As lions and krakens danced together, Jaime saw from a distance with his broken hand.
The whiteness of the castle contrasted well with small black specks he saw, opposing and clashing each other, sometimes strewing in the air blood red. Jaime’s eyes followed the war, but his mind was at Pyke, picturing Tyrion Lannister’s corpse floating in its crimson shores. The dreams had not stopped since he was told. Some nights Cersei floated in the waters as well, and Jaime woke up feeling in the pits of his chest immense joy, before he rectified his emotions.
Euron Greyjoy’s cackles from afar pierced his ears, despite him surveying the massacre a hillside away. The man is mad. Jaime stared, wordless at the joy with which his forces devoured what remained of the Tyrells. The same man was stony, unsmiling and almost disinterested in front of the Iron Throne when seeking alliances but when in battle, there would be little differentiating him from beasts. He is of two faces, Jaime thought, seeing Euron jump and dance around, even in a war as incontestable as such, and close to its climax anyway.
Ultimately, the battle was incontestable because Daenerys Targaryen foolishly commanded men she did not need to fight against an enemy she ought to have friended. If Tyrion were not murdered, the Dragon Queen would not have been threatened enough to carry an entire entourage of men to fight the northerners. The war between Stark and Targaryen had given Cersei a fortuitous advantage. Was it lucky, or did the bitch plan it?
Jaime’s musings were interrupted by Randyll Tarly’s hooves, climbing up the hillside to meet him. He was full of soot and smelled of dead people, and despite the victory no smile succeeded in escaping his face. “It is done,” he spoke with militaristic efficacy. “She waits inside.”
Leave it to me to slay your queen, Tarly. As Jaime trotted past heaps of corpses into the castle, he wondered why he once bragged about being the best knight in the Seven Kingdoms.
Euron Greyjoy had not stopped cackling – the man had taken complete leave of his senses. Before him were knights looting what they could, and in the castle distant shouts of women being raped in its corners, voices everyone pretended to mishear. The part we all leave out in the songs.
Tyrion Lannister had not left his mind when Jaime entered Olenna’s chambers. The Queen of Thorns looked amused for a woman mere minutes away from complete blackness; indeed, she was whistling away ‘The Rains of Castamere’ like a toddler. Jaime was reminded of the times Tyrion whistled the song, and Olenna’s toots angered him.
“How will it happen?” were her first words, sporting a silly, uncharacteristic smile.
Jaime pulled the vial out and poured it in Olenna’s wine. “I cannot promise it will be entirely painless, but better than to be publicly whipped or drowned with wildfire.”
“Yes.” Olenna sounded almost grateful, gulping down the drink as if it were nectar. The moment the last drops disappeared, the Queen of Thorns dissolved into another fit of laughter. Upon gazing at Jaime’s confused countenance, she restrained herself enough to provide explanation. “Do you know what I was thinking, sitting up here and watching my loyal bunch of useless cunts lie down for bigger cunts? The last thing I would wish was to be slain by a Lannister, so I found a dagger and tried to end it by myself. But before I mustered the courage, one of your lot came and stopped me. Here I was, wondering if I had lost my chance, if I was to be flayed or raped, only to learn that it would happen much easier. But it must be poetic, I suppose, to be killed in the same manner as I did to that cock Joffrey. If there was one regret I hold, it is that he was the only Lannister I managed to murder, but-”
Olenna froze in her words, for Jaime’s dagger was out. Without any warning, he slashed it against her throat, pleased to hear the laughter cease. She was not quite dead yet – Jaime’s weaker hand had done a poor job at finishing its target. No matter.
If the Queen of Thorns had not killed King Joffrey, Tyrion would not have been accused of murder. His brother may have lived, his father may not have been killed, and Jaime himself may have had a chance at redemption. It was that he kept fresh in his mind as he pounced on the old lady, stabbing daggers at her stomach. You killed Tyrion. You killed him. You killed him.
*
End of episode – S07E07 will be published on Sunday, 12th August 2018, 8:30 am GMT
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