After the Dragons (1)

[ashesintheair]

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of a half-life, of eating and sleeping, of reading messages and not really taking any of it in. The Others had been driven back, those parts of the Wall that had crumbled were being rebuilt and now, three weeks later, the dragon queen had come south to King’s Landing.

She spent the first day in counsel with her advisers and Jaime didn’t see her. He had the freedom of the Red Keep. He wasn’t exactly a prisoner. Had he any inclination to leave, he might have started to push the boundaries, but he didn’t care. He would wait for the last Targaryen and her judgement and then that would be the end of all of it.

He walked through the corridors - quiet now after so much noise - to try to take his mind off his situation. Anything was better than sitting and waiting. Almost anything. He recognised the shape of his brother as soon as he rounded the corner. Jaime’s mouth dried up and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even swallow. He had thought about it countless times since he had heard that Tyrion had returned to Westeros but now his brother was stood in front of him, it was suddenly very easy.


Tyrion already had his hand on the short sword he wore and half pulled it from the scabbard.

Jaime looked at him, at the half formed frown on his face, and dropped to his knees. He pulled open the neck of his coat. “Go on then. To the throat, if you don’t mind. On the other hand, if you’d like me to linger on in agony for awhile, best to go for the gut. And try and do a better job of it than our sweet sister did.”

Tyrion’s face turned quizzical at that and he cocked his head. His hand didn’t leave the sword, but his grip loosened. “You really want it that badly?”

Jaime didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what despair felt like. He only knew that he felt numb. For three weeks he had been numb and cold and he could only imagine the most final of endings waiting for him.

“I never thought of you as Cersei’s right hand, you know,” Tyrion said, his voice not warm, but oddly companionable. “I had hoped that you were more than an extension of her. That you would want to be more than that. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you right this minute.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, maybe I do. It couldn’t have been an easy life to take. Not for you. But maybe I don’t care about that. You deserve to hurt. You deserve to suffer.”

You don’t know. You don’t know any of it.

“Why did you do it, Jaime?”

Jaime looked his brother straight in his mismatched eyes and his mouth widened in a smile that the old Jaime Lannister would have been proud of. “Oh, jealous rage. What else did you expect?”

Tyrion looked carefully at him a moment, as if he could smell the lie.

What do you want me to tell you, the truth? That she was as mad as Aerys at the end? That she would have burned King’s Landing to the ground? That she gave a white cloak to a monster? I’ve kept Aerys’ secrets all this time. The least I can do for Cersei is keep hers as safe. The wench knew, of course. She had been there, outside the door. But Brienne knew about Aerys as well and she knew how to keep her mouth shut. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night - another face he was avoiding.

His brother looked at him, shook his head and walked on past.

Jaime wasn’t sure what that meant, but called out after him. “What’s it like? Up there?”

Tyrion laughed, an ugly little chuckle. “Better than sex,” he called back and Jaime couldn’t quite suppress the smile that came to his lips.

The dragon queen sent for him the next day. He dropped to his knees again in front of her, as quickly as he could so that he wouldn’t have to look at her face.

“You are the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister?” she asked. Her westerosi was lightly accented and the question was a courtesy. She knew exactly who he was, he was sure of that. “Queenslayer as well now.”

He nodded, not trusting the words to come out right.

“You killed my father in this room,” she said and her voice was curiously passionless. She looked towards the iron throne from where she stood in the centre of the hall, but made no move towards it. “You killed my father and now you hand me the seven kingdoms - what’s left of them. What would you have me do, ser? Should I reward you, or take your head? My counsellors are quite divided on the matter.”

Jaime lifted his head and looked at the Targaryen queen for the first time. She was beautiful. He could see why Mormont followed her around like a puppy. She was fair as you could want any saviour queen to be, but her eyes were fierce. She was something ferocious trapped inside a flawless frame and it reminded him of Cersei. He laughed.

“Do you think this is funny?” she bristled.

“No. No, Your Grace. But it strikes me that if Aerys had lived, you might have been someone that I would have been pleased to know. As things stand, I don’t think that’s likely to be a welcome sentiment.”

Jorah started forward, his brow furrowed but Daenerys waved him back. She smiled, not an expression of delight, but one of understanding. “If my father had lived, I understand that a number of things would have been very different. But that doesn’t answer my question of what I should do with you.”

“Do what you like, my Queen. I’ve long since stopped caring for the matter.”

“Ser Jorah says I should take your head, that you’re a kingslayer and a kinslayer and you can’t be trusted. Ser Barristan tells me that as there are only two Lannisters left, I should let you live, that it would be a crime to speed the end one of the great houses. He says that you had it in you to be great, once.”

Jaime eyed up the queen’s bear from across the room. “Truth be told, Your Grace, I suspect Mormont may be a little biased. Tell me, does he let many men come this close to you?”

Jorah didn’t hear the words but certainly got the sentiment from the fuck-you glance Jaime was sending his way.

Dany just laughed again. “My old bear loves me, and looks after me as well as any man. I value his advice, ser. Tread carefully.”

“I’m not known for treading carefully. And you’ve already made up your mind what to do with me. There’s only one thing you can do with me. This is all a show. Just grant me one favour. Have Barristan take my head off. He’ll do a clean job and I don’t want to give your bear the satisfaction of it.”

She changed then and became very serious. “I listen well to my counsellors, but I am the khaleesi. Sometimes I do things my own way. I came to Westeros looking for vengeance. I came for that,” she nodded towards the iron throne. “I found that the seven kingdoms needed my help, needed my dragons.”

She looked carefully at him for a time, her violet eyes trying to find something in his face. “I came for your head, Kingslayer.” She was still watching him and Jaime wondered what it was she hoped to see.

“Take it, then. It’s yours,” he said indifferently.

Daenerys didn’t seem to hear him. She was looking at the throne again with distaste in her eyes. “I’ve been told that my father was mad.”

“What of it?”

“It’s true, then?”

He thought of the things he could tell her, of the things he had heard through doors, the burning of Lord Rickard Stark, the pyromancers. There were a hundred things he could say to prove that Aerys was no shining example of kingship. There were a hundred things that would vindicate him, that would perhaps save his life.

“Yes,” he said, and let the shadows of old memories die.

She was looking at him again and he found himself looking for something else to tell her. “I think Rhaegar would have liked you,” he said at last.

She ignored him again, swinging back to her original subject. “Do I take your head, do I send you to the Wall, or do I go my own way? After all, I’m just a girl and I know little of your Westerosi customs.”

“I doubt there’s anyone who’s likely to argue with you. Introduce them to that black monster of yours.”

She stood and he moved to stand with her before the thought crossed his mind, unsure whether it was out of habit or respect.

“I’ve found many unexpected things in the seven kingdoms. Most surprisingly of all, I find that I like you, ser.” Her words were not friendly and there was no forgiveness there. She was stating facts and put no emotion behind it.

“And my head?”

“You want to lose it too much. I think that you would welcome death with open arms. I don’t want to give you what you want, not today. I need to decide what I want first, perhaps.”

***

He was eating breakfast when Tyrion waddled up to the table and set a book down.

“Ale?” the dwarf asked.

“Over there.” Jaime nodded towards the jug at the end of the table and tried to hide the beginnings of curiosity. He hadn’t imagined that Tyrion would want to speak to him again, let alone seek him out.

“There’s a woman outside your door.”

Jaime stared at the grain of the table. Brienne.

“I’m not sure whether she’s guarding you or trying to decide whether to come in,” Tyrion continued.

“Probably both,” Jaime said softly. “Has your queen decided what to do with me yet?”

Tyrion drained his cup and shook his head. “She spent the day with Baelish. Seven alone know if he wants you alive or not.”

“How is it that so many people - good people - have died and yet every time I turn around Lord Baelish has climbed a little higher?”

“He’s looking after the interests of the Queen in the North. I’ve asked him to send my regards to sweet Sansa and tell her I consider the marriage to be annulled. I can’t imagine she would concern herself over it, but I owe it to her.”

“Are you advising Daenerys?”

“Sometimes,” Tyrion shrugged.

“Are you advising her about me?”

Tyrion gave him a blunt look. “Do you really want me to?”

“No, I suppose not.”

His brother didn’t say anything else, his energy focused on the food but his eyes kept flicked over Jaime as if trying to make a decision.

“You think you should have died with Cersei.” It wasn’t a question.

“If the knife had been an inch longer, I would have.” The wounds had healed disgustingly well. I should have shown her how to handle a knife. I should have shown her where to stab a man. I should have made sure there was something longer than that silly little paring knife on the sideboard.

“You’re a self-pitying idiot,” Tyrion said conversationally. “And I’m not sure why I’m trying to talk you out of this foolish notion. You and Cersei both were always in love with the nauseating idea of being mirrors of each other. Still, there’s no one else left and-”

“I think Lancel is around somewhere.”

“Lancel isn’t dead?”

Jaime nearly managed a laugh. Tyrion’s astonishment was nearly comical.

He tilted his head, and then pushed the book over to Jaime with a nod. “Read the third chapter.” He slipped off his chair and walked away.

Jaime looked down at the book in his hands. A Natural History of the Coasts and Shoreline of Dragonstone, written by Maester Cressen. He frowned but turned the pages carefully to the third chapter, ‘The Life of the Starfish’, and started to read.

He didn’t know how long he had been there when the door opened again. For a moment, he didn’t move. The book wasn’t that absorbing, the writing was dry and dusty but the information was interesting and he was lost thinking it over.

“Jaime?”

I have to speak to her again sometime. Brienne came hesitantly to the side of the table but didn’t sit.

“Why didn’t you go back to Tarth?”

“Because I’m not in your service and I don’t need to take commands from you.”

She had followed him like a shadow after Cersei’s death. It was hard to look at her and push back the feeling of the blood running through his fingers, clamped to his side. It was hard not to remember Brienne pulling the tablecloth from the sideboard and covering his twin with it. It hadn’t taken very long for him to snap at her and send her away. Or at least, he had tried to. Brienne had her own ideas about where she should be and clearly it wasn’t Tarth.

“She hasn’t decided what to do with me,” he told her, steering the conversation away from further argument. “But I think you know how this ends. Don’t get yourself killed trying to do something you heard about in a song.”

“The Red Keep is but lightly guarded. We could leave.”

He looked up at her face. She was serious.

“We could fight our way out and then what? How far and how fast do you think we would have to run from the dragons?”

“It isn’t fair. She doesn’t know. Why won’t you let me tell anyone?” she burst out.

“I think that she knows more than we think she does.” He remembered the way Daenerys had kept looking at him, had asked him to justify his actions. “And you promised me, Brienne.”

She was angry but it was turned inward. “I shouldn’t have promised anything at all.” She turned to go. “And I haven’t given up. I’ll be back later.”

“Good. I’m getting bored of my own company. See if they’ll let you bring a couple of tourney swords.”

She gave a quick glance around the room. “Here?”

“Are you afraid we’ll offend the dragon queen if we scratch up her furniture? I killed her father, I doubt it’s the state of the soft furnishings that’s on her mind.”

Jaime went back to the book, skimming over the pages until he came to the part that he thought Tyrion had wanted him to read.

The starfish, when struck a blow that severs its body into two halves, does not die. Each half instead grows and becomes a new starfish. Where there was once only one creature, two now thrive in its place.

The master babbled on at length about the subject but Jaime thought that paragraph was the message his brother had wanted to send. It was interesting, but he couldn’t help but think it would be more helpful if he had a greater life expectancy than a few days.

She might let me take the Black. Perhaps that’s what he means. A new life in the North with the black brothers. No need to die with Cersei. I can fight Others to earn my keep. One handed. That thought brought him up short. It will be the shortest ranging in history. More likely I’ll be a watcher on the wall or a steward. Mayhaps I could train some of the green recruits.

It didn’t seem so bad, although he knew it was a slim chance. Still, the Lord Commander was her nephew and the Night’s Watch always needed fresh blood.

Daenerys summoned him again the following day. It was sooner than he expected, but it was better than waiting.

She was in the centre of the throne room again, her eyes on the throne she had crossed an ocean to win. Jorah stood close to the wall with the large man whose name Jaime had never bothered to learn. Jorah’s scowl was in evidence again today. Interesting.

He knelt once more in front of Daenerys Stormborn and listened to what she had to say.

“Why?” he asked when she finished.

“Because someone has to. Because my nephew will not relinquish his vows and will hold the Wall ‘til he dies. Because you don’t want it. Because you created a good part of the mess that Westeros has become. You should help to set it right.”

He stared up at her incredulously. “Do you know how ridiculous an idea this is?”

“So most of my council have told me at length. Your brother nearly fell off his chair laughing. He says that it is perhaps an interesting way to stop you killing your rulers.” She cocked her head to one side and looked seriously at him. “They don’t see how it could be anything other than a reward. They can’t see it as a punishment, but I think perhaps that you will understand.”

He more than understood. A yoke around my neck that I do not want. It wasn’t as quick and easy as an execution - for either of them. As sentences went, there was a sort of justice to it.

“Mormont isn’t happy about this, I take it.”

“Many people are unhappy. But I’m the khaleesi and it’s my decision to make.”

“And you have the dragons.”

Daenerys gave him a thin, humourless smile. “Yes.”

“What will you do now?”

“I want to go home.” For a moment, she looked like a girl again and Jaime wondered what it had been like to grow up in exile. Had she idealised Westeros? What had she thought, surrounded by people who told her that she must return, that it was where she belonged? She looked Westerosi, was schooled in the history, but she wasn’t a queen. She was a khaleesi and she wanted to go home. Had she constructed this entirely so that she could do that? He would never be certain.

“Rise then,” she said and the little girl faded. “Jaime Lannister, King in the South and first of his name.”

“Tell me,” he asked, climbing to his feet, “do I rule in truth or do I take my orders from you?”

“Westeros will never take up slavery. Dorne has seceded; let them go their own way. The Queen in the North stays where she is.” She ticked the items off on her fingers as she went. “Don’t war with either of them, find some other way to settle your grievances. Last, my nephew has command of the Wall and it protects all of you. All of you will support him. His lands have been given over to wildlings so a tithe will be provided to him. He’ll be here to discuss it in a few weeks. Other than that, the south is yours. We will take a master with us to train ravens to fly across the Narrow Sea. Send me word from time to time. Don’t make me wish I had settled for an execution.”

He nodded cautiously. It was like a strange nightmare. He glanced down at his right hand. The stump was still there. Not a dream, then.

“We leave in a matter of hours. I’ve been away from my children for too long and I left much unfinished to come here.”

“Grant me one favour, before you leave,” Jaime said, knowing he was pushing his luck.

“Speak it, then I’ll decide if it’s worth granting.”

He told her and she smiled. “Yes.”

It took six men half an hour to drag it onto a cart. Jaime, Daenerys and sundry others followed on horseback to the dragon pits, pressed back into use for the first time in centuries.

Tyrion pushed his horse forward. “You’re mad.”

“It’s been an odd day.”

“You’re going to unmake the symbol of your authority. Do you have any idea how much history is behind it?”

“I know the recent history rather too well,” Jaime said in a low voice. “I know that too many of the recent incumbents have been drunks or monsters. Besides, it’s the throne of the seven kingdoms and I rule only a handful of those. It was forged in dragon fire, let dragon fire melt it down.”

“It won’t stop people fighting over it,” Tyrion said loudly, directing his words at Daenerys. She didn’t turn to look at him. “The power is still there. That’s what drives them, not the damned chair.”

“I don’t believe I heard myself ask for your counsel on this. And I dislike looking at it. Drogon, dracarys!”

The Iron Throne glowed red, then white as the metal sagged and melted, dripping onto the floor. “Make sure they collect the metal when it’s cooled,” the khaleesi said to one of her attendents. “I want it thrown in the sea. It would be too powerful a symbol to leave here.”

“Will you stay with me?” Jaime asked Tyrion as they made their way back to the Red Keep.

Tyrion snorted. “I wasted a good amount of my life on my family. I’ve no wish to waste any more. I go where Daenerys goes.”

“I’m going to need a small council. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That is abundantly clear. You’ve just burned your throne.”

“Your queen doesn’t sit on a throne, does she? She sits on a bench. All my authority stems from her, so if it’s good enough for her...” he shrugged.

“That may be the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say in some time.” Tyrion shot him a sideways glance. “You’ll probably need a Tyrell. Willas seems to have a good head on his shoulders.”

“Varys? Can I trust him?”

“He’ll give you good information; he knows Dany put you here. But I wouldn’t ever trust him.”

There was silence for a time.

“Will you ever come back? Casterly Rock is yours now.”

“Casterly Rock has been mine for years and I find Westeros has lost much of its charm. But I think that you might see me again.”