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Chapter Text

Jaime ran through the halls of Casterly Rock, ducking and weaving deftly between servants and distant relatives, only stopping to help right the poor maid who nearly got knocked over by him before he was off again in the direction of his father’s solar.

Seven years he has lived in this life, a world so familiar and so foreign, and he’s made it his own. He knows the story, and he knows what will happen, but there are a few things that he can try to change. 

Like this.

Jaime slams the door open of his father’s solar, making the man scowl, his mother yelp, and his aunt and uncles yell at him.

“Jaime,” Tywin Lannister states coldly. “This is not the behavior of a–”

“The Maester is poisoning mother!” Jaime interrupted. Hopefully, the urgency of his message meant that he won’t be punished for cutting the man off.

“What?” Genna gasped, grabbing Joanna’s arm in support of his suddenly pale mother.

“I saw Maester Creylen prepare Moontea and put a few drops of it in mother’s evening tea!” He explained, feeling slightly out of breath from the run-climb from the Maester’s quarters to the solar. “I snuck inside to steal some catnip and he came in so I hid in a cupboard and I saw the whole thing! He made Moontea and put it in mother’s tea and then gave it to a servant with brown hair and freckles to take it to her and then he left and I ran here.”

Jaime was honestly quite surprised at this piece of information, because despite what many others would be scheming if they were in his place, he really was just wanting catnip. Jaime wasn’t a player in the Game, he could barely concentrate when he studied up on the politics and history of the realm, but he knew what the original Jaime Lannister had done and he knew what he needed to do to save half a million lives in Kingslanding. Jaime had gone after the catnip because there was a litter of kittens he was raising underneath his bed and he wanted to have a reward for them for learning to use a litterbox correctly. He had no idea that the Maester conspiracy that was popular amongst A Song Of Ice And Fire fans was actually true, but after seeing Creylen, a man he trusted , thoughtless prepare poison for his mother, Jaime knew that this world was even more barbed and vicious than he originally thought.

His poor pregnant mother looked faint, hand resting over her swollen stomach in fear. She had been weaker this pregnancy, though Creylen had waved it away from saying that her labour with Jaime and Cersei had been difficult and the new toll on her already taxed womb was being exacerbated by stress. He had been preparing her an evening tea to relax ever since she hit the third trimester.

His father looked furious, “Jaime. Are you certain about this?”

Jaime scampered forward, moving so he could look at his father properly in the eyes, “I swear it, father. On the old gods and new. Maester Creylen plans to murder mother in childbed.”

Tywin Lannister has never looked more dangerous. Jaime knew that he has condemned a man to torture and pain tonight, but he also knows that it wasn’t an innocent man. For all the anger and betrayal he felt, for the fear for his mother, he has never been one for the death penalty. And Tywin? Jaime could almost faintly hear the Rains of Castamere playing.

A knock came on the door and when Kevan opened the door, a servant with brown hair and freckles was waiting on the other side, a cup of tea in hand, just like Jaime had warned.

Hear Me Roar: the words of House Lannister. Jaime had never thought he’d see his father embody them, he’d always been the cold and calculating sort unlike other members of the family. Jaime had already seen Cersei throw howling tantrum upon tantrum, Gerion scream at Tywin in a row, Genna snap loudly at her husband, and even seen Joanna Lannister yell a pair of feuding Westerlands ladies into line. 

Kevan had the sense to grab the cup of tea and protect the evidence as Tywin roared wordlessly and slammed the servant into the stone doorway, hand snaking around her throat.

“Guards!” Tywin yowled, sounding every bit the angry lion. “Arrest Maester Creylen and take him to the deep cells! Send riders to arrest Lannisport’s Maester too for good measure. Tygett, I want you to tear that grey rat’s den apart! I want to know exactly what he has been putting in my wife’s tea.”

“Jaime, Jaime!” His mother gasped and pulled him towards her, as if she could shelter him bodily from the treachery that had been discovered. “Genna, where is Cersei? What if he poisoned her too?”

His father was still yelling, taking satisfaction out of the servant’s tears. “I want this plot ripped out root and stem! Whoever dares touch my family will hear us roar! Traitors will not be suffered. A debt must be repaid with interest .”

The servant, who Jaime isn’t even sure was part of the plot, whimpered. He turned away and tucked his face into his mother’s side, listening to the rustling of leathers and cloths, his uncles rushing to dig out every rat from their burrow, his aunt trying to soothe his mother.

Could this mean she would live? Or would poor Tyrion be doomed to be her bane once again?

“Aunt,” Jaime reached out to tug at his Aunt’s sleeve. “Mother needs to be examined. If you can’t use a maester, there’s a midwife that takes care of the Rock’s maids. She knows more than Creylen ever did.”

The servant was tossed, sobbing, at a lingering Red Cloak, and father marched back into the room, pulling his wife, and, subsequently, his heir, into his arms.

“They will suffer for this, Joanna, I promise you.” He kissed his wife on the forehead before addressing Jaime with a warm hand on his shoulder. “Good job, Jaime.”

Jaime tried not to shudder at the praise from his father. Tywin Lannister was a man who did not hand praise out easily, nor did he apologize. He was distant like that, always reluctant to actually show affection, even to his children. Jaime has watched Cersei throw tantrums worthy of history books in an attempt to gain their father’s attention while Jaime has quietly trained in hopes that maybe if he excelled just a little bit more then he might have a small piece of attention. He always gets attention from his father, just never the type that he wants.

Jaime has difficulty with reading, so he must be a lackwit. Jaime prefers swords and strategy to histories and politics, so he must be a brute. Jaime likes exploring and chasing cats, so he must be soft. Jaime was the golden heir, but not the cold gold heir his father wanted.

Cersei had even started mimicking their father, insulting Jaime when he didn’t give her as much attention and devotion as she desired, thinking it might give her some approval from him.

“A midwife?” Genna questioned, “You’ve met a midwife?”

Jaime looked a bit sheepish, “I had questions about having a little sibling and helping mother and the Maester wasn’t giving me good answers.”

He had done so, and Creylen had dismissed him out of hand and given him facts that Jaime knew from his own past life were incorrect, so he went out to search for a midwife. 

“A Maester only helps in a birth or two per year, but a midwife handles several pregnancies a year, so they must be better at it since they have more practice. The midwife taught me a lot, she even showed me what Moontea was and told me how it worked.”

“Genna,” Tywin turned to his sister. “Take some guards and go fetch that midwife, meet us in my chambers with Cersei.”

Genna nodded stiffly, delicately yet firming stepping around the corner, a true lioness on the prowl to protect her pack.

“Jaime.”

Jaime looked up to meet green eyes so similar to his own, “Yes, father?”

“Catnip?”

Jaime leaned into his mother’s warm arms as she rubbed his back tenderly, “I may have asked the midwife to also help with some kittens.”

Tywin’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly, “Soft boy.” He tutted, not sounding like he meant it at all.

Chapter Text

Cersei came into their parents’ rooms, loud and unashamed as always.

“Father! What is going on?” She demanded.

Somedays, it’s easy to forget who she’ll grow up to become. On other days, the warning signs are red flags standing starkly against a sea of white innocence.

“Cersei!” Joanna exclaimed, opening an arm to draw her daughter to her. “Are you well, sweetling? Did you eat or drink anything that horrid maester gave you?”

Cersei gave her a look of confusion, “I am healthy, mother.”

“You are the midwife,” Tywin stared down the portly woman who looked completely unbothered by her sudden march through the keep’s halls by several guards and a lady. Considering her profession and the fact that she had the same face the first time Jaime met her when he climbed in through the window, Jaime is not surprised. In fact, he’s slightly amused by the way she was looking at his father, completely unimpressed by the show of power.

“I am, mi’lord,” She said. “I am Midwife Alanna, I was trained in my letters and basic healing by the septas in Lannisport and I apprenticed under the previous midwife of the Rock, the Midwife Paege. Will you be needing my services?”

“You are discreet?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She raised an eyebrow back in return, “I have no use for gossip if that’s what you're asking. The only information I be sharing is consulting other midwives for ideas if help is needed, and I have only done so thrice in the past ten years, so unless you’re about the tell me your wife is having quadruplets and needs a cesarian, nothing is leaving my mouth to anyone.”

Alanna was a woman who took no shit from anyone, not even the Warden of the West and Hand of the King. Jaime admired that greatly about her: she was here to do her job and do it well.

“Is something wrong with mother?” Cersei grabbed Jaime’s arm, pulling his attention. 

Jaime nodded slowly, “Maester Creylen is a traitor.”

She frowned, “How?”

“My wife and your lady have been poisoned by the Maester of the Rock.” Tywin’s words made Cersei tense and look furious, while Joanna tried to press both twins closer to her. “A few drops of Moontea in her evening tea; for how long, we do not yet know.”

Alanna looked like she was made of stone, “I see. If I may, mi’lady, I would examine you now.” She motioned for mother to lay down on her back on the bed.

Joanna looked hard-pressed to let go of her children, so Jaime did so for her, slipping out of her embrace and gently tugging Cersei to do the same, pulling himself and his sister to go stand next to their still quietly seething father.

Jaime looked away to watch Cersei once the midwife motioned for his mother to spread her legs. His sister was volatile, though not by any way her fault. For all that their mother loved and cared for them, they were both spoiled by her, and their father was seen perhaps a moon or two a year, busy with his work as Hand. She wasn’t very likely to react well to their beloved mother being harmed.

“Father,” Cersei looked up at the grim man. “Will the Maester suffer?”

Jaime stopped himself from frowning at the casual bloodthirstiness, or at the hand that came to rest on his sister’s shoulder in comfort. He had to constantly remind himself that the moral culture of Westeros was different from the one at home; they had no massive cultural revolutions about the sanctity of a fair trial, nor any major religions that praised forgiveness or the saving of a life above all else, nor an understanding of basic psychology and criminology. 

“House Lannister will pay a debt, Cersei.”

Jaime stayed silent at his sister’s answering bright grin. It’s not her fault, it’s the way she has been raised.

“Do you know how far along you are, mi’lady?” Alanna pulled away from his mother, frowning deeply.

“8 moons,” His father answered. He had left the capital for the birth, riding hard to arrive early after he had nearly missed Jaime and Cersei’s birth when the twins came early.

“How many sennights?” She specified, “From your last bleed, if possible.”

“It was the eleventh moon of 272,” Joanna replied. “I do not know the day, but I believe that it is either four or five and thirty sennights.”

“Your body is already preparing for birth, mi’lady,” She sighed. “A drop or two of Moontea won’t do this, not at the stage you are at. There’s a reason that we make the mother drink a full cup. If I guessed, the Maester has been poisoning that tea of yours once a sennight for a few moons.”

“What does that mean for my wife?” Tywin demanded.

“Mi’lord, I’ll be blunt. If we’re lucky, the babe is merely deformed or crippled and may live. If not, they’re dead already. My main task now is saving your wife. Mi’lady, your body has been tricked into believing that the babe in your womb is stillborn, and so it is attempting to give birth early. That will be a great risk to you, and you will bleed greatly. If I thought the babe likely to live, I would send a raven to my fellow midwife in Lannisport and attempt a cesarian, but in this case, that would be too risky for you. Instead, I suggest we wait for another sennight, see if your body purges some of the toxins of the Moontea and balances itself, and if it doesn’t, then I will induce the labor and pull the babe out myself.”

From where Jaime is pressed to his father’s side, he could hear his father swallow.

Childbirth was difficult in any era of time, but especially in medieval times where they still use leeches to drain the body of ‘bad toxins’ and ‘curses’.

“Will I be able to have more children?” Joanna looked terrified.

“Likely not, mi’lady. And if you do, I may not be able to save you again. This pregnancy has been too taxing on your body, and your twins… the same Maester treated you then, did he not?”

“In my last moon and the labor,” Joanna confirmed, eyes darting to where Jaime and Cersei stood watching. “You think–?”

“Your twins came earlier than most other twins and you bleed greatly.” Her eyes flickered over to Jaime, “And, if I may say, I’ve been watching your boy. He’s slow to attention but quick to move, and has difficulty with his letters and sounds. That’s common with babes born poisoned by the mother drinking heavily.”

Jaime tried not to twitch at her words or at how Tywin tightened his grip on the twin’s shoulders. While ADHD and Dyslexia are common and known in his old life, it isn’t in Westeros, and his Dyslexia was enough to have the Maester’s think him slow-witted. He wasn’t, he could read and learn and thrive, he had even gone to university in his past life, he was just slower than others and that’s not his fault. 

He had heard his mother’s worry when he had easily outpaced Cersei and even Uncle Tygett with his numbers, the advantage that coming from a world with algebra to a world that thinks basic statistics is extremely difficult gives, but still struggles to read the most basic of sentences. The handwriting and phonology of this world trip him up, and he longed for his audiobooks and yellow paper. At the least, his ADHD wasn’t majorly impacting him other than his schooling and his swiftly abandoned ideas of technologically revolutionizing Westeros a few sennights after he begins.

“Joanna doesn’t drink,” Genna said.

True. In fact, most of the main Lannister branch rarely drinks, with only Gerion and Genna actually drinking often, but, even then, nowhere near the level of an alcoholic. It made Jaime wonder who Cersei and Tyrion inherit their alcoholism from, or if they’d inherit it at all and their trauma led them both to cope that way. 

“Then it is even more likely that the Maester has attempted to kill her before. Your daughter should be checked for signs of poisoning like her brother.” 

Cersei protested that, “I’m perfect! Jaime and I are perfect! You’re a liar!”

“Cersei,” her father scolded, and she fell silent. 

“You’re dismissed, midwife. I will meet again with you in the morning.” He said coldly to Alanna, who merely nodded and left, unbothered at his lack of gratefulness.

“Tywin,” Their mother sat up, looking devastated. “Tywin, I’m so sorry. I– Our babes–”

“It is not your fault,” He said, not unkindly, moving to embrace his wife gently. “You couldn’t have possibly known of his treachery.”

Their mother began to sob, and Genna decided that they don’t need to see this.

“Come, children,” She took them both by the hand. “The hour is late and you have had much excitement tonight.”

“Will mother be alright?” Jaime heard Cersei interrogate their aunt, but Jaime just twisted his head to stare at the closing gap of the door. Joanna continued to cry in Tywin’s arms, the man himself looking tired now that everyone else had left the room.

Jaime wished that neither of his parents was burdened by this, but this was a kindness compared to the sudden death and horrific birth that their story originally told.

Chapter Text

Jaime slipped out of bed early, unable to sleep.

Cersei didn’t even stir, though the Stray momma cat and her kittens that slept in a nest made of an old cloak of his under his bed blinked blearily at him. Jaime slipped her a small piece of meat from last night’s dinner and left the room.

The Rock was both quiet and busy in the early mornings. Servants buzzed and ran every which way, preparing for breakfasts and baths and demands from the lords and ladies, nearly completely silently in respect for those who still slept.

Jaime nodded at the few servants who looked at him, acting completely nonchalantly so they’ll think he was supposed to be awake a full two hours before the sun was up.

In his past life, he would work nights, bartending in a club in West Village, New York City. It was an old speakeasy that had been transformed into a gay club in the 90s, discreet and welcoming. Jaime has fond memories of the friends and family he had made there, humming along with the crowd as he prepared drink after drink, all night long.

Oh, how he wished that Westeros had something other than wine and ale. He knew how to make a good homemade moonshine and even some nice basic berry rum and mead, but a good vodka or tequila was beyond him and the materials Westeros’ had to offer. When he was older and it was less suspicious, Jaime was going to blow everyone’s mind with a good Pina Colada or a Bloody Mary, he promises that much. 

…Well, as soon as he figures out how to get pineapples or tomatoes. Those were important too.

His feet had taken him to the kitchens, where they were beginning to prepare the food.

There was zero kitchen hygiene, which made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Bacteria was, unfortunately, not discovered yet. In fact, most basic medical ideas were not discovered yet. 

He sucked his teeth in thought as he pondered if there was cowpox in Westeros and if it will prevent the smallpox he knows does exist. If he spreads cowpox around the Rock, then there’s going to be a way higher rate of immunity of smallpox, and maybe that will strengthen the overall immune systems of his family.

“Lil’lord?” A voice broke him from his thoughts. Jaime blinked at the cook who was kneeling in front of him, the kitchen nearly crawling to a halt as they watched the unusual sight of a lord up so early and in the kitchens.

“Hello,” Jaime said. “I want to make breakfast for my mother.”

The cook looked at him strangely, “You do?”

Jaime looked at some of the meats slowly being prepared, “Maybe just the bread. They say I’m going to have a baby sibling today, but mother is going to fight for it, so she’ll be hungry. I want to make her some bread for her fight.”

The cook grinned, and Jaime could hear some of the kitchenmaids cooing at him. “We can do that, mi’lord. It’ll be ready by the time the sun rises and the rooster’s second crow.”

“I want to do it by myself,” Jaime insisted. “You can’t touch the bread.”

“As you say lil’lord.”

The cook leads Jaime to a bench that had already been dusted with flour, but no dough had been prepared yet.

The cook helped Jaime grab the ingredients, like the giant sack of flour that he couldn’t even lift, but Jaime grabbed a few of his own, like the small pot of honey and the butter. 

Jaime had made challah several times in his past life, though he had always preferred the lazy way of just buying it. Too many times he had put his food in the oven and forgotten about it until the fire alarm was blaring, so he always deferred to the method that guaranteed him actually eating the challah in the end.

“That’s it, lil’lord,” The cook, a man named Tyrone, praised. “Nead it nice an’ firmly. Like a cat.”

Without thinking, Jaime meowed, causing the man to burst into laughter and the kitchenmaids to titter. 

“Now we leave it to rise, lil’lord,” Tyrone said. “It’ll take a good hour, perhaps I could interest you in some breakfast? We have some chicken ready.”

Jaime eyed some of it, and debated his risk of getting salmonella. Then, he thought about how he needed a lot of protein for sword fighting. Unfortunately, the balanced diet won.

“It didn’t touch any pig meat? Or rabbit, or squirrel?” Jaime checked. “And their throats were slit cleanly with a sharp knife?”

“I think so, mi’lord?” Tyrone looked confused.

Jaime sighed. He tried. It’s near impossible to observe kashrut when this world doesn’t even have monotheism and so doesn’t understand what kosher or religious dietary restrictions are. The closest they got was when Baelor ‘the Blessed’ fasted for forty days, and even then the man cheated with bread and wine.

“I’ll have some,” Jaime agreed, taking a plate another cook passed over. It had chicken and a small cut of cheese on it. Jaime really, really , wished he was back in New York with his family.

“I don’t eat meat with cheese,” He passed the cheese back onto another plate.

“Oh?” Tyrone looked like he was making a mental note of that. “Upset your stomach, lil’lord?”

“A bit,” Jaime replied, feeling not that bad for lying. A childish insistance to not eat two foods together may be forced by his father if he found out, but a supposed lactose intolerance wouldn’t.

“My daughter was the same, mi’lord. Don’t you worry, it’ll pass once you get older,” A different kitchenmaid spoke up.

He doubts that. “Does your daughter work in the keep too?” He asked instead.

“Aye,” The woman lit up at the chance to discuss her daughter. “She’s going to be one of your new siblings’ wetnurses. Her name is Jeyne, she’s given me two grandsons now.”

“Are your grandsons my age?” Jaime politely inquired. There were barely ever enough kids for him to play with. If anything, there were too many of them, greedily reaching for what a friendship with the future Lord of Casterly Rock could bring. Even then, none of them wanted to chase cats or climb walls with Jaime, they all preferred to ride or fight constantly. Jaime loved both, but not every day always.

“Oh no, lad, they’re three years and six moons.” She grinned, “A while yet before they’ll be running around underfoot like you.”

“Meryl!” Tyrone snapped, mood changing quickly, “That is our lord’s son, do not be too familiar!”

“It’s alright,” Jaime swiftly stepped in. “Hearing ‘lord’ every sentence spoken gets rather tiring. Father isn’t here, and I want to hear more. Nobody talks to me about normal things, they all want to know about coin and horses and swords and being heir. Miss Meryl, could you continue, please?”

Meryl’s eyes sparkled at his manners, and the other maids were cooing again at how he was such ‘a sweet boy’ to even his servants.

Meryl was happy to indulge him in hearing more about how ‘low-born’ lives are, with a few other brave servants chiming in from time to time.

Soon, however, Jaime was back to laboring over his challah. He had nearly forgotten about the task he originally came here for, so embroiled in hearing different stories, Tyrone had to fetch him to inform him that the dough had risen.

“I can do this part myself!” Jaime said, pulling the bowl to himself.

Tyrone nodded indulgently, “As you say, lil’lord. I’ll go check the ovens and then help you put it in.”

Jaime thumbed the small star of David he had made from wire and carried in his pocket, before starting a quick and slightly mangled separating of the challah, with a whispered blessing and a small piece of dough being tucked into his pocket to burn later.

“What a nice braid, lil’lord!” Tyrone said, helping him load the tray into the oven. “And some rolls too, I see.”

“I had extra dough,” He shrugged. “When will it be done?”

“Half an hour, lil’lord,” The cook wiped his hands on his shirt. “Shall I fetch you once it’s done?”

Jaime shook his head, “I want to help.”

“Help?”

“I can wash pots,” Jaime offered.

“Leave that to the scullery maids, lad,” Meryl stepped in at Tyrone’s baffled expression. “You can help me cut the apples. A cooks’ knife can be seen as a very small sword.”

“He could cut himself,” Another cook immediately protested. “My lord can wash berries.”

“Pah! He could cut himself running and scraping his knees. Let the child live,” Meryl dismissed the other’s concerns. “Here, lad, I’ll show you how to do it.”

In the end, Jaime could add some honey-drizzled apple slices to the plate of bread he made for his mother.

“There you go, lad,” Meryl patted his head fondly. “Now, do you need some help taking that upstairs?”

“No thank you,” He lifted it carefully and then dug into his breast pocket, pulling out a silver coin. “Here, for your grandsons. Buy them some toys for me.”

“Oh, lad, I cannot–” She tried to humbly protest.

“Too late! I’m leaving, bye!” Jaime cheekily replied, speedwalking to the door with his prize in hand, laughter at his audacity echoing behind him.

He definitely got way more looks for walking around the Rock with a full plate of breakfast in his arms; a distant cousin who was an early riser did a double take when he walked past and Jaime could hear them muttering about needing to sleep more.

“My lord?” Ser Brynnon, a knight from his mother’s personal guard retinue, blinked at him when Jaime arrived outside his mother’s room. 

“Can you please open the door for me, ser? I have my hands full.”

“Did you grab a tray from a servant?” The poor man questioned him.

“No. I went to the kitchens and helped make breakfast.” Jaime replied, then plucked a roll off the plate. “Here. It’s called challah bread.”

The knight took the roll like Jaime was ET offering a glowing finger, but obediently opened the door for him.

Jaime puttered into the room and placed the plate on a table, before slowly approaching his mother’s sleeping form.

Midwife Alanna said she was going to induce labor today since Joanna had been having small contractions for the past five days with no sign of stopping or increasing. That might have been what killed her last time; prolonged labor creates infections and that kills in a land without penicillin.

Jaime pulled himself up onto the bed and curled up next to his mother. 

“I love you,” He vowed, cuddling closer. He had never prayed over a pregnancy or a birth, however, he remembers saying blessings over children from his synagogue during special occasions, so he tried his best to adlib from that basis.

His mother barely even stirred, exhaustion written deep in her bones. He hopes she lives.

The door of the room opened, his father walked in, and then stopped when he saw Jaime curled up against his mother.

“Jaime,” He said. “Let your mother rest.”

“Issalright,” Joanna slurred softly. “Ima wake.”

Jaime winced, “Sorry mother.”

She blinked blearily and waved him off, “Shush. You’re no more than a warm lion cub in my bed. Your father, however, needs to learn to open doors quieter.”

Jaime smiled at his father’s fond look at her teasing, “My apologies, wife, however, I do believe my house words are ‘Hear Me Roar’.”

“Mhm,” She hummed and slowly pushed herself up so she could sit. “What has you climbing into bed with me, my little cub? Did you have a nightmare, sweetling?”

“I made you breakfast,” Jaime clambered out of the bed to go grab the plate.

“Made?” His mother echoed.

“The bread and apples!” He nodded, “It’s challah and honeyed apples. I asked the kitchens to make your breakfast myself. They say that childbed is a woman’s battlefield, and I get hungry when I train, so I thought I’d make you a special meal myself.”

“It looks good, sweetling, thank you.” Joanna brightened at the thoughtfulness of her son.

Tywin leaned over and stole a roll, “Not the best use of your time.”

He bit into it and then frowned down at the bread like it had personally offended him.

“Yet a delicious one?” Joanna finished his sentence for him. “Praise your son, Tywin.”

“It will be useful for you to know how to prepare and cook the basics, should you need to,” Tywin said instead. “However, I would prefer it that my heir not be doing menial tasks.”

Joanna gave him a look. Tywin gave her a look back. Joanna raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve made a good loaf,” Tywin admitted defeat to his lady wife.

“I know,” Jaime replied cheekily and stole a final roll from the plate. “I’m going to wake Cersei and give her this. I’ll return by the final rooster’s crow, mother, father.”

He could hear his father’s sigh at his decorum as he left, but he didn’t mind. He got a few more precious memories of his mother.

Chapter Text

“Childbed is a woman’s battle.”

No matter how many times Jaime heard that, he still wasn’t prepared for the screams or the bloodied sheets being carried out of his mother’s room.

Father had stood stoically the entire time she screamed through the stone walls, though his twitching fingers betrayed him. Cersei kept flinching as she prayed her way through the seven-pointed star, over and over again. That morning, she had told him that she doesn’t want to give birth and wished that she was a boy. He thinks that she has said that before, but his mind refuses to remember the exact written words from a lifetime ago.

Jaime has been muttering his own prayers, but once he ran out of them, he was left to fidget by his father’s side. Uncle Gerion has tried to cheer him up, but Jaime could barely hear the words coming out of his mouth.

Was this the moment that he was going to lose his mother?

Was he really going to have to listen to the kind woman who loved him and cared for him, raising him gently and sternly, died due to the hate of another? Was he really going to have to just watch as Tyrion was condemned for the act of being born and having his mother bleed out?

No.

The moments blurred together until he heard the sharp wails of a babe being born.

“The babe lives,” Tygett seemed shocked.

“Another child, brother,” Kevan placed a hand on Tywin’s shoulder. “Congratulations.”

Father looked relieved, but that undercurrent of worry still ran through him. They had all heard Alanna say that any child would likely be disabled. Jaime knew that Tyrion would be just fine, but he couldn’t say that, so instead he grabbed his father’s hand.

Tywin looked down at him, something flickering in his eyes before steeling. His father squeezed his hand lightly before looking back in the direction of where his wife was laboring.

This part was quicker, only a few short minutes before Genna was opening the door and called his father inside.

“Not yet,” she stopped Cersei from going in after him.

“Sister?” Gerion asked, seeing the sad look on Genna’s face. 

“Joanna has a fever, but it is mild and the midwife thinks it is treatable.” She hugged herself, “However… her womb is scarred and now barren. The babe is deformed. A dwarf.”

Gerion spat, “If I could kill that rat again, I would.”

“Come here,” Kevan opened his arms and pulled his younger sister close to comfort her.

Genna and Joanna were always close, the two ladies were closer than sisters. Genna and Joanna were two halves of a coin, raising their children together and running the Rock together. Jaime didn’t know if ignorance or knowledge would have been kinder to Genna.

“A dwarf?” Cersei asked, childish high-pitched voice sounding almost angelic. “Some imp beastie? I have a beast for a sibling? Did it claw her and hurt her?”

“Cersei!” Tygett sharply reprimanded his sister, “It is not the babe’s fault. The traitor did this.”

“Tyrion is just as much a victim as mother,” Jaime told her. “Creylen poisoned them both. You wouldn’t say that I’m at fault if he had cut off my hand.”

Cersei didn’t look like she paid attention to a single thing he said. “Tyrion?” She questioned.

Good job, Jaime, look at your big mouth. Nobody wants a creepy Bran Stark kid spewing weird facts, you’ll lose all your friends that way.

“Mother said she liked the name,” He said defensively. “And the babe sounds like a boy.”

“How can a babe sound like a boy? You sound like a girl.”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “We’re twins, Cersei. We sound, and look, the same.”

“Children,” Gerion softly interrupted.

They looked up at him, immediately painting their faces with innocence as to avoid being told off.

He just looked amused, “You can go inside now.”

Jaime looked over, and there was Kevan’s wife, the Lady Dorna, holding the door open patiently.

Jaime didn’t wait for them to ask twice.

Joanna Lannister looked sweaty, exhausted, and far too pale, but she was alive. “My cubs,” She rasped out when they went straight to her bedside.

“Mother!” Cersei cried out, trying to crawl onto the bed beside her. It was Jaime who gently stopped her from potentially hurting their mother.

“Children,” Tywin said coldly. “You have a new brother.”

He was disappointed and furious but relieved that his wife was still alive. “His name is Tyrion. He is proof of the strength of our house, do you understand? A lion does not die from an arrow or poison, much less one from a sheep. You will protect him, as myself and my siblings protect each other.”

That’s… a far warmer reception to Tyrion’s existence than Jaime was expecting. 

“I promise, father,” Jaime swore.

Cersei yelped as Tyrion gripped her finger that had begun digging into the blankets that hid him from the cool air.

“He’s mangled, but strong,” She said. Jaime knew that she didn’t mean it cruelly, just a bit too blunt.

“He’s a lion,” He corrected her kindly. 

“My three little cubs,” Their mother agreed, weakly reaching out. “Ty… let me feed him.”

“Oh, no, mi’lady,” Alanna swooped in and stopped her from taking the babe. “It’s best if the milknurse takes him. Feeding him will weaken you, and you need your energy.”

She looked disappointed, but from the way that her eyes were flickering shut already, she had no ability to argue.

“Don’t need to be passing on fevers neither,” Alanna shook her head. “Jeyne, take the babe. Mi’lord, I suggest you leave your lady wife to rest now. I’ve got her, this battle won’t be lost easily.”

Father’s face at being dismissed in his own castle was comical, but Alanna was already walking away with Tyrion in hand.

“I like her,” Gerion chuckled, eyeing the midwife.

Genna grabbed her youngest brother by the shoulder and turned him around, pushing him toward the door. “I would hope so, for I’ll be having her deliver my next babe. Shoo!”

Jaime couldn’t help but grin. He changed something, and it was for the better.

Chapter Text

What everyone had forgotten about in the rush of traitors and the birth was that House Martell was supposed to be visiting the Rock.

Luckily, Aunt Genna is terrifying, and soon enough the entire castle was prepared to receive the Princess of Dorne in only two sennights.

His lady mother, though confined to her bed, was not idle either. She penned ravens with the announcement of Tyrion’s birth, began planning a tourney in celebration of her and Tyrion’s survival against their attempted assassinations, and hired more midwives to help now that she had personally hired Alanna to help the other ladies. Alanna, now with an official patron, had taken over the Maester’s old rooms and was searching for a medicine woman or healer to serve other injuries and illnesses that were not under her purview.

Apparently, even Cersei was suffering from the overwhelming pressure, and, in a fit of desperation, had stolen his clothes to pretend to be him for the day. Jaime, because he felt a little bad for her, put on her dress and went about his day as if he were Cersei. 

It’s not like anyone would notice: both their parents cannot tell them apart if they’re not dressed differently. Gerion adores telling the story of how when, the first time Joanna presented the twins to Tywin, she had to quickly check under the frilly baby dress to know that she was handing the correct twin over.

“Cersei!” Septa Olene snapped at Jaime. “What is wrong with you, girl? Again!”

Jaime resisted rolling his eyes and dutifully curtsied, pointing his back foot even as he put weight on it, curving his back just so, and picking up the skirts. It was perfect, but the septa seemed to be having some crisis of nerves at the idea of strong-willed Cersei curtseying incorrectly at the princess on purpose. Why drilling it until Jaime was tempted to throw caution to the wind and start doing handstands from boredom was her solution to stopping Cersei from acting out, he has no idea.

“Your chin ducked too low, again.” 

Jaime was tempted to just climb out the window, but luckily, the door opened, revealing his savior in the form of his Aunt Genna.

“Cersei,” His Aunt said. “With me. The winds were favorable to the Martells, they’ve arrived early. We must greet them.”

Jaime was very, very aware of the fact that he was currently wearing a skirt. He wasn’t one to balk at cross-dressing, he had occasionally enjoyed more feminine clothing in his past life and he worked at a gay club. Drag Queens and Kings desensitize you very quickly to a lot . However, if anyone found out about this, Jaime would be skinned alive Bolton style by his father.

“Now?” He asked, voice strangled.

“Yes, girl, now. We mustn’t keep our guests waiting.” She gave Jaime a critical look up and down, “You’re well-dressed, unlike your brother who I had to bring a new doublet for. No need to dawdle, come.”

Oh no. There’s no escaping. 

And Cersei’s pretending to be him .

Jaime knows he can mimic Cersei quite well as long as nobody makes him actually embroider or read poetry, but Cersei had a small issue in mimicking him accurately because she tended to be bolder than him. Ohhhh, they’re so fucked.

Jaime obediently followed his Aunt through the Rock and towards the courtyard where the Martells would be surely awaiting them.

Cersei made eye contact with him as they entered the courtyard, her chin up just a touch too much, but she was holding her tongue, which meant they haven’t been discovered just yet.

Genna ushered him in line, not next to Father as normal, but instead between Cersei and Uncle Kevan. 

Cersei gave him a look that clearly meant that she wanted him to play along and play along well. Jaime sent her back a look that said ‘yeah, duh’ before indicating to her that she should lower her chin and stop acting so proud. Cersei dipped her chin slightly but straightened her spine even more to compensate.

Jaime refrained from sighing. He tried, that’s all he can say.

He has said that annoyingly often ever since coming to Westeros.

The Martell procession entered the courtyard, and Jaime immediately straightened, adopting his best haughty look.

Doran Martell did not seem to be in the procession, however, Jaime could spot Oberyn and Elia. Oberyn looked like a young Pedro Pascal, however much more tan. Princess Elia looked to be around 16 or 17, skinny as a stick, but beautiful. Jaime wouldn’t be surprised if she starred in a Bollywood movie back home. However the Princess Mariah Martell was breathtaking, she looked like a Hindi bride at her wedding, laden with gold and in a beautiful orange and gold saree that contrasted her red silk dress to make her seem like a human sunset.

“Lord Lannister,” The Princess Mariah Martell said genially. “It has been too long.”

“It has, Princess,” Tywin bowed down to kiss the woman’s hand. “Come into my halls and be welcome.”

“Thank you for your welcome,” The Princess curtseyed. “We’ve heard what happened once we made port. I will keep your wife and son in my prayers.”

The mention of Joanna and Tyrion made Tywin clench his jaw, but thankfully he didn’t take it as insult, nodding stiffly in thanks.

Guest Right was one of the holiest and most sacred practices of Westeros. Jaime thinks GRRM once said he based it after an ancient practice, maybe Greek or Roman? He can’t remember very well. Either way, it was supposed to be one of their most important laws, and to break it was to welcome curses and death onto you for your dishonorable action. Living here, in this world with these laws, the true gravity of the horrors the man that Jaime called father was capable of made him shiver.

“These are my two youngest: Elia and Oberyn.” Mariah indicated to her children, who stepped up, bowing and curtseying at their introduction.

Tywin dipped his chin in acknowledgment, “My eldest two: Jaime and Cersei.”

Luckily, they had always practiced bowing and curtseying in tandem, finding moving in chorus amusing due to the reactions they got. 

Jaime dipped into a perfect curtsey as Cersei bowed at the exact angle she should.

That probably told Jaime that maybe they should swap places a little less if they could so easily take each others’ place and complete their duties, but the switches got him out several boring lessons with the low low price of having to recite the Seven-Pointed Star and spend time with Septa Olene.

As tradition dictated, Jaime slipped out of line to grab the bowl of salt and bread so to pass to their father, who would go on to offer Guest Right to the Martells officially.

How people were able to stick straight salt with the tiniest piece of bread into their mouths without making a face was beyond him. The only time he could lick something salty and not make a face was when he was chasing it with strong tequila, because then he had something else to cringe at.

“My sister, the Lady Genna, and my daughter, Cersei, shall escort you to your rooms where you can get ready for tonight’s dinner.”

Wait, what?

Tywin continued talking, and Jaime was left to blink blankly at what he missed. He shot a look at his sister for help, but she ignored him. Great.

Right. What were Cersei’s lessons on welcoming guests again? The senior lady escorts the senior guest, and Cersei escorts the heir? But would that be Elia or Oberyn? Dorne has the eldest inherit, but the rest of Westeros acknowledges the eldest male. 

Genna took Mariah’s arm, but Jaime was frozen, eyes darting between Elia and Oberyn. 

Would it offend the Dornish if he didn’t acknowledge their inheritance traditions? But Jaime only knew the traditions and etiquette surrounding escorting a man.

Fuck it, Jaime isn’t taking any chances.

Jaime moved forward and offered both his arms to both Martell children, “Prince Oberyn, Princess Elia.” 

Elia’s eyes sparkled with surprise, and Oberyn grinned. They took his arms, so Jaime couldn’t have fucked up that badly.

Until he sees Cersei’s and Father’s eyes, and he realizes that maybe he should have known this lesson and he did mess up a bit. Damn it.

Genna, however, looked approving, and now Jaime is confused. Did he mess up or not?

Well, no time for wondering. Jaime fell into step behind his Aunt as they walked through the courtyard into the shade of the mountain and the Rock.

“So, Lady Cersei,” Oberyn said, a smirk firmly in place. As arrogant and cocky as any 14-year-old boy, though Jaime knew he would never grow out of it. “I heard quite a few rumors on our trip up from the port. Is it true that your Maester was attempting to turn your newest brother into a real lion? That he was born with fur and a tail?”

From the way that both Genna and Mariah tensed from where they were walking ahead of them, they had definitely heard, and were not happy . On the other side of Jaime, Elia looked like she might reach over and attempt to strangle her brother.

Wow. If the rumor that Jaime heard that Joanna wanted to betroth Cersei to Oberyn, they are going to be a match made in hell. A true terror: Cersei and Oberyn, both arrogant and uncaring of what duty demands and ready to speak their mind, damn the consequences.

Jaime sniffed and raised his chin, flipping his hair back with a small flick of his neck. “Then you must have been listening to jesters and mistook them for messengers. Tyrion was poisoned , but he survived and is only afflicted with being born a dwarf. Perhaps you misheard them praise his strength, one of a lion’s.”

Oberyn looked intrigued and took the chastisement with a laugh, “I must have indeed. Surviving poison is no easy feat, especially for a babe not yet born. Though I have much knowledge of poisons: I seek to perhaps learn more at the Citadel.”

Jaime raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, “With the grey rats that seek to attack my House? Listening must truly not be your forte.”

That one did cow the man, slapped with the reminder that his mother had a great friendship with Joanna and he was spitting all over it.

“Forgive my younger brother’s tactlessness,” Elia bit out, looking furious. “It seems that the long journey has also been taxing on his ears and mouth.”

Oh, Jaime likes her.

“Words are wind,” Jaime agreed. Oh how he loves that quote, he had it tattooed behind his ear in his last life. “Though there will be hopefully less wind-whipped travelling fatigue once you’ve rested.”

“Yes,” She agreed. “Hopefully.”

Genna and Mariah relaxed slightly from where they walked, but you could still feel their wrath wafting off them in waves. Oberyn is going to be skinned alive by his mother the second their door closes, he’s sure of it.

“These shall be your rooms as you stay our guest, Princess Mariah,” Genna said, coming to a halt to a hallway lined with servants, all ready to scurry into action and assist the royal family of Dorne the second they twitch.

Jaime hopes that Oberyn won’t abuse his power over them. None of the maids, nor any of the manservants, had enough power in their station to properly refuse him if he flirted with them.

“My thanks, Lady Gen–” The Princess Mariah’s response was cut off by Oberyn yelping and hopping on one foot.

“Socks!” Jaime recognized the small furball on Oberyn’s foot, it was one of his kittens that particularly enjoyed attacking and climbing into boots. Jaime swiftly rescued the cat from any potential harm, plucking the yowling orange cat from the equally yowling Oberyn’s boot.

Then, he realized what he had done.

Cersei barely tolerated his cats, and the only reason that she hasn’t gone to their parents to complain about Jaime having a whole litter in the rooms they share is that Jaime has been swapping places with her every time he had falconry lessons.

Jaime slowly raised his head from where he cradled his cat to look at his Aunt Genna’s face.

Ohhh… if looks could kill, Jaime would be beyond the wall as a wight.

Fuuucck.

“Is that demon cat yours?” Oberyn said, looking at his scratched boots.

“It’s my brother’s.” He lied. Socks started purring in his hands despite being held like a misbehaving ferret.

Elia started giggling madly, to which Oberyn gave her a look of pure betrayal, and now the Princess Mariah looked like regretted having children.

“Thank you, Lady Genna,” She sighed. “I can take my children from here.”

“Yes, Princess,” Genna replied, one hand reaching out to draw Jaime to her side with a bruising grip on his shoulder. “We shall see you at dinner.”

They spun on their heel and marched away, Jaime trapped in her grip. He can see his life flashing before his eyes. He’s going to end up like Maester Creylen, a skull on a spike, later cleaned and polished so as to sit on the desk of father’s solar. 

They were only a few hallways away when Genna suddenly switched from holding his shoulder, to pinching his ear.

“You foolish boy !” She hissed, all angry lioness. “What in the Stranger’s name do you and Cersei think you’re doing?”

Jaime yelped and went on his tippy-toes to follow the direction that she had pulled his ear, “We weren’t supposed to be caught!”

“That much is obvious ,” Her voice dripped with disdain.

“I don’t like falconry but Cersei does, and I am a better dancer than her, and we thought it would be more relaxing if we swapped but then the Martells came early!” Jaime rushed out, “I’m sorry!”

She let go of his ear with force, “The only reason your parents won’t hear about this is that if you were Cersei, I very much doubt that the relationship between Houses Lannister and Martell would be salvageable. You were smart to acknowledge both of them as heir, smart to not devolve into an argument with Prince Oberyn when he insulted us, and smart to accept Princess Elia’s apology while also stating that our House wouldn’t take any more insults from him.”

That made him grin, happy to have not actually fucked up like he originally thought he had.

“You are far too much like your mother,” Genna sighed. “It should have been you the girl and Cersei the boy.”

Jaime made a face, “But my swords!”

Genna shook her head fondly, “Yes, well, no more swapping with your sister. This could have been a terrible scandal.”

“Uh…” Jaime looked up at her sheepishly. “I may have maybe never gone to a falconry lesson since the first moon I started? I think people will notice.”

Genna gaped at him, “You’re supposed to have been attending those for once a sennight for over a year.”

“Sorry!” He squeaked, backing up so she couldn’t make another swipe at him. Socks, still in his arms and purring, meowed.

“Child,” Genna said slowly, taking several deep breaths like she was trying desperately to calm herself. “I do suggest you return to your rooms and swap back before I decide that I’d rather tan both your hides.”

Jaime ran like his skirts had caught aflame.

Chapter Text

If Jaime knew one thing, it’s that he did not like Oberyn Martell.

Infuriatingly, the Martell’s had decided that they wanted to stay at the Rock for the next Moon and a half until the tourney that they were throwing in Lannisport began. Mariah and Joanna had met several times, and through a truly impressive tag team, they had somehow convinced Tywin that Cersei and Oberyn should be betrothed, and now they had to properly negotiate the next steps of a union between their houses.

Cersei and Oberyn got on like a house on fire. As in: the sprinklers were on and the fire alarm was blaring and everyone knew not to get too close lest they get dragged into that mess.

“Perhaps all that sun has shriveled up and fried the little brains you had!”

“I’ll be happy to see it do the same to you, my lady!”

Jaime and Elia ignored their feuding siblings in favor of playing with the cats Jaime had brought to the sitting room.

“Aslan is very sweet,” Elia commented lightly as she stroked the white and orange kitten that had fallen asleep on her lap.

Jaime smiled as he watched Fork and Knife tussle, “He is. Do you wish to keep him? His mother has already left him and his siblings.”

“Which are his siblings?”

Jaime picked up the four calico cats from their basket and dropped them on her lap, “Richard is the darkest one, Alex has the longest fur, Lion-O has the muted colors, and the only girl, Bastet, is the dark-faced one.”

“You’ve chosen interesting names,” She said, pulling her hair away from where Richard was attempting to eat it.

Jaime gives her a disbelieving look, “The other litter is named after cutlery and kitchen tools.”

Elia grins, “Interesting.” She repeated.

Cersei lets out another screech of outrage.

Jaime glanced at them, but seeing no blood being drawn and Guest Right not yet broken, he dismissed them.

Elia winced at Cersei throwing her goblet vaguely in the direction of her brother, “I do wish that our parents thought to have adult supervision for them too beyond just us. I do fear for my ears.”

“You can’t say that your brother isn’t provoking her on purpose at this point,” Jaime pointed out.

“When I see you, I shrivel up and go soft, like wet bread!”

“Like that,” He groaned and stood up, chucking a pillow at Oberyn and Cersei’s heads. Bullseye. “Oi! Will the both of you sit down and shut up ?! You’re giving Elia a headache and I am this close to throwing the both of you out the bloody window. You know that you don’t actually have to speak with each other?”

Cersei and Oberyn looked at each other, then at him. They have seemed to find a common cause now, he could see their eyes sparkling with it, and his own eyes filled with dread.

Jaime barely had time to duck before twin pillows were being thrown back at his head, ruffling over his long blond locks and hitting poor Elia who sitting on the floor behind him. Kittens ran in every direction, mewling their displeasure at their comfortable warm person being knocked over by the flying projectile.

Elia glared at her brother and his sister, murder in her eyes, looking truly like the middle sibling who just found a kitchen knife and was about to terrorize their siblings with it.

Taking pity on her, and also maybe trying to stop her from committing kinslaying under his family’s roof, Jaime lept in between her and the dumbass duo, “Don’t worry, princess, I’ll defend your honor!”

“How are you going to do that, catboy?” Oberyn mocked.

Oberyn got a faceful of pillow.

“Like that, snakeboy,” Jaime replied, only to have his sister leap at him with her own pillow.

“Ah!” Jaime couldn’t sidestep quickly enough and toppled over by the force of her blow, her on top of him, attempting to smother him with her perfectly embroidered pillow. He brought a forearm up to block her from killing him with her playing, “Elia, help!”

Cersei got smacked in the back of the head by Elia, making her shriek and Jaime gain enough leverage to flip them both over. Unfortunately, Oberyn decided that it was a great time to defend his betrothed and roped his arms around Jaime’s middle to pull him off her. Elia threw a blanket on top of her brother’s head, and that’s when the pillow fight started for real.

It was sibling against sibling, sister against brother; ever so often Cersei and Jaime teamed up to smack Oberyn, or Elia and Oberyn teamed up to jump at Cersei. 

It was a mess: feathers and kittens everywhere, children shrieking with laughter and shouting cries of revenge.

“ What is going on here?”

Everyone froze.

Jaime was attempting to smother Oberyn while the other boy stuffed a fistful of feathers down his shirt. Cersei was holding one of Oberyn’s legs and attempting bodily pull the boy out from under Jaime. Elia had a pillow high above her head, ready to aim the full force of her blow onto Cersei’s head. In the corners of the room, kittens were playing with fallen feathers and Socks had managed to climb inside the boot Jaime had lost.

Mariah Martell and Joanna Lannister looked shocked at the utter chaos the children had made, Tywin and Genna looked furious, and Kevan was covering Gerion’s mouth with his hand so nobody could hear his laughter.

Elia did not put her pillow down, simply turning her big wide eyes onto her mother. “Oberyn started it.” She stated simply as if it would excuse everything.

Mariah closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, “So you are assisting Lord Jaime in smothering your brother?”

“Yes,” Elia said with a smile.

“ Why ?” Joanna asked, looking at her own children.

“He insulted Cersei and then threw a pillow at Elia so I had to defend their honor,” Jaime explained.

Joanna frowned and looked at Cersei, “And why are you helping Prince Oberyn then?”

“He’s my betrothed,” Cersei said, looking at her mother like she had just asked her why she thinks 1+1=2. “So if he’s being a bastard, then it’s my duty to beat him up. Jaime can’t beat him up for me. Nobody can kill him but me.”

Kevan was pressing his own lips together to stop himself from laughing. The hand over Gerion’s mouth was doing nothing to hide the tears of laughter streaming down his face. Genna looked like she was muttering a prayer to The Mother for patience. Nobody wanted to look at the face of Tywin, but if you did, you could almost swear his eyes were glowing red like he had suddenly gained laser vision.

Jaime suddenly had the image in his head of his father having fire hair like Hades in Disney’s Hercules. Then, he wondered if that was even accurate and started imagining his father with Cruella’s coat. 

“I like her passion,” Oberyn said, slightly muffled due to Jaime still attempting to lightly kill him.

Cersei glared at him, “I hate your face.”

Elia gestured at them, “This is an improvement from this morning.”

“It’s almost like seeing you and Tywin young again,” Mariah muttered, but everyone heard her anyway. “Except you tried to train your falcon to attack him, and then had the falcon attack Steffon when he insulted Tywin.”

Wait, what? Jaime has never heard that story before. Did his parents not like each other as children? But they were a love match! 

Joanna started laughing and Tywin slowly turned on her, fire calming in favor of a look of betrayal. Joanna didn’t care, she was laughing just as hard as Gerion was.

“Have–” She said between giggles, “Have children just like you.”

She broke down again.

Tywin walked over and picked Jaime and Cersei up by their collars, scruffing them like misbehaving kittens. “Clean this up.”

Cersei immediately started protesting, saying that this was a job for the servants, but Jaime just nodded. It wasn’t that bad, but for a lord’s son who had never done manual labor, it would be an appropriate punishment.

“Stop smirking, Oberyn,” Mariah snapped. “You’re helping.”

Oberyn started spluttering, and Jaime smirked. Ha! This is what he deserves.

He could see Elia trying to hide her grin behind her hand.

“You too, Elia.”

Elia dropped her grin, “Fuck.”

Joanna started laughing harder when Mariah’s face changed to one of pure horror as she yelled at her daughter for her unladylike language.

Jaime has a sneaking suspicion that the Princess Mariah swore like a sailor when she was younger.

Genna turned and walked out of the room, muttering about how she was the only well-behaved one out of all of them.

Chapter Text

Jaime very carefully held Tyrion close to his chest, the two moon old infant being heavier and squirmier than most other things his seven-year-old body has carried.

He angled himself carefully so the babe could look out one of the few windows of the Rock where they could see the many ships coming to dock at Lannisport and where several banners were being strung up. Only the great houses were going to stay in Casterly Rock, and the only ones that have arrived yet were the Tullys, and Jaime hadn’t even interacted with them yet beyond greeting Catelyn and Lysa when they were received in the courtyard. 

However, now, he could see a Stark banner on a few of the ships, while there were Baratheon banners on the rest. The Arryn men had joined with the Targaryen royal family on the road and were only a sennight away.

“Everything the light touches... is our kingdom. But a lion’s time as ruler rises and falls like the sun. One day, the sun will set on my time here, and will rise with you as the new lord. Tyrion, you must remember who you are: a true lord.” Jaime said seriously as if he wasn't quoting the lion king to his baby brother.

Tyrion babbled in response.

“Jaime, what are you doing?”

He turned around to see his father watching him from the doorway, a strange look on his face.

“This is all for Tyrion, but he has barely left his crib since he was born,” Jaime explained. “Nobody has told him how important he is yet.”

“You think nobody has told him how important he is?” His father raised an eyebrow and approached him, bending down so as to carefully take Tyrion out of his not-very-secure hold.

“You and mother have, but not like he needs to hear,” Jaime frowned. “You keep saying that he is important because he is the proof that Lannisters pay their debts, and mother keeps saying that he is a Lannister because he’s strong, but nobody has told him that he is important and loved. He’s our blood and strong, no matter what anyone else may say. He’ll rule over the West one day.”

Tywin immediately frowned, “Tyrion will rule? Jaime, you are my heir.”

Jaime looked back out the window where he could see banners flying and he imagined one of pure white. He’s the only one who would defy Aerys and kill the mad king, even though it’ll condemn him. He still fears the idea of killing a man, having been raised in a household where pikuach nefesh was considered the most sacred law of all. Why kill when he can save a life? Could he really subdue Aerys without killing him? Only to condemn the man to an even crueler death once Robert and Tywin got their hands on him?

He doesn’t know.

“I had a dream,” He said. “Where King Aerys forced me to join the Kingsguard because you were angry at him for insulting mother and Tyrion. When you refused to name Tyrion your heir, Tyrion grew bitter and insecure.”

“A dream, Jaime,” His father scolded. “That won’t happen.”

Yeah right.

“Yes father,” He said.

“Hm,” Tywin pursed his lips. “Come along, Jaime, we must greet Houses Baratheon and Stark.”

He held Tyrion to his chest as he walked out the door, leaving Jaime to trail after him down the halls.

“Who from House Stark has come?” He asked, “They always leave a Stark behind in Winterfell.”

Tywin gave him a strange look, probably wondering where Jaime, his least politically or historically inclined child, learned this. “Lord Rickard has brought his eldest three children: Lords Brandon and Eddard, and his daughter, the Lady Lyanna, who is your age. Lady Lyarra Stark and her youngest son have remained in the North.”

“Are you seeking a betrothal for me too?” Jaime asked, “Both Ladies Lyanna and Lysa are my age, and Lady Catelyn is only two years my elder. All three of them are not promised to anyone yet.”

“Why do you think I’ll be betrothing you outside of the West?” Tywin questioned Jaime, looking interested in his thought process.

“Won’t you?” He shrugged, “Lords Stark and Baratheon are fostering their sons Robert and Eddard in the Vale, and I believe Brandon Stark will be betrothed to Catelyn Tully. That’s half of the Seven Kingdoms allied. Oberyn and Cersei will join the West and Dorne. If you betroth me to Lyanna or Lysa, and Robert marries the other, that’s the Crownlands surrounded. Only the Reach and the Iron Islands wouldn’t be allied with the rest, and that’s because reavers don’t marry greenlanders and the Tyrells don’t have any unmarried children from the main family branch.”

Tywin frowned, “How do you know this?”

Uh-oh. He was sounding like creepy Bran Stark again. Ugh, all his brooding like some hen over his moral crisis must have made him forget himself. 

PR crisis mode: activate.

“A few of our newer servants come from different kingdoms,” Jaime lied. “They tell me things about their lives in other keeps.”

“You’ve been talking to the servants again,” His father didn’t approve but even he could see how the servants worked so much harder and were happier when it was Jaime they were working for. “Anything information worth sharing about the other kingdoms?”

“Lyanna Stark and Brandon Stark are wild and recklessly troublesome. A maid said Cersei is much easier to serve compared to Lyanna who used to come back covered in mud from riding after she stormed out over having to act like a lady. The Tully daughters are pious and naive, they’ve said passages of the Seven Pointed Star instead of tipping a few different servants. Robert Baratheon is a bully and enjoys lewd songs and japes despite only being 9. His younger brother, Stannis, is bullied by him and their parents let it happen. Elbert Arryn is reckless and thinks being a lord’s heir and carrying a sword makes him invincible. The servants from the Reach never talk about their lords, so they were either treated kindly or they’re all spies.” Jaime said, a mix of knowledge he had from his past life and things he has genuinely heard the servants say. “Also: Oberyn is an arrogant ass and Elia is perfect.”

His father looked annoyed at his final comment, but he couldn’t deny that the rest of the information was helpful.

“You are to behave yourself throughout this tournament,” His father warned him. “I want you on your best behavior, so no helping servants with their tasks or jumping off cliffs.”

No skipping falconry lessons either, Jaime is guessing.

“And keep an eye on your sister, for the love of the gods,” Tywin continued. “Alanna is worried about her temper and impulsivity.”

Alanna had taken over the official healer position for women and children at the Rock, and she had brought in a niece of hers, a young maid named Rhys, over from Lannisport to assist her. Rhys was nice, she made him take a full spoonful of straight honey every day when he got a cough from jumping into the sea (and maybe pushing Oberyn off the cliff with him), which he was pretty sure was antibiotic or something like that, so he trusts that she knows what she’s doing.

On the other hand, Alanna had made time to see Jaime and Cersei herself, making several notes about their emotional, psychological, and physical development from the answers Joanna and Tywin had given her. Alanna was mainly concerned about Jaime’s ADHD and Dyslexia, which she assured his parents would become easier to deal with as he got older and his brain got more practice at sitting still and reading, and that he wasn’t even the worst case she had dealt with and there were many ‘simpletons’ with his same problem who could never learn a single letter of the alphabet. Jaime hadn’t liked her using that language, but considering that she was the only person around who knew anything about child development, he couldn’t complain. Cersei, however, Alanna was more worried about her temper, mood swings, and her drastic actions to be liked. She noted that Cersei mimicked whichever adult she was with, and that she had also attached herself very heavily to Jaime, throwing tantrums when she was forced to act more like her own person. Which, everyone could tell that was not ideal, and this could very much be the early warning signs of her massive breakdown when she’s older. Luckily, with her confirmed betrothal with Oberyn, she wouldn’t have that rejection by Rhaegar or Robert that made her spiral.

On the bright side, Jaime had a front-row seat to watching Alanna tear into Tywin for being absent from their lives and that his strictness was contributing to the problem. 

He had dialled back the disappointed looks, especially when Alanna told him a story about a child she treated that stopped talking altogether when mocked by her father for stuttering as a young child, and said that Jaime might stop reading and Cersei might stop listening to anyone. Jaime wishes to point out that, yeah, parent-induced PTSD from child abuse would definitely make a child go mute, but he didn’t because that would just sound like tongues to them.

“Alanna is also worried about my impulsivity,” Jaime pointed out.

“ You ,” Tywin scoffed. “Have a bad habit of doing impulsive things that are a danger to yourself only because you want a laugh. Cersei cut a chunk from Prince Oberyn’s hair because he said that any bastard children of his would be raised in his household. I need you to stop her from hitting any guests or worse. We cannot afford a slip in front of the entirety of Westeros.”

Jaime refrained from saying that Oberyn deserved it. In reality, he knew that Oberyn was being a good sport about the way Jaime and Cersei were treating him in relation to how arrogant he is and how he kept purposely insulting them. Really, the only time Elia and Cersei had stopped them from their rivalry was when Jaime bet that he could climb the outer walls of the Rock to the top tower faster than Oberyn.

“Yes, father,” Jaime said obediently.

They came to a stop in the courtyard, where the Martells, Tullys, and Joanna and Cersei were already waiting for them. 

Technically, his mother was on limited walking time. She could walk around for two hours a day, but she couldn’t climb any stairs herself or go riding with Jaime and Cersei like she used to. Alanna was extremely surprised to find someone more stubborn than herself, with Joanna somehow arguing that she would welcome all her guests after she missed Mariah’s arrival and winning . They were all stunned, and Jaime swears up and down that he saw his mother share a smirk with his Aunt Genna and the Princess Mariah on her way out.

Jaime took his place in line, giving his twin a poke so she would scooch over and he could slide in by her side.

The Starks and Baratheons came in together. Northern practical aesthetics with Stormlands boisterous behaviour.

Jaime could see Ned and Robert riding in side by side on their horses, probably having befriended each other at the ports, and he wondered if they would be up to including him in their games. 

He really only had Cersei to play with most days, though occasionally one cousin or another would be persuaded into playing with him. Genna’s sons, Cleos and Lyonel, were the most likely to play with him, but both boys started squiring earlier this year, and Kevan didn’t have any children yet, so he was lacking immediate cousins. Oberyn is fun to tease because he fights back, and Elia has already decided to take a whole litter of his kittens home with her to Dorne, but Oberyn was pulling Cersei’s pigtails most of the time and Elia couldn’t do much of any physical activity beyond going riding. 

Jaime had managed to convince the shoemaker and the blacksmith to make him a pair of roller skates for him, and he was ready to eat the ground several times with those things, so he needed other people with him so he doesn’t look ridiculous tipping ass over tea kettle down the stairs by himself.

Wait, would using roller skates quantify under ‘behaving himself’ like father had asked him to?

…He’s sure it will be fine.

“Welcome to Casterly Rock,” Tywin greeted the two visiting houses.

Yeah, he’ll be fine, Jaime decided as he bowed down and greeted the guests.

Chapter Text

“Jaime, this doesn’t look like a good idea,” Elia said worriedly as she watched him cling to a column in the training yard.

“It isn’t!” He said cheerfully.

Even Oberyn looked wary, “Wouldn’t this be better to do inside? Where there is no risk of you falling onto a sword and injuring yourself?”

Jaime straightened up a bit more, slightly wobbly on his roller skates, “This is fine.”

“Maybe you should hold my hand?” Lysa offered, eyeing the skates like they were about to come alive and attack her.

“If Jaime wants to strap tiny carts to his boots, let him,” Cersei rolled her eyes. “Father says that the best way to learn not to be a fool is to break your neck.”

Catelyn and Elia gave her worried looks at that comment, probably wondering about their safety if their father is really telling her the Westerosi equivalent of ‘Fuck Around and Find Out.’

Coincidentally, that is Jaime’s motto for life, and right now he is about to Find Out.

“What’s going on here?” The booming voice of Robert Baratheon interrupted their little circle.

The Stark and Baratheon children had appeared from their morning ride. Lyanna was still in a dress a slightly bit too short on her that showed her calves and the breeches she wore underneath, which Jaime was sure Lord Rickard would not be too happy about. Robert had an arm around Ned’s shoulders, who was trying to diplomatically escape the bigger boy. Brandon had a cocky grin on his face, probably thinking he was about to trounce some younger kid in a spar for coolness points. Stannis was hanging at the back of the ground, but he was also the first to notice Jaime’s odd boots.

“Lord Jaime, what are you doing?” Stannis asked, looking concerned at his boots.

“Gaining bruises and finding out if we can strap carts to shoes,” Jaime answered cheerfully.

Ned gave him a look like he was bloody insane, “What?”

“Jaime has wonderful, stupid, insane ideas and inventions sometimes,” Cersei drawled. “So we’re all here to see if he’s got a wonderful or stupid invention.”

Jaime scowled at her, “The Printing Press was a fine idea! I just couldn’t figure out how to make it!”

Cersei didn’t look impressed at all, “I’m sure.”

“I liked the rum,” Elia defended him. “It tasted lovely.”

“Thank you, Elia,” Jaime said. He gestured at her for good measure, “See Cersei: Elia believes in me.”

Unfortunately, gesturing at her means taking one hand off the column he was holding onto, and he wobbled aggressively.

Lysa surged forward to stabilise him, “Mayhaps you should do this away from the sharp weaponry, Lord Jaime?”

“I’m fine!” He said, slowly pulling away from the column. “See? No hands!”

“This is going to be amusing,” Brandon Stark muttered to his younger sister with a smirk. Lyanna giggled in response, eager to see a southern lord fall on his arse.

“Jaime, please at least take my hand,” Elia offered.

Robert snorted, “Yeah, Lannister, the pretty ladies want you to take their hands.”

Lysa snapped her head over, eyes widening when she realised that Robert Baratheon had indirectly just called her pretty, and Jaime had to move away from her to avoid being knocked into. 

“Woah!” He flung his arms out to stop himself from falling backwards, but Ned Stark was quicker, grabbing him by the shoulders and stabilising him.

“Sorry!” Lysa squeaked in mortification.

“Thanks,” Jaime said. “It’s fine, Lysa.”

“This seems dangerous,” Ned warned. “Are you certain you want to continue?”

“I think I can get it,” Jaime said stubbornly.

“Alright,” Ned nodded. “I’m letting go now.”

Jaime barely wobbled as the other boy backed away, steadily getting it.

He had rollerbladed in his past life, he could even do a small handful of tricks on them. There was a Roller Drag Race event at his old club back in his past life and this one king that was about half his height had shoved a pair of skates into his hand and told him that he had to join in. He had a lot of fun that night, and he had glitter hair for a few weeks after that.

Jaime carefully bent his knees up and down a few times before he shakily pushed forward, rolling away from the column.

“Oh!” Elia gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her hands.

Oberyn blinked in surprise, “You’re doing it.”

“Of course he is,” Cersei said as if she wasn’t just making fun of Jaime herself not five minutes ago. “He’s my brother.”

Jaime waddled forward on his skates until he was rolling in a straight line.

A straight line into a sparring dummy.

“Oh shit!” He cursed right before he crashed into the hay-filled body and crumbled to the ground.

He could hear several sources of laughter, including Robert Baratheon’s and the wilder Starks.

“Here,” Stannis offered a hand up. “You were doing well.”

Jaime grinned and brushed off the dirt from his breeches, “Thanks. I just have to learn how to stop now.”

“Yes,” Catelyn said, eyeing him up and down. “Please do.”

Jaime decided to take that as a compliment.

Standing upright once more, he tried again.

“Does he not know when to quit?” Jaime heard Ned ask his sister.

“He’s very stubborn, but usually only with things he can make work,” She replied. “Perhaps you should spar, Jaime adores using unconventional moves.”

What Cersei means is that Jaime has trained until he dropped to copy the moves that Natasha Romanoff once did on screen. His biggest pride is knocking his Uncle Kevan on his arse and destabilising his balance by wrapping his legs around his throat and pulling his arm backwards. That was the moment that people started seeing him as a very possible future master swordsman and fighter.

This time, Jaime stops while moving but nearly topples over and has to plant his hands on the ground to stop himself from breaking his teeth on the stone floor.

It takes several minutes, but eventually, Jaime managed to make a loop around the courtyard and stop without falling.

“Ta-da!” Jaime gestured proudly, “A little bit of practice and I’ll be zooming!”

Lyanna’s eyes sparkled, “I want some.”

“ No ,” Ned and Brandon spoke in tandem.

“I want a pair too,” Oberyn said.

Cersei scoffed, “I will be the first one to have them because Jaime is my brother.”

“Sure,” Jaime agreed, knowing that she’ll feel embarrassed if he said that he first needed to check with the shoemaker and blacksmith to see if they could even make more.

“I’d also like to have some,” Catelyn declared. “It seems so much quicker to get about with.”

“Cat!” Lysa seemed slightly scandalised by her sister. “Father wouldn’t like them.”

“Uncle would love them,” Catelyn countered. At the mention of the Blackfish, Lysa looked more interested in having her own pair of skates.

“Do you think I could have them too?” Elia asked Jaime softly. “It’ll be so much easier to get around Sunspear with them.”

Jaime thinks that he may have accidentally created a Roller Skate Revolution.

He has zero regrets.

A cat ran across the courtyard, a small kestrel falcon in its mouth.

Jaime immediately turned towards the entryway that connected the training yard to the main courtyard, frowning.

“So, Lannister will you get me those cart-boots of yours too?” Robert was talking, but Jaime wasn’t listening.

He pushed himself to roll forward, towards the main courtyard.

“Lannister?” Robert called.

Jaime stood at the entryway. He could hear something in the distance, he thinks.

“Jaime, is everything alright?” Cersei asked, concern in her voice.

“The Arryns have arrived,” He said, voice sure.

“What?” Lyanna said, “No, they haven’t. They would’ve sent a runner to announce their presence.”

Jaime can smell the ash from here, and he’s not the only one. A cat ran into the courtyard, sneezing and disgruntled.

“Not if the King told them not to,” He realised. “They’re trying to catch Father out.”

“The king wouldn’t do that,” Ned said, eyes flickering warily towards where the procession would enter. “That’s not very honourable.”

Cersei bit her lip, “The king has insulted our lady mother to her face and laughed when our father took offence.”

“Lady Lysa, Lady Lyanna,” He said, looking at the youngest of the group and the one least presentable, making his voice urgent. “Could you please run inside and find my parents or any adult lord or lady? The king will be displeased if they take too long to realise they’ve arrived. Split up if you must, but be swift.”

Lady Lyanna eyes flickered between him and the entryway, before turning on her heel and running inside, Lysa on her heels; they could see the girls split up as they entered the building with Lysa going left and Lyanna right. Lyanna seemed to understand the danger that an empty courtyard could bring and had the sense to make haste.

It made Jaime wonder where the reckless Lyanna who ran away with Rhaegar Targeryan came from. He could see hints of her now, but she was also not a stupid girl, just a spoiled one. She must have been very desperate to escape Robert if she willingly went with a Targaryen.

If she went willingly.

Jaime knew she had married him, but The Seven know that it may have been not of her own choice.

He wishes, for her sake, that it was.

Jaime could vaguely hear the sounds of hoofs now, and a wheelhouse rolling across stones.

“Shit,” He swore and he practically fell to the ground in his haste to remove his skates. Aerys would definitely take offence if he was wearing them to greet the king.

Cersei crouched beside him and yanked his left skate straight off, leaving him with both socked feet free. 

Now what? He didn’t have any boots.

Ned ran over with a pair of riding boots, “These are Lyanna’s spares. If you pull your breeches over them, nobody will notice.”

“Thank you,” Jaime said as he shoved them on.

As soon as he was upright, they all ran to line up in the courtyard. The second they skidded into position, the first horse could be spotted.

“Damn,” Brandon said. “How the hells could you tell that they were coming?”

Jaime straightened, “I heard them. Some parts of the Rock echo better than others, and if you have practise you can stand at the top of the Rock and hear the echoes from the lower levels.”

Cersei gave him a weird look, which Jaime brushed off. He knew that he had better hearing than her, Seven knows that he is far more sensitive to stimuli.

The Targaryen and Arryn banners approached until they stood right in front of them, dismounting from their horses and wheelhouses, and the group of children dropped down to the lowest they could bow their heads, kneeling patiently.

Boots approached, and then a scoff.

“Is this our welcome?” Aerys Targaryen said, staring down at them in distaste. “Children?”

They took that as their cue to stand up again.

King Aerys was not pleased, though for his orchestrated insult going array or for it going right, Jaime couldn’t tell. His silver blond hair was long and slightly greasy, but well-groomed. He didn’t look insane or like the King Scab he would one day be. He was only halfway through his rule, and while he did look like a deeply unpleasant man to be around, he did not look capable of attempting to burn Kingslanding.

In fact, if Jaime was being truly honest, he kinda reminded him of his old Aunt Hannah’s husband, Marcus, who he would argue with at every family dinner because he refused to take his pride pin off. Jaime had hated that man, but he hadn’t wished him dead.

The Queen Rhaella and her son, Rhaegar, stood obediently behind the king, blank pleasant masks in place, 

Seven kingsguard stood defending their king, and Jaime shivered at the knowledge of what these men had stood aside for in the name of honor . 

Lord Arryn, standing behind the royal 

“Welcome to Caterly Rock, Your Grace. Our apologies at the lack of ceremony,” Jaime said, stepping forward. “Your runner must have gotten quite lost. We have been awaiting your arrival eagerly and luckily noticed your approach in time. Runners have been sent to retrieve our parents, but they are on the other side of the Rock, so we have come to greet you.”

Please be believable. Please be believable. Please be believable.

“Hm,” Aerys sneered. “Lucky.”

He looked Jaime up and down, “You have Joanna’s looks. Which twin are you? The daughter or the son?”

Jaime could feel Cersei stiffen up behind him, but Oberyn put his hand on hers to calm her for the insult they all knew the king had just paid him.

“I am my father’s son, Your Grace,” Jaime replied, a silent reminder that he wasn’t just his mother’s child. “Jaime Lannister, Heir to Casterly Rock and the Westerlands.”

Aerys eyes swept over the rest of them, “And the rest of you must be my lords' heirs and daughters. From Winterfell to Dorne, it seems.”

The Starks and the Martells inclined their heads at the acknowledgement the king paid them, full of grace despite the thinly veiled dislike of the king.

Wow, exactly like ‘Uncle’ Marcus when he talked about ‘those types’ at Passover Seder while eyeing Jaime’s patchwork jacket. The resemblance was truly uncanny.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tywin Lannister’s voice drawled behind them. “We have many guests under our roof.”

Jaime was not the only one who visibly relaxed now that their parents had arrived. Poor Stannis had practically disappeared behind Steffon Baratheon once the man had come to stand between his sons and the king. Both Oberyn and Elia stood behind their mother’s skirts as the Princess stared down the king. Hoster Tully had left Lysa to take shelter within the Rock and stood tall behind his eldest daughter, reminding them that family came first with the Tullys. Rickard Stark had rested one hand on each son’s shoulder, physically calming his oldest son and supporting his middle son. Jaime’s own mother had pulled each twin to her as Tywin approached the king.

The lines in the sand were clear. No house was happy at the stunt that Aerys had pulled and the way that their children were being treated. 

Jaime truly hoped that his father could soothe any ruffled feathers, because this was a very clear statement on the current Targaryen rule.

Instead of the Great Houses of Westeros being all gathered for the first time in many years at the Tourney of Harrenhal, it was in Casterly Rock, nearly a decade prior to when they were supposed to gather and realise that they couldn’t be ruled by dragons any longer.

The Tourney for Prince Viserys’ birth and the Tourney at Storm’s End were supposed to slowly guide them to their conclusions, with Harrenhal being that last insult that sent them gathering their armies. 

And they had only gathered because Jaime had saved Joanna Lannister’s life by revealing a traitor.

Jaime is very suddenly realising that he is Finding Out what happens when he Fucks Around and saves a single life in The Song of Ice and Fire.

Oohhh… He may be in trouble.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Jaime was avoiding the royal family, it was just that he really didn’t want to be face-to-face with the king he was destined to kill.

He had chosen to kill.

He might be having a small moral and ethical crisis, but it’s not like he could just get up and text his rabbi or his therapist, so Jaime was left here, avoiding every Targaryen like the plague.

Ugh, he really wishes that he could just call up a therapist or a rabbi and they’d help. But nooo , Westeros is medieval, and think slurs are okay and religious tolerance is weird.  

He’d even take one of those tree-people from the Far North that are called The Children for some reason? Jaime had totally thought he was misremembering that factoid until he had gone to pester Lyanna Stark about some interesting Northern myths and got hit in the face with the utter ridiculousness that was their whole pantheon. Some parts made the Greek myths look weak.

…Hey, wait a minute.

Jaime dropped the book that he’d been pretending to read as he idly listened in to the gossip of the ladies’ embroidery circle on his face.

Alerie Hightower looked at him in concern, “Are you alright, sweetling?”

“The boy must have finally fallen asleep listening to you prattle on about what shade of green your nursery must be,” Olenna Tyrell rolled her eyes. “As if it isn’t for a babe who won’t even remember it as they sleep, puke, and shit in that room.”

The Tyrells had arrived a day after the Targaryens had due to Olenna Tyrell insisting that she come along. Jaime trusted her as much as he did Baelish and Varys, so he had been on red alert the whole time she was near, which is just great to have two major anxiety sources, the king and her, under the same roof.

“You forgot something?” Cersei asked him lazily, her own embroidery hoop forgotten in favor of braiding their mother’s hair with a ribbon she had found.

“Yes!” He cried scrambling to his feet. “I have to go take care of something and then I’ll be right back, love you, bye!”

“Jaime!” He heard his mother cry in dismay at his abrupt exit, but he paid the chastisement no mind.

There’s a godswood in Casterly Rock!

He had completely forgotten about it, he had only visited it once when he was first old enough to trick his mother and toddle away as fast as his little 3-year-old legs could take him.  It had been extremely creepy: a single weirwood growing wild in a single cavern in the depths of the Rock with its roots strangling out any other life that dared grow in its sacred groove. Jaime had taken one look at it and decided to play it safe and turn tail back to his parents, which he does suppose was probably the best option.

And yet, he returns there, older and probably not wiser.

“I really hope you guys are part of the religious tolerance movement,” He said dryly, fingering the Star of David he had now taken to wearing as a pendant under his clothes. Historically, they were. Or so he remembers, which may be completely wrong information that he cannot just google to confirm. Ugh, how he misses google.

There were no answers from the groove, so he took that as permission to enter.

He had to be careful where he stepped, because he really wasn’t kidding about the whole ‘tree roots everywhere’ thing. It sort of reminded him of those million-year-old forests from back home, where the ground had become so covered by plants that the original forest floor was not visible anymore.

The tree, predictably, didn’t move. Its white stared onwards, severe and bleeding white sap.

Creepy.

“I see how everyone got creeped out by Bran Stark when you’re like this,” Jaime said, cringing. “Dude, you fugly.”

A raven crowed from the white branches of the tree, startling Jaime and making him scream as he fell on his arse at the jump scare.

The raven merely laughed at him in that coarse cawing of its species. 

“Rude,” Jaime said, miffed.

“Rude!” The raven repeated, “Rude! Rude! Rude!”

“Good, you know what you are,” He poked out his tongue at the bird. 

“Rude!” The bird continued cawing, “Rude, rude, rude kingslayer!”

Jaime did a double-take, “What did you say?”

The raven flew off, disappearing into the red leaves of the weirwood tree. Jaime belatedly wondered how the bird even got in here in the first place; the cavern was in the very bowels of the Rock where no natural light shone.

Yet, the cavern was illuminated as if it were a normal outdoor godswood.

Jaime looked up in confusion, but there were no candles nor any of the light-reflecting crystal or mineral veins that the Rock was known for. There were a few glow worms, however, but they were barely much brighter than the completely natural light that the godswood was somehow producing.

“Okaayyy…” Jaime said, slowly realizing that he may have just walked straight into the wolves' den and insulted them. “This one’s on me. My mistake. Apologies. You’re not fugly or creepy.”

The branches rustled in invisible wind.

“Oh shit, I can’t lie in front of you, can I?” He paled a bit, “Sorry again. You’re a bit fugly and creepy, but I suppose that’s your goal? You’re good. My bad.”

The stupid bird's laughter started up again, echoing across the cavern.

“I have regrets,” Jaime stated. “Those regrets include coming down here.”

Oh yes, Jaime, go have a moral-religious crisis down in the cave of a different religion that preaches a different morality. Good job, that was very well thought out. This is why everyone has an eye on your impulsivity. 

“I was kind of hoping that I could pray here and get some advice, but that was definitely stupid, because while you do sort of look like you’re on fire if I go cross-eyed and squint, you’re not a burning bush.” Jaime felt slightly silly talking to the tree, but he was pretty sure that the old gods are confirmed to be real in this world, so it was polite to at least explain his thought process and why he came down here to bother the poor tree. 

The raven hopped down, landing on a lower branch, now in view.

Unfortunately, ravens are very darkly colored and the bird was a good distance away and half-hidden, so Jaime couldn’t even see if it had three eyes.

“Sing!” The bird crowed, “Sing! Sing! Sing!”

“Sing?” Jaime echoed in confusion. The old gods wanted him to… sing ?

“Sing! Song!” The raven insisted, “Sing! Song!”

“What song?” He asked. Westeros had many songs, though not many he liked. He could sing Jenny of Oldstones or Rains of Castamere, but he doubted that that was what the gods wanted to hear.

The raven didn’t answer, looking at him expectantly and then flying off.

“Very helpful, thanks,” Jaime grumbled.

The silence was its own reproach, and Jaime very quickly moved his face to look contrite, “Sorry.”

He hesitated for a moment before… “I’m not the best singer, but I can sing a few songs from home?”

When there came no protests from the godswood, Jaime began to sing.

He sang a few hymns, but his Hebrew was rusty and his Yiddish was worse, so he switched over to a few songs in English. Truthfully, he tried to keep to worship songs, but after he went through the entirety of the Prince of Egypt soundtrack, he got a bit sidetracked with the Disney songs, jumping through Annie’s ‘Tomorrow,’ Pinocchio’s ‘Wish Upon A Star,’ and now he’s singing the Shrek version of ‘Hallelujah’ but at this point he’s forgotten what order the verses go in and he’s just repeating the first three with a single line of the other verses thrown in for a remix.

He misses his Spotify account with all the lyrics so helpfully written down for him. 

“Lord Jaime?”

Jaime paused, looking at the tree in confusion, “God?”

A snort came from behind him, “I prefer Ser Arthur if you could.”

Jaime turned around to see a pair of kingsguard with Prince Rhaegar and blushed bright red. Oops.

“Sorry!” He squeaked, scrambling to his feet. “I was just– and then– I didn’t hear you– sorry!”

Rhaegar peered at him curiously, the 17-year-old not having much of a naturally expressive face. “Do you pray to the old gods?”

Jaime blanked on the question, “Uh…”

“It’s a yes or no question, lad,” Ser Barristan said amusedly.

Barristan Selmy was only 30-something at this point in time, he was still a man in his prime with thick brown hair not yet affected by Male Pattern Baldness. On the prince’s other side stood Arthur Dayne, 20 years old with long brown hair that had a streak of Valyrian silver in it and the purple eyes just as bright as the prince’s. 

“Maybe?” Jaime said, “Ned and Lyanna told me about their old gods and they sounded a bit more responsive than the Seven so I thought I might say hello but then the bird told me to sing so I sang. Does that count as praying?”

“Bird?” Rhaegar asked, “What bird?”

“Caw!” The raven from before reappeared only to fly over their heads and straight out of the cavern.

“That bird,” Jaime pointed past the prince to where the raven had disappeared.

Rhaegar looked pensive, “You’ve been singing to the gods because a raven told you?”

Jaime shrugged, “I’m not going to argue with a bird.”

The prince looked amused at that, and his kingsguard looked like they were attempting to smother laughter. 

“A fair argument,” The prince nodded. “Tell me, Lord Jaime: what song were you singing?”

Right. Hallelujah isn’t a thing here.

Jaime made his eyes look wide and innocent, “I was making things up.”

“Caw!”

Right. No lying in a godswood. 

“Sorry!” He apologized to the tree once again, then faced the prince. “I didn’t make it up, I heard another man sing it and it’s about faith so I thought it was appropriate. The song just means a lot to me and I didn’t want to share it so I lied.”

Barristan looked baffled at his audacity, “Did you just admit to lying to the prince?”

“Then I told the truth,” Jaime said with a very clear tone of ‘ keep up. ’

“It’s alright, Ser Barristan,” Rhaegar smiled, a thin and delicate thing. He looked a lot more like his mother than his father, a far more delicate and fragile doll that would break once dropped. “He’s a boy and he became honest as soon as he remembered himself. It’s no crime for a child to want to keep secrets.”

Arthur looked like he had thought that from the beginning, and gave his sworn brother a look to remind him that most children under ten didn’t even remember their basic manners. Jaime is starting to understand why everyone liked him in the books.

“Tell me, Lord Jaime, what do you think of prophecies?” Rhaegar walked forward to stand next to him. “Since you are so free with your thoughts. A refreshing change compared to many who speak to me.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, “I think that just because they come true doesn’t mean that they’ll come true in a way that you expect or wish. And if you try to escape them, they’ll become self-fulfilling. As I heard someone once say, prophecies should be called ‘Fuck Around and Find Out’ because that’s what’s going to happen to you.”

That specific statement came from an extremely drunk lesbian yelling at him from across the bar as she ranted about Harry Potter, but he thinks that it’s applicable to this situation.

Taken by surprise, the prince choked, and the two kingsguard guffawed with laughter at the small seven-year-old swearing unexpectedly.

“Well,” Rhaegar said. “That is… quite the opinion.”

Jaime looked at him, “You asked .”

“I did,” Rhaegar sounded like he had never had someone talk to him like this before. “Where did you hear these opinions?”

Jaime perked up, “Prince Rhaegar, have you ever heard of the story of Macbeth?”

“No,” The prince was a curious sort, and Jaime was about to introduce to him the idea of ‘Ignorance is Bliss.’

“Perfect!” Jaime sat on the ground, right there on the weirwood roots. “Let me tell you about it! Cersei never wants to hear my stories.”

Even though Cersei was one of the people who needed to hear his stories the most.

“Aren’t you concerned about missing supper, lad?” Arthur asked as Rhaegar decided to sit down on the roots too, resigned to hearing a child’s story.

Jaime grinned toothily at the knight, “Nope!”

The two kingsguards shared suffering looks before kneeling beside the prince. From their looks, Jaime would hazard a guess and say that Rhaegar would commonly decide that he needs to hear random people’s stories.

The prince was the weird sort, but he didn’t appear to be actively dangerous to anyone, so Jaime decided not to be a hypocrite and just let it go. Though, he’ll be keeping a close eye on how he interacted with the other children, especially the ladies. He didn’t need a groomer on the throne.

“So, Macbeth was a cousin to a Lord Paramount–” Jaime began his story.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar had been incredibly captivated by the story of Macbeth, and while the man had accepted Jaime’s statement saying he didn’t want to share the story’s origins, he had demanded another story by the same bard who wrote Macbeth, so Jaime told him Hamlet.

Well, he told him the story of The Lion King, because Jaime hadn’t studied Hamlet in school like he did the other Shakespearan plays, so he just shuffled the story of Simba a bit so that they were all human and there was a bit more of Simba spiraling into insanity. He kept Timon and Pumba however. They’re very important and he hopes that they were part of the original Hamlet, because he adores them.

After that, Jaime decided to finish it off with the story of Romeo and Juliet, with a heavy emphasis on the ‘star-crossed lovers are a bad idea and end in death’ to try and warn him not to try it. Please , for the love of the old gods, don’t try it .

By the end of it, he was yawning and barely keeping his eyes open.

“Your grace,” Ser Arthur said softly. “I do believe the hour is quite late. Perhaps it would be best to retire?”

Rhaegar made a face like he was going to protest, but then Jaime yawned once again and rubbed at his face, and he looked chagrined once he realized that he had kept up the younger boy with his insistence at hearing more stories.

“Yes, I do believe you are right, Ser Arthur,” He said, standing. “Come, Lord Jaime, we should return to our rooms. I have much to think about tonight.”

Jaime nodded sluggishly and stood, swaying on the spot. “Mkay.”

Barristan hid a smile, “A bit sleepy, lad?”

Jaime frowned, but with his childish features, it appeared more like a pout. “I’m not sleepy. I’m fi–” He had to stop to yawn.

“Uh-huh,” Arthur was smiling at him like he was just an angry kitten whose claws deterred nobody. “I’m sure.”

Jaime glared at him and tried to take a few steps forward, but swayed rather violently.

With him waking up early many mornings so he could sneakily join some of the servants in the kitchens, like Meryl who told him tales of her family, and him ignoring Alanna’s suggestion of taking naps during the day so he would be getting enough sleep, Jaime was a bit too tired for his small body to handle.

“Here lad,” Arthur scooped him up and placed him on his hip like he weighed no more than a bird. 

“Not a babe,” Jaime mumbled but tucked his face in the knight’s neck where there was no hard armor.

Jaime could hear the vibrations of the man’s laughter, but since he had closed his eyes, he couldn’t see that the other two men were grinning at him too.

Jaime began to drift as the men began ascending stairs upon stairs, slowly being lulled to sleep by the sway of Ser Arthur’s steps.

Only to be rudely woken by his mother shrieking his name.

“Hm?” He tried to escape the noise by snuggling into the stupid uncomfortable white armor of the kingsguard, but instead, he was snatched out of Arthur’s arms by his father.

“Jaime!” Tywin snapped, “Where in the Mother’s name have you been?”

Jaime blinked blearily at his father, brain slowly rebooting still. “I followed the bird.”

“What bird?” Tywin asked, fingers coming up to comb through his hair. “Did you hit your head?”

They had come up to the main hall, where the great houses had gathered and were staring at Jaime and the prince expectantly.

“My lord,” Rhaegar interrupted. “If I may, I found Lord Jaime in the Rock’s godswood singing and playing with a raven. We talked and he discussed some of his favorite stories with me. We lost track of the hour and missed supper. The boy is just sleepy.”

“We have been looking for him and you for hours,” Joanna hissed, upset. “Did you not warn anyone where you had gone?”

“Lady Joanna,” King Aerys snarled. “You forget yourself. My son is a dragon, and dragons answer to no one. If anyone is to blame, it is your feral cub.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” The mother lioness said. “I was wrong to presume that you too were wondering where your son was and should have simply assumed that my seven-name-day-old son would be with him telling stories . After all, my son said that he had simply forgotten something when he left my side.”

Her tone was a dangerous one to take against the king, but an expected one for a mother wild with worry.

Aerys’ eyes turned stormy, “I see that the poison has affected your senses, Joanna. Perhaps it would have been better for you to have perished with your babe if this is how you react when a prince acts like a prince and a kitten acts like a kitten.”

There were several gasps at that. The king had just openly wished a Lord Paramount’s wife dead for no reason than worrying about her son.

Jaime blinked rapidly at that insult. That doesn’t sound good.

“If that is your opinion, Your Grace,” Tywin Lannister’s voice sounded dangerous; a lion finished playing with its food. “Then I do believe that our interests no longer align. I will no longer be able to serve as your Hand.”

Oh shit, that definitely doesn’t sound good.

“Is that so?” The king said dangerously. “Perhaps your son would prefer to serve the realm in your place?”

Jaime did not want to serve the realm in anyone’s place, he was already doing that, thank you very much.

“Your Grace?” Jaime said, his childish voice a stark contrast to his situation.

“You want to be a knight, don’t you, boy?” The king sneered mockingly. “I saw you playing with the Stark daughter. You waved that wooden sword around and said you wanted to be like Aemon the Dragonknight, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jaime said meekly, really hoping that this wasn’t about to lead where he thought it is going to lead.

“Perfect!” The king cried, “You shall squire under my kingsguard, and once you are knighted, you can join their ranks.”

Everyone inhaled sharply. Joanna let out a moan of dismay.

His father clutched him closer to his chest tightly, “Jaime is a boy! He is 7 name days old, that is far too young to be separated from his family. He is my heir.”

It was commonly agreed in Westeros that you didn’t foster or squire your children out before they turned ten, agreeing that any younger is too young to leave their family. The rare times it occurred was when the child was already about to turn ten, they were a hostage, or they were to leave with family or to be cared for by family. Seven was agreed to be too young, a child still in the nursery and clutching their mother’s skirts.

“You have a spare, don’t you? Isn’t that why we’re all here?” The king said, uncaring of the way he spat in the face of the lord whose very house he resided in. “Now, who shall he squire under?”

The kingsguard didn’t dare avert their gazes, however, you could tell that none of them wanted a part in this farce.

“Sword of the Morning!” The king cried, face lighting up once his eyes landed on the greatest knight in the order. “You seemed to have bonded with the boy, carrying him around like a mother and her milkbabe. Why don’t you squire him?”

“Your Grace,” Arthur said carefully. “I am young yet to have a squire. Perhaps an older and wiser brother?”

“He is young too, you’ll have something in common,” Aerys waved off his concern. “I want another legendary knight, not a slow and wise one.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered over to where Tywin and Joanna were desperately trying to shield Jaime and made eye contact with the young boy. Eyes wide, Jaime silently begged the knight.

Jaime didn’t even know what he was begging for. A chance to learn under the best knight in the seven kingdoms? A chance to join the kingsguard and become the kingslayer like fate tells him to be? Or perhaps for the man to deny the king and run the cruel man through?

That’s what the king was. Not mad or insane, but merely cruel. His eyes told a completely lucid and sadistic story.

“I will take him, Your Grace,” The knight said slowly, reluctantly. 

“See? Matter resolved,” Aerys said. “Now, if we are done being kept up by the wailing of mothers losing their children, I am going to retire. We have a joust to watch in the morning.”

Then the king just walked off, like he didn’t ruin the life of an innocent child out of pettiness, family and kingsguard trailing after him.

“Father…” Jaime said softly. “He can’t do this, can he?”

There were several lords and ladies left behind, all looking at each with the silent words of ‘ He has the power to, but he shouldn’t .’ 

Olenna Tyrell looked at where the king had left, a glimmer of interest in her eyes. Jaime remembered how Varys used Aerys’ paranoid insanity to gain vengeance on magic users and House Targaryen, and he was reminded of how cold the woman was. She wouldn’t hesitate to use this to further her own house.

Tywin merely brought Jaime closer, tucking his head under his chin, and drew his wife to his side where she could silently sob.

Chapter Text

The tourney was an opulent one, yet not excessive.

A joust, a melee, and an archery competition. The king had already declared that he was only interested in the joust and melee; both competitions where it was likely to see a death.

Jaime couldn’t even feel very excited about it as a lead weight had settled upon his stomach.

“Can the king do that?” Lyanna whispered to her older brothers at breakfast once Jaime explained to the other children why he looked ill. They, as children, were allowed to have their own separate table, away from the important and serious great lords and ladies, where they could chatter and shriek with their friends to their hearts’ content.

Brandon looked severe, the twelve-year-old eyeing the royal family out of the corner of his eye, “Aye, he can.” For once, the older boy seemed to be taking something seriously, and Jaime realized that this was probably the first time that Brandon was seeing the reality of the dragons. A truth he learned far too late in another life.

“By law, he can,” Stannis confirmed lowly. “When we kneeled to the dragons, we entrusted them with everything. He could demand our heads for no reason and we would have to obey.”

Elbert Arryn, though a latecomer to their group, was fierce in his convictions, “That would mean rebellion. They do not breathe fire any longer, I would march into the keep myself.”

Catelyn hurriedly shushed him, shooting a petrified glance around to see if anyone had overheard him.

“You will be safe, won’t you?” Lysa sniffed, “I miss my mother every day, and I still have my father and uncle to look after me. You’ll be safe in the capital without your family?”

Jaime wanted to reassure her, but he knew that he couldn’t.

Stannis carefully put his hand on Lysa’s shoulder to comfort her and then froze in panic when the girl fully leaned on him for support. Jaime was actually coming to expect a betrothal from those two soon.

Cersei had taken the news badly, looking Jaime out of their shared rooms since he ‘was already planning on abandoning her’ and screeched the entire damn wing down. Jaime knew that she had some sort of abandonment complex and an unstable emotional state, but he had no idea how to help her. She refused to open the door, even to mother, and so they were forced to just leave her there in favor of appearing at breakfast so the king doesn’t find more reasons to punish them.

“We should do something about this,” Oberyn said through gritted teeth.

Though the two boys were always rough and tumble with each other and Oberyn always trying to get a rise out of Jaime, they had established a sort of strange frenemy dynamic where Oberyn gives his house a major insult and Jaime pushes him off a cliff and both boys then go to play tag together.

“Do what?” Jaime hissed, “We’re children. Do you want us to summon our parents’ armies while they still live? Or attack the king under Guest Right? Obie…”

Elia was frowning, “I agree with my brother. This is an injustice. But Jaime is right: there’s nothing that we can do.”

“Unless we rebel,” Robert pointed out. “There’ll be a few years before Jaime needs to take the white cloak. We’re friends: a united 5 of the 7 kingdoms. We can prepare a Great Council.”

Jaime choked on his food. That’s treason. They’re talking about committing treason… for him. Moreso, it’s Robert proposing this, the boy that would’ve hated him in another life.

Ned inhaled sharply, “Shut up, Robert! That is treason, and we are in the middle of a crowded feast hall. If the king hears…”

Everyone went quiet and looked up to the high table where the king sat, eyeing his food distrustingly.

“Okay, new plan: Everybody shut the fuck up and we meet after the joust in the nursery. The guest rooms all are connected by a set of secret passages on the lion’s carving on the back wall used by the servants to clean the rooms, go inside and I’ll fetch you once night falls,” Jaime proposed. He paused, “Sorry for the language my ladies.”

“Not a priority,” Catelyn said. “However, I agree. The nursery tonight.”

Everyone nodded, murmurs of agreement as they tried to return to their food inconspicuously. 

A few moments later, a shadow appeared over them.

“Might I join you?” Prince Rhaegar asked, a plate in hand.

“Of course!” Jaime quickly said, shuffling over to make space between him and Elia, and then instantly regretting that action.

The prince sat down and his two kingsguard hovered, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell looked interested in the children’s table, and Jaime dreaded to learn why.

“I am greatly sorry for any unintended consequences to my actions yesterday with you, Lord Jaime,” Rhaegar said stiffly. “However I seek to propose a friendship between us as you are to spend much time at the Red Keep. I do find your stories fascinating and wish to hear more about them soon.”

Translation: Rhaegar is on damage control. Whether he sent himself or his mother sent him, they don’t know, but it was probably not Aerys.

“That seems nice,” Jaime said slowly. “However, wouldn’t you prefer to spend time with men your age?”

Rhaegar’s lips twitched upwards, “Yes, I do find you quite mature at times, Lord Jaime. It’s hard to remember that you are only seven.”

Oberyn snorted from Jaime’s other side, “Jay? Mature? You’re japing.”

“I am not,” Rhaegar seemed puzzled. “You think differently?”

“He filled my room with three dozen cats when I told him that snakes were a better animal,” Oberyn insisted.

“You deserved it,” Elia sing-songed without hesitation.

“That was being mature,” Jaime said. “I gave you an opportunity to educate yourself on the best animal. I could have also shown you the lion cells and how we feed them, but I didn’t!”

Stannis looked disapproving, “Jaime, please tell me you didn’t actually consider feeding Oberyn to the lions.”

“I just said I didn’t!”

“I would have,” Robert mumbled into his cup, making Lyanna snort and high-five him. High-fives, fist bumps, and secret handshakes were one of Jaime’s favorite things to have introduced to the Westerosi youth.

“I… see…” Rhaegar said slowly, not sounding very convinced at all.

Catelyn smiled at him, “You get used to their antics after a while.”

“Or, you get slowly driven mad,” Ned sounded resigned. “Take your pick.”

“At least you’ll never be bored,” Elbert said cheerfully. “Now, my prince, will you be competing today?”

“Unfortunately I shall not,” He said regretfully. “However, I have been given leave to compete in the melee.”

“Lucky,” Oberon groaned like a toddler being told it couldn’t stick a fork into a socket. “Mother said I could only join the melee if I managed to behave myself for a whole sennight straight.”

“Which is simply impossible for you to do,” Jaime said with a straight face, resisting at laughing at the boy who got outsmarted by his mother. 

“Exactly!” Oberyn, who should be the prince of drama instead of Dorne, draped himself over Jaime like he was a fainting couch.

Jaime considered pouring his juice on him, but Stannis was quicker, shoving the older boy so he fell on the ground, groaning.

“If you’re going to annoy everyone, annoy us from the floor,” Stannis said grumpily. 

They all laughed when Oberyn responded with a rude hand gesture.

They quickly fell silent when the king stood up, saying that it was time for the knights to get ready for the joust.

Jaime warily looked up to where Ser Arthur had been standing, watching their antics silently.

“Am I expected to start my squire duties today?” He asked.

To do so would mean that he would be helping Arthur in and out of his armor as well as passing him lances, which meant he would miss most of the joust.

“No lad, it’s alright,” Arthur said kindly. “Sit with your friends. We’ll start after the tourney.”

Jaime nodded at him in thanks and stood up with his group of friends to head down to the tourney grounds in Lannisport together.

They had chosen to ride down together on horseback instead of joining their individual houses in wheelhouses. Both Jaime and Cersei had their own horse, and so did the Martells, Starks, and Arryns. Stannis and the Tully girls, unfortunately, didn’t have their own horses, considered too young by their parents, so Stannis and Lysa would share Jaime’s spare palfrey while Catelyn rode with Lyanna Stark.

The ride down to Lannisport wasn’t a long one. At least, not one long enough that a group of rowdy, chattering preteens on horseback would complain about. Olenna Tyrell and King Aerys, on the other hand, seemed to be bonding over complaining about literally everything that was a part of the journey. Now, Jaime had grown up with his Bubbe’s kvetching and he has an appreciation for the art form that is a good complaint, but there was no art to them, they were merely irritating for the sake of watching others wince and entertaining themselves that way.

Jaime wasn’t the only one getting annoyed by them, and soon, after Aerys’ loudly complained about the road being too bumpy, Elia decided that passive-aggressive action was her favorite battle formation.

“Prince Rhaegar,” She said syrupy sweet to her age-mate. “Tell me, how does Kingslanding maintain its roads? Dorne has the stoney paths made by Queen Nymeria’s army that is kept smooth and polished by the shifting sands, though occasionally our standing army maintains our infrastructure as to help fortify our homes. I have seen the constant reparations the West has, with their builders on retainer, however, I have yet to hear how the great capital city of Westeros maintains its infrastructure.”

Prince Rhaegar’s lips twitched upwards and he began to tell her all about the many problems Kingslanding had with its infrastructure and all the ways they failed to maintain the city.

By Aerys’ frown and Olenna’s scowl, the two had been overheard.

“Perhaps then the city should use its gold-cloaks to maintain the city, as Dorne does,” Stannis said loudly once he realized that the king was not happy hearing complaints about his city.

“The gold-cloaks are supposed to be busy defending the city,” Jaime jumped into the conversation. “Perhaps they should simply employ builders if they have so many problems.”

“That’ll be too expensive,” Brandon said, his frugal Northern culture rearing its head. “Can you imagine the toll that would be on the royal coffers? No, this needs to have funds reallocated and diverted, with a long-term conservation prioritizing the worst areas.”

“That would mean restoring Fleabottom first, and no lord would agree to pay taxes for that,” Elbert pointed out.

“I would!” Catelyn said fiercely. “The Mother says that we have to help the less fortunate and this would be the perfect situation for it.”

Elbert rolled his eyes, “I said lord, not lady. Those taxes could also be used for–”

“For what ?” Ned asked, “War? We are in peacetime. Luxury? What is luxury in Winter time? Infrastructure means that the smallfolk survive and thrive and can pay more taxes. It’s more honorable to devote ourselves as the future of Westeros to serving the kingdoms.”

The entire group devolved into squabbling over the best way to revolutionize Westeros, and more specifically Kingslanding, all the way to their seats in the stands of the joust. Prince Rhaegar had even actually gone up to his parents and asked if he could forsake the royal box in favor of continuing their debate. Aerys had looked furious and denied him, but Rhaegar had already told them that he wished to continue speaking of this later. 

Of course, their group did consist of mostly preteens, with the only teenagers being Oberyn, Elia, and Rhaegar, so they did come up with a lot of useless and idiotic ideas. Robert had said that they should go searching for Cannibal the dragon to help them rebuild Westeros since Balaerion made the iron throne. Brandon suggested making more money and then got into an argument with Jaime as to how inflation works. Catelyn and Lysa were from the Riverlands and so their opinion on farming and its importance was in direct contrast with Lyanna and Ned’s, with Catelyn seeming close to strangling Lyanna when she said that taxing imports was terrible. Stannis and Elia had started shouting at each other when Elia said that there should be mercy for those who commit a crime such as smuggling because they support those that the lords fail. Oberyn got yelled at by basically everyone for saying that this is why having a council of different opinions can be a problem.

Finally, in the stands, they come to a lull after losing their prince and main level-headed voice.

It’s too quiet.

“Have you guys ever heard of communism?” Jaime pipes up.

The crowd got an unexpected opening act in the form of Jaime, Brandon, Elbert, and Robert starting a screaming match with Lyanna and Oberyn egging them on.

“ Maybe you’re just a freaking dumbass and normal people can produce labor without gold as an incentive because they have passion ,” Jaime yelled in Elbert’s face.

“If there were no money and no lords, then men would live at war!” Robert yelled.

“You have a problem if you think the only joy in life is fucking war! ” Brandon looked close to throwing hands at Robert.

It was important to note that all three boys were older and taller than Jaime by a full head, so he had to resort to standing on his seat so to be on an equal level with them.

“Boys.” 

They all froze.

Genna Lannister scowled down at them, arms crossed and look of disapproval in full force. All the children wilted under her look.

“You are disturbing the other spectators. The joust will start soon, and your little argument will be saved for later. If you must, drag this out to the sparring yard. Do not continue this here, I will not have such unsightly behavior from you.” She said, voice hard. “Now, be grateful I decided to resolve this myself and your parents didn’t come over here to tan all your hides.”

Jaime’s eyes flickered over to where the rest of the Lannisters were sitting and gulped. His mother and father both seemed to be trying to silently murder him with their eyes, furious at the scene that he was making.

Oops.

“Sorry, Aunt Genna,” Jaime mumbled, looking at his boots.

“Sorry, my lady,” Everyone else chorused, looking contrite.

“I better not see any of your childish tantrums again,” She scolded. “If the king takes issue with your arguments, I do hope you’ve learned by now that you will face the king’s wrath yourself. So be quiet and sit down.”

Jaime had never sat down so quickly in his life.

Genna stalked off with one final warning look, leaving all the children sufficiently cowed.

It was Lysa who started laughing first, with them staring at her like she was insane.

“You looked so scared of her,” She snorted.

They looked at each other in mutual embarrassment before they joined in with her laughter, insults and disagreements immediately forgiven and forgotten.

Their parents, spread apart and divided, still did not look approving from their separate seats, but seemed ready to dismiss it for childish rough-and-tumble ways without any major political incidents.

It’s funny how they– children– could fight and argue and still be friends with no issues, but the adults of this world fall apart and separate with the smallest of insults and bad tempers. In the original story, Westeros fell apart because of the very adults of now that were visibly drifting apart due to their power plays. Those adults would raise children unprepared for the reality of life and The Game, and thousands would suffer the consequences. The innocence and optimism of children fell away to further the cycle of trauma and cruelty of Westeros.

Jaime watched two knights mount their steeds and line up, ready to joust.

He’s a kingsguard now, the very plan he made and hated. 

The king yelled at them to start the tilt.

Maybe he can do a bit more without having people suffer first.

The knights crashed into each other, one falling to the ground and the other, victorious.

Maybe he can try to save everyone and not become the kingslayer.

The crowd cheered.

Maybe he just has to try.

Chapter Text

Several knights had been successful enough to enter the finals of the joust which would be taking place the next day, Ser Arthur included.

Jaime was tempted to interrogate the knight on his jousting strategies and his choice for the Queen of Love and Beauty, however Tywin had been fuming at him publicly starting a fight with other lords’ heirs and had him ride back in the wheelhouse with his mother and Tyrion. He wasn’t the only one, with Hoster Tully in particular being especially harsh with his daughters acting unladylike by debating with lords.

Didn’t really matter because every single one of them snuck away from their respective adults to rejoin the children’s table for supper, chatting happily about the different knights that had preformed at the joust and who they supported.

Elbert and Robert tried to start a bet that was swiftly shut down by Elia reminding them all that their parents were already upset with them. 

Elia and Oberyn got off the easiest with their scoldings, mostly because Mariah seemed to understand that she was raising hot-blooded Dornish teenagers and knew that grounding them would be useless, instead preferring to go for a more liberal approach to child-rearing where they could mess around as much as they’d like as long as Elia remembered that as a princess she was held up to certain standards like keeping her maidenhead and Oberyn didn’t insult people straight to their faces. 

The Starks got a similar treatment, with them being allowed to keep to their Northern wildness as long as they didn’t insult any Southern lords or tarnish the Stark reputation. 

Jaime felt like maybe that was a bit too liberal for a bunch of privileged children, but since the opposite standards weren’t helping Elbert, the Tully sisters, or the Baratheon brothers much either, he would like to say that it was the lesser of two evils. The Dornish and Northern lords did seem to be more grounded in the reality of their lands’ lives and knew that Andal frivolities helped nobody.

Soon enough, supper had ended and they were all expected to go their separate ways. 

Jaime smiled at the gathered group, “I’ll be retiring to the nursery now. Sleep well everyone.”

Eyes sharp, he was rewarded with a round of pleasantries from his friends as they split up and followed their families to their guest rooms.

The nursery was empty when Jaime arrived, which was… concerning.

Where did Cersei go?

He hopes that his sister didn’t go do anything rash or drastic, like try to petition the king personally for Jaime to stay with his family.

He froze in indecision, internally debating going after Cersei or preparing a secret Young Great Council. 

After a few moments, he decided to continue preparing his secret meeting with the other children. There was a second nursery that Tyrion was currently sleeping in and Cersei could have joined him there. The others would be waiting for him and he cannot just leave them there waiting for him.

He waited his fifteen minutes before donning his sleepwear and entering the passage in his room. 

He rarely used the passages, preferring to walk in the open and greet those he walked by, but sometimes he checked and learned the most important ones: his father’s solar, his parents’ room, the nursery rooms, and the guest rooms’ entrances being his priorities.

There was a passage that joined all the rooms together, Jaime suspected that it might have been some sort of emergency exit that got repurposed into servant’s passages and was eventually forgotten. It was dusty and filled with spider webs and Jaime couldn’t see his own hand right in front of his face, but it was useful in showing Tywin the futility of grounding him and locking the nursery door because Jaime could escape in seconds and nobody knew how he did it.

Jaime knew his way through the connecting room passages by heart, even with them being pitch black. All you had to do is squeeze your way left for several feet until you nearly brain yourself on the empty torch holder, after which you walk ten more feet before turning right, walk down the spiral staircase that threatens to twist your ankles, and keep going until…

“Ouch!”

Until you walk straight into someone.

“Jay,” Oberyn whined. “Those were my toes.

“You’re the one standing in the middle of the way!” Jaime retorted, “I can see as well as you can, idiot.”

Honestly, sometimes it was hard to remember that Oberyn was twice his age.

“Jaime, is that you?” He heard Catelyn call out.

“Aye,” He replied. “Can you follow the sound of my voice?”

The sound of shuffling and boots on dusty rock.

“There’s so many spider webs!” Lyanna sounded delighted.

Robert’s grumbling could be heard, “Has anybody ever used these?”

“Lann the Clever,” He said. “A few severants over the years. A spy or two. I think my Uncle Gerion might have snuck his paramour through here that one time my father banned him from taking Aunt Briony through the front gates but they found her in his room anyways.”

Jaime definitely wasn’t supposed to refer to Briony as his aunt, but the only people who would be upset if he did weren’t here, so he’s fine. Besides, his Aunt Briony pinched his cheeks and gave him bread once like she would greet any other common scamp, which made both his parents frown, but made Jaime want to swear an oath of devotion to the woman. She also called him ‘honey’, which reminds Jaime of the old lady at the deli from his past life who gave him 25% discounts because his liquor licence meant that he could import her favourite mediterranean wines for half the price that she could. 

“Was Lann the Clever a dwarf too?” Robert whinged, walking sideways so that the large, bulky boy could fit through the narrowest of corridors.

“Fascinating,” Brandon’s voice echoed. “Winterfell has similar passages; a few of them still in use.”

“Wait, truly?” Ned sounded surprised at his brother’s words.

“Duh,” Jaime could almost see Lyanna rolling her eyes at her brother. “How else do you think Old Nan gets around and appears from the corner of the room but we’ve never seen her in the hallways?”

There was a pause from Ned. “...Old people magic?”

Elbert snorted, “Seriously? Old people magic?”

“Is this everyone?” Jaime asked, interrupting before yet another argument broke out.

“Aye, Stannis is just too scared of the dark to speak. He doesn’t want you to hear his voice tremble.”

“Am not!” Stannis was indignant, “Shut up, Robert!”

Jaime ignored the forever feuding brothers. “Keep moving towards my voice and grab the person in front of you so you don’t get lost.” A pause before a muffled: “…Obie, get your hand off my face.”

“You said to grab; you never specified where!” Jaime could hear the older boy smirking.

“Be glad he didn’t grab your arse,” Elia muttered.

Jaime snatched Oberyn’s hand and started tugging the boy along, “Come on.”

There were grumbles from everyone as they braved the passageways of Casterly Rock, and quite a few shrieks from Lysa as the poor girl nearly fell several times while going up the spiral staircase, but they managed to get to the nursery without much incident.

Of course, that’s when they saw who was waiting for them.

“Cersei…” Jaime said slowly, feeling like a deer in headlights. “Why is Rhaegar in our nursery?”

Cersei raised an eyebrow at him, “The same reason everyone else is in our nursery, I suspect.”

Damn it, Cersei! He knows that her abandonment complex was bad, but deciding to randomly invite Rhaegar to join them in actively overthrowing his father is bad! Think things through so we don’t have incidents like the ones of the Faith Militant and the Sept of Baelor! 

…Wait a second, how did she even know about this meeting? She was away the whole time… unless she dressed up as him so to leave the nursery without incident and accidentally had someone from their group tell her about the meet-up. Which, judging by her smug look and the fact she was wearing his clothes, was likely to be what happened.

Rhaegar strode forward, “Lord Jaime, I am as happy with my father’s actions as you are. My mother has always cautioned me against acting against him, no matter the manner of cruelty he has inflicted on her. Banning me from protecting her was the only time I have ever seen my mother raise her voice. I disagree with my father’s cruelty and his actions as king. I would wish to show my support for his removal from the throne. I thought that I would have to tackle this alone, but I am gladdened to see similar viewpoints from my fellow future rulers.”

Jaime wanted to trust him, truly he did, but he could not push his knowledge of the future from his mind, “Would you listen to us then? Treat us as your equals? If I tell you not to pursue a prophecy so you could rule peacefully, would you listen?”

Rhaegar froze, “Prophecy? How do you–”

“You asked me what I thought about prophecies in front of the Heart Tree,” Jaime plowed on. “I’m reckless, not daft. Your great-grandfather killed a hundred innocents trying to hatch dragons, uncaring of when all his advisors told him not to, and he was the best king we’ve had since Jaehaerys and Alyssane. Are you prepared to listen and treat us as equals? Or will you claim that you are a dragon like your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather?”

Rhaegar swallowed, eyeing him carefully now that Jaime had revealed that he could see right through him like a messed-up Emperor’s New Clothes. “I will listen, I swear it.”

“On the Old Gods and the New? On Balerion and R'hllor and Mother Rhoyne?”

“I swear I shall listen to you, on the Old Gods, the Seven, Balerion, R’hllor, and Mother Rhoyne,” Rhaegar said solemnly, slowly.

“Good,” Jaime let a smile appear on his face and moving so he could flop down on his bed. “Respect between us is all we need.”

Everyone was eyeing him weirdly, like they had never seen this side of him before. They haven’t, because Jaime keeps his wisdom beyond his years locked up tight where nobody can ever see it so he can ignore the little voice that hates him for enjoying life. That little voice destroyed his life once upon a time, and he refuses to listen to it ever again.

“My father had the right of it when he appointed your father as Hand,” Rhaegar said softly. “You are your father’s son as much as your mother’s. Once I am King, I will have you as my Hand.”

Jaime gave him a sunny look, “I have already proved myself capable of starting rebellions and I will do so again. Give me a sword and no politics, please.”

Elia laughed at the same time that Cersei sighed in annoyance that he refused any responsibility beyond that what a sword in his hand gave him. 

“Perhaps we shall begin planning?” Ned suggested, “We have many years to take into account, and many ways that the gods may throw the dice.”

“Yes,” Rhaegar agreed, sitting beside Jaime on the bed. “I have my own concerns to bring up.”

“So do I,” Elbert added. “The Vale has many concerns with the crown.”

Oberyn took a seat on the floor, “Then we should start with what worries us, and what our parents worry about, the most. Solutions should come later.”

“Agreed,” Stannis said.

“Jaime, Cersei, I do believe you should start,” Catelyn nodded at them to take the floor.

And so the twins did.

Chapter Text

It was interesting to see how much children could get away with simply because adults didn’t see their children as human beings capable of thought and reason until they reached ten years old, and even then their thoughts and desires were easily dismissed.

Brandon and Elbert were 12, and Elia and Oberyn were teenagers, yet their tiredness was easily dismissed as them being excitable over the tourney. Rhaegar got silently scolded by his mother, but that was for him being a prince more than anything else.

Funny how the age of majority was 15 or 16 depending on what kingdom you were from, yet they dismissed their children until the children had enough and took their names and lands by force or by ‘proving themselves’.

So seven kingdoms of affection and praise-starved children took the stage with meekness, arrogance, recklessness, and naivety.

Jaime had befriended several heirs in a fluke, simply by acting himself and uncaring of the societal boundaries that prevented many of them from truly connecting to other people that weren’t their own blood, and now, after mere days, all of them had decided to team up and overthrow Aerys. All because their parents didn’t act when they should’ve stopped playing .

A harsh reminder that actions could easily upend the board. Hadn’t Margery Tyrell’s charity gained her loyalty and devotion in a moon while Baelish and Varys had been defeated by their own desires to wait for it ? Nothing will fall into your hands if you don’t chase after it.

Or if the gods don’t force it upon you.

Yeah, Jaime had a few theories on the coincidences and happening of the tourney because he may or may not be in a bit of denial about the true power of the Butterfly Effect and the consequences of his actions. If the Raven could come back and start speaking things that it really shouldn’t, then that would be great actually.

“AGAIN!” Robert boomed, face red and beaming. 

Until then, Jaime would stick with his Ride-Or-Die friends.

“We’re going to miss the joust at this point,” Jaime said, laughing as he obediently pushed forward to hold Robert’s hands.

“As if!” Brandon went careening past them before nearly bowling over the Tully sisters. “Our parents haven’t left yet.”

They haven’t, but their horses and wheelhouses were prepped.

The new sets of roller skates were ready, the makers working speedily from the amount of coin that Jaime had given, and the whole group was trying them out. Some of them, like Rhaegar, Elia, and Catelyn floated like they were skating on air. Some, like Cersei and Elbert, could make their way around with the skates but weren’t all that elegant. Some, like Stannis, Ned, and Lysa clung to pillars and columns as they shakily made their way forward. Others, like Robert, Brandon, Oberyn, and Lyanna were content to get thrown wildly in a random direction and fly past like howling maniacs until they crashed into whatever object is in their way.

Ser Arthur was watching, concerned, from the sidelines. The poor knight had already picked Rhaegar up and dusted him off after he fell several times, but nobody anyone listened to him when he shouted at them all to stop going so quickly before they learned how to stop.

Jaime had taken to holding hands with whatever moron with a death wish approached him and skating in a circle, building momentum until he let go and watched them cheer.

Jaime went flying one way as Robert went the other, except he was the one who knew how to stop, so he stopped himself from rolling straight into the Sword of the Morning by standing on his tiptoes while Robert yelped as he went ass-over-teakettle right at his father’s feet.

Oh shit, Robert landed at his father’s feet.

“ What is going on here ?!” Steffon Baratheon barked, making them all freeze in place, smiles slipping off their faces as they stared in horror at the accumulated procession of their parents heading towards their transportation down to the tourney.

“Mother!” Elia blinked her wide brown eyes up at her mother, looking like the Maiden given life and saving all their arses once again. “Look at these glorious Western inventions! Wheels on boots called roller skates, and it is so much easier to get around in!”

Tywin and Joanna very clearly did not know anything about these ‘glorious western inventions’ but from the way that their eyes narrowed in on Jaime, he can guess that they did know their probable origins.

“It feels like flying,” Catelyn added daintily. “I feel like a ghost of Harrenhal.”

Lyanna, who just dug herself out from the haystack she had fallen into and still had pieces of stuck to her hair, nodded. “Yes. That. Very pretty. Quite beautiful.”

Ser Arthur’s face made it obvious that he didn’t agree with that assessment at all.

“It is good practice for balance,” Stannis spoke. “Regular practice will do wonders for my footwork.”

Rhaegar glided forward and stopped instantly, a showcase of the elegance that the skates could be if you weren’t someone who preferred speed over everything. “I have my own pair and they are lovely. I could possibly learn to fight in them if I wish.”

A few of the parents seemed slightly convinced, though Mace and Alerie, the youngest of all the lords, looked charmed and you could visibly see Alerie restraining herself from inquiring after a pair for herself, and the only thing that likely was stopping her from joining them right there and now was the fact that she was pregnant.

“I also enjoy going very fast,” Robert said, smiling up at his father from the floor.

Elbert sighed and hid his face in his hands.

“Get up! ” Steffon hissed, grabbing his eldest by the ear and dragging the bulky boy up onto his feet.

Aerys laughed in amusement, “Children will play, Lord Baratheon. I do believe this puts our cart racing to shame, however. Amusing little toys, putting wheels on boots. Tell me, Rhaegar, how many times have you fallen?”

Rhaegar shuffled on his feet slightly, well aware that his father was seeking to humiliate him on purpose, “I have a few bruises, father, though most given by running into each other than by slipping.”

Jaime tries not to look at Lyanna, who had become such a menace with her skates that she sought to purposefully bowl people over whenever she was passing near them, and Rhaegar had taken to snatching her up and putting her back down gently to stop her from knocking him or Elia over as they promenaded. 

“See!” Aerys barked a laugh. “A few bruises: the price of childhood. A bit late, this childhood, but foolishness has no age limit. Let them play with their toys, better than being trampled by horses.”

For once, Aerys was useful in disarming the other lords and ladies, and it was simply because of schadenfreude. 

Jaime thinks that as soon as he figures out how to sneak around in the Red Keep, he’s going to move everything in the king’s chambers one inch to the left.

“Yes, well,” Rickard Stark spoke. “The tourney starts soon and it is time for children to stop playing with toys. Brandon, Ned, Lyanna: take those things off and get in the wheelhouse.”

“But my horse is saddled,” Lyanna frowned and pointed at her beautiful chestnut mare.

Rickard smiled thinly, “Wheelhouse. Now.”

Wolves blood or not, every Stark knew not to question when their father takes that tone of voice.

Jaime’s own parents had similar looks on their faces, and he resigned himself to being lectured the entire way.

At least Cersei looked unaffected by it all, raising her chin proudly as she rolled herself to the wheelhouse and climbed inside before swapping her skates for slippers. She didn’t even blink when their father had them both punished with no dessert for the rest of the moon.

Honestly, for all that Cersei’s moods and thoughtlessness worry him sometimes, her ability to keep her head high. She really liked to turn the other cheek in defiance and then drag you down and drown you like some siren while you weren’t looking at the other, less violent, plans she had going on. Truly, she took after their father best, if only her own temperament didn’t stop her from being as politically adept as he, she would actually be a great queen if given a loving husband.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Rhaegar doesn’t appear to consider her as a potential queen. Rhaegar kept looking at Elia, which was a strange surprise that made Jaime question what the hells was going on at Harrenhal and with Robert’s Rebellion. Living here, now, makes Jaime sure that history was missing several key pieces.

“A son with his head in the clouds and a daughter who is too arrogant to think that someone might know better than her,” Tywin grumbled as the wheelhouses approached the tourney grounds and started slowing down. “You better not be a disappointment too, Tyrion.”

Accurate, but rude. It’s his own fault that his children didn’t trust him.

“My head is not in the clouds,” Jaime said, annoyed. “It’s not my fault that I am learning how to see with three eyes like the Raven and you insist that there are no viewpoints other than yours.”

He left the wheelhouse that still hadn’t fully stopped, ignoring his parents' confused and concerned looks as he headed straight to where Lyanna and Ned were standing.

“My lady,” He offered his arm to Lyanna. “Want to join me on the stands and jeer loudly at the bad forms the knights have?”

Lyanna lit up, “Absolutely.”

Jaime turned to the Northern lord, “Ned, you want to join us?”

Ned nervously looked at his father, then at a point over Jaime’s shoulder where he was sure Tywin Lannister was glaring his son down, then winced. “I can escort your sister and meet you at the grounds, but if I misbehave then father has already said I am not to leave the keep for the rest of the tourney.”

Jaime winced in sympathy, “Then I suggest you escort Catelyn and I’ll tell Oberyn to escort Cersei. Nobody will look twice if they start screaming at each other.”

As soon as Oberyn had been nudged to Cersei’s side, and Elia caught Rhaegar’s eye and subtly indicated that she was alone, the rest of them started pairing off as well, with Stannis and Lysa and Ned and Catelyn. Robert, Elbert, and Brandon were left empty-handed until Brandon had the brilliant idea of offering to escort Lady Olenna , who actually took his arm with a comment on the boldness of young men, to which Robert and Elbert wisely decided to just grab their own cousins.

All pair-ups that absolutely nobody could complain about, though Rickard Stark could definitely sigh about and Mace Tyrell was looking pleasantly confused about. They really understated how little that man had going on in his head, Mace Tyrell had one brain cell bouncing around like a TV logo and every once in a while, when it touched the corner of the screen, the man actually had a good thought. It was a miracle that all his clever children came from him. Well, except Loras. Jaime can see where Loras got it from.

“Your brother is insane,” Jaime whispered to Lyanna as Brandon decided to make small talk (aka some kvetching that would make his great-aunt proud) with the Queen of Thorns.

Lyanna eyed him, “You think I don’t know that? He has asked Old Nan to dance once. This isn’t anything new.”

Jaime goggled as Olenna laughed and patted Brandon’s arm after he made a good, yet bawdy, complaint on the state of the Frey knight’s armor and choice of steed.

“Please never leave Brandon alone with the Queen,” Jaime begged. “I feel like that would be a whole other disaster.”

Lyanna snorted, “There’s a reason why Brandon is the heir and not Ned, and it’s not because he’s the eldest. You two have that alike: the ability to make people like you.”

He spluttered, “I’m just having fun!”

She poked him in the ribs, “And inspiring loyalty. Your sister sees it, so does the prince, and my brothers are beginning to do so too.”

Lyanna… really wasn’t a stupid girl. In fact, she reminded him quite a bit of Arya, several seasons into the show, rolling her eyes at Tywin Lannister and slitting the throat of Petyr Baelish while everyone underestimates her because she was so wild and unladylike. She’s still the type to make fun of Southerners and she still has a piece of hay in her braid, but she is far from stupid. What in the name of David was going on at Harrenhal?

“What? Did I break you?” She said, waiting for his response.

“No,” He said. “I just underestimated you. You’re better at politics than I am.”

She huffed and flicked her head, “Of course I am. Just because I like swords and horses doesn’t make me bad at being a lady, it just means that I think embroidery is stupid.”

There’s that Lyanna Stark arrogance rearing its head.

“Embroidery isn’t stupid,” He retorted. “It’s pretty and you just need to have a lot of concentration.”

“Then you can have my hoop and I can do the politics.”

“Lya, the only thing I have ever concentrated on is my sword.”

She gave him an exasperated look, “Then why are you expecting me to embroider?”

“I’m not?” He was confused and he was pretty sure he got lost somewhere. “Sorry?”

She smiled, “And that’s how I’m better at politics than you. Keep up.”

Did… Did he just get outplayed by Lyanna Stark? Huh.

He looked at her who was dragging him along by the arm through the stands more than he was escorting her. Lyanna Stark really was made to be a queen, just not a dragon’s queen.

Chapter Text

A tourney has many high and low points.

Low: Jaime is made a squire well before his time.

High: Ser Arthur Dayne wins the Joust and crowns Queen Rhaella with a crown of lavender.

Low: Gregor Clegane gets knighted for his impressive abilities in the melee, requiring several fighters to team up and pin him down.

High: Rhaegar also gets knighted for breaking Clegane’s nose and winning the melee.

Low: King Aerys has managed a record-breaking 3 insults average per house per feast, with the exception of the Tyrells, who are taking absolutely no shit by either letting Mace react to insults like their compliments or having Olenna start a back-and-forth with the king again.

High: Jaime gets a front-row seat to Brandon somehow joining Olenna and Aerys’ back-and-forth by insulting everyone else and asking to join ‘the only conversation that doesn’t threaten to bore me to death at the ripe old age of two and ten.’ Rickard Stark looked both proud and furious, which evened out to a sort of constipated look.

As one can conclude: it was an interesting tourney.

The Tyrells were the first to depart, citing Alerie’s pregnancy and Olenna’s age, which, one of those reasons is fake and you can easily guess which one. 

Somehow, Brandon had managed to swing getting a pen-pal in fucking Olenna Tyrell . Jaime absolutely could not believe that the mad lad had managed to befriend the old player of the game, much less had the shrewd woman agree to write to him.

Of course, Brandon had then surprised them all by opening up that night’s Young Council meeting with a bold: “That’s how you do it! Fuck Southern spies, Northern bluntness gets you all you need!”

Yeah. While every single one of them thought that Brandon was being his usual bold and proud self, Brandon had actually decided that since nobody can get accurate spies into Highgarden, he might as well get his information from the very top. Olenna will provide him with insider information on Tyrell allegiances all while she thought she was manipulating an audacious young man who she could squeeze dry for Stark secrets.

Both Brandon and Lyanna were proving to be way smarter than what history and their own family remember them to be. Ned, on the other hand, seems a bit oblivious to a lot and tends to stumble blindly after his bolder siblings, stopping them from acting too recklessly or forgetting their manners. Though, he had to give Ned credit: when he teamed him and Stannis up to look at war stragedies for if it came down to it, the boy managed to outmaneuver every single possible enemy attack and also surround all their enemies. The Starks all had different strengths and weaknesses, and if only they all lived, then you could’ve truly seen the might of the North.

That’s not to say that the other families were any slouches either. 

Oberyn and Elia were daring in ways that none of the other families, except maybe Jaime and Cersei, were. Elia had the protection of the title of ‘princess’ and so she could saunter straight up to Rhaegar and start a conversation, supporting her family in the feminine way a princess did, through political marriages and sweet kindness to others. That didn’t mean that she was weak, no, Elia could be as blunt as Lyanna but she used her delicate veneer to make her words candied. Oberyn was even blunter than Elia, paying insults to men straight to their faces and getting away with it through pure audacity and status. However, while you were bristling about the insult he paid you, Elia has sidled up to you to comfort you and Oberyn has handed her the poison to kill you with. A perfect tag team of danger.

Stannis and Robert, when they stop arguing, are terrors on the battlefield. Stannis would grow up to be one of the greatest military commanders while Robert’s strength with a warhammer was already starting to shine through. Though Robert inspires the image of a good king, Stannis can rule as a good king. Both have a shred too much loyalty, however, and get ride-and-die very quickly, something that the currently unborn Renly will also follow in their footsteps with.

Catelyn and Lysa were sweet and naive, though Catelyn does have that proud stubbornness streak in her. She was raised as her father’s heir until earlier this year, and so she does occasionally shine through with her straight back and her take-no-shit attitude. Lysa, on the other hand, much like Elia, was raised as a daughter to be married off, with the only difference being her lacking confidence when raised being compared constantly to Catelyn. Both girls, however, are constantly underestimated for being ladies, and many don’t see both of them using their status as ladies to cower and trap men until it’s too late.

Then, there was Elbert. Poor Elbert, who was the only heir to the Vale and didn’t even see the risk he was in. The boy was honorable, not to a fault like Ned but in a cunning way like his Uncle Jon Arryn. Elbert was always there to back you up, even if he didn’t fully agree with you, just because he understands the importance of appearances. In fact, Elbert was the one normal one of them all who knew how to charm other lords because he was good with appearances and acted like a normal lord that fit societal standards. It did unfortunately mean that he was constantly parroting misogynistic shit, but between the five ladies of the group and Jaime’s gleeful arm punches, they were slowly teaching him otherwise. Slowly. Very slowly. This was definitely going to be a long-term project.

Of course, there were also Jaime and Cersei, but their brilliance is obvious.

A Young Council that was actually getting things done while all the adults played their silly game, unaware of the new players about to upend the board.

Jaime taught his new friends about ciphers like ones where numbers equal letters, and the first letter of a sentence is used to build a message, and lemon juice plus heat means invisible ink. They would have to communicate using only letters and ravens once the families split up and go their own ways, and Jaime did not trust the Maesters. 

In fact, Jaime made sure to share with everyone exactly what the Maesters did to his mother, and what Tywin’s reaction to it was, and how now Oldtown will no longer be having any Lannister patronage because of how Lannisport was wealthy and capable enough to train and supply itself with different healers with more varied ideas due to its richness as a port city. 

Apparently, Jaime and Cersei weren’t the only ones to hate Maesters. 

Both the Starks and Martells didn’t like their Maesters, with Brandon saying that he dislikes Maester Walys for always pushing his father to be more involved with the South and Elia confiding that she felt creeped out by Maester Myles and the way he looked at her mother. 

It was instantly agreed that absolutely none of them were to trust any Maesters going forward, no matter how much you liked or trusted them, just as a test to see which ones were truly traitors. Rhaegar said that he might keep his mother away from Maester Pycelle during her next pregnancy, just to see what happens.

It was going to turn into a waiting game, and Jaime has never hated his lack of patience more.

Of course, the day that Jaime was to leave with the royal family and the Martells down to Kingslanding was the day that his father decided to pull Jaime aside.

“Come in, Jaime,” His father said as he sat behind his desk, mother at his side, and his siblings sitting around the desk, waiting for Jaime. “Sit.”

Jaime cautiously moved away from the solar’s door and climbed into a chair. This meeting could only be about two things: it was going to be a strict warning about how Jaime had to behave as a hostage and representation of their House or it was his father informing him that he knows that it was Jaime who put lemon juice in Cousin Faeyne’s hair oils and fried her hair off when she spent the entire afternoon in the sunny tourney stands because she had been calling Tyrion names. 

“Did you get made a kingsguard squire on purpose?”

Wait, what?

“No,” Jaime couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt at the accusation. “I don’t want to leave our family or home. Why would you think that of me?”

Tywin sat back in his chair, “Because you warned me beforehand.”

Everyone looked at Jaime expectantly. Joanna and Tywin had faces carved of marble, though there were the slightest hints of concern in their eyes. Genna and Tygett didn’t hide the way that they believed that Jaime had actually asked Aerys to be a squire. Gerion and, surprisingly, Kevan were the ones giving Jaime the benefit of the doubt.

“When did I tell you that?” Jaime said slowly, “How could I have known?”

“You told me that you had a dream that you were forced to become a kingsguard because I quarreled with the king and Tyrion was left as heir.” Tywin did not take his eyes off him, “Now, I don’t believe in the gods, so there is only one explanation left. You chose to spite your family, to spite me , and chase something you don’t understand the consequences of.”

Oh, shoot. Jaime and his big mouth. 

“But I did dream it!” He insisted. He had a few nightmares where everyone blamed him for not doing more. “I was five and ten and Ser Arthur knights me and I bleed when Dawn touches my shoulders. Then the king makes me swear my oaths after one of the kingsguard dies in their sleep. That’s when the war starts and everything burns!”

“Jaime–” Tywin begins.

“I know what Aerys does to Rhaella!” He blurted.

Every single adult froze.

His mother's hands shake as she stares at him in horror.

“The bird sang about it,” He said. “After he kills people, he visits her and makes her scream. I hate him. I don’t want to serve him.”

“Who told you that?” Tywin hisses, eyes like the stone Casterly Rock is carved into.

“The raven,” Jaime insists. Technically, one theory is that A Song Of Ice And Fire is narrated by the Three-Eyed Raven. “In my dreams, the raven sings.”

“Jaime, stop babbling nonsense and tell me who is sharing the king’s secrets–” Tywin was furious, but he fell silent when Joanna interrupted him.

“Blackwood.”

“What?” Kevan was the one who spoke.

“My maternal grandmother was from House Blackwood. She was of the blood of the First Men and she worshipped the Old Gods,” Joanna said, eyeing Jaime like she saw a ghost instead of her son. It hurt to see his own mother look at him like that. “She used to tell me stories about the Old Gods. She said that the gods use a three-eyed raven to speak to Men and The Children and that’s why House Blackwood has ravens as its sigil.”

She looked straight at Jaime, “You’ve seen the Raven, haven’t you? That’s why you were in the Godswood. Prince Rhaegar said you were there singing to a raven.”

Jaime nodded mutely. 

The situation had gotten way out of hand. Jaime hadn’t been prepared to discuss the existence of the gods and the Raven when he entered the solar, and that was his mistake. Truly, he needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. What if it was Varys or Baelish or Olenna or Aerys who had heard him? What if the rest of the Young Council put together the puzzle pieces?

“Jaime…” Gerion spoke up. “You always tell me that you don’t want to hear about Brightroar even though you love hearing about Valyrian swords. I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve told me to stop thinking about it. Do you know…?”

“You shouldn’t go,” Jaime bit his lip. “You’ll die. Your daughter will suffer for it.”

Tywin snapped his head over to his brother, “You want to go to Valyria?”

“I’ve been planning an expedition, in six years' time, to go searching for Brightroar,” Gerion looked shaken. “I don’t suppose I want to go anymore.”

Tywin looked at his son, eyes scanning him for any obvious signs of magic, but found none. “Jaime, tell me now, are you a Seer?”

Is he? He knows what could happen, and he wants to change it, but knowledge does not a prophet make. The Raven spoke to him once, but never again.

“I- I don’t know,” Jaime hugs himself. “I don’t want to be one.”

“You don’t want to be chosen by the gods?” Genna hissed, incredulous. “Jaime, do you understand what prize has been bestowed on you? You could lead our house to greatness.”

“Our legacy would be secured through you,” Tywin agreed. “If there are truly gods or magic out there, and they are speaking to you, then you have to rise to the occasion. Not in a year’s time, not tomorrow. Now.”

“They aren’t speaking ,” Jaime tried to explain the burden on his shoulders; the weight of a whole globe on his back: him, a juvenile and weak Atlas. “They’re singing . Louder and louder until in my dreams all I can hear is screaming and I can’t even make out a single word that isn’t suffering. There’s something wrong with the Wall, but there’s something pulling strings in Harrenhal that would spell the doom of Westeros, a cold war of peace for twenty years and we’ll all die during the winter because we aren’t united. And I can’t even look at that because if I don’t deal with Aerys first then half a million will die, Great Houses and royals and you, father . It’ll all burn in minutes. And I’m scared . I don’t want to follow fate.”

Jaime is panting at the end of his frenzied speech, tears slipping down his face.

“Jaime—” Tywin reached out to his son, true worry shining through on his face, finally, but a bit too late.

Jaime pushes himself out of his chair and runs.

He follows his feet blindly, not bothering to wipe the salty tears that did not stop streaming, uncaring of who he ran by or knocked into. He could hear calls of his name, even past several stairs and halls, and he wishes that they could all just leave him alone.

He didn’t wish to be here. He wished he had more faith in Their choice for placing him here, where he could not laugh freely without guilt or enjoy life without hearing hundreds suffer, but he was beginning to doubt. He was no prophet, he couldn’t do his task, it was too much.

Jaime kept running even when his lungs burned and he developed a stitch in his side.

He doesn’t want to be here anymore.

He was stopped abruptly, a large arm snaking around his middle and stopping him mid-stride, pulling him off his feet and into the side of a man.

“Lord Jaime? What’s wrong, lad?” Ser Arthur looked down at him, worried. “What are you running from?”

Jaime could only sob, “I don’t want it!”

“Oh lad,” Arthur’s voice immediately turned sympathetic. “It’s going to be alright. I know you’ll miss your family, and squiring is a poor reward, but I promise to look after you.”

Jaime just shook his head. Arthur didn’t understand, but he won’t correct the man. 

“Hey, lad, look at me,” Arthur knelt down to be level with Jaime, but he still stood taller than him. Jaime barely reached the man’s waist when he was standing straight, always being a small and slight child like his sister. He picked up a corner of his white cloak and used it to gently clean his face, “Wipe those tears away. I know today seems pretty bad, but it can get better on the morrow.”

Jaime sniffed, “How?”

“Do you know why I am called the Sword of the Morning?”

He frowned, what does that have to do with anything?

“Because you wield Dawn.”

“No,” He shook his head. “It’s because I fight for Dawn. I swore an oath when I took Dawn as mine to always fight with honor for a better tomorrow. I fight, so in the morning, when dawn breaks, the world is a bit better. Now, I can’t do it by myself, and that’s why my blood has vowed to wield Dawn for centuries until there is a night that we cannot fight through. And that night hasn’t come yet, lad. It’ll hurt now, but it’ll be better later.”

Jaime threw himself at the man, nearly unstabilizing him with the force of his hug, the way he clung to him like a lifeline.

Ser Arthur stood up, picking him up and holding Jaime in his arms protectively, “Come on, lad. I’m sure your parents will be worried, and I’m sure you don’t want to miss saying goodbye to them.”

Jaime tucked his head into the true knight’s neck and trusted the man to guide them back.

Chapter Text

Ser Arthur carried Jaime all the way back to his father, unbothered by the weight of the seven-year-old as he went up several flights of stairs and trapised across half the keep.

Jaime couldn’t even remember running so far, but it did explain why he was so tired and why his muscles ached.

“Jaime!” His father scolded, taking him back from Ser Arthur’s arms for the second time in a moon. “Why did you run, you foolish boy?”

“You weren’t listening to me,” He replied, muffled by him hiding his face in his father’s doublet. The perfect embroidery of a lion swallowed the redness of his eyes.

Tywin sighed like Jaime was being stupid, but didn’t comment.

“Ser Arthur, I thank you for returning my son to me.” He said instead to the white knight that had watched the reunion silently.

“It was my honor, my lord,” Arthur bowed to him. “I found him in the lower Eastern Wing, near the servants’ quarters.”

The implied ‘He ran far and fast to escape you ’ went unsaid, but not unacknowledged.

“Ser Arthur,” Joanna said. “Perhaps you should come to sit with us in the solar and we can discuss further Jaime’s education in Kingslanding.”

Tywin gave his wife a look, but she smiled back at him, though she still seemed a bit too pale. “Jaime will get time to calm himself and hear how we will continue to support him.”

At that, everyone had to bend to her will and logic. His uncles and aunt left, looking curiously at Jaime as they went.

They returned to Tywin’s solar, with Arthur perching awkwardly on his chair, looking out of his depth. Jaime wanted to laugh at him from where he sat on his mother’s lap, but couldn’t because he saw the pointed locking of the door and the way his mother wrapped an arm around his waist.

“I am sure you are concerned by our king’s will that Jaime shall travel alone as much as we are,” Joanna began.

That is an understatement. Until less than three days ago, Jaime was to be traveling up to the keep with his own small household, including a nanny and his tutors, as an heir of a Great House would. Of course, the king just had to point out that Jaime was to squire and later become a kingsguard, and the kingsguard has a policy of minimalism and frugality, as the honor of serving is a wealth of its own. Jaime should travel to Kingslanding with only what he could fit on his horse, no matter that he was seven and so required many things still. Aerys was placing the entire responsibility of raising Jaime on Arthur’s shoulders, which wasn’t ever done no matter who was mentoring who. 

“I am, my lady,” Arthur agreed. “As I understand, Jaime will be living in the squire’s room connected to mine in the White Sword Tower, and that you are making arrangements with your cousins in Kingslanding to assist Jaime in his lessons and wellbeing.”

“Yes,” Tywin nodded. “I have a cousin in Lord Marbrand and he has an heir Jaime’s age. Both boys will take their lessons together in the Red Keep from Lady Marbrand, while Lord Marbrand returns to the Westerlands. Once his heir is old enough, he will squire for me and you shall knight Jaime when he is ready.”

“Although it will fall to you to monitor his progress and discipline him,” Joanna added. “I will warn you now that Jaime needs extra focus on his letters and struggles to sit still and remember instructions.”

Jaime has trouble remembering his own instructions and occasionally stops in the middle of walking because his brain needs to buffer and remember what he was doing. His mother is understating things.

“Of course, my lady,” Arthur said, taking mental note of that. “I am certain that I can find time to instill those lessons.”

“He will be learning his letters, numbers, accounts, and Westerlands politics from Lady Marbrand, however, you will need to arrange further lessons for him on your own.” Tywin did not look pleased about this, “Jaime has been learning how to ride and fight from my brothers, and etiquette from my sister. I’ve had tutors for falconry, dance, and sophism from Braavos.”

“As my squire, I will teach him how to ride and fight, however for dance, etiquette, and falconry, I know my sister shall be traveling to court and she is well educated in all three. She can teach him until I find him a suitable tutor.”

Jaime resigned himself to trying to convince Ashara Dayne that she shouldn’t say a thing about him and falconry. 

Oh shoot, Ashara Dayne! He had forgotten about her! Wait, whose lover was she even? He couldn’t remember if she dated Ned or Brandon? Or both? Did GRRM ever even clarify that?

What a great distraction for his complete breakdown, figuring out what Ashara even did in the books. Wait, isn’t Ashara a septa helping Aegon? Or was that a theory? Ugh, his memory was fading of the events that were written out and filmed.

“Do you see, Jaime?” His mother stroked her hand through his bangs, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You will not be alone, even in Kingslanding. Your father and I will support you.”

Translation: No matter what, they won’t leave Jaime to suffer through this alone.

He leaned back into her arms, cuddling close, “Thank you.”

“If you would leave us, Ser Arthur, my wife wishes to say her farewells.” Tywin dismissed the knight without much ceremony.

“My lord, my lady.” Arthur bowed and slipped away, looking slightly relieved not to be in the room with them anymore. 

Strange. Ser Arthur was antsy when left to sit and talk with another lord, especially a Lannister lord, but had no hesitation when talking with Rhaegar or Jaime. He probably disliked social barriers and etiquette, and talking to his sworn brothers or a child is simpler for him.

“Jaime…” Tywin began once Arthur was gone.

“I’m not sorry,” Jaime interrupted softly. “You weren’t listening.”

“No, we weren’t,” Joanna agreed. “However, you worried us when you ran away.”

He squirmed on her lap.

Tywin knelt down in front of his son and wife. “Jaime, if, by some stroke of blood or the gods’ will, you have magic, then neither your mother nor I will allow it to consume you. If you say that there are horrible things to come, then we will help you. You are a Lannister, Jaime, the Lannister Heir. We will not leave you behind.”

Jaime flushed. He knew that, logically, his father and mother loved him and would do anything for him, but it is so hard to actually remember that when his father is such a cynical man and his mother easily becomes absent due to her duties. 

“Tell us what you need, sweetling,” His mother cupped his cheek. “I do not care whether you ask for weirwood sapling or a faceless man, we would empty our coffers to lessen your burden.”

Oh .

“Can you help me with the Wall?” Jaime asked tentatively, testing the waters.

“Do you know what’s wrong with the Wall? What do you need to do?” His father questioned, looking for specifics.

“I dreamt that a bad winter comes and knocks the Wall down,” Jaime lied. “Perhaps not actually destroy it, but there were barely any black brothers in the castles. The Gift was empty and the New Gift was desolate like they didn’t have anyone tending to the lands. It was like they were slowly starving, until a King Beyond The Wall came and killed the rest. There were a hundred thousand wildlings south of the Wall, and they were scared. It was a terrible winter.”

Remove any mention of magic and the gods, and the story becomes far more palatable, and maybe they can fix this.

“Then we will send more men to the wall, with farmers for the Gift, and double our taxes,” Tywin said after a long moment of pause. “The Westerlands shall return to its devotion to the Wall, as the North does, and I am sure that your mother can convince the Princess Martell to do the same. An understaffed castle is an easily fixable problem, son.”

“Mariah would listen to me, even if she would hesitate to send her subjects that far North, I am sure I can have her paying taxes and sending farmers.” His mother reassured him, “We could say that we are attempting to befriend Lord Rickard Stark.”

His father turned and frowned at his mother, “We have already strengthened our trade agreements during their stay. She wouldn’t believe that.”

“She would because she has eyes,” Mother said, amused at knowing something his father didn’t. “Or haven’t you seen how your son has befriended Lyanna Stark? I was to suggest Elia for him, but the princess seems quite taken by the prince and him to her, however, Jaime and Lyanna have gotten close.”

His father looked surprised at the news. Jaime could almost see him doing the calculations in his head to figure out the best way to snatch Jaime back from the kingsguard and to marry him to Lyanna.

“Lya and I are friends ,” He scowled. “She’s the only one who’ll chase cats with me.”

Tywin’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly, “Yes, that is how it starts at your age. Your mother dragged me to her falconry lessons because her own brothers never would listen to her speak about her birds.”

“You read books the entire time and mocked me,” His mother retorted playfully. “But yes. It would be no issue for your father and I to help you in saving the Wall. You mentioned other dreams?”

He considered mentioning Harrenhal or the wildfire, but shook his head, “I think I need to learn more about those first. Thank you.”

His mother leaned down and kissed his forehead, and his father did the same after her. “You are our son, Jaime. You do not need to thank us as long as you remember that.”

Later, when Jaime saddles his horse, Roach, and Ser Arthur helps him climb atop it, he looks back at his home that he was leaving behind. 

His parents, uncles, aunt, siblings, and friends all look back at him.

Perhaps he truly doesn’t have to do this alone.

Chapter Text

“Why did you name your horse Roach?” Ser Arthur asked him as they sat near a creek on the Kingsroad from where the royal travelers had chosen to rest for the evening, the knight teaching his squire how to clean armor properly. “An unusual name for a horse.”

Ser Arthur wasn’t the only knight taking advantage of the break. Jaime could see where Ser Lewyn Martell and Ser Jonothor Darry were watching Rhaegar and Oberyn play spar with sticks to make Elia laugh, the Queen Rhaella and Princess Mariah watching their children from a blanket only a few short feet from where Jaime sat. The king had retired early to bed, complaining about a headache, and Ser Harlan Grandison was guarding the wheelhouse where the king slumbered. Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower were sparring together, an impressive show that Ser Barristan was waiting to step into and fight the winner.

“I heard a story about a traveling knight who used magic to fight monsters like grumpkins and snarks from a trader from Essos in Lannisport,” Jaime answered. “Apparently, the knight named all his horses Roach, every single one. I thought that was funny and decided to always own a dark destrider named Roach. I also had a black courser named Black Bess, but father said I could only bring one horse with me, and since I’m squiring, I thought Roach more appropriate.” 

Roach was also absolutely massive and breed to be a warhorse, over twice Jaime’s height. His mother had screeched at his Uncle Gerion when he gifted her son a warhorse for his seventh name day, but the man had simply replied cheerfully that Jaime would grow into it. Mother nearly had a conniption when her brother, Stafford, had also decided to gift Jaime with a black warhorse later that same day. 

Queen Rhaella looked over from where she was watching her son with a pleasant face, having overheard their conversation. “I must say, I am surprised that your mother allowed you to have such a horse.”

“Yes, your sister did have a much smaller palfrey for herself,” Princess Mariah agreed.

“Spirit? Yes, father gave it to her with mother’s approval on our last name day,” Jaime nodded. “However, my uncles forgot to ask my mother for their approval with their gifts, nor did they remember to coordinate gifts, and so I have two horses.”

“Ah-ha!” Oberyn cried in triumph as he tackled Rhaegar into the creek, making several women who were using the creek to wash clothes shriek in displeasure.

“Oh dear,” Mariah watched her daughter run after them both in delight, idly sipping from her goblet. “I’ll have him spend the rest of the day in those soaked clothes.”

“Mariah! He’ll catch a chill,” Rhaella said disapprovingly. 

“Perhaps then he will learn since no scolding gets through to him,” She replied. “Brother, would you be a dear and go fish the princes out?”

Ser Lewyn smiled at his older sister and went after the two roughhousing teens, jumping into the creek with a splash.

“You’re very fond of stories,” Arthur noted. “Yet not of reading?”

Jaime wrinkled his nose. “It’s not that, it’s just that letters are hard. Why must ‘c’ and ‘k’ make the same and different sounds? They don’t actually sound like they’re supposed to sound, and then I get confused while reading and take forever. It’s easier to hear stories from the ports; I hear a thousand and one stories from a thousand and one different places, all without ever having to spend a thousand and one nights trying to read them.”

Arthur seemed surprised at the honesty of his answer, “If that is all, then we can practice your letters together. The River Gate and Fishmarket may have many sailors, but it is more dangerous than Lannisport where you are surrounded by your kinsmen. If you wish to visit the ports in Kingslanding, then you are to inform myself and not go alone.”

Hm… Or Jaime could slip away and see how long it takes for them to realize he’s missing at all. That’s also an option.

“What is your favorite story?” Queen Rhaella asked, interrupting them once again. She wasn’t even hiding the fact that she was eavesdropping, was she? 

Unfortunately, this was the moment that Jaime blanked on every single story he has ever heard in all his lives. Arthur and Rhaella stared patiently at him.

“King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table?” Jaime blurted, going along with the first thing that came to mind, then immediately flushed when he realized that he had gone for what was probably the most embarrassing option when Ser Arthur  Dayne was sitting right there.

“King who ?” Rhaegar asked, trotting back to where they sat, an equally sopping wet Oberyn and a grinning Elia following him.

“King Arthur of Camelot?” Jaime decided to just keep digging his hole. Eventually it’ll be six feet deep and he can bury himself in it. “He and his knights fought against magical beings like the evil witch, Morganna, with the help of the sorcerer, Merlin.”

“I have never heard of that story,” Arthur said, interested. “Nor have I heard of Camelot.”

“They said Camelot is West of Westeros in a land called Britain. Which is silly because there’s nothing West of Westeros.” Plainly not true, because little did these people know, but the planet is round and Elissa Farman has done a loop around it.

“Where did you hear this?” Even Elia looked intrigued now.

Unfortunately, Jaime’s source is that he made it up.

“A sailor from Ibben told me,” Jaime lied.

Like a toddler asking ‘why’ or Socrates annoying Athens, they would quickly find out that Jaime didn’t know as much as he was pretending to.

“Why is the ‘Round Table’ part important?” Oberyn asked, flopping down on the ground to pull off his boots. “It’s not like they just invented tables being round, that seems like a stupid deta- argh !” 

Oberyn cut off with a yelp as a fat orange tabby pounced on his hand holding his boots. “Jaime! Your damn cat!”

“Socks!” Jaime cried, surging forward to pull his cat off the Martell. “I told you to stay in your pouch!”

“Pouch?” Arthur said, looking back and forth between the two boys and the cat that Jaime was cradling protectively. “Are you trying to smuggle your cat to court?” The knight gaped at him incredulously. 

Jaime, well aware that he was a very small, extremely cute, cherub-looking child, turned to Arthur and made the biggest puppy dog eyes that he could possibly make. “I’ve had Socks since he was a kitten, I can’t just leave him!” He pouted even further, “Socks is so quiet and well-behaved, you won’t even notice he’s there!”

“Obviously,” Ser Lewyn muttered. “It’s been a sennight since we left the Rock.”

“Jaime,” Arthur tried to say sternly. “The king told you not to bring anything from the West.”

“He said nothing that I couldn’t fit in the saddlebags of my horse,” Jaime replied stubbornly. “Socks fits.”

Ser Oswell, Gerold, and Barristan had wandered over when Oberyn had shouted and were looking increasingly amused at Arthur and Jaime.

Arthur looked like he didn’t know how to argue with that.

Elia rolled her eyes, “Jaime, I already have a basket of kittens you gave me in the wheelhouse. I could have taken Socks and you would have him back when we arrived in Kingslanding.”

“You already have my skates, I’m not going to ask you to take him too,” He huffed. “And you’re making me new clothes. It’s too much.”

“A single horse is ridiculous,” Elia scowled. “You can barely fit three whole outfits in there.”

“Ahem,” Queen Rhaella cleared her throat to catch their attention and remind them that they are not alone. “I’m sorry, but did I happen to hear that you were disobeying my husband’s orders?”

Elia wiped her face blank and then smiled politely, “Of course not, your Grace. Lord Jaime and I were simply discussing his gift to me. He had a spare set of Roller Skates that he gave to me to gift to my elder brother, however, I do fear they might be a touch too small. If they are, I will return them to Lord Jaime once we reach Kingslanding.”

“Elia has also been preparing a gift of some clothes for Lord Jaime,” Rhaegar added softly. “To congratulate his appointment as squire. She is very kind, mother.”

Absolutely nobody was buying it, but they didn’t have to, they just had to not tell the king.

Rhaella’s lips twitched upwards, “I see. Has anyone told the both of you that you are incredibly alike to your mothers?”

He had. Everyone always immediately pegged him as his mother’s son, and it took a while for them to even say that they could see a resemblance between him and his father.

“Often,” Jaime answered. “Usually when I’m not acting like father wants me to.”

“Only when she is complaining about me,” Elia responded.

Arthur looked like he regretted ever agreeing to take Jaime on as his squire.

“Can you go back to that story? You said that you had a story,” Rhaegar demanded, sitting down next to his mother. The prince was like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out new stories, the absolute nerd. "I want to hear about King Arthur and his knights."

“Are you going to grab parchment and ink to write this one down too?” Jaime asked wryly.

Rhaegar grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Good idea, my thanks for reminding me. Ser Jonothor, could you fetch me my journal?”

“You’re dripping wet,” Oberyn pointed out smugly.

“Yes, you’re right,” The silver-haired prince nodded. “Elia, would you be a dear and scribe for me? You have such a neat hand.”

Oberyn was left to fume wetly as Elia delicately accepted to scribe for her new sweetheart while Jaime narrated the story of Gawain and the Green Knight.

Chapter Text

It takes roughly a month to travel from Kingslanding to Casterly Rock.

Most of the time they were riding on their horses, though Arthur insisted that he ride in the Dornish wheelhouse every other day since he was too young to ride all the way. When they weren’t riding, Jaime spent his time shadowing Ser Arthur through all his tasks, even when the man tried to shoo him away.

Jaime could see Ser Gerold laugh at Ser Arthur nearly tripping over his young golden charge, but he wasn’t going to let it get to him. They can find amusement from Jaime staring at Arthur in awe now that the fact that he, Jaime Lannister, was actually squiring for the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne, but Jaime was learning a lot from the man and he’s not going to let a few snickers stop him.

His family would never let him mimic the way that Arthur holds on his horse's reins one-handed, or learn how to prepare a pheasant for dinner, or steal a sip of his wineskin. Actually, Jaime probably shouldn’t have done that one, he knew better than that, but Arthur so very clearly had no idea how children should be treated or how to raise one that Jaime couldn’t resist deciding to teach him what not to do.

Arthur had, in the past four weeks, quickly learned that seven was too young to leave a child completely alone while bathing, children tend to cry when frustrated, the question ‘why’ was your worst enemy, and that seven-year-olds repeat what you say loudly and unashamedly. He had also discovered, mainly by being lectured by Mariah and Rhaella, that Jaime should not be hearing uncensored stories nor should he be allowed to attempt to clean Dawn.

The poor knight, way over his head, said that his silver streak was spreading.

Ser Oswell Whent, apparently an asshole, responded by telling Jaime to go ask Arthur what a whore was. Jaime, taking pity, instead went to ask Ser Gerold Hightower while the man was talking to the Queen. Ser Oswell soon quickly learned his lesson about teaching Jaime inappropriate things.

Of course, Jaime knew good and well not to do a good half of those things, but it was a good lesson for Arthur to learn and it would do him no good for a seemingly well-behaved, mature child to go feral as soon as they arrived at court. Might as well make sure everyone knew what the king had unwittingly signed them up for.

Yes, he did do everything on purpose. No, he will not be talking about the bathing incident. Shut up.

Either way, Jaime ended up riding into Kingslanding sitting in front of Arthur on his horse, Midnight, because Jaime decided to try and stand on his– completely stationary– horse. Apparently, that was ‘unsafe’ and Jaime was ‘just asking to crack his head open’ and Arthur no longer trusts him to be unsupervised while riding.

That was not on purpose and Jaime is regretting doing it.

At least the view of Kingslanding was… actually, no, it’s not that pretty.

Jaime was born in New Jersey and moved to New York when he turned twenty, he knows what a good city looks like. Kingslanding? As populated as his old neighborhood and about a hundred times the size, yet it smelt and bred diseases worse than London slums during the Black Plague. 

“What do you think of Kingslanding?” Arthur asks as the procession goes up through Cobbler’s Square, where several smallfolk line up to share their love for the royal family.

“It’s drenched in schmutz ,” Jaime muttered in distaste. New York City was way better. Lannisport was better. This? This is just embarrassing. “Why can I smell it from miles away?”

“I don’t know that word,” Arthur sighed, which was his usual response for when Jaime said something was ‘awesome’ or that he was going to kick Oberyn’s ‘tuches’. “And Kingslanding has a lot of people and few sewers.”

“Why though?” Jaime curled his lip when he saw actual human waste on the sidewalk. His bubbe would be having a heart attack if she saw this. “Queen Alysanne built more infrastructure. They can do it again. Why do people want to live here?”

Arthur visibly appeared like every ‘why’ was paining him, “It’s expensive to build more, the crown isn’t as rich as your family. People want to live here because it has opportunities.”

“What opportunities?” Jaime knew that court was one for nobles, but the smallfolk had none of those benefits. They had the ports or the whorehouses, and to be honest, Oldtown and Dorne would be better for that, respectively. Oldtown even had the largest rate of literacy, affording to teach some smallfolk their letters and numbers.

Ser Harlan, who rode nearest to them, decided to take pity on Arthur (who clearly did not know the answer) and asked Jaime if he was excited to start training properly.

Jaime had been unable to train on the road, with Arthur being so busy with his duties alongside him focusing on the other important tasks that a squire does. Jaime hadn’t actually gotten to spar with anyone in a long while, the last time being with Oberyn during the tourney and that had dissolved into a wrestling match after Jaime had judo-flipped the older boy.

He missed the martial arts classes that he had taken in his past life. Judo and karate and krav maga, his great-aunt had insisted on them when she first walked in on him kissing a boy when he was fifteen. At first, he was afraid that she wanted him to somehow muscle and fight himself out of bisexuality, but then he realized that she just wanted him to know how to protect himself.

“I want to learn how to fight with both hands like Ser Arthur!” Jaime chirped. “So if anyone cuts off my right hand then I’ll be able to use my left.”

Rhaegar, riding ahead of them and tossing pennies at the crowd, heard that and swiveled in his saddle just enough to give Jaime an appropriately concerned look before returning to his adoring subjects.

From the woman holding up her baby for Rhaegar to kiss, Jaime bet that the prince would be a genius and a terror in a PR department. Or marketing. Or, in a truly cursed thought, as a social media influencer.

“Did Oswell tell you another battle story?” Neither Harlan nor Arthur looked very pleased with that thought. “That’s not something you should be concerning yourself about at your age, laddie.”

Ser Harlan was an old man, far more likely to die peacefully in his sleep than in battle. He had cherry-red cheeks and a beard as white as snow, which meant that he looked like one of those stereotypical Santa that sat in malls with bored acne-prone teenagers acting as elves. He even acted like a jolly Santa, though a St. Nick that was a bit fond of sweet wine.

“No,” Jaime shook his head. “A soldier lost his to pirates. It’s a possibility so I’m going to prepare for it.”

A very likely possibility if Jaime fucks up enough.

“Right,” Arthur said awkwardly. “We can discuss this more later. Straighten up, Jaime, we’re nearly there.”

And they were.

Atop Aegon’s Hill sat the Red Keep, the one shining beacon amongst a sea of filth. Its brick walls that rose high above the city were Targaryen Red, with black accents and roofing. Or, it was supposed to be. The sun had bleached the red bricks to a dusty orange and the black tiles of the roof were a greyish purple. Jaime could see slight crumbles in the brick, some of which were high enough that he could assume they were from dragon claws. 

Kingslanding and the Red Keep were badly managed in a way that was far too telling of the state of Targaryen rule. Jaime could barely believe that his father let it stay like this, but then he remembered that the crown is still recovering from the Nine Penny War and Tywin had more important things to take care of.

There were servants and a good chunk of the court waiting in the yard to welcome the royal family home.

Jaime, luckily, didn’t get any ceremony and he could hide in the back as the court simpered and fawned over the grouchy king whose temper was only being tempered by the relief of being home.

There was bread and salt being passed around the Martells and their household, but Jaime was very aware that none were handed to him. He doesn’t know if it was on purpose or not, but he does know that it doesn’t bode well for him.

At least it did give him a loophole that did nothing to reassure him. The king may harm him with no consequences from the gods, but so can Jaime.

It really, really did not comfort him.

“Lad,” Arthur put his hand on his shoulder. “Come along. Gerold and Jonothor are guarding the king and Harlan has the queen and prince. Let’s get you settled in. I’m sure you want to see the White Sword Tower.”

Jaime’s eyes went wide and any concern he had about Guest Right went right out the window as he grabbed Arthur’s arm with both hands as he gasped reverently, “Can I see the White Book?”

“Only if you unpack quickly and neatly,” Arthur promised.

Yeah, Arthur was at least a quick learner when it comes to herding Jaime. The man definitely had it too easy only being around well-behaved Rhaegar and Ashara. At least Jaime is here to teach him.

“Deal!” Jaime said, running to where Roach was to grab his saddlebags.

Arthur lurched after him, now learning of the fact that you have to hold or slow down children when you promise them something in return for them doing a task. “Jaime! Do not approach horses from behind!”

Jaime laughed as he freed Socks and yanked the saddlebags off, “Yalla! Yalla!” He cried in Hebrew, urging the older man to hurry up.

Chapter Text

“Jaime.”

“Yes, ser?”

“Can you please explain your thought process behind this?”

Jaime eyed the giant tapestry that he had hung up in his room. The tapestry was actually just a huge bolt of yellow-gold linen that Jaime went at with paints, crayons, and some embroidery. It covered an entire wall of his room and definitely brightened the whole place up. 

He had conscripted Rhaegar, Oberyn, and Elia to help him with it, saying that they could add whatever flourish that they wanted. Elia had embroidered tiny stars on the top of the tapestry where Oberyn had gone haphazardly with black dye and purple paint. Rhaegar had used wax crayons to draw a few flying dragons which Jaime had immediately added colorful cartoony visual effects. There was also a corner where they had just dipped their hands in paint to make the green grass at the bottom of the tapestry, which had led to Jaime adding a hand-turkey flying with the dragons. His favorite were the trees added using several different mediums, including the tree in bright purple and pink because Jaime had run out of green and brown embroidery floss.

Jaime looked Arthur straight in the eyes, “The room was boring. Colors are not boring. My room is no longer boring.”

Oswell was cracking up in the background with Harlan having to hold onto him to stop them both from tumbling to the floor, tears streaming down their faces.

Personally, Jaime was of the opinion that this was Westeros’ own fault for not having posters to pin up. Arthur should feel lucky that Rhaegar talked him out of taking his paintbrush directly to the wall of his room.

Arthur sighed deeply, like he was trying to expel his entire soul through the force of his lungs. “Count yourself lucky that Gerold isn’t here to see this.”

Technically Jaime hadn’t broken any rules, but he didn’t want to find out whether this would be the thing to make the Lord Commander decide that Jaime was troublesome enough to be bent over his knee. Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan were up early this morning guarding the king and queen, with Ser Jonothor guarding the prince, until Sers Harlan, Oswell, and Lewyn came to swap shifts with them.

“Why are you two laughing like fools, what is…” Lewyn froze when he spotted the massive tapestry from the doorway of Jaime’s room. “That is… colorful.” He said carefully.

“Thank you!” Jaime chirped.

Arthur had discovered his art project a few minutes ago when he went to wake Jaime to take him to the training grounds for the first time, and his splutter when he realized that his eyes weren’t deceiving him and Jaime’s wall was actually covered by a neon tapestry had caught Ser Harlan and Oswell’s notice.

“When did you even do this?” Arthur despaired. “Did you even sleep?”

“Nobody told me when or where my lessons are,” Jaime pointed out. It has been a full sennight since he arrived and while there has been plenty of time to explore the keep, he has yet to even meet his cousin Addam. He was going spare with boredom. Hence, colors. “I asked Rhae, Obie, and Elia to help me decorate yesterday.”

Lewyn turned to Arthur, “Did you really forget to tell the boy about his lessons? Arthur.” The disapproval and disappointment in his voice were enough to make Arthur blush scarlet.

Oswell lets out another wheeze of laughter. The knight was turning a purple color from the lack of breathing, and Jaime felt slightly worried for him.

“I’ll take him to Lord Marbrand tomorrow morning,” Arthur said with a wince. 

Lewyn gave him a look, “Yes, do before he gets into trouble. Bored boys breed parents’ tears, and his parents aren’t here to be the ones suffering.”

Jaime tugged on Arthur’s white cloak, “Can we go spar now?”

Arthur picked him up by the scruff and dropped him outside his room, “Go get the sparring swords ready. You know mine, find one that is comfortable for you.”

Jaime’s eyes widened. Uncle Kevan had only let him use a sparring sword with blunted steel a small handful of times, mostly because he was too small to not use a wooden sword. He was strong enough to carry a steel sword, yes, but not swing it with any accuracy.

He ran off to do exactly what he got told to do, no complaints from him. Arthur went more leisurely after him, letting him work off some of that childish energy by running ahead.

Arthur always used the same sparring sword since Dawn was so sharp and light, a dark grey steel one with many dents from many trainings. It was a blunted longsword he carried out of the scabbard and placed on the bench for Arthur to grab, but Jaime stopped short at the choice before him.

Jaime had never chosen his own blade before. He had practiced with many wooden variations of blades, from child-sized longswords to man-sized daggers that were the size of a sword compared to him. His uncles or father had always handed him his blade of the day to fight with, and so this was a new dilemma for him.

Socks jumped up onto the bench, sitting down next to the handle of Arthur’s blade, and meowed for his attention. His orange fur was long, like a lion’s mane, and gave hints to his Maine coon father while his smaller ears and pointed face looked more like a common housecat like his mother’s.

“Which one do I choose?” Jaime asked his cat, gesturing at the array of swords. “I can’t hold a steel longsword, but maybe a short bastard sword? Or should I grab a long dagger so it’s better for my size? Which one do you think?”

The cat batted a small knife off the bench.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, “I don’t think I can fight the Sword of the Morning with a knife.”

Socks meowed and licked his paw, unbothered.

Jaime pocketed the knife in his boot, “Any other suggestions?”

“Are you talking to your cat again?” Arthur’s voice called from across the training yard.

“Yes,” He replied. “I don’t know how to pick a sword. My teacher always picked for me.”

“Well, first,” Arthur began. “You need one the right size. Don’t even bother looking at that longsword, you won’t be big enough to wield one for many years yet. The bastard sword is heavy for you, but that’s the point, you have to train your strength. However, you can use the long dagger to train today with your technique, but I would rather you learn strength first.”

“I’m quick,” Jaime frowned. “How can I be quick when I’m wielding a bastard sword I can barely swing?”

Arthur smiled wryly, “You have to learn to be. Your strength will grow and you’ll be able to swing it properly and you will learn to be quick with it. First things first, we’ll practice your strength.”

He took his sword and stood in the middle of the yard, “Pick up that sword and show me how well you can swing it.”

Jaime shared a look with Socks but grabbed his sword. The tip of the steel dipped with his initial struggle to hold it up, the weird length of nearly three pounds, but he quickly learned how to balance it. 

Testing, he hazarded a swing against Arthur’s blade. It was easily deflected.

“Good, keep your arms up. Don’t tuck your elbows in so much, your blade is heavy and you need the counterbalance of your elbows.” Arthur instructed. “Try again.”

Jaime swung again, posture corrected. Deflected once again.

“Nice, you got it,” Arthur nodded. “Keep striking me, I need to see you move.”

One, two, three. Each blow got absorbed by Arthur’s own blade, but Jaime kept going.

“Good,” Arthur said smiling. “You’ve got it. Can you try advancing on me?”

Advance? Got it, boss.

Jaime immediately broke formation to sidestep and attempt a blow on Arthur’s left side, but the man was far more skilled than Jaime and harmlessly threw the strike back at him.

Slowly, slower than in a real spar, at least, Arthur struck down with his sword at Jaime. He had plenty of time to react to it, but the second their swords met, Jaime knew he didn’t have the strength to keep his blade up.

So, he dropped it.

See, Jaime had learned three very important things about fighting while living in Westeros. 1) He was very quick, quicker than many boys his age and definitely quicker than any grown man, capable of acting completely on instinct with some calculation, a gift that not many could claim. 2) His ADHD was actually useful with his hyperactivity and sensitivity to stimuli, both helping him be more aware of his surroundings. 3) Westeros is so stuck to tradition and its ways that when someone does something new or unexpected, then they have absolutely no idea how to counter it.

Hence, dropping his sword.

“Jaime!” Arthur yelped as he immediately slowed his swing and diverted it to the side, even as Jaime rolled away from the knight.

He wasn’t the only one who yelped, someone or someones on the sidelines watching cried out when they saw him drop his sword.

Jaime wasn’t phased, he used his opportunity of being low to sweep his leg under Arthur’s and destabilize the man.

When the knight stumbled and reached out to grab him, he struck, and judo-flipped Arthur.

Arthur landed with a crash, losing his grip on his sword in shock. Luckily the man was wearing leathers and not armor, lest his fall on the stone yard bruise him. Unfortunately, Arthur was twice Jaime’s height and three times his weight, so Jaime fell over too, straight on his tusche.

“Oof,” He managed to avoid hitting his tailbone, but that was still going to bruise. Still, his task wasn’t done.

Arthur looked dazed, surprised at Jaime getting the upper hand, but he still reacted quickly enough to stop Jaime’s strike with his small knife. Twisting his arm, he forced Jaime to drop it into his own hand, which he then used to rest the blunted blade an inch away from his neck.

“Aw, man,” Jaime pouted. “I yield.”

Arthur pulled the knife away and looked at Jaime like he was absolutely insane, which was a fair reaction. “What in the seven hells was that?”

“Uncle says that a fight isn’t over until someone yields or dies, so I can’t stop just because somebody lost their sword.” That’s true, Gerion did once tell him that. “I can’t punch to shock you like I would my cousin Lyonel because you’re too big, so I have to shock you some other way. So, drop the sword and knock you over so I have the high ground.”

He grinned proudly after his explanation.

“Not a bad strategy,” A voice called, and Jaime turned to see that it was Ser Barristan who had come to watch the spar, a lady he didn’t recognize standing next to him. She had long black hair with the prettiest of princess curls, and piercing indigo eyes that matched her berry shade of lip stain. “The element of surprise does tend to win you many battles, but I wouldn’t suggest relying on it.”

“Sister!” Arthur’s face immediately brightened once he lay eyes on who could only be the Lady Ashara Dayne. “You’ve arrived early!”

She grinned, “And you got knocked on your ass by your squire.”

Barristan, watching quietly, smirked at that one.

Arthur spotted it instantly, “Barristan! How about you show Jaime some moves too?”

Barristan muttered something about being tired from guarding the king all night and left, knowing damn well that a petty Dornishman is not someone you want to be around. Arthur would have probably asked Jaime to demonstrate his other hand-to-hand moves on him, and then there would be two kingsguard on the ground because of a squire.

“Arthur, are you going to introduce me?” Ashara asked, motioning to Jaime.

“Patience, sister,” Arthur said with a smile. “Ashara, this is my squire: Lord Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister and Heir to Casterly Rock. Jaime, this is my younger sister, the Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall. She will be taking over some of your lessons while she stays in the capital until I find you some new tutors.”

That was… slightly weird since Jaime is pretty sure Ashara is like 14 or 15, but he’ll roll with it. He knows that she was technically an adult to Westeros, but he was aware that she was a teenager.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” He sunk down into a bow. He was young enough that she didn’t offer her hand to kiss and that such an action would be met with offence.

“Likewise, my lord,” She bowed her head. “I look forward to seeing you in my lessons.”

Jaime nodded, “Yes, my lady.”

She smiled, “I should leave you to continue your lesson with my brother, then. I shall go find Elia, Arthur. Enjoy your swords.”

“I always do,” Arthur rolled his eyes indulgingly as she walked away.

He turned back to Jaime, “Come, lad, I want you to show me that trick again, but slower. It’s similar to one a Dornish spearwife used once, I believe.”

Jaime perked up at a chance to show off his moves, “It was called a judo-flip, but my favorite move is called Black Widow. Wanna see?”

Arthur did see. He also got the wind knocked out of him. But Arthur was a quick learner, and so was Jaime, so soon he realized that he couldn’t use any of those moves against the man to shock him again. Jaime was getting a lot of his own bruises too.

It was worth it, at least, to watch Arthur fall in surprise that first time.

Chapter Text

Jaime stared at Addam. Addam stared at Jaime.

“So…” Jaime said awkwardly. “Do you like swords?”

Addam gave him a very clear judgemental look from his eight-year-old face, “I think every boy does.”

“Prince Oberyn likes spears,” Jaime offered. “That’s… not every boy.”

“Right.”

They fell back into awkward silence.

Arthur had dropped Jaime off at the home of House Marbrand in Kingslanding, a comfortable manse partway up Rhaenys’ Hill and beside the Dragon Pit. Many manses and manors for different lords and ladies were dotted about nearby, even with Fleabottom stretching below them. It was only a limited amount of highborn that actually resided in the Red Keep, such as the Queen’s ladies and the King’s Hand, while the rest took residence here.

Lord Marbrand had greeted Jaime genially with all the respect he would have if his father was here with him, then left to go fetch his wife, leaving Jaime and Addam all alone.

“What do you like to do, my lord?” Addam tried again.

“Well, I don’t like being called lord,” Jaime said. “I do like cats. I also like swords. Um, I like exploring? Maybe painting? And roller skating?”

“Painting? Isn’t that boring?” Addam made a face.

“Not if you stick your hands into the paint and not use the brushes,” Jaime pointed out.

Addam nods, considering, “I think my mother would be upset by the paint on my clothes, but that does sound fun.”

“Paint naked then,” He said. “Now there’s no mess that can’t be fixed with a bath.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Addam frowned. “I’d rather not.”

Jaime shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

Lady Melessa Marbrand, the wife of Damon Marbrand, was a homely woman. Her ginger hair was curly and puffy, and would be its own afro if she hadn’t tightly braided the front section of her head into a crown. She was plump, overflowing her bodice, and wore a pretty grey regency gown with orange detailing. She was, like Damon, much older too. Addam was the pair’s only child, with Lady Melessa being too old to have more at 40 name days. 

“Lord Jaime, it is a pleasure to see you once again,” She smiled warmly. “Last I saw you, you were still a babe in arms.”

“I don’t remember that, but it’s nice to see you again too, Lady Marbrand.” He gave his picture-perfect sweet grin. 

“Oh, none of that, call me Aunt Melessa, sweetling. We’re family after all.” She waved him off. “Now, sit. Let us see how good you are with your letters and numbers.”

The answer to that was: Jaime was just as good as her with his numbers, and honestly would just need to practise so his skills didn’t go rusty. His letters on the other hand…

“Ss-sc-ah-th-ing. Sathing oh-b-je-sc-ti-on. Sathing objestion. Wait,” He squinted at the page. That didn’t make sense. 

“The c makes a ‘ck’ sound,” Addam pointed out where Jaime had already lost his place on the page. “Ss-ck-ah-thing. Scathing. Ob-je-ck-tion. Objection.”

“The Master of Coin gave a scathing objection to Ae-gon’s ck-o-ro-nat-ion. Coronation?” 

This was always something he disliked in his past life too, and while numbers were easy to translate in any life, letters and phonetics did not translate so easily, even when the language was basically the same. ‘Ae’ here tended to be a short ‘e’ sound, while ‘y’ with another vowel following was an ‘i’ or ‘aye’ but a ‘y’ with a consonant following was an ‘e’ sound.  He misses his audiobooks and standardized phonetic alphabet and spellchecker, they made life so much easier.

“Good attempt, Jaime,” Aunt Melessa smiled indulgingly. “Yes, the ‘c’ sometimes makes a ‘ck’ sound instead of a ‘sc’ sound. If it helps, try listening to what you’ve said and ask yourself if there’s a word you know that sounds similar to the one you’re reading and it makes sense in the sentence.”

“Lord Bee-ss-bu-ree was k-ill-d by Ser Ck-ri-ss-t-an Ck-oo-l for a-tt-em-p-t-ing to leave,” He sounded out each word carefully. 

“Nearly,” Addam offered. “It’s Co le , not Kool. If there’s an e at the end, you have to put an extra sound in the second to last letter.”

Jaime sighed. Reading is such a difficult process when all the sounds are so difficult to master and he has to relearn a lot of what he already knows. Initially, he could easily do all the letters and sounds, but the second Creylen had asked him to string together words, Jaime had fallen apart because he had no idea how to read in Westeros.

“Yes, that’s right Addam. Good job in supporting your cousin,” Melessa patted her son’s head. “And Jaime, it is quite alright to struggle a bit. My husband’s eldest sister, your grandmother, had the same struggle. She always preferred to be read to than to do the reading herself.”

“I’ll do it,” Jaime insisted.

“I know you will,” She patted his cheek. “But Westeros wasn’t conquered in a day. How about you two go play now? You’ve been in here all morning. You can have lunch and then go play.”

Jaime perked up, “Can we explore the city?”

“No,” She immediately shut that down. “Kingslanding is dangerous, Jaime. You can’t go exploring without at least one fully trained knight to protect you.”

“Do you have a fully trained knight to spare?” He asked hopefully.

Addam rolled his eyes, “We do not. I have dice and a cyvasse board, will that be good enough for you?”

It wasn’t, because those games were boring. Addam got annoyed when he started playing random moves in cyvasse because he didn’t actually know how to play properly.

“Can’t we go to the keep?” Jaime whined, sitting upside down on the couch, letting the blood flow to his head for fun. “I have roller skates there. Plus, Rhaegar lets me get away with anything as long as I pay him with a story.”

“You bribe the prince of the realm with stories?” Addam said, baffled.

“Yeah, because he would become a maester if it didn’t mean that he would have to stop kissing Elia,” Jaime said. “If you give Rhaegar a good enough story that he hasn’t heard before, he’ll pardon you of a crime or something. He helped me paint a tapestry in return for telling him an interesting romance story. He only wants to hear romance stories now that he’s mooning over Elia.”

“Huh,” Addam considered that. “Do you think that when we’re older or married we’ll be like that?”

Jaime thought back to every single embarrassing thing he’s ever done while crushing on someone or actually dating them, and decided to take pity on poor Addam.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s in our bones as humans to act stupid like that when we really love someone,” He definitely even did it for his siblings and his friends. “I think there’s no escaping it.”

Addam wrinkled his nose, “Ew. I don’t want to call my future wife ‘moon pie’.”

That statement very slowly registered in Jaime’s brain as he wondered why in the world Addam thought that he had to call his future wife ‘moon pie’ before it clicked. Lord Damon Marbrand, his father’s uncle, his great-uncle , called his wife by the pet name of ‘moon pie’.

Jaime couldn’t help his snickers, “I don’t think you have to call them that. I think you can choose. Rhaegar calls Elia ‘dear’ and my uncle calls his wife ‘sweet thing’ and my Aunt Genna calls her husband a ‘fat lump’.”

Addam squinted, “I don’t think Cousin Genna is giving her husband a loving name.”

“She definitely isn’t,” Jaime grinned. “But it is funny because he’s really skinny.”

The other boy snorted, joining Jaime in his giggling.

A knock came from the door, interrupting them.

“Mother!” Addam called, “There’s someone at the door!”

“Yes, yes! I heard!” The woman appears from another room and promptly heads into the hall, “Where is that blasted maid? Oh, I’ll get it.”

Jaime refrains from pointing out to her that she sent all three of her maids down to the market less than an hour ago for meats and fruits for dinner, and her manservant had gone to bring up another casket of Arbor White. The only servants in the manse were the two in the kitchen and the one washing woman in the basement. 

“Oh!” He hears her call out when she opens the door. “My prince!”

Jaime’s head shot up, and he dashed to the entry hall.

“Hello, my lady, I’m here to fetch Lord Jaime,” Rhaegar had that stupid press smile of his that he uses with those he wasn’t close with, the one that makes him seem distant. 

“Rhae!” Jaime skidded to a stop in the hall by sliding straight into the prince. 

“Jaime!” Arthur scolded from where he stood behind Rhaegar.

Rhaegar just smiled and wrangled Jaime so he could tuck the younger boy under his arm, “Nice to see you too.”

Arthur sighed, knowing that he was probably not going to gain anything by arguing with them, “Stay here. I have to talk to Lady and Lord Marbrand for a while. Do not run off.”

That last part was definitely targeted towards Jaime, and he would like to defend himself by saying that he only ran off twice, and both times were because he saw a cool bug while traveling. Arthur hadn’t seen anything yet.

“Rhae!” Jaime dragged the older boy inside, or, rather, Rhaegar let himself be dragged inside. “This is my cousin, Addam! Addam, this is Rhaegar, no, no don’t bow, Rhae is a dweeb.” He frowned when his cousin immediately went to drop to a bow when encountering the prince.

“Jaime!” Addam looked lightly scandalized, “You can’t say that!”

“Addam is a bit stiff and likes rules, like you, so you two should be fine and get along well, right?” Jaime ducked out from under Rhaegar’s arm. “Enjoy getting to know each other.”

While Addam spluttered at Jaime’s audacity, Rhaegar frowned at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“They have a massive Dragon Pit right there and you think I’m not going to try and explore it?” Jaime spelled it out for Rhaegar. “Don’t tell Arthur and I’ll tell you the story of… uh… The Little Mermaid? Yeah, The Little Mermaid.”

“Unfortunately, mother told me to look after you while you’re here, so I cannot,” Rhaegar looked like he didn’t know whether he should be amused or regretful. “Ask Oberyn to sneak you out.”

“Damn,” He sighed and fell back on a couch. “Fiiine.”

Addam stared at him, “How are you still alive?”

“The gods have burdened me with glorious purpose,” Jaime said blithely.

“Everyone is too scared of his father to stab him in a dark alleyway,” Rhaegar corrected. Then, his eyes wandered. “Oh! Cyvasse! Do you play? Jaime is a terrible sport when it comes to it.”

“Hey!” Jaime gave a token flat protest, but let them be.

Both boys immediately busied themselves with setting up a game, leaving Jaime to lounge in the sunlight. 

At least he knows Oberyn would do stupid near-suicidal stuff with him.

…He wonders how down Obie would be for pranking the king?

Chapter Text

“For the record,” Oberyn said. “I think this is insane and going a bit far. This is me, Oberyn Martell, saying this. Jaime, I don’t know if we should do this.”

Jaime, in a dress he stole from a young Dornish maid, with lifts in his slippers and Ashara’s makeup on, pinched the arm that was escorting him, “Shut the fuck up and just get me in the damn room.”

Nobody gave the pair a second glance, everyone simply assuming that Prince Oberyn had simply found another girl to charm. Jaime would be a bit more upset that his future brother-in-law was finding random girls to make out with if it didn’t help his plan.

You see, there was a lovely secret passage into the king’s rooms, but unfortunately said passage was in the rooms of the Hand, or so Jaime had heard from Rhaegar. Luckily, the kingdom was without a Hand until Lord Baratheon arrives after dropping his family off at Storm’s End. Unluckily, there’s absolutely no reason for Jaime to be wandering around the Hand’s tower other than causing mischief. 

Hence, the dress. Nobody would think twice about a pair of young lovers using the empty Hand’s tower for a secret tryst.

Jaime pretended to giggle as Oberyn made a scene of checking for anyone watching at the door of the tower before dragging Jaime in.

“How are you such a convincing girl?” Oberyn asked as they ascended the stairs. “I can barely tell and I saw you get the costume on.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice,” Jaime said. “I hate falconry.”

“Isn’t Ashara teaching you falconry?”

“I pretended to get lost and hid in the kitchens until Lady Stokeworth found me. She’s pregnant and had a weird craving, apparently,” He shrugged. “But if you have any suggestions on how to escape next time, please share.”

“Dress up as a girl,” Oberyn suggested.

Jaime gave him an unimpressed look.

Oberyn’s eyes went a little wide and his mouth dropped open, gaping unashamedly at him. “Y-you look just like Cersei.”

Did he just stutter? What the he— Oh my g-d. No, no no no, that’s gross! This is not the time for Oberyn to learn that he swings both ways. Jaime's half his age too!

Jaime shoved the idiot aside and marched into the empty bedroom of the Hand, “Just help me find that passage.”

“Yes, my lady,” Oberyn snarked, trying to mask his slip by annoying him.

“I will push you out a window.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” Jaime grumbled, mildly upset that he could never stomach actually murdering Oberyn. “But I want to.”

He ignored the other boy’s grumbling and began to map out the curves and markings of the stone wall in the Hand’s wife’s chambers. Apparently, a Targaryen ancestor had gotten a bit too close to their Hand’s wife and decided to build this so they could get from their personal rooms to hers without being caught. Which, on one hand, was lovely juicy tea, and on the other hand, was definitely trashy if the Hand was completely unaware of his wife’s affair.

His fingers ran over a strange rivet, and when he knocked on the wall, it sounded hollow.

“Found it!” He cried, victorious. 

He had to shove at the stone with his shoulder, but the wall gave way, showing that it was merely a disguised door that led to pure darkness.

“You want me to follow you in there?” Oberyn said, a little disdainful. “I am to follow you through that, and then into the king’s personal chambers, where you want to prank the man.”

Jaime pulled out a short, thin stick and held it in his mouth while he reached back and gathered his long golden waves up in a bun, threading the stick in carefully so that it didn’t mess up the girlish braids that he tied with a blue ribbon that morning. He shook his head to make sure the bun would stay and then smirked up at his friend. “What? You too much of a coward to do it with a boy half your age?”

Oberyn shook his head fondly, “You, little cub, have balls of Valyrian steel.”

Jaime gathered up his skirts, tucked them into the braided leather belt that Dornish girls found fashionable so they wouldn’t get dirty, and smiled, “Damn right I do. Come on.”

Oberyn followed him down the dark corridor, silent in his smug amusement. Jaime knew that he found the whole plan a bit too reckless, but since he did not voice any further complaints, he knew that Oberyn would support him in this stupid endeavor.

It’s not like Jaime was planning to kill anyone, or even get anyone hurt or punished. The king was at court right now, and so his chambers were empty and would continue to be empty for a few hours. There were going to be no buckets of paint over doorways or dye in the hair oils, he knew that Aerys would find someone to punish over those, so he planned for something that absolutely nobody would ever detect but be so perfect in his petty revenge against the king.

“Shh,” Oberyn said, slowly pushing the hidden door to the king’s chamber open. “We have to be quick. What do you have planned?”

Jaime strutted to the middle of the chamber, unimpressive and rather bland. The king didn’t seem to be very interested in decorating his chamber beyond the basics: a bed in red, a banner in black, a rug in red, and a curtain in black. Dragons were everywhere, from delicate porcelain to carved in stone, and Jaime could imagine the king running his hands over every single one.

“We’re going to move everything two inches to the left,” He declared.

Oberyn goggled at him, “We’re going to what ?! We snuck in here, at risk of our necks , to redecorate ?!”

“Yes,” Jaime said blithely. “Like fighters, everyone uses their memory and instinct to navigate more than their actual senses. The king’s memory will tell him that certain objects are in one place, but since we’re moving everything, they’ll be elsewhere and he’ll be constantly tripping and knocking things over. At least for a week or two. Isn’t that embarrassing for him? Acting like a klutz in his own home?”

Oberyn pinched his nose, making an incredible mirror to the pose Ned, Stannis, and Cat would often do. “Jaime… you have so much potential… yet you use it to be a moron.”

“Says you!” Jaime scoffed, not at all offended.

He eyed the heavy oak bed and kicked it, putting his hands on his hips when the bed, shockingly , didn’t move. Jaime looked up at Oberyn, “Help me with this?”

Oberyn sighed. For all the boy was the youngest sibling, he looked awfully like a put-upon older sibling indulging a younger’s whims. “You pull from the other side and I’ll push, alright?”

Soon enough, with a little bit of teamwork, they got it done with plenty of time to spare.

“Well, damn,” Oberyn said, admiring their work. “Even I feel a bit disoriented.”

“The best part is that they’ll never figure it out,” Jaime felt incredibly proud of himself.

Oberyn grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him over to the passage, “Alright, fun’s over, time to scram. Mischief is only fun if you aren’t punished.”

Why did everyone always grab Jaime by the scruff? He wasn’t an actual lion cub, he could perfectly well be dragged around by the arm. It’s like they thought him a feral kitten.

Oberyn made sure to escort Jaime all the way back to the Hand’s tower where he fixed his hair and skirts. He kept an eye out when Jaime changed into his normal breeches and then marched him straight to Ashara and Elia for his lesson in dining etiquette. 

“We had plenty of fun together,” He said as he transferred him over to his sister and her best friend. “Hopefully enough that he’ll behave for the rest of the day.”

Huh. So, turns out, Oberyn did actually have a limit, and that limit was messing with a king that would chop both their heads off for mildly inconveniencing him and breaking into the king’s chambers while Jaime was in drag. 

Ashara frowned and turned a handkerchief on Jaime’s face once Oberyn had gone.

“Why are your lips so red? Lord Jaime, have you been spoiling your lunch with berries?” She held his chin firmly when he tried to squirm away, “Sit still, let me get that off.”

Jaime had to endure the indignity of a teenage girl scrubbing at his mouth with a cloth at a lip stain he had colored with her stolen makeup.

Wow, it was almost like he was 16 again and his great-aunt was asking him if he knew where her favorite Avon lipstick had gone while his red, lipstick-painted lips were in a perfect ‘o’ from panic. Except worse because his bubbe had at least sighed and told him that he was going to stain his skin if he smeared it like that in his haste to scrub it off, while Ashara and Elia were both scolding him for eating berries with Oberyn when he knew he had a lesson with them.

In the end, after they both finally decided that Jaime did well enough in their lesson, they decided to march him straight to Arthur to voice their complaints. Partially for the berries thing, and partially for the fact that when Ashara threatened to tie him to his chair to correct his posture and in his attempt to escape that fate he threw Ser Oswell under the bus by telling her that the old knight said once that a whore did that to him (true) and then followed up by asking her what a whore was (nobody had actually replied to him about that when he asked Ser Gerold and the queen).

Ashara also didn’t tell him what a whore was, and neither did Elia (though he suspected that Elia knew that he knew what a whore was), so Jaime saved that little question to ask a new adult whenever he needed an escape and/or Ser Oswell was acting like a bit of an ass again.

Of course, that’s when they arrived to an exhausted and exasperated full White Tower.

“Are you okay?” Ashara asked her brother at the same time that Elia demanded, “Why are you all here?”

Jonothor, the quietest of all the knights, winced, “The king is under the impression that his chambers are not his chambers, he made us all tear it apart so we could find evidence of the intruder, and then when we obviously couldn’t because there was no intruder , he said that we’re all dismissed until tomorrow and that he’s going to be guarded by the city watch. All the while, there was nothing wrong with the room .”

“I was in there this morning,” Harlan complained. “There was nothing out of place that the king didn’t do himself because he was tripping all over the place like a drunkard.”

Ser Gerold gave both men a stern look, “It is not our place to judge the king or make comment on the tasks he gives us. Now, children, what brings you here?”

Elia was giving Jaime a stare that he was sweating trying to pretend he didn’t see. 

“Brother! Jaime spoiled his lunch with berries!” Ashara complained to Arthur.

“Ash, isn’t the whore thing more important?” Elia pointed out.

Arthur shot up straight from where the man had clearly laid on the floor in exhaustion, “What whore thing? Jaime? Sister?”

“Jaime said that he heard Ser Whent make a comment about a whore when he thought I did something similar to the whore and then asked us what a whore was, but that’s fine, he doesn’t know,” She brushed right past it. “What he did know was that he was to have lunch with us and he and Oberyn decided to spoil his appetite with berries. Additionally, he stained his mouth with berry juice.”

While she complained about his supposed rude and inconsiderate lapse in etiquette he made, she completely passed over his actual lapse in etiquette. However, nobody else did, and you could see both Arthur and Ser Gerold attempting to murder Oswell with their eyes alone. Oswell looked like he wanted a stiff drink and to never open his mouth around Jaime again.

“I shall talk to my squire about that, sister,” Arthur said stiffly. Jaime knew he wouldn’t actually be punished for either of those things, as running off to spoil appetites was just something all children did and the other was completely Oswell's fault.

Ashara and Elia left hand-in-hand, with Elia giving him a knowing look as she did. 

Jaime reached out and with his still small, chubby from baby-fat, fingers, began to help Arthur with his armor straps.

Arthur startled a bit, “It’s alright, lad. How about you go take a nap? Don’t think I missed you waking up early to go fetch breakfast from the kitchens for us.”

Jaime shook his head, “M’not tired. You’re tired.”

Arthur gave him an assessing look, “How about we both take a nap? I can’t sleep if I don’t know exactly where you are.”

Oh . A strange blooming of warmth curled in Jaime’s chest. Arthur cared about him, truly and wholly.  It wasn’t a false caring borne from a knightly oath or a king’s command, but a true one.

Arthur shrugged out of his breastplate and picked Jaime up as he stood, placing him on his hip. “I’ll tell you a story if you’d like.”

Jaime wrapped his arms around his neck, “Can I sleep with you in your bed?”

Arthur went a little quiet before he swallowed and said,  “If you wish,” in a thick voice.

Ser Oswell looked like he wanted to crack a joke at them both, but from the way that Ser Gerold had his hand on his shoulder, the knight was second-guessing digging his hole any deeper.

Jaime just snuggled deeper into his knight and dropped his head down on his shoulder. Now that Arthur had mentioned it, now that he knew the man would watch over him as he slept, his eyes did feel a little bit heavy.

He yawned. At least he and Oberyn had caused good chaos today.

Chaos truly was kind of like a ladder, and nobody could deny that Jaime liked to feel tall.

Arthur placed him down on the bed, “Shush, lad. Sleep well.”

Chapter Text

Arthur Dayne didn’t know what to make of Jaime Lannister.

The first time he met the boy, he thought he had accidentally stumbled across one of the famed Clever Ghosts of Casterly Rock; Lann the Clever and his youngest children who played games and tricks on guests. He had been sitting right in front of the Heart Tree, singing some high hypnotic song to a bird of all things. 

Then, Arthur had recognized his doublet as the embroidered one that he had overheard Lady Joanna complain that her son had dirtied, and called out to the boy. 

The fact that Jaime had initially mistaken him for the gods responding to his singing always did bring a small smirk to his face.

A few short hours after meeting, the king decided to bind Jaime to Arthur as his squire, claiming to see a bond between them already.

Arthur couldn’t claim that he disbelieved the man, for the swiftness that the boy had decided to trust him– even allowing him to carry him when Arthur himself has now witnessed the boy squirm, shout, and smack when anyone else attempted the same– spoke of some bond that Arthur may not understand, but Jaime did.

The boy was clever, often to the point of his own detriment, though not the smartest. Ser Gerion Lannister had told him, cornered him before the royal party could depart, that Jaime seemed to be the Lannister that most embodied that craftiness and audacity that Lann the Clever was said to pass down to his descendants. Jaime stuttered and froze when he was made to read or write, but flourished when told to make tales to capture the interest of anyone who heard them. He could not grasp some basics of culture and the rules of society (not that Arthur would judge anyone who didn’t, he himself had always struggled with being too self-aware of his failings in etiquette), however, he could create fantastical ideas, including that of those strange wheeled boots of his. Jaime struggled to hide his emotions or his hidden wisdom, but could disappear like a ghost into the passages of the keep if left unattended for one second .

Rhaegar had asked him if he thought if Jaime could possibly be the second coming of Lann the Clever, like he had searched in his books about the three-headed dragon. Lann the Clever was a prince too, though a bastard prince born of Florys the Fox, who won his kingly crown through trickery, and Rhaegar had been comparing prophetic poems of a prince who was promised. The only thing that Jaime was missing, was a red and bleeding star alongside the song of Ice and Fire. Rhaegar had then frozen and started muttering about Arthur being the bleeding star, and had gone into one of his research frenzies that only stopped when Arthur decided that enough was enough and went to fetch Queen Rhaella to remind her son that he was human and needed sleep.

Arthur couldn’t imagine that Jaime was some prophetic hero or Lann the Clever or even touched by the gods. The boy was just that, a child .

That morning, Arthur had awoken by a boy crawling into his bed, crying, and when he asked what was wrong, Jaime had responded that he had a nightmare where Arthur had been killed by a wolf and a lizard-lion because the crown told him he had to fight. 

A child who had creative, fantastical nightmares and crawled into their guardian’s bed did not paint the picture of a mythical hero.

Sure, Jaime had the strangest abilities for a boy his age, but Arthur had been beating grown men in spars at Jaime’s age, so it couldn’t be that fantastical.

Jaime liked to chase cats and gift the kingsguard the oddest trinkets that he found– nobody was to comment that Oswell was carrying a marbled pebble that Jaime had handed him in his pocket– and that didn’t scream anything strange.

And then, Jaime would do something truly strange and make the hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stand up.

Just earlier that week, Jaime had been in the middle of a sentence, deciding to say hello while Arthur was guarding Rhaegar outside the library, when he cut off, eyes snapping to the side, green feline pupils narrowing at stone. A cat, one of the strays that Jaime liked to feed, ran by, and Jaime said that he heard the king approaching and scampered off. Mere minutes later, Aerys had arrived. It was impossible for Jaime to hear the king from such a distance, but the boy had given him a confused look and said he heard an echo when questioned.

That wasn’t the only thing strange that Jaime had done. Apparently, he had asked Gerold if the man could see the green in the fireplaces when they had just arrived in the city. Gerold had decided to check if the boy was colorblind, but nothing was wrong with his eyes. That was, until King Aerys heard that House Lannister was stopping their patronage and donations to Oldtown and, more specifically, the Citadel, and the calm yet aggressive letter of Lord Hightower asking the king for censure against the West. Everyone knew that green flames are the color of Hightower banners when they ride to war, and this had Ser Gerold Hightower bristling and predicting a deep schism between the West and the Reach, one that could possibly lead to war if his cousin didn’t seek to firmly control the Citadel soon.

Then, there were the times that he would run off to be found in the weirwood-less godswood of the Red Keep, playing with his queer little six-pointed star necklace, and babbling to the trees like they were his friend. It was not too odd, Queen Rhaella had told him that some child still had imaginary friends at Jaime’s age, except for the way that his eyes seemed far off and he looked sad and older, with a weight on his shoulders.

Then, Arthur had to remind himself that Jaime was just a child.

A quick-witted, clever child who loved to play and make a mess.

Arthur had discovered once that Jaime had gotten sticky honey all over his white cloak due to the honey cakes he had stolen from the kitchens. When he had asked the boy why there were little honey handprints on his cloak, Jaime had guiltily replied that it was because he had ‘little honey hands’. Arthur couldn’t help laughing as he dragged the boy to take a much-needed bath, finding honey hidden in his blond hair as he scrubbed him clean. The cloak had been an easy fix, with the cloth having suffered worse stains and substances.

Yes, if there was one thing guaranteed about taking care of a child was that they would make a mess. Princess Mariah had told him that he was lucky that Jaime was a healthy child and so he hasn’t had to deal with a sick boy yet. Apparently, boys were the worst when they were sick, and Arthur wouldn’t be able to leave him alone until he was well again. That thought gave a spark of fear to his heart.

The kingsguard is a chaste order, one that takes no wives and fathers no sons, and yet, if you asked him, Jaime would be the closest thing he’ll ever have to a son. Arthur was barely old enough to be his father, with the near 14 years between them, but Barristan had commented once that if Jaime’s hair was any lighter it would be silver, and the pair would match and look like kin. That thought warmed his heart.

His heart: the place Jaime had wormed himself into in mere days. 

Arthur doesn’t know how, but it seems that his heart took a vow without his knowledge, to love and care for a boy not his own. He dreads the day that Lord Lannister will come to retrieve his heir, even though he knows that it would be best for Jaime to return home, a place he knows the boy misses deeply. 

No, Arthur Dayne doesn’t know what to make of Jaime Lannister, but he knows that he will care for the boy with his entire heart.

So when the boy, so small that he could pass for a year younger than he is, toddled up to Arthur and sat at his feet while he and Barristan were on duty, Arthur knew not to treat it as anything strange.

“Hello,” He said, tilting his head down so he could peer down at the boy. “What do you have there?”

“A book,” Jaime didn’t look very happy at that. Arthur had to be impressed with his determination and persistence when it came to learning his letters, because, quite frankly, the boy was quite bad at it. Most words with more than four letters were too much for the boy and he would go cross-eyed and tongue-tied trying to figure them out. Gerold had said that there were some children who simply could never learn to read or to count, their minds unable to understand letter sounds or number values, but despite his handicap, Jaime had forged on quite nicely. “I don’t know this word.”

Jaime held up a book of children’s stories, which is probably the only reason he was interested in reading it at all.

“Isle,” Arthur read the word for him. “It means a small island.”

“Eye-el?” Jaime sounded the word carefully. “Not Aye-ill?”

“Eye-el,” Arthur confirmed.

Jaime huffed, annoyed, “It’s like they keep changing how to read each word.”

“They don’t,” Barristan said. “You just need to remember each word.”

“If I remember each word, then I don’t know what to do when I find a new word,” Jaime grumbled. 

The boy settled himself so he could lean against Arthur’s leg as he found his place to continue reading.

“Wait,” He frowned, suddenly realizing. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your falconry lesson with Ashara? Jaime, this is the sixth time you’ve run away from falconry.”

“I can do my letters,” Jaime bargained. “My letters are more important.”

“Jaime,” Arthur said seriously. “Why do you refuse to learn falconry?”

Jaime turned away from him, hiding his face from him. “I hate falconry,” He mumbled.

Arthur shared a look with Barristan, who merely shrugged as if to say ‘not my child, I don’t understand him.’

Arthur sighed, “And why do you hate falconry?”

“Because mother loves it.”

That… was not what he was expecting.

“Oh?” He said, baffled. Jaime has always shown that he adored his mother, to say that he hates something just because she loves it is uncharacteristic.

Jaime looked up, miserable. “I don’t hate it because she loves it, I hate it because I have to love it as she does. Father always says that I’m so much like mother, and that I act so much like her, and then he makes me do everything she likes because if I’m just like her, then I’ll like it too. I don’t! Painting and riding and embroidery and stories are fine, but I don’t like falconry.”

Ah. That would do it. A boy being told who he has to grow up to be.

It reminded him of Ashara, in a way. His younger sister had been born a bastard, made in grief by their mother after his father’s death. Ashara had been legitimized soon after her birth by Queen Rhaella and King Aerys, but his sister had always had that complex to her, that need to be a little more lady-like, a little more perfect, just so everyone would see her as a lady and not a bastard. Arthur and Allric had tried to convince their younger sister that she was already perfect, that nobody who saw her as lesser for her birth mattered, but yet, still, she clung to her idea of a perfect lady. Always smiling, always sweet, pretty and smart and polite.

Jaime was similar in his way that he kept trying and trying to make himself a good lord’s heir, but, unlike Ashara, he simply could not reach the standards society gave him. He tried, but he seemed to excel only in the ones that many would find no use in. Jaime gained loyalty through friendships, not politics. Strength through swords, not strategy. Wisdom through simplicity, not treachery. Mercy through kindness, not calculation. A true making of a knight, however.

“Have you told anyone that you don’t want to learn falconry?” He asked.

“No,” Jaime said mulishly. 

“Then how would they know?” Arthur said, before sighing at how that made Jaime frown even more. “I’m not saying that I will force you to continue taking falconry, Jaime. If you like, I can write to your father and say that you both do not enjoy the lessons and you have not advanced much in them. We can find you a new subject to learn. However, I would like you to apologize to Ashara for skipping her lessons, that was very rude.”

Jaime seemed surprised, and he flung his arms around Arthur’s legs, “Thank you! I will!”

“I’m sure you will,” He awkwardly patted the boy’s head, not wishing to move much out of his on-duty stance. 

Jaime peered at the door, bouncing onto the next subject quickly as he always did. “Are you guarding Rhae?”

Arthur’s silent despair at Jaime refusing to call the prince by his proper name and title washed over him again. Even with Arthur’s own friendship, he knew better than to drop Rhaegar’s title unless they were well and truly alone, and Arthur off-duty.

“ Prince Rhaegar is playing cyvasse inside with the Princess Elia,” Barristan answered, disapproval dripping off his words.

“Boring,” Jaime wrinkled his nose. “Can I go inside?”

“Let the two grow closer,” Arthur stopped his hand from reaching out for the knob. “The prince left the library specifically for this. Prince Oberyn might indulge you.”

“Obie doesn’t like playing with kittens with me,” Jaime pouted. “He says it’s babyish.”

“And what did you say?” Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“That his screams are babyish when he gets scratched by my cats.”

“Could that possibly be why he doesn’t want to play with kittens with you?”

“Maybe,” Jaime pouted even further, chubby cheeks filling with air.

Arthur could see Barristan barely hiding a chuckle from the corner of his eye.

“How about you go find Ashara and ask her to play with you? After you apologize,” He suggested.

Jaime perked up, “So I don’t have to read my book?”

Arthur smiled, “No, you don’t. We can read that book together tonight instead.”

Jaime cheered and ran off like he always did.

Barristan turned to him, “You’re too soft on the boy.”

“Perhaps,” He agreed. “But could you tell me you aren’t either?”

He couldn’t. The entire brotherhood had decided that Jaime was one of theirs, a happy side-effect of the king’s command, and Oswell insisted on saying that they shared a squire. Jaime, the one time that he heard that, insisted that he was only Arthur’s squire because Arthur was his knight. Arthur didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was sworn to the king above all.

“Just make sure that he doesn’t sneak his cat into the tower again,” Barristan sighed.

“An impossible task, but I shall try,” Arthur said, knowing damn well that Barristan had grown fond of the orange beastie, though he pretended otherwise.

They both turned back to their tasks as motionless guards, forever dutiful to the royal family.

Chapter Text

Jaime was tempted to look away or blink, but he knew he couldn’t.

It didn’t matter, the tension that lined his body made him shake in concentration. He couldn’t give up, give in.

He would do this.

Sweat began to bead at his brow anyway, and he knew that he likely wouldn’t succeed in this battle.

“Jaime, what the fuck are you doing?”

Jaime broke eye contact with the bird, jumping nearly three feet in the air in surprise as his heart thudded wildly.

The black raven crowed victoriously. 

“Fuck! Oberyn, don’t do that you asshole!” Jaime swore, clutching his chest. 

It seemed that the older children were on an afternoon walk in the Godswood, with Rhaegar and Oberyn escorting Elia and Ashara around, while Ser Gerold and Ser Lewyn followed as supervision.

“Jaime Lannister,” Gerold scolded. “Do not use that kind of language, boy. Do you think that those words are appropriate for a kingsguard’s squire?”

Jaime immediately wilted, “Oberyn started it.”

“And you will not escalate it,” Ser Gerold’s tone was final. “Now, what are you doing?”

The raven stayed patiently where it was, the massive black bird was a little over half of Jaime’s height, and its wingspan reached five feet easily.

“I was asking Brynden to take this letter to Lya, but he told me to fly it to her myself, which is silly because I can’t fly.”

Jaime watched as several expressions crossed the faces of his friends. He didn’t understand why the bird was being so stubborn anyways, it wasn’t like Jaime could actually do this himself.

Gerold’s face was glitching somewhere between bafflement, exhaustion, resignation, and that queer little face people make when Jaime says that he follows the old gods instead of the Seven. “All…riiight…” He said slowly, probably also trying to figure out why Brynden was acting like this. “Why not ask the Maester to help you?”

“I won’t ever trust a Maester that does not understand,” He replied. “Grey rats, so many of them. I’d rather an alchemist, and they burn green.”

Aerys has begun a friendship with the Alchemist Guild already, and Jaime suspects that it was because of his mother. Jaime had only seen Aerys once in his full moon and a half of living in Kingslanding, and the king had only addressed him as ‘Joanna’s son.’ Aerys had a strange fondness for his mother that led him to insult her many times that in the same breath he praised. He idolized some perfect version of her, he thinks, and every time she falls short Aerys blames the world a little more. His mother becoming barren had the king blaming Oldtown, and so Lord Hightower’s protests at the lack of funding were ignored and near outright ridiculed. 

Rhaegar looked curious, “The raven spoke to you? You said his name was Brynden?”

Oh, right, he forgot to tell anyone that he was pretty sure he was being followed by Brynden Bloodraven. In his defense, he tended to forget the second the bird was out of his sight. He always did have terrible object permanency.

“Yes, this is my raven, his name is Brynden,” Jaime said, deciding not to explain any further. They would probably think him as insane as weirdo Bran Stark, claiming that Bloodraven was alive and talking to him through a bird. “I want him to deliver my letter, like a good smart raven, but he is rather stubborn.”

“Like you,” Ashara said with a smile. “Animals do tend to reflect their owner.”

Jaime didn’t even have to pretend to be offended, and neither did Brynden, both of them looking at her in outrage. “We are nothing alike!” 

“Nothing!” The raven cried. “Nothing, nothing!”

Elia nodded gravely, pressing her lips together to stop from smiling or laughing. “I see.”

“Ugh!” Jaime’s patience was thinning. He whipped back around so he could look at the damn bird. “Brynden, take the damn letter to Lya, now.”

“Fly!” Brynden replied. “Fly kingslayer!”

“Fly who?! ” Rhaegar asked, choking on air.

Oh. Right. Brynden was a little shit.

“He insists on calling me that,” Jaime groaned. “Don’t worry, Rhae, I’d never kill you, I promise.”

Considering that he was in the Godswood, he meant it.

“Thank you?”

“Do you have any idea of what is happening?” Ashara asked Lewyn.

“I’d say ask your brother, but I think he’s in denial. I’ll explain later,” Lewyn told her.

Wait, what was Arthur in denial about? Did he even say denial? Jaime’s hearing was a bit off from all the squawking Brynden had done earlier.

“I can not fly, Brynden you idiot. Even if I could, I don’t know how to. Can you please just fly for me and give Lya the letter? It’s important.”

It’s an update on how life in the Red Keep is like, with a small aside talking about how the king was reacting to the Oldtown problem. Lya would then be able to combine that information with whatever Brandon had learned from his letters with Olenna Tyrell, and send the next message to Lysa. The Riverlands were the middle of Westeros, so the Tully sisters should be alerted to the worst dangers first as they were the most likely to suffer. From there, Cat would write to Cersei while Lysa wrote to Stannis, so that information accumulated through the Lannisport’s traveling news bringers and Storm’s End could fortify themselves. Meanwhile all this, Lya and Bran would have written to Ned, who would have shared his information to Robert and Elbert. Robert would have written to his cousin, Rhaegar with more news, while Elbert added extra information from Gulltown. Stannis would also write to Jaime, and Jaime would pass information to Elia, Oberyn, and Rhaegar, so Rhae can reply to Robert with even more information, and then Ned can write to Lya and Elbert to Cat, and round and round it goes.

It was a very effective system for news without anyone actually suspecting them of anything, Jaime thinks. If only he could get Brynden to actually move his fat ass.

“Learn fly,” Brynden croaked.

“Sure,” Jaime gave up. “I’ll learn to fly in my dreams. Happy?”

The bird finally stuck out his leg for him. Jaime, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, quickly tied his letter to its leg. The bird flew off with no more ceremony.

Jaime turned back to his friends, satisfied.

Gerold was rubbing his temples, “I’m leaving this one for Arthur. Not my problem.”

Oberyn was staring at where Brynden had been perched, “Did that raven have three eyes?”

Jaime just sighed. Was he the only one who was competent around here?

…

Ugh, gross, he just sounded like his father. Nope, he needs to do something stupid to reverse that.

“I’m going to explore the Dragonpit,” He declared, marching right past them. “Follow me if you must.”

Elia’s neck clicked at the force she put into swinging her head around to glare at him, “Jaime, don’t you dare –!”

Chapter Text

Fact: Jaime was very quick. 

It was his one advantage on everyone else, his ability to be quick. Not just that, but his ability to think just as quickly as he was moving.

So, if you had somebody like Ser Lewyn Martell try to chase him down several streets in full kingsguard armor, Jaime would easily outpace him. That’s just simple maths. Ser Gerold Hightower, a man already in his forties, was much the same.

Oberyn Martell and Rhaegar Targeryen are quite quick too, however Jaime has already sent Oberyn sprawling with a well-aimed swerve with a stuck-out leg, so neither where very interested in trying to grab him.

Elia and Ashara, both much smarter than the men chasing him, simply grabbed a pair of horses and rode ahead in a different path, and cut him off at the entrance to the Dragonpit.

“Aw, man!” Jaime whined as Ashara kept a tight grip on his upper arm, twisting it when he tried to escape.

Ashara watched, unimpressed as Rhaegar and Oberyn came puffing up the hill. “No wonder my brother is considered the best in the world if every man is so dumb. Did you two really think you could catch him?”

Rhaegar had both his hands on his knees, breathing deeply, “He’s… faster than… he seems!”

“I know,” Ashara said daintily with a sniff. “I had to chase him down for his lessons.”

She had, and she was the only person other than Arthur who has successfully chased him down. Ashara had cornered him and dragged him to his etiquette lessons by the ear, absolutely no fucks given when the entire court watched a lady of a minor house drag the son of a lord paramount to his lessons. She was definitely a woman to be feared.

Lewyn and Gerold came after them, more paced but similarly tired. Jaime didn’t even know what was wrong with them, he may have run a marathon or two before, but they were kingsguard, they should be better than this. Jaime could barely feel his own lungs from the adrenaline of being chased.

“Horses… good idea,” Lewyn acknowledged his niece when he arrived.

Elia just looked down at them, “Yes, well, I couldn’t just chase him. Might be smarter and cut him off before he decides to climb inside the ruin.”

“I have to climb inside!” Jaime insisted.

He did, he had to see what secrets the Dragonpit held. Destroyed in the Dance of Dragons, the place had only been used to burn the corpses of thousands during the Great Spring Sickness with wildfire. There was something wrong with the building, and Jaime wasn’t just talking about the horrid amounts of bad vibes that would make his Aunt Hannah bring out her evil eye jewellery he was getting from it.

“No, you don’t,” Gerold growled, snatching Jaime out of Ashara’s grip so to tightly scruff him with a shake that made him cry out in shock and pain. “Are you some fool? Do you wish to die? If that is the case, then I shall make you clean the entire armoury with a rag until you collapse, you idiotic child! The Dragonpit is a ruin that nobody enters for a reason! The floor is broken and the wood rotten, you would fall to your death in an instant!”

Jaime struggled against the hold, “No, I won’t! There’s something inside! I need to see!”

He didn’t even know why he was so insistent on actually getting inside the Dragonpit, but he was. He had woken up with a restless energy today, uncaring of most other people, thoughtlessly getting into an argument with Brynden in front of others and running off. His fingers were almost trembling in the urge to do something .

“What could possibly be so important that you have to run away?” Lewyn asked shrewdly.

Jaime doesn’t know, but they look like they’re considering actually letting him go.

“They’re hiding something inside!” He insisted, and when Gerold frowned, fingers slacking their hold the tiniest bit, he struck. It was a move that he had practised and refined with Arthur several times now; he twisted to be able to grab Ser Gerold’s arm that was holding him and swung his legs up to lock around the Lord Commander’s neck. The simple acrobatic move was quite effective in destabilising a taller opponent, and so Jaime was able to get Gerold to stumble backwards, hands reaching up to claw at his throat. He let go and ran, ducking close to the hoofs of Ashara’s horse to make it rear up in fear, stopping them from instantly chasing after him.

The fact that he actually did that only hit once he squeezed into the Dragonpit through a hole in the ruined wall. He had choked Ser Gerold and endangered Ashara without a second thought. He stumbled to a stop and did a double-check of himself.

He was restless. He had low empathy. His hands were shaking. He was seeking out adrenaline situations that could severely harm him. He was looking for some sort of reward but he had no goal other than the abstract thought of stopping a whole conspiracy by himself. He felt rather numb and hysterical at the same time.

He froze when he realised that he was having an extreme hyperactive episode.

Similar to a manic or hypomanic episode, hyperactive episodes were something that he suffers from, though they tend to be rare. Extreme hyperactivity episodes last a few short hours, when his brain chemistry decides to dip deeply in the ‘happy hormone’ department and scrambles to fix it with whatever it could until he finally felt close to satisfied and he abruptly crashed. Jaime had multiple ones in his past life that led to him doing things such as baking enough cakes for an entire bakery and deciding that he needed to sign up for a three-month course in rock climbing and start practising by parkouring in Central Park. They had always left him exhausted, body near collapsing where it stood. He had learned to recognise his episodes and would lock his phone, wallet, and valuables in a timer-locked safe after calling in sick to work so he didn’t do something stupid like break up with his partner and quit his job in some search for serotonin.

Here, in Westeros, Jaime had only had two episodes. Once when he was still a toddler and had first realised how strict the rules of his behaviour were, which led to a massive meltdown where he had smashed several valuable items and screamed desperately for attention. Another, more recently, had been when his mother had first announced her pregnancy and he decided to try and jump off a cliff into the sea, desperation to feel something warring with the realisation that his mother might soon die.

He still felt hyperactive, though he realised that the episode might be calming down. He had run all the way from the Red Keep to the Dragonpit, and that was no short sprint. 

So, he stumbled forward. 

The ground of the Dragonpit truly was rotten rubble, but worse, it was ash. Ash, ash, ash.

They said they burned over ten feet of corpses that flooded this room.

“Jaime!” Rhaegar called, stumbling after him, the usually graceful prince struggling to keep his balance as his feet landed on small ashen bones on the ground.

“My prince!” Gerold insisted, “Leave this place! It is dangerous! We can fetch him ourselves.”

“Jaime?” Elia called softly, spotting where he stood, covered in the ashes of dead men staring in horror at the wall.

Is this what his great-grandparents felt like as they hid a hundred years ago in a basement? Is this what the Tarbeck-Reynes felt as they drowned next to their kinsmen?

Something was desperately wrong in this building.

Men had died when building it. Men had died rebelling against the dragons in it. Men had their bodies burned in it.

Death. It stank of disrespect of the dead.

Exposed bodies of ash were left without rest, without memory, without ritual. There was no welcome of earth for the dead here.

“Jaime, are you well?” Ser Gerold asked warily, keeping his distance with him as if he were some wounded wild beast, one hand outstretched while the other held the others from approaching. Ser Lewyn stood in between the other children and him.

“They should have been remembered,” He said quietly. “But the fire just burned them all away.”

“Jaime?” Gerold asked again, inching forward with his empty hands outstretched, showing that he meant no harm.

Disturbed ash drifts down from the stone, death mixing with the living.

They had no shomer , no guardian to watch their bodies until they got the respect that the dead deserved.

The chamber was warm. Too warm, even for a summer afternoon.

Jaime, on shaky legs, knelt down so he could press both his hands on the ashen ground. The stones under his hands were even warmer than the ones of the walls.

“Uncle, what is wrong with him?” Oberyn asked, youthful fear making his voice shake.

“Listen,” Jaime said. 

They all fell silent, straining their ears to hear.

Jaime watched as slowly realisation spread and they tensed, first the kingsguard’s eyes widening as they understood that the ruin wasn’t as abandoned as they thought.

The floor was warm and you could hear the vague vibrations of men walking and conversing.

The two knights unsheathed their swords, the two young princes following their lead and taking out their weapons.

“There,” Ashara whispered, pointing to a small opening near the stands, half buried in rubble, that appeared to be slightly lighter than the rest of the dark chamber.

“The green flame is down there,” Jaime warned without thinking. “You can’t fight them.”

There was only one reason for the Dragonpit to be so warm and glowing: Aerys had begun conscripting his alchemists to make wildfire.

Gerold and Lewyn shared frowns before nodding and accepting the warning for what it was.

“Oberyn–” Lewyn began lowly.

Oberyn nodded, “I’ll escort them back to the keep, uncle. Worry about yourself.”

There was a small delay in comprehension until Rhaegar was slowly prying Jaime from where he knelt on the ashen grave grounds, leading him to the exit. The kingsguard were staying behind to look into it while Oberyn acted as a guard for the rest of them as they returned to the safety of the keep.

Jaime weakly struggled, but he was quickly crashing. “The king ordered them.”

Rhaegar paused, but after glancing and nodding at the Lord Commander, he continued pulling Jaime away, “It’ll be alright, Jaime. You’ve warned us, you can relax now.”

Warned them? Jaime wasn’t even planning on telling anyone about the wildfire until Aerys was dead. Or maybe that was a stupid plan. What if something happened to Jaime? Who would have taken care of the flames?

Jaime shuddered and shrank at the side of the prince, going mute as Elia hovered, fussing, until they had to separate for the ride back.

Rhaegar pulled him on Elia’s horse with him while Elia joined Ashara on hers, leaving Oberyn to walk with his own spear in hand, all the way back to the Red Keep.

Elia ushered him straight to her room, where she called for a maid to bring a tub so they could wash. The others could clean themselves in a basin, but Jaime’s hair was nearly grey with the amount of ash he was covered in. Elia bathed him herself, not even bothering to grab a maid or ask Oberyn or Rhaegar for modesty’s sake when she kneeled next to the tub, she cleaned his hair and brushed it, braiding it back for him with quick nimble fingers.

When he made a noise of protest at her actions, she shushed him and cupped his cheek, “I’ll have my own children to do this for soon, Jaime. It is no indignity for me. Let me care for you.”

After he was dry, she tucked him into her own bed and grabbed two of the kittens he had given her moons ago, the pair called Aslan and Pan, and let him cuddle with them.

But he couldn’t rest, though he held the cats close and buried his face in their fur. Rhaegar was pacing back and forth in the room, muttering, while Ashara was braiding and re-braiding her hair in increasingly intricate patterns. Oberyn stood tall and silent by the door, spear in hand and the other resting on his hip dagger, for once the older boy was completely still, silent and serious. 

“They’ll return soon with news,” Elia said, nervously smoothing her skirts. “Uncle and the Lord Commander are capable of being silent.”

“They may have to report first to the king,” Rhaegar said. “And they have taken an oath to keep his secrets. If my father has actually ordered whatever is happening in the pit, then…”

He trailed off, letting their imaginations fill in the rest.

They didn’t have to do so, as soon there was a knock on the door.

“Your highness,” Ser Gerold said, pale-faced, as he entered Elia’s room. Lewyn was on his heels but he broke away immediately to head towards his nephew and neice, pulling them both into a hug. 

“Ser?” Rhaegar stood straight, face carved from marble.

Gerold swallowed, “I would appreciate if we did not speak of today again. The kingsguard can deal with this issue.”

Rhaegar frowned ever so slightly.

“You can’t do anything,” Jaime told the prince. “It’ll just make him want to burn them all sooner.”

Lewyn and Gerold shared a look, but it was Rhaegar who spoke.

“Jaime… can you tell us how you knew something was in the Dragonpit?”

He shivered at the phantom feeling of ash on his skin. He supposes there’s no point hiding his knowledge now that he has truly fucked it up, but he doesn’t want to lie. He’s no prophet but they’d never believe the truth.

“They disrespect the dead in the Dragonpit,” He said instead. “The green fire mocks all the dead that burned. They sing their pain so loud it hurts.”

“Do you hear this singing often?” Rhaegar pressed.

“Rhae–” Elia censured.

“Yes,” Jaime shrugged. “Everything sings. Like a story.”

Everyone looked at each other warily. Gerold pressed his lips together tightly, Hightower logic warring with the knowledge that magic does truly exist.

“Seer,” Ashara broke the silence. “You’re a seer.”

Jaime didn’t agree, he knows that’s false.

“No,” Rhaegar shook his head. “It’s the song of ice and fire.”

Jaime’s head snapped to the side to stare at Rhaegar in horror. No , he had agreed not to chase prophecies anymore.

“That’s a lie!” He snarled, jumping to his feet and scattering kittens. “That song is a lie! The songs aren’t sung in the way you think! If you try to sing it then you’ll doom us all!”

Rhaegar stepped back in surprise at the fervor in his eyes.

“Ice and fire do not need to be borne in union to stop the darkness,” Jaime reached out to grab Rhaegar’s arms. “They merely need to work in alliance. Please, Rhaegar, do not seek that prophecy. It will be the ruin of your line.”

Rhaegar seemed shaken, “I won’t, I swear.”

Jaime pulled away, stepping back to hug himself when he realised how they were all staring at him.

Oberyn stepped up first, slowly, as if not to spook him, placing his hand on his shoulder, “We’ll listen to you, alright? Just… do not scare us like today again, alright? You are slippier than an eel and I rather no chase you across the city again.” 

The dornish boy’s attempt at humor actually made Jaime’s lips twitch.

“I promise,” He said. “Sorry.”

Ashara rolled her eyes, “As if. You’ll be running from my lessons again by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, well,” Ser Gerold interrupted. “We have urgent information to share with the rest of the kingsguard. We shall be taking Lord Jaime with us. Prince Rhaegar, let us walk you to your rooms.”

Jaime held Rhaegar’s hand as they walked, his exhaustion once more catching up on him and making him numb.

Rhaegar squeezed his hand, “I’m sorry,” He whispered.

“I’m sorry too,” He replied.

And that was that.

Chapter Text

Jaime dreamt that he was back in the godswood of the Rock, sitting in the low branches of the weirwood tree.

“You are a bold child,” Brynden Bloodraven said. “Climbing the trees of the gods like they are a toy.”

Jaime leaned back until he could fall backward and hang by his knees like a monkey, “Perhaps everyone else is just meek. They’re the gods, shouldn’t they want their children to play and be close to them?”

“Is that what your god thinks?” Brynden nodded down to the Star of David pendant that was hanging from his neck.

“Yes,” Jaime said. “They do. We used to do mummer’s plays on our holy days, and when I was little my mother would despair about me insisting that the Rabbi carry me throughout the entire derasha . A child playing under the eyes of g-d is a sign of prosperity.”

Brynden hummed at that, single eyes considering the thought. “You hide from the eyes of the gods as much as you are in them.”

“Huh?”

“It’s pardon,” Brynden corrected his manners. “You mess with the future, blinding them to it, and you blur your past, fuzzy memories of a world without them. The gods are curious about you.”

“I’m curious about them too,” Jaime closed his eyes from where he hung. “Are they upset with me?”

Brynden smiled, “It is otherwise, child. They favor you. A thousand men head to the Wall, doubling their numbers, the most men to swear themselves to the Watch since I joined. Your father’s cruelty is curbed by your mother, stopping him from performing his greatest sin in the eyes of the gods. Now, you seek to tear asunder the ones who despise magic high in their tower and you root out the green rot in the city. An admirable achievement for one so young.”

Jaime’s face was red, and it wasn’t just because he was hanging upside down. “Most of that was an accident.”

“You still did it.”

“What if I accidentally do something wrong and start a war? Will the gods judge me on that too?”

Brynden rolled his eyes, “Obstinate child.”

“Says the one who refuses to admit that maybe the kinslaying and oathbreaking were a bit too far.”

“Do not speak of things you do not understand,” Brynden scolded.

Jaime, knowing that this was the exact order of words that would piss Brynden off the most, replied: “My father tells me that too.”

The Three-Eyed Raven sighed, deeply and tired. It was a sound that Jaime was well used to, having heard it from everyone; Aunt Genna to Ser Gerold, Princess Mariah to Prince Oberyn.

He knew he shouldn’t be taking pride in gaining that reaction, but he couldn’t help it. It was extremely satisfying to know that you are actively making a person suffer but they were too fond of you to ever actually stop you. He wondered if he could get Queen Rhaella or King Aerys to do that?

“It is time that you learned to fly,” Brynden said abruptly and pushed Jaime so he fell.

He yelped, but flipped so he could fall on his feet instead of his neck. “What was that for?!”

“You need to learn to fly,” He said blandly.

“I am human ,” Jaime snarled. “Humans don’t fly.”

“Are you?”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Human or lion, I can’t fly.”

“You seem very certain about that,” Brynden seemed amused by his insistence. 

“It’s a fact.”

“Let us find out,” Brynden took him by the shoulder and the world melted until they stood on the cliffs of the Rock. A small push was all it took for Jaime to fall.

Luckily, Jaime was well-practised at jumping off high things, and so he moved until he was ready to hit the water. 

But he didn’t.

He just kept falling and falling.

“Bloodraven!” He snapped in annoyance at the raven flapping its wings next to him, leisurely riding the wind currents.

“Fly, Kingslayer,” The bird replied.

“I can’t!”

“Fly.”

He tried to make a swipe at the annoying corvid but missed, instead destabilizing himself and continuing to fall from an unsafe position, on his back.

No, that’ll be how he breaks his back and loses his legs. He needs to land on his feet. 

He needs to land on his feet .

He does land on his feet, but not into the waters under the Rock, but rather a roughly hewn stone floor.

He glares up at the cook who had rudely thrown him out of the kitchens, then trots off.

Orange paws pitter-patter across stone, taking paths that humans do not, until he finds the human that dotes on his human. She has a swollen stomach, with a small streak of grey in her black hair, and she wears an itchy but easily climbable cloth fur coat of green and yellow.

“Ah, Socks,” Lady Stokeworth says, reaching down to pet him and scratch behind his ears. “Where is your owner, hm? I missed him this morning in the kitchens.”

Jaime? Jaime is right here.

He tried to open his mouth to speak but only the sound of a meow came out.

A raven landed on the open window behind the Lady, “I suppose you were right. You’re a lion, not a bird.”

Jaime wanted to ask what he meant, but suddenly he was falling once again, except upwards this time.

He gagged as his eyes flew open and he flung himself up, jerking awake from his dream and into a soft tight warmth restraining him.

“Oh thank the gods!” Arthur cried, revealing who the warm body cradling him was.

Jaime blinked rapidly, trying not to gag again at the terrible taste in his mouth, “Wha’ happen’d?”

The Princess Mariah was standing next to his bed, an unknown Dornish woman by her side, both looking severe.

“Lord Jaime, you were ill,” The Princess said. “You had a shaking fit that lasted a long time.”

Ser Lewyn and Ser Barristan were both in the room, and Jaime could see how both men looked shaken.

“Shaking fit?” Jaime asked. What in the world did Brynden do?

Arthur drew him even closer to his chest, “I thought you decided to sleep in, but your eyes… they were milk white. You were twitching and I thought you were poisoned, so I called the Princess Mariah and her healer. I thought you were going to die.”

“Oh.”

What else could Jaime say? That Brynden Bloodraven was teaching him how to warg? That he spent his morning in the body of Socks the Cat?

He felt numb as the unknown woman– a healer, according to Arthur– fussed and examined him once more. They seemed to be under the impression that he was poisoned and suffered a seizure, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Between yesterday’s trip to the Dragonpit and last night’s warging dream, Jaime still felt exhausted.

“Lots of rest,” The Princess commanded. She was an expert in poisons, much like her son will one day be. “We have much research to do. The poison doesn’t appear to have left a trace and the most common answers do not fit the symptoms.”

She left without much further ceremony, only stopping to squeeze both Dornish kingsguards’ shoulders in support.

Arthur did not let go of Jaime, cradling him like a babe, scared that if he let go he would just collapse again. Jaime can hear him muttering something lowly as he gently holds his head, but he can’t make out the exact words. From the feverish way he spoke, however, he can tell that his warging has truly scared him.

“We should tell the others you’ve awoken,” Barristan broke the near silence. “They should know that whatever poison it is has been cured. They’ll know to use charcoal and salt to purge it if they target the Royal Family.”

“We need to inform his father as well,” Lewyn added with a wince.

“It wasn’t poison,” Jaime interrupted.

Arthur stopped muttering. “What?”

“It was magic.”

Lewyn turned as white as milk, a rather impressive color considering that he was already a darker brown than most Dornishmen, but expected considering the way that Jaime had led him straight into a Dragonpit filled with wildfire yesterday because of ‘magic.’

“What do you mean?” Arthur said slowly, “Did the alchemists—”

“No,” Jaime shook his head then winced. Damn, Bran Stark never spoke about how uncomfortable and aching warging left you, like you didn’t fit in your own body properly. “I didn’t mean to, I overreached because of yesterday and the panic from falling…”

He trailed off, shuddering at the memory of falling unnaturally, unable to fly and just waiting to eventually land on his feet, though Brynden tried to take that option away from him.

“Do you know Bloodraven?” He looked up to make eye contact with Arthur. The man, so honorable, immediately made a face of disgust before melting into one of worry. “He could see through the eyes of the ravens, that’s how he commanded them. I slipped into the mind of Socks by accident in my dreams but I went too far.”

Arthur sighed raggedly, closing his eyes and resting his cheek atop Jaime’s crown, “Then I am glad that you were not poisoned. I know how afraid you are of such a thing. If it is magic, then I will thank the gods for the blessing.”

Wait, Arthur knew about that? But he was checking all the food in the kitchens, how could he know?

Barristan apparently went on a completely different train of thought, “Of course it was you making that damn furball sleep on my bed every night. I knew that cat was too smart.”

Jaime thought back to the occasional night where, after he fell back asleep from a nightmare, he would dream of being curled up against a warm body, safe and sound, just like he would do so with his parent’s bed. He shrank a bit in embarrassment, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just wanted somewhere warm and safe, and you’re the only one that leaves their door open at night.”

Barristan almost melted at that, though he continued to try and keep his stoic knight mask on. “Aye, you’re lucky I do. The cat is not that much of an imposition I suppose…”

Lewyn still seemed stuck on the cat thing, “You can control cats like Bloodraven did his birds?”

“Yes,” Jaime shrank into Arthur’s hold.

Lewyn looked tired, “I won’t lie to you, lad, all this talk of magic and seers is too much for me. I have no idea how Gerold does it and he is a man of the Seven. I believe I will need a drink and some time to process this in a sept before I continue. No, magic doesn’t disgust me, this is just… a lot. I’m taking Ger and Jon to a bar tonight and we will spend the night in the sept. We can discuss this tomorrow.”

Jaime… could not feel offended by that. Oh, sure, it did hurt to know that Lewyn could just accept him without thinking, but he logically reminded himself that it was not rejection, just a slower acceptance. 

He wasn’t being rejected, he was being accepted.

Jaime slowly relaxed into Arthur, “Okay. I’m still tired, can I sleep?”

Arthur still didn’t look ready to let him go, “How about we go over to my bed and I tell you some stories about when Rhaegar and I first met? Socks can come too and I can have you stay safe in my room, how about that?”

“Don’t you have duties?” Jaime wasn’t oblivious to how often Arthur skipped a guard shift or two to look after him, and he worries that the king doesn’t notice too.

“I believe the most important one I have right now is watching over you, and I think Prince Rhaegar and Queen Rhaella would agree with me.” Arthur smoothed Jaime’s hair with a calloused hand.

“Oh,” Jaime let himself melt at the touch. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Arthur knew something was wrong the second he got the summons for an official kingsguard council while still standing guard at Queen Rhaella’s side.

The Queen looked just as baffled and worried as he did, pausing her walk through the gardens with a pair of septas, before immediately dismissing him to the Tower, stating that she would have castle guards protect her until the next day.

Arthur had all but ran to the tower, a million possibilities of what it could be flashing through his head. Hightower-Lannister-Targaryen tensions finally culminating to a point of civil war? A discovered conspiracy to kill the royal family? A plot of rebellion from a lord? Or a possibility that would never have been on his mind not even half a year ago; something had happened to Jaime Lannister?

He hopes that it is not the last, but once he arrives and sees most of the kingsguard already gathered, with Gerold holding his squire in his arms like a small child, the little boy half asleep in his arms but making a valiant effort to keep his eyes open, his heart sinks. Jaime was a darling child; bright and active and mischievous, yes, but never one to be carried around quietly like a doll as other children might unless something had happened.

“What happened?” Is the first thing out of his mouth as he takes in his brothers’ faces. Jonothor has yet to arrive, however the rest have already gathered. Gerold and Lewyn look pale and shaken, with Gerold looking as severe as the day that he interrogated Arthur about his intent of joining the kingsguard, searching for any hint of treachery. The rest of his brothers looked as confused, anxious, and afraid as he did.

“Art,” Gerold said slowly with false calm. “Could you put Jaime to bed while we wait for Jon to join us?”

 The lord commander had never been one for the casual address that the brotherhood would adopt once alone, and once Jaime joined them, the man had taken an approach of actively suppressing it in an attempt of being a good example on the importance of titles and manners to Jaime. For him to be dropping all pretenses now, actively reaching out for support from his kingsguard brothers, sets off alarm bells in Arthur’s head. 

Arthur carefully accepted the transfer of precious child, eyes going wide as he looks up at his lord commander in some fear.

He has never felt younger than he did now. Arthur was only twenty, his one and twenty name day still a few sennights away, but he never felt young or inexperienced when with others. As a second son, he had been free to travel his entire life, often leaving his home of Starfall to go to Sunspear and visit the water gardens with his father, making more trips per year than there were New Gods. When he was seven and his father dead and buried, his mother decided to make the trip to Kingslanding to have newborn Ashara legitimised with only Arthur and a handful of guards with them. Arthur had travelled more often than his own mother and most of their guards at that point, so it was with ease that he could spot safe places to camp at night. That same year he befriended Rhaegar, when the boy tried to do a sword manouver straight from his book, the pages propped up in front of him, and Arthur, unaware of who he was, ran over to stop him from smacking himself with his wooden sword. That same moon, King Jaehaerys died, and Arthur somehow offered support to the younger as a grieving child himself. 

Since then, Arthur had often traveled down to Kingslanding by himself, swung his sword by himself, and took care of his sister and Rhaegar by himself. Allric had been too busy stepping up as lord at only one and ten name days, so Arthur had been the one to support his mother and sister as he grew, though often intersped with constant trips to escape that duty, only to arrive right to where Rhaegar was in the midst of his own troubles. Arthur’s only times of quiet, honorable duty had been when he was travelling alone as the lone Sword of the Morning, not even knighted until he was eight and ten and Ser Gwayne of the Kingsguard grew sicker due to the injuries he sustained protecting the king. This was a rather abrupt reminder that while he may be the best swordsman in the land, a steadfast friend to Rhaegar, a patient and honorable knight, and a second father to both Ashara and Jaime, he was also just a green boy who had never experienced war to his elders. And they weren’t wrong.

Arthur took on the mantle of Sword of the Morning when his uncle died at three and ten, and since then he had gone through life like the weight of Dawn was the weight of his life.

Arthur was a pillar of support for Rhaegar, for Ashara, for Jaime, and he knows that what Gerold says will shake the very foundation of that pillar, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he cannot be that pillar for them anymore.

Arthur became a kingsguard to help protect Rhaegar since he knew he wouldn’t be able to gain another prominent place in his court to help him. He was no genius with coin, or politics, or whispers, but he was a great swordsman and fiercely loyal. Being a kingsguard also granted his family prominence, and, subsequently, improved Ashara’s marriage prospects. His lovely sister was beautiful, and Arthur and Allric made sure to prepare her a sizable dowry so she could marry well, but their mother was little more than a shadow of her old self before her husband and brother died and so she did little to help them. Ashara knew how much Arthur did to help her, something that Arthur always cursed himself for not hiding it better, and leaned even further into her lady’s mask. She even confronted him when she found out that he had arranged for her to tutor Jaime and to be Elia’s lady-in-waiting in the capital; to influence a heir of a great house and to have the ear of a princess is a coveted position for a young lady. But Arthur did what he could to protect his baby sister, just as he always did what he could to support Rhaegar, and now he does what he can to raise Jaime well.

“We will be able to deal with this, Art,” Lewyn said gently. The older knight had known him since he was a babe and his father had first presented him to Prince-Consort Odyn Martell Dayne, the Princess Mariah’s late husband, Lewyn’s late goodbrother, and Arthur’s late second cousin. “Let’s just put the boy to bed first.”

Arthur carried the strangely-silent boy to his room, the small squire room connected to his own.

“Jaime, are you well?” He asked in a near whisper as he pulled the blankets up around the boy. 

“I didn’t mean to,” The boy replied instead of answering his question, sounding downright miserable. 

That didn’t explain a single thing and instead made Arthur even more worried, yet he still rushed to reassure Jaime. “Of course you didn’t.” He said softly, tucking the blankets around the child. “This isn’t your fault, I know it isn’t. It’s going to be alright.”

Arthur had never been one to lie, but occasionally, it is the noble thing to do: to soothe a fear and calm a worry. He had done it several times for hysterical women and crying children, though he has never had to face the consequences of such a lie, always moving on once his knightly duty was done. He wondered if it truly was Jaime’s fault and if it wasn’t going to be alright, and then what would he do?

Immediately, he chastised himself. Jaime was a child, he couldn’t possibly be at fault, and it was Arthur’s duty to make it be alright. He won’t fail his duty.

Arthur kissed Jaime’s forehead as he smoothed back his messy curls, the childish tight curls that had begun to slowly loosen from the lack of constant sea-spray that he would’ve received living in Casterly Rock. “Sleep, Jaime. Let us handle it.”

Jaime looked up at him, his emerald eyes so wide and trusting, before he tucked them into his pillow and his breathing evened out.

Arthur painfully extracted himself from his squire’s rooms. He wished to stay a few moments more where he could pretend, just for a little bit more, that nothing was wrong and he was just putting his child to bed. But that wasn’t what was happening.

He closed the door softly behind him.

Jonothor had rejoined their sworn brothers gathered in the tower.

“Asleep?” Gerold checks, and sighs tiredly when Artur nods. “Good. The lad, today, I… Just. Good. He deserves rest.”

Gerold was very much not one to be tripped up by his own tongue. The man had been educated in the Citadel itself before becoming a knight, his oratory skills were hard to beat and yet, whatever happened today had shaken both Gerold and Lewyn enough that they were taking no care to hide it.

“Gerold–” Barristan attempted to speak.

“Sit. Just… sit first, please,” The Old Bull interrupted, taking his own seat around the White Tower’s meeting table. The White Book sat in the middle, a presence that could not be forgotten, reminding them to not slouch in their duty. Gerold slouched anyway, looking his years and a bit more.

Arthur shared a concerned look with Oswell as he did.

“Gerry, just get on with it,” Lewyn muttered, pouring himself a goblet of wine.

“Jaime has magic,” Gerold said.

“Jaime is a child!” Arthur was quick to defend, his thoughts racing at the ideas of witches and warlocks, sorcerors and magic users, all burned to death. Jaime might be a little bit unusual, but to so quickly to leap to magic? It was cruel to even utter such thoughts aloud where someone could overhear.

Arthur wasn’t the only one to think so, the rest of their brothers speaking out against such words. Even quiet Jonothor– who only spoke when he was certain his words would be heard– made a sound of distress at that accusation.

“He admitted it himself,” Lewyn said over the noise. “He’s a Seer.”

That shocked them silent.

“We were with Prince Rhaegar, he was taking a walk with the Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn and Lady Ashara had joined them, when we came across Jaime talking with a raven with three eyes in the Godswood.” Gerold began to explain, “When I say talking, I mean the boy was having a complete conversation with it. They struck a deal that Jaime will learn to fly if the raven brought his letter to The North.”

“He’s seven,” Arthur protested. “Children speak to animals and pretend to have a conversation.”

“True,” Lewyn said as he poured himself a second serving of wine. Jonothor silently pulled the flagon out of his hands, took a sip, then tucked it away to stop their brother from drinking too much. “Animals aren’t supposed to speak, however, and I am certain I heard several distinct words from that bird. Ravens don’t speak that much, even the smartest of them.”

Lewyn had a point, something that Arthur didn’t want to acknowledge.

“And how does this imply that my squire has magic ?”

“Well, he went mad and started yelling that he had to go inside the Dragonpit, going as far as to run the entire way there and choke out Gerry to get there.”

“ What ?” Harlan rasped. “Jaime? The sweet lad who helps Lady Stokeworth with her pregnancy? The boy who cried when I told him that he could take his cat with him to his lessons? The child who hugs anyone, even servants? That Jaime? Violent?”

Harlan had a point. Jaime was the epitome of sweetness, and Arthur still had no idea how to break it to him that knights kill people and that Jaime will eventually have to kill a man.

“He didn’t leave a mark,” Gerold defended the boy. “But he did attack me so when I grabbed him. He was possessed, I swear it. He went mad trying to get into the ruins. He said that there was something inside that he had to see, he was screaming it. When I dropped him, he ran straight inside the ruins and became transfixed by the ashes. He kept mumbling about the dead burning. When I finally managed to get him to focus on me, he told us that we weren’t alone. That…” He took a steadying breath. “Prince Oberyn escorted the other children back to the keep while we searched for what was making the sound from under the floor. It was…”

“It was what ?” Oswell demanded, done with Gerold’s skirting around what happened.

“Wildfire,” Lewyn said. “A hundred jars of the stuff, and a hundred pyromancers working to make it.”

Horror descended on the kingsguard as silence blanketed them.

Wildfire is a dangerous substance, yes, but none would find a jar or two out of place in a Targaryen court. But a hundred ? That was enough to collapse the entire dragonpit in on itself, and that building was made to withstand the force of dragonfire.

“Who–?” Arthur began to ask before he cut himself off. He knew who would order such a thing.

“ Him .” Gerold nodded solemnly, his eyes a thousand miles away.

Arthur wanted to scream. He wanted to hit and break and destroy. He wanted to stain his cloak red with blood. Then, he paused, and bit his tongue. The tongue that had made the oath to never take arms or conspire against the one man that deserved it.

Aerys Targaryen was never this bad. He was a kind man when Arthur was a child, and he hardened with every child he had lost, but not cruel. No, the first time that Arthur had seen the king be cruel was when Lord and Lady Lannister had presented their infant twins to the king and he had commented on the lady’s figure being affected by childbirth. The second time when he insisted on… resowing his seed… too soon after the queen had lost her latest child, and that cruelty he had heard repeat several times. The third, seemingly triggered by seeing Lady Lannister happy, was to rob her of her son. Now, Arthur had known the man to make many hard choices, like when their wasn’t enough evidence of a rape and so to dismiss the whole case, or when there was a whisper of treason from a servant that had no conviction behind it. But this? It was almost strange as to how easily he knew it was the king who committed this horror.

Rhaegar would fix this, wouldn’t he? He was next in line, and he could surely talk sense into his father. Or perhaps even order the pyromancers to stop. Prince Rhaegar could fix this.

The others kept talking, but Arthur couldn’t listen, not when he was trying to reassure himself that everything was going to be alright.

“–Rhaegar cannot get involved–”

“What?” Arthur interrupted Lewyn as he spoke. “Why not?”

Lewyn looked gently at Arthur, “Other than Jaime himself warning against it lest the Targaryen reign fall? He’s the prince, Art. He would be labelled an usurper. We exist to protect the king, and he is our future king.”

“Doing this otherselves would be treason,” Barristan hissed, apparently a point he had been sticking on. “Let Rhaegar do this. We would not be able to step in and the integrity of–”

“– The integrity of our order would not be affected !” Gerold cut him off. “We are not defying any order the king has given us. We will not be endangering the king. We will not be sharing his secrets. If anything, we are protecting the king from himself! Disposing of the wildfire is our responsibility.”

The silent question of ‘how?’ hung over their heads.

“We will reconvene tomorrow,” Gerold declared. “I think we all need to rest. Heavy hearts and heavy emotions make our cloaks heavy. A rest should lighten our load.”

And so they were dismissed.

Arthur went on to toss and turn all night. Gerold misunderstood one thing: A heavy heart does not give into a heavy sleep.

Arthur wishes that he had remembered that when Jaime had slept through morning meal. 

The boy always wished to descend into the kitchens himself to watch their meals be made, and, occasionally, Arthur heard of his young squire insisting on taking part of the cooking and baking. Arthur couldn’t fault Jaime for it, he knew what had happened between the Maester and the Lady of Casterly Rock, he would be paranoid about poison too, though the boy’s odd insistance on certain rules with his food sounded like a child’s perspective on how poison worked. Still, Arthur never made no mention to Jaime about it and let the boy be; let him find comfort and security in whatever way he wished. 

So, when Jaime had slept until noon-meal, Arthur instructed a maid to fetch their lunches and went to wake the lad himself. Surely, the magic Jaime had used could not have drained him so?

He was wrong.

His shout of horror and panic had the entire white tower up and moving, converging on the room where Arthur had fallen on his knees, cradling the boy he had begun to think of as a son as he twitched unresponding to the world. White eyes that saw nothing.

Poison.

Arthur bucked and fought the hands pulling him away from Jaime, nearly cracked Lewyn’s skull and broke Jonothor’s arm, as the handmaiden to the Dornish Princess poured something down Jaime’s throat.

“Calm, brother, calm,” Barristan soothed him, yet he did not bother to hide his own worry nor panic. “His heart still beats. Your panic may just hinder his recovery.”

He froze near immediately at those words.

“That’s it,” Barristan said. He turned his gaze to their brother behind him. “Jon, secure the tower, now.”

Their quiet brother disappeared into the shadows as Arthur tried to regain a steadiness to his breathing.

“Jaime–” Arthur began.

“Gently,” Princess Mariah warned him. “He is weak.”

Arthur was a man of violence, but you could never tell it from the way that he held the small boy close to his heart.

It was to his great relief that the boy blinked and coughed.

For a few terrifying, paralyzing, numb moments, Arthur thought that he would never see the green of Jaime’s eyes again, never hear his laugh again or his near-silent little huffs of breath as he crawled into his bed again. 

Jaime was alive.

He hadn’t failed him as badly as he had feared.

A thousand and one prayers he offered to every god, goddess, and deity that gifted him this blessing.

…And Jaime was speaking of magic.

“What do you mean?” Arthur felt horrified at the idea of an attack he could not defend, not even with the magic that Dawn supposedly held. “Did the alchemists–”

Jaime quickly shut that down, instead bringing up an even more horrific reason.

Bloodraven: kinslayer, oathbreaker, blood mage.

Bloodraven: the same as Jaime.

Arthur did not know how to react to such an awful thing, so he did not do so at all. Instead, he sighed raggedly, trying to expel all the bodily exhaustion he held and rested his cheak upon the top of his child’s head. “Then I am glad that you were not poisoned. I know how afraid you are of such a thing. If it is magic, then I will thank the gods for the blessing.”

Barristan made a show of grouching about Jaime and his damn cat, but Arthur didn’t even need to open his eyes to be able to tell that the man was trying to hide his own emotions badly. Arthur wasn’t the only one who cared about Jaime.

“I’m still tired,” Jaime said. “Can I sleep?”

Frankly, Arthur thinks that he would rather fight every knight in the entire seven kingdoms before he lets Jaime out of sight again.

“How about we go over to my bed and I tell you some stories about when Rhaegar and I first met? Socks can come too and I can have you stay safe in my room, how about that?” Arthur offered instead.

“Don’t you have duties?” 

Arthur’s heart twinged at the way the boy seemed to think that there could possibly be anything more important than him.

“I believe the most important one I have right now is watching over you, and I think Prince Rhaegar and Queen Rhaella would agree with me.” Arthur smoothed Jaime’s hair with a calloused hand.

“Oh,” Jaime melted at the touch. “Okay.”

Silently, Arthur made a new vow, one that he hoped would never contradict the one he made to his king and cloak, for he knew which vow would win out should it come to it.

“Okay,” He repeated hoarsely, kissing his boy’s forehead. Okay .

Chapter Text

Jaime slid to a stop at the end of a corridor, then, using the leverage of grabbing the wall, swung his body around the corner with his full momentum.

The maid stepped to the side with practiced ease, calling out to the boy flying past with a short: “Careful, mi’lord! Wet floor next hall!”

“Thanks!” Jaime shouted back, knowing to avoid the hall altogether and just take a different path. He’d skinned many knees and palms running through the halls of the Red Keep, but he’d also learned all the paths he could.

Sometimes, when one pathway doesn’t work, it’s easier to climb out a window.

The fourth-floor North-Eastern window of the Maester’s tower had a large Targeryan banner that stretched two floors down and ended a few feet above the outer wall’s lowest set of stairs. It was difficult, but as Jaime had come to learn, he was more cat than boy, and the lack of OSHA and railings were no major obstacle. Just a very minor feeling of pure fear every time he went down some stairs or walked the walls. 

Wrapping his legs securely around the banner, his fingers let go of the windowsill to clutch at the fabric, shimming down as quickly as possible until he was forced to switch to the handholds accidentally added by dragons hundreds of years ago, climbing to the side so he could kick off onto the stairs, and climb them down to the lower courtyard.

Ever since Jaime got sold to Medieval One Direction by the king three years ago, he’d learned to put his hair in a messy bun and get down to business. The ten-year-old running wild in the Red Keep, popping out of secret passages, speaking to servants, and climbing walls were a very common sight. Rhaella had called him the Golden Light of Kingslanding once, and Jaime had made a face. He’s no main character, the title was weird.

Socks, fully grown and a source of Barristan’s long-suffering, joined him at the bottom of the stairs. The cat was over half of Jaime’s size, roughly four feet long and nearly two feet tall, and he’d heard more than one comment on the orange cat being half lion. Frankly, he was a bit interested as to why Westeros just had so many megafauna, but he didn’t think his cat applied to that. Socks was just big-boned.

The orange menace meowed at him, long and irritated.

“I know!” Jaime didn’t stop as he continued running, “I know!”

“Oh, so you know you’re late?”

Jon Connington stood with a sword next to Rhaegar, Arthur, and some other royal squires. The red-headed teen was staring down at Jaime, nose in the air. The dude was usually fine, just the common sort of irritating, the kind of person who you would simply ignore in your class, but ever since Rheagar and Elia’s betrothal turned into a countdown to their wedding, the guy had been a nightmare of teenage angst.

“Yeah, JonCon, I know I’m late,” Jaime replied. “However, I was sending letters for the Queen, so forgive me for letting that task take priority.”

Rhaella sometimes had Jaime do some small tasks for her, things a trusted personal servant or a lady-in-waiting would do, but Jaime hated the idleness of nobility and often asked her if she had anything for him to do. He sometimes asked the Kingsguard or Rhaegar or even random nobles of the court, but most of the time it came with a reminder that he was the son of a Lord Paramount, or the instructions to polish some armor, and not the pinch of a cheek and the cooing of how he was growing to be such a kind and dutiful young man.

Jon’s eye twitched, “Don’t call me JonCon.”

“Don’t–” Jaime began, ready to end this man’s whole career.

“Jaime, please,” Arthur interrupted. “Go grab a sword.”

Jaime went to go grab a sword.

There was a very irritating lack of wristwatches in westeroes, and yes, Jaime has tried to fix this, and yes, he did abandon the task less than a week later because he kept failing to remember how clocks worked.

He slid back into line with the rest of the squires as they watched Arthur and Rhaegar spar, waiting for their moment to step in and help their knight with their gear, or to learn a new move.

One of the squires his age, Jaremy of House Rykker, leaned over to him as the swords clashed. “We saw you climb out the window.”

Jaime winced, knowing that Arthur is going to scold him for that later in private. “Maids were cleaning the fourth-floor corridor and I was late.”

“You’re always late or too early,” Jaremy snorted.

“Fashionably late and diligently early,” He replied with a small smirk.

Jon sneered, “You tell yourself that.”

Jaime has had a rocky relationship with most of the other squires, and he would like to maintain that it totally wasn’t his fault. All of them were young boys with immense pressure to politically and socially advance their families while also trying to get the most noticed for their fighting capabilities. Jaime, the youngest of the group, was the one who properly squired with the Sword of the Morning, and none of the basically fake squiring that you did for a royal, he could throw a punch and take it, knocking Rhaegar on his ass all while laughing with him and calling the crown prince a nickname. It was unfair, and he knew it. Jaime tried his best to even things out, offering to teach them some of his moves, wearing leather armor and using blunt swords, but most of them never warmed up to him. Some, like Jaremy, half-did, the bullying being almost friendly.

The lesson of the day was reasonably easy.

A few disarmaments, what to do if your opponent just sent your sword flying, the usual.

Jaime, known now for abandoning his sword if need be and switching to a knife, got given the task of not losing his sword. He would like the record to show that he was doing great, but then the Master of Arms, Ser Willem Darry, paired up Jon and Jaime, and well…

“Fuck!” Jon snarled, hand flying up to grasp his nose.

He was supposed to be the one doing the disarming so Jon could practice being unarmed, but then the older boy hadn’t rolled with the move and kicked Jaime’s knee instead, giving him the distraction to be able to successfully use brute strength to force Jaime’s sword out of his hand, and then, of course, Jaime wouldn’t let that fly so–

“Good one!” Ser Willem praised.

Arthur just sighed, “Get out of the habit of headbutting, Jaime; you’ll break your own skull if they’re wearing a helmet.”

Jon grabbed Jaime by his long hair, using the bun like a handle to yank his head back. In retaliation, Jaime grabbed his where he was gripping, spun, and flipped the older boy onto his back.

Jon was immediately scrambling back onto his feet, but he was stopped by a sword at his chin.

“Yield,” Jaime said casually as if he did this every day. Which he did.

Jon glared but yielded.

It was easy to see why the original Jaime Lannister got arrogant, beyond the surface-level coping mechanisms for living in an unjust world.

“Flip is new,” Rhaegar pointed out, interested. He would never be the biggest or strongest man, slim and tall, and so he took many of Jaime’s modern fighting strategies for himself.

“I’ve been practicing it with Addam,” His nose wrinkled as he was forced to re-do the bun, his hair briefly slipping down to its full Rapunzel length before he twisted it back up again. “Since he keeps telling me my hair is a target.”

Rhaegar seemed to consider his own shiny silver shoulder-length hair, “Perhaps we can practice it together now?”

“Or tomorrow.”

Elia had slipped into the courtyard, hands delicately holding her skirts up so they wouldn’t drag on the ground. Her two year return to Sunspear after the betrothal had been announced had done her well, she was a darker brown and supporting a new nose piercing, and she looked beautiful. Oberyn had gone with her, and he was suprisingly still alive.

“My betrothed,” Rhaegar turned to her, stupid lovesick grin on his face.

Elia smiled, “We have a meeting with the High Septon, my love, you should go get ready.”

“Why bother?” Rheagar was doing the stupid eyes again. Jaime had turned into a #CootiesTruther just because of those eyes. “I am never ready to behold your beauty.”

Jon looked like he was ready to take a dive into the sea, but only if he got to drag Elia with him. Arthur’s eyes were very carefully blank. Oberyn had the face of a man who got handed a bunch of leeches. Elia, the weirdo, was blushing.

Jaime didn’t want to suffer any longer, so with a very quiet and very subtle flash of white eyes, Socks brushed past the prince to go sit at Elia’s feet and meow with all the insistence of a feline demanding attention. That got them moving.

Knowing that their lesson was over, the squires approached their knights and began to undo their armor, though Jaime simply placed his sword back and crept to his spot back at Arthur’s side. Kingsguards don’t leave their armor until they’re back in their tower, like in Shrek. Well, probably not like Shrek, but Jaime can’t fully remember the plot of Shrek anymore, though he does remember most of Shrek 2 because that movie is iconic and he is mildly interested in seeing if he will grow up to look like Prince Charming.

“I saw that,” Arthur told him as they followed the lovebirds into Maegar’s Holdfast where Jonothor would take over his shift. 

“Saw what?” Jaime blinked up at him innocently. That look now had only a fifty-fifty chance of working, Arthur had wisened up to the fact that Jaime liked to cause chaos on purpose, but he was also very susceptible to the fact that Jaime was small and sweet and caused problems on accident.

“Socks,” Arthur’s hand landed on his shoulder, warm and stable, blantedly fond. “And the window.”

Damn it.

“Polishing armor?” He guessed.

“And practicing reading from the White Book,” Arthur added. “Three full chapters of deeds for worrying me.”

Reasonable punishment, not even that bad. Jaime was getting far better at reading, even if he was slow and stuttered when he read aloud. Plus, he loved the White Book.

“Fine,” Jaime made a show of whining melodramatically.

Then he froze, ears twitching at the sounds they picked up. His whiskers twitched and he leaped down from his perch to run away.

Arthur’s hand was still on his shoulder, and Jaime had barely faltered in his steps.

“Lad?” His voice was hushed, concerned.

Jaime stepped away from him, “King’s coming. I’ll meet you in the tower.”

The Dornishman’s face went tight as he nodded stiffly, not reprimanding him for running away from the king.

Jaime hadn’t seen the king in months, and if he were lucky, he wouldn’t have to for another moon until Rhaegar married. The cats of the city helped him, always keeping an eye, ear, and nose out for the mad royal.

“Take the safe route,” Arthur ordered.

Jaime gave him a lazy salute back, and, the second that his guardian couldn’t see him, he slipped into a servant’s corridor. 

What? It’s not like he’s climbing the walls! …Again.

Chapter Text

“Jaime, please, he’s twice your size,” Ashara was distinctly unimpressed.

“Everyone is twice my size!” He gave her a look that screamed how much he couldn’t actually believe she just said that. “It’s, like, one of my biggest problems in life.”

He really, really , couldn’t wait for his growth spurt. He knows he grows up to be tall, g-d damn it, let that be now!

“It’s dishonorable, not illegal,” Addam pointed out.

“Dishonorable enough for me to fight him.”

With the royal wedding approaching, Kingslanding was filling with families from every single corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Stannis and his mother had arrived only this morning, and the two were reuniting with Lord-Hand Steffon Baratheon. The Tullys were apparently only a two-day ride outside the city, and the Vale lords were a day away by ship. The Reach lords were to arrive today, but the North and the Westerlands were over a sennight away. Yet, the city was teeming with life.

And low-lifes.

The knight had spat and kicked a small child for bumping into them, the low-born boy gone sprawling after the backhand came from nowhere. The boy’s mother, one of the tradesmen’s wives, looked panicked, trying to push forward to her son despite the knight’s friend holding her back.

Jaime pushed Addam’s restraining arm aside and strode forward to the scene forming in the market. They might have only come here for Ashara to get new hair pins, but Jaime could never let an asshole go unconfronted.

“Hey!” He called the knight’s attention. He was a landed knight, one of the Brune’s of Brownhollow, a house that is so minor that even the Crownlands lords may forget about, and Jaime only recognized due to their long history of knights. A brown bear’s paw on a white field, their knights were half-wild and unpredictable, ranging from honorable to oathbreakers. “Pick on someone your own size!”

The knight stared at Jaime like he was crazy before laughing, sneering down at him. “My size? You obviously have some delusions about your height, page .”

The idiot had no idea who Jaime was. Which, if Jaime was actually hiding at all, would be acceptable, but he was not. His doublet was crimson red, a shade between the Targeryan one and the Lannister one, and his sword, while technically just a very long dagger, was very finely forged, a gift from Rhaegar for his tenth birthday. Hells, his hair was down and to his butt, and it was hard to mistake Lannister features for anything else.

“I am fully aware of my height, but I was thinking that as Lord Jaime Lannister, Heir to the West and Squire to the Sword of the Morning, the size of my status might even things out.” Drawling his words with an arrogant air, he dared the moron to challenge him.

Unfortunately, you could always count on an idiot to be an idiot.

The knight had flailed for a moment, knowing that he was out of his depth, yet he tried to justify himself. “What do you care about the low-born scum? This boy just tried to steal my purse.”

“Right,” He said sarcastically. “From what I saw, you’re beating an innocent boy for not getting out of your way fast enough, but I may have seen things wrong.”

He turned to the boy, probably the same age as him. “What’s your name?”

“F-faelys, mi’lord,” The boy, Faelys, stuttered back.

“Faelys, did you try to steal Ser Brune’s purse?” He asked kindly.

“No mi’lord! I woul’ never steal! Me Ma would have me head!” Faelys frantically shook his head.

Jaimed turned back to Ser Brune, a condescending smile on his face, “Oh look, I didn’t see things wrong. So how about you take your foot off young Faelys’ chest and keep going about your day?”

The knight sneered back, “You would take the word of a peasant over that of a knight?”

“I would take my eyes and the words of several eye witnesses over the words of a singular knight,” Jaime replied coldly.

The pigeons of the street all took off in a rush, a single mangy cat’s yowl of displeasure sending them all flying. 

Ser Brune spat in Jaime’s direction in disgust, but removed his foot that was keeping poor Faelys on the ground. “What would your father think about you betraying your own kind like this?”

“My kind? What are we, animals?” He scoffed, incredulous at this new level of stupidity. “Though perhaps you are, the way your father smells like elderberries and your mother of hamster.”

Here are several things to note: Jaime was impulsive, didn’t think his words through, had learned at the knee of several drag queens and kings on how to read someone to filth, and loved watching Monty Python with his Bubbe. 

Really, he should have seen the punch coming.

Still, the second his butt landed on the ground, he was rolling, sweeping his legs in an arch that knocked the asshole to the ground. If he wants to fight, then Jaime is going to show him why you should never underestimate your opponent, even if they are half your size and haven’t gone through puberty yet.

Ser Brune was flat on his back in less than a second, and with his shiny armor, stuck like a turtle on its shell. Jaime agreed with Lyanna, southern knights are all pompous idiots when they wear armor that slows them down when perfectly good mail and leather are right there . Jaime swung his body forward, straddling the knight and taking his mini sword out, pointing it under his chin where there was no armor to protect the soft flesh. The tip welled with blood, but he didn’t press it, leaving the man alive. 

He didn’t kill, and he doesn’t ever want to kill.

A strangled yell drew his eyes up. Ashara had grabbed her own small knife from inside her braid and was currently sticking it deeper into the shoulder joint of the second knight. The man had clearly been moving forward to draw his sword and defend his friend, but Ashara was far quicker.

“Don’t you dare touch my ward,” She snarled.

The second knight dropped his sword.

Addam, the only one left without a drawn weapon, went to go help get Faelys up. 

“Here,” His cousin pressed two silver coins into the boy’s hand as he handed him over to his mother. “For your troubles. Now I do suggest you make yourself scarce.”

The mother blubbered out a thanks as she smuggled her son away and into the crowd.

Jaime turned back to Ser Brune, “I hope you’ve learned a lesson on dishonorable behavior today.”

The half-wild knight only answered with a wordless snarl.

“I’ll let you go with your life,” He pulled the blade away from his chin, then slammed the pommel onto the man’s nose, breaking it. “But, as my father says, a Lannister always pays his debts. Remember that.”

Jaime stood up smoothly, ignoring the fact that his nose hurt like a bitch and that there was blood in his mouth. He took one step away, but then Addam was replacing him, stabbing down with his own short sword. Blood gushed and spilled as three of the knight’s fingers were severed.

“And that’s for striking my liege lord,” Addam spat on the ground next to the knight.

Jaime froze at the blood.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen blood before, nor an execution. Both are common in King Aerys court, especially ever since the Defiance of Duskendale nearly four years ago. However, this was the first time he’d seen blood spilled for him, and not simply in defense like Ashara, but in vengence…

He didn’t like it. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore that, by all of society’s standards, it was necessary, and that Jaime was being foolish for being so merciful to a guy who had so majorly overstepped his station. Divine right of kings and the chain of being were very very essential to keeping the Westerosi status quo, and Jaime tended to defy it too much.

Fuck, Addam was only eleven, he shouldn’t be cutting fingers off. This is, like, bad for his development. This is bad for Jaime's development!

“Let’s go, cousin,” Addam grabbed Jaime by his hand and walked off, head held high. Ashara only a step behind them.

Still, Addam’s face had a tinge of green to it.

“Addam?” Jaime asked, voice small and shaky once they were a considerable distance away.

His cousin swallowed thickly, but his voice stayed light. “You’re too honorable for your own good, Jaime.”

“Sorry,” He tucked his head down.

Ashara sighed, “Don’t be sorry for being honorable or merciful. Be sorry for letting your mouth get the better of you.”

Addam seemed to take strength from the distraction, “What even was that insult?”

“He called his father a drunk and his mother a whore,” Ashara did let a small amount of amusement show before she squashed it down. “Which, I doubt that Ser Brune understood that, he was likely responding to that smirk on your face, Jaime. It’s no good if your insults are discreet but your face is so smug.”

He didn’t even realise that his face looked smug. “Sorry.”

Addam shook out his hands as they headed back to the Red Keep, “You’re going to need someone to fix your nose. Any chance you’ll let Maester Pycelle look at it?”

“Don’t trust him,” His nose was turning numb, but when he poked it, it hurt like a bitch. That’s probably not good. “Did Princess Mariah bring her own healers?”

“Yes, and Oberyn has finished learning healing in Essos as well,” Ashara picked at a spot of blood that stained her sleeve. “Arthur is going to be displeased. At you, and I. It is unladylike to stab knights.”

“Didn’t your brother teach you? I am certain he would have done so for a reason,” Addam tried to reassure her.

Her face only twisted in displeasure, “It is still unladylike.”

The story is going to spread like wildfire amongst the low-born, and it’s only a matter of time before the lords know. 

Jaime is in so much trouble.

He sniffed, but that brought a sharp shooting pain and more blood pooling in the back of his throat, which led to his eyes tearing up.

“...Though maybe if Jaime and I start crying then Arthur might not be angry,” Ashara said, contemplatively. 

“I don’t have that power,” Addam sighed. “Though I am certain mother and father will be proud that I had drawn blood.”

“I hate fighting,” Jaime finally spoke again. “I don’t want to be a knight.”

That was a lie, but in the moment, he couldn’t see his future with the title of ‘Ser.’ The title sounded like a sentence of violence. Would he be changing the system by joining, or perpetuating a cycle of propaganda and violence? 

Ashara and Addam shared a look over his head.

Ashara stepped forward and placed an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her in a half-hug. “How about we go straight to Arthur? He’ll clean us up.”

And they did.

Arthur had been with Rhaegar, not in armor but simply hanging out as friends, but upon seeing his sister and squire arrive covered in blood, he ran to their side.

Jaime didn’t talk until the blood was wiped away, and his nose was set back into place. Ashara and Addam told their tale, then stuck around as they waited for Jaime to speak.

“Lad,” Arthur knelt down in front of him. “What you did was very honorable, and I am so very proud of you for defending innocents, do you understand that?”

“But I messed up,” His eyes were watering, which was so embarrassing. He’s not a baby anymore, he’s ten years old and he can finish his own fights and ride a horse by himself and read and write and he won’t cry! “I was arrogant and I needed Ash and Addam to rescue me.”

“That’s true,” Arthur didn’t even deny it. “But you’re young and you’re learning.”

“Not fast enough,” Jaime muttered. War will be upon them soon enough, and Jaime didn’t even know the cause of it. What happens in Harrenhal is still a mystery to him.

Arthur frowned mildly at those words, “Do you think I fight alone, Jaime?”

“You’re the Sword of the Morning–”

“Doesn’t mean I go into battle alone. I cannot fight six men at once without injury. There is a reason there are seven knights in a Kingsguard. Why do you think you should be able to handle two fully trained knights that are twice your age and height?”

Jaime shrugged, not meeting his eyes. 

A hand came to tilt his chin up, gently forcing eye contact. “There’s no such thing as perfection, Jaime. You can only feel guilt for not learning, and from what I see, you should not have any guilt tonight.”

Jaime wasn’t crying, but he still craved a hug. 

“Come here, lad,” Arthur opened his arms, sensing what he needed. “You too, Ashara.”

The older lady joined them, clinging tight to the knight.

Arthur was always steady and there when needed, and for a moment, Jaime was terrified of the day that he grew up and Arthur wasn’t there anymore.

Then he remembered his past life, how he had grown and moved out and moved states… and still, he called his Bubbe to ask how to wash his new dress and how the eighty-year-old woman had driven across state lines to attend his party when the old owner transferred ownership of the bar to him. He missed his Bubbe, and he was sure she missed him too.

Growing up doesn’t mean leaving Arthur and Ashara and Rhaegar and all his friends behind.