The Good, the Bad, and the Surprisingly Competent - ASOIAF SI

[DKottar]

Love the chapter! Captures Sansa really well, I think.

 

[Prognostic Hannya]

Excellent chapter, you really got Sansa's voice.

 

[KenNM]

As always, a marvelous job done

 

[Killya-Caesar]

Thanks for the chapter

 

[Jetrick Mcfalcon]

Loved the chapter and I really like the Tywin and Tommen team up when negotiating with Nestor.

 

[Reshi48]

Amazing story. Thank you so much for writing this! I always wondered about a Tomme. Baratheon story, but never found a good one. And this is not just good but great! Truly, thank you for such a hidden gem!

 

[Morph-Writing]

Chapter 51: Jaime VI

No great host encircled Raventree, as one had Riverrun.

No, this affair was a far more intimate one. Seemingly the last chapter in a sordid tale that went back centuries. At best it seemed Bracken could boast five-hundred men around the Blackwood keep. There were no siege towers, no battering rams, nothing to suggest any serious attempt had yet been made on the keep itself. It seemed that Bracken saw no sense in haste. Clearly no attempt had been made to storm the walls, to break down the gates.

Lord Jonos seemed instead content to merely starve his hated enemy out. Doubtless there had been arrows exchanged at first, but now they were almost a year into the siege. The orchards and fields around Raventree Hall had long since been stripped bare, and the meat of Jonos Bracken's force sent home to defend Stone Hedge. In a sense it was genius. Undisciplined and bored as his troops were, Bracken needed nothing more than patience to ensure his house's ascendancy. So what if some Blackwood men slipped through his lines? It would only weaken the garrison holding the keep, and they'd find no succour for miles. In such a state, urgency would only undermine his position.

But with eyes boring a hole into the back of Jaime's head, and Tommen's orders rubbing his breast raw beneath his mail, Jaime could see nothing but the need for haste. Though Daven could be trusted, Jaime could not help but feel that sooner or later the truth of his journey north would be revealed - and striking against the Twins would become all the more bloodier an affair without surprise at his side.

Nevermind the wolves that stalked his dreams.

The sentries around the main Bracken camp eyed his column with fear as they approached, Jaime resplendent at the helm of his men. No, not fear. Curiosity. Nobody sounded the alarm as he rode plainly into their camp, even though men bearing spears and swords lined his path, cloaks wrapped tight around shoulders to ward away the autumn cold, idly watching him pass them by on his way to the command tent. It was plain enough to see, brown and big at the centre of it all, flying the Bracken banner. Jaime dismounted quietly, held his men at bay.

Approaching the tent he could hear voices. A man and a woman. Twitching aside the tent-flaps revealed what Jaime had already suspected.

There was Lord Jonos's bare arse, his cock buried balls-deep, his head submerged between the whore's ample breasts, nuzzling and nibbling. The woman's own head was thrown back, face flushed, eyes screwed tightly shut, lips letting out moans and curses and enticements to fuck her harder and faster that seemed - to Jonos's credit - only half-fake. Her legs were wrapped tight around Lord Jonos's waist, her hands in his hair, tugging and stroking.

Jaime could not help the smile on his face as he crept towards them. He watched the frenzy for a moment, then loudly cleared his throat. "Lord Jonos."

The woman screamed, Jonos cursed, snatched up his blade and tipped the point in Jaime's way, exposing himself fully as he pulled out of his whore. "Who dares-" Then he saw Jaime's golden breastplate, and the point of his sword - mid swing - froze in place. "Lannister?" was the only word from his lips before he lowered his blade and covered his cock with his free hand.

"I am sorry for the interruption, lord," Jaime apologised, struggling to hide the shit-eating grin that fought so hard for control over the corners of his mouth, "but I am in some haste. May we talk?"

Lord Jonos looked like he was sucking a lemon, face flushed with embarrassment and the lasting pangs of unsatisfied lust, but reluctantly he nodded, reached down to a pair of discarded breeches on the ground and regained some of his dignity. Yet as he finally raised his head to Jaime's level, the anger in his eyes was poorly hidden. "You took me unawares, my lord," he explained. "I was not told of your coming."

Jaime smiled at the women in the bed, left to cover herself with her hands, sumptuous flesh spilling between her fingers, nipples poking proudly through, cunt left free in the air. "Are all your camp followers so modest?" he teased.

"I'm not a whore," the woman retorted before Lord Jonos could answer.

Jaime nodded, utterly unashamed as his gaze flitted between her eyes and teats. "My apologies."

Jonos saw Jaime's gaze. "Go on then, Hildy," he told her. "Drop your hands. Lord Lannister wants to see you bare." Hildy hesitated a moment, then dropped them, any pretence of shame abandoned with a sultry, almost Dornish, demeanour. Not as pretty, nor as perky as Cersei, Jaime reckoned. Yet where his sister had to make do with teats the size of apples, Hildy boasted breasts easily twice, maybe thrice the size. Impressive in their own right.

"Do you have a wife, ser?" she asked him as she straightened her tousled hair, turning her back to him and bending provocatively down to retrieve her small clothes.

Jaime simply tugged at his cloak in reply. "I have taken a vow," he told Hildy, almost mournfully.

Jonos saw Jaime's predicament and came to his rescue. "He's seen enough, slut," the lord said, dismissing her with a harsh slap to the behind. "Now get out."

Hildy left, Jaime eyeing her retreat through the tent-flaps. "What brings you here, lord?" Jonos began. "I heard you caught the Blackfish. Has he bent the knee?"

"Has Lord Blackwood?" Jaime retorted. The Blackfish had been quiet the whole way north, not saying a word to Jaime as he rode with his hands bound. His gaze was icy cold, eyes demoralising to meet for the poorly-hidden hatred within them. He'll come around, Jaime told himself, though every passing day made him more doubtful. Tommen told me to send him to the Wall. The truth had not yet been revealed, of course, but still that was no guarantee the Blackfish would agree to work with him.

Jonos snorted. "Tytos Blackwood will be eating his own boots before long. They'll be down to rats by now. By the next turn of the moon, Raventree will have fallen."

Jaime shook his head. "No, my lord. Raventree falls today. I mean to offer him terms and bring him back to the king's peace."

Lord Bracken's face shifted at that, expression tightening with reservations. "I see... And what will those terms be?"

Jaime shrugged. "The usual sort. Lord Blackwood will be made to forswear his allegiances to Stark and Tully, and to confess his treason before the crown. I'll take one of his as a hostage. Some gold, too."

"Merciful," Jonos noted. "One might even say it was overly merciful. Yet what of the lands and castles we were promised?"

Jaime nodded. Tommen had alluded to this in his letters. "Lands you were promised for subduing the Blackwoods. Yet the Stark banner still flies from Raventree Hall."

"Then give me sufficient men, my lord, and let me prove my worth. If you want Raventree tonight, I'll serve it to you on a platter. No need to make terms with one as treacherous as Lord Tytos. I'll bring you his head on a stick. Your father promised me those lands. I fought for you. Your Mountain put my lands to light and raped my daughter. It is said that all Lannisters pay their debts. Those lands are mine by right. The Blackwoods are starved, spent."

"Spent," Jaime agreed, "but not subdued. And you spent longer fighting for Lord Stark than you did fighting for the crown."

"Aye, I did my duty, so long as the Young Wolf treated me fair. And I'll do my duty for you, so long as I'm treated fair."

"Smart man. Well, never let it be said that Jaime Lannister is an ungenerous sort. I'll see to it you get an appropriate portion of the lands."

That seemed to mollify Jonos somewhat. "If I may offer my counsel, lord, it does not do to be too kind to these Blackwoods. Treachery runs in their blood. You would do well to remember that when you are making terms."

Jaime nodded as he turned his hand to the tent-flaps. From his mouth came the command, and without delay he was ahorse, riding at sedate walk to the moat around the Blackwood keep, one of his men bearing the standard of peace beside him. Soon enough the sound of chains could be heard, and the drawbridge began its slow descent.

Lord Blackwood emerged into view, gaunt and pale, barely filling out his burnished scarlet plate, sitting atop a horse so starved its ribs were showing.

"Lord Tytos," Jaime greeted him cheerily. "Thank you for allowing me to enter."

"I will not say you are welcome. But I will not say you are unwelcome either."

"I have come to put an end to this bloody mess. Your men have fought valiantly, but alas for naught. Will you yield?"

Tytos nodded slowly. "To His Grace, or to you." He spat on the ground. "Not to Jonos Bracken."

"Well enough."

"Will you come inside?" Tytos asked. "My knees have precious little flesh on them these days. I would prefer to kneel on a fine rug than on a flagstone."

Having deemed such terms agreeable, Jaime dismounted and followed Lord Tytos into his keep and up the steps to the stagnant cold of his solar, his hearth notably barren. "We ran out of firewood a few moons ago," he explained. Even here, the cold had penetrated deep enough to leave a few wisps of mist trailing up from Lord Tytos's mouth when he spoke. Nothing like a full autumn morning plume in the open air, but notable all the same.

They settled in to talk opposite each other, Jaime relishing the respite from his saddle in the soft cushions of his high-backed chair.

"For honour's sake I must ask after my liege," Tytos began.

"Ser Edmure bent the knee and was granted leave to remain lord of Riverrun, albeit with his land holdings greatly diminished. His wife is there with him, still heavy with child last I checked. So long as he doesn't countenance any talk of rebellion again, or do any other fool thing, I expect he should live a long and healthy life - though neither he nor anyone from his house will ever be known as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands again."

Tytos nodded. "An honourable and merciful punishment," he noted, his lips struggling to hide the question on his tongue.

"Rest assured it was not my idea," Jaime answered the implicit question. Even if his moniker as Kingslayer had been ill-earned, most Riverlords still saw the last name Lannister and presumed him the same ruthless killer. As much as he had come to loathe it, the reputation it carried still had some use. "Nor my father's. His Grace insisted that young Lord Edmure be given a second chance. He hopes to repair any damage done, put past quarrels and spats behind him, and rule as king of a quiet, pleasant, and prosperous country."

Hopeful puzzlement was now on open display on Lord Blackwood's face. "That is glad news, I think. I wish His Grace well in his hopes."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear it. Now, shall we talk terms?"

Lord Tytos nodded tiredly. "Is this the part where I kneel?"

"Spare your bones, Blackwood," Jaime told him. "When the Maesters ask, I'll tell them you bent the knee."

With an agreeable tone struck, it did not take long to haggle out the details. Gold and silver was paid for the Blackwood's pardon, grain was sequestered to fill Lord Tytos's barren larders. Jaime laid down the terms, and Tytos accepted them with barely a token argument. Tytos was gracious enough even on the issue of his lands, though when he heard the Brackens would get a portion as well as the crown a mighty scowl furrowed his brow. But still, he acceded to Jaime's demands.

Jaime braced himself. "We are nearly done, then. Save one issue. A hostage."

Tytos shifted in his seat, suddenly visibly more guarded. "Yes, my lord."

"I know you have a daughter."

Lord Tytos flinched. "Please, my lord. She's a gentle girl, only eight. She has never known life beyond these lands. I have four sons yet living, lord. Take one of them, if you must. But spare my little girl. My sons are young and thirsty for adventure. One is twelve, another fourteen. One martial, the other bookish."

I've gone soft, Jaime thought. He let the silence linger a moment, then nodded. "I'll take the bookish one," he said.

"Hoster," Tytos nodded. "I'll have him ready in short order." Tytos hesitated a moment. "Might I suggest claiming one of the Bracken daughters as well? Lord Jonos was not man enough to sire a son. Still, treachery runs in Bracken blood. It would not be wise to leave them be."

Funny, Jaime thought, though he was not truly amused. That's what Jonos said about you.

And with that, Jaime re-emerged into the brisk air, found Hoster awaiting him by the stables.

The boy gave a nervous bow and introduced himself with a poorly-hidden grin. "Lord, I am Hoster, your hostage."

"He'll serve you well till Kings Landing," Tytos declared.

"It is not his service I worry about," Jaime replied. "One misstep, and I'll not hesitate to send you the lad's head."

Any trace of warmth wilted from Tytos's face. Beside him, Hoster grew pale. "Aye. I remember your name, Kingslayer. Rest assured, I'll not turn my cloak."

"Well enough, I must be away. The Twins await."

"If I may make one more plea to you, my lord," Tytos spoke. "My son passed during the Red Wedding. The Freys have not returned his bones."

Jaime mounted, grasping the reigns with his good hand. "I'll see that they do," he said, and then started his horse at a walk, Hoster following atop his own mare. Past the castle gates and across the drawbridge they went, where Lord Jonos was awaiting them.

"Tytos cheated you," he said, pointing at Hoster. "Weaker than a woman, that one. He'll be no use to you."

Hoster scowled, but was smart enough to keep his peace.

"Have you any children, Lord Jonos?" Jaime probed, following Lord Tytos's counsel.

After Jaime had claimed his second hostage of the day, he rode away with Hoster in tow, Lord Jonos's silent fury bidding them farewell. His men formed up and followed behind him, Daven settling in besides him. Neither outlaws nor wolves troubled them as they went, but still Jaime's unease grew with every yard. Up the road they went, a thousand sets of hooves kicking up clouds of dust in their wake.

The hours passed in silence, plains and hillocks passing by. They forded two streams, Daven testing the frigid water's depth with a waist-high stick. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding that seemed to quieten the usual chatter. Jaime took in the landscape, draped in golden dusk, nose reddening from the cold as the scant warmth of the autumn sun faded well before its time.

They made camp for the night in the shell of a village, homes burned and peasants long sent fleeing or slaughtered, evidenced by the half-rotted bodies strewn about. The Mountain's work. Campfires lit up as Jaime's company settled in for the night, flames dancing merrily with the breeze. The smell of smoked mutton permeated the air, one last meal before the massacre. But it all tasted of ash on Jaime's tongue. Like the ash falling from the sky.

No, not ash, Jaime realised, watching a lone flake melt on his fingertip. Snow. There went Tommen's harvest. Ruined before it could be reaped. Starvation would surely follow.

Did Tommen foresee famine? Jaime wondered, suddenly feeling hollow. Or was the grain truly meant to be more than just a ploy?

Jaime shook his head, threw down his meat, arose to his feet, took a deep breath to brace himself, and turned to the task he had been dreading the past few days.

The Blackfish greeted him with the same baleful stare, hair greasy, food sitting barely touched besides him, clean-shaven face sporting the beginnings of a beard, hands bound tight together. He was half-draped in shadow, caged for the moment in the burnt-out ruin of some poor villager's hut, walls blackened by soot, roof half-collapsed in one corner, floors stained with what was either stale blood or shit. He offered Jaime no greeting.

Can Tommen see me now? Jaime wondered.

"I trust you find your accommodations comfortable?"

"I've been sitting on a bed of roses," Brynden cut back, his voice caustic, dry from disuse. "Why am I here, Kingslayer? Did you drag me all this way just to gloat? To make me watch?"

"No."

"You spoke of justice."

Jaime nodded, his throat suddenly dry. "Get up, ser."

The Blackfish eyed Jaime suspiciously. Nevertheless, he hauled himself laboriously to his feet, blue eyes searching Jaime's features for whatever deception he'd been expecting to find. I'm the same boy you told of the Band of the Nine, Jaime wanted to say. The same lad who asked for tales of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, all those long years ago. Alas, to Brynden Tully Jaime was now nought but the lion on his breast. Kingslayer forever more, even if the stain that had given him the name had never truly existed in the first place. Even if everyone knew the truth.

"Hands." Jaime commanded, gesturing to the Blackfish's restraints, letting his impatience cover for his apprehension. Ser Brynden offered up his arms, and Jaime looped his hook around the ropes, gilded steel slowly working, fraying the rough fibres with every turn of his elbow. "You hate me," he said as he worked, as though it were fact.

Ser Brynden cocked his head, blue eyes cold as ice, so close his breath tickled Jaime's beard. His silence was cause for hope, at least.

"As much as you hate Walder Frey?"

The Blackfish let slip a black breath of joyless laughter. "Is this your justice, Kingslayer?"

"You say you want to duel me."

"Aye."

"As much as you want to duel Walder Frey?"

Ser Brynden hesitated a moment. "No."

Jaime tugged hard at the ropes around Brynden's wrists, severing what remained in one clean stroke, letting the scraps fall to the ground. "You're in luck, Blackfish. His Grace thinks most unkindly of those who break guest right."

The Blackfish raised a lone brow, searching Jaime's features as he rubbed his wrists and flexed his fingers. "Does he? Or do you?"

Jaime didn't answer the man's question. "When we enter the Twins, can I trust you to keep your head? At least till the bloodletting begins? To stay your hand from taking the head of any who did not partake in your niece's death?"

"Aye, so long as I can take Walder's."

"And I can trust you with a blade?"

For a long moment, Ser Brynden's only answer was silence. Then, for the first time, the Blackfish met Jaime's gaze and smiled. Not kindly. Not warmly. But it was a smile all the same.

"Give me one and find out."
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Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.
Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. May be subject to a rewrite or edits in the future

 

[Wolffils]

Welcome back.

 

[AAALLlIII333]

Great to see you post again. I real like this smart Jaime.

 

[Jetrick Mcfalcon]

Really glad to see this updated again.