Apr. 25th, 2013

ladytp: (Anne of Cleves)

Once again Jaime was waiting in the Hand’s solar, but this time his nervousness was gone and he felt at ease. Tyrion had invited him for a late meal and Jaime was comfortable and confident.

“Brother, I trust you have been well?” Tyrion stormed in, carrying a stack of scrolls.

“Couldn’t be better. I never realised King’s Landing could be so entertaining without a white cloak and a golden chain.”

“I suspect you refer to the yoke of a particular golden ball and chain that used to trap you. Oh yes, dear brother, we both always knew who had the real balls in our family,” Tyrion quipped, dropping the scrolls on a table and turning towards Jaime.

“A drink? Some food? Both, I hope, I am starving!”

Over a meal of stewed mussels in garlic and cream and fried peppers filled with cheese they discussed assimilation of other kingdoms into the realm. Stannis’s case was being considered together with Sansa’s, the North and Stormlands having declared their alliance. The Riverlands had submitted, Edmure Tully bending the knee. Petyr Baelish had lost all of his lofty appointments, and although still remaining in the Vale, holding the sickly Lord Robert practically as his hostage, it was only a matter of time before he would be made to yield.

Jaime listed Littlefinger’s crimes to Tyrion, urging him to act sooner rather than later. Tyrion listened politely and after hearing about Petyr’s role in Joffrey’s murder, jested that he should not be punished but on the contrary, rewarded. However, he soon became serious, as that particular crime had been framed as his doing, and he didn’t take that lightly.

When Jaime told him about Littlefinger’s transgressions towards Sansa, Tyrion’s face contorted in anger.

“As much as it pains me that my lovely wife is hells-bent on annulling our blessed union, I can’t say I blame her. I acted honourably towards her, although to be honest, I can’t remember what possessed me to be so gallant. And to hear what that vile Littlefinger did to her!” Tyrion boomed, before turning thoughtful.

“This means, of course, that Lady Sansa is not a maiden after all, as her declaration of annulment states. If I wanted, I could demand a re-examination and claim her as my wife.”

Jaime was startled. He knew Sansa would rather die than return to King’s Landing as Tyrion’s wife. He cursed himself for revealing that small but ever so important detail to Tyrion.

“It wouldn’t be very honourable of you, brother. Why would you want it anyway? You can’t say that you have fallen hopelessly in love with her. What good would you gain from a personal alliance with the North?”

Tyrion sighed. “You are right. As much as I liked the girl, I have no specific attachment. As for alliances, I suspect we will get much better terms and a warmer relationship with that stubborn, cold kingdom by treating them with kindness rather than coercion.”

“True. As you know, Lady Sansa is stronger than any of us suspected, and she wouldn’t yield to your wishes meekly. You might even find yourself with another Northern rebellion on your hands.”

Tyrion raised his arms in surrender. “Don’t worry, she will get her annulment. What would I do with a wife thousands of leagues away anyway? I couldn’t imagine anyone else being able to hold the North together, and I have no interest in spending any more time there than necessary.”

After they finished eating, they retired to the couch with wine goblets in hand.

“So tell me, how are the Queen and King taking the news of the recent surprise addition to House Targaryen? Do you believe Lord Reed?” Jaime leaned back in his chair, lifting his long legs onto the stool in front of it.

“As much it goes against my general scepticism, it appears that I must. Jon Connington attested that Lyanna and Rhaegar were married; in secret and in haste, but married nonetheless. Although why is beyond me - one wife surely provides enough grief. He also testified that Lyanna was pregnant, but as her time was at least a month after the battle at the Tower of Joy, he always assumed the babe perished with her.”

Tyrion took a sip of wine and continued.

“Daenerys is confused. She thought she was the last dragon, and suddenly new dragons are popping out left, right and centre. Yet she can’t deny it; just by looking at all of them together it is rather obvious. Despite different colouring, they all share the same features, especially Aegon and Jon.”

“’The dragon has three heads’, goes the House Targaryen saying. What does it mean for our solemn Lord Commander?” Jaime queried.

“It hasn’t been decided yet. You know that Daenerys is barren, due to a curse placed on her? Might be true as well, as she is still not carrying a bear cub and that’s not for want of trying.”

At Jaime’s questioning look, Tyrion snorted, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed? Ser Jorah always by her side? Come on, brother, everybody knows that! Stranger still is that nobody seems to mind. Presumably everyone accepts it as just one of the strange foreign customs they have brought with them from across the sea.”

Jaime wasn’t truly surprised. He had seen the swarthy warrior with a distinguishable demon’s face tattoo on his cheek constantly at Daenerys’ side. Alysanne Mormont had been profoundly shocked at seeing him, but the two had soon reconnected and Ser Jorah was apparently keen to visit his old home at Bear Island as soon as possible. Jaime was glad; another Northerner near the throne couldn’t be a bad thing. He made a mental note to tell Sansa about Ser Jorah in his next regular dispatch to Winterfell.

“She and Aegon will not marry as is the tradition, so Aegon can take a fertile wife from amongst the nobility of Westeros. Should he, however, turn out to be incapable of siring offspring, it will be up to our Lord Commander to make sure that the dragon’s blood is not extinguished.”

Jaime wondered how big an ask that would be for Jon. He was a serious young man, but during their travels his tongue had slipped a few times, revealing that he was not completely inexperienced.  A wildling girl, Jaime had surmised. The vows we make… Whether it was the Kingsguard or the Night’s Watch, men could not be expected to deny their true nature forever. For a moment he wondered idly if men found their pleasures in other ways when women were not easily available, as in King’s Landing. Maybe I should have joined the Black Brothers instead?

“To whom do you plan to marry Aegon? You must have somebody in mind already, if I know you.”

“Well, there is a tradition of all kings of Westeros marrying that Tyrell girl, Margaery… but with House Tyrell stripped of power, she may have lost her charm. If I didn’t know that Lady Sansa has had enough of marriage proposals from the Iron Throne, I might have suggested her.” Tyrion smiled as he said so, putting Jaime at ease despite his heart skipping a few beats at Tyrion’s words.

“The same arguments you stated about why it is better to leave her to rule the North apply here, obviously,” he ventured nonetheless.

“Yes, yes, quite so. If her fiery little sister could be found, that would be another thing, of course.” Tyrion made his words sound casual, but Jaime saw how his eyes narrowed as he preened at Jaime.

Jaime had shared Brienne’s quest with Tyrion, and he had promised her the support of the Iron Throne as soon as she could be located. They had sent messages to Braavos and were waiting for replies.

They continued a while longer, pondering different strategies and options. As interesting as it was to plan the fates of kingdoms, and as well as Jaime understood the appeal it had for Tyrion, personally he couldn’t wait to get out of King’s Landing and leave all those schemes and plans behind.


When Jaime returned to the new lodgings he shared with Jon Snow since their upgrade from a common hall to guest rooms, his mind trailed back to the previous night.

He stayed at the inn much later than he had intended, finally leaving with his new friend Meryn the smith. During the evening his attraction towards the strong man, who weighed his words with the same care as he applied to his trade, increased. Neither of them said a word as they walked down the street, but at the junction where it turned towards the Keep, they stopped. Jaime wasn’t sure what he wanted or expected, but Meryn leaned towards him, took his head between his large smith’s hands and pressed a kiss to Jaime’s lips. It was dark and they had retreated into a gloomy recess against one of the houses, but Jaime was nonetheless shocked by his brazenness.

Nobody seemed to pay heed to two shadows in the night and Meryn’s kiss was so soft, so sweet… Jaime couldn’t have imagined a solid man like him possessing such tenderness of touch.  He gave in and allowed himself to be swept away by the other man’s gentleness and his own slowly waking arousal. They kissed for a long time, Jaime marvelling at how different the mouth against his own felt compared to Cersei’s lips. With Cersei he had been the conqueror, claiming her mouth as his prize. With Meryn it was his turn to yield to a possessive mouth and tongue as it swept inside his own, challenging and demanding. Jaime felt the smith’s beard tickling his own cheeks and the unusual feeling excited him beyond measure.

As Meryn moved to pull Jaime closer to him, Jaime felt his hardened member against his lower belly. For a moment it was as if he were back on the road, on their shared bedrolls, leaning against Sandor’s morning arousal. Sometimes Jaime had been awake for a long time, pretending to sleep, hoping the warrior next to him wouldn’t move or wake up.

How queer it was to feel such an outward declaration of another’s passion, and how refreshing and honest! With women it was much more difficult, their arousal buried in the mystery of their hidden depths. Even with Cersei, who had been as close to him as his own mind and body, he had never been able to be exactly sure when she was in the mood for passionate lovemaking.

Jaime’s own cock was just as hard as Meryn’s and he was equally unable to hide his arousal. The other man whispered into his ear, “I know a place we could go. It is in my smithy, not far from here. Just a small room, but it is clean and it has a bed.”

For a moment Jaime was tempted, sorely tempted indeed. He liked the man. Meryn was strong and masculine and reminded him of Sandor. They were in a big city where nobody was likely to find out – and even if they did, it wouldn’t be such a big thing. He wanted him, his body called for release and his mind yearned to discover what mysterious union he was so drawn to. This is my chance. Cersei is gone, so is Brienne. Sandor…if he wanted me, he would have expressed it by now.

Yet despite all that he declined, whispering apologetically in the smith’s ear how he could not, and how he was sorry that he had led him on. Even though Jaime knew nothing could ever happen between him and Sandor, part of him felt bound to the man who had first woken this new side of him. The same twisted ties of loyalty, which had bound him to Cersei.

Meryn withdrew, looking at him earnestly, Jaime more sensing than seeing his solemn eyes in the darkness. Finally he sighed that he understood, but wished he didn’t have to.

Jaime felt terrible and fumbled for a dragon in his pouch and tried to offer it to him. Meryn turned it down almost angrily, telling Jaime it was not why he had wanted him to come. Jaime assured him he was aware of that, having come to the conclusion that unlike possibly Emmon, Meryn had been at the inn not for reasons of trade but simply because he had been looking for someone. Jaime pressed the dragon into his hand nonetheless, urging him to consider it as a payment for his advice on weaponry, or to share it with his friend Emmon. Eventually Meryn grunted but accepted it.

As they departed, Meryn swiped his hand across Jaime’s breeches and caused him to nearly faint from the sensations it aroused in him. His still hard cock twitched and he had to resist the urge to buck his hips against Meryn’s hand. Gods, if this is just from him touching me… Suddenly his refusal and the complicated reasons behind it seemed plain stupid. Before he could change his mind, Meryn sighed. “You have to use your weapons or they go rusty and unusable. I’d rather it would be with me, but if it is not to be, I wish you happiness just the same.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving Jaime gasping for air and staring at his retreating form.

Jaime was grateful that Jon had gone to spend the evening with the innermost royal court, as it allowed him to stroke his persistent hardness and imagine it was Meryn, that it was Sandor… He cried out as he felt his seed spurt over his belly and the tension of the evening left him – but only momentarily. As his dazed mind tried to gather itself together, he wasn’t sure whether to curse or bless the desires he still felt raging in him. When he finally fell asleep he saw visions of Cersei, her golden hair turning into a shock of auburn tresses, and of the smith’s broad hands turning into Sandor’s long fingers.


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