The sunlight over King''s Landing was hot and blinding, and Jaime Lannister stood by the window of the White Sword Tower, gazing down at the city he had once saved. Months had passed since the death of King Aerys, the Mad King, yet the memory of that day remained sharp in his mind, as vivid as ever.


    But it was not the shadow of the past that haunted Jaime now. It was the storm that was about to break. His father, Lord Tywin Lannister, had just sent a letter, and the contents of that letter left Jaime reeling.


    Cersei was to marry Robert Baratheon formally.


    The decision came as no surprise since Robert had taken up the Iron Throne. Jaime knew that, with the new regime taking hold, the Lannisters needed to solidify their power. And what better way than to marry the family jewel to the new king? Yet knowing all of this did nothing to ease the pain that gnawed at Jaime''s heart.


    He thought back to his last meeting with Cersei, not long ago at Casterly Rock. Back then, her eyes had still held the gleam of ambition, of dreams of power.


    "Think about it, Jaime," she had whispered in his ear. "We could control everything. You''ll be in the Kingsguard, and I''ll be Queen. We were always meant to be together. No one will ever tear us apart."


    But now, bitterly, Jaime thought of their father—the man who always placed the family''s interests above all else—who was about to tear them apart.


    Jaime''s reverie was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. He turned to see his brother Tyrion, panting as he entered the room.


    "I take it you''ve heard?" Tyrion asked, his mismatched eyes glinting with sympathy.


    Jaime nodded, forcing his expression to remain neutral. "Father always knows how to play the game."


    Tyrion sighed and poured himself a glass of wine. "You know, you could refuse. Renounce your vows as a Kingsguard and return to Casterly Rock to inherit the family''s fortune."


    Jaime shook his head, offering a bitter smile. "And watch Cersei marry that drunken king? No, Tyrion, I''d rather stay here. At least here I can...," his voice trailed off as he realized what he''d almost said.


    Tyrion''s sharp gaze flicked over his face, but he said nothing. Instead, he raised his glass. "To our dear sister, may she thrive in the game of thrones."


    Jaime mechanically raised his own cup, but didn''t drink. His mind had already turned to the upcoming wedding, and the long years that would follow. He knew that from this point on, a permanent chasm would exist between him and Cersei.


    But he also knew that their feelings for each other wouldn''t simply vanish. In fact, they might become more dangerous, more thrilling. In the shadows of King''s Landing, in the whirlpool of power, their love would be a double-edged sword, one that could wound them both at any moment.


    As night fell, Jaime stood on the city walls, gazing toward the Blackwater Bay in the distance. Tomorrow, the new king and queen would make their formal entrance into the city. And Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, would stand there as a member of the Kingsguard, guarding the man who had taken everything from him.


    Fate, at times, was a cruel jest.


    Years had passed. The sun hung low over King''s Landing, casting long shadows across the Red Keep''s courtyard as Ser Jaime Lannister stood atop the battlements, his white cloak billowing in the warm breeze. Fifteen years had passed since Robert Baratheon ascended to the Iron Throne, fifteen years since Jaime had driven his sword through the Mad King''s back. The realm had known peace, or something like it, for most of that time. Yet now, as he gazed out over the city, Jaime could feel the tremors of change in the air.


    Jon Arryn was dead. The Hand of the King, the man who had held the realm together while Robert drank and whored his way through his reign, had succumbed to a sudden illness. Jaime''s lips curled into a bitter smile. He had no love for Jon Arryn, but he respected the old man''s ability to navigate the treacherous waters of court politics. With him gone, the delicate balance of power that had maintained this fragile peace was threatening to crumble.


    His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of familiar footsteps. Cersei approached, her golden hair gleaming in the fading light, her green eyes sharp with purpose.


    "Jamie," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Robert has made his decision. We ride for Winterfell on the morrow."


    Jaime turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. "Winterfell? So he means to ask Ned Stark to be his Hand."


    Cersei''s face twisted with disdain. "That honorable fool. As if he could ever hope to survive in King''s Landing."


    For a moment, Jaime allowed himself to remember the last time he had seen Eddard Stark. It had been during the Greyjoy Rebellion, nine years past. They had fought side by side then, the Kingslayer and the Lord of Winterfell, putting down Balon Greyjoy''s ill-fated bid for independence. Even in the heat of battle, with Ironborn reavers all around them, Jaime had felt the weight of Stark''s judgment. The North remembers, they say, and Ned Stark had never forgotten finding Jaime seated on the Iron Throne, the Mad King''s blood still fresh on his blade.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "Perhaps that''s why Robert wants him," Jaime mused. "An honorable man to clean up the mess Jon Arryn left behind."


    Cersei stepped closer, her hand brushing against his arm. "We cannot allow it. The Starks in King''s Landing would upset everything we''ve worked for."


    Jaime met her gaze, seeing the familiar fire of ambition burning there. For fifteen years, they had played this dangerous game, stealing moments together whenever they could, all while Cersei schemed to increase their family''s power and influence. Sometimes, in the dark of night, Jaime wondered if it was worth it. But then he would look at Cersei, at the children she had borne that the realm believed to be Robert''s, and he knew he would do it all again in a heartbeat.


    "What would you have me do?" he asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Push Ned Stark from the top of Winterfell''s highest tower?"


    Cersei''s eyes flashed dangerously. "Don''t be absurd. We''ll find a way to deal with him once he''s in King''s Landing. For now, we must prepare for the journey north."


    As she turned to leave, Jaime called after her. "And what of our... time together? The road to Winterfell is long, and the nights are cold."


    Cersei paused, looking back over her shoulder with a smirk that set Jaime''s blood on fire. "I''m sure we''ll find a way to keep warm."


    As she disappeared down the stairs, Jaime turned back to the darkening sky. The journey to Winterfell would be long indeed, full of dangers both seen and unseen. He thought of Ned Stark, of the cold lands of the North, of the secrets he and Cersei carried.


    A chill ran down his spine, one that had nothing to do with the evening air. Something was coming, he could feel it in his bones. The peace they had known for fifteen years was about to shatter, and Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, would once again find himself at the heart of the storm.


    The royal procession wound its way north like a great, glittering serpent. Banners snapped in the wind – the crowned stag of Baratheon, the golden lion of Lannister – as knights, lords, and ladies made their slow progress towards Winterfell. At the head of the column rode King Robert, his massive frame barely contained by his warhorse, while Queen Cersei traveled in the comfort of an ornate wheelhouse.


    Ser Jaime Lannister, resplendent in his white armor and cloak, rode alongside the wheelhouse, ever vigilant in his role as Kingsguard. To the casual observer, he was the picture of knightly virtue. But beneath that shining exterior, Jaime''s thoughts churned like the waters of Blackwater Bay.


    Fifteen years of peace had done little to dull the edge of Jaime''s blade or his wit. If anything, the years of standing guard while Robert Baratheon slowly drank himself into an early grave had only sharpened his cynicism. He had watched as his sister maneuvered through the intrigues of court, birthing three golden-haired children that the realm believed to be Robert''s heirs. He had stood silent as Jon Arryn, suspicious and probing, had begun to ask dangerous questions in the weeks before his sudden death.


    Now, as they journeyed north to the home of Eddard Stark, Jaime couldn''t shake the feeling that they were riding towards a reckoning.


    "Kingslayer!" Robert''s booming voice cut through Jaime''s reverie. The king had ridden back to join him, his face flushed with exertion and wine. "Gods, but this is tedious. How do you stand it, standing around all day in that white cloak?"


    Jaime offered a practiced smile. "I find ways to occupy myself, Your Grace. There''s always something interesting happening at court, if one knows where to look."


    Robert grunted, taking a long pull from his wineskin. "Aye, I suppose there is. Tell me, what do you make of this business with Jon Arryn? Damned peculiar, him dying so suddenly."


    For a moment, Jaime tensed. Did Robert suspect something? But no, the king''s eyes were clouded with drink and genuine grief. "A tragedy, Your Grace," Jaime replied smoothly. "Lord Arryn served the realm well. He will be sorely missed."


    "That he will," Robert agreed, his mood darkening. "That''s why I need Ned. A good, honest man to help me rule. Not like these preening southron lords, always scheming and plotting."


    Jaime bit back a retort. If only Robert knew the schemes that swirled around him, the plots hatched in shadowy corners and behind closed doors. Instead, he simply nodded. "Lord Stark is known for his honor."


    "Honor!" Robert laughed bitterly. "Sometimes I think Ned''s the only honorable man left in the Seven Kingdoms. Present company excluded, of course," he added with a wink that did little to soften the unintended barb.


    As Robert rode off to rejoin the van, Jaime''s eyes drifted to the wheelhouse. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of Cersei, her golden hair shimmering in the sunlight. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Jaime felt the familiar surge of desire and guilt that had been his constant companions for the past fifteen years.


    The journey continued, days blending into weeks. As they traveled further north, the air grew colder, the landscapes more rugged. Jaime found himself thinking of the last time he had traveled this road, during the Greyjoy Rebellion. He remembered the clash of steel, the smell of blood and salt in the air as they laid siege to Pyke. He remembered fighting alongside Ned Stark, the two of them united in purpose despite the gulf of mistrust between them.


    Now, as Winterfell drew ever closer, Jaime wondered how Stark would receive them. Would he see the changes fifteen years had wrought? Would he still look at Jaime with that same mix of disgust and disappointment?


    One night, as the camp settled in the shadow of the Neck, Jaime found a moment alone with Cersei. They stood at the edge of the camp, the sounds of revelry fading behind them.


    "We should be careful," Jaime murmured, even as he pulled her close. "The Northerners aren''t as easily fooled as the sheep in King''s Landing."


    Cersei''s laugh was low and throaty. "Let them look. Soon enough, Ned Stark will be in King''s Landing, tangled in our web. And then..."


    She didn''t finish the thought, but Jaime could see the gleam in her eyes. It was the same look she had worn when they were children, daring each other to greater and greater acts of recklessness. It both thrilled and terrified him.


    As they made their way back to the camp, Jaime caught sight of the Stark banner in the distance – a grey direwolf on an ice-white. North was waiting, and with it, the winds of change that threatened to engulf them all.