Jaime had not seen his sister show fear many times. More often than not they'd been separated whenever the very worst was happening. When Stannis Baratheon had sacked King’s Landing and Cersei had almost been driven to suicide, Jaime had been ambushed and taken for ransom by Robb Stark. When Jaime had lost his hand as a captive to Boltons , Cersei had been safe from harm and assisting their son, King Joffrey in the running of the Seven Kingdoms. When Cersei had been imprisoned by the Faith Militant for crimes of carnal sin, Jaime had been sent to retrieve their daughter Myrcella from enemy hands in Dorne. As Cersei was paraded naked through the streets in an act of atonement, their daughter had been poisoned and died in Jaime’s arms. Returning her body to King’s Landing, Cersei had spoken of how as a child she’d wondered often about their beautiful mother’s face decaying. Though Jaime had tried to comfort her, she’d rambled on about a prophecy and fate, how what had happened to their children had been written in stone. “Fuck prophecy” Jaime had vowed, “Fuck fate. Fuck everyone that isn’t us. We’re the only ones who matter, the only ones in the world and everything they’ve taken from us we’re going to take back and more. We’re going to take everything there is.” Now Jaime wished he'd never said it.
Dead Men Sing No Songs. Chapter 11: Written In Stone by Birdie Lo Green
