John fic saving lives one day at a time!!! Can i be added to tag list :) Can’t wait for update
Of course you can!!! Also, here's that update for you <3
Chapter Eighteen - Battle is upon them, and lives will be lost on the battlefield and beyond.
CH 19
It is early, two hours past dawn, he stands beside Robb, and his father, the prisoners in shackles, lined up so that Lord Tywin can see his family as he approaches. The field is wide, the sun still low in the sky, a cool breeze drifting through. Jon and Robb are fitted with armor, breastplates bearing the Stark and Dayne sigils respectively, and he flexes and unflexes his fingers as they wait. Ghost and Grey Wind sit between them, waiting patiently.
The Lord of Casterly Rock arrives on a war horse, and despite his age he looks fearsome, the rising sun glinting off his golden armor, his sword hanging from his side, his men behind him, the crimson Lannister banners waving in the wind.
You stand behind Jon, Margaery’s hand in your own avoiding your grandfather’s searing gaze as it sweeps over those gathered, men of the North and Riverlands set even further back, weapons at the ready.
“Lord Lannister.” Robb calls, raising a hand in greeting, putting on an air of ease, as if Jon had not witnessed Robb’s nerves force him to empty his stomach behind a tree in the early hours of predawn.
“Young Lord Stark.” Lord Tywin says coolly, dismounting with a grace Jon did not think a man of his age could possess. “I have given your terms much thought.”
“They are fair terms considering what your family has done to King Stannis’, to the realm.” Robb says equality as cool, his tone even, his voice steady even as his hands trembled behind his back.
Jon saw Margaery shift forward, her free hand taking hold of Robb’s wrist, her thumb caressing the skin, and the trembling slowly came to a halt.
“My family has done nothing, Tommen is King Robert heir, as was Joffrey before him.” Lord Tywin says, his emerald eyes unflinching steel.
A snort comes from somewhere behind Jon, echoing in the quiet of the morn, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. All the realm knew the truth, the Tyrells had ensured that.
Robb keeps his face neutral. “Lord Lannister, the truth has spread throughout the seven kingdoms, it is best if you allow the rightful heir to take the throne, we do not wish for more bloodshed.”
“You would ask that I strip my grandson of his wife, his throne, and submit my house to the mercy of Stannis Baratheon over baseless rumors.”
“They are not baseless.” Ser Jaime’s voice strained and rough from his time exposed to the elements rises above the crowd.
Jon senses more than hears your sharp intake of breath, and he wishes he could turn and comfort you, but he cannot, he cannot risk betraying any sense of weakness to Lord Tywin.
“I guess you could say Prince Rhaegar made quite the impact on me Father.” Ser Jaime jests weakly.
Jon’s eyes dart between Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime, then he glances at Tommen who shakes where he stands, the color draining from his face as he clings to his mother’s skirts.
Tywin’s lips are set in a hard line, his men behind him shifting uncomfortably. “You need not lie to convince me to yield, my son.”
Robb glances at Jon, confusion in his Tully blue eyes, then he looks back at Lord Tywin. “You accuse your son of lying about incest, of lying about cuckholding his king?”
Tywin says nothing for a moment, then, “a son cares for his father, does he not?”
“We know the rumors are true, agree to the terms here and now, or declare yourselves traitors to the throne.” Robb says firmly, tired of Tywin’s games.
Tywin draws his sword. “The only traitors to the throne are those before me.”
It is as they feared, Tywin would not accept the terms, and he would launch an attack. Jon draws his sword, nodding to his father, who grabs you and Margaery by the arms, Smalljon corralling your remaining family. All of you rush off into the crowd as Robb's men surge forward, meeting the oncoming wave of Lannisters and whitecloaks.
The Lannisters are outnumbered, not expecting the Tyrell forces hiding behind the hills, and Jon feels a sense of pity as his sword slices clean through a man’s neck, his head flying in the opposite direction. Jon turns and plunges his sword into another man’s side, right between the chinks in his armor.
Arrows whiz by his head, and when they land true, Robb laughs, calling out congratulations to Theon before his sword bites into the flesh of a whitecloak.
Jon knew the man, he has spent most of his life in King’s Landing he knows every kingsguard, and he attempts to avoid facing them head on, not wanting their familiar faces to haunt his dreams. The sun rises and with it the temperature, sweat drips in his eyes, and he blinks them clear as he ducks, narrowly avoiding a sword swipe.
“Keep sharp, brother.” Robb calls, pulling his sword from a man’s stomach as Grey Wind lunges at the next one, his powerful jaws clamping down on the man’s throat.
Ghost has been his shadow, taking out any who come within his blind spot, growling at oncoming horses, making them rear up and throw their riders. It is chaos, but he knows it will soon end, and when Dacey Mormont brings her sword to Lord Tywin’s throat, her booted foot on his chest, he knows they have won.
A plume of smoke catches his eyes, blooming up into the sky from King’s Landing, growing wider and taller. They must have done it, must have breached the city, taken it as their own. Cheers and shouts ring out, and Dacey drags Tywin from the ground, smiling savagely. “Think I’ll get my own keep for this?”
Robb chuckles and claps her on the shoulder. “You can try.”
Jon buries his hand in Ghost’s fur, leaning on him as the adrenaline drains from his body leaving him thoroughly exhausted.
“Let us rest and regroup, then we will meet with our rightful king at the gates of the city.” Robb calls, waiting until he is sure all his men have heard him before he begins to make his way back to the camp.
Jon follows, Ghost trotting at his side, tail wagging, his pristine coat tinged with blood and gore. They will both need a bath before they return to you.
Standing beside his father while King Stannis hands down the sentencing of your family, Jon is reminded of the day his uncle was sentenced to die. How you held his arm, stood in front of him and pleaded with him not to do anything foolish.
“Cersei Lannister, for your crimes against the crown and the gods themselves, you shall lose your head.” King Stannis says, his eyes not necessarily cold, but steely, unflinching, unfeeling, his hands steady as he passes down the first verdict.
Tommen cries out clinging to his mother as she glares at King Stannis, even road weary and in tattered clothes, she looks a queen, no amount of dust, dirt, or shame can hide the regal air she possesses.
“Tywin Lannister, for your crimes against the crown, you shall join your daughter’s fate.”
Jon’s eyes flicker to you, but you are looking at your uncle, your hands buried in your skirts, eyes rimmed red. He wants to stand beside you, but he must remain at his father’s side. By order of the king, the two innocent Lannister must stand alone. Perhaps it is a warning to both you, your father and any others who might try and go against the king.
“Ser Jamie.” King Stannis says. “I have had many beg me to spare your life.”
Ser Jamie for his credit raises his head, and addresses King Stannis with respect. “My life is yours, My King, do with it what you will.”
King Stannis’ lips form a hard line, then he looks off towards his wife, Ser Davos. “You killed your king, helped cuckhold another, sullied your cloak with your sister, but…I am told you saved countless lives from the Mad King, saved the entire city if not realm from his madness. Your reward shall be not watching those you love die.”
A kingsguard approaches, sword drawn, and Tommen goes pale as he is yanked from his mother. Cersei cries out angrily, hissing that all shall pay for their crimes against her. But Jon cannot help but look at you and your father, at the way you stare at Ser Jaime, at the the way your father seems to be a moment away from cracking, dissolving into dust under the weight of his grief.
The king turns, addressing the final Lannister. “Tommen Lannister.” It feels as if the entire court holds their breath, Tommen’s large emerald eyes are wide and filled with tears. King Stannis’ voice softens a fraction for a moment. “I am a just man; you shall not watch your family die.”
Then Tommen is pulled to his feet and cast towards you and your father. You take him into your arms hurriedly, holding him with a death grip, keeping his head turned away from his mother and father.
The kingsguard raises his sword and Ser Jaime is pushed to his knees.
A sob escapes you, Jon can hear it, his sense so fine-tuned to your very being it is as if the small sound is as loud as thunder.
Ser Jamie looks to you and your father. “Tyrion, y/n, I must beg your forgiveness once more, for I have to leave you both far too soon, and can no longer watch over you.”
Jon feels his father’s hand on his arm, keeping him from going to you as press your hand to your heart, fingers gripping the rich fabric of your gown, with a weak heartbroken whimper of “Uncle Jaime…”
Then all is silent until the blade sings, cutting through the air followed by the heavy thump of Ser Jaime’s head. A devastated cry leaves your lips, piercing him, and for a moment Jon is reminded of the tale of the death of Rhaenyra Targaryen. How her half-brother’s dragon burned her alive in front of her youngest son. How her screams and his echoed throughout the Keep, how one of Rhaenyra’s ladies clawed her own eyes out in her grief.
Then goes Cersei’s head, then Tywin’s until three golden heads lay in pools of crimson.
When King Stannis turns to Tommen again, you stiffen, a strangled sob escaping you, a torrent of tears.
Jon’s stomach drops, this is not right, Tommen was to be a ward of Winterfell, stripped of his name and titles, but alive, that is what he was told, what you were told.
“Please, he is just a boy.” You say, refusing to release your grip on Tommen, your face a portrait of anguish.
“He is, so I will not stain my rule by taking his life.” King Stannis jerks his head towards the gathering of Starks and Northmen. “Lord Stark will take the boy, he shall be no more than he truly is, a bastard, but he will live.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You say, curtsying best you can with Tommen stuck to you like a sticker burr and your vision blurred with tears.
The remaining sentencing of traitors is a blur, Jon cannot focus on anything but your anguished face, the tears that slide down your cheeks, the way your hands shake as they smooth down Tommen’s hair. It is not until his uncle nudges him, that Jon realizes court has been dismissed and everyone is filing out.
He goes to you instantly, mindful of the blood, and guides you out of the Great Hall, your father holding Tommen’s hand as the boy cries silently, the two of them trailing behind.
Jon tries to speak but you shake your head, weariness clear in your every movement. He will wait to speak, wait until you have slept and begun to grieve your family.
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