310AC

Jaime had visited Storm's End often over the years. The great castle had once been her permanent home, and she its lady. That felt like an age ago, though couldn't have been more than twelve years. 

Things were very different now. Her son was Lord Baratheon, not her husband, and made for a very different lord indeed. Arthur had turned three-and-twenty this year, and though he was far more mature than he was when he first become lord in the wake of Joffrey's death, he was still wild and reckless at heart.

Being hailed a hero had done nothing for his ego, unfortunately. The boy always laughed at that, joking with his mother that he was keeping up the family tradition; she had slain one king, he had slain another. Jaime always retorted with a grin that Aegon was not a proper king, nor even a proper Targaryen, just another Blackfyre pretender.

No, the glory of killing the true Targaryen queen - the one with dragons, fire and blood - had gone to Eddard Stark's bastard son, of all people. But that was too long a story to get into now. If she started on Daenerys Targaryen and the man whom some whispered was Rhaegar's secret bastard, she would have to go into that whole mess with the Three-Eyed Raven and the bloody Others rising again with their armies of dead men. Jaime had no desire to bring up such dark memories; her daughter was getting married today, after all.

Argella was her seventh child to wed. Gods, that made her feel old; she was old, she supposed, at five-and-forty. Jaime had eleven grandchildren now, a fact that still disturbed her, particularly as there would likely be twice that in the future. Gods, she was turning into Walder Frey.

Orryn had his Queen Margaery, of course. They were in attendance at Storm's End in all their royal glory, along with Princess Jocelyn and the two young princes, Stannis and Rogar. Her son was a good king, despite the complaints of the late Lord Tywin - who Jaime was not used to referring to as such, even a year after his death - that he cared too much what people thought of him and sought to please people unneccessarily. 

Perhaps that was true, but Orryn was a strong, capable and fair king, made even more popular by his wife. If anyone was born to be queen, it was Margaery Tyrell. Jaime had realised years ago that the mask the woman wore was no real mask at all, but a genuine side of her personality that she could switch to as easily as blinking. 

To the kingdoms, the queen was beautiful, charming, clever and above all, kind. She had sponsered many charitable programmes in King's Landing and beyond, and paid regular visits into the city to interact with the smallfolk. Whilst Orryn was tied to the capital most of the time, Margarey would go on an annual progress most years, often bringing along one or two of her children, to a different area of Westeros to speak with not only the lords and ladies but the farmers, merchants and tradesmen as well. 

Of course, Jaime was (dare she say) friends with Margaery, and knew that the woman had a sharp wit and wicked sense of humour, and was not above complaining about various courtiers, though never to anyone but her most trusted.

She could see the queen now, stood off to the side with Helia, the two of them conversing together. There was no sign of Jaime's daughter's wretched Tully husband. Wretched in Jaime eyes, not those of his wife, that was. Whilst Edmure and Helia's marriage was often tinged with exasperation, bickering and sniping comments, she had to admit there was a certain fondness between them now. The two were friends, at least. Something had to have been there to produce their four children; Arron, Hoster, Mara and Minisa.

Helia wasn't quite as beloved as Margaery. Her husband was the one with the bleeding heart. In fact, Jaime recalled the moment Helia had started to come around to Edmure was when she discovered that, against the advice of the Blackfish, Lady Catelyn and Robb Stark, he had let the nearby smallfolk shelter from the Lannister army within the castle walls. Lord Tully was loved by his people, whilst his lady was respected. Helia often ended up doing a considerable portion of his lord's work, when the man himself could not be bothered; there was enough of her grandfather in her that she rather enjoyed it.

There was a chorus of laughter off to one side, and Jaime glanced over to see Arthur amusing a crowd of knights and fellow lordlings. The Lord of Storm's End was enjoying playing the charming, entertaining, erratic host, and was very good at it too. However, his wife of five years was decidedly not, and had disappeared somewhere already, likely on a ride with their only child - a baby daughter named Arwen - strapped to her chest. 

Jaime often wondered how the Stormlands were still functioning, given how its lord and lady regularly shirked their duties. 

To Lady Arya's credit, she did have a good head for sums and ran the household well, though that seemed to be as far as she'd go with regard to being Lady of Storm's End. She was not interested in receiving guests, had inherited all the charm of Ned Stark and refused to wear dresses unless they had company. She did not enjoy planning events beyond the finances, though she did seem to be well-liked in the Stormlands given that she would often go out for rides and speak with the smallfolk like she'd speak to anyone else; many didn't realise she was a highborn lady at all until her guard caught up.

When Jaime had first ridden out with her, Arya had complained at how many people stared at them when she was there, how everyone lowered their eyes respectfully and muttered 'miladies'. She had laughed, and the next time they went for a ride had worn the clothes she sparred in. Her gooddaughter had informed her was an improvement, though the girl had still looked doubtfully at her distinctly golden hair.

Arya did like Jaime, for all that she still snarled about Lannisters. Jaime suspected that was because she was one of the few people who would spar with her properly, aside from Arthur, several of the household guard, and her teacher. Arthur's memorable nameday gift for his wife a few years ago had been to send for a water-dancing tutor from Braavos; Arya had stared at him in disbelief before throwing herself at him, arms around his neck in a tight hug.

At least the two adored each other. Jaime had overheard Arya remarking to her sister at the wedding that she would have run for the hills already if she were marrying anyone other than Arthur. It was still a good thing that Steffon and his wife were often there to step in when the lord and lady were not. 

Given all of the marriages the Baratheon children had made in other kingdoms, Myrcella, Steffon and Argella had all been betrothed to Stormlanders. Myrcella had wed the young Lord Richard Morrigen four years ago, and now had two sons, Denys and Damon. Steffon had wed the next year, to Lady Corenna Swann, who was as kind and clever a lady as Jaime had wanted for her youngest son, but far more sociable; she often took on Arya's hosting duties. Steffon too had a son now, Ronnal.

And now Argella, aged six-and-ten, was to marry the Buckler heir, Ser Edric. Jaime had thought she would have a hard time persuading her little twins - for in her mind, they were still five years old, running around causing havoc - to marry. But neither Argella nor Roanna had put up much fuss at all. Despite being grown now, they often still shared that devious look, and their tongues were sharp enough to rival Jaime and Helia's, but at least they no longer cut their sister's hair when she wasn't looking.

Roanna was at her side, of course, having ducked away from her betrothed, Lord Robert Arryn to go to her sister. She was to marry at the Gates of the Moon in several months. Jaime had been wary about the match; Robert had always been sickly, on account of his father's age most likely, and was still prone to shaking sickness every now and again. But there must be something in the boy's mother's Templeton blood that made him strong enough to survive childhood and grow into an intelligent, mild-mannered young man. Though he would never be a warrior, he had fostered with the Royce's from a young age and knew of war and strategy, and reportedly had a head for trade.

And as for Coryanne...

"Oberyn," Jaime grabbed her husband's arm as he passed, seeing the girl was not with him. "You seem to have mislaid your youngest daughter,"

"I thought she was with you," He shrugged. 

"I thought she was with you," She glanced around. "Is she not with Ellaria and the other girls?" She could see all of her own children, and Coryanne was not with them.

It had caused quite the stir, Jaime allowing her husband to bring his paramour and his eight bastard daughters to her own daughter's wedding, but she could not care less. Oberyn, Obara and Elia were all competing in the tourney, and Coryanne would be unbearable without the younger Sand Snakes to amuse her.

"No, I saw them but a moment ago,"

There was a pause.

"She's eight," Oberyn didn't seem overly concerned. "She's more than capable of looking after herself,"

"I suppose," Jaime said. "I'm sure she's fine, but I'm going to look for her anyway,"

She had been far less motherly with her elder children, though she supposed she had been little more than a child herself when she had Joffrey. It wasn't that the years had made her fearful, but she understood now, more so than ever, how easily life was taken. She would much rather be slightly protective than lose another child.

"I can - " He started.

"No, I'll go," She waved him off. "Lysa's just arrived with Tychus, I'd rather avoid her besides,"

Ever since Jaime had murdered Cersen - Lysa's hated husband - the woman had seemed to decide that they were best friends. Needless to say, Jaime did not share the opinion in the least. The last thing she wanted right now was her smothering, simpering, irritating goodsister bothering her, not least because she always found a way to bring up how glad she was that Cersen was dead. Jaime would rather not think about her twin's blood on her hands at all.

Oberyn grinned at her in understanding as she slipped away from the large crowd of lords and ladies by the stands, and descended into the rest of the tourney.

It took a while - not that she minded, enjoying the chance to walk around and observe everything - but she eventually spotted the dark, curly head of her daughter. Coryanne had appeared to have made friends with a group of noble children with their mother; Jaime did not recognise them, but she had not spent much time amongst the houses of the Stormlands in a long time. Selmy, perhaps? The three children were blonde enough, and the woman was wearing their colours.

"Apologies," She approached the family, addressing the mother, a sweet-faced woman who looked between twenty-five and thirty. "My daughter has not yet learned to avoid being a nuisance," She placed a hand on Coryanne's shoulder, as the girl grinned up at her with her own smile.

"Oh, she's no nuisance at all," The woman positively beamed. "Little Coryanne was quite charming," She clearly did not recognise Jaime, who was wearing green today rather than red or gold, lacked a sword at her belt and as yet had not said anything awful.

"See, Mother," The girl said smugly. "I'm making friends,"

"You have three brothers, twelve sisters and at least ten nieces and nephews, what do you need friends for?" Jaime scoffed, though without any bite to it; she really didn't mind. 

She cast an eye over the three other children. Two boys and one girl. All blonde, rather tall for their age, and two had blue eyes that were oddly familiar. 

"You have sixteen children, my lady?" Their mother gawped. "And there I was thinking four was a lot," Evidently one had been too young to travel.

"Gods, no," Jaime laughed, rather enjoying the anonymity that came from not being recognised. This woman was no doubt lady of a keep that was either very small or very remote.  "I have eight. The rest are my husband's, ah, natural daughters," She trailed off with a wry grin, and the woman's eyes widened slightly in sympathy. "Oh, you misunderstand me - I do not care, ours is not a love match,"

"Then you're a better woman than me - I could not bear such a thing," The woman gave a small shudder. "I am blessed with a husband whose eyes would not dream of straying, let alone anything else," Jaime had had one of those, once.

There was pause. 

"Forgive me, I never introduced myself," The woman smiled. "My name is Rosina. This is Galladon," She gestured to the eldest boy, with the startling blue eyes, and it took Jaime a moment to realise why she recognised the name. When she did, her stomach dropped. "Arianne," She placed a hand on the girl's shoulder fondly. "And Barristan,"

"Barristan?" Jaime managed to get out. "As in - "

"Ser Barristan the Bold, yes," Rosina nodded, again with that beaming smile. "He was my grandfather's brother - I am a Selmy by birth," Oh, gods.

"And now?" She knew the answer already.

"Now I am Lady of Tarth - I wonder, have you heard much of it? Few outside the Stormlands have - you must be from further west, given your accent - though it is a beautiful place," 

"I have heard of it," She smiled rather bleakly, looking at those plain-faced, blue-eyed children with fresh eyes. "The Sapphire Isle. I had a friend from there, once,"

Coryanne chose that moment to interrupt. 

"Mother, when can we see the joust?" She asked. "Orryn says I can sit with him and Joss," It still unnerved Jaime slightly that her son's eldest daughter was older than her own youngest. "I would sit with you, but Father said you were going to enter the melee with Arthur,"

"Don't be ridiculous," Jaime shook her head. "It wouldn't be any fun if I was in the melee - I'd win easily, Arthur and Oberyn would be very embarrased and everyone would lose a lot of money," Put it like that, it was quite tempting.

She saw then that Rosina's eyes had widened in realisation, and grinned.

"My lady, I - "

"My name is Jaime," She said, cutting the woman off. "No apologies, I did not know you either. If you are Lady of Tarth, then I owe your husband a debt. Ser Brien escorted me back to King's Landing during the War of the Five Kings more or less in one piece, when I was nothing but vile to him," 

And for once she would say no more than that, for Rosina was sweet and gentle, and she would not be the one to damage her faith in her good, loyal husband. 

"He will no doubt laugh at me for not recognising the mother of both the king, Lady Tully and Lord Baratheon," The woman was clearly embarrassed, though smiled ruefully, blushing. "What a fool I am. I suppose I expected you decked out in red and gold. Perhaps holding the Mad King's severed head," Well at least she's not intimidated.

Jaime laughed loudly at that.

"I have been called Kingslayer since I was eight-and-ten, yet no one has ever put it quite like that," She snorted. There were a few who muttered Kinslayer now, too, though those rumours had never been quite confirmed. When Tywin Lannister was alive, he had ruthlessly punished those caught sharing such whispers.

"Well, you're a lot nicer than your reputation suggests," Rosina said honestly. 

Jaime rather appreciated someone who didn't mince their words.

"Not many people say that, either," 

The woman's eyes flickered to a point over her shoulder, and Jaime turned to see a painfully familiar figure, massive in blue armour, making his way towards them. One part of her wished to go, to leave this woman in peace, to take the cowardly way out for once. Enough of her roared in defiance against that that she lingered long enough for it to be too late to skulk away.

"There you are," Brien's tone was fond enough as he looked at his wife that Jaime's fears - whatever they were - mostly vanished there and then. He had a wife he cared for, he had children, he was happy, and she had her own family. "I've been - " He broke off, seeing her for the first time.

"Hello, boy," Jaime smiled, hands tightening on Coryanne's shoulders. 

He did a double take - she wasn't an easy person to have sprung on you - but managed to gather himself fairly quickly, shaking his head. 

"I am over thirty years old, Kingslayer, and you still address me as boy. You were two-and-thirty, when we met," Brien was no longer the awkward young man she had first met; as a lord, he was a lot more quietly confident, less uncertain, less prickly and defensive. But he was still the same, really. Same scowl, same voice, same ugly face and blue eyes. Though the extra years, and the lordship, suited him.

"Still older than you now. Though I hardly acted it," She had to grin at the memory. "I remember the first time we met. Catelyn Stark got me dead drunk, I said a lot of hateful words then had to be carried through Riverrun and stuffed into the bottom of a boat," She glanced at the three Tarth children. "Though I'm sure your father did it all very heroically," A glance back to Brien. "I can't say I have a good recollection of that night,"

"Very heroically," He nodded, pulling a face. "Considering what came next, you'd likely have been better off staying in that cell,"

In many ways, yes; she would certainly sleep much better at night now if she had stayed in the dungeon. Though Catelyn Stark setting her free had kicked off a whole chain of events that may never had taken place otherwise. Who knows how the war would have turned out then?

"And you would have been spared my delightful company across the Riverlands," She drawled. "Though I'd hope that the worst thing about my presence was the smell of rotting flesh," 

"Rotting flesh?" Rosina asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Jaime shared a look with Brien. You didn't tell her a thing. Understandable.

"Perhaps not in front of the children," She said delicately; Coryanne was looking in far too much interest. Let him get himself out of that one later. 

"That wasn't the worst thing about your company," Brien muttered, and she had to laugh. 

"I'll give you that. You tried to drown me in a stream for a reason,"

"You tried to kill me,"

"And I saved you from a bear-pit later," She shrugged, glancing at a stunned-looking Rosina with a smirk. "Now that's a better story. One of my finest moments,"

"I thought that killing Aerys was your finest moment?"

"I said 'one of' for a reason, boy,"

"Mother," She glanced down as Coryanne tugged at her sleeve. "The joust is starting soon,"

"So it is," Jaime said, glancing behind them. "A pleasure to meet you," She smiled genuinely at Rosina, then looked to Brien. "If you ride against Lord Baratheon, could you do your best to humble him? His lady would never let him live it down,"

*

It wasn't until the feast that night that she saw Brien again, this time alone. 

"I like your wife," She approached him, having broken away from her amusing conversation with Margaery, Helia, Ellaria and Nymeria Sand. "And my daughter seemed to like your children. Arthur has agreed to have one of your boys squire at Storm's End for him, if you both wish it,"

"You didn't have to - " He broke off, stunned, then collected himself. "Thank you, my lady. We are grateful for the opportunity," Someone's been getting lessons in lordly conversation. How long had he been Lord of Tarth? She was not sure when Lord Selwyn had died.

Jaime waved him off with a faint smile. 

"Just a favour for an old friend," 

He understood what she was saying with that, and smiled back.

"You're just the same," Brien said. "Though... happier,"

"I got old," She grinned, cutting off his objections. "Older, anyway. You, on the other hand, have changed. For the better, I think, though I have yet to see you fight so cannot say for certain,"

"I'd offer you a spar, but it's likely best not to,"

"You're right about that,"

There was a silence.

"I saw you," He blurted out. "Fighting in the North, seven years ago, though in the chaos of battle I lost you. You were cutting through wights like it was nothing, then faced down a White Walker without a glint of fear,"

"I'm glad it seemed that way," She pulled a face. "I was terrified the entire time," 

For all her talent with a sword, Jaime had only seen true battle once, in the Whispering Wood. She had been in plenty of fights and skirmishes, true, but nothing could compare to a full-scale battlefield. Particularly when the other side was made up of dead men and unearthly beings who could only be killed by dragonglass and Valyrian steel, and three dragons roared in the skies above them.

Orryn and her father had both tried to get her to stay at home, but she had refused; she was a better fighter than most knights, it would be selfish not to just because she was a lady. Oberyn had not objected, seeing as five of his own daughters fought at his side. 

They all had scars from that terrible war. But at least Westeros was not overrun with dead men and Others, and the second Long Night had not come to pass. In the years since then, everyone - maesters included - swore that the seasons were getting shorter; the last winter had been but a year long, as had the previous summer. This summer had scarcely been going on nine months and already there was a slight chill in the air, preceding the coming autumn. 

"So was I. I think everyone was," He said.

"Coming home has never been so sweet, however," Even more so than when she had made it back from Riverrun. Of course, that didn't take much; her welcome then had been Loras Tyrell trying to start a fight, her father being... her father, and Cersen fucking her in the sept their dead son's body lay in. 

"I'll agree with you on that,"

"She seems very... kind," Jaime grinned at his fond smile. "Everything that I am not, and everything you deserve," She meant that, truly.

"She is," Brien said rather sheepishly. "Kind, I mean. Rosina is brave, though. As brave as you. She liked you, too, earlier," Really? How odd, making a good first impression. "Though she had a lot of questions,"

"Did you tell her?" She asked, amused. 

"I did," Of course you did, for gods sake. 

"I hope you said we have been friends and only friends since before we were both married,"

"Oh, of course. Rosina was not angry or upset, or anything like that, for everything occurred before we even met. She only complained that - and I say this word for word - 'she's so devastingly beautiful that I am plain in comparison'. So stop calling yourself old," 

That may have been true, but Jaime was not near hateful enough to say so; she was still beautiful, even though her face was more lined than before, and there was very little grey in her hair. Besides, the thought of comparing the two of them would never have even crossed Brien's mind.

"Did you tell her that you saw me covered in mud, blood and shit with half my chest rotting off my body? That might make her feel better,"

"I thought it best to leave that out,"

"That is likely wise," She grinned. "Did you tell her about the bear-pit?"

"She laughed at the idea of me being the damsel in distress, and said she should buy you a gift for saving her husband's life,"

"I'm not sure about that. We were both in considerable distress fairly quickly, seeing as I was fool enough to jump in without a weapon,"

"You do still train with a sword, don't you? I'd hate to think of your talent being wasted,"

That was... somehow heartwarming.

"I trained whilst married to Stannis Baratheon, one of the most humourless and rule-abiding men in Westeros," She said. "Considering my second husband is perhaps the opposite, of course I still train. What do you take me for, my brother?"

She made the joke without thinking.

"I heard about... Cersen," Brien lowered his voice.

"Did you hear the whole story?" Jaime raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head. "He stabbed me, so I stabbed him. Guess which one had better aim," She chuckled dryly. "Father saw us both drenched in blood, dying in each other's arms. I think that's what finally broke him - he gave his position as Hand to Tyrion, of all people, then remained in the west to rule Casterly Rock for the rest of his life,"

Lord Tywin had died the previous year, at the age of seven-and-sixty. One day he appeared hale and healthy, the next day he had not woken up from his bed. Jaime, despite herself, had wondered if it were poison, though the maester had disclosed that Lord Tywin had had an ongoing illness that he had hidden very well for two years, before finally succumbing. No one else had ever had a hint that the man was unwell, even Tychus, who spent most days with him.

It had been very strange, living without the looming presence of her father hanging over her. Though in many ways, he had not left, for Lord Tywin cast a long shadow. If anyone was capable of stepping out of it, it was his grandson, however. Tychus had been the son and heir Tywin had never had. 

Uncle Kevan served him as he had served his brother faithfully for his whole life. Jaime wondered if he had known, for he had not seemed surprised at the news of Tywin's death, claiming that was how he'd have wished to die, when he was still capable and strong, rather than withering away with age. 

She supposed her father had died satisfied. His grandson was king. His son was Hand. His remaining grandchildren included Lord Baratheon, Lord Lannister, Lady Tully, the future Lady Arryn. His daughter was married to a Dornish prince. All enemies who dared challenge him were dead and buried, or peacefully placated. Reyne, Tarbeck, his own father, Aerys, Eddard Stark, Robb Stark, Aegon Blackfyre, Daenerys Targaryen, Oberyn Martell, even the never-ending hordes of night and winter.

Tywin Lannister had certainly not died happy, however. His joy had left him decades ago, at the death of his beloved Lady Joanna, and any scraps remaining had been destroyed by his two eldest children. How ironic, that in the end it was Tyrion who let him down the least. It was an easy bar to reach, she supposed; all he had to do was not sleep with or try to murder a family member.

"I'm glad you killed him," Brien's voice was hard. "He was a monster,"

"His own wife and children would agree," She said non-committally. "But enough of Cersen. Are you happy, boy?"

"I am," He said honestly. "Are you?"

Jaime smiled, and was about to open her mouth, when she was interrupted.

"Mother, there you are!" She turned as Myrcella joined them, flushed and beaming from dancing, looking almost exactly as Jaime had done when she was two-and-twenty, though with less sarcastic sharpness and more wicked mirth to her face. "Apologies, ser, but I will have to steal her away,"

"I am," Jaime looked at Brien. "Look there, Lady Rosina has returned. I'm glad I saw you, now go to your wife," 

He followed her stare, catching sight of the woman too.

"Goodbye, Jaime," He smiled, and she wanted to hug him then but thought better of it. 

Brien made his way over to his wife, whilst Myrcella dragged her into a dancing circle with all her daughters, three of her granddaughters (the ones who were old enough to walk), as well as Margaery, Arya, Steffon's wife Corenna, Ellaria and the Sand Snakes. Jaime had always loved to dance - the footwork was reminiscent of swordplay - and was good at it, too. 

With Myrcella grinning on one side, and a reluctant but smiling Arya on the other (she had clearly been dragged up), Jaime let herself enjoy the dance.

*

I did say I probably wouldn't write an epilogue, but (and I'm as surprised as you are) here it is! I hope you enjoyed this; let me know if you would be interested in a deleted scene/bonus chapter because the amount of leftover material I have for this story is ridiculous. Most of it is scenes from Jaime's childhood (the Kingslayer scene is long enough to publish as a one-shot honestly, as well as a scene that has the potential to be develped into a what-if-she-married-Robert-not-Stannis one-shot).

Thanks for reading! Below I've clarified all of Jaime's children's marriages, I know there were points in this chapter that seemed like a bit of an info-dump.

Joffrey (would have been 26) married Margaery Tyrell then (luckily) died immediately.

Orryn (25) married Margaery Tyrell. Jocelyn (10), Stannis (7), Rogar (4).

Helia (25) married Edmure Tully. Arron (8), Hoster (6), Mara and Minisa (3).

Arthur (23) married Arya Stark (21). Arwen (1).

Myrcella (22) married Richard Morrigen. Denys (3), Damon (1).

Steffon (20) married Corenna Swann. Ronnal (2).

Argella (16) married a Buckler.

Roanna (16) is betrothed to Robert Arryn.

Coryanne (8) is, as yet, free.