There would always be those who questioned. In absolute truth, Jaime did not care. He had never cared what others thought of him. If he had, then he would have looked Ned Stark in the eyes and told him the truth to why he’d killed the Mad King, instead, he had kept his lips sealed and allowed the rest of the world to title him the Kingslayer.
The only person he had ever cared about when it came to their opinion had been his sister, and she had turned against him in the end for the Iron Throne, for Lancel Lannister and Osmund Kettleblack. Disgusting. The mere thought made a fire burn in the pits of his belly even now, years after, and even after the death of his twin. But now, he was beginning to realise, that there were only few people who he cared what they thought of him, and one of those was the woman that stood before him. The others, his little brother, and Brienne of Tarth, but Brienne had always stayed loyal to the Starks, and now? They may very well be pitted against one another if worse came to worst.
When Daenerys’ hand went to the collar of his tunic, he felt his breath hitch, caught in his throat for a moment. How long had it been since he’d had a woman’s hands upon him? Too long, he thought, and yet, it was so out of line to think anything but innocence from it. But Dany was not a girl, she was a woman, she was a hardened, battle-worn woman now, who had watched people lie and betray her just like everyone else who was in power. Gods, who would want for such a thing?
Jaime flinched harder than he wanted to when the knock was heard, and he took a step back, a hand at his sword in fear. How silly, no one that was going to murder the Queen would give a polite knock on the door. He settled when it was just the serving girl, the tension in his arms loosening. All he did was nod in confirmation when Missandei left to gather the blankets.
“I doubt I will do much sleeping,” he replied once they were back in the privy of one another. “But to answer your question, I do not fear what simple minds have to think of me.” He didn’t fear much at all, if he were honest, just the loss of Tyrion, and losing his honour again.
“The Kingdom’s have been at war for a long time, too long if you ask me. I have done many regrettable things, but some of them I would do again if it meant saving the people I care about. That includes you, Your Grace.” He had no problem admitting that, he was part of her guard now. It was his duty.
“I didn’t come here to serve in your guard like my Lord Father would have.” Simply because she was winning the war. “We have all lost because of this war. I do not regret slaying your father, despite how it may sound. He wished to kill the common folk of King’s Landing, and anyone else in his path. But I knew your brother. He was a good man, and you have earned your crown, and the respect of your men.” Jaime included. “I know I serve in good faith.”
PRIVATE ROLEPLAY: DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT MY PARTNER.
@call-2-arms
╣❦╠ ƈօռզʊɛʀɨռɢ ֆȶօʀʍ ❧
Dany noted the faint hitch when she touched his collar. It was a surprise, though not an unpleasant one. Of course, she was aware that Ser Jaime was still a handsome man despite his age. The difference in their ages meant nothing to Dany, who had been married to Drogo with a much larger difference so long ago. She feigned not to see his flinch as Missandei brought the extra bedding into the room and tended the fires. The door closed again a few minutes later and Ser Jaime spoke first. She sighed. “One of the things I appreciate the most about you is your honesty, Ser Jaime. It’s a rare quality.”
Her smile softened at his declaration. Jhogo, Aggo and Rahkaro had been loyal to her due to Drogo. Ser Jorah for his own desires. There was an irony that the one man who was honorably loyal to her was a Lannister. “This is not my first war, though I pray it shall be my last. The ones who suffer the most are the ones who want it the least,” Daenerys mused, pausing to take a sip of wine. “When this charade is over, I will no longer remain here while my people fight my battles.” She lifted a hand, anticipating a protest. “The quicker this war is over, the fewer who will suffer of it.”
“Come. I do not think I’ll have much use of sleep either, but we should try,” Dany chuckled, taking her glass as she crossed into her spacious bed chamber. The larger settee was midway across the floor between the door and the bed itself and she could see that it was prepared. Tonight Dany only removed her tunic dress and boots, keeping on her undertunic and pants. Slipping under the thick fur quilt, she began unbraiding her hair. “You are not the first to compare me to my brother. I know they called him the last dragon, but they were wrong. I am. I am the last.”
If she meant dragon or Targaryen, Daenerys did not elaborate. There was a small pause before she spoke again, her tone softer. “I have seen him, you know. Rhaegar. From a young age, I dreamed of him. I saw and heard him playing his silver harp. I even saw my nephew, Aegon, once. Would it surprise you to know that my dreams come true? At least, the ones of the present. The first time I dreamed, I told Viserys. He beat me and said I was lying so I never spoke of it again. Until now. In one dream, Rhaegar was atop a stallion on the Trident, ribbons flowing from his helm, fighting beings of ice, but when I lifted his visor, it was my face within.”
