The Lord of Riverrun looked better than when Jaime had last seen him, in spite the paleness of his complexion and the thinness of his frame. His hair had been properly cropped and washed clear of all the filth that had gathered during his time as a captive, his beard shorn, and he once again wore clean clothes emblazoned with the sigil of House Tully. Sat calmly in his chair like that, he looked more lordly than Jaime felt.
Down besides Jaime was the Blackfish, caught trying to slip the siege lines under the cover of darkness, on his knees, still damp with his hands bound about his back. Tommen's predictions had, yet again, been vindicated. The men had caught him in the dead of night, trying to slip beneath one of the booms blocking the rivers.
"I thought we had a deal, Edmure," Jaime said.
"We did," he replied. "I promised you my castle, not my uncle."
"I suppose you did," Jaime said with a tired sigh. In the confusion and chaos spawned by the surrender of Riverrun, he had not yet been spared a moment to sleep. "Not that it matters now. Turns out trout are not as slippery as they seem."
"So what now, Kingslayer?" Brynden spat. "You caught me. Will you kill me?"
My name is not Kingslayer. Jaime scowled, letting his irritation seep through. "I'd like to. But regrettably I gave my word of honour to your niece that I would never again take up arms against House Tully."
"Your word of honour?" Ser Brynden lifted an unimpressed eyebrow at that. "Spare me, Kingslayer. Your word is meaningless to me. Hells, do you even know what honour is?"
"You should consider yourself lucky that I am allowing you to take the black, ser. Ned Stark's bastard is Lord Commander."
"Lannister work?" Brynden questioned. "Catelyn never trusted the boy, as I recall."
"This pettiness of yours serves no purpose, ser. This war is done."
"Ended in breach of all the sacred laws of hospitality," Ser Brynden pressed.
"Frey treachery, not mine."
"Undoubtedly," Brynden agreed. "Yet it reeks of Tywin."
Jaime felt his jaw clench. The Blackfish had once been a hero of his youth. Part of him still felt the urge to impress, to win the older man's approval. He felt the words bubbling on his tongue - the truth of what was soon to become of House Frey, an offer to allow Brynden to join in the coming slaughter - but Jaime swallowed that truth deep down in exchange for another: "I would have slain Robb Stark in the Whispering Wood, had I reached him. But some fools got in the way. I will agree with you, ser, that the Young Wolf's end was ignoble. But it was not in any doubt. His kingdom never would have survived long, and nor would he. So what does it matter how he perished?"
"You would have slain him, eh?" Ser Brynden's gaze drifted down to Jaime's golden hook. "But you never had that fight, did you? So I suppose we'll never know." The old man tutted and shook his head. "Such a shame. That would have been a battle worthy of song. Though, if you'd slay me in open combat here and now, it would put any questions to rest. You were once held up as the next Barristan, Kingslayer. But now that you've lost your hand..."
On a younger, bolder Jaime, such goading might well have worked. "You know of my oath, ser. You know I can't accept such an offer."
"How convenient," Ser Brynden said. "Yet what's one more broken oath to you, Kingslayer? Take up arms and prove your mettle. You can keep one of my hands bound, if you'd like. If you think it'd even the odds."
The scorn in Ser Brynden's voice made Jaime scowl. "You'll take the black, ser. And you'll consider yourself lucky I don't have you drowned in one of your precious rivers instead. And though the minstrels may not know of my martial strength, hence they will certainly know my mercy."
With that, Jaime turned and left the Tullys, sending in Lannister guards after to have the Blackfish taken to one of the dungeons for the rest of the day. He wasn't about to take any chances with one such as Ser Brynden. Jaime stalked through the halls of Riverrun, heading in no particular direction as he let the scowl fade from his face. From the windows, the light of a bright autumn day flooded in. Noon had already come and gone. The morning frost had since faded from the surrounding fields.
And now Jaime's little army was slowly falling apart. The Frey host had begun their departure almost as soon as dawn had broken the day after Riverrun had fallen. Lord Walder's banners had gone first, heading fast for the Twins. Evidently, there were some outriders lurking around the roads to the north, picking off stray members of Lord Walder's brood. And the newly-made Lord of Harrenhall was naturally eager to get to his seat. He left with Genna and as many of the Freys as would follow him soon after. And so only a few Freys were left, almost none of which would be accompanying Jaime onwards.
Mooton, Vance, Goodbrook, and Piper went next. Each was eager to get back home, to make what few preparations they could before the winter snows began. "All relations of yours that Lord Walder holds captive at the Twins will be returned to you, my lords," Jaime promised as he granted them permission to go. "I'll go and make sure myself." He got a few words of gratitude for that, and then his warcamp shrunk again.
Next went Lord Westerling with his wife and daughter. The poor girl was thin, willowy, withdrawn. She sported red rings around her eyes from crying. But though she might have carried her love for the Young Wolf in her heart, Jaime knew that she didn't carry him in her womb. She hadn't been with child to begin with - not so far as he could tell - but he'd had her drink a good dose of Moon Tea to make sure. Even still, he felt a pang of pity for her as he watched the freshly-pardoned Westerlings mount their horses and set off, the poor young thing trailing her parents, riding forlorn with her head bowed in mourning.
He stood and watched them ride west over the horizon, trailed by a guard numbering almost two-hundred. If Jeyne ever escaped Lannister custody, she could prove dangerous indeed. The Young Wolf's widow might serve as a powerful symbol for rebellion if she wound up in the wrong hands.
In two or three years time, the girl would be wed again. And in spite her mother's best efforts, Jeyne Westerling was not likely to land someone better than a second son. No matter. Once she was away, the girl was no longer Jaime's concern.
And so, by the following morning, the size of Jaime's retinue had almost halved. In the wake of a departing host's worth of men, a small fortune's worth of siege equipment had been left behind.
"We should take it with us," Daven recommended. "Use it to break Lord Tytos's defences."
"No," Jaime said, shaking his head. "I won't need such things to deal with one like him. Siege towers and trebuchets will just slow us down. Burn it."
Daven nodded and set about making the preparations. With all Riverrun's garrison accounted for, Jaime started the tedious process of releasing the men he'd captured during the surrender back into Edmure's service, swearing them one-by-one on a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star to never again take up arms against the crown or House Lannister. He did not expect these men would all hold to their oaths - most of them likely did not even mean to keep their word - but even a few would help to curtail any rebellious notions brewing in the young Lord Tully's mind.
By the end of the day, the only people left in the dungeons were those obstinate fools who'd refused to swear outright, and would soon share Ser Brynden's fate.
That night, Jaime took a moment to relax and watch the siege equipment the Freys had built go up in flames. He watched the gallows burn, watched the trebuchets and towers and ramps crack and collapse in on themselves with some of the finest vintage red from Riverrun's stores in his hand, his cousin sat beside him. The tongues of the flames leaped up high into the sky as the darkness descended.
"So what now?" Daven asked.
"Now that Riverrun's fallen, only Raventree Hall stands. Lord Blackwood will surrender quick enough."
"And onto the Twins," Daven drank. "That'll be one tough siege, with our numbers diminished like this."
"We'll rally some more men at Raventree Hall. And even if we don't, the way I see it, it won't be much of a siege at all," Jaime said.
"How come?"
Jaime shook his head and sipped his wine. "The time for that is later."
Daven frowned, but accepted Jaime's words with a quiet nod.
...
If you want to read ahead of the public release, or just want to support me.
you can join my p atreon :
[email protected]/Nolma