessa remained faithful, taking care of his every need—something he didn’t expect, since their relationship seemed to be purely physical.

He goes looking for Elia and finds her in the gardens with both children. He pauses to look at his family. Aegon is about to turn eight years old, and Rhaenys just turned ten. Despite all the responsibilities the boy has on his shoulders, Jaime and Elia do their best to provide him with a somewhat ‘normal’ childhood. If the gods are good, he will have many years to be king, but only a few to be a child.

The Queen Mother looks very pretty in her summer Dornish dress. He has found himself contemplating Elia’s beauty more often in the last year. By now he can admit, at least in his mind, that would happily lay with her if she so desires.

Will she ever?

Sighing, he walks to them. Rhaenys reaches him first with a hug. He kisses her hair and hugs Aegon. Then, he kisses Elia’s forehead. To an outsider, they are the perfect family.

“I have bad news to share,” he whispers in his wife’s ear.

“What happened?”

“My uncle Tygett died.”

“I’ll send the kids away.”

He sits next to her as she calls Ser Barristan to escort the king and the princess far from the couple. “Has the funeral taken place already?”

“No, they are waiting for me. Problem is, I was supposed to take you all to the opening of Renaissance in a sennight, remember?” She nods. “How will Aegon and you be able to stay out of the capital for over a month? That’s how long Tyrion wants to postpone the opening.”

She doesn’t reply right away, and he takes his time looking at her. She’s nine years older than him, closer in age to his uncle Gerion, who was born only two years before her. Her facial features, however, resemble a younger woman. It wasn’t always like that; in the first two years following Aegon’s birth, she looked sick no matter how much makeup she used. It’s good to see her in a better state now.

“Rhaenys can go with you,” she says eventually. “You’re right, Aegon and I can’t afford to stay too long out of King’s Landing, especially after the scare the Ironborn gave you last year.”

Ten months ago, Balon Greyjoy attempted to rebel against the Crown and declare independence. Uncle Gerion’s Lannisport contacts sold the information well in advance, though, and his attempt remained as such.

“I’ll talk to her,” Jaime says. “I think she will like it.”

She indeed does, even after he tells her there will be a funeral first. She remembers his deceased uncle and gets genuinely sad to hear of his passing. Within a day, they are ready to go to the Rock.

“Did any of you write to Father and Uncle Kevan about it?” he asks Tyrion when the rites are complete.

“Uncle Gerion did,” he replies. “Aunt Genna suggested asking you to do it, since you are the Lord of Casterly Rock, but I objected, saying Father would likely destroy any missives with your signature.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too.”

It’s sad to be so sure his own father will refuse letters from him, but it’s the likely truth. He wholeheartedly agreed with his punishment and declared him a traitor to the Crown. Jaime doubts his father actually thought over his wrongdoings and regretted them. He thinks he did the right thing with Houses Reyne and Tarbeck!

Uncle Tygett, the first of Lord Tytos’ children to die, is buried next to his mother’s tomb. Jaime suggests building a statue for him, but Aunt Genna and Uncle Gerion advise against it.

“Father and Uncle Kevan won’t get theirs,” he argues. “They won’t even be buried here, since they belong to the Night’s Watch now.”

“Our father’s generation did not make it to the Hall of Heroes,” his aunt reminded him. “It is only for the Lannisters who were recognized in life as having done something good and meaningful. My brother Tyg doesn’t fit the criteria. A statue of him won’t compensate for the evils your father did or Kevan’s blind obedience to him.”

And so, no statues are commissioned.

A moon turn passes. Jaime asks the Lannister women’s help to assist Rhaenys in her lessons. As a highborn lady and a princess, she has all those etiquette lessons to learn, as well as household management and other stuff. Jaime helps with what he knows, which, in his opinion, isn’t much. Tyrion disagrees.

“You know how justice is meant to work, and you manage to bring the ideals to reality,” he points out. “Look at what you did with the Baneforts.”

House Banefort paid their debts in full a month before Uncle Tyg’s death. Lord Quenten sent him a letter to confirm it, and to offer himself to manage Renaissance after its opening, claiming his involvement with construction would give him great insight on its management. Jaime, of course, replied that Renaissance already has a lord to overlook it, and that, since his job was the same as any worker, he was as entitled to the building as the other workers.

No reply was given, but Jaime is sure House Banefort will give him headaches for years to come.

In the meantime, he decides the castle’s mood is perfect for a conversation that has been due for years. He approaches Ser Arthur, the one that came with them to escort Rhaenys. Arthur, Gerold and Oswell have been more receptive to interaction with him in the years following the war, but they still refuse to talk about what happened in Dorne that made them avoid him for so long.

He thought his relationship with him had improved, but, when Robb Stark came to King’s Landing, they closed themselves again.

He tasks three of his best household guards to watch over Rhaenys during one of her history lessons—given by Uncle Gerion, who is fascinated by Essosi history and culture—and calls Arthur for a sparring session.

They spar for a couple hours, with nine duels in total; Arthur wins in seven, Jaime wins one, and they tie in another. A more than expected result: Jaime’s duties have forced him to reduce his time in the training yards, while Arthur has only improved in the last six years. Also…

“You’ve been distracted, my lord,” Arthur points out when the last duel ends in a tie. “You could have won this one, too, if you were more focused. Is there something you want to speak of?”

It’s the cue he was waiting for. “As a matter of fact, yes, there is. I think six and a half years is enough time to distance oneself from certain… events, isn’t it?”

Arthur fixes his posture. “It depends on the event, I think.”

“Lyanna Stark’s death, and why you, Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold have avoided me for years after the event—and even now.”

Arthur takes a deep breath. “Time doesn’t heal all wounds.”

“Then perhaps words may heal them instead.”

The following silence seems to last forever. “I’ve always admired you,” Jaime says. “When you knighted me, it was the best day of my life until then. It remains as such now. To have you, of all people, shut me off, with no plausible reason… it hurts.”

That seems to be enough for Arthur to talk. “It has nothing to do with you, Jaime,” he replies, confirming his suspicions. “It’s me who couldn’t look you in the eye after all that happened.

“You see, when Rhaegar chose Oswell and me to follow him after Lyanna Stark, we felt honored to be among his trusted friends, and relieved to have an excuse to not return to the Red Keep. But you stayed. All the other Kingsguard knights were sent away at one point or another, but not you. You were forced to stay in that hell, all alone, when it should have been one of us.”

Jaime closes his fists. “I had nowhere to go to seek peace,” he says. “Everywhere I went, he was there. His voice, his laugh, his screams, Rhaella’s screams, Rhaenys’ cries… People screaming for help, for justice against the king who burned them to ashes, without even a body to be buried with dignity. When Rhaegar briefly returned to the Red Keep, I begged him to take me out of there, but he refused, and instead tasked me with protecting Elia and the children, with promises of a better future when the war was won.”

“I know that,” Arthur says, sounding about to cry. “And I wish I could say we were recruited for a noble mission. That we left you behind for a good cause. But no. Instead, we were ordered to guard Lady Lyanna as she carried Rhaegar’s child. He made us believe she was there willingly, a proud member of his exclusive club of those who knew about his destiny as savior of the realm against the evils of the night and winter.”

“It wasn’t that,” he guesses.

“Not at all. Lyanna only heard of Rhaegar’s prophecies after she fell pregnant. She was in love; not with the prince, but with the freedom he promised her. He found a Stark girl, the ice to his fire, and she was scared of what awaited her when she’d marry Robert Baratheon. He promised freedom, love and respect, but only gave her a fancy cage, a baby… and loneliness.

“When Ned Stark came, saying baby Aegon was the new King, we surrendered at the spot. Had he said Robert’s name, we would have fought for the last Targaryen, even if he was a bastard. But what use would a fight have in the scenario we were presented with? With Rhaegar dead, and his son a bastard, the only choice was to allow the boy’s maternal family to take him in. But it was too late for her—not because illness took her too fast, but because we were so intent on following Rhaegar’s orders that we didn’t bring anyone in, not even to treat her.”

Jaime’s eyes widen at that revelation. So Lyanna Stark could have been saved, if the three knights had just disobeyed Rhaegar a little and looked for a maester or a healer nearby?

“When we heard the full account of what happened in the Red Keep, we quickly assumed it was you who killed Aerys,” Arthur adds. “Our certainty grew when he learned of the widespread wildfire caches. We were ashamed of looking you in the eye, Jaime. It was clear to us that you were the hero, and we were the villain’s minions. You, a boy of seven-and-ten, had more honor and maturity than three grown men.”

“Because, according to you, I killed Aerys?”

“Even if you didn’t,” he insists. “You saved Queen Elia, King Aegon and Princess Rhaenys by defeating your own father’s bannermen, then you go against said father so justice could be made against those who sought to harm the royal family. Meanwhile, what did we do?”

The question floats in the air, its answer having already been given. Jaime takes a step towards Arthur.

“You did what you thought was right,” he states firmly. “Perhaps you chose poorly, but you also knew poorly. Who didn’t, in that mess of a war?” He takes a deep breath. “None of us can erase the past. To dwell on it only brings us pain. Let yourself move forward.”

Only hours after that conversation does he realize he never confirmed or denied that he killed Aerys. Well, let him remain in doubt; after all, no one but Elia needs to know the truth.

Elia . He misses her more than usual this time. I will make efforts to woo her when I go back to King’s Landing, he decides.

The Renaissance is a beautiful and functional building, and he smiles all the way through its opening ceremony. All the workers attend it, except House Banefort, whose lord didn’t even bother to send an apology letter for their collective abscence. Too bad for them. Most of the other Western Houses are present for it, as well for Jaime’s speech.

“Tarbeck Hall became an uncomfortable memory after its former House’s revolt against House Lannister,” he declares. “However, discomfort cannot, and will not, be a reason why the right things aren’t done. The ruins of Tarbeck Hall had little to teach us, but the Renaissance will be a place for learning, for nobleborn and common folk alike. This castle marks a new beginning for the West, one in which everyone can contribute for the realm to prosper. My brother, Tyrion Lannister, will be in charge of this new era, and I hope to count with the support of all the West. To a new age!”

“To a new age!” the crowd repeats, and a thunderous applause follows.

Tyrion makes a speech of his own, detailing how the castle will operate.

“We’ve spoken to the Citadel ever since we decided what the Renaissance would become. Acolytes will be regularly sent to teach the common folk to read and write, as well as other abilities that will improve their working performance. Maesters will also come to teach to the nobles who come here to improve their knowledge on various subjects. This will be a place for learning, studies, discoveries and debates on issues that are pertinent to our daily lives, in order to make the West a better place for us all.”

Everyone applauds him, and Rhaenys calls Jaime to bend down to hear her. “Can I come here to learn?”

He smiles. “When you’re older, yes.”

“Why not now?”

“Because this place is for grown men and women to learn more than they are taught in their homes.”

“Oh, I get it! Like a Citadel for non-maesters?”

“Something like that.”

A huge feast is thrown. Several lords congratulate the Lannisters for the idea, but a few bring concerns.

“My lord,” Tybolt Hetherspoon says, “aren’t you concerned this… added education will cause the common folk to… revolt?”

“Revolt against what, Lord Tybolt? They will only revolt if they are denied food and other things needed to survive. Are you struggling with feeding your people?”

“Not anymore, my lord. Winter was a bit hard, but we all made it through. It’s summer now, and food is accessible at fair prices for everyone. My fear is that all this… learning will make the small folk think they deserve more, so to speak.”

He nods. “I understand your worries, but I don’t think that will happen. We’ve discussed this in the Rock already; my family agrees with me that the ‘worst’ outcome will be that they demand better payment, which we, the Lannisters, already give to the literate servants. It may be an issue at first, but, considering what’s happened in the Rock, I think there will be more than enough coin to increase payment anyway.”

Lord Tybolt sighs, nods, thanks him for his words and leaves. Jaime frowns. Hopefully, he won’t have to add House Hetherspoon to the headache list in near future.

Jaime and Rhaenys stay with Tyrion, Tysha and Joanna until the first acolytes arrive. On their way back, Jaime dwells on how to woo Elia’s heart. Will it be easy, or will she reveal herself to be completely averse to a romance between them?

Chapter Text

According to the letter, Lord Commander Qorgyle died peacefully while sleeping. He cares not for the manner of death, but his superiors look glad that it wasn’t violent. Perhaps there is intrigue in Castle Black he’s not privy to.

“You are going with us,” Halfhand declares. “Your brother will be there for the elections. We figured it would be good for you two to see each other.”

“I am grateful for the opportunity,” he replies, surprising himself with his sincerity.

In these last five years as a builder, he has avoided talking to his commanders as much as he could. Ser Endrew, his roommate, kept their interactions normal, as if nothing had happened, but there was a strain between them that only time healed. Nowadays they are getting along way better.

For the first two years, Robert would always come to him to announce he was going on a ranging mission; the jape tired out after that, much to his relief.

He cannot say he enjoys being a builder. The toll it takes on his body is… significant. It’s been years since he last spent two consecutive days without back pain. However, the job has spared him of many discomforts. The builders rarely talk while working, for one, sparing him the obligation of socializing with criminals and commoners—not to mention the peace of mind silence brings. Also, it fills his time with something productive to do, with little room for boredom.

He’s grown used to it, truth be told. He would accept a new post if offered, but, if it never happens, he will be fine too.

(Though he thinks he is likely to be made steward sooner or later. His body often warns him this is not a job he can do until the end of his days.)

Of course, he’s not entirely unaware of the situation around him. There are frequent meetings with all the men to update them on the wildlings. On that aspect, things have stayed roughly the same, to his relief and chagrin. Relief because, since the wildlings didn’t resort to more aggressive tactics, he escaped punishment for inciting them. Chagrin because he’d hoped his actions five years ago would have been fruitful enough for Mallister to see he was right.

It seems that, in the end, neither of them were, but Mallister certainly sees it as a victory for him. Whatever.

Robert and Mance, among others, are sent on a ranging mission while Qhorin and Mallister go to Castle Black with him. The journey takes three days due to a small snow rain that slows them down. When they arrive, the men from Eastwatch are already there, and he finds Kevan easily among the crowd. The two brothers share a hug and find a quiet place to talk.

“Have you received news of Tyg?” Kevan asks as soon as they sit down.

He nods. Over the years, Mallister stopped opening his letters in advance. With good reason; his family wanted little to do with him, and only his siblings wrote. “I received a letter from Genna. Was it her who wrote you?”

“Yes. She also wrote about the new castle your sons had built on the ruins of Tarbeck Hall.”

He frowns. “She told me nothing about it.”

“I see.” Kevan sighs. “Jaime and Tyrion named it Renaissance, to symbolize a new era for the West. A place where common folk can learn to read and write, and nobles can study further whatever subject they’d like. Like a Citadel for maesters, I think.”

He inhales sharply. What are his sons doing ? “Are they asking for revolt from the smallfolk?”

“They likely assume the opposite outcome. Genna said they taught Casterly’s servants to read and write, and things have run smoothly there.”

“Still. It’s one thing to teach one castle’s servants. But the whole West…”

“We won’t be there to see any disastrous results, anyway.”

He nods. His brother is right; the West should no longer be their concern. Still, to see his legacy in such danger…

“Any news on their families?” he asks. “And yours?”

“Dorna remarried. A man from House Lydden. Got pregnant half a year ago. Lancel is meant to be sent to Casterly Rock next year, to squire for Gerion. Tyg was her original idea, but… well, no longer possible.”

He shares all this information too casually, considering it’s about the wife he left behind and his son. He says nothing, though.

“As for your children… You got nothing from them?”

“Only Cersei wrote to me, and was once , to announce her daughter’s birth.” Myrcella Martell. A nice name; pity she would be heir to nothing, useful only for a marriage alliance.

“Tyrion married a commoner named Tysha, years ago. They have a girl, Joanna.”

He closes his fists. How dare that bastard name his daughter after Joanna. “What else?” he asks through his teeth.

“So far, that’s all. I haven’t received any news from Jaime’s end. And, since he’s married to the Queen Mother, I think we’d all know if she had given him a child.”

He remembers how frail Elia Martell got after her two pregnancies, and how dangerous it would have been for her to get with child after Aegon. It’s possible that they actively avoid it, which means Jaime possibly renounced having children. Why?

“Casterly Rock will be passed to Tyrion, then,” he concludes out loud.

“Maybe, maybe not,” his brother replies. “Genna said Tyrion is in charge of the Renaissance. I don’t know what they agreed upon in this regard. Maybe Jaime named Cersei his heir instead.”

Hm. Perhaps it would not be so bad. Between his daughter, the only child who acknowledges his existence, and the Imp, he thinks he’d prefer Cersei after all.

This is no longer your concern, he reminds himself again. He has no legacy in the West anymore. He can only build his own, along with the Wall structure he rebuilds every day.

The election is inevitably chaotic, since everyone present is a possible candidate. Tywin’s name is not mentioned (not that he expected it), but Kevan is, five times, all from colleagues from Eastwatch. “You didn’t tell me you were popular,” he comments.

“As far as I know, I am not,” he replies. “I’m a good ranger, and I’m usually charged with talking to sailors that pass by. Maybe they think I have the skills for Lord Commander, though I disagree.”

“Why?”

“I’ve always been a better follower than leader. You know it well.”

He does indeed.

Kevan doesn’t make it to the finals, which goes on for four days. Mallister gives up in favor of Jeor Mormont, and he ends up winning. A feast is held, and they go back home.

Home. It’s odd to consider Shadow Tower home, but it’s the objective truth. Casterly Rock is only a memory now. One he holds on to fondly, but nothing more.

The ranging party sent prior to their trip is back, but with one member missing.

“Robert deflected,” Mance reveals. “We tried to hold him down, but he vanished in the dark of the night and was not seen again.”

“A pity,” Mallister replies, with little emotion. “I know he made friends among you, but remember, a deserter is a deserter. If he ever comes back, we must all remember what the punishment for desertion is.”

Death is the word they don’t say. If Robert is minimally smart, he will never step foot close to the Wall for as long as he lives.

Later, during dinner, Mance calls him and Ser Endrew to join them at the table. “The gossip will spread soon,” he says. “We all told each other we wouldn’t share our suspicions because we couldn’t confirm them, but hells, we all know it to be the truth.”

“What are you saying?” Ser Endrew asks.

“Robert left for a woman,” Mance replies. “We were attacked by a shadowcat, but he was the only one injured. A healer took care of him, and he couldn’t stop talking about how nice her body looked… well, he wasn’t as polite about it, but I didn’t care to remember his exact words. And then he vanished.”

“So he left to shag a woman,” Blane states.

“She’s just the first,” Tywin comments, and everyone turns to look at him. “Robert was never one for monogamy. Tell me, Mance, do you know the color of her hair, or her eyes?”

“I didn’t see her eyes, but her hair was dark brown. Like old wood.”

Perhaps more like a Stark shade of brown, he muses. Robert never quite let go of Lady Lyanna’s memory, if his drunk ramblings are any indication.

Within two days, gossip about Robert dies out, and they resume their lives. Three new recruits arrive, young and strong; they are all made rangers, and no one bothers about the fallen king turned deserter.

Chapter Text

Strangely enough, Jaime finds himself staring at the royal sept, just as he did a few years ago. He knows Septon Marc is still there, but he hasn’t thought much of the man after Tyrion’s wedding. His feet guide him inside before he can dwell on the decision.

He looks up at the statue of the Maiden. If I want to win my wife’s heart, do I pray for you or the Mother? He remembers Septon Marc telling him the Maiden was the wife of the first King of the Andals, and that she represents romantic love. But how does he ask for his own wife’s heart? Is it not something he should already have? It feels like asking for food when there is a feast in the upcoming hour.

“Lord Jaime,” the familiar voice says, “it’s been a long time.”

He turns. “Septon,” he replies. “You haven’t aged a day since we last met.”

The man laughs. “Neither have you, young lord.” He turns his gaze to the Maiden’s statue. “I wonder what you have to ask her.”

He sighs. “It’s… complicated, septon. I want to court my wife, win her heart, but I feel like I’m years too late for that.”

The septon stares at him for a few moments, then gestures for Jaime to follow him. They go to the same room he went to years ago, where he confessed his past with Cersei. He seems to remember the same conversation. “Is this because of your twin?”

“What do you mean? I haven’t desired her in years.”

He hums. “Good. But the Queen looks little like her, right? I suppose your sister resembles you, not a Dornish woman.”

“Elia and Cersei share very little physical traits, indeed,” he agrees. 

“Could it be why it took you so long to realize you wanted a real marriage with your wife?”

He blinks. “I… don’t know, septon. The thought of why never crossed my mind. All I know is that I began to long for a family, for love, and then I began to look at my wife as more than a friend. I’m… I can’t say I love her, not yet, but I think I could, if we gave our marriage a chance to become real.”

“I see. Was she aware of your affair with your sister when you married?”

“She was the one who proposed a marriage between us and another between Cersei and Prince Oberyn, so we’d be able to see each other often.”

The septon frowns. “May I ask what benefit she had from this arrangement?”

“Both of Elia’s pregnancies were troublesome and life-threatening. A husband with no desire for her was a blessing at that point of her life. I wish I could figure out whether her wishes have changed, whether she was willing to be with me. Not just sexually speaking, but romantically. And, well—”

“Sex is part of romance, I understand, my lord. Well… I’m afraid I don’t have much advice for you on that matter, my lord. I felt called to the Faith very long, and although I’m no stranger to sexual desires—they are part of human existence, after all—wooing a woman was never a goal at any point in my life. However, the Queen has friends, doesn’t she?” He nods, thinks of the ladies who have been her companions ever since she married Rhaegar. “As her family is far away in Dorne, they are your best source of advice. If you have their trust, they will tell you what you need to know.”

He chuckles. “You make it sound so simple, septon.”

“Perhaps it is. Remember, simple does not equal easy. And you must be ready for the possibility she will deny you any chance of courtship.”

He takes a deep breath. “The thought itself is already hard to accept. I see what you mean, septon. If it’s not too much, pray for me, please.”

“You have been in my prayers ever since our first meeting, my lord. I’ll ask the Maiden to guide you and the Queen in the matters of the heart.”

He takes notes of Elia’s ladies-in-waiting who are currently in the Red Keep, to see which of them he should approach first.

Larra Blackmont . She’s a year older than Elia and is her closest living friend. As her father, the current Lord of Blackmont, is still alive and capable, she spends most of her time in King’s Landing—although she acquired a house of her own after marrying one of Lord Wendwater’s sons, with whom she has two children. She’s outgoing and lively, but also very secretive when she wants to be (he remembers she managed to hide both pregnancies from court just to see everyone’s shock when they found out). He’s not sure how much she will be willing to tell him about Elia.

Alyse Qorgyle. Lord Quentyn Qorgyle’s niece or cousin, he’s not sure; all he knows is that she is the granddaughter of the late Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, who sired two children before going to the Wall. She replaced another Alyse, from House Ladybright, after the latter became House Martell’s lady treasurer. She’s the youngest of the group and the least close to Elia, which may pose a problem; however, she’s obsessed with romances, so there is a real chance she will jump at the prospect of helping him woo his wife.

Valena Manwoody. Lord Dagos’ wife, she was born a bastard of House Dalt. Due to her children, she never stays in King’s Landing for long. When she brings her sons with her, they all stay with Lady Larra. A natural gossip, which may or may not be useful.

Mellario of Norvos, Prince Doran’s wife. A good choice for conversation, if she hadn’t been looking so miserable the last two times he came to the city. He bets her marriage is not going well, which makes her the last person he wants to talk to about courting his wife.

The Small Council members’ wives may also help him, though he doesn’t know how to ask them without giving away that his marriage is not a real one, something he and Elia hid from the start—to the point they’ve always slept in the same bed.

He sighs. Lady Larra first, then Lady Alyse. Yes, that’s the best route.

He manages to gather that Elia favors sunflowers (he suspected, but wasn’t sure), her favorite dessert is strawberry cake (he already knew it) and has never spoken a word about wishing for romance.

“You are a good man, Lord Jaime,” Lady Larra says. “And her dear friend. If you are gentle and prudent, I believe your advances won’t be rejected.” She offers him tea. “You know, you could also take a close look at her brother Doran and his wife, to have an idea on what not to do.”

He takes a sip. “So you know what has happened between them?”

“A couple’s intimacy belongs to them, but their misery is no secret. They do not treat each other well.”

Coincidence or not, Elia approaches him to talk about civil marriage, a subject they first discussed years ago when he spoke to Septon Marc. “I’ve thought about it, but I can’t think of a way to present it to the Small Council. The change in marriage vows was big enough; I’m not sure the realm will handle another change in how weddings are perceived, as good as these changes would be.”

He stares at her. Is she truly only talking about other people’s marriages, or theirs as well? “Truth be told, I had forgotten about it. What is supposed to be the difference between civil and religious marriage?”

She sighs. “Arranged marriages, made purely to benefit the Houses, would be performed without the need to involve the gods. A contract would suffice.”

A thought occurs to him. “But why a marriage contract, instead of an alliance contract? If we formalize by law types of alliance contracts that have the same weight as marriages, the necessity of arranging them should still decrease.”

Elia frowns. “How would we do it?”

He inclines towards her. “Why do nobles marry? Why do these alliances exist?”

She intertwines her hands together. “For resources,” she replies. “Trade privileges, support in disputes, sometimes uniting territories.”

He nods. “That’s the kind of contracts we’d formalize. Currently, the Lannisters and the Tyrells have an agreement on trade of food and jewelry; this agreement was made without marriage proposals, even though both Houses had members to offer. And that’s just one example. These agreements already exist; they just don’t have the same weight as marriages. If the Crown declares they do, it would reshape how arranged marriages are viewed.”

Elia arches her eyebrows. “Arranged marriages would still exist,” she says, “but, since the alliances would already be established, their goal would be more about siring heirs.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, “and any noble can give another heirs. Choices would be more flexible. The bride and the groom could choose each other, instead of being forced by their parents, and thus their arrangements would last longer, because there would be camaraderie.”

“And even love, sometimes,” she adds with a dreamy smile.

He takes a deep breath. “Yes. Even love.”

Several meetings are necessary to convince the Small Council to give their ideas a try, over the course of many months. Jaime writes to his family that his stay must be prolonged, although without divulging details.

These discussions seem to be the last straw for Prince Doran and his wife. Lady Mellario one day simply announces she will return to Sunspear to bid her children goodbye, then will go back to Norvos, her hometown. Elia asks her why more than once, and her answer is always the same: “I’ve reached my limit.”

“My brother has always been discreet,” Elia tells Jaime when they are alone in their room. “He seldom tells me what is on his mind, or his life. To see his marriage fall apart and be unable to help… it unnerves me, but it’s a consequence of his whole life’s choices.”

Jaime sighs. “It’s the same for Lady Mellario, isn’t it? All of the ladies in court offered help at least once. For reasons we don’t know, they didn’t want help. Perhaps they felt it was their problem to handle, perhaps they’ve given up long ago and were just waiting for the ‘right’ moment to split.”

She nods. “It’s still sad. They married for love; I wish they had fought for it.”

He shifts the weight on one foot to the other. “Had you wedded for love, how would you have acted?”

She pauses for a long while. “I’d have given all of myself,” she replies. “With no fear. If I loved my husband, my focus would be on giving love. If the feeling was mutual…” she shakes her head. “To be honest, I can’t even imagine it. Love hasn’t been in the cards for me ever since I married Rhaegar.”

“So it’s not a possibility? At all?”

She stares at him. “I can’t say that. It’s out of my control. I can only hope I never fall in love with someone who will bring me heartache.”

He nods, accepting her answer, despite not knowing what it means for him yet.