𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿𝑽𝑰𝑰𝑰

꧁CHAPTER XVIII꧂
꧁300 AFTER CONQUEST꧂

꧁JAIME꧂

The siege which greeted him had to have been the most pathetic thing he had witnessed in his life. Perhaps only my sword skills could be worse, he thought to himself, but even that would be a stretch now as he had taken to practicing every chance he could. He rarely cared now if others saw him duel or fight. Let them, Jaime thought. Let them see me trying.

The morning air was cool. Summer was surely over, it seemed. One could travel north only a few miles and find the late summer snows settling on the ground already. The ground wasn't quite yet frozen, but it made it more difficult to dig trenches. The past few nights Jaime found himself digging trenches alongside the lowest of the ranks in the Lannister army, being able to do scarce little due to a lack of multiple hands. But the fact he was there spoke volumes to his men under his command.

The Freys, it seemed, had been less pleased with his arrival and taking of command. Black Walder, the cunt, openly spoke against Jaime multiple times every time there was a council, and every time Jaime told him to piss off. The night prior the Frey idiot was threatening to kill the Lord Edmure Tully again, trying to goad the Blackfish into doing something stupid. Jaime and everyone else knew that doing anything like that would be counterproductive, meaningless in its stupid attempt. After a few hours of doing such, Black Walder came to the same conclusion, retiring for the night to his tent after receiving a scolding from his brothers.

"A good morning, my Lord."

Glancing beside him, the squire he had been provided spoke. The lad was young, barely sixteen or seventeen, he had forgotten to ask. In a way, Jaime saw himself in the lad, at least a younger version of who he once was. That kid is gone, Jaime told himself. He's gone..

"Aye."

"Do you suppose today will be the day, my Lord?"

His squire asked hopeful, and Jaime smiled, shaking his head.

"Sieges can last years, lad. They're rather dull affairs."

"But you were there at the Siege of Pyke! What an exciting tale that is. It must've been exciting!"

Jaime laughed at the young man's excitement, now surely seeing himself in the kid's eyes.

"Aye, it certainly was something. You must have heard all the stories, hm?"

"Of course, my Lord. Thoros of Myr, the first through the breech with his flaming sword, King Robert smashing Greyjoys with his warhammer, Ned Stark with Ice.."

The squire's words fell short at the mention of the last name, the Quiet Wolf. Jaime frowned at the mention, but he was not upset.

"Apologies, my—"

"The Lord Eddard Stark fought well there, I recall. At one point, we fought back to back, could you believe that?"

"It's hard to picture, my Lord, if you don't mind my saying."

"I don't mind."

The memory was clear in his mind. The rain was coming down in one of the courtyards, and Jaime was full of pride and youth, but also a malice and need to prove himself. To him, the Quiet Wolf spoke only judgement on him. To Jaime, Ned Stark did him wrong, not only by judging him "Kingslayer" without further inquiry of what really happened, but by slaying his sworn brothers. Brothers he had forsaken.