After the Dragons (2)
Filling positions on the Small Council turned out to be the least of Jaime’s worries. Lord Baelish was still haunting the Red Keep like a ghost of Small Council’s past. Brienne showed him into the chamber where Jaime sat with Willas.
“Your Grace,” Littlefinger smiled. “The service was quite special. The High Septon looked like he would have preferred to be holding your funeral service and commending your soul to any god that would touch it. The words quite stuck in his throat.”
Brienne’s eyes narrowed and Jaime’s eyes flickered to her for a moment.
“Can I do something for you, Baelish, or have you come to offer your services to the crown?”
The smirk didn’t leave Littlefinger’s eyes for a moment. “I fear my queen would miss me. And what’s this? The beginnings of a Small Council? War being as monstrous as it is, I imagine you’ll be able to fill all the seats with cripples.”
Brienne, still walking beside Lord Baelish, seemed to lose her footing somehow, tangling her legs with the sword at her side. As she fell, her fist managed to find Littlefinger’s gut and connected hard. When they both struggled back to their feet, Brienne gave a short bow to the man.
“Sorry,Lord Baelish, I seem to have tripped.” Her face was straight and her voice carefully neutral, but Jaime had seen her hand go to Oathkeeper’s hilt as she used the sword to trip herself. It wasn’t like her to be so subtle, but he was at least grateful that she hadn’t openly challenged him. They both had to learn to move in different circles. Seven hells, I’m King and Brienne is protecting my honour like I’m a gentle maid. I’m stuck in a mummer’s farce. A particularly bad one.
Littlefinger recovered his composure and took a seat. “There was a raven. I believe the Queen of the North will be joining us tomorrow.”
Jaime’s head snapped up. “Tomorrow? You didn’t think to bring this to my attention before?”
Sansa Stark. A visit from her would probably bankrupt him, if Robert’s debts didn’t do it first. There were only rumours about who held the power in the North. Varys had plenty of whispers about the public face but the private one was veiled in shadow and silence. Rumour was rife. Some said Clegane shared the Queen’s bed. Some said Baelish. The more excitable said both. It was darkly whispered that Littlefinger was the puppet master and pulled all the strings, even the Queen’s. A few said that there was a puppet master, yes, but it was Sansa herself. There was little sense to be had from anyone.
“I’m the Hand of the Queen. I don’t answer to you.” The smirk in his eyes flickered for a moment. He didn’t know. Perhaps the Queen in the North does run her own court.
It filled his head all day. There will be talks and treaties to sign, boundaries to be agreed upon. There will be days of nothing but talking. It will be long and dull and still it will prove to be a highlight of the coming months.
He slipped away to bed and found Brienne was still shadowing his footsteps.
“Where’s Loras?” he asked
“Loras is the only one left,” she said gently. “He needed to sleep so I said I would watch you in his stead.”
“Six empty spaces to fill.”
She nodded.
A charcoal grey cat rubbed against his legs and leapt up into his arms as he sank into a chair.
“Is that... Tommen’s cat?”
“Ser Pounce. He found his way to me. I’ve no idea why, but he’s adopted me and I don’t have the heart to put him out.”
“He was a sweet child. He didn’t deserve to die.” Brienne’s words were careful and considered, trying to talk around a difficult subject.
“He didn’t deserve a lot of things. If the world was just, he would have had better parents but we must all make do with the dross that we get dealt.” Jaime sighed. “Brienne, I would take it as a favour if you could refrain from assaulting Littlefinger in the future. Seven knows the man makes it a tempting prospect but I need to stay on speaking terms with Sansa Stark.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
“No. Not you, too. I’d like to be Jaime to one person.” Ser Pounce shifted and started a slow, rumbling purr as Jaime scratched his ears. “I should think about gifting Ser Loras with a few brothers. He can’t be the entire Kingsguard, even with you helping him.”
Brienne took a seat and nodded. “Do you know of anyone?”
“No. Not for what I have in mind. I was hoping that you would help me with this.”
She looked quizzically at him.
“I want it restored to what it was before... Well, before I joined. I want a Kingsguard that would make Ser Arthur Dayne weep and wish he was a better man. I want as blinding examples of chivalry as can be found in the seven kingdoms.”
Brienne raised an eyebrow. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that one true knight is very hard to come by. Now you want me to find six? Why must you always set me such impossible tasks? You’re asking for a song, a story.”
“Listen, when I was a boy we had great men, good men, in the lists. The boys dreamed of being them and the maids dreamed of marrying them. In the last few years there have been the Clegane brothers, Mandon Moore and Boros Blount - those stalwart guardians of virtue, and me. It’s time to start again.”
“Then we need to start with boys, perhaps young squires. Loras can probably instil a sense of right and wrong in them.”
“And you. I want you to help him.”
“I’ll ask around, see which squires and pages have excelled in tourneys, but Jaime, they’ll be young and green. I don’t know how much use they will be as a guard.” A thought occurred to her and she frowned. “I hope that isn’t something you’re counting on.”
He remembered her covering Cersei’s face again. It was a vision that kept coming back at the most inopportune times, triggered by anything at all. A particular smell, the way the light fell through the window, it didn’t seem to matter. He remembered screaming. He remembered the things he had said to Brienne.
“You don’t need to worry on that account. There’s too much to do now and too many things that need to be fixed. And Sansa Stark descends on us tomorrow,” he added, with a sigh.
The Maid of Tarth stood awkwardly. “I’ll be outside the door if you need anything.” She hesitated. “Shall I send for the Maester?”
“No. I need my head clear tomorrow.”
He came to regret that later, lost in dreams fuelled by memory, as he had known they would be, but he couldn’t spend every night fuddled on sweetsleep.
Cersei smiled and began to speak. He walked over, put his hand to her throat and her expression changed to one of incandescent fury. Her eyes glowed with it. Her hands came up, scratching at his face, his arm, but she couldn’t force him back. He pushed her back into the sideboard and the bowl of fruit tumbled and spilled over the floor with a hollow ringing noise.
He felt her pulse flutter under his fingers as he squeezed and turned his face away. Her hand came up and yanked at his hair, pulling him back round to face her. She couldn’t speak and didn’t even try, but she didn’t need to. If you’re going to do this, then you’re going to watch it happen.
So he had watched and wept as she fought him, as the light in her eyes started to dim.
There was a sudden, sharp pain in his side that brought clarity and he looked down to see a small blade in her hand, dark and wet.
Cersei stabbed him again and he gasped, but he had only one hand and it was wrapped around her pale throat.
The knife went in a third time and this time he welcomed the pain. Relief blossomed unexpectedly. We’ll go out together. It will all be over.
The blade hit the floor with a clatter as his hand tightened and he saw her go. He couldn’t hold her up anymore and let her down to the cold floor as carefully as he could. He slumped back against the wall and slid down it to sit next to her, feeling the chill of the stones creep through his clothes and into his flesh. His hand went to his side absently and the blood welled up between his fingers.
Jaime’s gaze fell at last on the little paring knife that Cersei had dropped and he started to laugh hysterically. Too small, it’s far too small.
The door opened at the noise and he saw Brienne, saw the horror on her face, and laughed even louder.
He awoke in a cold sweat and the scene replayed every time he closed his eyes. Dawn was a long time in coming and when the cold light started to seep in, he was glad of the excuse to rise.
“Your Grace,” Littlefinger smiled. “The service was quite special. The High Septon looked like he would have preferred to be holding your funeral service and commending your soul to any god that would touch it. The words quite stuck in his throat.”
Brienne’s eyes narrowed and Jaime’s eyes flickered to her for a moment.
“Can I do something for you, Baelish, or have you come to offer your services to the crown?”
The smirk didn’t leave Littlefinger’s eyes for a moment. “I fear my queen would miss me. And what’s this? The beginnings of a Small Council? War being as monstrous as it is, I imagine you’ll be able to fill all the seats with cripples.”
Brienne, still walking beside Lord Baelish, seemed to lose her footing somehow, tangling her legs with the sword at her side. As she fell, her fist managed to find Littlefinger’s gut and connected hard. When they both struggled back to their feet, Brienne gave a short bow to the man.
“Sorry,Lord Baelish, I seem to have tripped.” Her face was straight and her voice carefully neutral, but Jaime had seen her hand go to Oathkeeper’s hilt as she used the sword to trip herself. It wasn’t like her to be so subtle, but he was at least grateful that she hadn’t openly challenged him. They both had to learn to move in different circles. Seven hells, I’m King and Brienne is protecting my honour like I’m a gentle maid. I’m stuck in a mummer’s farce. A particularly bad one.
Littlefinger recovered his composure and took a seat. “There was a raven. I believe the Queen of the North will be joining us tomorrow.”
Jaime’s head snapped up. “Tomorrow? You didn’t think to bring this to my attention before?”
Sansa Stark. A visit from her would probably bankrupt him, if Robert’s debts didn’t do it first. There were only rumours about who held the power in the North. Varys had plenty of whispers about the public face but the private one was veiled in shadow and silence. Rumour was rife. Some said Clegane shared the Queen’s bed. Some said Baelish. The more excitable said both. It was darkly whispered that Littlefinger was the puppet master and pulled all the strings, even the Queen’s. A few said that there was a puppet master, yes, but it was Sansa herself. There was little sense to be had from anyone.
“I’m the Hand of the Queen. I don’t answer to you.” The smirk in his eyes flickered for a moment. He didn’t know. Perhaps the Queen in the North does run her own court.
It filled his head all day. There will be talks and treaties to sign, boundaries to be agreed upon. There will be days of nothing but talking. It will be long and dull and still it will prove to be a highlight of the coming months.
He slipped away to bed and found Brienne was still shadowing his footsteps.
“Where’s Loras?” he asked
“Loras is the only one left,” she said gently. “He needed to sleep so I said I would watch you in his stead.”
“Six empty spaces to fill.”
She nodded.
A charcoal grey cat rubbed against his legs and leapt up into his arms as he sank into a chair.
“Is that... Tommen’s cat?”
“Ser Pounce. He found his way to me. I’ve no idea why, but he’s adopted me and I don’t have the heart to put him out.”
“He was a sweet child. He didn’t deserve to die.” Brienne’s words were careful and considered, trying to talk around a difficult subject.
“He didn’t deserve a lot of things. If the world was just, he would have had better parents but we must all make do with the dross that we get dealt.” Jaime sighed. “Brienne, I would take it as a favour if you could refrain from assaulting Littlefinger in the future. Seven knows the man makes it a tempting prospect but I need to stay on speaking terms with Sansa Stark.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
“No. Not you, too. I’d like to be Jaime to one person.” Ser Pounce shifted and started a slow, rumbling purr as Jaime scratched his ears. “I should think about gifting Ser Loras with a few brothers. He can’t be the entire Kingsguard, even with you helping him.”
Brienne took a seat and nodded. “Do you know of anyone?”
“No. Not for what I have in mind. I was hoping that you would help me with this.”
She looked quizzically at him.
“I want it restored to what it was before... Well, before I joined. I want a Kingsguard that would make Ser Arthur Dayne weep and wish he was a better man. I want as blinding examples of chivalry as can be found in the seven kingdoms.”
Brienne raised an eyebrow. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that one true knight is very hard to come by. Now you want me to find six? Why must you always set me such impossible tasks? You’re asking for a song, a story.”
“Listen, when I was a boy we had great men, good men, in the lists. The boys dreamed of being them and the maids dreamed of marrying them. In the last few years there have been the Clegane brothers, Mandon Moore and Boros Blount - those stalwart guardians of virtue, and me. It’s time to start again.”
“Then we need to start with boys, perhaps young squires. Loras can probably instil a sense of right and wrong in them.”
“And you. I want you to help him.”
“I’ll ask around, see which squires and pages have excelled in tourneys, but Jaime, they’ll be young and green. I don’t know how much use they will be as a guard.” A thought occurred to her and she frowned. “I hope that isn’t something you’re counting on.”
He remembered her covering Cersei’s face again. It was a vision that kept coming back at the most inopportune times, triggered by anything at all. A particular smell, the way the light fell through the window, it didn’t seem to matter. He remembered screaming. He remembered the things he had said to Brienne.
“You don’t need to worry on that account. There’s too much to do now and too many things that need to be fixed. And Sansa Stark descends on us tomorrow,” he added, with a sigh.
The Maid of Tarth stood awkwardly. “I’ll be outside the door if you need anything.” She hesitated. “Shall I send for the Maester?”
“No. I need my head clear tomorrow.”
He came to regret that later, lost in dreams fuelled by memory, as he had known they would be, but he couldn’t spend every night fuddled on sweetsleep.
Cersei smiled and began to speak. He walked over, put his hand to her throat and her expression changed to one of incandescent fury. Her eyes glowed with it. Her hands came up, scratching at his face, his arm, but she couldn’t force him back. He pushed her back into the sideboard and the bowl of fruit tumbled and spilled over the floor with a hollow ringing noise.
He felt her pulse flutter under his fingers as he squeezed and turned his face away. Her hand came up and yanked at his hair, pulling him back round to face her. She couldn’t speak and didn’t even try, but she didn’t need to. If you’re going to do this, then you’re going to watch it happen.
So he had watched and wept as she fought him, as the light in her eyes started to dim.
There was a sudden, sharp pain in his side that brought clarity and he looked down to see a small blade in her hand, dark and wet.
Cersei stabbed him again and he gasped, but he had only one hand and it was wrapped around her pale throat.
The knife went in a third time and this time he welcomed the pain. Relief blossomed unexpectedly. We’ll go out together. It will all be over.
The blade hit the floor with a clatter as his hand tightened and he saw her go. He couldn’t hold her up anymore and let her down to the cold floor as carefully as he could. He slumped back against the wall and slid down it to sit next to her, feeling the chill of the stones creep through his clothes and into his flesh. His hand went to his side absently and the blood welled up between his fingers.
Jaime’s gaze fell at last on the little paring knife that Cersei had dropped and he started to laugh hysterically. Too small, it’s far too small.
The door opened at the noise and he saw Brienne, saw the horror on her face, and laughed even louder.
He awoke in a cold sweat and the scene replayed every time he closed his eyes. Dawn was a long time in coming and when the cold light started to seep in, he was glad of the excuse to rise.