Silent Jaime

With dread already in his chest, Jaime reached his sister's door. The concern that had driven him there turned into something that felt like bleeding.

The sounds through the wall were painfully familiar. He loved his sister. He had loved her with the same certainty that had once made him abandon Casterly Rock and put on the white cloak.

He had never imagined that both the king and Cersei might betray him in different ways.

Listening to the low, intimate sounds inside, Jaime felt as if a blade were being drawn slowly through his heart.

He wanted to pull steel, force open the door, cut off the man's head, and ask Cersei why she had done this to him. But he forced the anger down.

He was no longer the impulsive young knight he had once been. Time had taught him the meaning of sacrifice, even when the lesson tasted like ashes.

His love for Cersei could never be shown to the world. Jaime wanted it to be different, but wanting had never been enough.

At least his blood remained in the world. Perhaps that was the one meaning left to his life.

And whatever else happened, he would not let anyone harm her. The heavy door remained closed. Jaime chose not to open it.

Instead, he stood guard outside like the white cloak he was supposed to be. Once he cooled enough to think, the shape of the matter became clear.

Missing guards. An empty queen's corridor. Jaime alone at precisely the wrong time. It felt as though an invisible hand had arranged every piece. What did they want? Was it him?

No. More likely, it was House Lannister. Few men could endure such humiliation calmly. Whoever arranged this had counted on Jaime to fail. They had underestimated him.

They had underestimated what he felt for Cersei. A long sigh from inside marked the end of a private war.

Jaime's face went still. He adjusted his armor and stepped to one side. When the room quieted, Ronan dressed and kissed the queen's hand in farewell with a tenderness that made the insult worse.

He had one troublesome matter left to handle tonight. A man should leave room for tomorrow's road. Spending every night in another man's bedchamber was poor manners.

He opened the door. The night air was cold. Not as cold as the man waiting outside.

Ronan had taken only a few steps when Jaime followed. Without turning, Ronan said, "Ser Jaime, have you come to kill me?"

Jaime's hand paused at his sword. His face twisted with disbelief.

"You knew?"

"Do not take it personally. Your hatred is loud."

"Hatred?"

Jaime stepped in front of him and stared hard enough to wound. "Do you know what you are doing? You could ruin her."

Ronan met his eyes without fear. "Could I?"

"I should kill you, you sellsword bastard."

Jaime's dignity was being ground into the floor. When he finally could not bear it and reached for his sword, Ronan moved faster. Their hands met on the hilt.

Ronan held the advantage from the first breath. Jaime's jaw clenched, and the veins in his neck stood out, but the sword would not leave its sheath.

"If you wanted to kill me, you should have burst in at once," Ronan said. "You missed your moment. Besides, you cannot kill me."

Jaime's fury sharpened.

"You already made your choice. Do not let another man's scheme make it for you again. House Lannister cannot endure the damage you are tempted to cause."

The words poured oil onto the fire, yet Jaime was forced to restrain himself. The man before him understood far too much.

Perhaps because his heart still bent toward Cersei, Jaime abandoned the impossible act. He still wanted Ronan's head. His eyes made that clear. But he chose silence again.

...

In a noisy tavern, two men who had been enemies moments earlier sat at the same table with ale between them.

Jaime drank as if fermented grain could replace peace. Ronan felt some sympathy for him.

That was almost funny, considering Ronan was the cause of the pain. But Jaime's identity and choices had doomed him to an unhappy life long before tonight.

"Are you trying to drink yourself dead?"

Jaime did not react. Cup after cup vanished.

"Fine," Ronan said. "Then I should tell you the truth."

Jaime's hand stopped midair. He looked at Ronan, and that look revealed a certain naivety in Tywin Lannister's eldest son.

"I think we are friends," Ronan said.

"Hah."

The contempt needed no translation. Ronan continued as if he had not heard it. "You joined the Kingsguard for your sister. I accepted her hire for your sister. In essence, we both want to protect Cersei Lannister."

"Do not look at me like that, Ser Jaime. Your own helplessness made the queen choose me."

"You are full of shit."

"Poor manners, ser. Am I wrong? You are Kingsguard. Your first duty is to protect the king and the royal family. In that order, the king stands before the queen. So if the king means to harm the queen, do you become a dutiful white cloak, or do you earn the name Kingslayer a second time?"

The word Kingslayer cut deep. It had haunted Jaime for half his life. Obedience as a sworn knight, or treason to stop a monster. He had faced that choice before the Mad King and chosen treason.

No one cared what he had prevented. They only saw betrayal. The righteous young knight had become a man anyone could despise.

Jaime tried to answer Ronan, but he already knew there was no clean answer. This was the truth every Kingsguard had to face eventually.

He had no retort. His anger turned into exhaustion. He had failed Cersei. He had failed the promise he made when he gave up everything else.

When he looked at Ronan again, the hatred was less clear. His sister did need someone who could protect her. But not an unknown sellsword. Steel rang. Jaime finally found a gap.

Knightly longsword met Ronan's single-edged blade, and the clash woke every drunk in the tavern.

None of them had expected two men drinking at one table to strike so suddenly.

The splendid white knight's attack looked shameless. The sellsword's reaction looked dazzling.

"So this is your strength?" Jaime asked.

After one exchange, he slowly sheathed his sword. The test had confirmed that Ronan had the ability to protect Cersei. That was only the lowest requirement.

"Satisfied?" Ronan asked.

Jaime did not answer. Ronan suddenly said, "Do you think our conversation will remain private?" Jaime, who had just sat down, stood again. Ronan pointed behind him.

Jaime turned with a murderous glare. Sure enough, one unlucky man broke under the pressure and fled toward the door. Jaime followed without hesitation.

It might be nothing, or it might be something dangerous, but tonight he was too tense to ignore it.

Ronan, unhurried, lifted the cup of ale he had not yet tasted and took a sip.

"As bad as I expected," he murmured. "Poor marks."

When he stood, a man seated at an angle across the room gave him a quick wink.

The face was unfamiliar, but the shape of the arrangement was not. Ronan found himself admiring Varys's methods. The Spider's web truly reached everywhere.

If that man had not exposed himself on purpose, Ronan might not have noticed him at all.

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