Walking into Ashara's chambers, Jaime found them empty. 

"Where is the queen?" She rounded on the maid making the bed, a cold feeling of dread running through her veins. 

"I - I don't know, milady," The woman stuttered nervously. "Her Grace said she was going for a walk of the castle,"

It was a sunny morning, warm even for summer with scarcely a cloud in the sky, though the fine weather was ruined by the tragedy of the previous day.

Finally having enough of his father's insults and humiliations for being bookish, awkward and bad at fighting, Prince Lyonel had entered the Hand's tourney as a mystery knight. Somehow making it through the first tilt, his luck had run out on the second, where he ended up facing Gregor Clegane. 

Of course, the fool boy hadn't done his armour up properly, and a splinter from the Mountain's lance had pierced his throat. Through cries of alarm at the sight of such a deadly hit, the attendants had eased the mystery knight's helm off, only to be horrified at the sight of none other than the crown prince dying in the sand.

Jaime still remembered the terrible noise Ashara had made as she had practically leapt down the stairs, racing to her son's side. The queen had cradled his head in her lap, weeping horribly as the boy died in her arms, bleeding all over her lilac skirts as she screamed for the maester. Robert had been yelling something, the crowd was in uproar, and Jaime had hurried to her friend's side, in the end having to tear her away from the corpse of her only son so the body could be moved. 

The grief Ashara had never truly got over after Princess Maris' death had been doubled with the brutal killing of Lyonel. After the display at the tourney grounds, once they were away from it all, the woman had stopped crying altogether, and that concerned Jaime the most. The only expression on her friend's face was one of deep sadness, too sad even for tears. 

She had scarcely spoken a word the whole night, which they spent on their knees in the sept in front of the Stranger's statue, her face a mask. Jaime had never been devout, and did not pray, rather watched her friend.

They had returned to Maegor's holdfast in the morning, and she had seen the queen to her chambers before entering her own to change her clothes quickly. But when she had returned, she found Ashara gone.

"Did she take anyone with her?" Jaime demanded the chamber maid. The woman hesitated. "Well?"

"No, milady, she - she sent Ser Meryn away. She said she wants time alone, to be at peace," Cursing, Jaime was already halfway out of the room, flying down the staircase and out of Maegor's as fast as her long skirts would allow, ignoring the looks from the guards.

"Lady Jaime," A voice, Ned Stark, called to her in bemusement as she ran past him in the yard, and she didn't even hesitate before grabbing his arm and pulling him along with her. "What are you - "

"The already unstable queen has vanished, alone and grieving terribly for her son," Jaime snapped at him. "Help me find - " She broke off, seeing a lone figure walking along the battlements on the eastern side of the keep. "There," She ran, and Stark did too, seeming to catch on as he barked orders at his guards.

As they approached her, Ashara did not turn around. She was stood between two of the crenellations, holding on with one hand, the sea breeze catching her dark hair and her dress. She still wore the purple gown from the previous day, stained with her son's blood.

"Your Grace," Stark called out sharply. "It is not safe up there, you must get down," Ashara turned and looked at him, her violet eyes dry but her beautiful face impossibly sad.

"Don't worry, Ned," She said softly. "I'm not scared of falling,"

"Ashara, get down," Jaime said, impatient in her concern, moving closer. "No more pretending, we all know you want to jump off the walls. What about your daughter, what about Cassana? Imagine her hearing how her mother killed herself, growing up miserable and motherless, with only Robert as a father,"

"She's better off without me," The queen said, looking out to sea again. "Maris... Lyonel... what kind of a mother am I, where two of my children don't make it past thirteen, and even more don't live past the crib? I've failed them, I've failed Arthur, I've failed you, Jaime. What kind of woman keeps silent about her husband raping her closest friend?" Jaime opened her mouth, feeling Ned Stark's hard eyes on her without even looking his way, but Ashara continued, voice soft and heartbreaking. "It hurts too much. I just want it to stop hurting,"

"I'll hurt, if you do this," She found herself saying, voice more raw than it had been in years. "You're my friend. You can have more children, easily. You still have Cassana. Your living brother and sister, they'd grieve for you, and I knew Ser Arthur, I know he wouldn't want this, no matter what you'd done. Lord Stark would grieve for you,"

"Everyone would grieve," Stark agreed in a low voice. "Ashara, you can't truly believe that this is for the best?" Even he had dropped her title.

"Just come down, please," Jaime added. "You know I don't beg easily, but I am begging now," She gave a weak smile, which the queen returned, ever so faintly.

"I'm sorry," And then she leant forwards.

"No!" Jaime snatched at thin air, as Stark gave a similar yell beside her, both of them lunging forwards, only to see the slender purple figure crash into the rocks below, disappearing into the waves. 

They both stared in dead silence for a long moment, before looking at each other. She couldn't quite wrap her head around what had just happened. Ashara couldn't be dead, not when they'd just been speaking to her, seconds before. It was surreal, impossible, yet Jaime had just seen it with her own eyes.

"Gods," Stark's voice was scarcely more than a whisper, as the reality began to sink in. Jaime was silent in agreement. She felt her hands shaking, and for once didn't bother trying to conceal the horrified, wide-eyed look on her face. She hadn't been this shaken since she killed Aerys, and even then...

"My lord," Guards were just starting to reach them. "My lady, where is the queen?"

"Somewhere near the bottom of Blackwater Bay," Jaime snapped, face instinctively switching back to her usual mask as she turned back out to stare at the rocks below. She's dead, she's dead, she's truly dead.

She heard Stark talking to his men, then several minutes later felt his hand on her arm. It was a mark of how shocked she was that she let him guide her down the steps, and despite the solemn, cold look on his face, she felt his hands shaking too. He was a hardened battle commander, a soldier, who beheaded his criminals himself, but there was a difference between watching men die in battle, and seeing a broken woman jump to her own death. Or is there more to it than that?

He didn't speak to her and she didn't speak to him, merely escorted her to Maegor's Holdfast. Helia came to the door, and Stark left her in her eldest daughter's capable hands. Jaime was grateful he didn't try to talk, but the man was like her in that respect at least, preferring to keep any sadness close to his chest.

Jaime felt like an old woman as Helia wordlessly poured her a goblet of wine, and she took it without protest, draining it in one swallow.

She remembered walking those walls once, long ago, with Elia and Ashara. She was the youngest of the three, and the most foolish. She did not have Elia's quiet, gentle strength or Ashara's intelligent, alluring manner; Jaime was overconfident, golden and too reckless by half. 

How was it that she was the last of the three of them? She had always expected to die first, yet here she was, both her friends gone. The Kingslayer, alive where both the Princess and the Queen are dead. If that was not proof that being good did not save you in the end, she wasn't sure what was.

Unable to sit in her chambers for a minute longer, she got to her feet abruptly. Even in grief, she was hardly one to remain still for long. Jaime pulled on a pair of breeches under her skirts, tied her long hair back and left. Her daughter didn't question where she was going, knowing well enough already. 

She came across the knight as he left the White Sword Tower, a weary look on his face.

"I want to spar," Jaime said. "You have the time. There's only two royals left to guard, now," Ser Aredan didn't laugh, but she wasn't smiling.

"Fine," Sarsfield sighed, clearly recognising that she was in a dark enough mood to beat the shit out of him. "I'm due a match with you, anyway. I've been rather fortunate in the training yard lately; it wouldn't do for me to get cocky," Her lips curled at that, as he grabbed two tourney swords and they set off for the usual place.

When she had first met the knight, he had been eighteen, three years older than her, but seemed little more than a boy in Aerys' court. Despite his admittedly excellent skill with a sword, he was remarkably humble and servile, and Jaime had dismissed him as a spineless lickspittle within five minutes of talking to him. 

She supposed the years Ser Aredan had spent being one of the few men in King's Landing who would spar with her had improved her opinion of him slightly, along with the fact he was the only other soul who knew the true extent of Aerys' madness. 

After she had killed Aerys and Rossart - earning herself the name Kingslayer, and him the unfortunate moniker 'Ser Aredan the Unaware' for letting it happen whilst he held the city - he had spent the days after hunting down Belis and Garigus, the other pyromancers that knew of the king's insane plot.

The moment they were in the hidden courtyard, in a quiet wing of the castle with no windows overlooking it, she undid her skirts, not caring if they got dirty as they fell to the ground, revealing the breeches she wore underneath. 

She reached out to grab the sword Ser Aredan was already offering her, swinging at him immediately. He blocked her, attempting a slash of his own, but Jaime had already stepped easily out of the way. She felt her mind sink into the fight, poured all her focus into her footwork, the swing of her sword, her opponent's movements and how she could beat him.

What she did like about Sarsfield was that he didn't hold back in any way because she was a woman; he had done so at first, but she had quickly irritated him out of it, as she did with most of the knights she sparred with. Being deliberately provocative, with merciless mocking and cruel jests designed to cut deep, was something Jaime excelled at. It certainly stopped her opponent pulling their blows, which was all she really wanted.

Ser Aredan the Unaware was one of the best swords she had fought against, despite his unflattering nickname, second only to Arthur Dayne. But Jaime was better. Despite her somewhat patchy education in swordplay, and relative lack of brute strength, she had speed, agility, fierce determination, recklessness and natural ability on her side, and, in any real fight, the element of surprise.

Her sparring with Sarsfield that day was brutal.

Just because she could block out thoughts of Ashara by focusing on swordplay, that didn't mean every single shit feeling didn't come out in the viciousness of her blows. Sarsfield more than held his own - he was hardly in a generous mood either, likely having been lectured along with the rest of the Kingsguard for letting the queen die - but Jaime won three matches out of every four they tried.

After what had to have been a couple of hours, both of them were bruised, battered and sweating, a state that normally left her feeling exhilarated and satisfied, but today only made her feel hot, sticky and aching.

"Again," She raised her sword, only for Ser Aredan to shake his head.

"It won't help," He said, with a look of sympathy that she hated. "You could do this until you passed out from exhaustion, but she'd still be dead after. I lost my betrothed, as you know, that's why I joined the Kingsguard - "

"I hardly want to hear that sad tale of yours again, Sarsfield," She cut him off, wiping a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Pick up your sword and act like a man, for once, instead of a teary-eyed maiden," But he had grown so used to her cutting remarks over the years that he merely smiled sadly.

"Act like a woman, for once, and go and grieve,"

"This is me grieving," Jaime forced a sharp smile onto her face, but her tone still came across hollow. "Look at me, I'm fine. If I was in my chambers, all I would be thinking is that my closest friend threw herself over the battlements this very morning, but here," She waved her tourney sword. "I'm thinking exactly how far I'd like to stick this up your - "

"Ask yourself this," He spoke over her, moving closer. She raised an eyebrow, sword hanging loose in her grip at her side, only for him to dart forwards and grab her arm, wrenching the sword out of her hand even as she caught him with an elbow to the face. Jaime cursed him, as he fell back nursing a bleeding nose and clutching her sword.

"You're a funny man," She smiled her dazzling smile. "If you won't fight me, give that back so I can practice alone," He was six foot three, she wasn't going to humiliate herself trying to make a grab for it.

"After you near broke my nose?" He glowered at her. "Not a chance,"

"When did you grow a backbone?" Jaime shot him a glare. "It used to be you'd be falling over yourself to please anyone, me in particular," When they'd first met, he could barely look her in the eye, and was constantly tripping over his words.

"It's my duty to serve," Ser Aredan shrugged. He's a lickspittle, but an honest one at least. "And I haven't fallen over myself to do anything for you in a long time. Believe it or not, you can come across quite charming at first, even with all the cruel jests and blatant insults," He gave a faint grin. "I know better now,"

"Fall for the beautiful fifteen year old, and abandon her after she turns thirty and has eight children, is that how it is, Ser?"

"It didn't take nearly that long, my lady. I was already pitying Lord Stannis at your wedding feast," Jaime couldn't help it, she had to laugh at that, albeit a short one. Given the amount of compromising positions sparring often left you in - which knights scarcely noticed when they fought other men, but became painfully aware of when facing a woman - she could safely say that Aredan Sarsfield was one of the few men who wouldn't fuck her if he had the chance. 

Her black mood had never really left, but it quickly descended once more after she'd pulled her skirts back up over her breeches and untied her hair, returning to her chambers. Cersen was waiting for her outside, and Jaime felt the familiar stab of wanting when she saw him, which died fairly soon as she saw the look on his face.

"How could you let this happen?" He demanded of her immediately, following her inside. Jaime looked around, seeing Helia was sat by the window, not even pretending she wasn't listening in.

"Would you leave us for a minute?" She asked with a tight smile. Her daughter shot Cersen a dark look, but nodded, gathering her things and leaving. Jaime then rounded on her brother. "Let this happen?"

"You let that stupid bitch jump to her death!" Cersen snapped. "She wasn't like to have any more children at her age," Thirty six, four years older than me, she was practically an old crone. "It was perfect. Now Robert will surely marry again, likely that Tyrell whore, and sire gods know how many sons on a pretty young thing like that,"

"The way you sound," Jaime said in a forced careful tone. "It's as though I talked her into doing it,"

"That's what people are saying," Her brother waved a hand. "But you could've easily stopped - "

"That's what people are saying?" Her voice was steady but her words were spat out, grief swiftly turning to fury. "Who is saying that? I'll show them I don't need words to send anyone to their deaths," 

The worst of it was, she didn't even need to ask why. Most of the realm saw her as the bloodthirsty madwoman who had killed Aerys and laughed about it, or as the whore who had seduced him and stabbed him in the back.

"Many think you helped kill the queen so you could seduce Robert and weasel your way into becoming queen," Her brother scoffed, like the matter was of no consequence. "As if you'd have the wits for a plan like that. It matters not. Robert cannot be allowed to marry again..." He carried on talking, but she rage pounding in her ears, drawing out his voice. "Jaime?" The sound of her own name caught her attention, as well as her brother sharply grabbing her arm. "Are you even listening to me?"

"No," She snapped, hardly caring as his face twisted in anger as she stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his in a forceful kiss. Cersen, though caught off guard, returned the kiss just as hungrily, but then broke away as her hands moved lower.

"Jaime, don't be foolish," He said. "It's the middle of the afternoon. Anyone could walk in,"

"I'll come to your rooms tonight," She moved to kiss him again, but he grabbed her chin, stopping her, forcing her to look up at him.

"Not tonight," Her brother replied dismissively. "Thanks to this mess, which you could have averted, I have too many things to be done. Come the night after," Jaime laughed then, rather bitterly, moving to change out of the clothes she had worn to train in. He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you wearing that face?"

"Just leave, Cersen," She slid off her overskirts. "I couldn't give less of a shit if Robert took three more wives and sired a dozen trueborn sons," 

"You - " He started angrily, but she was starting to unlace her shift. For once, her brother listened to her and left, likely because he didn't want to get caught in the same room as his half-naked sister; he definitely would have stayed to argue his point otherwise.

Jaime stared at herself in the looking glass as she redressed, still able to hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Ashara had been sad for a long time, but she wouldn't have jumped if Lyonel hadn't died. It was awfully convenient, that the heir to the Iron Throne had died less than a year after his sister, considering Cersen had been desiring that outcome for years. 

But how could he have orchestrated Lyonel's death? No one knew that the prince was even competing, no one would ever have guessed, given how he hated crowds, horses, attention and any sort of physical activity. But the fact remained that her brother was one with the most to gain from the event, and Jaime couldn't quite get that thought out of her head. 

She spent the rest of the day with her children, the four girls and Steffon, at least. The little twins' nursemaid seemed glad to be relieved of their care for several hours, as Jaime dismissed the woman until dinner, only to regret that decision five minutes later when Helia gave an angry exclamation, a lock of her dark hair in Argella's fist, an eating knife in the other.

"Little menace!" Her eldest daughter swatted at her sister, who was laughing as she darted out of the way, unabashed.

"Give me that," Jaime snatched the knife out of the five-year-old's hand, giving her a sharp slap on the wrist in reprimand. Argella looked more amused than upset.

"Are they too young to send to the Silent Sisters?" Helia gave both twins a dark look.

"No, Helia, you wouldn't be so cruel," Myrcella exclaimed dramatically, drawing both girls close to her with a grin. "They're good children really, aren't you?" She looked at each of them, and they both nodded innocently. Steffon looked up from his book.

"They're more like demons than children," He said, with such a serious face for an eight year old that Jaime had to crack a smile. 

"We are good children," Roanna stuck her tongue out at him.

"Mother loves us most," Argella added.

"Where did you get that idea?" Jaime raised an eyebrow, and Helia laughed.

It was after dinner that the nursemaid came to take away the twins, who were blessedly tired and didn't protest overmuch. Helia and Myrcella returned to their shared room after both hugging her, whilst Jaime saw Steffon to his own.

"I'm sorry about Queen Ashara, Mother," Her son said as he climbed into bed. "I hope you're not so sad tomorrow," Of all the things anyone had said to her that day, those words, delivered quietly but so sincerely, were the ones that brought her closest to tears.

"Thank you, dear," She pressed a kiss to his forehead, voice soft like it rarely was, even around her children. "Though it's not for you to be sorry about," Everyone compared the boy to Stannis, given they looked alike and were both quiet, surly and suspicious of people, but her son was gentle in a way she doubted her husband had ever been.

Jaime returned to her own chambers to find Ned Stark waiting outside. She did not like that she was glad it wasn't Cersen.

"A word," The man said shortly. "It won't take long,"

"Of course," She gave him an odd look, but showed him inside. No one had cleared up from earlier, so there were still several of the twins' dolls scattered about the floor. She sat, and gestured for him to do the same. 

Stark looked exhausted. He hadn't changed out of the clothes he had worn that morning, and had no doubt been the one to deliver the news to the king, likely spending much of that day dealing with the king's black mood too. Robert had not loved his queen, but Ashara's death, only a day after losing the crown prince, was enough to send anyone into a spiral, and that man hardly needed any excuse.

"What did Ashara mean, about Robert - and you?" Lord Stark asked her. His expression was hard and cold as ever, but weary. So that's why you're here.

"Haven't you heard, Stark?" Jaime bared her teeth in some grim semblance of a mocking smile, though it lacked her usual bite and was completely humourless. "I'm a wanton woman, a highborn whore. No doubt I seduced his Grace, my dear friend's husband, my wickedness leading him to sin. He's normally such a chaste man, after all,"

"Just answer," He said flatly. "I'm tired of games," She sensed a distraction was needed, continuing like she hadn't heard him.

"I even heard a rumour that I'm your bastard's mother," She had laughed when she had heard that one, but laughing right now seemed impossible. 

"What?" The distraction worked. Stark glared angrily, but not at her. "How does - The timelines don't even - " He seemed to become conscious then that they were alone in her rooms in the late evening. That's more likely to damage your reputation than mine, my lord.

"No need to go so red, we both know it's not true, as does anyone with half a brain," Jaime shrugged. "Unless you've been making up stories of our sordid adventures, but you hardly seem the type,"

"I'll punish any man I hear saying such lies," Stark grumbled. Despite herself, she smirked faintly.

"You needn't bother yourself. People will talk regardless. I'm quite used to them assuming that because I spoke to a man once, I must have slept with him too. No wonder your wife doesn't like me,"

Stark was silent for a moment, assessing her. Then he finally spoke.

"What did Robert do to you?" Jaime cursed inwardly. He's not as stupid as you'd expect. "I just spent the entire day with him, and I couldn't forget what Ashara said,"

"Ashara exaggerated," Normally she would've laughed in his face, given another non-answer, but gods, Jaime was just fucking tired. Her friend had thrown herself to her death in front of her, how much worse could things get in one day? "Most wouldn't consider what he did to be rape,"

"But you do," At his words, she had to smile wryly. Fuck it. Fuck it all. 

"It was after a feast, and our noble king was drunk," She said. When is he not. "Not that badly, mind. To give you an idea of my state at the time, I was slumped gracefully against the wall in a corridor, too drunk to even walk to my rooms," That had been after an argument with Cersen, who wanted her to bear another of his children. Jaime loved her brother, but Joffrey had been a mistake, something wrong with him even at four, and she wanted no more children like that. "Robert stumbled into me, muttered some shit about me being the most beautiful woman in Westeros, and kissed me. The state I was in, I was barely conscious enough to recognise what he was doing, but I struggled anyway, weakly. Even if he had noticed, I doubt he'd have stopped," She paused. "He had me on my back in the nearest guest chamber when Ashara walked in,"

Stark's expression was not so different to how it normally was, but Jaime saw the tightness in his jaw, his narrowed eyes and frowning mouth. He looks... angry? That was odd. To most, that situation would have been her fault.

"She saw?" His tone was sharp.

"Oh yes," Jaime nodded. "I've never seen her so furious," She laughed then, bitterly. "She slapped Robert so hard I'm surprised he didn't lose a tooth, then looked at me, the drunken woman she caught in bed with her husband, with kindness, understanding,"

"She always was kind," Stark said lowly. Jaime hummed in agreement.

"You are too," Perhaps she had drunk too much that day as well. He just stared at her, and she smiled faintly. "You haven't called me a whore, yet. That's more than I was expecting," He frowned.

"Why would I - " He broke off, seeing the look on her face, and changed the subject. "Did Robert try it again?"

"He pretended it never happened," Which was rather amusing. "I think he was ashamed," It hadn't stopped Jaime carrying a knife everywhere she went, though, even when she wasn't in King's Landing. With a knife, she was the Kingslayer, dangerous, half-mad, and most importantly, able to beat most men; unarmed, she was just another defenceless woman. "Perhaps it didn't live up to his fantasies. I was half a corpse that night for all the life in me, hardly at my best," There was another long silence.

"He's not the man I knew," Stark said eventually, heavily, then amended that. "Thought I knew. His daughter dies of a sickness, and he orders a hunt. His son dies in a joust, and he has the rest of the tourney postponed, for a week. His wife throws herself from the walls, and I just left him in the company of several whores,"

"Did the honourable Ned Stark not feel like taking one for himself?" She raised an eyebrow. She was joking, and he seemed to realise that, for though he did not smile, a flash of weak amusement crossed his eyes.

"No, my lady, I did not," He said firmly. Instead you came here. Another silence. "If we'd been quicker," He started. "If we hadn't tried talking first - "

"Then she'd have jumped a minute sooner," Jaime stared at her hands. "Or if not, I'd have found her tomorrow, the next day, dead from downing a bottle of sweetsleep," He had no answer to that. "She'd been sad for a long time. Since Maris, since Ser Arthur, even," Jaime looked at Stark carefully. "She told me in secret, years ago, that she had a child before marriage. A stillborn girl, conceived at Harrenhal, though the identity of the father she kept to herself. I was there that night, Stark. I saw your brother approach her, but it was you she danced with,"

"Brandon asked her on my behalf," His eyes were dark. "I'll admit my brother had an... appetite for women, but he wouldn't have gone after the only one I - " He broke off, looking away, and Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"It's true, then," She said. When Stark didn't reply, she smiled slightly. "Robert and Ashara were hardly the best match. He fucked her closest friend, and she, well," It didn't need spelling out. The look on the man's face said enough. Jaime wanted to asked him where his bastard in Winterfell had come from, given that Ashara's daughter was meant to have died, but in an uncharacteristic display of tact, decided against it.

"Ashara was Robert's wife," Stark's voice was slightly hoarse, but firm. "And Catelyn is mine,"

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Jaime was sure that this man had not even looked at Ashara in that way since she became queen, refused to even consider it. And from what she had seen in Winterfell, he did truly care for his Tully wife. 

She doubted he had spent the last fifteen years dreaming of Ashara Dayne, but that surely hadn't eased the sight of her throwing herself into the sea earlier that day.

There was another silence.

"She - Ashara - said once that you seemed quite taken with her brother," He said carefully. Jaime smirked.

"I was," She said. "Ser Arthur taught me so many things," He raised an eyebrow at that, and she had to laugh. "He gave me lessons in swordplay, Stark. Steel swords, get your mind out the gutter. I was taken by his ability as a knight, not his pretty face," Stark, surprisingly, didn't scoff.

"My sister would have given anything to learn to fight,"

"No wonder Robert likes me so much, then," She said dryly. "I sparred with Arthur Dayne, but I was fighting long before then," She smiled slightly. "Cersen hated swordplay when he first started. We looked identical at six, so I took his place. He sat in my septa's lessons, in my dresses, being taught embroidery for two years, whilst I learned to swing a sword,"

"Cersen Lannister, learning to sew wearing his sister's dresses?" Stark was clearly trying to keep a straight face, but failed, shaking his head. Jaime grinned faintly. Stannis Baratheon, Eddard Stark... two of the most grim-faced men in the kingdom, and I've made them crack... three, if you count my father. "I shall have to keep that out of mind the next time I have to sit through a small council meeting, my lady, or your brother might wonder why I can't take him seriously,"

It was an amusing image, the solemn Hand of the King chuckling to himself as Cersen went off on one of his rants.

"Ashara was giggling for weeks in front of him when I told her that," Her smile faded. "I hadn't seen her truly smile in months, you know. She should never have come to this place. The two of us are likely the only people in the castle who even care she's dead. Robert will take another wife within the year, and Cassana won't even remember her," Jaime could barely recall her own mother's face, and she had been twice the princess' age when Lady Joanna had died.

"If Robert dies without a son, that could easily make you queen," He said, and there was something in his tone that made her pause, but she ignored it, for now.

"Robert has a daughter," She replied.

"This time last year he had two daughters," His grey eyes seemed to stare right through her. "Two days ago he had a son. This morning, he had a wife," Jaime swallowed. 

"I want to take the princess to Storm's End," She had made up her mind the moment Lyonel breathed his last. "I'll be going there soon with my children anyway. Cassana should come with us, away from this place," She fixed Stark with a meaningful look that she hoped he was bright enough to understand. 

"And is there any reason why the princess should not remain here, with her father?" He understood, the bastard, but would make her spell it out. He suspects, but isn't sure. 

"Like Robert gives a shit about her," Jaime laughed hollowly. "Cassana will be safe in Storm's End. She knows me, she's friends with my daughters. And surely it would just be cruel to keep her in the castle where her mother died," That was all true, and Jaime likely would have asked for this even if Cersen and his plots weren't worrying her.

"My lady," Stark leaned forward, lowering his voice. "If your brother has threatened you into silence about anything, then - "

"Cersen hasn't threatened me," She cut him off sharply, narrowing her eyes. Jaime might be suspicious of her brother, but that didn't mean she would betray him. He hadn't threatened her, besides. The idea that she'd go against him was simply not possible in his head. "I simply don't want my friend's daughter to be all alone in this place," 

Stark's stare was unrelenting, so she changed tactics. 

"If you won't help me, I'll have to go straight to Robert, and if he says no, then I'll have to persuade him," She smiled mockingly, leaning forward herself to give him a good view of her low-cut gown, letting her voice turn suggestive. "Do you need persuading, my lord?" Jaime laughed at the look on his face. "Everyone thinks me a whore no matter what I do, I might as well reap the benefits of acting like one," Impressively, the man's eyes never left her face.

"There's truly no need," His expression was cold but his tone was softer. "I'll bring your suggestion to the king," Her mocking smile faded and she leaned back once more.

"You won't regret it," Jaime nodded, intending thanks even if she didn't say it. "Once Robert agrees, we'll be gone within the week. My husband will welcome us with open arms, I'm sure," Her tone was sarcastic. 

"My lady, I thought you'd have already known," Stark frowned, and she raised an eyebrow. "The king received word earlier today. Lord Stannis is riding up the Kingsroad as we speak,"

*

If Jaime was honest, she would have avoided speaking to her brother for a good few days, her anger at his words the day Ashara died still fresh in her mind, along with the growing suspicion that he might have had something to do with Prince Lyonel's death. But Stannis' approaching arrival was bothering her. It wasn't often that her husband visited court, and he was hardly one to comfort his grieving older brother. And then there was the issue that Baratheons seemed to be dropping like flies lately and no one seemed to think anything of it. 

Cersen was in far too good a mood when she entered his chambers the next day.

"You look beautiful, sister," He said the moment he saw her. 

"I thought you were furious with me," Jaime raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I should have caught the queen as she fell into Blackwater Bay, remember?"

"Robert remarrying is not a concern anymore," Her brother said with a smile, ignoring her sarcasm. "Having thought on the matter, I now realise how insensitive I must have sounded. I apologise, dear sister - the small council meeting yesterday morning had been rather stressful. What a truly tragic thing it is that the crown prince and the queen are dead within a day of each other," That might be almost considerate, if a single word was sincere. 

"Yes," She smiled without any humour. "Very unfortunate. Lyonel dead. Maris dead. Now the only one standing in the way of Joffrey being heir to the throne is a four year old girl," And Stannis. Perhaps this line of questioning was unwise - had it concerned anyone but her closest friend, she likely wouldn't have cared enough to bother - but she couldn't leave this be. 

"I don't know why you're being so ridiculous about this, Jaime," Her brother shook his head, sitting down on the bed. "Maris was weak and died of a chill, Lyonel was killed in a tragic accident. Yet you talk like I arranged it all on purpose?" 

Jaime had to laugh at that. The number of times she'd heard him rant and rage that his precious Joffrey should be heir to the throne, and he was still pretending, still lying. I might not share your ambition, brother, but I'm not a lackwit.

She didn't bother arguing the point. He wasn't going to answer, which was proof enough. At his expectant stare, she simply moved to sit in his lap, more out of habit than anything else. Automatically Cersen's arms closed around her, his lips moving to her neck, but Jaime kept her face turned away.

"And Cassana?" She asked, and he paused, the hand that had been tangled in her hair tightening. "Will she suddenly suffer a fall down the stairs, or come down with a deadly fever?"

"The princess is young," His tone was light, amused even. "Her sister was frail and she's recently lost her mother. Children die all the time. It won't be my fault, surely," Jaime tensed at that.

"I'll take her back to Storm's End," She said. "My girls were going back anyway. I'll tell Robert that it's best for her to be with girls her own age, away from the place her mother died in. He'll listen to me, he doesn't care enough about her to oppose sending her away, particularly now Renly's trying to force the Tyrell girl down his throat,"

"Robert will not marry Margaery Tyrell," Cersen's grip in her hair tightened almost painfully, pulling her head back so she was forced to stare up at him. "Nor any other whore his brother tries to slip into his bed. He will have no more children and you, dear sister, will not take the princess or your own daughters away from here,"

"Won't I?" She gave a strangled laugh, breathing heavily and trying to sit back up, but he kept her where she was, other arm closing like a vice around her waist. "What power do you have over me, Cersen? I'm Lady Baratheon, not Lady Lannister,"

"What power do I have over you?" Her brother sneered. "Look at you. Even if I wasn't holding you here, you'd let me fuck you," He roughly pressed his lips to hers, holding her chin in a bruising grip as she tried to turn away. "You're mine, Jaime, and you know it," He turned them so she was underneath him on the bed, one hand holding her arms above her head as she struggled and the other still grasping her face. 

Jaime stopped trying to get away then, and laughed up at him instead, which she knew he would hate.

"Cersen," She started. It was meant to be defiant, mocking, but then his eyes darkened, and his lips were on hers again, his weight on top of her, one hand sliding her skirts up, and despite herself, Jaime gasped at his touch, as she always did. 

Without realising, she found herself returning his kisses fiercely, hungrily, moaning as his hand moved none too gently between her legs. That didn't last long, however, before he pushed her thighs apart and pushed into her roughly, making her gasp every time he moved, his lips on her neck, hands in her hair, at her throat, touching her face. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and it wasn't long before he was finished. He climbed off her, leaving her panting, wanting, and smirked down at her.

"You won't move against me," He stroked her face. "You love me, and I love you. We're two halves of the same whole, Jaime, you know that," She turned her head away, suddenly wanting to slap that stupid smile off his face. "I must go. There's a small council meeting, and I need to keep an eye on Stark,"

The only thing keeping her from smashing the mirror on the wall was the knowledge that Stark would have had time to talk to Robert by now. That girl is coming with me whether you like it or not, brother. Perhaps that was why people enjoyed the plots and intrigue she normally had no time for; the secret knowledge that they were getting one-up on someone that dearly deserved it. 

Jaime straightened her skirts, combed through her hair with her fingers and returned to her rooms. Her older children were in lessons, but she collected the little twins, and Princess Cassana from her nursemaid, sitting cross-legged on the floor and absently watching them play together, not joining in overmuch herself. 

The princess was a lot more subdued than usual - someone had evidently told her that her mother wasn't coming back - and there was one episode of tears, but, being four years old, she was distracted from her grief fairly easily as the twins pretended to be knights, with Cassana playing the fair maiden they rescued. 

"Lady Jaime, Lady Jaime," The princess tugged at her skirts, bringing her out of her thoughts. "Can I wear your necklace? I want to be pretty like you," Jaime had to smile.

"You hardly need a necklace for that," She unclasped the golden chain anyway, delicate emeralds falling from it like raindrops. "Here," She swept Cassana's dark hair out of the way and carefully fastening it around her neck. It was designed to be worn with a low neckline, so hung down almost to the small child's waist, but the princess was delighted. With her black hair and blue eyes, she could have been one of Jaime's own daughters unless you looked close enough to find traces of Ashara in her face.

Then the door slammed abruptly open. Cersen stormed in, casting a disdainful eye to the children but striding over to Jaime, but she was already on her feet, swiftly moving between him and the children. 

"How dare you?" Her twin hissed, grabbing her arm roughly. 

"I suppose Robert agreed, then,"

"How did you get Stark on your side?" He snarled, shaking her. "He hates our house," No, he hates you and Father. "Did you fuck him, is that it?" 

"I'm glad you think so highly of me," She smiled sharply, wrenching her arm away. "Of course I didn't, Cersen, have you lost your mind?"

"You think you're so clever," Cersen was clearly furious. "Is this to spite me? Some petty attempt to prove you won't just lie back and let me - " He broke off, glancing down - the twins had just grabbed onto Jaime's skirts, one on either side, peering up at him with wide eyes - and seemed to remember then that there were not alone. His lip curled in slight disgust, as it always did when seeing her Baratheon children, particularly Roanna, whose eyes were emerald green rather than blue.

"I've never thought myself clever," Jaime spoke before he could continue, putting a hand on each of her daughter's shoulders. "That's always been you, brother, yet you don't ever listen. I've told you, again and again, that I want no part in whatever madness you are planning. It was easy to ignore when you were simply talking out of your arse, but you've gone too far,"

"I've gone too far?" He laughed at her. "You're the one betraying your family for Eddard Stark,"

"I've betrayed my family?" Jaime laughed. I was a sister to Tyrion when all you and father did was be cruel. I married a high lord and bore eight children, where you would have had me become a septa. I  am trying to ensure your madness doesn't cause the kingdoms to fall into war. "Can you truly hear yourself, Cersen?" He opened his mouth, so she continued pointedly. "Have you forgotten there's three children here, and none of them are particularly good at keeping their mouths shut,"

"Then you'd better teach them," The threat in his eyes made her own narrow. 

"Careful, brother," I love you, but not more than my children. She had never said that aloud, knowing he would loathe it, but it was something she had realised long ago. Cersen just sneered nastily at her darker tone. 

"I remember the days when you swore you'd never be a mother," He said. "Now you've deluded yourself that those mewling Baratheon brats are worth your time and effort," With that he left, slamming the door. Jealous of a five year old girl, is that it? 

"I don't like Uncle Cersen," Roanna declared stoutly. 

"He's horrible, even though he looks like you," Argella agreed. 

"And I'm not horrible?" Jaime asked.

"No. Only sometimes," The girl shrugged, struggling for words. "You're Mother," As though that explained everything. It was nice that someone had some level of faith in her at least. 

*

Stannis rode through the gates looking thinner than he had been when Jaime had last seen him, rather hollow and pale. They had received word the previous day that Lord Baratheon had been suffering from sickness after eating a bad seafood stew at an inn, and hadn't been able to keep down much food for five days of their journey. 

Jaime would have taken that as a worryingly suspicious sign already, had a dozen of the men he had brought with him from Storm's End not been suffering from the same problem, and were slowly starting to recover. 

"My lady," Her husband greeted her, stern as ever, offering his arm as they followed went inside. She was wearing a very fine, low-cut dress in black velvet - most had stopped grieving the queen soon after her funeral, but Jaime was not done yet, and dressed accordingly - embroidered with delicate gold patterns, and her hair was loose down her back. She rather enjoyed dressing up for her husband, seeing how much it took to get a reaction. 

"You look somewhat queasy, my lord," She feigned innocence as she fell in step beside him. "Though dinner tonight should cheer you up. I've had the cooks prepare a delicious plate of oysters and clams," Stannis gave her a dark look. 

"I see you still find yourself amusing," 

"Ah, but you enjoy being a scold," She laughed. "You'd be bored without me to grind your teeth at," He said nothing to that, which said everything. 

Her husband seemed to have recovered from his bout of sickness, though his appetite was clearly not back in full. At dinner that evening, Stannis picked his way through the first course, leaving much on his plate, though drank a lot from the nearest pitcher on the table. It was almost certainly water, of course; in near fifteen years of marriage, Jaime had never seen him drink a drop of wine. She hoped it was water, as most of the children were filling their cups from the same one. 

She had had a bad feeling about this meal from the start. Not only were they dining with Robert and their children, but Cersen as well, along with Ned Stark and his two daughters. It seemed like a recipe for disaster, though she figured that even Cersen wouldn't go so far as to poison food that she and her children - including Myrcella and Joffrey - could easily eat from, given they were all being served from the same plates. Jaime still was slightly uneasy, however, more so when Joffrey never turned up to eat.

But she couldn't help but relax slightly as the evening went on. Arya Stark was eagerly questioning Arthur about swordplay, Helia was conversing with Lord Eddard and her father, Myrcella was teasing Steffon for not eating his beets and even Cersen was being surprisingly diplomatic and not causing too much strife. Jaime sat between her husband and her brother, and as Cersen was not speaking to her after their argument two weeks ago, she found herself talking to Stannis, or across the table to Robert and Stark. 

Stannis grew more and more quiet the later it got. That was hardly an unusual occurrence - Jaime knew her husband had little love for conversation, or for food, or for interacting with Robert and Cersen at the same time - and she largely ignored it, until she noticed how tightly he was clenching his eating knife halfway through the third course, knuckles white. 

"Are you trying to break that in half?" She cast an amused look his way. It was a throwaway comment, perhaps somewhat irritating but hardly enough to warrant the angry look he gave her. 

"Shut your mouth, woman," The unusually harsh reply was ground out through a clenched jaw. Jaime blinked in surprise for a moment, then switched on her sharp smile. 

"You're not normally one to speak to me like that," She tilted her head, letting a note of mocking slip into her voice. "Is this what you're like drunk?" But it wasn't wine making him so full of rage; as predicted, a quick glance into his cup showed only the usual clear water. 

"I'm not drunk,"He spat out, tone far too aggressive for what had been said. By now, others had noticed his raised voice. 

"Drunk?" Robert's face lit up for a moment, as he grinned. "Stannis? Never thought I'd see the day," Jaime saw her husband's face darkening as the king gave a loud laugh. This late in the evening, Robert was well into his cups. 

"You fat, drunken fool," Stannis glared at his brother, and Jaime had to laugh, eyes wide in amused incredulity as she glanced at Helia and Arthur. "You'd rather I join you in eating, drinking and whoring your way into an early grave, whilst this golden-haired pit-viper plots and schemes his way around your court?" He shot Cersen a hateful look. Gods, where did that come from?

There was a shocked silence. Robert clearly recognised that he was perfectly serious, not that Stannis ever joked, and his bleary eyes narrowed, the famous Baratheon temper roused.  

"You'd speak to your king in this way? You?" He sneered at his brother. "You've always had such a large stick up your arse - " 

"Robert," Stark said warningly, glancing at Stannis, but Robert didn't listen. 

" - it's a wonder you had all those children, you miserable bastard. Why Lady Jaime hasn't grown sick of your sour, stony face and - " What Jaime had or hadn't done went unsaid, as Stannis kicked his chair back and got to his feet abruptly, fists clenched at his side. Robert, once more, did not take the hint, laughing loudly. 

"Are you going to hit me, little brother?" He staggered to his own feet. "All these years grinding your teeth in anger, and you choose now to stand up to me like a man, rather than a walking statue? I might be fat, but I could still knock you on your arse - " 

Stannis' large fist swung back and collided with Robert's jaw with a sickening crack, to cries of alarm and surprise. Sansa Stark looked horrified, whilst Arya was grinning. Arthur was too, and Myrcella. Jaime let out a shocked laugh, wondering how exactly they had got to this point but enjoying the show nonetheless. 

Robert was on his feet in an instant, a vivid bruise already blooming on his face, but fury in his eyes. 

"What in the seven fucking hells was that?" He roared, but Stannis was already moving towards him again. Jaime rushed forward. She had enjoyed watching Robert get punched in the face immensely, but didn't particularly want her husband dragged away in chains the first night he was here, when she was still arguing with Cersen.  

"Don't say another word," She gave Robert a sharp look, getting in between the two men - perhaps not the best idea, but she wasn't known for those - and grabbing her husband's raised arm. "Stannis, he deserved that, I won't deny it, but as much as I'd love to see you do it again, I can't imagine you'd enjoy spending the night in the cells," 

Stannis fixed his gaze on her now, and for a split second she saw the look in his eyes - anger, pure anger and chilling hatred, come out of nowhere - before a large pair of hands wrapped around her neck and slammed her into the nearby wall. 

She heard the exclamations from everyone around her, but all Jaime was aware of was the pain in the back of her head, her husband's hands around her neck as he attempted to squeeze the life out of her, that furious, mad look in his eyes, barely inches from hers. 

She struggled, kicking out with the pointed boots she wore and trying to break his grip with her clawing fingers, but he barely seemed to feel her blows. She tried going limp, becoming a deadweight, which had worked in several sparring sessions, but he was strong enough to hold her up regardless. 

"You - treacherous - whore," Stannis practically spat in her face, despite the dozens of faceless hands shouting, attempting to pull him off her. Jaime's eyes widened at his words. "You - you - Joffrey, and Myrcella - your bloody brother - " 

Her blood froze in her veins, but thankfully she didn't have to come up with a convincing bemused expression given that she was being strangled. She could see he was about to say more, and found she didn't really care as her vision started to go, but then the hands around her throat were ripped away.

Jaime took a huge, gasping breath, falling against the wall as Arthur and Helia rushed to her side. Stannis was being held back by Robert, Cersen and Stark, yet even the three of them, strong men all, were struggling to restrain him as he kept fighting. Stark had a black eye, Robert a bleeding nose. 

She clutched at her throat, feeling the air rush into her lungs, her legs weak and unsteady and her head spinning. Half the room was yelling, someone was crying. I've seen him angry before, he never acts like this... Though she had never told him she had made a cuckold of him with her own twin brother. If he had found out the truth, somehow, was it so unreasonable that he would act this way?

She didn't have time to consider that as, with a roar of rage, Stannis broke free and launched himself at her again - why me, why not Cersen? - and, unsteady as she was, Jaime didn't have time to move away from the vicious backhand to the face that sent her flying into the wall again. She recovered quicker this time, jumping out of the way as he lashed out again, seeing the glint of steel in his hand. Stannis had taken a knife from the table. 

"Gods!" She cursed, coughing, voice hoarse. "Have you gone mad?"

"Guards!" Robert was roaring. 

Stannis was like a raging bull, hardly the cold, measured fighter she knew, and Jaime was quicker, managing to join Stark and Cersen before he could get to her. Guards burst into the room - including Ser Boros Blount, though why he had not entered sooner was beyond her - and any sane man would have surrendered at the sight of all those swords and spears, but Stannis did not, charging straight at them armed with nothing more than an eating knife. Madness, pure madness. 

"I don't want him harmed," Robert's battlefield voice was heard over the din. 

"Take him to a secure room," Cersen might have said. 

"Father, stop!" Arthur was yelling, eyes wide at the sight of the guards surrounding the man, all of them hovering, rather unsure of what to do, no one willing to strike the king's brother first. Arthur's words caught Stannis' attention, and he flew at his own son now, knocking two guards aside, knife in hand. 

Jaime reacted instinctively, not stopping to think for a moment. Grabbing the nearest weapon she could see - a heavy candlestick from the table - she leapt forward and brought it down with all her strength on the back of her husband's head, before he could get to her son. Stannis dropped like a stone, falling to the floor with a loud thud, the knife clattering out of his hand.

There was a heavy silence. Jaime glanced to one corner, where all the children had backed into, save for Arthur and Helia, glanced around the room at all the other shocked faces, her own heart racing.

"What the fuck was that?" The king demanded, breathing heavily from the exertion, his face red and sweaty, as the guards carried Stannis' unconscious form away. 

"That was no drunken rage," Stark was breathing heavily, but his tone was steady. "He wasn't even drinking,"

"It was just rage," It hurt for Jaime to speak. "The look in his eyes, he wanted to kill,"

"You?"

"Everyone in his line of sight," She said, then had to cough, which sent a stab of pain through her throat. 

"Mother, are you alright?" Myrcella asked shakily.  

"Fine," She nodded, suddenly realising that the back of her head felt rather warm. Upon bringing her hand up to touch it, it came away wet and sticky, red with blood where she'd been slammed into the wall. Her cheek hurt too, where it had been caught with that vicious backhand. 

"Jaime," It was Cersen who reached out, catching her arm and placing his own around her shoulder, genuine concern in his green eyes. At this, she forgot everything that had happened, for a moment, though quickly shook him off regardless. 

"Stop fussing, I'm not about to faint," Her rasping tone wasn't very convincing. She glanced around at all of them, sporting a various array of bruises, and her lip curled. "Stark looks like he took more blows than I did,"

"It was Ned that pulled him off you, my lady," Robert said, sitting down heavily and pouring himself a cup of wine. Jaime met Stark's eyes, pausing at the look she saw there. Then it came to her. Treacherous whore... Joffrey, and Myrcella... your bloody brother. Had he heard? Surely that alone wasn't enough to piece together the truth? 

"I suppose I should thank you," She said, putting the thought from her mind for now; if she felt uneasy, she would likely look it too, which wouldn't help anyone. Another rather sarcastic remark was on her lips, then she glanced over Stark's shoulder and saw Steffon, in Myrcella's arms, Helia nearby looking shaken but trying to keep a strong front up, Arthur pacing up and down the room. "Pray excuse me," Jaime smiled sharply, turning to her children. "On second thoughts, my head is rather painful. You four, help escort your decrepit mother to the maester," 

They needed no encouragement. Silently, her children followed her out of the room.

"Why did Father hurt you?" Steffon asked the moment they were out of earshot, his voice very small and confused. 

"He - " Jaime broke off, not truly knowing the answer herself, but suspecting what it had to do with. "He's been sick. Likely the sickness hasn't quite left him yet. Your father wasn't himself," 

Because he wasn't, regardless of what he'd found out. The Stannis she knew would have confronted her with proof of his accusations, and coldly decided her punishment there and then, speaking as though they were strangers. He certainly wasn't the type of man to kill his wife with his bare hands out of passionate anger. He was still sick, that must be it, or the potions he's been taking had an adverse effect. 

"But he was so angry,"  Myrcella said. "Why was he so angry? Eating a bad oyster doesn't make you go mad,"

"He wasn't angry," Arthur said shortly. "He goes cold and even more stern when he's angry, just glares and grinds his teeth," The boy would know, given he was always the one in the most trouble with their father, aside from Joffrey. 

"He does not throw you across the room," Helia added sharply. All four of them were looking at her expectantly.

"I know as little as you do," Jaime had to say. "Pycelle will be with him, I'm sure. It could just be a fit of madness brought on by fever. When he wakes, likely he'll be improved," She didn't promise anything, knowing she couldn't keep it. 

Stannis did not wake. 

He was weakened by the bad stew, Grand Maester Pycelle declared; the lingering effects of that also caused the madness. Three more men had shown such uninhibited rage that night, all of them among those who had been ill on the journey from Storm's End. One had been killed after proving impossible to restrain, whilst the other two were wrestled into the cells, both falling unconscious with fever shortly afterwards. 

Her husband had developed a fever in his unconscious state, too, yet somehow those two other men woke later with no recollection of what had happened, where Stannis was dead within the day. The bad food had weakened him, but the blow to the head had made recovery impossible, Pycelle said. In other words, if Jaime had not hit him with the candlestick, he might have recovered like the others. 

Jaime tended to wear reds and golds and greens, yet of late she found that more often than not, her gown was entirely black. The deaths of Ashara and Lyonel, and now her husband's funeral. 

Most people blamed her for Stannis' death. She heard them whispering in corridors and staircases, saw the looks they gave her when they passed, in every room, in every hall. Those rumours that she had talked Ashara off the walls to seduce Robert had resurfaced, also. Even here, at the funeral, the whispers followed her. Murderess, Kingslayer, whore, whore, whore. 

Jaime ignored them, for she only cared for the opinions of her children. None of them seemed to blame her, at least, nor did anyone who had been there in that room, which was something, she supposed. They'd all been there to see it for themselves, after all, rather than relying on rumours and gossip.

The bruise on her face had bloomed a livid colour, though was starting to fade to green around the edges. The bruises on her neck were still purple-black and more than visible. She idly wondered what the whisperers made of that, then realised she didn't particularly care.  

The High Septon was droning on and on. Jaime wasn't listening. She knew the whole bloody spiel already, and simply stared at the corpse of her husband, unsure of how she felt to see it. All she could come up with presently was that there had been too many funerals in this city of late. 

She didn't cry. Her children were another matter. Myrcella was weeping quietly, there were tears in Helia's eyes even as she kept her face steady, and the eyes of Arthur and Steffon were glassy. The little twins were uncharacteristically silent and subdued, whilst Orryn stared resolutely ahead; her second son had raced up the Kingsroad to be there in time. 

Even Joffrey was causing no trouble. There had been no love lost between the boy and his supposed father, but he had always seemed to value Stannis' rare approval more than Cersen's constant fawning, even if he hid it well. 

Lord Joffrey Baratheon. That was his title now. Her cruel, impulsive son, barely fifteen, was now Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and Storm's End was his. Heir to the Iron Throne. That hadn't been confirmed yet. It was uncertain as yet whether the throne would go to the king's daughter or his eldest nephew, if he died without another son. 

Jaime privately hoped that Joffrey would be betrothed to Cassana, tying the two claims together. Perhaps that would satisfy Cersen, and anyone who discovered the truth. In another life, perhaps she would have wanted a war to settle things for good, but now she found herself crippled by the only womanly fear she allowed herself to have; fear for her children. 

Sometimes she thought things would be easier if she had never become a mother, a role she was not cut out for at the best of times, more likely to laugh at her children's misbehaviour rather than reprimand them. It would be simpler, she came to the conclusion, but would it be worth living? That, Jaime could not answer, but she did know that now she had them, she would not give up her children for the world. 

She watched from the battlements of the Red Keep as the corpse of Stannis Baratheon was borne south to Storm's End with an honour guard, to be buried in the crypts of the castle. The sky was overcast, thick grey clouds promising rain. 

Jaime had not loved her husband, but she hadn't disliked him either. They had argued, at times he had infuriated her, and he was hardly an engaging conversationalist, but she had not hated being married to him, despite her fears before her wedding. 

Oddly enough, the idea that she would never laugh at him again, never hear his teeth grinding, never see him sparring with their sons, was rather bleak. When he was alive, she took all that for a given, something she tolerated. Only now did she actually feel the loss. 

An arm wrapped around her waist.

"Is it a pleasant sight, sister?" Cersen murmured in her ear. "You're finally free of your stony-faced husband," Jaime rested her head on his shoulder.

"He knew something," She ignored his remark. "Before Stark tore him off me, he called me a whore and mentioned the children. Joff and Myrcella. And you," She felt her brother tense. 

"How could he know anything?" His voice was angry, but she heard the fear there. 

"Who knows," She shrugged. "It's not like it matters anymore," Cersen said nothing to that. Jaime's attention had returned to the horse-drawn bier, disappearing into the distance. Orryn was riding south with them. He'd have made a better lord than Joffrey. Why couldn't he have been my firstborn?

*

The morning after her husband's funeral, following a night with Cersen in her bed - where she hadn't been able to sleep even after her brother had fucked her several times before returning to his room in the early hours of the morning - a messenger had brought Jaime news of Tyrion. 

"Let me through," She snapped at the two northmen stood guarding the entrance of the Tower of the Hand.

"Mother, wait," She heard Helia behind her. "I know you're angry, but this is madness,"

"Oh shush, sister," Arthur's voice said darkly. "I wouldn't miss this for the world," Her third son had changed slightly since his father's death; not too much, but there was an edge there that had not been there before. She supposed that was what happened to everyone when they grew up. It had happened to her. 

"I must speak to the Hand, or whatever he is now," Jaime demanded, ignoring both her children. She had heard of Stark's argument with Robert earlier that day. The whole castle had. His men glanced at each other, one of them shrugging. Of course, why would a grieving widow be any threat alone?

"In his solar, Lady Baratheon, he's just got back - " Jaime strode through the door without listening to what else he had to say.

"Stark!" She yelled, voice echoing in the stairwell.

"Please, Mother, just stop for a moment and think," Jaime shook off Helia's hand from her arm, holding her black skirts out of the way as she jogged up the staircase.

"Lady Jaime," Ned Stark met her at the top of the stairs, and before he or any of the guards could react, she had slammed him into the wall, arm across his throat. He was stronger than her, of course, but she caught him by surprise, and there were several curses and chuckles amongst his men and Arthur, along with her own daughter's groan. Her battered hand ached, but she ignored it. "My lady, what are you - "

"I'm looking for my brother," She smiled sharply. "You remember Tyrion, don't you, Ned? He was with us at Winterfell. Fair-haired, mismatched eyes, sharp of tongue. A short man,"

"I remember him well," Stark replied, still looking down at her in bemused surprise, holding up a hand to stop the guards that had moved forward, presumably to pry her away. He did that himself, pushing her arm, firmly but not roughly away. She let him.

"It would seem he has met some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed. You would not perchance have any notion of who might have wished my brother ill, would you?"

"Your brother has been taken at my command, to answer for his crimes," The man said. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're lucky I like you, Stark," She said. "It was your wife that took him. How would she have known in advance Tyrion would be where he was at that exact time? My guess is that she didn't, making it coincidence. In which case you're lying, to protect your precious Lady Catelyn,"

"My wife is not to blame," Stark insisted. "She's a good woman, she deserves no punishment,"

"The only good thing about Catelyn Tully is that she's not as irritating as her younger sister," Jaime laughed scornfully, stepping back, seeing Helia's grudging smirk at that and Arthur's grin; none of Jaime's children liked their aunt overmuch. Nor their uncle, for that matter. 

"Does your brother feel the same?" He asked sharply. "From what I hear, his treatment of Lady Lysa is poor indeed,"

"He cares not a jot for Lysa," Jaime admitted with a shrug. "She irritates him constantly. But I'm not here to talk of Cersen's cow of a wife, I'm here to talk of yours. She kidnapped my brother, who has committed no crimes. I want him back, Stark, whether Lady Catelyn gives him up willingly or not," They had had word Tyrion was being taken to Winterfell, but Jaime doubted that. Riverrun was much closer. "If you will not aid me and order her to release Tyrion, I will raise a force of men who will make her,"

There was a long silence. Once again, she did not like the look in Stark's grey eyes. 

"My lady, this is a private matter," He said carefully. "May we talk in my solar. Alone," She fixed him with an assessing stare. 

"Very well," The guards dispersed, as he held open the door for her. The door closed as Stark stepped inside, moving behind the desk. Jaime did not sit and neither did he. "Speak, then,"

"I know the truth Jon Arryn died for," His words were hard, his eyes cold. 

"What has Jon Arryn got to do with - "

"It is the same truth that your husband spat in your face that night at dinner," Her insides went cold, but it was easy to keep a neutral expression. She'd been lying about this her whole life, and she sure as hells hadn't killed Jon Arryn. 

"That I'm a treacherous whore?" She raised an eyebrow. "Half the castle is saying that, Stark, they have been for years. If you brought me in here just to tell me that, then I fear you're wasting your time,"

"He spoke of your children, Joffrey and Myrcella," The man said, unwavering. "And your brother,"

"What are you trying to say?" Jaime said, unimpressed. "I haven't the time to waste hearing you speculate on some madness I barely remember my late husband saying. I was being throttled at the time, you see," She smiled falsely. 

"Joffrey and Myrcella are Cersen's children, not Lord Stannis'," There was a beat of silence. 

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Her tone bespoke her disdain for the statement, just the right mix of scorn and disgust, and amusement that he could believe such a thing. "And you think I killed Jon Arryn because he found out?" She laughed. "Have you been drinking, Lord Stark? Or perhaps you too suffered a blow to the head,"

"Deny it, my lady," Ned Stark cut her off. "Look me in the eye," 

"I deny it," Jaime gave him an odd look. What else did he think she would do? If that's the extent of his questioning skills, I'm in the clear. "Stannis spent his last conscious moments trying his best to murder everyone in the room, including his brother and his own son. Do you honestly believe he was speaking some profound truth, or that he was sick and delirious, speaking whatever nonsense came to his mind?" She was no born liar, but she had no qualms about weaving an entire tapestry of untruths if it spared her children. Make yourself believe it. That had been Elia's advice. "Words are wind. Just because someone speaks them, it doesn't make them true. People see us walking together and gossip that we're involved in some sordid affair, because why else would Ned Stark want to simply talk to the Kingslayer?"

"My lady," He looked her in the eye. "I know how your brother was Lord Arryn's rival on the council, looking for any way to bring him down. I know that Jon was looking into Robert's bastards, all of whom are black of hair, as are the king's trueborn children and six of yours. There is a book, showing there is no child with a Baratheon parent born without dark hair. I couldn't piece it all together at first, but then I overheard what Lord Stannis said,"

"As he attempted to strangle me?" 

"Yes," They stared at each other, neither one relenting. 

"If you insist on believing that," Jaime said eventually. "You're paranoid and delusional, but there's little I can do to stop you doing what you will. Which is what?" She tilted her head, and she saw Stark glance away ever so slightly. She smirked. "Ah. You wish to blackmail me. Into leaving your dear little wife alone, I suppose. How honourable," 

"Return peacefully to Storm's End, my lady," Stark said simply. "And I swear, I will keep your secret to myself,"

"You'd let a boy you believe to be a bastard keep Storm's End, your beloved Robert's ancestral seat?" She asked, tutting in mock-disappointment. "A bastard son, a fling with the queen, blackmail and now this lapse of morals? I'm starting to think your reputation is simply all talk,"

"If you insist on pretending I'm wrong," Stark's eyes narrowed, but he ignored the jibe. "You can at least acknowledge that Robert will believe me when I tell him what I've told you," He was right. She could call his bluff, but when it came to this, even Jaime wasn't willing to risk it. She looked away. 

"You'd have two of my children disinherited, myself sent to the Silent Sisters in disgrace, the other six children shamed by their whore of a mother?" She didn't wait for a reply. "You must love your wife a great deal. Very well, Stark, you win. I'll leave," She smiled at the man, hoping to unsettle him. It didn't work. 

"And you'll take the princess with you? Robert gave permission," It was an olive branch, a poor one, a nod back to their near-ally status from before. Jaime hesitated for a moment, thinking of refusing out of spite alone, but then nodded sharply. 

"Of course," 

*

They left early the next morning, as the sun came up. Arthur was to stay behind in King's Landing, as was Joffrey, despite Jaime telling her son that he should come to the Stormlands if he wanted the lords to respect him as Lord Baratheon. He'd laughed in her face, in fact, and that was when she had given up and left, for fearing of slapping him in front of half the court. 

She didn't speak to Cersen, refusing to let him in as she packed her things; he'd only try to persuade her into leaving Cassana here, and she didn't want to give him any chance of succeeding. Staying apart from her twin for this long, when he was so close, was far harder than Jaime would like to admit. She still wanted him, despite everything. 

Helia, Myrcella and Steffon had their own horses, whilst the twins and Cassana rode in front of one of the Baratheon guards that had come with them from Storm's End. All of Jaime's own personal guard, many of whom who had been serving her since her father assigned them to her after her wedding, were there as well. 

Their party split in two when they reached the Kingsroad. She had spent most of the previous afternoon making arrangements with the captain of her personal guard, though had neglected to tell her children, or anyone else. Lord Stark's threat was still fresh in her mind, and though she was tempted to call his bluff, this way was easiest in truth. It made both of them happy, at least for a time. She wouldn't harm Lady Catelyn, not unless the damned women didn't let her take Tyrion back.

"Mother, where are you going?" Helia demanded, kicking her horse to catch up as Jaime and her personal guard prepared to turn west instead of south with the others. 

"Catelyn Stark kidnapped my brother," She smiled sharply. "I'm going to get him back,"

"You've got men for that," Her daughter frowned. "Why go yourself?" Why indeed.

"I'm tired of sitting around waiting for others to do things for me," She replied. I'm a widow, this is the most free I've been in my whole life. "Besides, I have a debt to pay,"

*

Jaime, having travelled with a dozen of her personal guard, met up with her father's army in the Westerlands, and learns that Robert has died from a boar (Cersen's plotting, the same as before), Ned has been arrested for treason but Jaime's children and Cassana made it to Storm's End. Renly has fled to Highgarden. Cersen has appointed himself regent and crowned Joffrey as king. As yet, after Ned's arrest, no one is objecting. 

Tywin is angry that Jaime left and tries to send her back to King's Landing or Casterly Rock. Instead she doubles back and travels with her cousin Daven's army to besiege Riverrun. 

Very little happens differently to canon surrounding these points, hence the brief overview. 

*

The night, once still and quiet, was now chaos. Jaime would never admit it, but her heart had chilled when they heard the first long, low war horn sound throughout the forested valley. That chill had turned to cold dread and thrill of anticipation both as a dozen more horns answered the first, forming a chorus all around them with the ungodly howling of Robb Stark's great beast.

The moment she had felt the thrum of arrows from all around them, she had flattened herself to her horse's neck, more than aware of the fact that she had no armour. Though she supposed that was her own damned fault for insisting on riding with cousin Daven, to watch them break what had seemed like a smallish Tully raiding party, but turned out to be half of the Northern army.

Jaime knew that it was folly to expect to fight alongside the men - even Daven was not near bold enough to defy her father like that - but had brought her sword nonetheless, thinking that although she would be on the sidelines of a skirmish, at least she could defend herself if needs be. That was before she had ended up in the middle of an actual battlefield. 

The Northmen had charged out of the trees, outnumbering their small host more than three to one, and Jaime had been caught in the midst of it all. Still cursing the fact that she wore silk rather than steel, she had pulled up the hood of her cloak, given her horse a sharp kick and, gritting her teeth, pushed her way out of the thick of the battle, heading for the edge. The opposite to what she wanted to do, which was leap into the fray with sword drawn, but even she recognised that would be a death sentence.

Two of her guards followed behind. It was a mercy that her cloak was large, covering most of her dress, and she was sat astride in a riding habit rather than sidesaddle. Perhaps they might consider her a craven fleeing the fight, and let her go.

It was quite plain that the Lannisters were losing. It was torture, just watching from the distance Jaime had made it up the ridge, and truly she wanted nothing more than to join the fight, but she knew that the moment she lowered her hood, she would be an obvious target. A woman in a battle was rare enough, let alone one with golden hair, wearing a green gown. She would be carried off as a hostage; many would go down before they took her, but she would be caught in the end. She might be reckless, but she wasn't entirely stupid.

Jaime saw cousin Daven in the thick of it, trying to regroup his men for one last push, as Stark's direwolf tore through Lannister soldiers like they were little more than rag dolls. Was she as mad as people said she was for wanting leap into the thick of it?

"We'd best go," She turned with distaste to Cedrick, who had been part of her personal guard for over twelve years. "Before they start to wonder where I've gone," If the Northmen had been watching from the woods before the attack, they would have easily seen her with her hood down. 

Cedrick nodded sharply, clearly glad for her decision; knowing her as long as he did, he must have been preparing to bodily haul his lord's daughter away to safety. 

"We'll have to go over the ridge, my lady. They've closed the whole valley but if we avoid either end, we could slip through,"

"Fine, then," Jaime dug her heels into her horse's side, and the two men followed, up the slope. It was almost a physical wrench to tear her eyes away from the battle, to turn her back on Daven and his men, to flee like a scared rabbit, but she wasn't going to let herself be taken prisoner if she could help it. Jaime did not plan on becoming a hostage of her family's enemies, not again.

Of course, their route to escape just had to lead them straight into Catelyn Stark, waiting out the battle with her own guards. All thirty of them. Jaime heard her other man, Pate, curse under his breath. There was no chance the Northmen hadn't seen them, and several moved into their path. She wheeled her horse around, only to find more had moved behind to cut them off.

"Who goes there?" The call came. Others moved to their left and right, whilst a good number stuck close to their lady. Jaime wanted to speak, but a woman's voice would give them away. She looked to her left.

"Three men who will go in peace, if you let us," Cedrick replied.

"Lannister deserters," One of the Stark men scoffed. "Cravens. I say we kill them,"

"Come on, the one in the middle's just a boy," I'm hardly that short.

"A boy on a horse that fine? Must be some squire, a lord's son. Ransom him?" Jaime saw them all eyeing each other, seeming to reach an agreement. She contemplated giving her horse a good kick and charging through the middle to take them by surprise, but then saw that they'd formed another ring around their group. No, she wouldn't do that, if only to not leave her children motherless.

"What of the other two?"

"Common soldiers," One shrugged. "Who cares if they die?" That ruled out simple surrender, not that her pride would've relished in that anyway. 

"What's your name, boy?" They turned to Jaime, who raised her head, not enough for them to see clearly under the hooded cloak, but enough that Lady Catelyn began to squint at her. Jaime did not answer, wordlessly drawing her sword from where it was strapped to the horse. Laughter met this action.

"It's three against thirty," A Stark man chortled. "How many of us do you think you three could take down, boy, before we snap that skinny wrist of yours?" Jaime made a show of looking around her, considering each of them. A lock of golden hair fell out of her hood.

"Half," Some paused as she spoke for the first time, noting something was wrong, but more were shaking their heads incredulously, advancing forward. Her guards both drew their swords.

The men went straight for Jaime at first, aiming to drag her off her horse - dead hostages were worth considerably less - but she moved immediately, easily cutting down the first two and injuring a third before they had a chance to blink. Her mare was not a war horse, and skittered from the sight of dying men, but Jaime pushed forward despite the prancing animal, trying to cut a path out. 

Shouts of surprise were spreading through the group as they realised how good she was. All those stolen hours of practicing in secret with any knight brave enough to teach her had paid off. Wherever she moved, men died. Jaime had always loved the thrill of a spar, but there was nothing like a true fight to the death to make her feel alive. 

Another man grabbed her cloak, attempting to pull her off her horse; she shed it quickly, and felt herself grin as they saw her mane of golden curls, the wind cold on her exposed face. Surprised shouts of 'Kingslayer' went through the ranks, and she took advantage of their surprise. Her heart was singing, her sword an extension of her arm. This is what I was made for. 

But it had to end soon, of course it did. Two men and one woman - who, no matter how skilled, lacked armour and a shield - could not win against thirty hardened soldiers. They cut her horse from under her first. The poor animal died screaming, and Jaime was forced to throw herself to one side to avoid getting her leg crushed.

She fell into one soldier, legs getting tangled in her damned dress, but she did not let go of her sword, using the momentum to drive the blade between a gap in his armour, then push herself upright off his chest and spin around to meet the next. 

They didn't want to kill her, but that didn't mean they softened their blows at all, and she felt the blood dripping down arms, legs, face, even if Jaime didn't feel the wounds themselves. This is what you always wanted, isn't it? To be treated equal in a fight? Even now, she found that was true. The thought amused her, and she laughed aloud. 

But having lost her advantage of being on a horse, she was brought down quickly. Jaime was knocked to the ground by a powerful blow to the back, and before she could jump back to her feet, someone had thrown themselves on her legs. She attempted a vicious swipe with the sword behind, satisfied with the pained yell she heard in response, only for more men to descend on her. Her sword was taken only after someone ground their boot into her wrist, forcing her to release her grip, and her arms were roughly pressed behind her back.

Jaime lay there, winded, face pressed needlessly hard in the dirt by someone's gauntleted hand, as people moved above her.

"Gods, she fights like a hellion,"

"Vicious Lannister bitch," Someone spat.

"How many did she kill?"

"Six, at least, and more wounded,"

"See what she did to Karstark! That's not natural, look at the size of her,"

"Where in hells did she learn to use a sword like that?"

"I heard she fucked Arthur Dayne in return for lessons," Well it didn't happen quite like that. "Didn't know she was that... that she could do that, though," You can't even admit I'm good.

"People say she's half-mad,"

"I can see why,"

"Let her up," Lady Catelyn's sharp voice could be heard. The pressure on her back and legs were released - two men had been kneeling on her, another forcing her wrists behind her back, whilst one more pressed her head into the ground - and she was roughly dragged to her knees. Her dress was torn and filthy, her hair and face covered with bits of forest, but she was sure to put on a smile.

"Lady Stark," Blood dripped into her eyes from a wound on her forehead, though she could see the corpses of her two loyal guards clear enough. Now the thrill was wearing off slightly, Jaime was beginning to feel the injuries that she hadn't realised she'd received, the warm blood running down her body, bruises blooming all over. And that is why knights wear armour. They'd have killed her, if they were trying to. "A pleasure as always." She had to laugh at the expression on the woman's face, and tried not to wince at the movement.

"Why are you here, my lady, not in the capital?"

"Looking for the brother you abducted," Jaime narrowed her eyes. "Though I hear he weaselled his way free. Which reminds me," She smiled sharply. "Your husband was very insistent that I keep my men away from you. He went so far as to threaten to go to Robert with a pack of lies in order to bring me down, if I did not obey,"

"Ned would not resort to blackmail - "

"Oh you'd be surprised what Ned would do," She gave a laugh. "I could tell you all sorts," She smiled suggestively. "Though I suppose right now, in the black cells, with Robert dead, he can't do an awful lot," Catelyn turned away for a moment, her words clearly having hit their mark.

"Take her away," The woman snapped, then added. "Don't let her near a blade of any sort,"

"No chance of that," One of them muttered under his breath as they dragged her away. Jaime grinned, despite the fact she had twisted her left leg quite badly and was limping somewhat.

"Come on, milady Lannister," Another said, darkly amused by the absurdity of dragging a highborn lady - the king's mother, nonetheless - through a battlefield.

"Call me Jaime, please, ser," She smiled her most angelic smile, used her sweetest voice. It must have been quite a sight, dirty and bloodied as she was. In the end she couldn't keep a straight face as they all stared at her, and had to laugh.

"Seven hells," Someone snorted, shaking his head. "How did they give you to Stannis?"

"Hurry up, woman," Another man snapped. "Stop playing up that limp,"

"One of you lot gave me the injury," She smiled sharply at him. "Though I can see I repaid that debt in full," They all bore marks from her and her men, be that dented armour or deep cuts. 

"Lannister whore," Came the charming reply. "You alone killed seven good men and wounded seven more,"

"Then call me a murderer rather than a whore, at least,"

"We could carry her?" Someone suggested. If you think I'd let myself be carried through the northern army, you're out of your bloody mind. 

"You're welcome to let her steal your dagger," Another snorted resentfully. 

"Another dastardly plan foiled," Jaime said sarcastically. "I can hardly walk. Even if I did have a blade, I wouldn't get very far with it,"

"So you'd let yourself be carried?" He narrowed his eyes. 

"No, I'd steal the dagger and kill at least three of you before you knocked me into the dirt again," She said with perfect honesty. The man sighed. 

"Limping it is, then,"

"Limping it is," 

*

AN: An explanation of my characterisation of Jaime: Here, she is at about the same stage with regard to Cersen as male Jaime was in early AFFC; she's starting how see far Cersen will actually go, how erratic and stupid his decisions are, and is getting sick of how he treats her like a possession. She's realising this earlier as she is not entirely dependent on her twin, unlike male Jaime; Lady Jaime has a husband, a close friend, children. She has a life outside Cersen and isn't around him all the time. Nonetheless, she hasn't had the shock of losing a hand, nor of finding out about Cersen's numerous affairs, so although she might be furious with him for possibly causing Ashara's death, their bond goes far too deep to break entirely; she can't bring herself to turn her back on him just yet. 

Cersen is simply female Cersei if she had the free reign to do as much damage as she wished. He still makes excuses for being at a disadvantage even though he was born strong, male and rich, he still is entitled and believes he deserves power, he's still so narcissistic the only son he feels is worthy of his time is the one he had with his twin sister. But where Cersei would cry and beg to Jaime to manipulate him in the only way she knew how, Cersen has never had to pretend to be sweet and vulnerable and 'womanly' to get what he wants, and is even more entitled, and less subtle, because of it. I know the plot to get Joffrey on the throne is awful and obvious and people must find something suspicious, but that's the point. Cersen is far from a political mastermind. Yes, he did kill Stannis too in case that wasn't clear; more on that later. 

Anyway, thanks for reading! Please feel free to comment and vote, as always I'm open to constructive criticism and love to hear what readers think.