The great hall of the Red Keep roared with the sounds of feasting and revelry, a cacophony that seemed to shake the very foundations of the ancient fortress. Jaime Lannister stood at his post, a silent sentinel in white, his golden hair gleaming in the light of a thousand candles. The scents of roasted meats, spiced wines, and perfumed courtiers mingled in the air, a heady mixture that spoke of excess and indulgence.


    At the high table, Robert Baratheon held court, his massive frame dominating the ornate chair that had been hastily constructed to accommodate his bulk. The new king''s face was flushed with wine, his booming laughter cutting through the din as he regaled his companions with yet another tale of his prowess on the battlefield.


    "And then, by the gods, I swung my hammer and sent the bastard flying!" Robert roared, miming the action and nearly knocking over a flagon of Arbor gold. "You should have seen the rubies scatter from his breastplate, like drops of blood in the Trident!"


    The sycophants surrounding him laughed uproariously, as if it were the wittiest jest they''d ever heard.


    Jaime felt his jaw clench, the familiar mixture of disgust and envy roiling in his gut. The real rebels are enjoying fine wine and delicious food, while he, in order to save King''s Landing, had to bear the title of "Kingslayer" that he could never escape for the rest of his life.


    His eyes flickered to Cersei, seated at Robert''s right hand. His twin was a vision in crimson and gold, her golden hair elaborately coiffed and studded with rubies that glittered like drops of blood. She played her part to perfection, laughing at Robert''s jests and touching his arm with feigned affection. But Jaime could see the calculation behind her emerald eyes, the barely concealed contempt that mirrored his own.


    The feast stretched on, course after elaborate course. Jaime watched as servants paraded in with platters piled high with suckling pigs, peacocks reassembled in their feathers, and elaborate pastries shaped like the Red Keep itself. It was a display of wealth and power, a message to all that the Baratheon regime – backed by Lannister gold – was here to stay.


    "Kingslayer!" Robert''s voice boomed, cutting through Jaime''s thoughts. "Come, have a drink with your king!"


    A hush fell over the hall as all eyes turned to Jaime. He could feel the weight of their stares, a mixture of fear, curiosity, and barely concealed hostility. With practiced ease, he adopted a mask of casual arrogance, striding towards the high table with the confidence of a lion among sheep.


    "Your Grace is too kind," Jaime said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "But I fear I must decline. The Kingsguard must remain vigilant, after all."


    Robert''s face darkened for a moment, then split into a wide grin. "Vigilant? Against what? The bottom of a wine cask?" He let out a bellowing laugh, joined nervously by the sycophants surrounding him.


    Jaime''s smile never wavered, but his eyes hardened. "There are many threats to a king, Your Grace. Not all of them wear armor and carry swords."


    A tense silence fell over the hall. Robert''s blue eyes narrowed, searching Jaime''s face for any hint of threat or disrespect. For a heartbeat, Jaime wondered if he had pushed too far.


    Then Robert laughed again, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Well said, Kingslayer! Well said indeed. You hear that, you vultures?" He swept his arm out, encompassing the assembled courtiers. "The lion has claws, even in a white cloak!"


    The tension broke, replaced by nervous titters and forced laughter. Jaime inclined his head slightly, taking a step back. But before he could return to his post, Robert''s voice dropped low, meant for his ears alone.


    "Don''t think I''ve forgotten what you did, Lannister. You may have saved the city, but you''re still an oathbreaker. I''ll be watching you."


    Jaime met the king''s gaze, green eyes locked with blue. "As I''ll be watching you, Your Grace. It''s my sworn duty, after all."


    For a moment, something like respect flickered in Robert''s eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the jovial mask of the warrior king. He turned back to his companions, calling for more wine and launching into another tale of his exploits.


    As Jaime resumed his position, he caught Cersei''s eye. His twin''s face was impassive, but he could read the mixture of pride and frustration in the set of her jaw. She had always loved his defiance, even as she feared the consequences it might bring.


    As the wine flowed freely, tongues began to loosen. Jaime''s keen ears picked up snatches of conversation, the undercurrents of politics and intrigue that flowed beneath the surface of the revelry.


    "I hear Lord Tywin is pushing for a position on the Small Council," a foppish lordling whispered to his companion.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "After what his son did? He''s lucky the king allows him in the city at all," came the reply, accompanied by a furtive glance in Jaime''s direction.


    Jaime kept his face impassive, but he felt the familiar twist of bitterness in his gut. Kingslayer. The word hung unspoken in the air, a title that would follow him to his grave.


    As the hour grew late and the celebrations more raucous, Jaime noticed a change in Robert''s demeanor. The king''s eyes grew harder, his laughter taking on a cruel edge. He began to paw at the serving girls more openly, his hands wandering with impunity while Cersei''s face remained a mask of cold indifference.


    It was nearing midnight when the doors to the great hall burst open, admitting a breathless messenger. The young man stumbled forward, his eyes wide with fear and excitement.


    "Your Grace!" he gasped, dropping to one knee before the high table. "News from Dragonstone!"


    The hall fell silent, all eyes turning to the king. Robert straightened, suddenly alert despite his inebriation. "Out with it, boy! What news?"


    The messenger swallowed hard. "It''s Queen Rhaella, Your Grace. She... she''s given birth. To a daughter."


    A murmur ran through the hall, a ripple of shock and speculation. Jaime felt his heart quicken, memories of Rhaella''s screams during Aerys'' visits flooding back unbidden. He had stood guard outside her chambers, helpless to intervene, bound by vows that now seemed as insubstantial as smoke.


    Robert''s face darkened, a storm gathering in his blue eyes. "A daughter?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "What of Viserys? What of the Targaryen boy?"


    "Fled, Your Grace," the messenger replied, his voice quavering. "The Queen and her children were spirited away before Lord Stannis'' fleet could reach them. It''s said they''re bound for the Free Cities."


    The king''s reaction was immediate and terrifying. He surged to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor. His face, already ruddy from drink, turned a dangerous shade of purple. "Fled?" he roared, spittle flying from his lips. "Those dragonspawn dare to escape my justice?"


    He rounded on Jon Arryn, the newly appointed Hand of the King. "I want them found!" he bellowed. "I want every ship, every sellsword, every cutthroat in the Free Cities looking for them. I want their heads on spikes!"


    The hall fell deathly silent, the earlier merriment evaporating like mist before the sun. Jaime felt a chill run down his spine, remembering another king who had called for heads on spikes.


    Jon Arryn stepped forward, his calm voice a stark contrast to Robert''s fury. "Your Grace, perhaps it would be wiser to let them flee. They are but children, posing no immediate threat. The realm needs peace, not more bloodshed."


    Robert''s eyes bulged, his massive hands clenching into fists. For a moment, Jaime thought the king might strike his foster father. "No threat?" he snarled. "Have you forgotten what the Targaryens are capable of? Have you forgotten the Mad King, burning men alive while his son raped and murdered my Lyanna?"


    Jaime saw Cersei flinch at the mention of Lyanna Stark, a flicker of hatred crossing her beautiful features before the mask of queenly concern slipped back into place.


    "Every Targaryen is a threat!" Robert continued, his voice rising to a roar. "Every one of them carries the seed of madness, the taint of incest and tyranny. I''ll not rest until every last dragonspawn is wiped from the face of the earth!"


    The king''s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of hatred and the promise of violence to come. Jaime felt a sickening sense of déjà vu. He had stood in this very hall, listening to another king make proclamations of death and destruction. The faces had changed, but the madness remained the same.


    As Robert raged, calling for maps and ships and sellswords, Jaime''s eyes met Cersei''s across the hall. In that moment, he saw a flicker of fear beneath her carefully constructed facade. They both knew the price of a king''s madness, the collateral damage of unchecked power.


    The feast broke up soon after, courtiers slipping away to spread the night''s gossip and plot their next moves in the great game. Jaime remained at his post, his mind racing. Targaryen children in exile, a drunken, vengeful king on the throne, and a realm still bleeding from war. It was a powder keg waiting for a spark.


    As the hall emptied, Robert staggered towards Jaime, his massive bulk swaying dangerously. The king''s breath reeked of wine and meat as he leaned in close. "You''ll guard our chambers tonight, Kingslayer," he slurred. "Let''s see if you can protect a king as well as you can kill one."


    Jaime bowed low, hiding the flash of anger in his eyes. "It would be my honor, Your Grace."


    As he followed the royal couple through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, Jaime couldn''t shake the feeling that he was walking a knife''s edge. One misstep, one wrong word, and he could find himself falling into an abyss from which there was no return.


    Outside the king''s chambers, Robert dismissed the other guards with a wave of his hand. As Cersei disappeared inside, the king lingered, his eyes surprisingly sharp despite the wine.


    "You know, Lannister," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I''ve been thinking about what you did. Killing Aerys."


    Jaime tensed, ready for accusations or threats. But Robert''s next words caught him off guard.


    "I would have done the same," the king admitted, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. "Mad bastard deserved what he got. But don''t think that means I trust you. A man who can kill one king can kill another."


    With that, Robert stumbled into his chambers, leaving Jaime alone in the darkened corridor. As the sounds of the king''s snores began to filter through the heavy oak door, Jaime allowed himself a bitter smile.


    Trust. It was a currency he had spent long ago, and one he was unlikely to earn back. But as he settled into his vigil, sword at the ready, Jaime Lannister realized that trust might be overrated. Fear, respect, even hatred – these were tools he could use. The Kingslayer might be reviled, but he would never be ignored.


    As the long night stretched before him, Jaime''s mind turned to the Targaryen children, somewhere across the Narrow Sea. He wondered if they would grow up hearing tales of the Kingslayer, the monster who had murdered their father. Would they dream of revenge, of returning to reclaim their birthright?


    The lion and the stag might stand opposed, but for now, they were bound by necessity. How long that uneasy alliance would last, only the gods knew. But Jaime was certain of one thing – when the time came, he would be ready.