There are few knights who have saved the lives of half a million people. I hope you remember that.
The words of Brienne of Tarth settled in him deeper than he thought. Sansa Stark, with ears open, had helped make Jaime Lannister’s life bearable, but Brienne reminded him it was actually worth living. Her words made Jaime stay inside the Red Keep, safe from what he now recognized were suicidal notions of fighting with one hand.
He stayed inside his chambers, far from his cunt sister. Neither of his eyes were on the war. His ears stubbornly ignored the shouts of death, the dragonfire, all of it. Even when he heard the unmistakable rumblings of wildfire, he couldn’t move.
Twenty years ago, you slew a king because he planned to burn the city. Why do you not move now? Those men are yours, the voice in him persisted, and they need a commander, but that did not move from his chambers. It wasn’t out of fear. It was passivity, it was nothingness, a self-indulgence in his sorrows. He had seen too much war, and every war had clawed away the cockiness from him like lions tearing through sheep. They all seemed the same now. He finally understood the madness in Euron Greyjoy’s eyes. It was the madness he tried his best to keep at bay.
But when he heard the dragon fell, hope awoke in him.
Jaime sprinted past terrified chambermaids and servants to the gates of the Red Keep. He summoned the remaining few hundred Lannister men inside the keep, the men who had retreated from the Dothraki horde. I need to be sure she is dead.
Ellaria Sand and her ten-thousand men were still trying to break the Mud Gate. They were still the Targaryen’s men. If Daenerys was somehow miraculously alive, the Dornishmen may still be enough to take the castle for her. But if the dragon’s fall took Daenerys’ life, he realized, the war would be over.
Jaime had to know if Daenerys Targaryen was dead.
If she was, Jaime may be free to do what he wished. He would leave the Mad Queen alone, having done his duty. He imagined going back to Casterly Rock, the place of his boyhood. Maybe he could sail to Essos, and make a new name for himself, better than the Kingslayer. Goldenhand the Just?
“We stick together!” Jaime told his men, as they were in the streets, heading towards Flea Bottom. As they neared the battlefield, Jaime saw for the first time the destruction his eyes and ears had avoided.
The smoke was still in the air, making his throat cough and vision unclear. Jaime stumbled upon mountains of dead bodies piled on each other. It was impossible to make out which corpse was foreign and which Lannister. As the smoke cleared, he saw the last strings of the battle climax, as the Second Sons killed the forsaken Unsullied. He saw the massive dragon’s body fallen among the pits of Flea Bottom. He saw huge swathes of commoners flee the city from the open Iron Gate. He heard the hooves of the remaining Dothraki flee as their khaleesi fell.
The smoked ruins of Flea Bottom reminded him of his greatest fears. I stabbed Mad King Aerys in the back… and for what? The wildfire had not spread to the entire city, but Flea Bottom was the city’s most populated district, a place where tens of thousands stayed. Even thieves could not loot and plunder in these ruins.
As they approached the dragon, Jaime saw her.
They said she was pretty, but he would have no way of knowing. Her face was almost entirely bashed in. Apart from her left arm, her limbs were missing from her body. The only way he knew it was her was because of that unmistakable silver hair.
Jaime felt the vomit boil up to his throat, and he let loose.
It poured from him like it would never end. Jaime let every inch of that disgust and pain settle into his black heart. This is on you, he kept telling himself. You should have killed your sister. You should have led your men. You should have taken action, instead of letting Sansa and Brienne trick you into thinking you can be decent.
By the time his stomach was empty, Jaime Lannister had come to his decision. The death of Daenerys had not made him completely free. There was still one thing he had to do, a duty that he owed to the realm, or what remained of it.
He turned to the Red Keep. Cersei Lannister could not be Queen of the Ashes.
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