章節 35: King's Arrival
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Jaime Lannister
I hate this Job, he thought; his head felt heavy like it would fall from his shoulders, his hands had been holding the reins for so long that they had gone limp, the sun was high in the sky, sweat rolling down his cheeks, his armor felt heavy after riding for hours non-stop. For some reason, Robert wanted to arrive in Highgarden as soon as possible. Last night they had rested at one of the many castles of The Reach. Jaime didn't bother remembering their names; he could hardly remember what happened there; it had gone by so fast that by the time he had woken up, Jaime was preparing his horse to ride ahead in the company of Ser Barristan, the only Kingsguard who was worth a damn.
As they rode ahead, the king's party was behind him, almost looking like a small army. The road was a little rough, but they could clearly see the road in the ground. Jaime looked over his shoulder; he could see the small glimpses Cersei was sending Lancel; the young lad seemed to shrink from her gaze instead of returning it with lust or a smile. He looked...scared! What Jaime saw almost made him vomit the breakfast right there. Barristan seemed to have noticed it as well, but so did Arys Oakheart, a knight from the Reach.
Arys is a handsome man with light-brown hair and a comely face. Arys owns a tunic decorated with the golden oak tree of House Oakheart, and his Kingsguard armor has white-enameled scales. Arys owns three white cloaks—light wool, heavy wool, and silk—which he pins with the golden leaf of his house.
This made Jaime frown and feel a little anxious. He didn't really care about his sister anymore; every bit of love he had held for her fell apart the night she ordered him to guard her door as she fucked their uncle. Jaime neither cared for her little demon that she called Joffrey. The Kingslayer glanced at the open window of the carriage that allowed him to see his young niece and the youngest nephew.
Jaime had seen Cersei get more careless the more years pass; now she wasn't really trying anymore to hide that she was sleeping with someone else, not the King. Arys had once looked at Joffrey in the capital with disgust before murmuring something under his breath, Jaime didn't know what he had said, but whatever it had been, the way his mouth had twitched, it wasn't a word one would use towards the Prince of The Realm.
The same night, Jaime had gone to Cersei's chambers; his sister had thought he was there to share the bed, to become one again; the Kingslayer had done none of that, instead...
"What do you think you're doing, winking at Arys in front of some many people?" Jaime almost shouted at her, his voice roaring; he couldn't believe his sister was so careless, publicly flirting with a kingsguard. His sister was lying on her bed, as naked as the day she was born, a blanket decorated with the lions of House Lannister was the only thing hiding her naked beauty, any other time, Jaime would have gone hard at the sight, but now, he felt almost disgusted.
Cersei's eyes quickly changed from seduction to rage, her green eyes almost like Wildfire.
Burn them All, Jaime remembered looking at his sister's eyes.
"Who do you think you are, brother? I'm the Queen. I can do whatever I want," she asked with authority, standing up from her bed, making her way to him, getting a bit too close, her blanket slipping, and the moonlight entering through the window made her body shine.
"No, Cersei, you can't, and if you're not careful, the wrong people might find out. Robert might be a drunken fool, but you know your children will be butchered. Do you think he will show mercy?" Jaime asked with a sneer; he remembered her calling Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon dragonspawns right in front of his face.
Cersei clenched her teeth tightly; Jaime could almost hear the teeth grinding against each other as if they would suddenly shatter. "Robert is surrounded by men loyal to us, Jaime; almost all of them are loyal to the Lions; if Robert orders me harmed, they will cut his throat for their Queen," Cersei spoke with a smug that Jaime thought was ugly.
Jaime almost wanted to laugh. Did she really think they would follow her? Perhaps some, but many in the Capital were Baratheon soldiers brought here by Stannis who didn't feel comfortable with Lannister soldiers, and Renly had both soldiers from the Reach and Storm's End, all it took was for Robert to publicly announce that Cersei's children were all bastard for everything to crumble to dust.
Jaime shook his head, almost not believing his ears. "I always thought of you as the most beautiful woman in the world," his words made Cersei smirk, steeping a bit closer, as if wanting to kiss him, until he put his hand on her shoulder, forcing her back.
"I never thought behind that beauty was just a whore," Jaime spoke before leaving the bedchamber; he heard the sound of a vase smashing against the wall as he closed the door.
Jaime's eyes turned forward; the sun was high on the horizon, almost blinding him. The road was surrounded by large green fields full of colorful flowers; the aroma was pleasant. Ser Barristan was riding beside him; during the years, their friendship had somehow repaired; Barristan was the only knight in Westeros who didn't call him a Kingslayer, so that was a good start.
The Kingslayer now really wished his brother was with him; talking with his brother would be an excellent way to pass the time. The Young Lion thought if his father would perhaps grace them all with his presence in Highgarden. But Tywin wasn't really a man of Tourneys.
A gentle breeze passed through them, small petals flew with the wind, and the smell of flowers invaded his nose, reminding him of a little girl; she loved flowers, sometimes collecting them for her Muna, saying they made her happy and smile.
Jaime hadn't dreamed of the Princess for a long time; he could only hope and pray that what he assumed was correct, that Lyanna Stark had a child with Rhaegar, the only question he had was whether or not he was a bastard, but Jaime highly doubted the latter to be true, he knew Rhaegar wasn't someone to have Bastards.
Soon Highgarden appeared on the horizon; Jaime had to admit that it was quite a sight to behold. A small party sent by Mace Tyrell reached them, showing them the way inside. Soon they rode inside, passing through the giant gates, Jaime noticed the looks the guards at the gates were giving them, and much to his confusion, they were wearing the flag of House Tarly instead of the flower of the Tyrells.
For a brief moment, he wondered why but quickly dismissed the thought when they reached the large courtyard of Highgarden; the entire House Tyrell lined up waiting for them, knowing there was no danger towards the Royal Family. Jaime allowed his eyes to wander around; he was surprised to see Prince Oberyn. Jaime knew he would be there but was still surprised to see him, and his presence made the Kingslayer wonder how he hadn't already buried his spear into Robert's chest.
Jaime's green eyes saw his bastards, three girls, and a woman standing next to Oberyn, most likely Ellaria Sand; his eyes caught Princess Arianne Martell; she was quite a beauty. He then decided to look at the only bastard boy of Oberyn. Jaime stiffened in his place when he caught the eyes of the boy standing beside Oberyn's youngest bastard daughter.
Despite his curly hair covering his face, Jaime caught a glimpse of rich purple eyes... Rhaegar! Jaime thought, his breath stuck in his throat; he felt like he was looking at him; he tried to take a better look when the sound of a scream made Jaime turn towards the Royal Party. Only now, he noticed everyone's attention was on the Royal Party.
Joffrey was lying in the mud, his face covered in mud; the horse was nervously moving around, two men quickly grabbing the horse to lead it away from the Crown Prince. A boy quickly reached the prince, holding a wet towel and whipping the mud from his face. Cersei looked furious and was glaring daggers at another boy, while Robert looked ashamed of what had happened.
Because Jaime was now paying attention to the Royal Party, he missed the Martell party smirking; one of them even snickered; it was taking everything for them not to burst out laughing. But that wasn't the same for Renly Baratheon, who burst out laughing.
"What happened?" Jaime asked Barristan beside him in a hushed tone; the old kingsguard shook his head slightly as if somehow disappointed.
"You see the kid that the queen is glaring at?" He asked in the same tone, pointing at a boy; Jaime simply gave him a silent nod; it wasn't hard to miss; the boy had turned pale and was shaking in fear.
"He wanted to take the horse away from the prince, to put him in the stall, suddenly the horse got scared, making the Prince fall," Barristan explained, a little wary of the way Joffrey was glaring at the poor kid; he couldn't be younger than ten name days.
Jaime wondered why the horse would get spooked like that, Joffrey wasn't the best at riding a horse, but he wasn't that terrible to think the horse would react like that. Did the kid do something? Jaime asked himself.
His attention turned to the king when they approached the Tyrell family. Behind him was the Queen holding Joffrey closely while Tommen and Myrcella were a bit further away; Jaime dismounted his horse to stand beside his nephew and niece. Who looked up at him smiling.
"Highgarden is yours, your grace." Mace Tyrell said, and he watched as Robert walked up to him.
"Rise, all of you; I thank you, Lord Tyrell." The king said with his booming voice; Jaime could swear he could smell the beer from where he was, and from their faces, Mace didn't seem to mind, but the rest looked uncomfortable.
"My wife, Lady Alerie, your grace."
"My lady." the king said, kissing the offered hand.
"Your grace." the woman said with a curtsy.
"My son and heir, Lord Willas," Mace said, and he watched as the king looked to the cane in the lad's hand.
"You will be a great lord," Robert said, eventually reaching the golden flower of House Tyrell.
Jaime had to admit the girl was pretty and would grow to be a beauty, from the way, The Queen of Thorns and Lady Margaery were eyeing Joffrey. Jaime knew what they wanted right away.
"My lady, you're beautiful," The King said, smiling.
"Thank you, your grace," She spoke with a smile reaching her eyes. The King then turned to face one and only Oberyn Martell; he was almost taken aback to see him in front of him.
Jaime's hand instinctively moved to the pommel of his sword, despite not caring if the King died right now. He was still a Kingsguard, and his nephew and niece were under his protection.
"Prince Oberyn is good to see you," Robert said with laughter as if speaking with an old friend. Jaime could feel the tension; one could cut it with a knife. Oberyn gave him an innocent smile that made him look even more threatening.
"Of course, your grace. I can't wait to see how well you do in the Tourney!" Oberyn spoke with a low calming tone, his voice almost hissing at the end, his eyes looking at the king with loathing.
Jaime almost laughed; the king's days of fighting and riding In Tourneys were long past; his attention turned to the kid with purple eyes; he stood at the end of the Martell line, a smile splattered on his face, Jaime had seen many fake ones to know the kid was faking it, but his eyes, if a look could kill, Jaime knew the seven themselves would burn to the seven hells.
Jaime tried to get a better look, squinting his eyes, but he was guarding Tommen and Myrcella; Cersei spoke with the queen of Thorns, who looked like she swallowed something sour.
Joffrey then moved to talk with Willas, who offered a handshake; the prince snickered when he looked down at his bad leg.
"I can't wait for you to become a great warrior. I'm sure you will be like the Kingslayer," Joffrey said mockingly; the entire Tyrell family frowned and almost gasped at the prince, especially Margaery and Loras, the latter looking ready to slice up the prince.
Willas didn't look offended; instead, a smile formed on his face. "Indeed, your grace, and I can't wait to see you jousting; I heard you're excellent," Willas replied innocently. Joffrey's mocking smile disappeared, his face turning red...
"Enough, Lord Tyrell; how about we walk inside," Robert suggested with his booming voice, easing the tension that was almost drowning them.
Jaime found the situation funny; they had just arrived and were already at each other's throats; he wondered how they would stay here for an entire month.
Jaime turned to find the boy, but he frowned when he couldn't find him anywhere; it seemed the Martells had left.
Jon Connington - Before
After years of working with the Golden Company, the opportunity to see him again had appeared.
"Come child," he bid the boy – Aegon, Jon corrected himself mentally. "This is your father; as the Magister and I promised, he has come to claim you." Jon had not expected that. He would have drawn the dagger again and made it clear to the man he would not be mocked. But the child had rushed forward and attached himself to his leg.
"Father," he exclaimed in the common tongue, oblivious to Jon's incredulous stare.
He picked the boy up in an attempt to examine him closely, though Aegon - if it were Aegon - took this as a sign of affection and flung his small arms around his neck, which made this a difficult proposition. He set the boy on his feet again.
"Stand tall and let me see you," he instructed. The boy obeyed. It seemed Aegon was more well-mannered than he'd seemed at first.
But then a child of that age would be eager for a parent he'd never had, Jon supposed, and wilful too unless they were raised correctly. Jon had no doubt the boy was Rhaegar's son – he had Rhaella's eyes not as dark as Rhaegar's, but something about the set of his jaw and the way his silver hair fell in his face would not let Jon deny who this boy is. Jon wondered fleetingly if he could allow himself to deny it, but the doubt did not last long. This would be his task now. He would take Rhaegar's son and raise him to be the Prince that Rhaegar would have wanted, and when Aegon was old enough, he would take him back to Westeros and take back the boy's birthright. He was glad then that he had not cut ties entirely with the Golden Company.
But his planning was cut short by the demanding curiosity of the child.
"Why didn't you come until now?" the boy piped up, impatience cutting through what manners the six-year-old had. "Magister Illyrio promised you were coming on my fifth name day. I'm six now."
Jon eyed him for a moment. He had none of Rhaegar's melancholy, but there was a touch of both Targaryen arrogance and childish uncertainty in the small face that peered up at him, waiting for an answer. Arrogance was unseemly but common enough in Princes – uncertainty was not.
"You were too young," he told the boy. "I could not take you on the campaign. But now you are nearly a man grown." Aegon beamed with pride at this praise, false though it was. It was no more than most lords told their heirs – in Westeros, a boy was near a man grown the instant his father decided. Why not here.
"I could be your squire," he said. "Do sellswords have squires? I don't see why not. Even hedge knights have squires."
The words struck a cord in Jon. A memory. And with it, an idea for how this young prince should be handled.
When Jon had served in King's Landing - he had ridden to the ruins of Summerhall in pursuit of Rhaegar more times than he could count. The tragedy of Summerhall had haunted Rhaegar all his life, and Jon knew that Rhaegar had named his son after the King he most admired in his ancestry. Not the conqueror – whom Jon, as a squire, had liked best. But instead, the grandfather who had died on the day of Rhaegar's birth. Aegon V – the King who had squired for a hedge knight, who had known the small folk, and of course, who had ruled for nearly thirty years – that was a long reign for a Targaryen.
"Yes," he said firmly. "You can be my squire." It was almost worth it to see the look of horror on Varys' face.
In the end, though, the eunuch had been made to see sense. To keep the prince in one place was foolhardy. If Jon Connington was the best person to raise Rhaegar's heir, he meant to do it as he saw fit. Jon's victory over the eunuch had not been without concessions, though. The lies Varys chose to explain the disappearance of the exiled Lord Connington had caused Jon to rage inside. He had not had to suffer the indignity of hearing the rumors spoken aloud yet, and still, they filled him with black fury. Perhaps he never would hear them spoken if Varys was right, and craven, thieving drunkards, would soon be forgotten. But for Rhaegar's son, Jon Connington would throw away what was left of his honor. For now. The eunuch's part in that he would not forget.
Jon rode out of Pentos two days later with his new son, a new name, and a blue sheen on both their hair. Varys claimed it hid the purple of the prince's eyes and would give them the resemblance they lacked and needed. Jon had not argued, though he felt ridiculous – the blue hair did indeed alter Aegon's eyes. But Jon knew – Jon saw the resemblance and always would, no matter how they disguised him.
Now
The earliest years were the easiest – Griff served as a sellsword, though not in as many campaigns as he might. Shorter campaigns earned him funds that left him less dependent on his cheesemonger and kept Griff and his son on the move. He taught Aegon - whom he could never quite think of as Young Griff - arms and archery and letters and numbers. He came up with stories and songs because the boy demanded them often enough, and as they moved from place to place, Griff found himself at ease with the new life. It was a second chance he had not expected.
Shortly after Aegon turned ten, Griff decided to expand their court. A knight did not become proficient practicing with one man, and Griff was no longer the young warrior who'd been chosen as Hand for his military renown. He sent to the Golden Company for a young blade, and Rolly appeared not long after – Griff took brief affront at the boy's common origins but could not deny his skill. Nor could he send him back without explaining why a commoner did not suit. Myles Toyne knew the secret, but the rest of the company did not. Nor had Jon even considered how he would tell Aegon the truth of who he was. Though the boy was now of an age where he could no doubt keep the secret. Griff knew it would have to be soon, yet still, he continued to delay the discussion.
Once Rolly arrived, it seemed their court expanded rapidly. Griff was never soft on Aegon when he trained him. Or in any fashion - the boy had washed and repaired his own clothing and his father's; he'd carried food and served wine, worked on riverboats, and done more physical labour than Griff had ever been required to as a squire in the Red Keep. Yet he winced inside to see Rolly knock the boy down, time after time, in their lessons. It was to be expected – the pain was a good teacher, and Aegon improved with every lesson. This was, of course, of paramount importance; Aegon's throne could only be won with warfare. The boy had to be able to fight, but Griff had to look to the Prince's health as well. Any father would. To gain a Maester, he had no choice but to turn to cheesemonger. Griff has had to resign himself to the cheesemonger usefulness. The slights and insults that come with this usefulness can be repaid in the future.
Haldon was not a maester, but the links he had forged at the Citadel - History, language, and healing - were the ones that Griff expected a tutor for his son and prince to hold. Aegon was a healthy child – his father's son, in that regard, not his mother's - something for which Jon thanked the gods. Yet there was no sense in not doing all he could to ensure the young prince remained healthy. It was the Halfmaester who suggested a Septa or Septon should be added to their court not more than three moons after he arrived. Haldon had figured out who both of them were, of his own accord, which irritated Griff. But perhaps it was as well they had a clever maester.
He did not interfere with Lemore's lessons – though she was unlike any Septa he had ever known. She knew the Seven-Pointed Star well enough, which was more than he did. He was not a pious man; his faith curtailed through the losses he'd sustained. But it was right that a King should be instructed in the doctrines of the faith, so he did not send Lemore away. In truth, he preferred that she was not so pious or proper, though he had no doubt she was devout. It was a good balance; an overly pious King would be a disaster. Rhaegar's son would not become another Baelor the Blessed. He suspected she had too worked out the truth of who they were, but unlike the Halfmaester, she would never say so nor even hint at it.
Griff found himself unexpectedly grateful for the solid, uncomplicated Rolly. He was a good man and true. He was fond of the boy he'd come to train, but he would never look past what he had been told to see a hidden prince. As long as one member of the court remained unaware, he could continue to say to himself that the time was not yet right to tell Aegon the truth. It was this gratitude that had led Griff to knight Rolly a year after he arrived. It only delayed the inevitable, but Jon had to make the most of it. No doubt he had little time now – the following message from Illyrio might give it away. Jon had loved Rhaegar; he had mourned Rhaegar. He had never thought that one small word from Aegon could make him jealous of his silver prince. But every time Aegon called out Father, eager to show off his swordplay, his archery, his command of high Valyrian, or the latest Westerosi history he had learned, the word made Jon flinch inside. Pride and guilt warred in Jon, as fierce as the ache that the memory of the bells caused him. Another day, another week, another turn of the moon, he told himself. He would tell Aegon then. But for now, he would claim him as his own. Just a little longer.
His son calling his name made him escape his thoughts; a smile erupted on Jon's face as he made his way toward his son.
Jaime Lannister
It was morrow, the fresh air filling his lungs; the servants had just woken up, walking around to do their jobs. Jaime found himself unable to sleep, his dreams hunted by purple eyes. He could still remember them, Rhaegar looking at him, but he would change; he turned to the boy, his silver hair would turn dark and curly, but his eyes and face, they stayed almost the same.
Knowing he would waste his time shifting on his bed, The Kingslayer found the training yard of Highgarden, more significant than the training yard of the Red Keep, looking like a square field with his own archery field, jousting field, sword fighting field, and many others.
Once he walked downstairs that led to the training yard, he expected the yard to be deserted, the sun had just started peeking over the horizon, but to his surprise, he found a boy hitting a dummy with his sword. Jaime stopped to look at him closely; his back was turned on Jaime, he couldn't see his face, but his moves were all precise.
Someone trained him very well, Jaime quickly concluded, remembering himself making similar moves when he was young. Move after move, strike after strike, nothing was left of the dummy. Watching for ten minutes; only then the boy stopped moving, putting the sword back in its place, a wet towel around his neck, and grabbing a skin bottle to drink.
"I haven't seen someone move like that for a long time; quite the talent you have, lad!" Jaime made himself known to him with the friendliest smile he could muster; he noticed the lad stiff for a moment before turning around to face him. The sunlight illuminated the training yard, his face now fully visible.
Jaime felt like he was suddenly back in time; his throat went dryer than the desert of Dorne, his curly hair was no longer covering his face, sharp cheekbones, handsome face, almost identical to him, the same face from his dreams, his eyes were identical to Rhaenys and Rhaegar...
"Y-you're the Brother!" I should protect...
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