Chapter 16:
Jamie Lannister
They were in Cersei’s Winterfell quarters by the time they had another moment of privacy, by the time Cersei could push down the barely contained panic and desperate, helpless anger.
“Are you alright?”
“Of course I’m not alright!” Cersei spat, her green eyes alight like wildfire; Jamie was grateful that the walls were thick stone and that he was her ‘guard’; there were no others at the door. “We’re being blackmailed by that- that-” Her fury nearly choked her, he could see the veins bulging along her neck as she grit her teeth.
“We only have to appease him for now.” He consoled.
“For now-” She mocked. “And what does appeasement look like? A betrothal? To my daughter!”
“Even at the absolute fastest pace it would still take a year for any betrothal to go through, she hasn’t even flowered yet-” He reminded. “No, just long enough for us to find a way to get rid of him.”
She began to pace; “And if he tells someone?” If he opens that filthy mouth and tells-”
“He has no proof, none at all!”
“Even without proof-” Cersei’s eyes went wide with a very real dawning fear. “Tommen, Myrcella, Joffrey, Dimitri! Robert will de-legitimize all of them! He’ll kill them!”
Jamie hid his wince. “Listen to me-” What would Tyrion say? He was always the clever one. “The moment he says anything, he loses all of his leverage and for what? For Robert’s favor? He stands more to gain by keeping his silence than breaking it. We’re Lannisters. We can buy ten times Robert's favor.”
Cersei’s wildfire eyes stared at a spot somewhere between the wall and floor, the green orbs dancing in their sockets as she thought. “Leave me. I need to think.” She finally commanded.
He hoped she wouldn’t ‘think’ herself into another frenzy; but he knew her well enough to know he would be better served talking sense later rather than now.
He turned away, stepping outside of the door and double checking to his left and right as he stepped out into the cavernous stone hall.
Not a soul in sight. It was cold in this place. He knew the castle was heated but Winterfell was still a cold place and the very real tingle of what Jamie was slowly realizing was a very real very tangible fear didn’t help at all.
Not for himself, not really. Jamie wasn’t afraid of death. But for Cersei… For Dimitri, Myrcella, Tommen, and even Joffrey?
Yes. Yes. A part of him was genuinely afraid.
Robert Baratheon was not the best father, not by any stretch of the imagination. But he’d bonded with Dimitri as his firstborn. If he ever learned or even suspected that Dimitri might not be his (though Jamie was certain he was) then… Jamie couldn’t predict what the man would do. It would either break him or send him into a blind, incandescent rage that none could truly fathom.
He would kill them.
And if word ever got out… What would his nephew think of him? Jamie had never cared of the answer or the question for anyone else in all of the seven Kingdoms.
But of Dimitri? The boy whom he was a sworn shield to since the age of two? The young man who he’s practically raised and saw as a son by nature if not by blood?
How would his opinion; his view of Jamie change? And the esteem he held him in?
The boy that had never once looked at him as Kingslayer. He would look at him with different eyes.
And that frightened Jamie too.
He marched through the halls, he’d wake up Blount from his rest early to take over his shift guarding Cersei. He needed a walk to clear his head.
They would be leaving Winterfell in just two more days and be back on the road again. Once they were gone; the danger had passed. Once Bolton held his silence and let them leave, he would be compelled to hold said silence, lest he be implicated.
Just two days.
He consoled himself with the thought, trying to put his own mind at ease.
It didn’t work much.
By the time he reached Blount his mood had well and truly soured, he practically kicked the man awake before stalking outside of the Castle into the courtyard, the cold summer snows kissing his cheeks as he took a moment to breathe.
Castle serfs went about their business all around him, Lannister and Baratheon men were thin in the crowd, no doubt following Dimitri and Robert on the hunt in the wolfswood.
The Stark men were gone too. Not all of them of course, Jamie could still spy a good amount manning their posts, but their numbers were thin, Robb Stark, Ned Stark needed guards, and no doubt Stark had taken even more than what were needed. A King dying or being attacked under the honorable Ned Stark’s protection- No. That could never be allowed.
Hell, even the Mercenary had gone with them.
Jamie snorted. Even out here, in relative isolation, and with the three men he probably detested the most right now miles away, he felt his anger rising. A drunk that beat his sister, a hypocrite who lorded his ‘honor over others like it made him special, and an up jumped sellsword who claimed for all the world that he had been the one to break the Kingsguard. To have been the one to kill Arthur Dayne.
Jamie felt bile at the back of his throat at the thought and before he knew it his left hand, which had previously been resting on the pommel of his blade began to ache with dull, throbbing pain; when he took note of it he realized his hand was gripping the hilt of his blade so tightly it was subtly trembling.
Releasing his left hand felt like prying open a clamp.But he did loosen his hold, taking another deep, slow breath of cold winter air.
What would Tyrion do?
His brother was always the clever one. And even if he didn’t or couldn’t know the specifics, if he were still here, Jamie had no doubt he’d have helped get Jamie out of this… issue with Bolton.
But he wasn’t here. And maybe that was Jamie’s fault too. But right now he had to try and think like his little brother. He had to try and fix this without his blade.
He took yet another deep breath.
Okay. Okay…
It was obvious what Bolton wanted. He wanted a betrothal.
Robert likely couldn’t care less. But Cersei wouldn’t have it. Hell, His father wouldn’t have it. Myrcella was a Princess, and a Lannister, her hand was worth its weight, quite literally in Kingdoms. A Lord Paramount would be her future husband, not a Bolton, powerful as the house might have been in this backward, grey land, but they were not Starks.
As he’d told Cersei, they could stall him by playing along for now.
That gave them, at minimum, a year, likely more, travel between Winterfell and Kings Landing would take weeks if not months. Exchanging Ravens on the move was notoriously difficult. So they could extend their timeline that way.
But what to do afterwards? Once they were in Kings landing what could they do?
Perhaps convince Robert or Stark that the Bolton was committing treason? No doubt some evidence could be planted, Ravens falsified or some other thing?
Jamie shook his head. Even just thinking that told him he’d never be the man to pull that off even if it were possible. He was not one of Varyss’ little birds. He didn’t have the patience or the desire to delve into that world, not to mention his duties would prevent him from going anywhere unseen. Gleaming armor and white cloaks don't exactly go unnoticed.
…
Varys. Varys could do such a thing.
But was Jamie willing to give the spider leverage over him?
The spider wasn’t someone to be trusted at the best of times. He knew this.
But did he have a choice?
He shook his head. You have time.’ He reminded himself. Time to think. Use it, so if not Varys then who or what?
In spite of himself his mind was simply drawing a complete blank. He was not Tyrion. He was not his father, Cersei… or even Dimitri.
No, he was just Jamie and all he was good for was solving problems with his blade.
Could he kill Bolton? Certainly. Could he get away with it?
That was much more doubtful, even for a Kingsguard and the son of a lord paramount.
But to protect Cersei, to protect her children…
Perhaps that was worth it.
He’d done worse for less.
Frustrated, the Kingslayer ground his teeth behind his lips, fingers again clenched on his blade hilt before he began making his way to the mud pit that Stark called a training yard, he needed to damn well hit something.
And, when he arrived, Jamie couldn’t help the savage grin that threatened to pull at his lips.
The girl was there, once again with Tommen and the little Stark girl. A small part of Jamie squirmed, reminding him, distantly, that he was striking at a girl for a grudge he held towards her father.
But the larger part of him, the part that now had the threat of Bolton exposing his and Cersei’s love for each other hanging over his head, the one frustrated with days and weeks of biting cold, of knowing that the sneering, arrogant fool that disdainfully named him Kingslayer would soon be a face he’d have to see every single day, one that could literally lord over him with his status and rank as Hand, and the part that knew he Blade Breaker and all of his fraudulent claims were right here and yet just out of reach because of course even that couldn’t go right-
That part of him didn’t care.
“Oh, uncle!” Tommen was the first to notice him, smiling brightly, guilelessly. If Dimitri was the best of Cersei and Robert, then Tommen was the kindness neither he nor Cersei had ever known in their lives.
Oakheart, Tommen’s guard for the day, nodded in his direction, and Jamie allowed himself to nod back before the small boy waddled up to him, in his ridiculously padded suit “Have you come to watch us practice?”
Jamie smiled at his nephew, a smile that showed all the teeth he had ready for the woman rather than the boy. “Perhaps? But I’d love to see if your teacher is teaching you properly.”
The woman with her raven hair and blue eyes stared at him, a blank expression on her face that was almost eerie. Many said she was touched in the head, and looking at her face, Jamie believed it.
The little Stark girl however, glared at him, a naked suspicion in her eye, no doubt believing Jamie was here to do something that would ‘end’ the lessons. Perhaps humiliate their ‘teacher’.
To be fair, he was here to humiliate her, and if the lessons ended after that, so be it.
“Lady Byleth is doing well.” Oakheart commented, nodding in the mercenary’s direction. “Her form is impressive, truth be told.”
“Is it?” Jamie’s smile still held no warmth, though it seemed lost on his fellow white cloak.
He walked over towards the rack of blunted training swords. He wanted to beat her, not kill her, she wasn’t the one claiming to have singlehandedly killed Velaryon, Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and all of his other brothers after all.
Pulling free one of the well worn steel weapons, Jamie turned to the woman with a bit of a flourish, still grinning.”Care for a bout milady? I’d love to see if the tales of your skills are warranted.”
The woman stared at him blankly, but with an almost calculating glint in her eyes;
Then, she offered a nod, and rather than go towards the blunted blades, she instead brandished her wooden sword.
She really was touched in the head.
—
Dimitri:
The crown prince blinked. “Fostering?” The question slipped out of him, like a clumsy fumble, Ned Stark nodded as he turned away from his father to address Dimitri directly.
“Yes my prince-” The Lord of the North said. “If he is to marry Arya, staying in the North and learning of it might be good for him.”
“Heh- Cersei damn sure won't like the idea.” His father half chuckled.
“I… can see the merit of the idea-” Dimitri began carefully; he could feel cousin Lorenz’ eyes at his back, listening in from a respectable distance. “But, I don’t understand, just the other day my Lord lady Arya and Sansa were to be coming with you to King’s Landing, along with young Brandon.”
The Lord Stark was unreadable as granite, staring out into the surrounding woods as hounds and men tracked the elk. “That was my intent yes, but- I had a thought, My prince, Your Grace.” He nodded to Robert. “Prince Tommen is a third son-” The man’s horse shifted under him, making him take a moment to calm the animal.before he continued. “You, my prince, are the heir, I presume Joffrey or Stannis will inherit Storm’s end; Prince Tommen, though a Prince, would merely be given a lesser holding as a third son; such is tradition. Either in the Westerlands or the Stormlands.
“We would not give him a miserly seat.” Dimitri protested.
“No- of course not.” Ned shook his head. “But; the status of his inheritance presents enough of a question that he might prefer a territory in the North. And should he wish it, he should know the land and our ways if he is to be a northern lord.”
Dimitri could understand the logic, even in part agreed with it. Both in a familial and political sense.
While his grandfather would disagree, he understood that the Baratheon kingship was a fragile one. Held together more by inertia and a desire to not fall into another bloody civil war than any real tangible stability.
Diversifying their alliances, the mutual integration of various nobles to different Kingdoms rather than continuing this quasi segregation of the lords paramount and their respective slice of the landmass; it would be the key to giving his family the long term stability the Targaryen’s lacked after they lost their dragons.
But still… Dimitri felt a disquiet at the thought of this, a queasiness in his stomach that made him frown less in thought and more in a sort of muted distaste.
“There are rumors that Lady Stark also wishes for Bernadetta to stay.” He commented, a weak smile trying to fight its way onto his lips as he joked. “At this rate my lord, you’ll be keeping half the royal retinue in Winterfell.”
The Northman smiled back, but it was also weak. “I understand my prince, but should Bernadetta stay it would purely be a familial matter, Catelyn wishes to know her niece, and for her niece to know her cousins. This proposal is to aid in Prince Tommen and Arya’s future.”
Perhaps Dimitri was merely projecting his own discomfort onto Lord Stark’s tone
His father didn’t notice, his son’s conflicting feelings still looking at the stoic Stark “Ehh, it’ll be good for him.” He said with a nod. “You and I fostered, and look at us.” He laughed then, leaning over to clap his friend on the shoulder who began to smile back at the man. “We didn’t turn out so bad. Hehehe.”
“I don't know. I could have turned out a bit taller.” Eddard joked.
“And me a bit less round.” The King guffawed.
There was a howl, not a wolf howl, a hunting dog’s howl.
“There!” Robert growled, grasping the reigns of his horse. “Come on, let's get after it men!” He roared and several of the soldiers, nobles and others began riding off to have the honor of the killing blow, Robert even smacked the backside of Ned’s horse as cousin Lorenz raced off, Claude and Ashe behind him.
Dimitri began to kick at his horse when Robert grasped at his reins, pulling the beast to a stop.
“Father?”
The King turned his head, meeting Dimitri’s eyes before simply saying;
“You don't like the idea.”
The Prince startled. Surprised. “You noticed?”
His father gave him a flat look. “You’re my son.” He answered simply, as if that explained everything. His hand released the reins, the large Baratheon king settling back in his saddle. “Now, what’s got you frowning like that?”
Dimitri took a moment, rolling his thoughts around in his own skull, trying to articulate his conflict.
“It just feels…” He took a breath. “Sudden? It doesn’t feel right… I’m not sure.”
“What? Ned offering?”
“No- it… I understand Lord Stark’s reasons. They make sense”
“But?” Robert prodded
The cold northern winds howled kicking up powder as they moaned through the trees of the wolfswood.
“We already betrothed him- that’s expected of Nobility, and it's a good match. But now… it feels like we’re simply giving him away; without even talking to him asking for his opinion. Making all of these decisions without even thinking how it could affect him.”
Robert scoffed. “Well that’s an easy enough fix, once we get back, we’ll sit down with the lad and talk to him.”
“And if he says he does not want to leave?” Dimitri could very easily imagine that scenario, Tommen was kind, and young, and attached to his family, Myrcella in particular. Suddenly being told he would be staying could be very scary.
Robert opened his mouth, and then shut it, frowning.
Then he shrugged. “If he says no… well then; it's no.”
That surprised his firstborn. “Its too great of a decision for a boy his age, and the politics-”
“Damn the politics.” Robert dismissed, “Ned won't hold a grudge; and besides-” Now he looked to Dimitri. “I told you I’d give you the choice of who you married when the time came. Didn’t give Tommen that choice, might as well give him this one. He’s my son like you.”
Dimitri let out something akin to a laugh. His father always made things sound so simple, so easy.
“Dont mean I wont be doin my best to convince him tho.” Robert continued, kicking lightly at his horse to get it moving, Dimitri, and Baristan behind them doing the same. “Get him out of that damn snake pit. Boy’s too good for the lot of them.
On that, the prince agreed.
“And I wasn’t just talkin out my arse either-” The King said. “Fostering would do him good. Especially here. Make friends with Robb, or the littlest one, Rickon-” It was still surprising that Robert remembered all the Stark children's names. “Boy’s too alone in King’s landing too. No one to talk to.”
That was sadly true. Most nobles sent their sons to either curry favor with himself or Joffrey as the first and second son, or to keep an eye on Myrcella. None ever really sought out Tommen and the servant boys were too afraid of his status in the same respect.
Too high born to make friends easily, not close enough to the succession to make friends easily either.
“You’re right.” He admitted.
“Glad you agree” Robert’s smile was all impish malice now. “Cause you’re the one that gets to explain to your mother that Tommen will be staying if he chooses.”
Dimitri groaned, suddenly reminded of that headache that was headed for him like a runaway ox cart. His Mother would not be happy with this decision, she was fiercely protective of all her children and the thought that Tommen would stay here in the North would fill her with a seldom seen wrath possibly for the entire trip back to King’s Landing.
As it was she was hardly thrilled with the betrothal!
…
Perhaps he could convince uncle Jamie to help him talk her down?
“Now- come on enough of all this talk.” Robert’s meaty fist clapped down on his shoulder. “We’re still on a hunt, so let's get moving; I’ll be damned if I let any of these sods land the killing shot before we do! Hah!” He kicked at the horse, sending the massive beast into a full gallop and Dimitri and Barristan followed right behind the King.
—
Minutes later they caught up to the group and Dimitri was somewhat pleasantly surprised to find; “Ser Jeralt!?”
The mercenary leader offered a nod, he’d seldom been seen during the hunting trip so far, but he had technically been the most successful, shooting down various birds and even goring a boar on his spear just yesterday, but all the prestige was still reserved for the grand prise, the largest Elk.
But Dimitri supposed the mercenary lifestyle favored results over abstract notions like ‘prestige’.
“My Prince, Your Grace.” His smile was small, in that way that resembled his daughter so very much. “I was wondering if we might speak of something.”
“Every bloody person wants to talk when there’s hunting to do” Robert grumbled before sighing at his old friend. “Go on then- what would you ask?”
“Ehh-” Jeralt shrugged. “Its not so much asking as it is informing.” He nodded. “When we leave Winterfell, my men are planning to travel by boat from white harbor to Bravos, we have some contracts waiting there.”
“You’ve said so before- what of it?” Robert asked, his horse shifting and neighing.
“My men will be traveling there; but I and Shamir have something to do in King’s landing.”
His father genuinely gasped. “Wait; you mean-” Like a child being given his nameday gift early the King’s entire visage beamed with a brilliant smile.
Jeralt nodded. “Aye. I, Shamir and Byleth will be traveling with you to King’s Landing… if you’ll permit it of course, Your Grac-”
Robert’s roar of joy and laughter, probably startled every game animal within leagues of them, his bellowing voice swallowing up the whole wolfswood as he practically hugged Jeralt on their saddles.
“Oh! This is a good day!” The Baratheon King sang to the sky. “Ned as my Hand; Baratheon and Stark joined through marriage! And now you coming with us to King’s Landing! It's just like the old days, Jeralt! Gods be good, this trip couldn’t have gone better in all my hopes when I set out!”
And while Dimitri himself was curious as to what business the leader of the Ashen beasts might have in King’s Landing, the question was largely forgotten as he realized the Lady Byleth would be coming with them too.
In spite of his reservations, in spite of his questions, he couldn’t help but agree with his father.
This trip… was turning out so very well.
(X)(X)(X)
Now that weaving Force has been concluded, expect regular updates for this story again! :D
Next chapter, we leave Winterfell!