Chapter Text
JAIME
The days and nights blurred together in a fog of cold and misery. The stone walls leached any hope of warmth from the kennels, leaving Jaime a shivering mass in the corner, huddled beneath his musty cloak. The air was so glacial his toes and fingers burned with frostbite, and before long he lost all feeling in his limbs. He supposed it made no matter, though. All he could do in the confines of his cell was eat and sleep and think, and relieve himself in the wooden pail they had brought him.
His only visitors were the northmen assigned to guard him morning, noon, and night. They proved rather dull company, standing mute in front of the bars, hands on their sword hilts. The gaoler that had kept watch the first day learned to sleep against the cell opposite his, and Jaime was glad for it. If the man dared come near him again, he was going to get more than a good throttling, Jaime vowed. Brienne was not there to stop him.
As it happened, the wench did not return at all. He had not truly expected her to come back after the way things had ended between them, yet her absence bothered him nonetheless. He found his mind circling to their conversation often, grasping onto the moment she admitted to trusting him, to believing him. If he was to die at some point in the near future, as was most like the case, at least one person in this gods-damned world had faith in his word. But to what end?
Mayhaps that was why he had kissed her. With his honor hanging in the balance, her big blue eyes full of suspicion and reproach, he had acted on instinct, desperate to bridge that gap between them once more. To bring her close and kiss her doubts away. He could still feel her skin beneath his fingertips, the way her pulse had thrummed against his lips as he pressed them to her neck. Her mouth had been sweet and warm, her waist surprisingly soft under his palm…
It used to be Cersei I’d think of this way.
Whenever his thoughts turned to his sweet sister, Jaime could muster only bitterness and resentment, and the shift left him with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. After all, his golden twin had been the only thing that had kept him alive while he was held captive by the Starks before. The desire to return to her arms, to her bed, had burned hot in his mind the entire journey from the Young Wolf’s camp to King’s Landing.
In truth, Cersei had been the sole reason he had stayed in the capital in the first place. When they were fifteen, she had convinced him to replace the deceased Ser Harlan Grandison as a member of the Kingsguard, to keep him close to her and to free him from having to marry Lysa Tully as their father had arranged. Jaime had been hesitant at first, knowing that doing so would require him to relinquish his claim to Casterly Rock and his position as Tywin’s heir. But eventually he conceded, and decided to stay by his sister’s side.
I gave up my land, my title, my life for her, for this woman I do not know. Do not love.
The realization chilled him to the bone.
Something like weeks passed before Jaime learned anything of the outside world. By then he had lost a decent amount of weight, and his hair had grown long enough to push back behind his ears. He was debating asking for a razor to shave off his straggly beard when the door of the kennels burst open, startling him. A group of men shoved through the entrance, holding torches and pulling some kind of animal in with chains. The creature snarled and thrashed, and it took all seven of them to force it into one of the cells across the hallway. As the bars were shut around it, the thing began to dash about wildly, banging against the walls and screeching like a being half-dead until it managed to slip free of its restraints.
Jaime struggled to his feet, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to pull him back down. Once the stars faded a bit, he pushed his face through a slat in his cell to get a better look. The beast was definitely no animal, but it was not entirely human, either. He had never seen anything like it. The skin shimmered pale grey, tattered and torn as if in the process of decomposing. At times it crawled on all fours, while at others it stood on two legs. When its head snapped in Jaime’s direction, he saw that its eyes were an unnatural shade of blue, glowing as if cut from glaciers.
Snippets of half-forgotten tales surged through his head, myths of frozen, undead beings from beyond the Wall come to steal children from their beds.
A wight.
Jaime staggered back, gaping in disbelief. Impossible. Yet no matter how many times he blinked, the reanimated corpse still appeared before him, jerking and flailing about like a bear full of arrows. Fear closed around Jaime’s throat, quick and suffocating, its icy fingers threatening to choke him.
Noticing his frightened state, one of the men from the party left his comrades and walked over, limping from a gash across his left calf. Upon seeing him, Jaime was pulled back to Winterfell’s yard five years ago, to the day Robert’s party departed for the capital. The boy had been watching a skinny sword being forged in the armory, and Jaime had swaggered up to him, all arrogance and pompous attitude, asking if he had ever swung a blade at a man before. He had been attempting to both warn and scare the child, Jaime supposed, and had reminded him that the Night’s Watch served for life.
Now the boy was a man grown, and he possessed a calm air of authority that came from experience in command.
“Jon Snow,” greeted Jaime. Despite the attempted conviviality, his voice cracked on the last syllable.
The newly crowned king simply nodded in response, regarding Jaime coolly. His brown eyes shimmered orange in the torchlight. At least he didn’t call me Kingslayer.
“You’ve brought me some decent company at last,” said Jaime, gesturing to the writhing creature across the hall. “Although I assume he won’t be staying long. Where do you plan on taking him, pray tell?”
“The capital,” answered Jon.
Jaime whistled. “That’s quite a ways. Unfortunately, I don’t think my sweet sister will grant you access very easily. Given the North’s becoming a sovereign kingdom and whatnot.”
“We have no other choice. The Great Houses must be made aware of this peril before it’s too late.”
“She’ll cut your escort down before you even reach the gates.”
The statement was not a threat, just a fact, and by Jon’s unperturbed expression it was clear he had already come to the same conclusion.
“I have sent a raven to King’s Landing to explain the terms of the meeting. Hopefully your sister will sense the urgency of the matter and allow us into the capital peacefully.”
“Cersei is not one to sense urgency in anything unless it directly benefits her.” All at once, an idea bloomed in Jaime’s mind, its roots scrambling to take hold. After a few moments of considering, he decided the notion had merit. This could work.
“There is another way,” Jaime said. “It happens to be mutually beneficial to both our causes.”
“Both our causes?”
“I would quite like to keep my head. You are planning to hold a trial, I assume?” Jon stayed quiet, and Jaime took this as a cue to continue. “Send me back to King’s Landing. I am the only kin Cersei has left. Returning me will be a symbol of peace, and I can convince her to let you through the city.”
A dubious expression lit up Jon’s face. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“No. I take you for a desperate man in need of a solution. As am I.”
A long silence ensued, and Jaime feared the White Wolf had not been convinced. Then Jon turned to the gaoler.
“Bind him and bring him to the Great Hall.”
Jon stalked away, and the northman ran to fetch fresh hemp. When he returned, he tied Jaime’s arms to his sides, leading him from the cell and out the wooden door. As the darkness of the kennels receded behind him, Jaime felt like a newborn babe experiencing the world for the first time. He had never been so glad to be outside, to see the sky, to smell fresh air. He savored the bite of snow on his skin, the crispness of the wind as it blew through his hair.
Then the walls of the Great Hall closed around him, and he was thrown to the floor once more. This time both Sansa and Jon sat behind the table, and instead of staring daggers at him, Brienne avoided Jaime’s attempts to catch her eye.
“You wish to be returned to King’s Landing,” began Sansa.
Jaime nodded. “I am the only family my sister has. Give me to her, and I assure you, she’ll be so grateful she’ll welcome you with open arms.” The lie came easily enough, although it appeared the lady had not been persuaded.
“We have received no word from the queen regarding your ransom, nor from our allies in the Neck about possible attempts to send reinforcements,” said Sansa. “Mayhaps you mean less to your sister than you thought.”
You have the right of it, Jaime thought. Instead, he said, “Mayhaps. But my being captured is a slight against House Lannister. Sending me to the capital will be a token of good faith on your part.”
“Good faith.” Sansa tasted the words for a moment. “Cersei killed the heirs to Highgarden, those who were her sworn allies, in cold blood. What does she know of good faith?”
She had him there. Jaime turned to Jon. “I’ve seen the creature you intend to bring to the capital. An army of something like that… it could destroy the Seven Kingdoms. If I explain how dangerous these things are, tell her I’ve seen one with my own eyes, she will have to let you through. My sweet sister is nothing if not selfish, and these monstrosities are threatening her kingdom.”
That seemed to give the siblings pause. They exchanged a glance, and Jaime could feel the noose loosening around his neck.
Then, Jon said, “Lannisters lie. Why should we trust you’ll do as you say?”
Jaime shut his eyes. Why should they? He was the Kingslayer, oathbreaker, man without honor. He had pushed their brother from a window and taken their great uncle’s home. My word means less than dirt to them.
“My lady, Your Grace,” came Brienne’s voice, pulling him from the darkness. All attention turned to her, and for a moment she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of it. Then she cleared her throat. “If I may speak freely.”
Sansa nodded, slowly, confused.
“He is not the man he was.” Brienne’s gaze found Jaime’s for a brief second before darting away, back to Sansa, to Jon. “I do not claim to forget his past crimes against your family, but…”
Eddard Stark’s cane thwapped against the floors of the Red Keep, and Bran’s direwolf cried below the broken tower, forlorn.
“On our journey back to the capital, he saved me from being raped by the Brave Companions, and when Locke had me in the bear pit at Harrenhal, he… he came back for me, my lady. Your Grace. He jumped down onto the sand, unarmed, to save me.”
The memories flooded Jaime’s mind, as vivid as if the events had occurred yesterday. He had been tied to a tree, the chains digging deep into his arms, and heard the wench’s screams as members of the Bloody Mummers tried to beat her into submission. He had done his best to ignore it, to tell himself it made no matter, but before long he was weaving a tale of the sapphire mines on Tarth. Locke had believed him, and ordered Brienne be left unharmed. That was when I lost my hand.
The lie had served her well enough, until it came time for Jaime to depart Harrenhal and leave her behind. Locke wouldn't take Selwyn Tarth’s offer, thinking the man was trying to cheat him of all the sapphires on the island, and put her in the bear pit as some perverse form of entertainment instead. She had been dressed in pink satin and Myrish lace, he recalled, the gown bloody and ripped to shreds. The tourney sword in her hand had been ineffectual at keeping the beast’s claws at bay, and she’d been raked across the chest and arm in long red slashes.
“He sent me to find you, my lady. To protect you, and keep his promise to your lady mother.” Finally Brienne’s cerulean irises locked on him. “Ser Jaime has done terrible things, but there is good in him.”
It seemed to Jaime that she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else in the room, yet her words rendered him speechless all the same. Ser Jaime. The first time she had addressed him as such had been at Harrenhal, he remembered. It sent chills down his spine even now.
When he glanced at the King in the North, at Lady Sansa, Jaime saw that they were just as stunned. They are like to hang us from the same limb. Suddenly he wanted to stand and shake her, to curse her for defending his honor, for endangering herself on his behalf. Brienne’s words would do naught to sway them, he knew, only call into question her own sense of loyalty for trying to protect the likes of him.
“Lady Brienne is far too generous. I am no knight.” Jaime gave her a pointed look, then shrugged through his restraints. “There seems to be plenty enough rope here for a decent noose. Shall we pick a tree?”
Brienne’s stare met his, and for a time the hall was as silent as a tomb, the only sound the howling of wolves from somewhere far away. Stupid, stubborn wench! he wanted to shout. Do you have a death wish? But she did not relent, her eyes boring into his, neck flushing pink in anger. It was only when Sansa’s voice cut through the hush that she finally broke her gaze away.
“Brienne rescued me from being recaptured by the Boltons. Since then, she has proven herself a true warrior and a truer friend.” Sansa looked to Jaime, but there was no kindness in her face. “If she has faith in your word, I will not doubt her.”
Jaime released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
The King in the North sat mute for a time, lost in thought. Then he turned to his half-sister. “Such an exchange may be the only hope we have of entering the city in peace. We have no choice but to trust him.”
Jaime felt a rush of relief wash over him, tingling across his skin. When his eyes flitted to Brienne, he saw the same feeling mirrored in her features, despite her obvious attempts to obscure it.
“You will ride south with my escort, and precede us through the capital,” continued Jon. “You will have one week to persuade your sister to let us past the gates. If I do not receive word by then, your immunity will be revoked, and I will be forced to return with a larger host to put you back in chains.”
Jaime almost scoffed. “You would declare war against the Iron Throne?” The North was big, no doubt, and the Vale added significant numbers. But attempting to sack King’s Landing had been no easy feat even during Robert’s Rebellion, with the men of Storm’s End and Lord Tywin’s forces from Casterly Rock aiding them as well.
“Your sister does not have as great of odds as she once did,” said Jon. “Daenerys Targaryen has landed on Dragonstone, with Dorne and Highgarden standing behind her. Rumor has it a fraction of the ironborn have also pledged their allegiance.”
Have you? Jaime wanted to ask, but stayed his tongue. It made no matter. His sweet sister was surrounded by enemies, and he knew her allies were scarce. She inspired no love from her subjects, and when they sensed the tide turning against her, it was obvious which side they would choose to fight for. Small wonder she had paid no mind to his imprisonment. The sea was rising around her, threatening to pull her under, and she had only held the throne a scant few months.
Her reign was already slipping through her fingers like smoke.
“We leave on the morrow,” declared Jon, his words heavy with finality. Before Jaime could be dragged from the Great Hall again, however, Sansa spoke.
“Brienne will accompany you.”
It was clear from Brienne’s wide eyes and parted lips that she had not anticipated such a charge, and nigh a minute passed before she found her voice. “My lady,” she said finally, brow furrowed. “I have sworn to protect you…”
“And you have sworn to obey me.” In the silence that followed her statement, Sansa seemed to catch the sharpness of her tone, and softened it for her next words. “You are more capable with a sword than half the Knights of the Vale. I trust you will keep my brother safe in the capital.”
Brienne nodded eventually, but it was out of acquiescence, not willingness. She loves the girl, Jaime realized. He wondered what it would be like to actually care about the person you’d sworn to serve. Too painful, most like.
They left the next morning through a storm of snow and ice. As the horses carried them across the yard, Jaime watched a cloud of ravens explode from the rookery, their black feathery bodies swirling around each other before heading off in different directions. One for every Great House in Westeros. But how many lords would actually heed the letter’s call instead of tossing it to the fire? Only time would tell, he supposed.
Their escort flew the direwolf of House Stark, but Jaime knew it would be switched out for a white flag of peace as they neared King’s Landing. They had him strapped to the saddle with a length of hemp, and more was coiled around his arms. The wight was restrained in a similar fashion, although its body was wrapped in chains, not rope, and confined to a portable holding cell atop a wagon. He could hear its shrieks behind him, bestial and wild, cutting through the screaming of the wind.
The trek southward was a great deal easier than the one he’d taken north with the crannogmen, mostly because he was no longer afoot, and the promise of warmer weather provided a decent incentive to keep moving. He rarely saw Brienne, though. She stayed up front with the King in the North, dressed in the armor Jaime had bestowed upon her, Oathkeeper at her hip. She still rode the mare he had given her, too. The animal was a fine steed, durable and surefooted. Jaime had selected her from the stables at the Red Keep, speaking with the head groom to ensure she was a reliable mount before gifting her to Brienne. He was glad to see he had chosen well.
The days passed at a crawl, and by the time three weeks had come and gone, Jaime was so stiff in the saddle he could hardly feel his legs. The party was just north of the Antlers when Jon abruptly called the march to a halt. They were at the border of the Crownlands, Jaime knew, a few days’ ride from the capital. No doubt the King in the North intended to go no farther until he learned of Cersei’s decision.
“A small escort will take you to the Red Keep,” said Jon as he reined up beside him. “We will wait here until there is word from your sister.”
One week, Jaime thought. It would take them almost three days to reach the capital, a day to travel through the city. Three more for a rider to bring the news back here. That left him mere hours to convince his sweet sister to open the gates to her foes. It is nigh impossible, but it will have to be enough.
Jon ordered Jaime’s ropes cut, and his arms tingled as the restraints fell to the ground. I’d best hope this is my last venture in captivity, else my arms are like to fall off as well. The sky was slate grey and cloudy as his escort separated from the larger group, making their way through woods and orchards and neatly tended fields. The trees around them were bereft of leaves, their branches brown and bare, and snowflakes whirled through the air to land on their bark. Snow, in the Crownlands. Jaime had not thought he’d bear witness to such a sight in his lifetime.
Winter is here.
They passed through small villages and crowded market towns dusted with a fine white powder, and stout holdfasts as well. At one point they rode past the Stokeworth stronghold, and his stomach lurched. Bronn had been betrothed to Lollys Stokeworth when Jaime recruited him for a trip to Dorne, promising him a better wife and castle in exchange for his services. Hopefully he had been able to escape the bogs of the Neck, although the notion was highly unlikely. Jaime made a mental note to inquire after the knight when they arrived at King’s Landing.
As expected, it was three days before they came upon the Dragon Gate, its heavy doors closed and barred and protected by an armed guard. The sentinels looked down at them warily as they approached.
“Who goes there?” one of them called from behind the parapet.
“Jaime Lannister,” replied Jaime. The guardsmen squinted suspiciously at him, irresolute. They do not recognize me. Understandably so. Before he had left the capital, he had been a clean-shaven man with short golden hair; now he sported long greasy locks and a matted beard, and was covered in dirt.
Jaime sighed and brandished his stump, waving it about for all to see. After a moment, the guards jumped up in surprise, eyes wide.
“Let them through!”
The portcullis was lifted and the doors brought forward, allowing the group to enter the capital. The pungent smell of the city enveloped them as they moved through the streets, a mixture of salt and rotting fish and shit, and Jaime’s eyes began to water at the stench. Oh, to be home again. He soon found himself thinking fondly of the musty scent of the kennels.
It was late afternoon when the cobblestones began to crowd with people, their bodies pressed so close as to block the path ahead. Jaime’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he spurred his horse forward, pushing through the horde to the street beyond. For a moment the scene before him did not register, and he looked around blindly. Then his breath caught.
Cersei had not been idle in his absence, it seemed. A procession of prisoners was being led down the avenue, bound at their wrists and urged on by spears of the City Watch. Some were irrelevant generals, nameless supporters of Highgarden or Dorne or Daenerys, but a few stuck out: Ellaria and Tyene Sand were prodded along by gold cloaks, their chins raised high despite the garbage being thrown at them, and a woman was dragged by the neck behind a horse decorated with the kraken of House Greyjoy. Yara, he heard the common folk shouting, and Euron Crow’s Eye. Was it truly her uncle that held the leash?
Jon had had the right of it. Only a small branch of the ironborn had pledged to the Dragon Queen after all.
And apparently the idea of kinslaying was not so taboo as it used to be.
Jaime wheeled his mare around and made for the Red Keep, but it proved slow going with the sheer number of people spilling out onto every boulevard. His escort was forced to take a roundabout way to the castle, as the parade filed along the most direct route, no doubt heading straight for the royal executioner’s greatsword.
The sky was black velvet when they finally arrived at the stables and dismounted. As a groom led his horse away, however, Jaime heard a familiar whinny from one of the nearby stalls and turned back around.
“You there,” he called, and the stable boy stopped.
“Yes, m’lord?”
“How is it this palfrey came into your care?”
Honor pawed the door of the stall and snorted, sending a puff of steam into the air. Jaime walked over and began to stroke the gelding’s face.
“Some man came riding in here one night, m’lord, and said he wouldn’t need it anymore. Said it belonged to… well, he said it belonged to you, m’lord.”
“This man… was he tall, with black hair? Middle-aged?”
The boy thought a moment, then nodded. “I believe so, m’lord.”
“Do me a favor, lad. When you’ve got the time, ask after a Bronn of the Blackwater. Most like he’ll be in a tavern or brothel. When you find him, send him to me.”
“Yes, m’lord. Right away, m’lord.”
Jaime nodded his thanks and went. The Red Keep loomed above, tall and ominous, walls weeping blood in the torchlight. He considered going to the throne room, then thought better of it. At this time of night his sweet sister was most like in her bedchamber, well into her fifth glass of wine.
It was in the hallway that he found her, though, walking with two members of the Queensguard at her side.
“Cersei,” he said.
The queen halted. Seconds ticked by in silence, and then she turned to him.
“Go,” she ordered her men. As they strode past, Jaime realized that he did not recognize either of their faces, and that the darkness of their armor had not been a trick of the dim light. Gone were the golden scales and white cloak of the Kingsguard that had been in place since the Targaryen dynasty, the colors he had donned for over twenty years. These suits were all black, with silver metallic detailing on the shoulders and breastplate.
“You have chosen a new Queensguard,” said Jaime.
“I have made many changes, little brother. While you were rotting in a cell once more, I was getting things done.” She smiled a thin sharp smile. “I should wear the armor, and you the gown, ser.”
It appeared she already was. A silver corset cinched her waist, reminiscent of plate armor, and a similar piece of metal ran from her collar to her shoulders. And when she moved, something glimmered at her hip…
Jaime squinted to make it out, unsure, and then he saw the ornate design of the hilt, the ruby shining red at its center.
Widow’s Wail.
The Valyrian steel sword had been a gift to Joffrey on his wedding day, reforged from Eddard Stark’s greatsword Ice along with Oathkeeper. When Joffrey died, the sword was passed down to Tommen, and now that he was dead as well it seemed their mother had taken it for herself.
Cersei had always been envious of Jaime’s being born a boy, he knew, and growing up she had watched him in the practice yard with nothing but discontent. No doubt she had wanted to swing a blade too, but circumstance had kept her within the walls of Casterly Rock, practicing courtesies with the septa instead.
Now she could do whatever she wanted. Father was gone, and she was queen.
“Did you watch the parade?” asked Cersei, pulling Jaime from his musings. “I thought it might be easier for Ser Ilyn to keep the traitors still if they were tired from a long walk.”
“I seem to have missed Lady Olenna.” In truth, the idea of seeing the Queen of Thorns chained and pelted with trash left a bitter taste in his mouth. The woman had been old and sardonic, yes, but dignified nonetheless. He hoped Payne had given her a quick end.
Cersei scoffed. “That wilted old rose never left Highgarden. She saw the lions at her gate and decided to drink poison rather than face my wrath.”
“Lions?” Jaime had seen the sigil of House Tarly on some of the guards along the street, and assumed that they had turned on the Tyrells and been the ones to sack Highgarden. “You sent Lannister forces to the Reach?”
His sister looked at him like he had lost his wits.
“I am the Lord of Casterly Rock,” Jaime growled. “Those men are mine to command.”
“They serve their queen,” Cersei snapped back, “and you were off getting captured like the useless cripple you are.”
Jaime recoiled as if she had slapped him. His blood began to scorch, rage burning hot in his veins. The twins stared at each other for a time, neither of them daring to move or speak, and Jaime resolved to leave before he did something that would earn him a place in the dungeons. But before he could turn away, he remembered the icy stare of the wight, Jon’s ultimatum, Brienne coming to his defense. I must needs finish this.
Taking a deep breath, Jaime swallowed his anger and plunged ahead.
“Jon Snow sent me to you,” he said. “He flies a flag of truce.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” replied Cersei. “The bastard’s letters made decent kindling.”
“I know what it must sound like, but he's telling the truth. There are things beyond the Wall… living corpses…” He shook his head, unable to fully believe himself. “I’ve seen one, Cersei. They’re real.”
The queen observed him for a while, trying to discern if he was jesting, and then chuckled. “Now I know you’ve been too long in a cell. The solitude has driven you mad.”
“It was no hallucination.” Jaime’s mind spun, searching for what he could possibly say to get through to her. How did one vouchsafe the existence of grumpkins and snarks without coming across as a lunatic? “You must believe me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Jon Snow will return with his bannermen and storm the capital.”
Cersei’s eyes sparkled in the torchlight. “Let him. The White Wolf will break himself against the gates and die just like Robb St-”
“Listen to me, Cersei!” The exclamation burst from his lips like quail flushed from cover. He had heard enough of her arrogance. “This is bigger than lions or wolves or roses. An army of the dead waits behind the Wall, and they will destroy everything in their path unless we come together to stop them.”
Something shifted in his sister’s expression, her features going slack at his words. I have her. No doubt she was imagining the ramifications such a plague could have on her reign, on the kingdom she was already on the brink of losing. No one would heed the words of some queen in a distant city when the wights were attacking their villages, murdering their families, leaving nothing but ruins. Death was more powerful than any ruler could ever hope to be.
Cersei stood mute for a long while, lost in thought, fingers dancing above Widow’s Wail. Then she spoke.
“I will send ravens on the morrow to every corner of Westeros. The meeting will be held in a fortnight.” Her hand closed around the sword’s hilt. “I would see for myself just how dangerous these creatures are.”