Jaime was lying stretched out in her brother's bed, legs tangled in the sheets, not bothering to cover her bare chest as her mane of curly hair fanned out around her head like a halo. The thought amused her. The very picture of holiness. 

Her brother had pulled on his breeches and gotten to his feet, pouring himself some wine from the decanter on the table. The candlelight gave his skin had a warm hue, made his hair glint gold. 

"If anyone was going to marry you, it should have been Robert," Cersen was saying. She was hardly listening, in truth. He had been on this subject when she first came to him that night, and she had kissed him to shut him up. The moment they were done, however, he was back at it once more. "Then it would be far less struggle to get our son on the throne. And you would always have lived in King's Landing, not vanished off to Storm's End for years,"

"They were going to marry me to Robert, if you recall," Jaime drawled, propping herself up on her elbow to face him. "Until they insisted on checking I was still a maiden," That had been 'just a formality', according to Jon Arryn, meant to get rid of the rumours that the Mad King had violated during her time as his ward (hostage). 

She understood those rumours, at least; Aerys had hardly been subtle in his lust for her, making lewd comments and groping her in public, though even he hadn't dared to go further than that with Tywin Lannister's daughter, the man he wouldn't admit to relying on to put down Robert's Rebellion. What Jaime had not understood was the need for that wrinkled old septa to poke around inside her to confirm the fact. 

Of course, the woman had found that she hadn't been a maiden in years, her father still thought to this day that Aerys raped her, and she was quietly married off to Robert's younger brother instead, whilst the king took Ashara Dayne to wife. Who was hardly a virgin either, but less publicly, and she didn't have probable madness as an additional stain on her reputation.

"Besides, I killed the last king," Jaime added. "A kingslayer queen would've raised a few eyebrows," It was for the best. She would have disliked being queen, and disliked being married to Robert even more. Even Stannis was better than that man. At least if she told her husband to fuck off, he did.

"Then it's your own fault," Cersen sneered. "You chose to kill Aerys. Gods, Jaime, do you ever think ahead? You could have been queen, instead of that miserable Dornish wretch," Wretch? Ashara was perhaps the one woman in Westeros more beautiful than Jaime herself. It was a good thing she wasn't the jealous type. "Our son could have been a king,"

"Lord Baratheon is hardly an empty title," She laughed at him, unconcerned. "And truly, I would rather Joffrey became a septon than a king or a lord. He would cause less damage," 

Jaime was not the kind of mother who was blind to her children's faults or proclaimed them wonderful in every way. She loved her eldest son to a point, and had done what she could for him, but even she would openly admit that he was a little shit. Which was perhaps why the boy preferred Cersen's company to her own.

"Joff has spirit, unlike the rest of your brood," Her brother waved an impatient hand, sipping his wine. He had always resented the fact that six of her eight children had black hair; or more likely resented the fact that there was living proof another man had fucked her. Even after all this time, he grew angry at any mention of her husband, whilst he brushed off her annoyances about Lysa as childish. "He would make a strong king, I've been telling you for years," Strong, yes, and despised by his people.

"And I've been ignoring you for years," Jaime shrugged. "Even if Joffrey was not who he is, even if I wanted him to be king, Robert has three trueborn children already,"

"Lyonel is a feeble weakling who would not last three moons on the throne," Her brother scoffed. "And the girls are children, as you say, the youngest barely more than a toddler. There would be unrest if either was queen,"

"You say that like there would be no unrest if all three of the king's children suddenly died, then the king himself, then the king's brother," She raised an eyebrow. "Then, oh look, Stannis' half-Lannister son, who looks all Lannister, takes the throne, with his dear Uncle Cersen as regent,"

"Don't act like you know how politics works," Her brother sneered. "You don't take anything seriously, Jaime. I learned how to rule from Father's knee, whilst you smiled prettily and played tea-parties with the Martell bitch and that old slug of a Targaryen queen, only to weep like a foolish child when they died," Died. That made it sound as though Elia and Rhaella had peacefully passed away in their sleep.

"It's called making friends, brother," Jaime smiled sharply. "You should try it some time. I hear it helps in politics,"

Despite her words to her twin, Jaime did not make true friends easily. As a girl, she'd had the highborn girls that the lords of the Westerlands had sent to Casterly Rock to be her companions, and had had little interest in them at first, but with Cersen spending more time apart from her, learning to be a lord, she had grown to enjoy their company at least. It was always rather entertaining to persuade perfectly-behaved young ladies to go swimming in the sea in their smallclothes, to sneak off without a guard or skip their lessons with Septa Saranella. Yet Jaime had rarely been saddened when these girls returned home. 

It had been the same when she was sent to court, aged twelve. Jaime was beautiful, confident and witty, her father the second-if-not-first most powerful man in Westeros; of course everyone wanted to be her friend. With little else to do in the castle, she let them. But again, she cared little for any of those ladies beyond enjoying their company.

Princess Elia had been different. Elia and her lady-in-waiting Ashara Dayne. Jaime wasn't sure what made those two in particular mean more to her than the rest. Perhaps it was because they cared about her, too, beyond her high birth and beauty. She didn't remember when she'd realised that Elia was a true friend - only that she had never cared a jot that the woman had married Rhaegar, who Lord Tywin had wanted for her - but she remembered for Ashara. It was after she had caught her brother Arthur sparring with Jaime in secret, and instead of disapproval, she had laughed and said Jaime was near as good as he was.

The now-queen's attitude to her friend's unconventional interests had largely remained the same since then. Jaime, sweating and filthy from training in the private courtyard she had found years ago, pushed her way into Ashara's chambers without knocking, seeing the queen kneeling on the floor with her young daughter Maris, both playing with Princess Cassana, who was dressing up an expensive doll with a big smile on her chubby toddler face. 

"I'm jealous," Jaime said with a grin, nodding at the little princess and her doll. "None of mine were ever so sweet," Her own little twins, a year older than Cassana, were more like to start hitting each other with the thing. The queen laughed. She had a beautiful laugh, warm and expressive, unlike Jaime, whose own was typically harsh and mocking.

"I can hardly imagine you were the type to enjoy dressing up dolls yourself, Jaime," She said. 

"I did have a doll once," Jaime replied. "Some ragged old cloth thing a baker's wife in Lannisport gave me during a ride there with my mother," Her aunts had brought her fancier porcelain dolls, with arms that moved and real hair, but she had always disdained those ones in favour of that rag doll. "I carried it everywhere for a year or two," Then Cersen had told her she was acting like a baby, and it had been forgotten in some chest ever since. "I used to make it fight my brother's wooden knights," She grinned at the memory. 

"Nothing changes there, then," Ashara's eyes shone with amusement. "I'd invite you to the princess' feast," She nodded solemnly to the dolls arranged in a circle around tiny cups and plates. "But it's hardly seemly to turn up smelling like you've not washed for weeks," 

Sparring for three hours would do that. Jaime would admit she hardly smelled pleasant, and likely looked a mess, but didn't particularly care. 

"I'm making the most of Ser Aredan whilst I'm here," She said. "He might be a spineless lickspittle, but he's the best swordsman who will fight with me," Since your brother died, that is. 

Aredan Sarsfield had joined the Kingsguard at the Tourney of Harrenhal, a fearsome fighter even at eighteen. Shortly after that, Aerys had burned Brandon and Rickard Stark against Lord Tywin's advice. Her father, his Hand, had been furious at this monumental error, travelling west to supposedly gather his armies to aid the king's. 

Aerys had insisted that he leave Jaime behind in King's Landing, as his ward - in truth, a hostage - and with no other option, Lord Tywin had done so. And then proceeded to ignore every message the king sent, whilst Jaime had to put up with the growing threat of being burnt herself, to punish her father. 

"I thought you'd managed to get the knights at Storm's End to spar with you?" The queen asked. 

"Some of them," She shrugged. "They're good enough, I suppose," She grinned. "I have to fight two at once to make it a challenge," The men had been reluctant at first, but as time passed, more and more of the knights had decided to try sparring with her - either because realised they wouldn't lose a hand for striking their lady, or to try and put her in her place - and she had beaten them all.

"You're full of yourself," Ashara said with a smile. "Although I've seen you with a sword. I suppose you have the right to be,"

"It's the one thing I'm good at, apart from looking pretty," She shrugged in response. Jaime's interest in swordplay had started after Cersen had come in from his very first training session absolutely loathing it; as they looked identical then, she had taken his place in the training yard for two years, and excelled, until their mother found out and put a stop to it. After that, she had begged her uncles, Tygett and Gerion, to teach her to fight. Neither of them would turn down an opportunity to go against her father, and readily obliged. 

"Arthur used to say you'd have been unstoppable, had you been born a boy," Ashara smiled slightly sadly at the mention of her dead brother. 

When Jaime had first come to court with her father, continuing to train had been difficult, but then Ser Arthur Dayne (perhaps the only man other than Cersen she had thought truly handsome) agreed to teach her further, in secret, having overheard her trying to convince his squire to spar with her. The fact that Jaime spent several hours a weeks with him, alone, had spawned many nasty rumours. It was worth it, though. They could call her a whore, but how many whores could knock them into the dirt with ease?

"Cersen would have hated that," She said, amused. "He resents that I'm better with a sword than him as it is, let alone if everyone knew about it," Since her marriage to Stannis, she hadn't bothered to hide that she trained with a sword from those at Storm's End, though her skill was not well known outside the castle. Her husband was oddly indifferent to the fact; her sparring hardly pleased him, but he didn't seem to care enough to stop her. Some days Jaime must have trained longer hours than any knight did, until she was covered in bruises and her limbs felt ready to drop off, simply to make up for what she thought of as lost time.

"Cersen can go and - " Ashara broke off, glancing at her daughters playing together. "Well, you know how I feel about our dear Master of Laws. I don't like the way he looks at some of us," Her eyes hadn't left her daughters. 

"He wishes I was queen, so his nephew would be king," Jaime shrugged. "That's all it is," Ashara nodded absently, reaching out to stroke Maris' shiny dark hair. "I'd best go. We're meant to return to Storm's End in the next few days, and I haven't even thought about preparing," 

They weren't to leave for another two weeks, however. The night before Jaime and her children were meant to leave, she received a frantic message from Ashara saying that Princess Maris had fallen suddenly ill. Within the week, she was dead.

The room was gloomy, the curtains drawn, several thin tapers giving off what light there was. Jaime's footsteps and the rustle of her dark skirts as she entered was the only noise. Knelt by the four-poster bed, dressed entirely in black as well, was the queen.

Ashara's beautiful face was wet with tears, tormented with grief, the very picture of sadness as she clutched at the hand of the little girl lying still on the bed. She contrasted greatly with Robert in her grief, Jaime thought. She had seen the king earlier that day seemingly trying to drown himself in drink before noon, then loudly ordering a hunt. Jaime supposed Robert had had little time for his daughter in life; why should he in death?

She slowly came and knelt beside her friend.

"I'm sorry," It felt like the right thing to say, though Jaime had never been particularly good at comforting others. Usually she didn't care enough to try. When Cersen was angry, she would kiss him to shut him up, which tended to work. When her children were upset, she would try to come up with a solution. But Ashara was not Cersen, nor her child, and nothing could fix this.

Well-wishes and platitudes came to mind, each as insincere and false-sounding as the last, so she kept silent. When her mother had died all those years ago, Jaime had had people telling how the Seven would take care of her, how Lady Joanna was at peace now, how she should pray for her mother's soul. With each one, Jaime had wanted to scream in their stupid faces.

"It wasn't your fault," Ashara's voice was hoarse and pained. "She - she was always frail, and - " She broke off with a sob, falling against Jaime's shoulder and beginning to weep. After a second, Jaime's arm closed around her, as she had done with Tyrion when he was younger and crying about never been tall like his brother, and she stared into the cold, dead face of the princess.

Maris Baratheon had been a beautiful girl. How could she not have been, with the parents she had? Her hair was long and dark, her eyes a deep blueish-purple, and her face was like that of the maiden herself. But she had been an eight-month baby, and it was undeniable that the princess had always had a thin, sickly cast to her appearance, that she had often come down with coughs and chills as a younger child, and now, aged nine, one of them had finally taken her.

Jaime thought back to her conversations with Cersen during her previous visit to King's Landing, thought of how convinced he was that Joffrey would be king one day despite the king having three children and two brothers. No, he couldn't have. Maris had died from a chill, all agreed, even the maesters who had tended her.

But, as she held Ashara, shaking with great wracking sobs, her dress getting soaked through with tears, Jaime had a nasty feeling growing that wouldn't go away.

It was a good thing Prince Lyonel was not fond of riding or hunting. It would be difficult to engineer a believable fatal accident in a library. 

*

It was rare that all of Jaime's children were at Storm's End at once. Her second son Orryn had been fostered with Lord Morrigen since he was nine, and was now squire to the man's brother, Ser Richard. Arthur and Joffrey were always in King's Landing now, and Jaime was often with them herself; Cersen was there, and Ashara, and for that she would put up with all the whispers behind her back, mutters of Kingslayer and gossip as to which man she was meant to be fucking that week. 

Ashara had assured her that she didn't mind her leaving. Jaime had been doubtful of that - her friend had been a shadow of her former self in the weeks since her daughter Maris' death - but the queen had been insistent, so here she was.  

Despite lacking her brother's presence, there was something to be said for returning to Storm's End, away from the city, with all eight of her children. They were all back in the Stormlands for the funeral of Lady Estermont, their ancient great-grandmother who most of them had never met. 

This was their last night at Storm's End before they made the journey to Greenstone; Jaime had dubbed the castle Greenshit last time she was there, and doubted it would have improved much. But she got to be with all her sons, who she did not see nearly as much as she would have liked, which she supposed made putting up with the miserable place bearable. 

The occasion was rare enough that Stannis joined them as they ate. Jaime did not often dine with her husband - he was hardly the most interesting of companions, and she knew she generally irritated him - but that night was an exception.

"What do you think, Mother?" Her second daughter Myrcella grinned, turning to her with laughter in her green eyes. "The way Arthur talks, he's like to become the next Aemon Dragonknight,"

"The Dragonknight was said to be very humble and modest," Jaime said dryly. There were several snorts, and she turned to her third son, amused. "You might be as good a swordsman one day, boy, but I doubt you could ever be called humble,"

"The day the sun rises in the west, perhaps," Orryn, the second eldest, suggested.

"I can be humble," Arthur protested, though grinned, not seeming to take offence. "And I can be more modest than anyone," 

Stannis scoffed slightly at that from the other end of the table. To his left sat Jaime's fourth son, Steffon, a rather quiet, shy and bookish boy of six, but very stubborn and more like his father in both looks and character than any of the others.

"What do knights care about being humble?" Joffrey scoffed from where he sat between Jaime and Helia, the two least likely to hit him (which were Stannis and Arthur), cause him to fly into a rage (Myrcella, Orryn and the little twins) or be picked on by him (Steffon). "Worries like that are for septons and women," 

Stannis gave him a sour look. It was no secret that he disliked his eldest son, but few could say anything on the subject, as no one truly was fond of the Baratheon heir. Not even his own mother.

"You'll be getting yourself a suit of that ridiculous golden armour soon enough," Her husband said darkly, glaring at Jaime like it was her fault. "Your brother was talking about having a set made for him last time I was in King's Landing. I asked Lannister why he intended to make the boy who can barely swing a sword into a shining golden target on the battlefield," 

From any other man that would have been a joke, but Stannis was deadly serious. Joffrey flushed red in anger, whilst Jaime wondered what exactly her brother was playing at. It was bad enough that the boy looked entirely Lannister, let alone decking him out in a suit of armour to match his uncle's.

"Joffrey can swing a sword, Father," Little Argella piped up.

"We saw him practicing in the yard today," Roanna added.

"I think he lost, though," Argella said, eyes wide. "Lots of times,"

"He didn't look very happy," Roanna finished. Jaime had to grin at that, whilst Myrcella and Arthur laughed openly. The little twins might have been the two most troublesome girls in the history of House Baratheon, but most of the time Jaime could only find them amusing.

"Shut up, you little brats," Joffrey glared viciously at the twins, who glanced at each other innocently, not at all bothered.

"They're only four, Joff, calm down," Helia said, grinning. Jaime's eldest daughter, Orryn's twin, was the one who got along best with their brother, but that didn't mean she suffered his nonsense at all. As Joffrey turned his glare to her, Stannis frowned at Jaime.

"Should the twins be at dinner this late?"

"Probably not," She shrugged. "They're behaving better than I thought they would, in truth," She had been sure to give instructions to their maids to tire them out during the day, so they had the chance of sitting still for more than five minutes that evening. 

Argella and Roanna were more trouble than all the others had been combined, though at least she had not had to explain to either of them yet why gutting a pregnant cat to see the kittens was not an advisable pastime, unlike Joffrey at a similar age.

"Send them to bed soon," Her husband told her. "They're too young for this," Jaime forced herself to smile her most dazzling smile, which she knew had no effect on him other than mild irritation.

"Of course, my lord," He heard her sarcasm and narrowed his eyes, but quickly turned his attention back to the children as Joffrey made an outraged noise, leaping up from his chair. Argella had just flicked a bit of gravy-soaked meat at him, as most of his siblings laughed.

"How dare she, the little wretch - "

"She hardly threw a knife at you, Joff," Orryn said with a raised eyebrow. 

"Sit down, boy, a drop of gravy won't kill you," Stannis snapped, and Joffrey knew better than to disobey, though he sat down with a sulky expression, glaring daggers at the twins, who had shared the briefest grin, which Jaime didn't miss. She was a twin, too. 

"It was an accident, Mother, I promise," Argella looked at her mother with wide blue eyes.

"Her spoon slipped," Roanna added, just as solemnly.

"You're both terrible liars," Jaime probably shouldn't have been grinning herself. Her husband clearly didn't think so either, but she didn't care. "Finish your dinner and then you're both going to bed,"

"What about pudding?" Roanna protested.

"Anya said there's pie and cream," That bloody nursemaid. 

"The pie is a dish from Essos. It's made of catgut and puppies brains," Jaime said flatly. "You wouldn't want it," They both pulled faces at that, seeming to take her word for it, as most of the others smirked.

The dinner finished in relative civility, the little twins were sent off to bed with minimal fuss, the apple pie was delicious and then the older ones went away too. 

"I suppose this is good night," Jaime got up to leave as well, only for Stannis to wordlessly grab her arm as she passed his chair. She looked down at him, amused. "Why, I should have known," Her tone was sarcastic. "The way you were glowering at me all through dinner truly captured the depths of your desire, dear husband,"

"Must you be so infuriating?" Stannis snapped, but there was no real bite to his tone, and his jaw was only clenched slightly. 

"Infuriating?" Jaime grinned, leaning against the table in front of him. "Most men dream of being married to one of the most beautiful women in Westeros, and all you can call me is infuriating?" 

"Most men don't have to put up with you all the time," He said flatly, another non-joke, but she laughed anyway. Her husband's face was as stony as ever, but she saw the look in his normally guarded eyes. Her dazzling smile and low-cut red dresses might not work on him, but he wanted her nonetheless. 

Stannis' grip on her wrist was hardly gentle as he got to his feet, towering over her. He was not as tall as Robert, but not much shorter either, with broad shoulders and a cropped black beard. Her husband could not have been more different to Cersen, with thin lips and rough skin, but she preferred that there was a difference. It wasn't difficult to separate what she felt for her brother to what she felt for her husband. For one, Stannis did not look at her the same way he looked at his own reflection.

"Would you rather have had Selyse Florent, is that it?" Jaime bared her teeth, moving away from him to the door. She had laughed herself silly upon hearing that Jon Arryn had intended Stannis to marry that woman, when Jaime herself was still meant for Robert. "Surely it's worth putting up with my less desirable charms, to have a wife with more life in her than a dead fish between the sheets?" 

The poor serving girl who was clearing away the plates glanced in her direction briefly in shock, hastily looking away. Jaime's smile grew at the look on her husband's face as he glared at her, stomping past through the door without a word. It's too easy infuriating this one. Shaking her head in amusement, she followed after him. 

On the morning of her wedding, Jaime had fucked her brother, a tryst that had likely resulted in Joffrey's birth nine months later. She hadn't wanted anyone but Cersen, and he didn't want her to be anyone else's either, furious at the idea of another man bedding his other half. Her brother's dark mood had been growing as her wedding loomed closer, and he had grown short and irritable with everyone, even her. 

Before Cersen's own wedding, Jaime had begged him not to wed Lysa, but he had brushed off her distress as childish and naive, claiming Lysa meant nothing to him and he had to marry for the good of their house. Yet despite the fact she claimed that Stannis meant nothing to her, he still treated her like it was her fault for not succeeding in becoming a septa and serve at Casterly Rock, as he had convinced her to attempt years ago, before he married Lysa. Father had put a very firm (furious) stop to that the first time she tried, and was certainly watchful of any further attempts. It would never work, even Jaime realised that, reckless as she was.

Faced with Stannis at her wedding feast, she had spent the evening laughing with Tyrion at his stern, uptight demeanour, whilst drinking as much as possible, sneaking her little brother wine; he had only been ten at the time, so had not had his own cup. Her father had disapproved of her drinking, of course, but being dead drunk was likely the only way she wouldn't turn and run at the first opportunity, and he seemed to realise that, for he said nothing.

When the king gave the call for the bedding ceremony, eagerly stumbling towards her, eyes raking openly up her body, Jaime had looked wildly around, searching for her twin - who had promised to carry her there himself, and not let anyone touch her - only to see Cersen storming out of the hall wearing a mutinous expression. 

"Jaime," Tyrion's mismatched eyes had been wide and anxious as he saw her distress. "I - I can try to be there instead, but I'm too small," He shuffled his feet in a way that made her want to cry. Turning her back on Robert, she knelt to hug her little brother tightly, burying her face in his neck.

"Thank you," She had murmured. "Truly," Jaime pulled back, forcing her usual sharp smile on her face. "But you don't truly want to see your sister in her smallclothes, do you?" Tyrion pulled a disgusted face and she laughed, getting back to her feet with a small drunken stagger and ruffling his hair. "Don't drink any more wine, brother, or you'll be sick,"

"Hypocrite," He muttered, and she gave a short laugh, trying to forget the fact that her twin had left her alone here to go and sulk.

Jaime had hardened her heart as Robert Baratheon lifted her clean off the ground. She was carried off amidst a dozen pairs of groping hands, lewd remarks and crude jokes, fighting the urge to squirm her way loose and flee, and, as the bedchamber grew nearer, fighting the urge to cry. The thought of being with any other man than her brother truly sickened her stomach. We could have run together, if you'd been willing to give up the Rock.

She hadn't even pretended to be a maid for her new husband. Partly in the hope he would declare her soiled, a whore, and demand the marriage annulled. Partly because she was very drunk - back then, drink had mellowed her somewhat - and just trying to minimise the potentially hideous awkwardness of letting Stannis lead. In the moment, her new husband had clearly felt far too out of his depth to point out her obvious experience, and he would hardly bring such a matter up outside the bedchamber.

Perhaps that was the one thing the man had ever let go. 

He wasn't quite the stoically awkward young man she had married anymore. Though hardly warm and loving, Stannis seemed to have realised as time went on that he was allowed to want his beautiful young wife. 

At first, Jaime had had no intention of bedding her husband more than necessary to get the required heir and a spare, but in the long months where she was away from Cersen and King's Landing, hearing of the many children and miscarriages his wife Lysa was having, her resolve changed. She loved her brother, and would never love her husband, but that didn't mean she had to act like a septa whenever Cersen wasn't around, given that he hardly hid his efforts to get another heir on Lysa. Which explained the six trueborn Baratheon children. She could have stopped after Joffrey and the twins, after all.

Her husband seemed to view women in general as some sort of alien species to be wary of. Jaime was the exception, perhaps because despite outward appearances, she wasn't a very womanly woman. As a rule, she made her feelings on certain subjects bluntly clear, and did not expect passionate declarations of love or fancy gifts, nor subject him to teary-eyed outpourings of emotion. Likely it helped that all of their initial experiences sharing a bedchamber had been initiated by her, in the hope of getting with child quickly, and she had made sure that none of those times were painfully awkward. 

But she was under no impression that Stannis cared about her enough not to have her head if he ever found out that Joffrey and Myrcella were not his children. Which was why he would never know.

*

It was rather unfortunate timing that Jon Arryn happened to die whilst Jaime was visiting the Red Keep with her daughters and Steffon.

As a rule, she did not like visiting King's Landing. The only reasons she did were Cersen and Ashara. Apart from those two, her time in the city consisted of nothing but snide whispers behind her back, of how arrogant she is, how rude and cutting, how she thinks she's too good for them all because she disdains their gossiping circles and has the queen's ear. 

At least the rumours that she bathed in blood had died down past the first year after killing Aerys, but the old favourites were ever-present; she's unstable and growing more so by the day, she fucks a new man each week, she's Robert's whore, jealous and bitter that she wasn't chosen to be queen. 

Jaime had stopped listening long ago. Mostly. 

The name Kingslayer followed her like a shadow, of course, but she could live with that. Killing Aerys had been her finest act, after all. 

It was for Joffrey's fourteenth nameday that she was even in the city in the first place. She would freely admit that she did not like her eldest son, and had been glad (initially) when Cersen offered to foster him in King's Landing when he was seven. 

She had tried with Joffrey, she truly had. But no matter what Jaime did, she could not keep him from torturing animals, reducing serving girls to tears and picking on his younger siblings far more viciously than was normal. No matter what Jaime did, she could not stop herself from actively disliking her own firstborn son. 

The boy was truly a horror, though, anyone who met him could attest to that. Except her brother, who acted as though Joffrey was the most wonderful child on gods green earth, and had spent the last seven years telling him so. But Jaime was still his mother; she supposed she should see him once a year, at least.

And now Arthur lived in the Red Keep too, having become a squire to Barristan Selmy the previous year, after the old man proclaimed him the best natural swordsman he had ever seen. It would be good to see the boy again. Her third son was perhaps most like her of all her children; he had Baratheon black hair, but his face was sharper and more elegant than Orryn and Steffon's, and he smiled like his mother. He was bold, reckless and had a quick wit, but though he could be rather insensitive and careless at times, he seemed to lack any kind of malice or cruelty. 

Needless to say, he did not get on with his eldest brother, but was the favourite nephew of his Uncle Robert; Joffrey was Joffrey, Orryn barely saw the king and Steffon was too much like Stannis. 

Even though Robert disliked Joffrey as much as the boy's own mother did, the king leapt at any excuse to hold a tourney, his nephew's nameday being an ideal occasion. Jon Arryn had been hale and hearty as ever, then, yet two weeks later he was dead. It wasn't a great shock to anyone - the man was old and well past his due - though it was rather sudden.

But the king needed a new Hand, and it was no surprise when he declared that he was uprooting half the court and dragging them to Winterfell.

"You come too, Kingslayer," Robert had said, as Jaime bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile at him. "That pretty daughter of yours can meet Ned's boy," 

It was a good point, despite coming from that fat, drunken oaf. After the death of Princess Maris, Myrcella was likely to soon be betrothed to Robb Stark, and Jaime would rather meet the boy before promising her daughter's hand. Because that worked so well with Helia. Though if the eldest Stark child was anything like his father, there should be no issue.

Her twin was coming to Winterfell too. Jaime didn't quite know why, given he showed as little interest in Myrcella as he did his three trueborn daughters, but she was hardly going to complain. 

She had been in a good mood ever since her brother's cow of a wife had run off back to Casterly Rock with the rest of her brood. Cersen had ranted to Jaime about it afterwards; his marriage had never been a happy one, and Lysa had annoyed him so much one evening - shortly after Jon Arryn grew sick - that he had struck her. That had unleashed another torrent of incessant squawking, irritating him into allowing Lysa to take herself and their youngest two daughters west.

The eldest two were already at Casterly Rock. Fifteen year old Tychus was learning to rule under Lord Tywin, given that he and his father felt nothing but dislike and scorn for each other (likely to have started when the boy was born with Tully auburn hair rather than Lannister golden), and Joanna, a year younger, felt much the same, towards both parents.

Cersen showed remarkably little interest in any of his children but Joffrey - who everyone thought the spawn of Stannis Baratheon - resentful of the fact that after their first son, Lysa kept popping out daughters and miscarriages. Jaime had pointed out once that Tychus was an intelligent boy, more like their own father than Cersen was himself, but her twin only curled his lip in disgust at the mention of his only (trueborn) son.

However, if her brother was coming north, so was Joffrey, as his squire (though what squire's duties the boy did exactly were beyond her, he'd never polished a pair of boots in his life). For that reason, it was with seven of her eight children that Jaime made the journey north with; Arthur was coming with Ser Barristan, whilst her second son, Orryn, squired in the Stormlands.

Jaime largely avoided the modest wheelhouse that Ashara travelled in with Princess Cassana and the little twins throughout the journey, preferring to ride during the day with Helia, Steffon and Myrcella, but in the evenings they all joined her friend inside. Ashara had been a ghost of her former self since Maris' death, but she seemed to appreciate the company at least. Watching sweet, smiley Princess Cassana trying to keep up with the twin devils Argella and Roanna was amusing for everyone.

As Robert greeted his old friend Eddard Stark upon their arrival to Winterfell, Jaime eyed the man carefully. Unlike the king, Stark hadn't changed a bit from the day he found her sat on the Iron Throne, aside from several premature grey hairs. 

Ashara was introduced, and though she was faultlessly polite, as effortlessly alluring as ever, there was a heavy sadness that hung over her in her grief. Jaime watched Stark's expression carefully as he greeted the queen, seeing nothing there of note, but that was no surprise.

After Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana were introduced with no real enthusiasm by their father, anticipating Robert's demand to be shown to the crypts - he'd been talking of little else all day - and seeing the look on Ashara's face, Jaime quickly moved forward.

"Eddard Stark," She smiled her most dazzling smile, no doubt coming across as obnoxious, but she didn't care. "You've hardly changed a bit, my lord," She glanced significantly at Robert, who was oblivious, and she saw Stark's lips twitch slightly.

"Nor you, Lady Jaime," He inclined his head. She laughed. Jaime had always rather liked Stark, despite his frozen face and solemn demeanour. He had been one of the few not to think she'd lost her mind after being found on the Iron Throne covered in Aerys' blood, and had been as angry as she was at the brutal deaths of Elia and the Targaryen children.

"You're very kind," She meant that, despite her amusement; underneath the stern expression and cold words, he always was kind. As Robert lost patience and dragged his friend away, she turned her attention to the woman who had stood at his side, flashing that sharp smile again. "Lady Catelyn, it's a pleasure,"

"Lady Jaime," Catelyn nodded, smiling rather tightly. Jaime could see the look in the woman's eyes already. It was one she knew well, from the eyes of those who knew her and those that didn't, both. Dislike, judgement and scorn, hidden behind a mask of courtesy. "Welcome to Winterfell. And this must be your daughter,"

"My name is Myrcella, my lady," Myrcella stepped forward without Jaime's prompting and gave a brief but flawless curtsey, smiling in a polished way that made her seem older than ten. "You're very beautiful, as everyone says," My bold little lady, perfect like I never was. 

The rather austere look on Catelyn Stark's face softened slightly at the sight of her, and Jaime couldn't help but smirk. She's not like me, despite her looks, if that's what you were worried about.

"It's a pleasure, Lady Myrcella," She said more warmly, but Jaime's eyes were fixed on the Stark children. Her gaze settled on the eldest, a handsome boy of four-and-ten, stocky and strong-looking, with the reddish-brown hair of his mother and blue-grey eyes. Nothing obviously objectionable, but she'd be keeping an eye on him for the next weeks.

Robb Stark saw her looking, and smiled rather uncertainly. Clearly his mother's been telling him tales. Jaime shot him a sharp smile, her attention moving onto the pretty eldest daughter.

Sansa Stark did not seem particularly thrilled to be meeting her betrothed. Lyonel might be a prince, but he was hardly a maiden's dream. Though very tall and not unattractive, he was also lanky, with pasty skin and rounded shoulders. He was a poor fighter and a poorer conversationalist, socially awkward and moody, preferring to keep the company of dusty old books than actual people. 

Had he had a brother, perhaps he might have become a maester, but that was not an option given he was the only prince. Lyonel cared for his mother and sisters, but was wary and suspicious of most everyone else, and had no love for his father, given how Robert often mocked and belittled him.

Jaime saw Sansa's eyes flicker rather longingly to Joffrey, and wanted to laugh. Count yourself lucky, girl. Better an awkward husband than a cruel one. She herself had never had a phase of romantic dreaming of marrying handsome knights and princes. 

For as long as Jaime could remember, she hadn't wanted to marry anyone but Cersen. That was why she had resented marrying Stannis, not because he wasn't as handsome or charismatic as Robert, but because he was not her brother. 

"And you must be Helia," Lady Catelyn's voice tore Jaime away from staring at Sansa Stark.

"Yes, Lady Stark," Jaime's eldest daughter's manners were not as polished as Myrcella's, and Helia was not as beautiful as her younger sister, having not quite grown into her strong Baratheon features yet, but she was more like Jaime than any of the other girls. She wasn't charming, exactly, but quietly confident, sharp and sarcastic, and proud too, though she used her head a lot more than her mother ever did.

"I hear you're betrothed to my brother, Edmure. I might be calling you goodsister soon enough," At the woman's words, Jaime grimaced slightly. 

That notion had been one of Jon Arryn's poorer ones. She had met Edmure Tully and found him a fool. As had Helia. And Arthur had heard the story of 'the floppy fish' from one of the local smallfolk whilst out riding, and had been laughing about it for the rest of their stay in Riverrun. Even that wouldn't have been so bad, had Jaime not been laughing with him, Stannis glaring at all three of them. 

"Your brother is five-and-twenty, Lady Catelyn, and my daughter barely three-and-ten," She said. "The wedding will not take for years yet," And hopefully not at all.

"Of course," Catelyn said with a small frown.

In truth, the stay with the Starks had not been entirely unpleasant. The children had enjoyed it at least. Arthur had quickly made friends with the Winterfell boys, Robb Stark in particular, and enjoyed showing off his skill with a sword, beating Robb, Theon Greyjoy and the bastard Jon Snow with apparent ease despite being years younger, but being so good-natured about it all that no one could resent him for it. Jaime liked to amuse herself thinking he'd inherited her skills with a sword rather than Stannis'.

Steffon had been fascinated by Winterfell's library. He spent much of his time with Tyrion and Prince Lyonel there, but later on seemed to befriend Bran Stark. They were of a similar age, and the more talkative Bran actually managed to drag him into the practice yard several times, something Orryn and Arthur had been trying to do for years. Jaime had even seen the pair climbing around the castle, but thankfully her son had the sense not to take the same risks the Stark boy did, so she had little to object to.

Helia and Myrcella seemed to get along well enough with Sansa Stark, though the true friendship there seemed to be Argella and Roanna following around the younger girl Arya like two little ducklings. The nine-year-old had been irritated by the little twins at first, though seemed to have warmed up to them after Roanna had flicked porridge at Joffrey during breakfast one day. 

Rickon Stark too seemed fascinated with the twins, caught between sneering at them for being girls, and admiring them for acting out. She wasn't sure if they were a bad influence on him, or if the wild little Stark boy was a bad influence on them.

Joffrey, of course, was disliked by most everyone in Winterfell, and Jaime didn't blame them, particularly after an incident in the training yard shortly after their arrival, where Robb Stark had to be restrained from attacking him. She had heard of that day from Arthur himself, angrily recounting at dinner how his brother had made a complete arse of himself, and if the same thing hadn't happened before with countless other lord's sons, she would have been angry. As it was, she had all but given up on the boy years ago. He was more Cersen's son than hers.

Despite the fact most of her children were enjoying themselves, Jaime was not so much. It wasn't just the judgement in Lady Catelyn's eyes whenever she looked at her, or the cold weather in summer, or that even that she had once walked in on Tyrion entertaining two whores (her little brother had laughed at her raised eyebrow and had the nerve to ask if she wanted one for herself). No, it was that she had scarcely had a moment alone with Cersen.

So when Robert declared that there would be hunt before the leaving feast, she was glad for the opportunity. The place Jaime took her twin to had seemed more than secluded, particularly with all the men and boys out hunting. It was the old part of the castle, what the Starks called the First Keep, ancient and crumbling but private.

Jaime had been being fucked against a wall by her brother when she just chanced to open her eyes slightly, seeing the small, pale face at the window over Cersen's shoulder. Shit.

Shit hadn't even begun to cover it when she recognised him as the Stark boy, Bran.

She hadn't wanted to kill him. Cersen hadn't either, for different reasons; he didn't want any suspicion to fall on them, whereas Jaime had been unable to stop thinking that Brandon Stark was only seven, a year younger than Steffon. A kind boy, sweet and gentle, Lady Catelyn had told her that first night, smiling genuinely for once as she spoke of her children.

She had let her brother shove him out the window anyway. She didn't enjoy it, she wasn't that much of a monster, but it was necessary. This boy died, or Cersen, Joffrey and Myrcella did, with the rest of her children being left motherless, as her own head would surely be the first to go. 

Jaime knew that whilst her husband might be fonder of her than he was of most, she was under no impressions that he held her in higher regard than his duty. Other husbands might simply send their wives and her bastards away in disgrace, but not Stannis. Perhaps he would spare Myrcella, but she would live out her days in misery with the Silent Sisters, and as much as Jaime disliked Joffrey, she did not wish to see him dead. 

She would have pushed the boy herself if it prevented that from happening.

Now, however, the following evening, when Bran was still refusing to die, Cersen was panicking. He masked it with anger, but she knew him well enough to see through that.

"He was seven, Jaime," He berated her, as if his hand hadn't been the one to throw the boy, as if it was all her fault for not stepping in, as if he'd have listened to her if she tried. "Even if he understood what he saw, we should have been able to frighten him into silence. If the boy should wake and tell his father - "

"If if if," Jaime sidled into his lap, pushing her own guilt away inside. She was not one prone to panic or worry, even when she probably should have been. "If he wakes, we'll say that the fall addled his brains, and should worse come to worst, we'll kill Ned Stark," 

What was done was done, and like it or not, there was no point arguing over things they could not change. Although Jaime would rather not kill Stark, if she could help it. He was one of the few men she actually liked.

"And then what do you imagine Robert will do then?" Cersen demanded.

"Let Robert do as he pleases. I've killed one king, why not another?" It would truly be a pleasure to stick a sword in his chest. 

The whole journey to Winterfell, Robert had been taking full advantage of Stannis' absence, leering and groping at her whenever possible, seeming not to care that Ashara was there at all. And Jaime still remembered that night, years ago. Slayer of one king, whore of another. Those rumours stung the most, perhaps because there was actually some truth to them.

"Jaime, get off of me!" Cersen raged, struggling to shove her off his lap.

Instead she had kissed him. For a moment he resisted, but then his mouth opened under her, his hands went for her bodice, and for a time the Stark boy was forgotten. At least, until Jaime closed her eyes to sleep and it was her youngest son they were shoving to his death instead. 

*

"Gods, what happened to your arm?" Helia's eyes widened as Jaime entered the tent, dragging her eldest son by his wrist like a naughty child and ignoring his protests. 

Joffrey's other arm was bound up tightly in bloody bandages. The boy had stopped trying to milk the injury once they were out of sight of Cersen, knowing his mother would not have any sympathy whatsoever. Helia, on the other hand, was the most likely of his siblings to hear him out at least.

"I was attacked!" He exclaimed, face still red with anger. "Hit with clubs, threatened, set upon by wolves, and - "

"I heard you were beaten by the little Stark girl, Joff?" Arthur swaggered in after them, grinning as he cut his brother off. "She's nine years old, and the size of a wet rat, please tell me it's true," Jaime, no less angry than she had been in the audience with Robert, Cersen and Ned Stark, couldn't help but smile sharply. Helia raised an eyebrow.

"Oh it didn't happen quite like that," She clapped a hand tightly on her eldest son's shoulder, preventing him from storming off. "Joff decided that cutting up a butcher's boy armed with a stick was a fine way to impress his cousin's betrothed, Lady Sansa," Gods only know why he was riding with the girl in the first place. "Lady Arya took exception to this, and tried to stop him, so he took a swing at her. With live steel," She had told Cersen not to give the idiot boy a proper sword, but as ever, her brother had dismissed her.

"Oh Joff, you didn't," Helia groaned. She might be the only one of them who tolerated Joffrey, but that didn't meant she suffered his nonsense.

"What if you'd hurt her?" Myrcella asked with narrowed eyes.

"She would have deserved it!" Joffrey protested angrily, trying to squirm away from Jaime, but she dug her fingers in. "The dirty little savage! How dare she attack me, I'm heir to Storm's End," Arthur gave a snort of disgust, and Steffon looked on in silent disapproval. Jaime was almost sorry that the little twins were with their nursemaid, or they'd surely be mimicking his voice by now.

"Perhaps not, if your father hears of this," She said dryly. It was a joke, but Joffrey turned to her in outrage. Thankfully Arthur spoke first.

"If only," He muttered, and her eldest son rounded on him.

"I am the eldest!"

"I wish Orryn was," Arthur fired back. "He's a better sword than you, cleverer than you, bigger than you, and would make a better lord than you,"

"It's my right," Joffrey protested furiously. "No one can take that away, not even Father!"

"It's not just your right, you insolent pup," Jaime lost her patience. "It's also your responsibility. High lords have more of those than most. Not swinging a sword at the daughter of the Warden of the North is a rather crucial one. You say it's your right, yet all I see is a cruel, arrogant, reckless boy who is not up to the job. And I'm your mother. What do you think everyone else sees?" 

Joffrey flushed an angry shade of red, starting forward, and for a moment Jaime truly thought he would strike her. Clearly so did Arthur, who stepped forward with an indignant exclamation, but she raised a hand and both of them stopped.

There was a tense silence.

"How did your arm get hurt?" Myrcella asked innocently, but Jaime could see when her daughter was winding her brother up. When Joffrey didn't speak, Jaime answered for him.

"Lady Arya's direwolf did not like her mistress being threatened," She gave a short, unsympathetic laugh. "You're lucky that a warning bite is all you got,"

"That beast should have been turned into a pelt," Joffrey muttered sulkily. "The other one too. Yet you sent them both off home with a pat on the head,"

"Why should I kill the wolf, when the fault was yours?" Jaime shrugged. 

Cersen had demanded that both direwolves be slaughtered as punishment, but she had gone against him and suggested the beasts simply be sent back to Winterfell. Her brother would be angry with her for that, but she could deal with Cersen. Arya Stark had glared angrily at her as well - and likely would hate her from now on - but had said nothing, knowing that whilst it was unfair, it was better than death. At least the girl's father had looked grateful.

"Because I'm your son!" Joffrey snarled. More's the pity. "Does that count for nothing? You're meant to be on my side, not with the wild little Stark bitch!"

"And had things happened the way you told it, I would be on your side," Jaime gritted her teeth. "Had Arya Stark and the butcher's boy truly set upon you with clubs, stolen your sword and set the direwolf on you, then I would be the first to demand the boy whipped, the girl sent home in disgrace and the wolf killed. But I can't punish Lady Arya for not standing by and letting you gut her friend, Joff, that's not how it works. Loyalty is not unconditional, no matter what my brother's been telling you. No matter how many times you proclaim yourself a lord, if you act like a tyrant, people will turn on you,"

"Like you turned on the Mad King," Her son sneered. Jaime smiled sharply.

"Yes, exactly like that," There was a silence, then Joffrey gave one last sneer and left them.

"I wish you were there to shut him up more often, Mother," Arthur said, amused. "You should see him strutting around the Red Keep, like he's the crown prince himself,"

"Like you strut around the practice yard?" Myrcella asked with a grin. Helia laughed and Steffon smiled.

"Yes, but I'm actually good at fighting," Her son said, though he grinned good-naturedly as well. "What's he good at, besides bullying servants and sucking up to Uncle Cersen and the king?"

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," Helia said, though she was half-laughing too. Jaime's eldest daughter showed compassion to the brother the rest of them scorned, but she wasn't blind.

"Someone has to be," Myrcella snorted. Jaime was inclined to agree. 

*

It's long I know, but believe it or not this was the cut down version. I wanted to get into how Jaime came to be where she is before I continued with her chapters from A Storm of Swords, as well as depicting her relationships with Stannis, Cersen, Ashara and her children. I hope all characterisations are realistic, I always find it tricky writing Stannis in particular. Any improvements or constructive criticism is very welcome. Thank you for reading!

Just as a reminder:

Children of Jaime and Stannis (Joffrey and Myrcella are Cersen's): Joffrey (14), twins Orryn and Helia (13), Arthur (11), Myrcella (10), Steffon (8) and twins Argella and Roanna (5). Ages are from the start of AGOT.

Children of Robert and Ashara: Lyonel (died at 13), Maris (died at 10) and Cassana (4).

Children of Cersen and Lysa: Tychus (15), Joanna (14), Leila (13), Genalyn (7)