He heard his feet echo across dark corridors. He wondered if he walked to his death, and if he were, if he would feel the fear in his last moments.
Jaime Lannister walked across the drawbridge and above iron spikes glistening with frost to reach the doors of Maegor’s Holdfast. He rapped on the big brass doors impatiently, wanting to be inside, away from the cold. The doors opened, and there stood Gregor Clegane.
Gregor’s visage covered the threshold. “Move,” Jaime told him, eyes fixed on his golden chest. He felt the glowers of the Mountain through his full body armor, unmoving. It was all part of Cersei’s game, Jaime knew, until Gregor slowly rested his hand on his shoulder. It was meant to be light, but Jaime felt the full force of a mountain on himself. He flinched, and fear found him.
Gregor left, and Jaime saw Cersei behind him.
She stood with her back to her brother, a glass of wine in hand, staring at the black sky. “The war will be here on the morrow,” she said, not turning. “Have arrangements been made?”
“You know they have. This cannot be why you called me here, at this time,” Jaime said bluntly. He was already flustered by the Mountain’s slight, and had no intent of falling prey to another one of Cersei’s power plays. She was not going to unnerve him by not making eye contact. “Turn and speak plainly, or I leave.”
Cersei froze abruptly, as if the conversation was not going as she wished. When she turned, her head was low and partly hidden with shadows, but the tears glistened through.
“These past months have been the worst of my life,” she said, stuttering. “I don’t know whom to trust. I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if we will live. All I knew was you, and now I feel I don’t even know that.” She moved closer. “Forgive me,” she was saying. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for keeping you away. I don’t want to die with things broken.” Before Jaime knew, her hands were wrapped around him. “Help me. I need you as I have never needed you before. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
She began to kiss his chest, and at that moment, Jaime wanted nothing more than to push her away. He finally saw the worst of her, from her foolish schemes to her arrogance. She repelled him. Apologies could not repair broken foundations. Their minds were on two different planes. Cersei’s could not recognize his, and he did not want to recognize hers.
Jaime forced himself to kiss her head. It was not out of fear. He did not for a second believe that Cersei would set Gregor Clegane on him if he did not consent. But when she had come to him, desperate and pleading, Jaime realized he could not wash his hand clean from the history he shared with her. They had come into this world together. If he were to leave her, it would not be on the eve of the greatest battle of their lives. He could not find it in him to deny the closure she needed.
He kissed the devil’s mouth. He touched the devil’s breasts. He undressed her, and thrust his cock inside of her. And all the while, he forced his mind to return to simpler times, when Tyrion and Father were alive, when Robert was king and their nights felt like thrilling escapades, when he sniffed from her skin the scents of love.
The first rays shone on his face, waking him up. Jaime felt Cersei’s arm pressed tightly against him, her eyes still shut. He woke her up quickly, gently forcing his hands from her. I have done my duty, but I won’t do it a second longer than necessary. “Wake up,” he told her. “It is time.”
Cersei rose groggily, and then swiftly. “Time? Time for war?”
Time to die.
*
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