《Golden Lion's Roar》


 Choice In the Throne Room

    The acrid stench of wildfire hung heavy in the air, a sickening reminder of the madness that had consumed King Aerys II Targaryen. Ser Jaime Lannister stood before the Iron Throne, his white cloak stained with the blood of Rossart, the king''s pyromancer. The throne room echoed with distant screams and the clash of steel, the sounds of a city tearing itself apart.


    Jaime''s emerald eyes fixed upon the hunched figure of the man he had sworn to protect. King Aerys, with his matted silver hair and overgrown yellowed nails, muttered incessantly to himself, "Burn them all. Burn them all." The words slithered from his lips like poison, each repetition a hammer blow to Jaime''s resolve.


    The young knight''s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, his mind racing. He could still see the wildfire caches hidden throughout the city, green death waiting to be unleashed. He could hear Lord Rossart''s final words before the blade silenced him, confirming the king''s mad plan to reduce King''s Landing to ash and cinder.


    "Your Grace," Jaime called out, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "The battle is lost. Your loyalists are defeated. Lord Tywin''s forces have breached the city walls."


    Aerys''s head snapped up, his violet eyes wide with a mixture of fear and manic glee. "Tywin Lannister? Your father?" A cackle escaped his cracked lips. "The traitor comes at last. Let him come. Let them all come! They''ll burn with the rest. I''ll give them the king''s justice... fire and blood!"


    The king''s words sent a chill down Jaime''s spine. He took a step forward, the weight of the realm pressing down upon his shoulders. "Your Grace, please. The city can still be saved. Order the gates opened. Surrender, and¡ª"


    "Surrender?" Aerys spat, rising from the throne with surprising agility. "I am the dragon! I will not surrender to sheep! Burn them all! Burn them in their homes! Burn them in their beds!"


    As the king ranted, Jaime''s mind drifted to his father''s lessons at Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin''s voice, cold and unyielding, echoed in his memory: "A Lannister always pays his debts." What debt did he owe now? To his king? To the realm? To the innocents of King''s Landing?


    The screams from outside grew louder, and Jaime could almost see the streets running red with blood. How many more would die if the king had his way? How many children would burn, their flesh melting from their bones?


    "Your Grace," Jaime tried once more, his voice barely above a whisper. "Think of Queen Rhaella, of Prince Viserys. Think of your grandchild. Surely you wouldn''t¡ª"


    "Traitor!" Aerys shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth. "You''re all traitors! Rossart! Where''s Rossart? Bring me his head! I''ll have no more betrayals. Burn them all! Burn them all!"


    In that moment, time seemed to slow. Jaime saw not a king before him, but a monster wearing a crown. He saw not the man he had sworn to protect, but the threat to everything he had ever known. The weight of his white cloak, once a source of pride, now felt like chains binding him to madness.


    His sword was in his hand before he realized he had drawn it. The blade gleamed in the torchlight, reflecting the fear and desperation in Aerys''s eyes as understanding dawned.


    "Burn them all," the king whispered one last time.


    Jaime moved with the grace of a lion, his sword finding its mark with terrible precision. Blood sprayed across the steps of the Iron Throne as Aerys fell, his final command dying on his lips.


    The throne room fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of the young knight. Jaime stared at the body of the king, his mind struggling to comprehend what he had done. He had killed the man he was sworn to protect, broken the most sacred oath of the Kingsguard.


    Yet, as he looked at his bloodied sword, he felt no remorse. Only a hollow emptiness, and the faintest flicker of relief. The city would not burn. Thousands would live because of his choice.


    Jaime turned to face the great doors of the throne room, knowing that soon they would burst open. Robert Baratheon''s forces or his father''s would pour in, and they would find him standing over the body of the king. What would they see? A hero? A traitor? A kingslayer?


    He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Here he stood, the youngest member of the Kingsguard, having committed the most dishonorable act imaginable to prevent an even greater atrocity. Would anyone understand? Would anyone even care to listen?


    As he waited for the inevitable, Jaime''s thoughts turned to his family. To Cersei, his other half, the only person who truly knew him. To Tyrion, the little brother he had always sought to protect. To his father, Lord Tywin, whose approval he had craved all his life. What would they think of him now?


    The distant roar of battle began to fade, replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps. Jaime Lannister, son of Casterly Rock, knight of the Kingsguard, slayer of kings, stood tall and waited. He had made his choice. Now he would face the consequences.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    As the doors began to open, Jaime allowed himself one final thought: "The things we do for... honor."


    The heavy doors of the throne room groaned open, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling like the roar of some great beast. Jaime Lannister stood his ground, his blood-stained sword still in hand, the body of King Aerys II Targaryen sprawled at his feet. The young knight''s golden hair was matted with sweat and grime, his white cloak spattered with the crimson evidence of his deeds.


    As the first figures pushed through the entrance, Jaime''s emerald eyes narrowed, trying to discern friend from foe in the smoky haze that had settled over the chamber. His muscles tensed, ready for whatever judgment was about to befall him.


    "Seven hells," a gruff voice exclaimed. Through the thinning smoke, Jaime recognized the battle-worn face of Ser Elys Westerling, one of his father''s bannermen. Behind him, a small contingent of Lannister soldiers poured into the room, their red cloaks a stark contrast to the Targaryen tapestries that still adorned the walls.


    Ser Elys''s eyes darted from Jaime to the fallen king and back again, his expression a mixture of shock and something that might have been awe. "Ser Jaime," he said, his voice low and cautious, "what... what has happened here?"


    Jaime felt a humorless smile tug at the corner of his lips. "What does it look like, Ser Elys? I''ve killed the king." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications.


    A murmur ran through the gathered soldiers. Some looked at Jaime with open hostility, others with confusion, and a few with what seemed like grudging respect. Jaime could almost hear the thoughts racing through their minds ¨C was this an act of treason or salvation?


    Ser Elys took a tentative step forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his own sword. "The king is dead," he said, as if saying it aloud might make the reality of the situation clearer. "By your hand. You, a knight of the Kingsguard."


    "Yes," Jaime replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. "By my hand. The hand that saved this city from burning."


    Confusion flickered across Ser Elys''s face. "Burning? What do you mean?"


    Jaime gestured to the fallen king with his sword. "Ask him about the wildfire caches hidden throughout King''s Landing. Ask him about his plans to ''burn them all.'' Oh wait, you can''t. Because I chose the lives of the innocent over the ravings of a madman."


    The tension in the room was palpable. Jaime could see the soldiers exchanging glances, uncertainty written across their faces. He knew that his words alone wouldn''t be enough to convince them all, but it was a start.


    Ser Elys opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, another voice boomed from the entrance. "What''s the meaning of this?"


    The soldiers parted like a red sea, revealing the imposing figure of Tywin Lannister. The Lord of Casterly Rock strode into the throne room, his cold gaze taking in the scene before him. Jaime felt a familiar tightness in his chest at the sight of his father, a mixture of respect, fear, and a desperate need for approval that he had never quite outgrown.


    "Father," Jaime said, lowering his sword but not sheathing it. "The war is over. King Aerys is dead."


    Tywin''s eyes narrowed as they fell upon the body of the Mad King. For a moment, Jaime thought he saw a flicker of something ¨C pride? satisfaction? ¨C in his father''s expression. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the stern mask that Lord Tywin always wore.


    "I can see that," Tywin said, his voice as sharp as Valyrian steel. "What I want to know is why my son, a sworn member of the Kingsguard, is standing over the body of the very king he was meant to protect."


    Jaime felt the weight of every eye in the room upon him. This was the moment that would define him, he realized. Whatever he said next would shape how the world saw him for years to come. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.


    "I did what I had to do," he said, meeting his father''s gaze. "Aerys was going to burn the city. He had wildfire placed throughout King''s Landing. He meant to ignite it all rather than let Robert take the throne. I stopped him. I saved the city."


    A heavy silence fell over the throne room. Jaime could see the disbelief on some faces, the dawning horror on others. His father''s expression remained unreadable, a skill Lord Tywin had perfected over years of political maneuvering.


    "Wildfire?" Tywin repeated, his tone measured. "That''s a serious claim, Jaime. Do you have proof?"


    Jaime gestured towards the door. "The pyromancer, Rossart. His body lies just outside. He was carrying out the king''s final orders when I intercepted him. And there are others ¨C Belis and Garigus. They know of the plan. Find them, and you''ll have your proof."


    Tywin''s eyes narrowed, considering his son''s words. After what felt like an eternity, he turned to Ser Elys. "Take some men and find these pyromancers. If what my son says is true, we need to locate and secure these wildfire caches immediately."


    As Ser Elys hurried to carry out the order, Tywin turned back to Jaime. "You''ve started something here, Jaime. Something that won''t be easily finished. The realm will not look kindly on a Kingsguard who slays his king, no matter the reason."


    Jaime felt a chill run down his spine at his father''s words, but he stood his ground. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I''d do it again if I had to."


    Tywin studied his son for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he spoke, his voice low enough that only Jaime could hear. "Then we''ll need to make sure the realm sees things our way. The lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep, but he must sometimes guide their thoughts nonetheless."


    With that, Lord Tywin turned to address the gathered soldiers, his commanding presence filling the throne room. As his father began to issue orders, Jaime found his gaze drawn back to the Iron Throne. The monstrous chair loomed over them all, its twisted blades seeming to reach out hungrily.


    In that moment, standing amidst the chaos he had wrought, Jaime Lannister realized that his life would never be the same. He had saved King''s Landing, but at what cost? The white cloak on his shoulders, once a symbol of honor, now felt like a shroud.


    As the activity in the throne room swirled around him, Jaime remained still, a golden statue amidst a sea of red. The Kingslayer, they would call him. He could already hear the whispers beginning. But they didn''t know. They couldn''t understand.


    "The things we do for love," Jaime murmured to himself, his words lost in the commotion. But it wasn''t love that had guided his hand today. It was something else, something he was only beginning to understand. Something that felt suspiciously like honor.

 Oath, City, and Legacy

    The sun had barely risen over King''s Landing, its feeble rays struggling to penetrate the thick pall of smoke that hung over the city like a funeral shroud. In the Red Keep, the air was thick with tension, whispers, and the metallic tang of spilled blood. Ser Jaime Lannister stood at a window in the White Sword Tower, his golden hair disheveled, his white cloak discarded on a nearby chair.


    His emerald eyes, usually so full of mirth and mischief, were now clouded with exhaustion and something deeper ¨C a weariness of the soul that seemed ill-fitted on one so young. As he gazed out over the city he had saved, Jaime couldn''t help but wonder if the price had been too high.


    The door creaked open behind him, and Jaime turned to see his father, Lord Tywin Lannister, enter the room. The Lord of Casterly Rock''s face was as impassive as ever, but there was a glint in his eye that Jaime had rarely seen ¨C a mixture of calculation and what might have been pride.


    "The Small Council is in an uproar," Tywin said without preamble, his voice as sharp and cold as a winter wind. "Half of them are calling for your head, the other half are too afraid to speak."


    Jaime let out a bitter laugh. "And which half do you belong to, Father?"


    Tywin''s eyes narrowed. "Don''t be foolish, Jaime. I''m the only reason you''re not in chains right now. The question is, what are we going to do about this mess you''ve created?"


    "Mess?" Jaime felt a surge of anger. "I saved this bloody city. I stopped a madman from burning thousands of innocent people alive. How is that a mess?"


    "Because perception is everything," Tywin snapped. "Do you think the common folk will care about wildfire caches and mad kings? All they''ll see is a Kingsguard who broke his sacred oath. A Lannister who turned on his liege lord."


    Jaime turned back to the window, his hands clenching into fists. "So what would you have had me do? Let the city burn?"


    For a long moment, there was silence. When Tywin spoke again, his voice was softer, almost gentle. "No, Jaime. You did what needed to be done. But now we need to control the narrative. We need to make sure that your act is seen as one of necessity, not treachery."


    Jaime felt a chill run down his spine. He knew his father well enough to recognize the wheels turning behind those cold eyes. "And how do you propose we do that?"


    Tywin moved to stand beside his son, looking out over the city. "Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark will be here within days. They need to hear your side of the story first. We''ll present them with evidence of Aerys'' madness, of the wildfire plot. We''ll make them see you as the hero who saved King''s Landing, not the oathbreaker who slew his king."


    "And if they don''t believe me?" Jaime asked, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice.


    "They''ll believe what we tell them to believe," Tywin said firmly. "The Lannisters are now the most powerful house in the Seven Kingdoms. We have the gold, we have the army, and now, thanks to you, we have King''s Landing."


    Jaime turned to face his father, searching for something in that stern face ¨C approval, understanding, anything. But Tywin''s expression remained as unreadable as ever.


    "Is that all I am to you?" Jaime asked quietly. "A piece in your game?"


    For a moment, something flickered in Tywin''s eyes ¨C a hint of emotion quickly suppressed. "You''re my son, Jaime. My heir. Everything I do, I do for our family. Never forget that."


    Before Jaime could respond, there was a commotion outside. The door burst open, and Ser Barristan Selmy strode in, his white cloak billowing behind him. The old knight''s face was a mask of barely contained fury.


    "You," he spat, pointing at Jaime. "How could you? How could you betray everything we stand for?"


    Jaime felt his hand instinctively move to where his sword would have been, but he had left it in the throne room. He was defenseless before the legendary knight''s wrath.


    "Ser Barristan," Tywin interceded smoothly, "I understand your anger, but I assure you, there''s more to this situation than you know."


    Barristan''s eyes flicked between Jaime and Tywin, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "What I know is that I left to defend Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys, and I return to find the king dead by the hand of one sworn to protect him. What explanation could possibly justify such an act?"


    Jaime felt the weight of Barristan''s accusation like a physical blow. This was a man he had looked up to, a knight he had aspired to emulate. And now, in Barristan''s eyes, he was nothing but a traitor.


    "The king..." Jaime began, his voice hoarse. "The king was going to burn the city. He had wildfire placed throughout King''s Landing. He meant to destroy everything rather than let Robert win."


    Barristan''s eyes widened in disbelief. "Wildfire? That''s... that''s monstrous. But surely there must have been another way. To keep our sacred oath..."


    "There was no other way," Jaime insisted, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "You weren''t there, Ser Barristan. You didn''t hear him screaming ''Burn them all!'' over and over. You didn''t see the madness in his eyes."


    The old knight''s face was a storm of conflicting emotions ¨C anger, disbelief, and a growing horror as the implications of Jaime''s words sank in.


    Tywin seized the moment. "Ser Barristan, I understand your loyalty to the crown. It''s admirable. But surely you can see that my son''s actions, while extreme, were necessary to save countless innocent lives."


    Barristan''s hand slowly fell from his sword. He looked at Jaime, and for a moment, the young knight thought he saw a flicker of understanding in those weathered eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a deep sadness.


    "Even if what you say is true," Barristan said quietly, "the Kingsguard is meant to protect the king from all threats. Even from himself, if necessary. You should have found another way."


    With that, the old knight turned and left the room, his white cloak seeming to drag behind him like a symbol of lost innocence.


    Jaime felt as if all the strength had left his body. He slumped against the window frame, the weight of Barristan''s disappointment crushing him more thoroughly than any physical blow could have.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Tywin watched his son with a mixture of frustration and something that might have been concern. "Pull yourself together, Jaime," he said, his voice low and intense. "This is just the beginning. There will be more accusations, more judgments. You need to be strong. You need to stand by your decision."


    Jaime looked up at his father, feeling more lost than he ever had in his life. "And what if I''m not sure I can?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Tywin''s face hardened. "Then you''re not the son I raised you to be. A lion doesn''t concern himself with the opinions of the sheep. Remember that, Jaime. Remember who you are."


    As Tywin strode out of the room, his crimson cloak swirling behind him, Jaime was left alone with his thoughts. He turned back to the window, looking out over the city he had saved. The people below went about their lives, unaware of the drama unfolding in the towers above them. Unaware that their very lives had hung in the balance just hours ago.


    Jaime''s gaze drifted to the Great Sept of Baelor, its crystal towers gleaming in the morning sun. He thought of the gods, of the vows he had sworn before them. Had he truly broken those vows, or had he upheld their spirit by protecting the innocent?


    As the weight of his actions settled over him like a shroud, Jaime Lannister realized that the world he had known was gone. In its place was a new reality, one where he would forever be known as the Kingslayer. A world where every glance, every whisper, would carry the weight of judgment.


    But as he stood there, watching the city come to life, Jaime felt a resolve hardening within him. He had made his choice. Now he would have to live with it. He would wear the name Kingslayer like armor, letting it deflect the barbs and accusations that would surely come.


    In the distance, he could hear the sound of approaching horses. The vanguard of Robert Baratheon''s army, no doubt. Soon, he would have to face them, to explain his actions to the man who had rebelled against the very king Jaime had sworn to protect.


    Jaime straightened, squaring his shoulders. Let them come, he thought. Let them judge. A lion doesn''t concern himself with the opinions of the sheep. But as he turned away from the window, ready to face whatever came next, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered a truth he wasn''t yet ready to acknowledge:


    The sheep''s opinions might not matter to a lion, but their fear and distrust could wound even the proudest beast.


    With a deep breath, Jaime retrieved his white cloak from the chair. As he fastened it around his shoulders, he couldn''t help but notice the bloodstains that marred its pristine surface. Like the Iron Throne itself, forever stained by the blood of the king he had slain.


    The Kingslayer straightened his cloak and strode out of the room, ready to meet his fate. Whatever came next, he would face it as a Lannister. As a lion. As the man who had saved King''s Landing, even if the world would never know the full truth.


    Jaime Lannister had unwittingly become one of its most controversial players. Only time would tell if his actions would be remembered as a heroic sacrifice or the ultimate betrayal.


    The thunderous sound of hoofbeats echoed through the courtyard of the Red Keep, heralding the arrival of Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark. Jaime Lannister stood tall, his golden hair catching the sunlight, his white cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. His hand rested casually on the pommel of his sword, a picture of defiance etched in every line of his body.


    As the gates swung open, revealing the victorious rebel leaders, Jaime felt a surge of resolve course through him. He had saved this city, saved countless lives. He would not cower or beg forgiveness for doing what was right.


    Robert Baratheon rode in first, his massive war hammer strapped to his back, his black hair wild and unkempt. His blue eyes blazed with the fire of victory, but they hardened as they fell upon Jaime. Behind him rode Eddard Stark, his long face solemn and grave, grey eyes taking in the scene with quiet intensity.


    As they dismounted, Jaime stepped forward, his voice ringing clear across the courtyard. "Welcome to King''s Landing, my lords. I trust you''ll find the city intact, thanks to my efforts."


    Robert''s face contorted with rage, his hand instinctively moving towards his war hammer. "You insolent whelp!" he roared. "You dare stand there, proud as a peacock, after what you''ve done?"


    Ned placed a restraining hand on Robert''s arm, his eyes never leaving Jaime. "Ser Jaime," he said, his voice cold as a northern winter, "you stand accused of killing the king you swore to protect. What do you say to this charge?"


    Jaime let out a bark of laughter, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Accused? I freely admit it. I killed Aerys Targaryen. I drove my sword through his back and watched the life fade from his eyes. And I''d do it again in a heartbeat."


    A collective gasp went up from the gathered courtiers and soldiers. Even Robert seemed taken aback by Jaime''s brazen admission.


    "You admit to being a kingslayer, then?" Ned asked, his voice tight with barely contained anger.


    "I admit to being the man who saved this entire bloody city," Jaime shot back, his emerald eyes flashing. "While you were off playing at war, I was here, watching Aerys descend further into madness with each passing day. Did you know he had caches of wildfire hidden throughout King''s Landing? Did you know he planned to burn every man, woman, and child rather than yield the throne?"


    Robert and Ned exchanged a look of shock and disbelief. Jaime pressed on, his voice rising with each word.


    "I made a choice. The hardest damn choice of my life. Protect my king and let thousands burn, or save the city and become a kingslayer." He swept his arm out, gesturing to the bustling city beyond the keep''s walls. "Look around you. Every person you see walking those streets is alive because of me. So go ahead, judge me if you must. But ask yourselves this ¨C what would you have done in my place?"


    A heavy silence fell over the courtyard. Robert''s face was a storm of conflicting emotions ¨C anger, confusion, and a grudging respect. Ned, however, remained impassive, his grey eyes boring into Jaime.


    "You broke your sacred oath," Ned said finally, his voice low but carrying clearly in the silence.


    Jaime met his gaze unflinchingly. "Aye, I did. And I''d break a thousand oaths if it meant saving innocent lives. Tell me, Lord Stark, in your precious honor, would you have let the city burn to keep your vow?"


    Ned''s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Robert let out a booming laugh that startled everyone present.


    "Seven hells," the new king said, shaking his head. "You''ve got balls of steel, Kingslayer, I''ll give you that."


    "Robert," Ned began, a note of warning in his voice, but Robert waved him off.


    "No, Ned. I won''t say I like it, but the lad''s got a point. If what he says about the wildfire is true..." Robert trailed off, his eyes scanning the city beyond the keep.


    Jaime felt a flicker of hope, but he kept his face impassive. "I can show you the caches," he offered. "And there are pyromancers who can confirm Aerys'' plans."


    Robert nodded slowly, then turned to Ned. "We''ll look into this. If he''s telling the truth..."


    "Even if he is," Ned insisted, "it doesn''t change the fact that he broke his oath. There must be consequences."


    Jaime felt his temper flare again. "Consequences? I''ve already paid the price, Lord Stark. Every time someone whispers ''Kingslayer'' behind my back, every time I see the fear and disgust in people''s eyes. I''ll carry this burden for the rest of my life. But I''d rather be a living kingslayer than a dead knight who let a city burn."


    Robert looked between Jaime and Ned, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he sighed heavily. "We''ll investigate your claims, Lannister. If they prove true... well, we''ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, consider yourself under house arrest. You''ll not leave the Red Keep until we''ve sorted this mess out."


    Jaime bowed his head slightly, a mocking smile playing at his lips. "As you command, Your Grace. I''m sure I''ll find ways to occupy myself within these walls. Perhaps I''ll start writing my memoirs ¨C ''The Kingslayer''s Tale.'' It should make for quite the read."


    Robert snorted, a mix of amusement and annoyance crossing his face. "Watch yourself, Lannister. You''re on thin ice as it is."


    As Robert and Ned moved past him, heading into the keep to begin the process of claiming the throne, Jaime caught a glimpse of his father watching from a balcony above. Tywin''s face was impassive as ever, but there was a glint in his eye that might have been approval.


    Jaime stood alone in the courtyard, the weight of his actions settling around him like a cloak. He had chosen defiance, chosen to stand by his decision without apology. It was a path that would not be easy, he knew. But as he looked out over the city he had saved, he felt a fierce pride burning in his chest.


    Let them whisper. Let them judge. He was Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the man who had saved King''s Landing. And he would wear that title, for better or worse, for the rest of his days.


    As he turned to head back into the keep, Jaime allowed himself a small, grim smile. The game of thrones had only just begun, and he had already made his first bold move. Now it was time to see how the other players would respond.

 Kingslayer

    The Red Keep hummed with barely contained chaos in the days following Robert Baratheon''s arrival. Servants scurried through halls still bearing the scars of recent battle, while lords and ladies jockeyed for position in the new regime. Amidst it all, Jaime Lannister moved like a golden ghost, confined to the keep by Robert''s order but refusing to hide away in shame.


    It was in the gardens, a rare moment of solitude, that Jaime found himself confronted by the one person he both longed for and dreaded to face: Cersei.


    His twin''s emerald eyes, so like his own, burned with a mixture of fury, fear, and something deeper, more primal. "You magnificent fool," she hissed, her voice low but thrumming with intensity. "Do you have any idea what you''ve done?"


    Jaime met her gaze unflinchingly. "I saved the city. I saved you."


    Cersei''s laugh was as sharp as Valyrian steel. "Saved me? You''ve put us all at risk. Our secret, Jaime. What if they had executed you? What if they still do?"


    "They won''t," Jaime said, a hint of his trademark arrogance creeping into his voice. "They can''t. I''m the hero of King''s Landing now, whether they like it or not."


    For a moment, something flickered in Cersei''s eyes ¨C a hint of the pride she felt in her twin''s audacity. But it was quickly replaced by cold fury. "Hero? You''re the Kingslayer now. Do you think that makes you untouchable? It makes you a target."


    Jaime felt a familiar ache in his chest. He reached out to touch Cersei''s cheek, but she jerked away. "Cersei, please. Try to understand. I couldn''t let it happen. Not even for us."


    "Us?" Cersei''s voice dripped with venom. "There is no ''us'' anymore, Jaime. You made sure of that when you decided to play the hero. Do you think Robert will let his queen consort with the Kingslayer?"


    The title hit Jaime like a physical blow. "Is that all I am to you now? The Kingslayer?"


    Cersei''s face softened for a moment, and Jaime saw a glimmer of the love they had shared since childhood. But then her mask slipped back into place, tinged with a mixture of desire and disgust. "You''re my brother. My twin. My other half. But you''re also a liability now. And I won''t let your recklessness destroy everything we''ve worked for."


    With that, she turned to leave, but paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "You should have let the city burn," she whispered, her voice a mixture of regret and admiration. "It would have been glorious."


    With that, she turned and swept away, leaving Jaime alone with the scent of roses and the bitter taste of rejection.


    As he watched her go, a new voice piped up from behind a nearby hedge. "Well, that was suitably dramatic. I do so love our family reunions."


    Tyrion waddled into view, a goblet of wine in hand and a sardonic smile on his mismatched face. Jaime couldn''t help but feel a surge of affection for his little brother, even as he braced himself for more recriminations.


    "Come to heap more shame on the Kingslayer?" Jaime asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.


    Tyrion took a long sip of his wine before responding. "On the contrary, dear brother. I''ve come to offer my congratulations."


    Jaime blinked in surprise. "Congratulations?"


    "Indeed," Tyrion said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You''ve managed to scandalize the entire kingdom, enrage our sweet sister, and give Father the largest headache he''s had since I was born. It''s quite an accomplishment."


    Despite himself, Jaime felt a chuckle bubble up in his chest. "When you put it that way, it does sound rather impressive."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Tyrion raised his goblet in a mock toast. "To Jaime Lannister, savior of King''s Landing and bane of everyone''s existence!"


    As Jaime laughed, he felt some of the tension leave his body. Leave it to Tyrion to find humor in even the darkest situations.


    But his brother''s face grew serious as he set down his wine. "In all honesty, Jaime, what you did... it was brave. Foolish, perhaps, but brave."


    Jaime sighed, running a hand through his golden hair. "Brave or not, it''s done. Now I have to live with the consequences."


    Tyrion nodded sagely. "Ah yes, the consequences. I hear Robert and Ned Stark have been quite busy investigating your claims about the wildfire."


    Jaime''s head snapped up. "Have they found anything?"


    "Oh yes," Tyrion said, a grim smile playing at his lips. "They''ve uncovered caches all over the city. The pyromancers are singing like canaries, confirming everything you said about Aerys'' plans."


    A wave of relief washed over Jaime, quickly followed by a surge of anger. "Then why am I still confined to the keep? Why do people still look at me like I''m a monster?"


    Tyrion''s mismatched eyes were full of sympathy. "Because, dear brother, the truth is often less important than the story people want to believe. You broke your oath. You killed the king. For many, that''s all that matters."


    Jaime slumped onto a nearby bench, suddenly feeling the weight of his actions more keenly than ever. "So what do I do now? How do I... how do I live with this?"


    Tyrion hopped up beside him, patting his arm awkwardly. "You do what Lannisters have always done. You adapt. You endure. And you never forget what you are."


    "And what am I?" Jaime asked, his voice barely above a whisper.


    "You''re the Kingslayer," Tyrion said bluntly. "But you''re also the man who saved King''s Landing. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."


    As Jaime pondered his brother''s words, a commotion near the entrance to the gardens caught their attention. Robert Baratheon strode into view, his massive frame dominating the space. Behind him came Ned Stark, his face as solemn as ever, and to Jaime''s surprise, his father, Tywin Lannister.


    Jaime stood, squaring his shoulders and adopting the mask of arrogance he wore so well. "Your Grace," he said, his voice dripping with false deference. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"


    Robert''s face was a storm of conflicting emotions. "We''ve confirmed your story about the wildfire. Seven hells, there was enough of the stuff to turn the whole city into a pyre."


    Ned Stark stepped forward, his grey eyes cold. "It doesn''t change the fact that you broke your sworn oath, Ser Jaime. Such an act cannot go unpunished."


    Jaime felt his temper flare. "Punished? For saving half a million lives? Tell me, Lord Stark, in your infinite wisdom, what would you have done?"


    Before Ned could respond, Tywin''s voice cut through the tension like a Valyrian steel blade. "Enough. What''s done is done. The question now is how we move forward."


    All eyes turned to the Lord of Casterly Rock. Tywin''s face was impassive, but Jaime could see the calculations running behind those cold eyes.


    Robert ran a hand through his beard, clearly uncomfortable. "Aye, that''s the crux of it. We can''t ignore what he did, but we can''t exactly punish him for saving the city either."


    "A compromise, then," Tywin suggested smoothly. "Ser Jaime remains in the Kingsguard, but he is publicly censured for breaking his oath. A punishment that acknowledges his transgression while recognizing the... extenuating circumstances."


    Jaime felt a mixture of relief and resentment wash over him. It was better than he had hoped for, but the public censure would still sting.


    Robert looked to Ned, who nodded reluctantly. "It seems... fair," the Northerner admitted grudgingly.


    "Very well," Robert declared. "Ser Jaime Lannister, you are hereby publicly censured for breaking your sworn oath as a member of the Kingsguard. However, in light of the circumstances and your actions in saving King''s Landing, you will retain your white cloak and continue to serve as a sworn brother of the order. Let it be known that your actions, while in violation of your oath, saved King''s Landing from destruction."


    As the proclamation echoed through the garden, Jaime felt a strange sense of both victory and defeat. He had kept his cloak, but at what cost?


    Tywin approached his son, his voice low. "You''ve made your bed, Jaime. Now you must lie in it. But remember, you are still a Lannister. Act like one."


    With that, the Lord of Casterly Rock turned and strode away, leaving Jaime to face the mix of curiosity, fear, and resentment in the eyes of those around him.


    As the group dispersed, Tyrion sidled up to his brother once more. "Well, that went better than expected. Shall we celebrate your public shaming with more wine?"


    Jaime couldn''t help but laugh, even as he felt the weight of his new reality settling around him. "Why not? It seems I have a new title to drink to."


    As they made their way back into the keep, Jaime caught sight of Cersei watching from a balcony above. Her face was a mask of cold beauty, but he could see the calculations running behind her eyes. Whatever happened next, he knew their relationship would never be the same.


    The Kingslayer. The title rang in his ears with each step. It was a burden he would bear for the rest of his life. But as he walked beside his brother, Jaime made a silent vow. He would wear it like armor, just as Tyrion had suggested. He would make it his strength, not his weakness.

 The Lion and the Stag

    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 ¨C backed by Lannister gold ¨C 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 d¨¦j¨¤ 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 ¨C 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 ¨C when the time came, he would be ready.

 The Road to Winterfell

    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¡ªthe man who always placed the family''s interests above all else¡ªwho 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 ¨C the crowned stag of Baratheon, the golden lion of Lannister ¨C 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 ¨C a grey direwolf on an ice-white. North was waiting, and with it, the winds of change that threatened to engulf them all.

 Secret

    The gates of Winterfell loomed before them, ancient and imposing. As the royal procession passed beneath the granite archway, Ser Jaime Lannister observed the sea of faces in the courtyard beyond. Despite the North''s reputation for coldness towards southrons, the people of Winterfell stood respectfully, their curiosity and excitement barely contained beneath a veneer of Northern stoicism.


    At the head of the welcoming party stood Lord Eddard Stark, as solemn and unyielding as Jaime remembered. Beside him, his lady wife Catelyn, auburn hair blazing like fire against the drab backdrop of Winterfell''s grey stones. Their children were arrayed behind them ¨C the eldest boy, Robb, standing tall and proud; the girls, Sansa and Arya, as different as summer and winter; young Bran, eyes wide with excitement; and little Rickon, clutching at his mother''s skirts.


    As King Robert dismounted, his considerable bulk straining against his fine clothes, a hush fell over the courtyard. For a moment, the King and the Warden of the North simply looked at each other, years of shared history hanging in the air between them.


    Then Robert spoke, his voice gruff with emotion. "You''ve got fat."


    A heartbeat of silence, and then Ned raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at Robert''s own substantial girth. The two men burst into laughter, embracing like brothers long separated.


    "Nine years, Ned!" Robert boomed, clapping his old friend on the back. "Why haven''t I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"


    "Guarding the North for you, Your Grace," Ned replied, a rare smile softening his features. "Winterfell is yours."


    As the formal greetings commenced, Jaime helped Cersei from the wheelhouse, noting the carefully neutral expression on his sister''s face as she surveyed her surroundings. "So this is the great Winterfell," she murmured, for his ears alone. "It''s... impressive, in its own way."


    Jaime suppressed a smirk. "High praise indeed. Do try to remember that these ''savages'' are now our hosts."


    The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity ¨C unpacking, settling into guest chambers, and preparing for the great feast to be held that night. Throughout it all, Jaime kept a watchful eye on the interactions between the two families, noting the genuine warmth between Robert and Ned, the polite but reserved exchanges between Cersei and Catelyn Stark.


    As night fell, the great hall of Winterfell came alive with light, music, and the tantalizing aroma of a feast fit for a king. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and the sweet scent of summer wines.


    Jaime stood at his post, watching the revelry unfold before him. Robert sat at the high table, already deep in his cups, regaling Ned with tales of their youth. Cersei sat beside him, her smile fixed and brittle as she endured her husband''s increasing inebriation.


    At the high table, King Robert Baratheon sat in all his inebriated glory, his booming laughter echoing off the ancient stone walls. Beside him, Queen Cersei maintained a facade of regal composure, though Jaime could see the tightness around her eyes, the subtle clench of her jaw as she endured her husband''s increasing drunkenness.


    Jaime''s gaze swept across the hall, taking in the tableau before him. Ned Stark sat to the king''s right, his face a mask of polite attention as Robert regaled him with tales of their youth. The Stark children were scattered throughout the hall: Robb, the heir, was engaged in animated conversation with Theon Greyjoy and some of the younger knights; Sansa, the eldest girl, sat wide-eyed and enchanted by Prince Joffrey''s every word; Arya, the younger one, was flicking peas at her sister when the septa wasn''t looking.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    In a corner, Jaime spotted his brother Tyrion, deep in conversation with Jon Snow, Ned Stark''s bastard. The two outcasts seemed to have found common ground, their animated discussion a stark contrast to the bastard''s usual brooding demeanor.


    As the night wore on, the wine flowed freely, and inhibitions began to loosen. Robert''s laughter grew louder, his hands wandering to the serving girls with increasing boldness. Jaime watched as Cersei''s mask slipped for just a moment, a flash of disgust crossing her beautiful features before she schooled them back into neutrality.


    It was well past midnight when the feast finally began to wind down. Lords and ladies, knights and servants alike stumbled off to their beds, full of food and drink. Jaime, released from his duties for the night, found himself wandering the quiet corridors of Winterfell, his mind churning with thoughts of Cersei, of the precarious game they played.


    The following morning dawned bright and clear, a rarity in the often gloomy North. Jaime rose early, his body accustomed to the rigorous schedule of the Kingsguard. He broke his fast alone, savoring the quiet before the castle fully awoke.


    It was during a late morning patrol of the castle grounds that he encountered Cersei. She was walking in one of Winterfell''s many courtyards, ostensibly admiring the ancient architecture. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them.


    Later, when the castle was busy with the day''s activities ¨C Robert and Ned had gone hunting, taking many of the household with them ¨C Jaime made his way to the abandoned tower they had discovered days earlier. Cersei was already there, her golden hair catching the sunlight that streamed through the high windows.


    "I was beginning to think you wouldn''t come," she said, a hint of challenge in her voice.


    Jaime crossed the room in three quick strides, pulling her into his arms. "As if I could stay away," he murmured against her hair.


    For a time, the world fell away. There was only Cersei ¨C her touch, her scent, the soft sounds she made as they came together. In these moments, Jaime could almost forget the complexities of their lives, the constant danger they faced.


    But reality had a way of intruding, even in their most private moments.


    A scuffling sound from the window broke through their passion-induced haze. Jaime turned, his warrior''s instincts on high alert, to see a small figure clinging to the windowsill. Young Bran Stark stared at them with wide, shocked eyes, his mouth opening in a silent gasp of surprise.


    Time seemed to slow. Jaime felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the potential consequences of discovery unfolding in his mind like a terrible tapestry. He heard Cersei''s panicked whisper behind him, felt the familiar surge of protective instinct that had always driven him when it came to his sister.


    He studied the boy''s face, seeing the confusion and dawning horror in those young eyes. Bran Stark, the second son, the climber. Jaime had heard tales of the boy''s penchant for scaling Winterfell''s towers. It seemed those tales had not been exaggerated.


    In that moment, Jaime saw their carefully constructed world teetering on the edge of ruin. If the boy spoke of what he had seen, it would mean death ¨C not just for Jaime and Cersei, but for their children as well. Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen... innocent of everything except the circumstances of their birth.


    Jaime moved towards the window, his mind racing. He could try to swear the boy to secrecy, but could a child of that age truly be trusted with such a monumental secret? He could threaten him, but that might only serve to ensure the boy spoke out of fear or defiance.


    No, there was only one way to ensure their safety. One terrible, necessary act.


    "The things I do for love," Jaime murmured, almost to himself. The words felt heavy on his tongue, a justification and a condemnation all at once.


    And then he pushed.


    He watched as Bran Stark fell, his small body twisting in the air, a cry of surprise and fear torn from his lips. The sound seemed to echo in the stillness of the tower, a haunting note that Jaime knew would stay with him for years to come.


    As the boy disappeared from view, Jaime turned back to Cersei. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and relief. "It''s done," he said simply. "We''re safe."


    Cersei nodded, her composure returning with each passing moment. "No one will ever know," she said, her voice steady and cold.


    As they held each other in the silence of the tower, Jaime pushed away any flicker of doubt or remorse. He had made his choice, as he always had, putting Cersei above all else. Whatever came next, he would face it without regret.


    The day continued on, the inhabitants of Winterfell oblivious to the tragedy that had just occurred.

 Aftermath

    The news of young Bran Stark''s fall spread through Winterfell like a winter chill, seeping into every corner of the ancient castle. Ser Jaime Lannister stood in the courtyard, his face a mask of practiced concern as he watched the frantic activity around him. Servants rushed to and fro, carrying linens and hot water to the boy''s chambers. Maester Luwin hurried past, his chain clinking softly, his aged face creased with worry.


    In the days that followed, the castle seemed to hold its breath. The joy and excitement of the royal visit had vanished, replaced by a heavy pall of grief and anxiety. Jaime observed it all with a detached interest, noting the way the household seemed to orbit around the tower where Bran lay unconscious.


    He saw Lady Catelyn Stark, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow, emerge briefly from her vigil only to snap at a servant for some perceived slight before retreating back to her son''s bedside. Lord Eddard Stark moved through the castle like a ghost, his face drawn and haggard, the weight of his son''s fate visibly pressing down on his shoulders.


    The Stark children, too, were changed. Robb, the heir, tried to step into his father''s role, issuing commands with a voice that occasionally cracked with emotion. The younger girl, Arya, was often found in the godswood, attacking trees with a stick as if they were responsible for her brother''s fall. Sansa, the eldest girl, sought solace in prayer, spending hours in the castle''s sept.


    One evening, as Jaime patrolled the grounds, he came across Jon Snow, Ned Stark''s bastard, sitting alone by the heart tree in the godswood. The boy''s direwolf, Ghost, lay at his feet, its red eyes gleaming in the twilight.


    "A bit late for prayer, isn''t it?" Jaime called out, his voice cutting through the eerie silence of the wood.


    Jon started, turning to face him. "I wasn''t praying, Ser," he replied, his voice carefully neutral. "Just... thinking."


    Jaime raised an eyebrow. "About your brother, no doubt. A tragic business."


    Something flickered in Jon''s dark eyes ¨C suspicion, perhaps, or a wisdom beyond his years. "Yes," he said slowly. "Tragic."


    The boy''s gaze was unsettling, and Jaime found himself wanting to be anywhere else. With a curt nod, he continued on his way, pushing down the unfamiliar feeling of discomfort that had settled in his chest.


    As the days wore on and Bran showed no signs of waking, discussions began about the royal party''s departure. Jaime overheard heated arguments between Robert and Ned, the king insisting they couldn''t delay any longer, Ned torn between his duty to his friend and his vigil for his son.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    It was during one of these discussions that the subject of the Stark children came up. Jaime, standing guard outside the room where Robert and Ned were closeted, couldn''t help but listen in.


    "The girls should still come south," Robert was saying, his voice gruff with sympathy and impatience. "It''ll do them good to get away from all this gloom. And that boy of yours, Robb, he could do with some time at court."


    There was a long pause before Ned replied, his voice heavy with resignation. "Aye, perhaps you''re right about the girls. Sansa''s betrothal to Joffrey should go ahead as planned. And Arya... well, some time in the capital might do her good. But Robb must stay. He''ll be acting Lord of Winterfell in my absence."


    Jaime mulled over this information as he continued his rounds. The thought of the Stark children in King''s Landing was... intriguing. Sansa, with her head full of songs and stories, would be easy prey for the vipers at court. Arya, wild and untamed, would likely cause no end of trouble. And if Robb had come... well, that might have been interesting indeed.


    On the morning of their departure, Jaime stood in the courtyard once more, watching as the royal party made ready to leave. He saw Ned Stark embracing his daughters, his face a mixture of worry and resolve. Sansa''s eyes were bright with excitement despite the circumstances, while Arya looked as if she might bolt at any moment.


    "A shame about the Stark boy," came a gruff voice. Jaime turned to see King Robert, already half in his cups despite the early hour. "Ned''s taking it hard."


    "As any father would, Your Grace," Jaime replied carefully.


    Robert grunted, taking a long pull from his wineskin. "Aye. Makes a man think about his own children. About legacy." His bleary eyes focused on Jaime with surprising intensity. "You ever think about that, Kingslayer? About what you''ll leave behind?"


    For a moment, Jaime was at a loss for words. He thought of Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen ¨C his children in truth, though the world would never know. He thought of the white cloak on his shoulders, of the vows he had broken and would break again. What legacy indeed?


    "I try not to dwell on such things, Your Grace," he said finally. "The future is... uncertain."


    As the king stumbled away, Jaime''s eyes found Cersei. She stood by her wheelhouse, every inch the regal queen preparing to depart. Their eyes met across the courtyard, and in that moment, Jaime knew that whatever came next, they would face it together.


    The horns sounded, signaling the start of their journey south. As they rode out of Winterfell''s gates, Jaime found himself looking back at the ancient castle. He saw Robb Stark standing on the battlements, looking every inch the young lord, with his direwolf by his side. Below, in the courtyard, he caught a glimpse of the bastard, Jon Snow, watching their departure with those unsettling dark eyes.


    And high above, from the window of the tower where Bran Stark lay unconscious, Jaime thought he saw a flash of red hair ¨C Lady Catelyn, still keeping her vigil, oblivious to the world moving on around her.


    As Winterfell receded behind them, Jaime couldn''t shake the feeling that they were leaving more than just a castle behind. Something had changed, some invisible line had been crossed. The long summer was ending, and the winds of winter were beginning to blow.