Chapter Text
Jaime knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, but his mother’s screams drew him towards her bedchamber. Staff moved quickly from the room and nearly knocked Jaime to the floor as they passed. The scenery was a blur, and the smell of something metallic permeated from the linens they bunched in their arms.
Shouts from inside, encouraged Jaime’s feet forward. The scene that played out before him was one that would remain seared into his brain for the rest of his days. Blood saturated the silks and pooled on the floor as the maester and midwife worked frantically near his mother’s legs.
On her chest, Joanna held a small babe that cried and squirmed. The babe’s limbs stretched in every direction they could reach, and tiny hands clawed desperately at something to latch onto. When Joanna’s hazy eyes landed on Jaime, she smiled, but struggled to speak.
“Jaime…”
At Joanna’s call, the maester and midwife turned towards the door and scolded Jaime to step outside, but their lady overruled them. “No. Jaime, come here.”
“My lady, please. I wouldn’t recommend…” The maester spoke imploringly, but Joanna shook her head with great effort.
“He stays.” At his mother’s words, Jaime stepped forward slowly. His eyes never left Joanna or the babe at her chest. Joanna’s skin looked as pale as her face. Sweat lined her brow, and distant eyes searched his own.
Coming to a stop beside the bed, Jaime felt his mother’s palm press flat to his cheek. “My boy. My little knight. Protect your siblings, will you? Knights protect the innocent.”
Jaime’s brows furrowed and he reached out to touch the babe’s head. It was covered in blood and something that smelled slightly sweet. “Won’t you do that, mother?”
The smile on Joanna’s face was the last he would see at her lips. It was both tender and sorrowful. “Always. Even if you can’t see me, you can feel me. Right here…” Joanna’s hand slipped down Jaime’s face to his chest. Her finger tapped lightly against his breastbone before moving to cover Jaime’s hand with her own.
“His name is Tyrion. You can hold him.”
Jaime was seven and had never held a babe before, but this wasn’t just any babe. This was his little brother, and his mother had charged Jaime to keep little Tyrion safe. Reaching out, Joanna helped Jaime support Tyrion properly. When Tyrion was in his arms, Jaime smiled down at the babe. The newborn calmed in Jaime’s arms and stared up at him with mismatched eyes. Jaime’s arms were strong for a boy of seven, but not so strong as his father. As Jaime stared at his brother in wonder, his eyes sparkled like a pair of emeralds catching the sun.
“I’ll take care of you, little brother. I’m to be a great knight someday, and I’ll teach you the sword. I’ll teach you to climb and ride. We’ll have great fun with Cersei too.” Glancing up at his mother with a wide smile on his face, Jaime’s mirth faded. Dead eyes stared back at him, and her chest was still.
From the edge of the birthing bed, the maester cursed and screamed for the midwife to remove Jaime from the room. A pair of hands guided Jaime from the bedchamber and attempted to take Tyrion, but Jaime clung tightly and cried. “No! Fix my mother. Please! Help her!”
The midwife screamed for the Septa and crouched before Jaime. “I need your little brother, Lord Jaime. You’ll see him soon, but the wetnurse and Septa will keep him safe.”
No. I’m meant to keep him safe.
Jaime’s eyes filled with tears as staff moved quickly in each direction. From down the hallway, Septa Mallayne approached and took Tyrion from Jaime’s arms. The newborn began to cry once more, and Jaime reached out.
With a firm hand to Jaime’s back, the Septa urged Jaime away from the bedchamber. Tears left wet steaks down his cheeks as he turned to see the flurry of activity coming and going from his mother’s room. The Keep felt darker and colder that day, and the light never shone as brilliantly as the years when Joanna was alive.
The year was 276ac, and the crown had come to the West. Tywin Lannister was holding a tourney in honor of Prince Viserys’ brith that same year. If Aunt Genna’s ranting was to be believed, Tywin should not have bothered, and the king had expressed no intent to travel. Surprisingly, the king relented, though he would not bring the entire royal family. Jaime had wondered if the young prince and queen would attend, but Genna only laughed and ruffled his hair.
“Gods, no. A woman needs time to recover from the birthing bed, and a babe that young should not travel. I’m quite surprised the king is bothering to make an appearance given the strain between him and your father, but you dare not repeat a word of that! Do you understand?”
Jaime nodded affirmatively and returned his attention to the view from his balcony overlooking Lannisport. In the distance, stands had been erected for spectators to catch a glimpse of the great knights, king, and Lord Hand. For a week, renowned knights had begun to arrive in the West, and Jaime’s body was shaking with excitement.
Turning to face his aunt once more, Jaime’s brows furrowed. “Do you truly think the king will let me squire for the prince?”
It had been Tywin’s aim to accomplish two things that week. He wished for Jaime to squire for the newly knighted Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and he hoped to broker a marriage alliance between Cersei and that same prince. The prospect was exciting to Jaime, but not so exciting as squiring for a great knight like the Blackfish, the White Bull, or Ser Barristan the Bold.
Of all the knights that Jaime was familiar with, those living legends reflected what Jaime aspired to be. Tales of their prowess in battle had been sung at the Rock for years, and Jaime hoped to catch a glimpse of them during the tourney.
There was another knight, a younger knight, that everyone in Lannisport whispered of. The name ‘Ser Arthur Dayne’ had begun to circulate amongst the people of Lannisport, and if the rumors were to be believed, he was a true prodigy; perhaps the greatest of them all. With a heavy sigh, Genna continued with her needlework. “Knowing your father as I do, he’ll get his way eventually.”
Jaime hoped his aunt had the right of it where it concerned his future, but something in his father’s plans for Cersei caused a pang of jealousy to stir deep within. It struck Jaime that Cersei would no longer be his . For years, Cersei impressed upon Jaime the importance of their being together. They were one person in two bodies; two halves of a whole. When their mother died, Cersei was all that Jaime had to help him cope with the loss. Tyrion was just a babe, and their father grew distant and cold. While Genna tried to take on the role of mother, she was overwhelmed with the responsibilities placed upon her by Tywin.
It was under Cersei’s guidance that Jaime acted in all things, though some interests he pursued despite her. Jaime enjoyed horseback riding and the sword; two activities that Cersei cared little for. A knock at the door cut through Jaime’s thoughts. Without looking up from her needlework, Genna called for entry.
Emmon Frey stepped into the room looking pathetic as ever. The man was the second eldest son of Walder Frey, and he appeared as meek and craven as the rest of his kin. When Joanna died, her children and husband were not the only people impacted. Tywin demanded that Genna help with the raising of his children so that he could concentrate on his duties as Hand.
While the children had the Septa and maester to educate them, Tywin felt that a Lannister should be raised by a Lannister. No other person was so uniquely qualified to raise a young lion to greatness than Tywin’s sister. Jaime felt badly for his aunt, as it was clear that she longed for a babe of her own. Moon tea was poured into her teacup every morning by castle staff; an apology at their lips. “Sorry, m’lady. Lord Tywin’s orders.”
Genna had grumbled, but that year would be a year of change. If Tywin had his way, the twins would be brought to the city where Jaime would squire for the prince, and Cersei would be introduced to the realm as the prince’s betrothed. Genna would be given her freedom to have her own babe, as it was clear Tywin cared little for Tyrion’s upbringing.
At the thought of Tyrion, Jaime pushed away from the balcony’s ledge and ran to his aunt. Emmon was muttering some complaint as he often did, but Jaime stepped between the couple. “Aunt Genna, I’m going to see Tyrion.”
Without awaiting her consent, Jaime ran from the room and towards Tyrion’s bedchamber. The brothers were afforded rooms near one another, though Jaime felt bitterness at the forced distance from Cersei. He struggled to understand why his bond with Cersei was so wrong. They were twins, but more importantly, they were meant to be together.
Arriving at Tyrion’s room, Jaime burst inside. The young boy was enduring another lesson from the maester, and he beamed at Jaime’s arrival. Stubby legs carried Tyrion to Jaime, and shorter than average arms wrapped around Jaime’s legs. “Jaime! Can you play with me?”
Crouching before his little brother, Jaime grabbed the young boy’s shoulders. “Of course. I’m going to take you to see the tourney grounds. The stands are raised, and the royal escort should arrive on the morrow!”
Tyrion’s eyes went wide and he clapped excitedly, but the maester stood and looked down at them with displeased eyes. “Lord Jaime, your brother requires his lesson, as do you. I highly doubt that Lady Genna has allowed this behavior, and…”
“I’ll be taking them to the city.” Uncle Gerion’s voice filled the room. Turning to see his uncle’s knowing smile and the mischievous glint in his eyes, Jaime smirked before standing to full height and grabbing Tyrion’s hand.
With little option but to relent, the maester bowed his head. “Of course, Ser Gerion. I’ll renew lessons with the young lords on the morrow.”
Reaching down to lift young Tyrion, Gerion smiled and grabbed Jaime by the nape of the neck. “Off we go then boys. Lets go see what all the fuss is about.”
It would be another three days before Jaime truly saw what the city was going mad about. He watched from the edge of his seat as knights pummeled one another in the melee, or shoved a lance into their competitors neck or chest in the joust. To Jaime’s dismay, neither the Blackfish nor Barristan the Bold were in attendance; the latter having been left behind to guard the queen and her newborn babe.
Despite that, Jaime’s eyes followed the movements of Ser Arthur Dayne in the joust. He rode like a man possessed and felled competitors with ease. The hilt of his sword caught the sun’s rays, and called to Jaime as a siren might. With a thirst for all things knighthood, Jaime sought out tales of the young Dornish knight. Many spoke of Ser Arthur’s ancestral sword, Dawn , and how he had been named the Sword of the Morning.
At night when the tourney events concluded each day, Jaime would sneak down to the city from the Keep to try and catch a glimpse of the knights; particularly Ser Arthur. Cloaked in darkness and attired in clothing befitting a commoner, Jaime had spent the evenings moving silently throughout the city. He had seen many knights competing in the tourney, but he had yet to meet Ser Arthur.
Now as he sat in the stands, Jaime watched as the joust entered the final rounds. In the last tilt, it was Prince Rheagar against Ser Arthur Dayne, and Jaime thought that he might combust from the excitement of it all. Had his father not been sitting at his back, Jaime considered that he would have raced up and down the platform to follow the riders as they clashed together.
When Arthur’s lance aimed true on the second pass, Jaime’s eyes went wide. The young knight from Dorne had unhorsed the prince, but both competitors seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was no irritation on the prince’s part, and Jaime wondered if the two were friends. To Jaime, the thought that he might squire for the prince and meet Ser Arthur by consequence was exhilarating, though it would never come to pass.
The king departed the following day, and Tywin had raged. Aerys’ words at the prior night’s feast echoed in Jaime’s mind. ‘You are my most able servant, Tywin, but a man does not marry his heir to his servant's daughter.’
Of course, the king’s words had not been the only unsettling event at the Rock. Cersei’s dearest friend, Melara Hetherspoon, had gone missing following the tourney’s conclusion. Despite Jaime’s concern for the young girl, Tywin had been fixated on the slight to his children.
Standing outside the study with his ear pressed to the door, Jaime listened as his father ranted. “First he refuses to take Jaime as Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and then he insults me by refusing a match between Cersei and his son.”
Through his indignant words, Genna had tried to calm Tywin. “We’ll find another worthy knight for Jaime to squire for. Perhaps someone here in the West where I can better monitor him. Cersei is but a girl, Tywin. Perhaps when Rhaegar sees her grown in a few years, he’ll change his mind.”
“A few years, Genna? Don’t be a fool. The king will wish to marry Rheagar off sooner than that. I am working to build a legacy for our House; a House sullied by our father’s weakness. Yet here you sit despairing over monitoring Jaime in the West?” Tywin’s tone dripped with disgust, and Jaime pressed his ear closer to the door and awaited Genna’s reply.
“I am no fool and our father was not weak. He may not have possessed the mind for politics as you do, but he was a good man. A decent man.”
Even without seeing his father’s face, Jaime could hear the sneer. “Our House became little more than a great jape because of our father’s failings. I’ve worked tirelessly to restore our name, and I’ll not have the king mock me openly and reduce my House to a jape as father nearly made it.”
With a heavy sigh from his aunt, Jaime heard the sound of a chair pushing backwards. “If you wish to ensure our good name is not mocked, find a way to release me from this awful marriage.”
A loud huff pushed past Tywin’s lips and his footsteps filled the air before his words carried to the door. “And here you were just defending our father, yet you beg me to release you from the unworthy match he made. No. You’ll not embarrass our House by seeking annulment on grounds of your husband being pathetic. Go make your babes with Emmon and find pleasure in the raising of them. Perhaps then you’ll stop coddling Jaime.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Jaime jumped backwards and moved quickly towards an alcove. The door to the study swung open as he stood in the shadows and watched his aunt storm by. Rage cascaded off her body and pushed Jaime backwards against the wall. As his eyes followed her pathway, Jaime took a steadying breath.
He would not get to squire for the prince nor meet his idols, but he would become a knight. Jaime was a protector above all other things, and he would honor his mother’s wishes to watch over their family. It was clear that Tywin had his own agenda, and everything would fall on Jaime to ensure his siblings were well-protected.