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Una obra de Jose Maria Casado de Alisal - La Campana de Huesca. 1880.
La leyenda de la campana de Huesca cuenta cómo Ramiro II el Monje, rey de Aragón, decapitó a doce nobles que se opusieron a su voluntad. La historia es parte del acervo popular en Aragón, especialmente en la ciudad de Huesca.
Operation Stumpy Re-Read
ADWD: Jaime I (Chapter 48)
The castle dominated the broad fertile valley that maps and men alike called Blackwood Vale. A vale it was, beyond a doubt, but no wood had grown here for several thousand years, be it black or brown or green. Once, yes, but axes had long since cleared the trees away. Homes and mills and holdfasts had risen where once the oaks stood tall. The ground was bare and muddy, and dotted here and there with drifts of melting snow.
The Blackwoods have no wood?
+.+.+
Inside the castle walls, however, a bit of the forest still remained. House Blackwood kept the old gods, and worshiped as the First Men had in the days before the Andals came to Westeros. Some of the trees in their godswood were said to be as old as Raventree's square towers, especially the heart tree, a weirwood of colossal size whose upper branches could be seen from leagues away, like bony fingers scratching at the sky.
Of all the weirwood trees in the story, we like this one the least.
+.+.+
As Jaime Lannister and his escort wound through the rolling hills into the vale, little remained of the fields and farms and orchards that had once surrounded Raventree—only mud and ashes, and here and there the blackened shells of homes and mills. Weeds and thorns and nettles grew in that wasteland, but nothing that could be called a crop. Everywhere Jaime looked he saw his father's hand, even in the bones they sometimes glimpsed beside the road.
I love how the Lannister children have no delusions about their father.
And then there's Daenerys.
+.+.+
Past time this was ended, thought Jaime Lannister. With Riverrun now safely in Lannister hands, Raventree was the remnant of the Young Wolf's short-lived kingdom. Once it yielded, his work along the Trident would be done, and he would be free to return to King's Landing. To the king, he told himself, but another part of him whispered, to Cersei.
Loving the optimism.
+.+.+
Even if he had gone back, he could not hope to save her. She was guilty of every treason laid against her, and he was short a sword hand.
Cersei:
+.+.+
"I'll announce myself." Jaime pushed aside the flap with his golden hand and ducked inside.
They were well and truly at it when he entered, so intent on their rutting that neither took any note of his arrival. The woman had her eyes closed. Her hands clutched the coarse brown hair on Bracken's back. She gasped every time he drove into her. His lordship's head was buried in her breasts, his hands locked around her hips. Jaime cleared his throat. "Lord Jonos."
The woman's eyes flew open, and she gave a startled shriek. Jonos Bracken rolled off her, grabbed for his scabbard, and came up with naked steel in hand, cursing. "Seven bloody hells," he started, "who dares—" Then he saw Jaime's white cloak and golden breastplate. His swordpoint dropped. "Lannister?"
What's Lady Bracken doing in the middle of a siege at Raventree?
+.+.+
Jaime gave a shrug. "My apologies if I mistook you for something you're not. My little brother has known a hundred whores, I'm sure, but I've only ever bedded one."
"She's a prize of war." Bracken retrieved his breeches from the floor and shook them out. "She belonged to one of Blackwood's sworn swords till I split his head in two. Put your hands down, woman. My lord of Lannister wants a proper look at those teats."
I hate men.
+.+.+
"Does that mean m'lord won't be taking me home with him, to pray with his little wife?" Laughing, Hildy gave Jaime a brazen look. "Do you have a little wife, ser?"
No, I have a sister. "What color is my cloak?"
Lol.
+.+.+
"White," she said, "but your hand is solid gold. I like that in a man. And what is it you like in a woman, m'lord?"
"Innocence."
"In a woman, I said. Not a daughter."
He thought of Myrcella. I will need to tell her too. The Dornishmen might not like that. Doran Martell had betrothed her to his son in the belief that she was Robert's blood. Knots and tangles, Jaime thought, wishing he could cut through all of it with one swift stroke of his sword.
Don't worry about that. It's handled.
+.+.+
"Tytos Blackwood has not bent the knee," Jaime pointed out. "Might the Blackfish seek refuge at Raventree?"
"He might seek it, but to find it he'd need to get past my siege lines, and last I heard he hadn't grown wings. Tytos will be needing refuge himself before much longer. They're down to rats and roots in there. He'll yield before the next full moon."
This is Vale foreshadowing. I will not listen to reason.
"Will you be seeking wings?" the Royce girl said. - Alayne I, TWOW
+.+.+
"The usual sort. Lord Blackwood shall be required to confess his treason and abjure his allegiance to the Starks and Tullys. He will swear solemnly before gods and men to henceforth remain a leal vassal of Harrenhal and the Iron Throne, and I will give him pardon in the king's name. We will take a pot or two of gold, of course. The price of rebellion. I'll claim a hostage as well, to ensure that Raventree does not rise again."
"His daughter," suggested Bracken. "Blackwood has six sons, but only the one daughter. He dotes on her. A snot-nosed little creature, couldn't be more than seven."
"Young, but she might serve."
Twat!
+.+.+
"What lands were these?"
"The east bank of the Widow's Wash, from Crossbow Ridge to Rutting Meadow, and all the islands in the stream. Grindcorn Mill and Lord's Mill, the ruins of Muddy Hall, the Ravishment, Battle Valley, Oldforge, the villages of Buckle, Blackbuckle, Cairns, and Claypool, and the market town at Mudgrave. Waspwood, Lorgen's Wood, Greenhill, and Barba's Teats. Missy's Teats, the Blackwoods call them, but they were Barba's first. Honeytree and all the hives. Here, I've marked them out if my lord would like a look." He rooted about on a table and produced a parchment map.
[...]
Bracken's mouth set stubbornly. "All these lands belonged to Stone Hedge once. The Blackwoods stole them from us."
I am unable to verify this information.
+.+.+
"The king has pardoned us for that. I lost my nephew to your swords, and my natural son. Your Mountain stole my harvest and burned everything he could not carry off. He put my castle to the torch and raped one of my daughters. I will have recompense."
"The Mountain's dead, as is my father," Jaime told him, "and some might say your head was recompense enough. You did declare for Stark, and kept faith with him until Lord Walder killed him."
"Murdered him, and a dozen good men of my own blood." Lord Jonos turned his head and spat. "Aye, I kept faith with the Young Wolf. As I'll keep faith with you, so long as you treat me fair. I bent the knee because I saw no sense in dying for the dead nor shedding Bracken blood in a lost cause."
"A prudent man." Though some might say that Lord Blackwood has been more honorable.
Easy to get POV trapped on this one.
Blackfish, Robb, and Jaime would fight until their last breath. Edmure, Catelyn, and Jon would minimize bloodshed.
+.+.+
That seemed to satisfy Lord Jonos. "We will be content with whatever portion my lord thinks fair. If I may offer you some counsel, though, it does not serve to be too gentle with these Blackwoods. Treachery runs in their blood. Before the Andals came to Westeros, House Bracken ruled this river. We were kings and the Blackwoods were our vassals, but they betrayed us and usurped the crown. Every Blackwood is born a turncloak. You would do well to remember that when you are making terms."
I am unable to verify this information.
+.+.+
Very tall and very thin, the Lord of Raventree had a hook nose, long hair, and a ragged salt-and-pepper beard that showed more salt than pepper. In silver inlay on the breastplate of his burnished scarlet armor was a white tree bare and dead, surrounded by a flock of onyx ravens taking flight. A cloak of raven feathers fluttered from his shoulders.
Sounds like the perfect sigil for Bloodraven aka Brynden Rivers, son of Melissa Blackwood.
+.+.+
"I am here to make an end of this. Your men have fought valiantly, but your war is lost. Are you prepared to yield?"
"To the king. Not to Jonos Bracken."
I live for the pettiness.
+.+.+
Through their thick, diamond-shaped panes of yellow glass Jaime glimpsed the gnarled limbs of the tree from which the castle took its name. It was a weirwood ancient and colossal, ten times the size of the one in the Stone Garden at Casterly Rock. This tree was bare and dead, though.
"The Brackens poisoned it," said his host. "For a thousand years it has not shown a leaf. In another thousand it will have turned to stone, the maesters say. Weirwoods never rot."
Maybe because he sucks the life out of little boys? This is the one time I'll forgive tree violence.
How is there a weirwood tree at Casterly Rock? It's a rock.
+.+.+
"And the ravens?" asked Jaime. "Where are they?"
"They come at dusk and roost all night. Hundreds of them. They cover the tree like black leaves, every limb and every branch. They have been coming for thousands of years. How or why, no man can say, yet the tree draws them every night."
These aren't Bran ravens. They're blood ravens.
+.+.+
"Ser Edmure is on his way to Casterly Rock as my captive. His wife will remain at the Twins until their child is born. Then she and the babe will join him. So long as he does not attempt escape or plot rebellion, Edmure will live a long life."
"Long and bitter. A life without honor. Until his dying day, men will say he was afraid to fight."
Unjustly, Jaime thought. It was his child he feared for. He knew whose son I am, better than mine own aunt.
I wish the fandom knew.
Edmure better get a hero's moment in an upcoming book.
Edit: I missed something.
Jon X ->
He (Jon) knew whose son (Eddard's) I am, better than mine own aunt (Daenerys).
Thank you @agentrouka-blog!
+.+.+
"A hostage."
"Yes, my lord. You have a daughter, I believe."
"Bethany." Lord Tytos looked stricken. "I also have two brothers and a sister. A pair of widowed aunts. Nieces, nephews, cousins. I had thought you might consent …"
"It must be a child of your blood." "Bethany is only eight. A gentle girl, full of laughter. She has never been more than a day's ride from my hall."
[...]
"My second. Brynden is my eldest, and my heir. Next comes Hoster. A bookish boy, I fear."
"They have books in King's Landing too. I recall my little brother reading them from time to time. Perhaps your son would like a look at them. I will accept Hoster as our hostage."
Blackwood's relief was palpable.
George has a new favourite character.
No, I will not be giving Jaime any credit for not taking the 8-year-old girl. That's like applauding your husband for taking out the trash.
+.+.+
"Thank you, my lord." He hesitated a moment. "If I may be so bold, you would do well to require a hostage from Lord Jonos too. One of his daughters. For all his rutting, he has not proved man enough to father sons."
Twat!
+.+.+
"He had a bastard son killed in the war."
"Did he? Harry was a bastard, true enough, but whether Jonos sired him is a thornier question. A fair-haired boy, he was, and comely. Jonos is neither."
Where were all these DNA experts when Robert Baratheon was alive?
I'm sure there's a R+L=J denier out there that's read far too much into that.
+.+.+
He was. The boy met Jaime by the stables, with a bedroll slung over one shoulder and a bundle of scrolls beneath his arm. He could not have been any older than sixteen, yet he was even taller than his father, almost seven feet of legs and shins and elbows, a gangling, gawky boy with a cowlick. "Lord Commander. I'm your hostage, Hoster. Hos, they call me." He grinned.
I just know George thinks he's the funniest person in the world.
+.+.+
"I am not your friend and I am not your brother." That cleaned the grin off the boy's face. Jaime turned to Lord Tytos. "My lord, let there be no misunderstanding here. Lord Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Sandor Clegane, Brynden Tully, this woman Stoneheart … all these are outlaws and rebels, enemies to the king and all his leal subjects. If I should learn that you or yours are hiding them, protecting them, or assisting them in any way, I will not hesitate to send you your son's head. I hope you understand that. Understand this as well: I am not Ryman Frey."
This is your daily reminder that Sandor Clegane can't move until the end of time.
+.+.+
Lord Bracken raised his visor. "I trust I have more fields to plant than when you went into that castle."
"Buckle, Woodhedge, Honeytree and all its hives." He was forgetting one. "Oh, and Crossbow Ridge."
"A mill," said Bracken. "I must have a mill."
"Lord's Mill."
Lord Jonos snorted. "Aye, that will serve. For now." He pointed at Hoster Blackwood, riding back with Peck. "Is this what he gave you for a hostage? You were cozened, ser. A weakling, this one. Water for blood. Never mind how tall he is, any one of my girls could snap him like a rotten twig."
Hoster Blackwood is probably going to save the world now.
+.+.+
"How many daughters do you have, my lord?" Jaime asked him.
"Five. Two by my first wife and three by my third." Too late, he seemed to realize that he might have said too much.
"Send one of them to court. She will have the privilege of attending the Queen Regent."
Bracken's face grew dark as he realized the import of those words. "Is this how you repay the friendship of Stone Hedge?"
We're going to pray this Bracken daughter and Blackwood son never make it to King's Landing.
+.+.+
Neither outlaws nor wolves had troubled them on their way to Raventree, so Jaime decided to return by a different route.
Thank god you didn't run into a pack of wolves! What a disaster that would be.
+.+.+
As the column splashed across the shallow waters, the sun was setting behind a pair of grassy hills. "The Teats," said Hoster Blackwood.
Jaime recalled Lord Bracken's map. "There's a village between those hills."
"Pennytree," the lad confirmed.
"We'll camp there for the night." If there were villagers about, they might have knowledge of Ser Brynden or the outlaws. "Lord Jonos made some remark about whose teats they were," he recalled to the Blackwood boy as they rode toward the darkening hills and the last light of the day. "The Brackens call them by one name and the Blackwoods by another."
"Aye, my lord. For a hundred years or so. Before that, they were the Mother's Teats, or just the Teats. There are two of them, and it was thought that they resembled …"
"I can see what they resemble."
[...]
"Aegon the Unworthy took Barba Bracken as his mistress," the bookish boy replied. "She was a very buxom wench, they say, and one day when the king was visiting at the Stone Hedge he went out hunting and saw the Teats and …"
"… named them for his mistress." Aegon the Fourth had died long before Jaime had been born, but he recalled enough of the history of his reign to guess what must have happened next. "Only later he put the Bracken girl aside and took up with a Blackwood, was that the way of it?"
Do you see how Targaryens are the root cause of all problems?
+.+.+
"Lady Melissa," Hoster confirmed. "Missy, they called her. There's a statue of her in our godswood. She was much more beautiful than Barba Bracken, but slender, and Barba was heard to say that Missy was flat as a boy. When King Aegon heard, he …"
"… gave her Barba's teats." Jaime laughed.
what the fuck
+.+.+
"How did all this begin, between Blackwood and Bracken? Is it written down?"
"It is, my lord," the boy said, "but some of the histories were penned by their maesters and some by ours, centuries after the events that they purport to chronicle. It goes back to the Age of Heroes. The Blackwoods were kings in those days. The Brackens were petty lords, renowned for breeding horses. Rather than pay their king his just due, they used the gold their horses brought them to hire swords and cast him down."
I am unable to verify this information.
The kid realizes the maesters were biased, but doesn't question any of the history he's learned. Lol
+.+.+
Tyrion would like this one. They could talk from dusk to dawn, arguing about books. For a moment his bitterness toward his brother was forgotten, until he remembered what the Imp had done. "So you are fighting over a crown that one of you took from the other back when the Casterlys still held Casterly Rock, is that the root of it? The crown of a kingdom that has not existed for thousands of years?" He chuckled. "So many years, so many wars, so many kings … you'd think someone would have made a peace."
"Someone did, my lord. Many someones. We've had a hundred peaces with the Brackens, many sealed with marriages. There's Blackwood blood in every Bracken, and Bracken blood in every Blackwood. The Old King's Peace lasted half a century. But then some fresh quarrel broke out, and the old wounds opened and began to bleed again. That's how it always happens, my father says. So long as men remember the wrongs done to their forebears, no peace will ever last. So we go on century after century, with us hating the Brackens and them hating us. My father says there will never be an end to it."
I'm so bad at ASoIaF history, I didn't even register Bloodraven and Bittersteel factored into this.
+.+.+
"There could be."
"How, my lord? The old wounds never heal, my father says."
"My father had a saying too. Never wound a foe when you can kill him. Dead men don't claim vengeance."
"Their sons do," said Hoster, apologetically.
"Not if you kill the sons as well. Ask the Casterlys about that if you doubt me. Ask Lord and Lady Tarbeck, or the Reynes of Castamere. Ask the Prince of Dragonstone." For an instant, the deep red clouds that crowned the western hills reminded him of Rhaegar's children, all wrapped up in crimson cloaks.
The redemption king thinks peace can be attained if you just slaughter every single family member of the opposite side.
+.+.+
"Is that why you killed all the Starks?"
"Not all," said Jaime. "Lord Eddard's daughters live. One has just been wed. The other …" Brienne, where are you? Have you found her? "… if the gods are good, she'll forget she was a Stark. She'll wed some burly blacksmith or fat-faced innkeep, fill his house with children, and never need to fear that some knight might come along to smash their heads against a wall."
ha HA, get it?? If the gods are good Sansa will forget who she is, and marry Gendry or Hot Pie.
Edit: I missed another funny chapter transition.
Alys Karstark aka Girl Not In Grey aka Sansa Cosplayer marries in the next chapter.
Thank you @decadelongsummer!
+.+.+
Jaime ate sparingly and shared a skin of wine with Peck and Hos the hostage. He tried to count the pennies nailed to the old oak, but there were too many of them and he kept losing count. What's that all about? The Blackwood boy would tell him if he asked, but that would spoil the mystery.
George being meta.
+.+.+
He posted sentries to see that no one left the confines of the village. He sent out scouts as well, to make certain no enemy took them unawares. It was near midnight when two came riding back with a woman they had taken captive. "She rode up bold as you please, m'lord, demanding words with you."
Jaime scrambled to his feet. "My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon." Gods be good, she looks ten years older than when I saw her last. And what's happened to her face? "That bandage … you've been wounded …"
"A bite." She touched the hilt of her sword, the sword that he had given her. Oathkeeper. "My lord, you gave me a quest."
"The girl. Have you found her?"
"I have," said Brienne, Maid of Tarth.
"Where is she?"
"A day's ride. I can take you to her, ser … but you will need to come alone. Elsewise, the Hound will kill her."
I can't even look forward to Lady Stoneheart getting her hands on Jaime, because Brienne and Pod are in danger.
I never get nice things.
Final thoughts:
This chapter feels all wrong in this book. I don't know why it's here.
-> return to menu <-
Jaime has been obsessed with Brienne's eyes since his very first chapter.
He thought he saw a touch of uncertainty in her BIG BLUE EYES.
Jaime watched her eyes. PRETTY EYES, he thought, AND CALM. He knew how to read a man’s eyes. He knew what fear looked like. She is determined, not desperate.
ASOS, Jaime I.
Operation Stumpy Re-Read
AFFC: Jaime I (Chapter 8)
Excuse me, where is Alayne?
"Allow me to stand tonight in your stead," Ser Loras offered. "He was not your father." You did not kill him. I did. Tyrion may have loosed the crossbow bolt that slew him, but I loosed Tyrion. "Leave me."
[...]
He never said he meant to kill our father. If he had, I would have stopped him. Then I would be the kinslayer, not him.
Bad news, you'll both slay kin, only in vastly different ways.
Remember when I didn't understand this?
The height of folly was reached when a plump fool came capering out in gold-painted tin with a cloth lion's head, and chased a dwarf around the tables, whacking him over the head with a bladder. Finally King Renly demanded to know why he was beating his brother. "Why, Your Grace, I'm the Kinslayer," the fool said.
"It's Kingslayer, fool of a fool," Renly said, and the hall rang with laughter. - Catelyn II, ACOK
How funny.
Anyway, at least he realizes he's partly responsible for Tywin's murder.
+.+.+
And then he was alone again with his lord father, amongst the candles and the crystals and the sickly sweet smell of death.
Do the Daenerys fans read these books with their eyes closed?
+.+.+
Unless my brother murdered Varys too, and left his corpse to rot beneath the castle. Down there, it might be years before his bones were found.
Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm.
Tyrion hung back a moment. Varys had already betrayed him once. Who knew what game the eunuch was playing? And what better place to murder a man than down in the darkness, in a place that no one knew existed? His body might never be found. - Tyrion XI, ASOS
I don't know if this is about Varys, or the twins.
+.+.+
Jaime had led a dozen guards below, with torches and ropes and lanterns. For hours they had groped through twisting passages, narrow crawl spaces, hidden doors, secret steps, and shafts that plunged down into utter blackness. Seldom had he felt so utterly a cripple. A man takes much for granted when he has two hands. Ladders, for an instance. Even crawling did not come easy; not for nought do they speak of hands and knees. Nor could he hold a torch and climb, as others could.
Jaime's not going to be able to escape the bowels. Got it.
+.+.+
And all for naught. They found only darkness, dust, and rats. And dragons, lurking down below.
+.+.+
He remembered the sullen orange glow of the coals in the iron dragon's mouth. The brazier warmed a chamber at the bottom of a shaft where half a dozen tunnels met. On the floor he'd found a scuffed mosaic of the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen done in tiles of black and red. I know you, Kingslayer, the beast seemed to be saying. I have been here all the time, waiting for you to come to me. And it seemed to Jaime that he knew that voice, the iron tones that had once belonged to Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone.
A dragon waiting for Jaime at the bottom of the Red Keep is not helping my confusion regarding the location.
+.+.+
The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. "Your Grace," Jaime had pleaded, "let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine."
Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."
Is that another Targaryen talent? Ensuring you're surrounded by people (Lannisters) who will betray you?
+.+.+
Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."
Those were the last words Rhaegar Targaryen ever spoke to him.
Then what happened? Hahahahaha.
A council! He means to call a council.
+.+.+
It was queer, but he felt no grief. Where are my tears? Where is my rage? Jaime Lannister had never lacked for rage. "Father," he told the corpse, "it was you who told me that tears were a mark of weakness in a man, so you cannot expect that I should cry for you."
If he's feeling no anger or grief, why is he so insistent on standing vigil for seven days, and seven nights?
Because Jaime Lannister cares a lot about appearance.
+.+.+
Without his beard, Pycelle looked not only old, but feeble. Shaving him was the cruelest thing Tyrion could have done, thought Jaime, who knew what it was to lose a part of yourself, the part that made you who you were.
That right there might be more missing tongue foreshadowing.
I'm still not a believer, but I'll continue to include it.
+.+.+
"Ser Jaime, I have seen terrible things in my time," the old man said. "Wars, battles, murders most foul . . . I was a boy in Oldtown when the grey plague took half the city and three-quarters of the Citadel. Lord Hightower burned every ship in port, closed the gates, and commanded his guards to slay all those who tried to flee, be they men, women, or babes in arms. They killed him when the plague had run its course. On the very day he reopened the port, they dragged him from his horse and slit his throat, and his young son's as well. To this day the ignorant in Oldtown will spit at the sound of his name, but Quenton Hightower did what was needed. Your father was that sort of man as well. A man who did what was needed."
Well, I know one thing, we're not reading this random story for no reason.
A part of me believes Aegon won't engage with King's Landing, instead he'll go to Dorne + the Reach after the stormlands.
Jon Connington and his greyscale being near Oldtown fits with what the show tried to do with Jorah Mormont.
+.+.+
It was my work, not his, Jaime almost told her. Instead he had promised to find what answers he could from the chief undergaoler, a bentback old man named Rennifer Longwaters.
"I see you wonder, what sort of name is that?" the man had cackled when Jaime went to question him. "It is an old name, 'tis true. I am not one to boast, but there is royal blood in my veins. I am descended from a princess. My father told me the tale when I was a tad of a lad." Longwaters had not been a tad of a lad for many a year, to judge from his spotted head and the white hairs growing from his chin. "She was the fairest treasure of the Maidenvault. Lord Oakenfist the great admiral lost his heart to her, though he was married to another. She gave their son the bastard name of 'Waters' in honor of his father, and he grew to be a great knight, as did his own son, who put the 'Long' before the 'Waters' so men might know that he was not basely born himself. So I have a little dragon in me."
The mystery is solved! Daenerys, Rennifer Longwaters, and Brown Ben Plumm are the three heads of the dragon.
I understand this story gets more developed in the side books (and I am unfamiliar with it), but if you only read the above, it would be hard to not see hints of Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Jon Snow.
+.+.+
Mention that royal blood once more and I may spill some of it, thought Jaime. "Who saw these reports?"
"Certain of them went to the master of coin, others to the master of whisperers. All to the chief gaoler and the King's Justice. It has always been so in the dungeons." Longwaters scratched his nose. "Rugen was here when need be, my lord. That must be said. The black cells are little used. Before your lordship's little brother was sent down, we had Grand Maester Pycelle for a time, and before him Lord Stark the traitor. There were three others, common men, but Lord Stark gave them to the Night's Watch. I did not think it good to free those three, but the papers were in proper order. I made note of that in a report as well, you may be certain of it."
The previous master of coin is subtly mentioned, but don't think for one second that will help Jaime.
Ned sent Rorge, Biter, and Jaqen to the Night's Watch. I bet he wishes he could take that one back, hahaha.
+.+.+
"Tell me of the two gaolers who went to sleep."
"Gaolers?" Longwaters sniffed. "Those were no gaolers. They were merely turnkeys. The crown pays wages for twenty turnkeys, my lord, a full score, but during my time we have never had more than twelve. We are supposed to have six undergaolers as well, two on each level, but there are only the three."
[...]
Six prisoners, Jaime thought sourly, while we pay wages for twenty turnkeys, six undergaolers, a chief undergaoler, a gaoler, and a King's Justice.
Is Jaime going to ask himself who's collecting those wages if the positions aren't filled?
No, of course not, every dumb Lannister must have a Littlefinger blind spot. It's a prerequisite.
+.+.+
"I want to question these two turnkeys."
[...]
But, ser, if I may be so bold, I do not think them like to answer. They are dead, my lord."
Jaime frees Tyrion, and four people die for it, including his father. That's what a redemption arc looks like, right?
The three children continue to honour Tywin's legacy by always making everything worse.
+.+.+
Ser Osmund shrugged. "They won't be missed. I'll wager they was part of it, along with the one who's gone missing."
No, Jaime could have told him. Varys dosed their wine to make them sleep.
[...]
"If I had a suspicious nature I might wonder why you were in such haste to make certain these two were never put to the question. Did you need to silence them to conceal your own part in this?"
"Us?" Kettleblack choked on that. "All we done was what the queen commanded. On my word as your Sworn Brother."
The gall to accuse others of being involved. Lol
Never change, Jaime Lannister.
+.+.+
The sun had set for good and all. The stench of death was growing stronger, despite the scented candles. The smell reminded Jaime Lannister of the pass below the Golden Tooth, where he had won a glorious victory in the first days of the war. On the morning after the battle, the crows had feasted on victors and vanquished alike, as once they had feasted on Rhaegar Targaryen after the Trident. How much can a crown be worth, when a crow can dine upon a king?
Everyone sit back and enjoy the thought of birds eating Rhaegar Targaryen.
A crow dining upon a king, eh? Is that Castle Black mutiny foreshadowing or Bloodraven vs. Bran foreshadowing?
+.+.+
There were crows circling the seven towers and great dome of Baelor's Sept even now, Jaime suspected, their black wings beating against the night air as they searched for a way inside. Every crow in the Seven Kingdoms should pay homage to you, Father. From Castamere to the Blackwater, you fed them well.
Are you sure they're not eagles?
+.+.+
A woman stood before him.
It is raining again, he thought when he saw how wet she was. The water was trickling down her cloak to puddle round her feet. How did she get here? I never heard her enter. She was dressed like a tavern wench in a heavy roughspun cloak, badly dyed in mottled browns and fraying at the hem. A hood concealed her face, but he could see the candles dancing in the green pools of her eyes, and when she moved he knew her.
"Cersei." He spoke slowly, like a man waking from a dream, still wondering where he was. "What hour is it?"
"The hour of the wolf." His sister lowered her hood, and made a face. "The drowned wolf, perhaps." She smiled for him, so sweetly.
Look, a hooded drowned wolf is visiting Jaime!
Run, bitch.
+.+.+
"Jaime, Kevan has refused me. He will not serve as Hand, he . . . he knows about us. He said as much."
"Refused?" That surprised him. "How could he know? He will have read what Stannis wrote, but there is no . . ."
HOW COULD HE NOT?
+.+.+
She wants something of me. "Why are you here, at this hour? What would you have of me?" His last word echoed up and down the sept, mememememememememememe, fading to a whisper. For a moment he dared to hope that all she wanted was the comfort of his arms.
[...]
"Be my Hand," she pleaded, "and we'll rule the Seven Kingdoms together, like a king and his queen."
"You were Robert's queen. And yet you won't be mine."
"I would, if I dared. But our son—"
Couldn't help but notice you both want something from the other.
+.+.+
Jaime could smell the fear on her, even through the rank stench of the corpse. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, to bury his face in her golden curls and promise her that no one would ever hurt her . . . not here, he thought, not here in front of the gods, and Father. "No," he said. "I cannot. Will not."
Yeah, who would ever have sex in a church in front of a dead family member?
+.+.+
Dawn caught Jaime almost unawares. As the glass in the dome began to lighten, suddenly there were rainbows shimmering off the walls and floors and pillars, bathing Lord Tywin's corpse in a haze of many-colored light. The King's Hand was rotting visibly. His face had taken on a greenish tinge, and his eyes were deeply sunken, two black pits. Fissures had opened in his cheeks, and a foul white fluid was seeping through the joints of his splendid gold-and-crimson armor to pool beneath his body.
Aww, Tywin got his rainbow!
+.+.+
Shortly after, a flock of novices came swinging censers, and the air grew so thick with incense that the bier seemed cloaked in smoke. All the rainbows vanished in that perfumed mist, yet the stench persisted, a sweet rotten smell that made Jaime want to gag.
Do the Daenerys fans read these books with their eyes closed?
+.+.+
". . . she's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know . . ."
Jaime had seen Kettleblack naked in the bathhouse, had seen the black hair on his chest, and the coarser thatch between his legs. He pictured that chest pressed against his sister's, that hair scratching the soft skin of her breasts. She would not do that. The Imp lied. Spun gold and black wire tangled, sweaty. Kettleblack's narrow cheeks clenching each time he thrust. Jaime could hear his sister moan. No. A lie.
Listen, I love when the twins torture each other, but I genuinely feel bad for him on this one.
+.+.+
Red-eyed and pale, Cersei climbed the steps to kneel above their father, drawing Tommen down beside her. The boy recoiled at the sight, but his mother seized his wrist before he could pull away. "Pray," she whispered, and Tommen tried. But he was only eight and Lord Tywin was a horror. One desperate breath of air, then the king began to sob. "Stop that!" Cersei said. Tommen turned his head and doubled over, retching. His crown fell off and rolled across the marble floor. His mother pulled back in disgust, and all at once the king was running for the doors, as fast as his eight-year-old legs could carry him.
Did we need two chapters dedicated to Tywin's funeral? Absolutely not, but I still enjoyed every word.
+.+.+
"I wasn't scared," the boy insisted. "The smell made me sick. Didn't it make you sick? How could you bear it, Uncle, ser?"
[...]
"The world is full of horrors, Tommen. You can fight them, or laugh at them, or look without seeing . . . go away inside."
Tommen considered that. "I . . . I used to go away inside sometimes," he confessed, "when Joffy . . ."
"Joffrey." Cersei stood over them, the wind whipping her skirts around her legs. "Your brother's name was Joffrey. He would never have shamed me so."
You don't want to be reading that so close to the introduction of Aeron Dam-phair's rusted iron hinges.
+.+.+
The queen drew Tommen to her side. Mace Tyrell bowed before them. "His Grace is not unwell, I hope?"
"The king was overwhelmed by grief," said Cersei.
"As are we all. If there is aught that I can do . . ."
High above, a crow screamed loudly. He was perched on the statue of King Baelor, shitting on his holy head. "There is much and more you can do for Tommen, my lord," Jaime said. "Perhaps you would do Her Grace the honor of supping with her, after the evening services?"
[...]
But when Tyrell had taken his leave and Tommen had been sent off with Ser Addam Marbrand, she turned on Jaime angrily. "Are you drunk or dreaming, ser? Pray tell, why am I having supper with that grasping fool and his puerile wife?" A gust of wind stirred her golden hair. "I will not name him Hand, if that's what—"
Is. . . is someone watching? Is. . . is Mace Tyrell full of shit?
+.+.+
"You need Tyrell," Jaime broke in, "but not here. Ask him to capture Storm's End for Tommen. Flatter him, and tell him you need him in the field, to replace Father. Mace fancies himself a mighty warrior. Either he will deliver Storm's End to you, or he will muck it up and look a fool. Either way, you win."
"Storm's End?" Cersei looked thoughtful. "Yes, but . . . Lord Tyrell has made it tediously plain that he will not leave King's Landing till Tommen marries Margaery."
Jaime sighed. "Then let them wed. It will be years before Tommen is old enough to consummate the marriage. And until he does, the union can always be set aside. Give Tyrell his wedding and send him off to play at war."
The union can always be set aside? Hmmm.
I was blown away to find people in this fandom applauding Jaime for this clever suggestion. I thought we all understood everything this family does badly backfires? I guess not.
Mace Tyrell will leave for Storm's End, but he'll bring Mathis Rowan with him, who has just been removed from the small council by Cersei. Mace will then return to King's Landing once Margaery is imprisoned, leaving Rowan and his forces at Storm's End to lay siege. Aegon VI and the Golden Company now approach.
Mathis Rowan.
"Prince Doran comes at my son's invitation," Lord Tywin said calmly, "not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children."
Tyrion watched the faces of the Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, and Rowan, wondering if any of the three would be bold enough to say, "But Lord Tywin, wasn't it you who presented the bodies to Robert, all wrapped up in Lannister cloaks?" None of them did, but it was there on their faces all the same. Redwyne does not give a fig, he thought, but Rowan looks fit to gag. - Tyrion III, ASOS
That Mathis Rowan.
I will not pretend to know what's going to happen in the story (ha, lies), but I will say, I would not want a spurned Mathis Rowan anywhere near King Aegon Targaryen while a Cersei of House Lannister targets Tyrells in King's Landing, and Tommen patiently waits for his death.
Good idea in theory Jaime, but the chess pieces (Friends in the Reach) are not placed where you want them.
+.+.+
A wary smile crept across his sister's face. "Even sieges have their dangers," she murmured. "Why, our Lord of Highgarden might even lose his life in such a venture."
"There is that risk," conceded Jaime. "Especially if his patience runs thin this time, and he elects to storm the gate."
Cersei gave him a lingering look. "You know," she said, "for a moment you sounded quite like Father."
Is that supposed to a compliment?
It's like when someone compares Daenerys to Rhaegar.
Final thoughts:
Do you have any idea how hard it would be to manage a ranking of the dumbest Lannisters?
Poor Kevan.
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Operation Stumpy Re-Read
ASOS: Jaime I (Chapter 1)
Look who I get to make fun of now.
An east wind blew through his tangled hair, as soft and fragrant as Cersei's fingers. He could hear birds singing, and feel the river moving beneath the boat as the sweep of the oars sent them toward the pale pink dawn. After so long in darkness, the world was so sweet that Jaime Lannister felt dizzy. I am alive, and drunk on sunlight.
It's going to be so funny when she rejects him.
+.+.+
Ser Cleos fretted. "Cousin, remember your courtesies."
The Lannister blood runs thin in this one. Cleos was his Aunt Genna's son by that dullard Emmon Frey, who had lived in terror of Lord Tywin Lannister since the day he wed his sister. When Lord Walder Frey had brought the Twins into the war on the side of Riverrun, Ser Emmon had chosen his wife's allegiance over his father's. Casterly Rock got the worst of that bargain, Jaime reflected.
I have a conspiracy theory:
George created this Lannister-Frey marriage to establish a historical tie between both houses, but in the process forgot it's absurd that a first daughter of House Lannister marry a Frey that isn't even heir.
He then realized his massive blunder, and invented the Genna/Emmon backstory in AFFC.
+.+.+
She had laid the point of the big wench's sword against his heart and said, "Swear that you will never again take up arms against Stark nor Tully. Swear that you will compel your brother to honor his pledge to return my daughters safe and unharmed. Swear on your honor as a knight, on your honor as a Lannister, on your honor as a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. Swear it by your sister's life, and your father's, and your son's, by the old gods and the new, and I'll send you back to your sister. Refuse, and I will have your blood." He remembered the prick of the steel through his rags as she twisted the point of the sword.
I wonder what the High Septon would have to say about the sanctity of oaths sworn while dead drunk, chained to a wall, with a sword pressed to your chest?
Yes, I wonder.
There aren't many characters who make vows under duress in this story, but when it does happen, it seems mighty noteworthy.
+.+.+
"A man who would violate his own sister, murder his king, and fling an innocent child to his death deserves no other name."
If she didn't include that last part, I was about to start hollering.
+.+.+
Innocent? The wretched boy was spying on us.
[...]
If truth be told, Jaime had come to rue heaving Brandon Stark out that window. Cersei had given him no end of grief afterward, when the boy refused to die. "He was seven, Jaime," she'd berated him. "Even if he understood what he saw, we should have been able to frighten him into silence."
Pretty clear Jaime Lannister is a dead man his very first chapter.
+.+.+
"Lady Brienne?" She looked so uncomfortable that Jaime sensed a weakness. "Or would Ser Brienne be more to your taste?" He laughed.
Hmmm.
+.+.+
"When I quarrel I do it with a sword, coz. I was speaking to the lady. Tell me, wench, are all the women on Tarth as homely as you? I pity the men, if so. Perhaps they do not know what real women look like, living on a dreary mountain in the sea."
Is he 10 years old?
Remember how Sansa had to be saved from Sansans? Well...
+.+.+
"She's rude as well, isn't she, coz?" Jaime asked Ser Cleos. "Though she has steel in her spine, I'll grant you. Not many men dare name me monster to my face." Though behind my back they speak freely enough, I have no doubt.
But I'm sure you don't care about that.
+.+.+
"Let Robert do as he pleases. I'll go to war with him if I must. The War for Cersei's Cunt, the singers will call it."
Featuring Lancel Lannister and Moon Boy.
+.+.+
Had Cersei remembered him afterward and hired this man Lady Catelyn spoke of, to make sure the boy never woke? If she wanted him dead she would have sent me. And it is not like her to chose a catspaw who would make such a royal botch of the killing.
Things that aged well: Cersei would never hire someone so incompetent.
+.+.+
The reflection in the water was a man he did not know. Not only was he bald, but he looked as though he had aged five years in that dungeon; his face was thinner, with hollows under his eyes and lines he did not remember. I don't look as much like Cersei this way. She'll hate that.
Laughing at the foreshadowing, but also wondering how it never occurred to him that he looks exactly like his father.
+.+.+
An empty net, slashed and torn and hanging from some trees, was the only sign of fisherfolk. A young girl watering her horse rode off as soon as she glimpsed their sail.
I'm not sure on the timeline, but I think there's a strong possibility this is Arya.
Brienne's group and Arya's group both visit the Inn of the Kneeling Man in their next few chapters.
+.+.+
Below, Jaime made out the smouldering remains of a large building, and a live oak full of dead women.
The crows had scarcely started on their corpses. The thin ropes cut deeply into the soft flesh of their throats, and when the wind blew they twisted and swayed. "This was not chivalrously done," said Brienne when they were close enough to see it clearly. "No true knight would condone such wanton butchery."
[...]
When he saw the crude sign hung about the neck of the highest corpse, he smiled. "They Lay With Lions," he read. "Oh, yes, woman, this was most unchivalrously done . . . but by your side, not mine. I wonder who they were, these women?"
"Tavern wenches," said Ser Cleos Frey. "This was an inn, I remember it now. Some men of my escort spent the night here when we last returned to Riverrun."
[...]
"The girls pleasured some of my lord father's soldiers, it would seem. Perhaps served them food and drink. That's how they earned their traitors' collars, with a kiss and a cup of ale." He glanced up and down the river, to make certain they were quite alone. "This is Bracken land. Lord Jonos might have ordered them killed. My father burned his castle, I fear he loves us not."
"It might be Marq Piper's work," said Ser Cleos.
Riverlords butchering their own people. Yay, war.
+.+.+
"My name is Brienne," she repeated, dogged as a hound.
x
He had to laugh at such fierceness. She's the Hound with teats, he thought. Or would be, if she had any teats to speak of.
Yes, let's immediately create a direct link between these two characters. We love narrative foils.
+.+.+
She was gaining visibly, the men on her deck crowding forward as she came on. Metal glinted in their hands, and Jaime could see bows as well. Archers. He hated archers.
Great swordsman hating archers has to mean something eventually, right?
"Always follow a big man into battle."
Tyrion threw him a hard look. "And why is that?"
"They make such splendid targets. That one, he'll draw the eyes of every bowman on the field." - Tyrion VIII, AGOT
x
"I'd do the same. A small man with a big shield. You'll give the archers fits." - Tyrion VIII, AGOT
+.+.+
The skiff swung through a litter of broken stones as Jaime called out, "I know a better way to settle this—single combat. You and I."
"I was not born this morning, Lannister."
"No, but you're like to die this afternoon."
Jaime has always been wittier than Tyrion, change my mind.
+.+.+
A flight of arrows answered him. One thudded into the mast, two pierced the sail, and the fourth missed Jaime by a foot.
[...]
The motion of the two boats was giving the archers difficulty, but Jaime knew they'd soon enough learn to compensate.
[...]
"Not you, ser. If the choice were mine, I'd like nothing better, but I am commanded to bring you back alive if possible. Bowmen." He signaled them on. "Notch. Draw. Loo—"
Why are you shooting arrows at a man you'd like to keep alive?
+.+.+
Brienne was halfway up the cliff face, pulling herself from handhold to handhold. Ryger's sure to see her, and once he does he'll have those bowmen bring her down.
[...]
The archers could scarcely have missed, but as they pulled on their longbows a rain of pebbles cascaded down around them. Small stones rattled on their deck, bounced off their helms, and made splashes on both sides of the bow. Those who had wits enough to understand raised their eyes just as a boulder the size of a cow detached itself from the top of the bluff. Ser Robin shouted in dismay. The stone tumbled through the air, struck the face of the cliff, cracked in two, and smashed down on them.
I'm only sharing because it's important to showcase how awesome Brienne is.
+.+.+
"You're a bloody stupid wench," he told her. "We could have sailed on without you. I suppose you expect me to thank you?"
"I want none o. f your thanks, Kingslayer. I swore an oath to bring you safe to King's Landing."
"And you actually mean to keep it?" Jaime gave her his brightest smile. "Now there's a wonder."
Why yes, she's an Oathkeeper.
Final thoughts:
Jaime is so much easier to tolerate than Tyrion because I don't have to wait an eternity for his comeuppance.
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Spanish Battleship Jaime I
Jaime I was the third ship of the España-class of dreadnought battleships for the Spanish Navy. The other ships in the class were Alfonso XIII and España. Launched in September 1914, she was completed in 1921, after shortages caused by World War One resulted in delays in materials.
During the Rif War, Jaime I bombarded rebel positions. She remained with the Republican Government during the Spanish Civil War and was destroyed by an internal explosion in 1937.
More photos here.
GIMP del día--->Dagens GIMP--->Today's GIMP:
Jaime I,
Plaza España, Palma de Mallorca.
ARV050523.
Iacobus ille primus, Dei gratia, rex Aragonum, Maioricarum et Valentiæ comesque Barchinonæ et Urgelli et dominus Montispessulani
