ARC III: THE AWAKENING OF THE DRAGONS AND THE WAR OF THE EMPIRE
Chapter 50: The Wedding of the West
POV: Ser Jaime Lannister (303 AC)
I suppose I must concede and admit my intellectual defeat to the old poets and bards of Westeros. Throughout my youth, I mocked the sappy songs that swore love and war walked hand in hand across the battlefields. It seemed a ridiculous contradiction to me, a fantasy invented by singers who had never smelled burned entrails or trampled blood. However, after seeing the land of the South washed in runic fire and Northern steel, I am forced to recognize that those damned poets were entirely right.
For more than twenty-one long and bitter years—since that fateful day in 282 AC when I changed the fate of the realm by driving my sword into the back of Aerys II—the ghosts of the Mad King, the scornful looks of the Southern aristocracy, and the infamous weight of the moniker "Kingslayer" tormented my existence. I felt chained to an invisible cell, condemned to be judged by men who possessed not a tenth of my courage. However, a single candid conversation with Ser Arthur Dayne—the man I had always idolized and beside whom I had sworn to protect the realm when I donned the white cloak of the Kingsguard—was all it took for those twenty-one years of accumulated guilt and shame to be permanently lifted from my shoulders.
With a clear mind and a peaceful conscience, I fought in the vanguard of the Reach and the Stormlands. Beside Ser Arthur and Brienne, we crushed the rebel armies with surgical efficiency. And as soon as the blades fell silent and the blood dried upon the grass, things simply flowed between us as naturally as a mountain river running its course.
I was never a man to waste time. I was never one to hesitate when I wanted something with all the strength of my soul. And looking back, perhaps Cersei was entirely right when she accused me in the past of harboring real feelings for Brienne of Tarth. I had been nourishing that idea in my mind for months, but absolute certainty came during this military campaign in the South. Without showing the slightest bit of futile vanity or striving to put on the false courtesy of Southern ladies, Brienne embodied, in a pure, austere, and instinctive manner, the most perfect example of knighthood this continent has ever witnessed.
It happened right after one of the bloodiest battles in the Stormlands. The smell of smoke and iron still hung in the air of the camp, and the two of us were removing our armor in the dim light of a war tent. Our minds were exhausted, but our bodies pulsed with the adrenaline of survival. All it took was a single lingering look, an exchange of ragged breaths... and then came the first kiss. A rough, desperate, hungry kiss that quickly escalated into a night of lust and absolute surrender upon the travel furs.
And well... as I said, I am not a man to waste time.
Now, we were finally approaching the gates of Lannisport and the imposing rocks of Casterly Rock for my official wedding. My old father, Lord Tywin Lannister, had already made all the preparations ready before we even set foot in the West.
I let out a low laugh before the mirror in my chamber as I imagined the scene of the Old Lion arranging everything with almost desperate speed, fearing from the bottom of his soul that I would find some flimsy excuse along the way to change my mind or flee from responsibility.
For many traditional feudal lords of the realm, having an heir endowed with mystical powers and Stark blood like little Rickon—the fruit of Cersei's marriage to Ned—would be considered an unprecedented divine blessing. But not for Tywin Lannister. Many years ago, some Southern lord uttered a line that became etched in the history books: *history remembers names, not blood*. However, to my father, names were nothing more than ink on old parchments. What truly mattered to his obsessed mind was that his direct blood continue his life's work at the Rock. Cersei's son might carry the Lannister surname on paper, but he was a Stark to the marrow of his spine; for my father, handing Casterly Rock over to that lineage equaled an unbearable strategic defeat. For that exact reason, he had spent two decades insisting that I leave the celibacy and marry. At least now, the old man could finally sleep in peace.
Tywin masterfully took advantage of the presence of the royal family of Moat Cailin, who were still in the South due to the recent marriage between Arya and the new King Gendry Baratheon. My father made sure to invite Ned Stark, Cersei, and the entire imperial entourage to my wedding. Of course, the offer held a purely practical purpose: it allowed our entourage to hitch a ride back to the West aboard the North's monumental ironclad ships. After all, making the naval voyage around the continent through Southern waters remained infinitely faster and safer than marching overland through the muddy, destroyed roads of the Riverlands.
I adjusted the folds of my tunic before the bedroom's bronze mirror. I wore a sumptuous velvet ensemble where one did not need keen eyesight to notice the abundance of dark red and, above all, the intricate lines of polished gold thread covering my shoulders and chest.
From the bedroom doorway, Ser Arthur Dayne observed my grooming, displaying a restrained, amused smile at the corner of his lips.
"— Don't laugh at me, Ser Arthur... —" I grumbled, adjusting the lion brooch on my chest.
"— I'm not laughing, Jaime, —" the Sword of the Morning replied, crossing his arms over his white armor. "— I just think red and gold suit your incurable vanity exceptionally well."
The legendary knight took a few steps into the room, his expression becoming considerably more serious and solemn.
"— Do you really plan to go through with that request you made of me earlier? —" Arthur asked, staring fixedly into my eyes.
"— Yes, —" I replied without a second's hesitation. "— I can't think of a more perfect wedding gift for her. Don't you agree?"
"— I fully agree, —" Arthur admitted with a respectful nod. "— Besides, if there is a single person in all the South who truly deserves to receive such an honor, it is Lady Brienne of Tarth."
I pondered in silence for a few seconds before turning my gaze back to him, feeling the weight of that decision.
"— Actually, Ser Arthur... it would be infinitely better if you were the man to bestow that honor during the feast."
The great knight of Dorne furrowed his brow, awaiting a logical explanation.
"— And why should I do it instead of your own father or yourself? —" he questioned.
"— Why, because you are still the greatest and purest knight of all time, —" I declared, feeling a rare glimpse of my former teenage fanboy side leak through my voice.
Ser Arthur stared at me for a moment with narrowed eyes, letting out a short, clean laugh upon realizing my ill-disguised excitement.
"— Very well, Jaime... I will do it for you and for her, —" he agreed, giving my shoulder a firm pat.
Despite being the Lord of Casterly Rock and a man deeply attached to his house's traditions, my father had preferred to organize a wedding ceremony under the faith of the Old Gods of the North. The reason for this bizarre choice was of a comical practicality: the Northern rite was infinitely faster and lacked the tedious long-winded prayers and rituals of Southern septons, and my father feared from the bottom of his heart that if the ceremony dragged on for hours in the sept, I would find some loophole to flee the table.
The small ceremony was held in the private inner gardens of Casterly Rock, conducted directly by Prince Ned Stark before the sea.
I saw Brienne enter the grounds walking beside her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth. We had made a strategic stop with the runic ships in the waters of the Narrow Sea to rescue the Lord of Tarth on our way home. The old lord displayed a fascinating mixture of absolute pride and pure disbelief on his face; after all, he had spent the last ten years trying to marry his daughter off to lesser nobles of the Reach and the Sapphire Isles, failing miserably in every attempt until simply giving up on the idea. Seeing his only daughter now walking to marry the legitimate heir of Casterly Rock was something his aristocratic mind could barely process.
And Brienne... well, Brienne was surprisingly stunning. She wore a sumptuous dark blue silk dress with golden embroidery that Tywin had hastily commissioned from Lannisport's finest tailors. Although one could notice her physical discomfort and stiff posture from miles away—since she looked like a mountain of muscle trying to balance in fine fabrics without her customary steel armor—her raw beauty and erect posture stole the breath of everyone present in the garden.
After the swift, solemn rite conducted by Ned Stark before the witness of the trees and the ocean, the doors to Casterly Rock's great banquet hall were opened for a grand feast, organized in the purest and most lavish Lannister style. Arbor wine flowed in abundance, and the oak tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats and platters of polished gold.
In the center of the hall, the atmosphere was a vibrant mix of laughter and war stories. A short distance from the main table, Lord Jon Umber maintained a noisy conversation with Sandor Clegane. The Hound poured himself another tankard of dark ale while repeatedly asking the Lord of Last Hearth to narrate once more the story of how they had disemboweled the Mountain, Gregor Clegane, on the battlefield. With each new retelling by the Greatjon, the version of my late vassal's death grew wilder, more exaggerated, and more absurd, but Sandor seemed not to care in the least about the lies, drinking and laughing heartily with the Northern giant.
In the middle of the celebration, I saw Ser Arthur Dayne stand up at the head of the main table. The great warrior of Dorne struck his silver goblet against the wood, drawing the attention of all the nobles present in the hall.
"— Silence, my lords! Let us toast to the West's new couple! —" Arthur bellowed, his voice carrying over the feast's din.
The Northern warriors and lords accompanying the imperial entourage let out a collective, deafening roar in response, raising their drinking horns high.
Ser Arthur took a few slow steps forward, positioning himself in the center of the torchlit hall.
"— This war, like all wars that have plagued the world of men since the Age of Heroes, brought an immense amount of death, sorrow, and chaos to the realm, —" the Sword of the Morning declared, his voice echoing solemnly against the stone walls of Casterly Rock. "— However, fortunately, this storm of blood also brought us genuinely blessed moments. I was finally granted the opportunity to reassure and absolve the soul of a young warrior who spent twenty-one years blaming himself for making the right decision in the past... when many of those who were—and still are—considered the realm's greatest knights preferred to remain silent and cowardly wash their hands, leaving an unbearable burden upon the shoulders of a boy who had not even reached manhood."
*Damned Arthur Dayne... and damned be the brainless handmaidens of Casterly Rock who didn't clean this hall properly and left it full of dust,* I thought to myself, feeling an annoying, invisible mist hit my eyes and blur my vision suddenly.
I felt Brienne's warm, calloused hand wrap around my fingers beneath the table.
"— Did dust get in your eyes again, Jaime? —" she asked in a provocative whisper, displaying a subtle smile.
I let out a low laugh, wiping the corner of my eyes with the back of my hand without replying, keeping my gaze fixed on the legendary knight.
"— Therefore, I ask you all for a toast to my friend Jaime Lannister and his bride! —" Arthur declared, raising his goblet high.
However, instead of returning to his seat after the applause, the Sword of the Morning remained in the center of the hall. It was evident that his speech was not yet finished.
"— But this military campaign did not serve merely to heal the wounds of the past, —" Arthur continued, his tone growing deeper and more captivating. "— The Emperor I currently serve on the Winter Throne harbors an extremely clear and biting view regarding Southern knighthood, labeling our order as a pit of boundless hypocrisy and vanity. For a long time, I personally believed Arawyn Stark was entirely right in his criticisms... and indeed he was. However, during this war, I was able to witness with my own eyes that a flame of hope still remains for that dying breed that is true knights of honor."
Ser Arthur turned his gaze directly toward our table, fixing his eyes on Brienne.
"— Therefore... Lady Brienne of Tarth, step forward."
I saw Brienne's features taken over by an expression of absolute shock and perplexity. She tried to stand up immediately, but the surprise was so overwhelming that her legs failed her for an instant, making her hesitate in her chair. I placed my hand firmly over hers, leaning into her ear and whispering softly:
"— A true knight of the realm must not falter or hesitate in a grand moment like this, my wife... go on."
Brienne rose slowly, her tall, imposing body advancing through the hall until stopping mere inches from Ser Arthur Dayne.
"— Kneel, my lady, —" the legendary warrior commanded with extreme gentleness.
She obeyed, bending her knees upon the stone floor of Casterly Rock. Her body trembled slightly, but this time I could clearly see it was not from physical hesitation, but rather from tears of contained emotion beginning to flood her blue eyes.
Ser Arthur reached for the scabbard on his back and drew **Dawn**—the legendary sword forged from the heart of a fallen star, the most prestigious, gleaming, and coveted blade in Westeros and the entire known world. The pale metal of the sword shone under the torchlight with an almost divine intensity.
Arthur rested the flat of the sacred blade on Brienne's right shoulder and declared with a voice that echoed like a thunderclap of honor:
"— In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women."
Brienne raised her chin, her voice coming out firm and choked with supreme pride:
"— I swear it!"
"— Then rise, Ser Brienne of Tarth... as a legitimate knight of the Seven Kingdoms! —" Arthur announced.
The banquet hall erupted in a wave of deafening shouts, cheers, and applause. The Northern lords, the Western knights, and Tywin Lannister himself slammed their goblets and palms against the tables with overwhelming force. Ser Arthur placed his gauntlet on Brienne's shoulder and leaned in to whisper a few private words in her ear—something the din of the feast prevented any of us from hearing.
Brienne returned to her seat beside me with flushed cheeks and eyes shining like never before. My relatives of House Lannister and her own father vied for the opportunity to congratulate her on the unprecedented achievement.
As soon as the commotion around the table subsided a little, she turned her face toward me, narrowing her eyes with mock severity.
"— This was your idea, wasn't it, Jaime? —" she asked, adjusting the folds of her dress.
I flashed my broadest, most charming smile, arching my eyebrows with vanity. However, I dropped the victorious expression in the very next microsecond upon seeing Brienne clench her fist tightly on the table. I understood the silent warning perfectly: the time for my teasing needed to end before the new knight of the Seven Kingdoms decided to test the force of her punch against my jaw.
Brienne remained staring at me in silence for a few seconds, until a playful and deeply teasing smile began to shape her features.
"— Does that mean you like grand surprises at feasts, my dear husband? —" she asked in a calm tone. "— Well, know that I also have a very special surprise in store for you tonight."
I arched my eyebrows, genuinely curious at the tone of her voice.
"— And what might that surprise be, my dear wife? —" I asked, leaning my body in her direction.
"— Well... I had already been suspecting some changes in my own body over the last few days during the ship's journey, —" she began to explain, her voice calm. "— But my brief visit to the castle maester's quarters this afternoon brought me definitive confirmation."
My relaxed posture vanished in that very instant. My features became extremely serious and concerned; after all, in my analytical mind, a secret visit to the maester's quarters right after a bloody military campaign could only mean the discovery of some infection or illness brought from the battlefield.
"— A visit to the maester?! —" I asked with a choked voice, dread taking hold of my thoughts. "— Brienne... what is wrong with you?! Is it some illness?! What did the maester say?!"
Upon seeing my expression of pure dread and genuine despair for her health, Brienne let out a clean, genuine laugh, the most beautiful sound that had ever come from her throat. She leaned close to my ear and whispered with extreme sweetness:
"— Congratulations, Jaime... you will soon have your legitimate heir to teach that foolish smile of yours."
In the exact second that sentence was processed by my brain, I suffered an absolute short-circuit. The gulp of Arbor wine I had just taken was violently spat forward, spraying the golden liquid across the table and causing my father, Tywin, to glare at me with a mixture of shock and aristocratic fury from across the hall.
I turned my face toward Brienne with wide, astonished eyes, while my mind tried to process the news that would change the future of Casterly Rock forever.
*WHAT?!*