Chapter Text
Jaime was certain it was cold. But frankly the chill had settled so far into his bones that even if he stepped into a pyre he wasn’t sure the warmth would reach him. It was a tactic his King had not yet tried, though he often stared longingly into the flames.
Their current fire crackled pitifully in the old stone fireplace. Smashed wardrobe sides, broken doors, window molding. It wouldn’t last but a few more hours before they’d be forced to give up their privacy and retreat to where those who were left huddled for warmth amongst the frozen walls and raging blazes.
With a deep sigh Jaime forced himself away from the fire and to his King. “What can you even see out that window?” he wondered, peering out the window by his King’s side and seeing nothing but darkness.
The breath that rumbled free from his King’s chest was long and weary. “I suppose it’s less about what I can see and more about what I imagine to see,” Jon mused.
“Or you just look better brooding while staring longingly into the distance,” Jaime countered.
The retort got more of a huff than a real chuckle, but Jaime would take it. It had been so long since he’d seen his King smile. “Aye, that too.”
“What do you think it’ll be like then?” Jaime asked.
“Like what?”
“Death.”
“Oh,” he breathed, still staring into the blackness. “Death is nothing.”
“I hope you’re right.” If anyone could be an expert on the subject it would be him after all. Jaime thought about the choice they’d proposed to the survivors today. To go out to meet the army and die fighting or to die here and be set onto the pyre.
There had been hope once, maybe even tentative plans to sail for Essos, but the bay was frozen solid. Thick snow and unreasonably strong winds had already flattened or buried the poor construction of King's Landing. Only the Red Keep still looming large. Jaime wondered if the hastily reconstructed Great Sept was still standing or had collapsed too. With no daylight hours it was impossible to see the state of the world outside the brief respite of firelight.
But even that was fading, the Red Keep’s once plentiful resources were exhausted and his King had informed them that the horde was closing in. He didn’t say how he knew, but they all believed him. Everyone could feel that this was the end.
About half had asked for the pyre. It was a good choice, Jaime thought. No matter how strong the desire to die with a weapon in hand was, it was undercut by the fact that they’d be revived as wrights soon after. To rob the Night King of their bodies was a greater final defiance.
Jaime wasn’t sure if he’d have taken that option too, if left fully to his own devices. But he wouldn’t now, as his King could not. Once a Kingsguard, always a Kingsguard. He was sure that to go down fighting beside Jon, his rightful King, their chosen King, their savior, was the only reason anyone had chosen to fight.
“What do you believe there is?” Jon asked, breaking him from his dark musings. “If not nothing?”
“Hell,” Jaime said simply. “It would be a blessing to die and see nothing instead of being faced with all my mistakes.”
Jon turned to truly look at him for the first time that night, a deep frown on his face. Gray eyes boring into green. “That is not a fate you deserve, my friend. No matter what you might have convinced yourself of.”
Jaime huffed, utterly unconvinced as he always was, and ready to let the subject drop as usual but his King did not seem content to let it rest.
“Jaime,” he commanded, drawing his attention back. A thick gloved hand came up to cup the side of his head and force him to hold his King’s gaze. “Even if there is something else, it shall not be torment for you.”
He swallowed thickly. “I was not always a good man.”
“No,” his King agreed gently. “Not always, but now. You are one of my truest and most trusted friends and you deserve peace.”
Jaime’s eyes burned with feelings of acceptance and purpose. How cruel was it that he should only find what he craved all his life once he was destined to lose it?
“You honor me, my King.”
Jon huffed but didn’t argue, long since giving up rejecting the title. For all he claimed he couldn’t be a King without a Kingdom, Jaime fought back that it didn’t matter, so long as one person followed him, as long as he followed him, he would always be a King.
By some impulse Jaime leaned forward slightly, seeking more warmth and comfort. Jon obliged, gently resting their foreheads together in a common free folk fashion. He let his eyes slip shut. “Perhaps, if there is something else, I shall see you there.”
Jaime didn’t see him smile, but he could hear it in his voice. “I hope so,” his King said. “I hope so.”
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The world was slightly hazy, a graying around the edges he’d long associated with coming out of a fugue trance. There was smoke in the air and ash on his tongue. Screams from far below him could still be heard echoing off red walls.
Oh, Jaime thought distantly, only able to muster up a fleeting disappointment, so there is a hell.
He’d seen this scene play out so many times in his nightmares that even as his mind processed where he was his body moved instinctively. A few quick strides from the Iron Throne and his sword cut across the pyromancer's side, neatly cleaving him from hip to shoulder.
The Mad King's eyes looked down on him as he turned. Glinting so strongly with insanity that there wasn’t even a hint of betrayal. As Jaime raised his sword a peak of fear shone through. The monster turned to run, exposing his back and Jaime brought the sword down hard, on the top of his crowned head, with the hilt.
He watched dispassionately as the Mad King slumped down beside his throne, crown rolling off to the side. Unconscious, not dead.
How many times had he wondered if things would have been different had he just stopped him instead of killing him. Would the great and honorable Ned Stark have looked at him with such disgust if he’d merely betrayed and not killed? Though King-knocker-outer surely didn’t sound as remarkable as Kingslayer.
He wondered what Robert the Drunk King, before he’d become a King, would think, finding the body of his (second) mortal enemy out cold and defenseless? Would he smash the bastard's skull in and laugh at another dead dragon (just as he’d done with his Prince)? Or would Ned Stark's honor prevail and they’d hold a farce of a trial until all truly understood the madness bubbling out of the man?
It didn’t matter to Jaime, either way Aerys’ fate was sealed. He’d be dead or imprisoned regardless of his own actions or lack thereof.
Instead he was running. Sprinting full tilt through the castle to the point of grabbing onto corners to skid around them. He didn’t know why he bothered, it never made a difference.
Jaime wondered which kind of nightmare this would be. Would he get there in time to find them all alive only to be slaughtered by the Mountain as easily as they were, unable to save anyone? Would he find them too late, only seeing too small bodies cold and lifeless wrapped in Lannister red? Or would he just keep running, running, running never able to reach their room as screams echoed down the hall?
Look after my family for me. His Prince had said.
He’d tried, he’d tried, he’d tried.
It wasn’t your fault, Jaime, you couldn’t have known. His King has said.
But he should have.
Well, not a running one then, Jaime thought as he rounded on the door.
He didn’t waste a second, slamming his full weight into the solid oak door and sending it flying open. He’d seen the scene inside so many times that there was no hesitation when he plunged his sword into the Mountain's unhelmeted skull.
The screaming didn’t register as he turned to the other figure in the room, ignoring the blood splatter on the wall beside the crib (too late, too late, always too late).
Amory Lorch was hunched over a small body with dark hair, scrambling up to defend himself even as Jaime went on the offensive. He’d managed to turn around on his knees before Jaime took his head off his shoulders.
The body swayed and fell forward revealing a white dress stained with so much red, red, RED (too late, too late, always too late).
He stood there shaking, heaving with exertion. He knew they were dead; he'd never been able to save them but gods gods why? It wasn’t fair.
You deserve peace.
He hopped beyond their deaths, at least, there was nothing.