JAIME
The wooden carriage wheels creaked softly as it stopped in the courtyard of the Red Keep. The door opened, and Jaime Lannister stepped out, followed by Uncle Tygett. Cersei was in a different carriage behind them, keeping a polite distance.
Jaime narrowed his eyes, shielding them from the glare of the sun. King's Landing was very different from the last time he set foot here.
It was sunny today, so sunny it felt improper. The sun shone brightly in a flawless blue sky, as if mocking the grief that should have shrouded the city. A gentle breeze blew from Blackwater Bay, carrying the fresh scent of salt and leaves from the green trees in the gardens, not the stench of filth that usually stung. The air was so fresh that it made anyone who breathed it want to pause for a moment to appreciate nature's beauty.
But that beauty felt like a cracked mask. They, the gathered nobles, seemed out of place with nature's mood today.
The castle courtyard was filled with somber colors. There were many banners with various House sigils from different regions across Westeros flapping listlessly, Arryn, Tully, Tyrell. Yet above them all, the three-headed dragon banner of the Targaryens flew at half-mast, adorned with black ribbons as a sign of mourning.
Horses lined up, their steps steady as they were led by servants to be fed and stabled. The animals snorted and creaked under the weight of the long journey, yet remained obedient, unaware that their masters were holding their breath in tension.
Other people looked very exhausted from their journey. Jaime saw Lord Cockshaw of the Reach dismount with difficulty. The old man looked gloomy, his short white hair ruffled by the wind, his shoulders stooped as if he carried the weight of the world. He had no desire to be here; his eyes implied a longing for a warm bed, not court intrigue.
The others were no better. Their faces were tense, their eyes wary. They knew they were not here to feast, but for the King's funeral which would be held in three days. And after that, they had to bow their heads to Rhaegar Targaryen on the day of his coronation as King of the Seven Kingdoms.
Jaime scratched his forehead slowly, tidying his windblown golden hair. His first thought was to see Father immediately, but realizing that Tywin Lannister must be drowning in preparations for the transition of power, he decided to postpone it.
He walked slowly toward the guest wing, his mind spinning.
This was a completely absurd development. Even in his wildest scenarios as Steven, he never expected that Aerys would die this quickly, and in such a... pathetic way. Jaime knew he had changed many things in this world compared to the original story. Paper, compasses, schools. But Aerys's death? That was the biggest deviation.
At least, Jaime thought, this was not a bad thing. The Mad King would never exist. That meant no one would burn a Stark alive. No abduction of Lyanna. No Robert's Rebellion to destroy the kingdom. Civil war might have been prevented.
However, the downside was that he did not know what happened with the future now. The roadmap he remembered from TV had been burned to ash. The entirety had changed drastically.
At the same time, it also calmed him. It meant he was free. He carried no burden of canon destiny anymore other than the existential threat far in the North: the White Walkers.
And would Dragons truly return? In the original story, dragons were born from Drogo's funeral pyre and blood sacrifice. Here? Daenerys was not there. The dragon eggs were also on a different continent.
But, there was still dragonglass or obsidian on Dragonstone. That could handle them, though this would depend on human military strength in the end. Fortunately, that was still a very long time before it happened, there were still decades, so he had time to prepare,
"Your room, My Lord."
The servant's voice broke his reverie. They were led to their respective guest rooms. Jaime's room was quite spacious, with thick rugs and a window facing the sea. The bed was large with silk sheets, everything high quality.
Jaime placed his belongings on the table. Before long, a servant knocked and brought a silver tray containing drinks, water, Arbor wine, and a plate containing lemon cakes and nuts.
He sat and drank the water slowly, enjoying the cold sensation washing over his dry throat. It was refreshing. But he did not touch the cakes there. He felt no appetite for sweet foods amidst an atmosphere that felt like a held-back storm.
...
"Can you tell me what happened in more detail, Father?"
Night had replaced day quickly, bringing with it a cold wind from the bay. In the private dining room of the Tower of the Hand, the Lannister family gathered. Jaime, Tywin, Tygett, and Cersei sat quietly at the same table, a perfect happy family table, if the family was viewed only from a distance.
Candles were lit on the walls and chandeliers, so the room was very bright, banishing shadows. On the table, dishes were served that could make commoners weep: whole roasted chicken glazed with honey and spices until the skin was glistening brown, river fish fried crisp with butter and almonds, and wild boar sausages rich in aroma.
Everything there looked tempting, but the Lannisters ate with practiced efficiency. They only took enough, took small bites, chewed slowly, and swallowed without unnecessary sound. Food was merely fuel for their brains.
Tywin stared at his son from the end of the table. Those pale green eyes were sharp, flaying. Before, that gaze made Jaime a little uncomfortable. But now? Jaime returned the gaze casually, while cutting his chicken. After years of facing those eyes, he received no intimidation effect whatsoever. No fear, no hesitation. Only the ordinary respect he gave to his father.
Tywin put down his knife, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin.
"As you know, we were cornered when we were in Duskendale," Tywin began, his voice calm and heavy, filling the room. "With the king as a hostage inside a closed fortress, we could do nothing but wait. My plan was to play that game, a passive siege. Block all food supplies, let them starve, and wait for Darklyn to make a mistake."
Tywin took his glass, swirling it slowly. "But at one point, Denys Darklyn turned out to be bolder, or perhaps foolish, the difference was invisible. He started sending body parts. A finger, sent via raven, fell right in front of Rhaegar."
Cutting his steak slowly, Tygett glanced at his brother, his voice low and hoarse. "And I heard he accused you of burning his stables and granaries?"
Jaime stopped chewing. Yes, that was it. Jaime looked at his father. He knew very clearly that Tywin hated Aerys. So the fact that Tywin might have ordered the burning to provoke the situation... that was very possible. Though it was a high-risk action. If a hired hand was caught by the Prince's followers and confessed, it could be a deadly boomerang.
But then again, Tywin was Tywin. If that happened, he could easily deny it, saying that the confession was false, bought by enemies to divide the alliance of the Hand and the Prince.
"Only a fool does that openly, and even more foolish is he who believes the accusations of a cornered madman," Tywin snorted, his tone dismissive. His face showed not a shred of guilt. "I have no interest whatsoever in doing so recklessly. Aerys's safety is the main thing in the eyes of the public. That is why I was always waiting for the right moment to find an opening."
A diplomatic answer. Neither denying nor admitting, only calling it foolish. Jaime smiled faintly.
"And the rescue was thwarted by foolish heroism," Cersei added.
The girl sat straight, slicing her sausage with precision. She put the piece in her mouth, chewed, then smiled thinly, a cold smile. "Barristan Selmy has earned a new nickname among the court ladies. Barristan the Fool. Isn't that interesting? From The Bold to The Fool."
"Very fitting for him," Tywin agreed, drinking water from his cup. "He was so very stubborn. For days he wanted to act as a lone hero, whining like a baby not getting milk because I held him back. In the end, that man's stubbornness won. He snuck in, and led him to his own death. And of course, he also took the King with him to hell."
"A great pity..." Tygett stared at his plate, shaking his head. There was a tone of warrior's respect in his voice that Tywin or Cersei did not possess. "As a knight, he had extraordinary skill. He should have been able to think clearly and be an example to others. As a Kingsguard, his position was highly respected. Dying like a rat in a dark tunnel... that is not a fitting end."
"Arrogance was what ate him," Cersei said sharply.
Jaime laughed inwardly, feeling it very ironic that his sister could think like that. Looking back at the original story, and a few years ago, it was Cersei who was so arrogant she could not accept other people's opinions. Now? She analyzed other people's failures coldly. She was better at keeping her emotions, and bit by bit developing for the better thanks to Jaime's 'lessons', though occasionally her bad nature would still slip to the surface.
Tywin swallowed his food. "It was a fitting repayment for his pretentious behavior. He valued himself too highly, and underestimated the enemy. The lust to be a savior truly blinded him. Instead, death was a cheaper price for him. If he had lived after failing to save the King, he would have faced many people wanting him burned on charges of negligence."
Indeed, Jaime thought. He admired Barristan's loyalty, but here, his actions were a disaster.
"How is Rhaegar?" Jaime finally asked, his voice breaking the analysis of the death.
He hadn't met the man in a very long time. They still often exchanged letters about music and poetry, but that was all. Cersei and Tywin immediately glanced at him. This topic was one that caught the attention of everyone at the table. The New King was prey for each of these lions.
Tywin took a breath for a moment, so subtle, that even Jaime only just realized it. "He is grieving deeply."
Of course he was grieving deeply. Jaime knew Rhaegar. He was a melancholic person who loved his family, at least this version he knew now. Jaime at that time could see a ray of light when Rhaegar told stories about his mother and father, even though at that time his father had already turned a bit short-tempered.
Now, with his father dying while at that time they were only a few dozen meters apart... guilt must be eating him. He must feel useless. That was a heavy blow that could not be underestimated. Coupled with the upcoming coronation as king, this would be a very hard year for the man's soul.
"I will try to speak with him when there is a chance," Jaime said while nodding.
"Yes," Tywin answered quickly. "Of course you must see him."
Jaime raised an eyebrow.
His father continued, his voice full of calculation. "You are his good 'friend'. He will need your support. At this moment he only leans on Arthur Dayne and Jon Connington. They are loyal, but stiff. They do not share the same interests as you do with him, music, stories, new ideas. You are the one who understands that side of him best, Jaime. He will be very pleased to speak with you again."
Tywin stared at Jaime sharply. "Use that."
Tywin was not a person who would let Jaime do something in vain. This statement was very clear: Control him through friendship. Tywin was worried his position and plans would be threatened due to the arrival of many other Lords to King's Landing for the funeral. They could whisper like snakes clinging to the Prince's ear, trying to shift Lannister influence. Tywin needed Jaime to be the counterbalance.
"I will try, Father. Hopefully my rambling will amuse him," Jaime replied with a slightly cynical tone that only he understood.
Tywin ignored the tone. He then looked into Jaime's eyes, the topic shifting to business. "I heard you made a device called a 'compass'?"
Jaime nodded casually, taking a piece of chicken. "Yes. I made a few. Uncle Kevan and I already tested them in the sea of Lannisport and it works quite well. At least now we don't need to fear getting lost as long as we know how to read it."
"Good," said Tywin. "Keep it. Do not let this be allowed to spread to our competitors. Our trade and military superiority will depend on it."
"That would be quite difficult," Cersei suddenly spoke.
Jaime stopped chewing for a moment, looking at his twin.
"Compasses were indeed given to ten skilled captains chosen by Uncle Kevan himself," Cersei continued, her voice analytical. "However those captains will go traversing the vast ocean. There are quite a few pirates, also Ironborn. Surely some of them will face bad luck, their ships wrecked or robbed. And that compass will certainly change hands, sooner or later. A small object like that is easy to steal."
Jaime already knew this, of course. No secret is eternal. However he did not expect it would be Cersei who would say it before him. He underestimated how the girl had grown in her strategic understanding.
"As Cersei said," Jaime agreed.
Tywin put down his fork, speaking. "They might get one of them, yes, but they will never be able to make it, you are still keeping this a secret right, Jaime?"
"Yes," he confirmed. "I told no one the manufacturing process, except perhaps Uncle Kevan and Jon, the latter is not very interested and I only gave nonsense in passing."
"Jon will do nothing, he is loyal," Tygett said that. Somehow his uncle defended Jaime's guard suddenly.
"I am quite sure," Tywin snorted. And dinner passed in continuous small conversation until finally finishing in order.
...
I'm back! And it feels like I'm writing a prologue again, lol
You can read 10+ chapters early on Patreon*com/Daario_W