Confusion and Fury

Cersei was changeable, especially when pride and fury had driven her half-mad.

One moment, Cersei fought him with all the dignity of a queen. The next, she pulled him close with the same fury, breathless enough to forget what dignity was.

When her voice rose too sharply, Ronan covered her mouth before the guards outside the royal chamber could hear, and her nails answered with deliberate challenge rather than retreat.

His kindness brought him no gratitude. When she recovered, she gave him a sharp glare.

"If there is a next time, I..."

"Woman," Ronan said, "are you challenging me?"

Cersei, remembering how costly stubbornness could be, swallowed the rest of her queenly threat. Her gaze flicked aside, and color rose in her face before she spat a soft curse.

Ronan was pleased by her sense of timing. If the queen kept insisting on being hard-mouthed, he did not mind making her admit, again, that she enjoyed the contest more than the victory.

By then, Robert had been dead for two hours.

When Cersei finally cooled, she seemed almost dull. Emotions repressed for years had broken free in a single morning, and the ambition she had carried so long had become real too easily.

For a time, she did not know how to fit herself around it. The coup had finished its first turn, and Ronan's intrusion had muddled the next.

So when she looked at him, the first thing she asked was, "What should I do now?"

"Inform the ministers," Ronan said lazily. "Announce Robert's death and have your son take the throne as quickly as possible."

"Yes. The ministers. And my father."

With only a small reminder, her mind began to move again. The fact that she thought first of the family's central pillar proved the jewel of House Lannister had not lost all sense.

The timid boy was summoned in. Lancel Lannister kept his head down while receiving every order from the queen.

Not long after Lancel left, Ronan left as well. The atmosphere in the room had grown strange. He did not know whether Robert's bitter ghost was watching them, but the thought did not frighten him.

If it were true, it would only make things more amusing. Unfortunately, Robert could not tell him.

The Red Keep was quiet, and the city beyond it remained quiet as well.

Eddard Stark imprisoned. King Robert dead. These were explosive matters to lords, but they meant little to common folk who lived only to keep living. They always learned such news last.

The king's excess had never shared a single copper of benefit with them. No one cared much whether Robert was ill or dead.

The gold cloaks, however, were hunting and killing without restraint. That was enough to make the streets mutter in anger, though no one dared raise a hand.

Jaime had never imagined his sister would send him to do such work. Beside him, Commander Janos Slynt looked entirely at ease. "Ser Jaime, relax. A man grows used to this sort of thing."

One confirmed bastard after another was butchered by the gold cloaks.

Jaime watched living children die before his eyes, and his heart twisted under the strain. Yet some wicked force seemed to be changing the upright knight he had once tried to be.

Kill them, and he would be answering his sister properly. He would not disappoint Cersei. Wasn't that true?

Jaime watched the gold cloaks with a cold face. Now and then, he even reminded them of a missed target. He was inching toward the shape of a demon, more true to the name than the brother the world called Imp.

Then, in a brothel, a gold cloak lifted a baby while the child screamed and the mother begged. That finally moved him.

The moment Jaime stepped forward, Janos Slynt happened to block his path and gave his man a look.

The crying stopped at once. The woman's voice grew louder. Jaime stared at Janos in fury.

Janos explained with calm indifference, "Ser Jaime, this is the queen mother's command." That one sentence smothered Jaime's temper.

But the baby's death had awakened what remained of his conscience. He turned and left in rage, unwilling to stand with them any longer.

The moment he stepped out of the brothel, regret came for him. Not regret that he had failed to stop the gold cloak, but regret that he had ever accepted his sister's command.

Was this love? He did not know. He only felt lost. In that confusion, Jaime somehow crossed paths again with the sellsword he hated.

He turned away at once, but he could not escape Ronan's eyes.

"Why run?" Ronan asked. "Has Jaime Lannister become so afraid of a sellsword?"

Jaime glared at him. If the street had been less crowded, he would have drawn steel.

Before he could recover from that anger, Ronan gave him news that made no sense.

"You may not know this yet, but your brother Tyrion Lannister has been seized by the Starks."

"Starks? Why would they take Tyrion?"

In Jaime's view, his brother was dishonest in many ways, but he would not offend northmen for no reason.

"Revenge, of course. You did know the Stark boy who fell from the broken tower has woken, didn't you?"

At the words broken tower and Stark boy, panic and worry crossed Jaime's face before he could hide them.

He forced himself calm. "What does that have to do with Tyrion?"

Ronan did not expose him. He simply continued. "Because someone tried to kill Bran Stark before he woke. The assassin died, but left behind a dagger that could prove the owner's identity. Ser Jaime Lannister, do you understand now?"

Jaime had not expected anyone to try murdering a Stark child in Stark lands. Then he understood what Ronan's words implied. His expression changed.

"My brother has no reason to kill a Stark."

"Did I say Tyrion sent the assassin?"

Ronan's mocking look made Jaime sick. Then Jaime suddenly demanded, "Are you saying I tried to kill Bran?"

"I am not saying it. Others believe it. After all, the dagger's owner is the white cloak, Tywin's eldest son, Ser Jaime Lannister."

At the mention of the dagger, Jaime remembered the one he had lost not long ago.

"Impossible. Someone is framing me."

"Perhaps. But they will not see it that way. A nimble young Stark does not fall from a broken tower so easily. Ser Jaime, do not think the Starks are easy to fool."

"Fools," Jaime cursed.

He could admit to what he had done. He would not accept a baseless accusation. He had thought of silencing the boy, yes, but he would never have been stupid enough to leave proof of his identity behind. Someone was using him.

Tyrion's fate, in his eyes, was nothing more than taking blame meant for another.

The thought of Starks daring to lay hands on a Lannister, especially his brother, ignited him at once. He turned as if to ride for rescue.

Ronan stopped him. "Jaime, have you forgotten that Eddard Stark is in a dungeon? If his people learn his fate, do you think you will return alive?"

"Damn you. What are you trying to say?"

"Impulse solves nothing. Tyrion has House Lannister behind him. Do you think they will harm him lightly?"

Ronan would have enjoyed seeing Jaime charge off without sense, but reality was more useful. Jaime the white cloak and Jaime Lannister were very different pieces on the board.

He still needed the man to help consume Lannister strength on the front line against the Starks.

"Thank you."

Jaime looked at Ronan with genuine sincerity for the first time. He had understood what his impulse might have cost.

One warning would not make him forget his resentment, but he had truly felt Ronan "care" for the Lannisters. That immediately made him think of Cersei.

He did not want to accept the price of that care. At the moment, however, he had no strength to change it.

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