King Slayer

PRIVATE ROLEPLAY: DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT MY PARTNER.

@goldcnhand​

╣❦╠ ƈօռզʊɛʀɨռɢ ֆȶօʀʍ ❧

Her slender knee pressing to his chest, Daenerys let her guard drop, expecting the Westerosi to yield as they usually did, but he surprised her with a quick, hard push. Daenerys didn’t want to kill the maimed knight, so her movement was quick to bring the edge of her Arakh away from his neck even as she tumbled backward to the ground with a surprised gasp, but it was a close thing - a simple flick and his throat would be gushing. For the briefest of moments, she regretted holding back and just as quickly, dismissed the thought.

Dany’s hand managed to keep hold of her weapon as he batted it to the side, but he had her at a disadvantage, unable to right herself fast enough and his sword tip angled down to her chest. Before she could reply, the smirk melted from his lips and his sword moved enough that Daenerys could scramble to her feet, her hand tight on the hilt of her Arakh. She would not let the Kingslayer catch her unaware again. “He hasn’t taught me this. My husband, Khal Drogo, taught me and after he died, Jhogo continued to practice with me,” Daenerys replied, keeping her gaze on his shoulders, wary of any movement.

“Aggo taught me to use a bow and Rakharo the whip. They have been my Ko, since I was three and ten. You have heard them and I say ‘qoy qoyi’. This means blood of my blood. It means they will fight to the death for me and I for them. Our bond is as strong as family. Perhaps stronger,” she told him, a small frown creasing her forehead. Why was she confiding in this man? Someone who she expected would betray her at the slightest inkling. 

Daenerys straightened, twirling her Arakh leisurely. “That’s enough training for one day, but you should see Greyworm. He can help you gain strength in that arm. Join me for evening meal. I have questions about Westeros.”

Yes, he had heard of how the princess was sold off like she were nothing but cattle. And she had thought that the people of King’s Landing, of Westeros, had been cruel. Had she ever truly loved a man that had taken her captive, without choice? He supposed Westeros truly wasn’t so different if he changed the colour of their skin and weapons. Many Knights were just as bad as the savages, taking women and having their way with them. Jaime wished it were not true, when he knew some Knights who were still as noble as the day they were knighted. He had cared little for senseless violence himself, only when necessary, only when needed. Only had he pushed a boy from a tower to protect his children, to protect his lover. 

Jaime pushed the thoughts aside, not wanting that to spoil the rush of excitement he had felt to finally have his sword against another in sparring. Even if she were a Queen. Perhaps that made her a better Queen than most--she was willing to learn how to fight, when so many would scorn for such a manly action. Only men were meant to hold swords, they would say, and yet he had known women much stronger, more noble, than many of the men who had once been by his side on the battlefield. 

As she stood, he put his sword back away, but he did not ask questions he knew may anger her. He was still a stranger to her, he was still an enemy until he proved himself of worth, and in truth, Jaime was not sure if he would be here if it wasn’t for life or death. She had burned those who betrayed her, who did not agree with her version of Westeros, and he had no desire to be food for her dragons. 

“I get the feeling your Greyworm will not enjoy that... “ That’s if the Unsullied had feelings. At King’s Landing, he had already shown his distaste, if Jaime could call it that. But he had his own trainer still, Bronn, the sell sword had made it out alive, although he wasn’t sure the man was overly pleased with the outcome of things, or the fact that Lannister’s still remained for that matter. He’d dealt with enough of their bullshit the last few years. Maybe it could prove to be enjoyable to knock Greyworm from his perch--if he could. 

“You needed my protection in Winterfell. Daenerys would have burned you alive had I not been there to defend you. So don’t tell me you don’t need my protection.”

The tears flowed steadily down her cheeks now, a waver in her voice as she spoke. She only had just enough control to stop herself breaking down entirely. At least she was beside the door now. She could flee in an instant if it suddenly became overwhelming.

Gods, she felt foolish. Never had she intended on falling in love with anyone again after Renly, and here she stood, a woman grown wishing she had never allowed herself to be so stupid a second time over. She had always thought those in love were weak, and she had proved that to herself not once but twice.

His words stilled her. Hand hovered over the door handle just a moment before it dropped back to her side. She found herself looking down at her boots, quite unable to look at him.

He was right. She knew he was and he knew he was. She was afraid. Brienne had always thought herself fearless, but it would seem matters of the heart were different matters entirely.

She was afraid of having her heart broken again. Although there had been nought more than friendship between them in Winterfell, her world had shattered the night he had left.

She had pulled herself together, of course. She had sworn to protect Lady Sansa, a task she would be still undertaking if-

She disliked thinking on the memory. How she had fumbled in the weeks after they returned to Winterfell, after King Bran had taken the throne. How Lady Sansa had looked upon her with great sympathy in her eyes as she sent Brienne back to Tarth to take a break from her duties. Gods, how Jaime would mock her if he ever discovered her weakness.

“Alright,” she answered quietly. “If…Jaime, if you want us to serve side by side…prove to me that I will not simply be there to protect you. Please…swear to me.”

Jaime’s lips pressed firmly together. It was true. If Brienne had not stepped up, had not vouched for him before the Mother of Dragons, then he may not even be here. He owed her, again... Perhaps deep down, that was why he wanted to pay her back, make sure that she lived the rest of her life happily, in a place where she was well looked after. Where she could be proud of serving someone she cared for. Jaime was not the easiest to unravel, not even he could understand his feelings most of the time. He’d spent so many years in such a toxic environment, he prepared himself for the worst, he hid himself away to protect himself and lashed out instead. 

But that was in Winterfell. Winterfell was months ago now, and things had changed. He was no longer facing a mad woman and her dragons. Instead, he was facing the young boy who he had pushed out of a window. Yet King Bran did not punish him for it, not like he should have been. 

Straightening, he looked at her. An oath, she wanted? Why he should have known... It was the thing of knight, to honour, to give their lives to kings and queens, even if they hated them. Jaime had stopped being a knight so long ago, that he had only returned to keeping his oaths when he had met Brienne. Gods knew that she made him want to be a better person. She had no idea of the life he had lived. It was not all glory, it was pain, it was suffering, lies and betrayal. Even by the woman he had loved. The mother of his children. Even she had turned, betrayed and cheated him when he was away. And he was the biggest fool of them all, for loving his family nonetheless. 

Yet, this was something Jaime needn’t hesitate on. He had been... happy around Brienne. Something he felt he hadn’t had in such a long time. She was honest, she was brave, by the gods he knew she could fight. 

jon  had  never  placed  much  stock  into  the  whispers  of  the  lannisters’  relationship.  not  out  of  disbelief,  but  his  own  life  had  been  so  far  removed  from  the  events  taking  place  south  of  the  wall.  his  worries  had  only  been  his  siblings,  wondering  if  any  of  them  were  still  alive  after  bran  had  gone  north  of  the  wall  in  jon’s  own  absence  and  presence  amongst  the  free  folk.  he  had  heard  little  of  sansa  beyond  her  state  as  a  hostage  still  in  the  capital  &  arya  missing  from  the  moment  his  father’s  head  had  ended  up  on  a  pike,  robb  murdered  by  the  boltons.  they  were  never  far  from  his  thoughts,  but  as  the  dead  marched  he  hadn’t  had  time  or  want  to  give  the  politics  of  courts  &  the  arguing  over  thrones  any  thought.  his  only  priority  had  been  the  people,  making  sure  they  survived.

it  seemed  most  of  his  life  had  been  that.  surviving.  somewhere  along  the  way  surviving  had  given  way  to  making  sure  others  could  live  beyond  that.  to  making  sure  they  had  a  chance  to  see  the  dawn.  he  had  gone  from  bastard  to  the  expectations  of  a  leader  and protector.  jon  was  still  not  sure  whether  it  all  had  been  some  cruel  joke  or  blessing  by  the  old  gods.  somehow  though  he  still  had  ended  up  back  here,  in  a  home  that  had  been  lost  and  reclaimed.  behind  walls  familiar  and  yet  foreign,  remaking,  rebuilding.

a  wistful  smile,  jon’s  eyes  trained  ahead  of  him  as  his  fingers  pluck  at  the  furs  in  his  lap,  ❝  would  it  bring  you  any  comfort  to  know  neither  have  i  ?❞that  jaime  had  been  the  first  man  he  had  been  with  like  this.  there’s  a  shake  of  the  head  that  makes  curls  loosen  from  their  bonds  last  night  tickle  his  cheek,  a  rough,  dry  laugh  as  he  shifts  his  gaze  to  a  golden  hand  then  back  up  to  the  man’s  face  as  he  speaks,  ❝  men  have  been  killed  for  many  things,  lannister.  i  think  the  least  of  anyone’s  problems  is  two  men  sharing  a  bed.  ❞

It brought no comfort unfortunately. Then again, very little brought the Lion comfort these days. Perhaps... except the Jon’s company. And Tyrion’s. The idea that he was not the last of the Lannisters was a blessing, but being alive when his twin was not, was the constant reminder of what had taken place. Of the betrayals, the lies, the wounds that would never heal. The loss of his children, the loss of the woman he had once loved. He would always love Cersei, but even Jaime knew that in the end, their love was toxic. Addictive, but toxic nonetheless. Outside of that, Jaime didn’t know what to do with himself when it came to understanding who he was as a person.

As a boy, he’d had the idea of knights adventuring, protecting kings and saving the innocent. Yet, he’d betrayed all of those oaths. He’d killed his king, he’d slain innocents, he’d wished death upon Robert, had bedded his sister and made spawn with her. By far, there were still worse knights than he out there, but not many. If anything, his only true virtue had been protecting the ones he had loved, and even that had ended in failure. 

Jaime turned to Jon, a sceptical look across his face. “They may think differently when it is a king,” he reminded Jon. He was the King of the North. People would talk, especially considering he was a Lannister. His father had always wormed his way into power. Tyrion was already the Hand of King Bran, but having a Lannister bedding the King of the North? It was a scandal, it was trouble. Let alone the both of them being men, or if Jon’s little secret came out. Did his people know...? Would they respect him if they didn’t know and found out? Then again, they had allowed Sansa to rule in his absence, and Cersei had reined the South for long enough. King or Queen didn’t matter, but the idea that the Lannisters were still worming their way into Stark affairs seemed problematic.