he kept saying, "burn them all" / october 6th, night / closed to aerys targaryen and jaime lannister
The enemy’s unwavering eyes were unsettling; like a staring contest, Aerys knew he’d lost a thousand times over already. In his desperate search for aid coming from the outside, he’d looked away more than once, while Jaime fucking Lannister had moved across the room unflinchingly. Aerys wondered if he had been in the room already, by the way he moved around, is if he knew already, as if he’d known it for a long time - who had betrayed him? Who had let him in? Pycelle had told him he would be safe.
The smell of burning wood filled his nostrils. Burn them all. The flames cast long shadows against the wall. Jaime Lannister’s shadow reached up to the ceiling, not unlike a giant come to step on him, crush him.
When Jaime Lannister pounced, Aerys was one step ahead. With his hand he felt the wall behind him and ran to his right, toward the door. The muscles in his highs ached from the urgency, his bones lamented the sudden wrath in his movements. But he couldn’t stop and abide his body’s prayers; he had to run.
"Pycelle!" he bellowed, thunderous over the silence that enveloped the entire house. Is there a breathing soul in this place, he wondered, running. Jaime Lannister’s footsteps were fast behind him, faster than his, approaching. He leaned against the wall outside the study. The warmth of the fire was gone. He kept going, but Jaime Lannister was behind him. He dared a glance back, and the feral smugness he saw there frightened him. Jaime Lanister was on him, too fast, too dangerous, and before he could do anything, the man’s gloved fingers were clenching the fabric of his sweater, pulling at him.
"Pycelle!" he yelled again, clenching his own fingers against the man’s wrists to try and pry him off, get rid of him and run just what more he needed to reach downstairs and call the guards, do something.
But Jaime Lannister was younger, and stronger, and he dragged him backward. He struggled, and so did the Lannister boy: his features grew harder as he pushed him against the railing. The wood was hard against his spine, his back bending backwards. ”Coward,” Aerys Targaryen hissed, fighting to resist the other man’s pressure - useless. He was too weak, and his body betrayed him, offering no help. Aerys turned his head to the side, barely, Jaime’s fists firm against his neck, pushing. Pushing. The floor downstairs was hard and so far away, and Aerys knew then that fall would be his last.
"Burn them all," he whispered to himself. "Burn them all."
And Aerys fell.
Aerys kept screaming for Pycelle, after he flung his body out of the doorway and down the hall. At one time he’d been the single most powerful man in the country and now Jaime had reduced him to a frightened shred. For those few moments he felt a rush of adrenaline, a sense of panic like his victim might escape. His lizard brain kicked in, all instinct and reflex and no thought. This is what he’d wanted, after all; if Aerys fled how easily he could make it an accident.
His breaths got quicker, no strain on his muscles to catch up with the man and abruptly dig his fingers into the back of his shirt. With that grip he halted him altogether, the second Pycelle driving him to momentary annoyance. “Quiet.” Things couldn’t go wrong now. It was Pycelle, you old fool. Jaime hushed him like he would a child; all people rendered helpless as they entered the world and as they left it. Not even prime ministers were any different.
What Aerys lacked in swiftness he made up for in body weight; his fight was feeble enough but Jaime’s features still strained in the effort of yanking a man backwards across the floor to his impending doom. His plan had been the stairs, simple enough, but he tossed a look over his shoulder to observe his options. Aerys struggled against him in that moment and a sneer of effort twisted his features while Jaime gave an authoritative tug in response. On second look he decided the stairs might not be enough; he might just bruise or bend. Jaime needed him to break.
But there was a railing that blocked off this level from the next, a straight drop to the foyer below. That would do much better. Jaime was long since past hesitation and to get Aerys up over the side he had to hoist him with his arm taut around his neck, releasing only long enough to take a half step back. He could shout all he wanted; no one was here to save him now.
Burn them all. Jaime gave one last shove and watched as Aerys toppled over the railing to crash on the tile beneath. A sickening crunch followed and his jaw ticked, staring blankly ahead for what felt like long moments before his feet shuffled down the steps. Careful to avoid the blood seeping from him, he pressed two gloved fingers to Aerys’ pulse to check for certain. By the backwards angle of his neck there only seemed one outcome, and after ten seconds of nothing Jaime rose again.
His entrance had been timed and planned but his exit had an element of uncertainty, so he had to retrace his steps through Pycelle’s corridor and attempt to sneak past the guards now fully alert on their shift. His jacket scraped the stone wall and he crept behind bushes, to his knowledge unseen.
