Chapter Text
Beautiful art work done by: Ro Nordmann
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This was the end. He was trapped like a mouse. The screaming outside made his blood run cold in his veins. Jaime felt the stones fall around him and held his sister tighter. Out of all the ways he thought about dying, death by stoning wasn't even on the list. He always envisioned himself in battle with a sword in his hand and honor on his side. He should have known that wasn't going to be how it played out. Cersei buried her face in his chest, hunching her body and using him as a last shield against the falling debris. He let her. This was her doing. The dye was cast when she refused to think of anyone but herself. He was just a pawn. A fool at her court. Jaime felt the first really heavy chunks of the stone work hit his back, breaking bones and he lets out a grunt of pain.
It won't be long now. The bitter taste of bile rose in his throat. This wasn't how he wanted to die he thought again. Cersei whimpered and he lifted his head from her shoulder. She pleaded with him to save her. He never could. Another failure. He couldn't save anyone. You saved Brienne, the small voice inside his head reminded him. You also destroyed her.
“Look at me,” he rubbed the dirt from Cersei's face. “We're the only ones that matter. Keep your eyes on mine.”
She nodded, stepping from his arms just far enough. The boulder hit the top of her head, cracking her skull like a rippened watermelon, blood coated her face. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed in his arms. The next large one hit his shoulder. His arm went numb and he almost dropped Cersei to the ground. The next group fell harder and faster and he felt the weight of each one until he was getting buried by them. He watched with resignation as his sister took her last breath, a chunk of pillar crumbled down and crushed her first. He should have been crying, but his eyes were bone dry.
He had nothing left to give.
As the last of the Red Keep fell, he closed his eyes and saw deep, blue.
This wasn't how he wanted to die...
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Jaime Lannister was being judged. He was always being judged but this time his fate fell to the seven Gods. He was kneeling on the ground, his wrists chained, his hands clasped together before the dais which held seven shadowy figures seated and eyeing him. He looked down at the chains, they glowed bright gold, each link another deed he had to atone for. He could see images floating around the golden hue. Bran pushed from the window in one. Cersei and he locked in an embrace while she let the city burn. Brienne's broken, sobbing form in another.
He stopped looking. He didn't want to see what other moments were captured in them. He knew he wasn't a good man. He tilted his head back up and tried to make out the features of each one of the Gods he was taught to pray to as a child. Jaime couldn't see anything clearly, the aura around them was too bright. There faces blurred with only the hint of definition. He was starting to get anxious. The silence was unbearable, but his sharp tongue was heavy in his mouth and he couldn't seem to speak. So the quiet continued to build.
Finally the first God stood. He was tall and almost regal. His clothes were gold and white and shimmered as he walked to the where Jaime was kneeling. The Father, that's who this one was, stopped and then spoke. His voice was rough but not harsh, “You are not mine.” He said. “You have fathered three children,” Four Jaime thought. “No, Jaime Lannister, only three.” Jaime's head snapped up. Had he spoken outloud? “No need to speak your thoughts out loud. We can hear everything. We can see everything.”
Well then, he didn't know what he was doing, challenging the Gods, but he never was the brightest... “Cersei was pregnant.”
“She was not,” another God spoke. A woman. The Mother. Her voice was stern but kind. “She was not. The mind can play tricks when the heart wants so badly to believe.”
Jaime honestly doesn't know if he is relieved or devastated by that. Cersei wasn't pregnant. Everything they did, everything she did was for a false truth. The Father continued as if he was never interrupted.
“You are not mine. You fathered three children but were never a true father to any. Justice never came from your hand when they needed it. I do not claim your soul.” He moved to the side and the Mother stepped forward.
“You are not mine,” she waved her hand and the dress of silk she wore floated around her wrist. “You showed mercy rarely. You hurt my children too easily and with great malice.” She wrapped her hand around the arm of the Father. “I do not claim your soul.”
Together they walked out of the room, a mist the only thing left behind. The next to rise is the Smith. He held a large hammer in one hand and he walked with a heaviness the Father and Mother did not. He stood before Jaime, “You are not mine,” his voice hard like steel that's been tempered and formed. “You have broken many things. Young boys and oaths. You have not mended any of which you have destroyed.” He took another step down toward Jaime. “I do not claim your soul.”
The Smith walked past him and away. Jaime could feel the weight of his chains increasing with each refusal. Did he really believe he would be welcomed in the heavens? He, who raged and defied the very Gods that were judging him, really believed he would end up anywhere but in the seven hells?
The next to lift from their seat was the Maiden. She was small with long hair that bounced on her shoulders as she walked gracefully toward him. Her hands clasped in front of her and she smiled at him.
“You are not mine,” her voice was musical and light. “You have protected the innocent while also killing innocence in others. I have seen you tear apart kind hearts for your own selfishness. And when you were given a chance to finally be altruistic you chose the wrong path. The dark path your sister created. For this I can not accept you. I do not claim your soul.”
The young looking God exited to the right of him, the scent of daisies following her. He can't say he is shocked. The Maiden was too pure for him. Like Brienne. She was too pure for him so he had to dirty her soul to make it worthy of him. Why haven't they sent him to the rings of the hells yet?
The Crone stood next. She carried a lamp in her left hand, her body hunched but still seemingly strong. She stopped at the top step, “You are not mine,” her voice soft and ancient sounding. “You have been given wisdom and have ignored it in the favor of one that was never meant for you. Accepted death for another unworthy and stupider than you. You, Jaime Lannister, have taken truth and believed the lies instead. I can not accept a soul so blind. I do not claim you.”
She descended down the steps past him slowly then she was gone. That left the two he had always expected he would face. The Stranger floated above the ground. He extended his bony finger and pointed at Jaime. The space were his mouth should be was a gaping hole of blackness. A screeching, piercing sound escaped, making Jaime wince. He knew if the Warrior, the one God he looked to the most, didn't take him, the Stranger would drag him down to the pits. He deserved nothing more than that, but hoped... maybe.
Briefly his thoughts went to his sister. Where did she go? Who took her? He was afraid of the answer. For all the things he did wrong in his life, he had some balance- Cersei did not. She did what she did for herself and by extension her kids. But it was always her first, he was never blind to that, he always knew her as Tyrion had told him in Winterfell.
The Stranger moved across the floor, cold air following him. He would have shivered at the chill if his wrists hadn't been bound by his actions. Finally the Warrior stood. His armor silver and pristine. A long sword rested against his hip, a pale blue cloak floated behind him. The God stood strong in front of Jaime. Jaime lifted his eyes to meet his fate.
“You are mine,” the Warrior said. The voice was one of a general commanding his troops into battle. Jaime felt relief flood through him. He would be taken, he would not be cast out. “But it is not your time to reside at my side. You were not meant to die as the Crone said. Your sister was meant to die, you were meant for more. I will accept your soul as it is mine to take, but not now. You must right the wrong. You are to be sent back. This is your chance to be the man that I helped create and you carelessly destroyed for someone that deserved much worse than what we gave her.”
Jaime felt sick, “Cersei wasn't always like that.” He defended because he has always defended her. It was what he did. “She was just broken by the loss of her children. Of our children.”
“You are a soldier, Jaime,” The Warrior said with authority that booked no argument. “Mothers lose children all the time in much worse ways and ever become the heartless woman Cersei of House Lannister did. Your sister was rotten at birth and the blackness only got more extreme with age. You are not her.” 'You're not your sister. You're not. her voice. Brienne. Gods. “My other child was right. You should have listened to her.”
“I wanted to,” Jaime bent his head. “Cersei was...”
“A disease,” the God boomed at him. “But I will give you another chance to change your fate. If you end up here before your time again, I will not accept your soul and you will be cast into the hells that await the unworthy. Choose your path wisely, Jaime of House Lannister.”
Swiftly the Warrior picked up his sword and swung at Jaime. He flinched and then the world went white.
<<>><<>>
Jaime woke with a jolt. His heart was pounding in his chest. His stomach clenched painfully from hunger and thirst and with what had just happened. The Gods had given him another chance. He lifted his hands to find them chained still. He looked around him, trying to pinpoint where he was. A dungeon. Robb Stark's dungeon, which meant...
The cell door opened and there stood Catelyn Stark in all her living glory and right behind her was the tallest woman he had ever known. Brienne.