Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

"How about Ser Raynald Westerling?" Ser Balon Swann asked from the right.

"Hmmm..." Jaime pondered the name for a bit. "He does have quite a bit of potential. But... too young. And immature. He still doesn't see war and fighting for the horror it truly is. We need more weathered men for the position."

"How about... Ser Lyle Crakehall?" posed Ser Arys Oakheart from the left.

"Now there is a man with the mind for this order," Jaime nodded his head. "He has the strength for it too. He could tear down a fully grown pine tree with only three swings of the axe, I heard. Although, I'm not sure if guard duty is really something he'd be willing to commit to. The man enjoys his freedom."

"Then... Ser Brynden Tully?" asked Balon.

"The Blackfish?" asked Arys. "The man's older than my lord father. Has to be past his prime. Wouldn't have the vigor to protect the queen if an attack like Stannis' besieged the capital again."

"Surely you jest," Balon replied, slightly miffed. "Ser Barristan was even older than him, and you'd still be hard pressed to find a more skilled warrior throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Tully would make a worthy contender, though. Did you hear that he and Robb Stark tore through the regiment of sellswords and Narrow Sea houses harassing their forces at the God's Eye?"

"I agree with Balon regarding the Blackfish's capability," Jaime pressed before Arys could retort. "The man may be advancing in years, but he is as shrewd, skilled, and honorable as they come. He has the accolades as well; a lauded veteran of the War of the Ninepenny Kings and Robert's Rebellion. His fame will do well to give the Kingsguard some memetic status. Young blood is always welcome, but with Ser Barristan gone, we need some wisdom and experience from the older generations to draw from."

That put that argument to rest. Jaime returned his gaze to The Book of the Brothers, continuing to think on the implications of appointing the Blackfish to the Kingsguard. He had always held an admiration with the Tully knight and his deeds, a main source of inspiration for him when he was training to become a knight during his childhood years. Brynden was truly a good fit for the depleted order, but it was his honor and emphasis on virtue that posed the biggest drawback. He had been amiable enough during their few interactions when the Tully host linked up with the Royal Guard towards the end of the war, and had showcased his tact and combat skill in the few battles the Rivermen and Northmen were needed for, but if he fell into the company that relentlessly vilified Jaime for killing King Aerys Targaryen...

He wouldn't be the first of the order to call me Kingslayer, Jaime thought darkly, but he would be a lot more deliberate about it. I certainly don't want someone like that under my command.

He half listened to Ser Balon and Ser Arys bounce other suggestions off each other. Jacelyn Bywater (killed during Stannis' assault), Lucas Blackwood (far from skilled enough), Ser Robar Royce (one of Renly's Rainbow Guard, and dead), Beric Dondarrion (already the lord of Blackhaven), one of the many Freys (HA!), and so on and so forth until someone knocked on the door and Jaime bid them enter.

His new squire, a clumsy and unassuming boy named Podrick Payne, peered in and gestured to Ser Jaime. "Forgive me, Lord Commander. The King and Queen have called a small council meeting and your presence is requested."

"Yes of course. We'll join them shortly." The two other whitecloaks followed Podrick out the door, leaving Jaime to stare at the White Book wistfully, still having trouble coming to terms with his new position.

To be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard... he had dreamed of the white cloak since he was a boy, thinking it would be the greatest testament to his skills and dedication to becoming a great warrior to wear the same armor as living legends like the White Bull, the Sword of the Morning, Barristan the Bold and others, protecting the king and ensuring that the king could govern the realm and its people. That dream was shattered when Aerys Targaryen did everything he could to prove himself a king not worth protecting. The legends he once felt honored to walk amongst also sullied his ideals when they did nothing to stop the vile man from enforcing his will and wiles on the population. The very people he killed the Mad King to protect continued to rub salt into his wounds when they cast him down for doing the very thing they had strove to do for years.

But now, all of that disappointment and bitterness seemed to be slowly ebbing away into the corner of his mind. Things had changed. Jaime now had the power to turn the sullied order into something worth respecting again, and for some reason, he felt a deep and almost incessant obligation to do his duty with utmost devotion and earnestness. To reform the Kingsguard into a force as strong and worthy as the king they sought to protect. To ensure that the king he served, and the knights who would serve under him, would never trail down the paths that he and Aerys had so many years ago.

Awful memories and future prospects swirled in Jaime's head as he made a brisk march from the White Sword Tower to the Small Council Chamber within the main keep. He nodded to Balon and Arys to hold post outside the doors as he stepped inside.

Two of the legates of Joffrey's Royal Guard, Lancel Lannister and Renfred Rykker stood against opposite walls observing the meeting with a laxness that Jaime now knew belied their vigilance. The lords sitting at the table included Grandmaester Pycelle, looking attentive and diligent in a way Jaime rarely saw from the old coot, Varys who was oddly grim and even more observant than usual, Uncle Kevan who seemed perfectly placid and comfortable, Robb Stark near the far end focused with a weight to his posture, and a few others he didn't recognize.

Queen Sansa sat demurely left of her husband, managing to look graceful even with a slight red slash mark on her left cheek and her right arm bandaged and wrapped in a sling, courtesy of the wounds she had taken from her remarkable charge during Stannis' attack. His father Lord Tywin looked as stern and formidable as he had ever seen him to the king's right, casting a critical eye to his work on the table and occasionally at the others in the room. And of course King Joffrey at the far end of the table, seamlessly projecting discipline, authority, and intelligence with his fists held under his chin and his green eyes looking through everyone in the room. He looked dignified, confident, and in tune with his power in a way that neither Robert nor Aerys ever hoped of matching in all their years of sitting in that very seat.

"Lord Commander," Joffrey addressed him. "Thank you for coming. I hope I didn't tear you away from pressing business."

"Not dire, Your Grace," Jaime replied as he sat next to Kevan. "I'm still looking to see who will best fit the vacancies in the Kingsguard as per your request." He had asked Joffrey a couple of days ago if he could relinquish of any of his Guard officers for the White Cloaks, but the King was insistent that his Guardsmen had to remain distinguished from the other branches of military, and that they would not fit well with the subculture of chivalry and honor of knighthood. Jaime was frustrated that so many capable recruits were denied to him, but he understood Joffrey's reasoning. Those Guardsmen had that edge to them that true veterans of battle were cursed with. War was not a sport to them, as knights were brought up to believe it was.

"Let me know when you've assembled a complete list for me to ratify," Joffrey then turned to a large pot-bellied man in green robes with a gold trident sewn on the front. "Lord Manderly, you've been given all of the previous Master of Coin's accounts and ledgers as well as my own documents of all the setbacks the Blackworks is currently facing. Are you certain you are willing to take up this post and all of its tasks? I will not hold it against you if you find the workload overwhelming."

"You need not worry for me, your Grace," the Lord of White Harbor answered in a cheery tone and heavy Northern accent. "I do not claim to be the prodigious financer your dearly departed uncle was, but I assure you I can and will handle the responsibilities set upon me with utmost dedication."

"See to it that you do," Joffrey replied amiably. He then turned to a middle aged Crownlander lord wearing a pin of golden antlers over black and blue armor. "Lord Buckwell, do you accept the position as Master of War? This city is in dire need of a constant military command after my march and Stannis' attack."

"I do accept the responsibility, Your Grace," the Lord of the Antlers bowed lightly. "Though I must confess I do feel rather... auxiliary. I hardly see what invaluable contributions I could bring to the city's arm forces given the brilliance with which you and your Royal Guard commanded the tides of battle during the war."

"You sell yourself short. You were the most distinguished and successful of the Crownland commanders who answered my call, and proven yourself the most loyal. As the Night of the Wolf showed, I cannot always be there to protect the capital from outside threats, and I will not leave the city without adequate command and defenses again. Can I count on you to make up for that shortcoming?"

"You can, Your Grace. On that you have my word."

"While on the subject of armed forces," Joffrey turned to Kevan, "how many of your men can we expect to reinforce the city watch?"

"8,000 Your Grace," Ser Kevan replied. "All of whom are trained, bloodied, and have agreed to take up the posts of the city watch officially. I'm still enlisting more, but that is all I can offer primed and readied at the moment."

"They will suffice," Joffrey nodded gratefully to his great-uncle. "Now that those postings are sufficiently filled, let us turn towards the rest of the realm. Lord Varys, what news from the Vale and Dorne?"

"Prince Doran of Sunspear has yet to respond to requests for men," the Spider replied smoothly. "Nor to your offer of a betrothal between Princess Myrcella and Prince Trystane. Forgive me, Your Grace but I would not count on any cooperation from Dorne in the foreseeable future."

Joffrey grunted in agreement. He'd obviously been expecting as much. "Not what I was hoping for, but understandable given Dorne's... difficult history regarding relations to the crown." The king gave Tywin a pointed look, and received an annoyed scoff in return.

Father was not a man to tolerate criticism for, what passed in his mind at least, necessary and justifiable courses of actions. He was obstinate and undeterred in his ambition, sometimes to the point of defiance and at risk of alienating everyone around him. Jaime couldn't help but give him a subtle glare of disapproval himself. He would stand by his decision to kill the Mad King to his deathbed, but the defilement of Princess Elia and the butchering of her children...

Jaime swallowed something sour as he recalled the mangled corpses Father's men presented to Robert that awful day. He often wondered if Father had anything resembling a conscious left in him in his old age. There seemed to be no low he wouldn't stoop to to protect and bolster his all-important legacy.

"Regarding the Vale," Varys continued, "Lady Arryn remains silent as well, even more so than Dorne it would seem. She has ordered all her lords to limit communication to the other kingdoms to just matters of trade and news. Lords Redfort and Royce however have offered me quiet correspondence."

"And what do they have to say regarding the actions of their Lady Regent?" asked Tywin.

"They are growing worried and displeased with Lysa as of late. Her frantic state of mind since the death of her husband and her old friend Baelish's disappearance has taken an unsavory toll on her judgment. Apparently she has taken to spending all her time delegating rule of the Eyrie to her castellan and servants while mollycoddling her sickly son Robin. A pity what has become of such a tender woman. To lose her loved ones so abruptly."

"That does not excuse her sitting around and ordering all her lords to do nothing while the rest of her family is fighting for their lives," Robb Stark rebuked tersely. "Her good-brother was murdered here in the capital, her nieces and nephew nearly met the same fate, and the houses of her father and sister are at war while she—"

"Robb, hold your peace!" Sansa ordered. "Lysa will answer for cutting the Vale off from the Crown's authority in time, but let us exercise patience and contend with the problems we have in front of us."

Robb deflated and sighed ruefully, acknowledging his sister's authority. "Forgive me Sansa. Forgive me Your Grace. I spoke out of turn and let my frustrations take hold of me."

"It's alright, Lord Stark," Joffrey addressed the Warden of the North. "We all know this has been a trying time for you and your family."

"I'm afraid the North has more trials yet to face," Grandmaester Pycelle croaked, holding out a raven scroll for the Young Wolf to take. "A raven arrived this morning from Castle Black. Dark wings, dark words I warn you."

"Lord Commander Mormont was killed during his Great Ranging north of the wall," Robb sighed after reading the note. "An enormous wildling host is on the march. 100,000 strong according to the Night's Watch reports."

"Impossible," Pycelle bristled. "The wildlings are even more savage, undisciplined, and prone to infighting than the mountain tribes of the Vale. No man could gather such a host from such men."

"The warning of the coming winter is an efficient motivator for Northmen, Grandmaester," Robb replied. "Even more so for wildlings. After such a long summer, this winter will hit long and hard. This army will hit the Wall even harder if I don't return north with my men to help defend it."

"The North is obligated to move and fight wherever the King commands," Tywin reminded his fellow Lord Paramount. "And given the fact that the northern army was almost entirely absent from the war here in the south—"

"I seem to the recall that the men of the Westerlands didn't arrive in time to join their King until after a good portion of the fighting had ended," Joffrey's words cut through the budding tension like a knife, ending an argument Father had pressed for before it even began. "You'd do well to remember that Lord Lannister, as well as the fact that I do not need you to lecture lords of their duty on my behalf."

The air in the room felt colder as the King and his Hand stared each other for a moment. Everyone else in the room looked on in shocked silence as the fearsome Tywin Lannister was told off by a teenage king of two scant years. Father was looking at Joffrey with his famous glare of cold contempt that normally made lords of great houses and hardened knights tremble with fear, but Joffrey challenged him with a look of stern discipline that seamlessly brushed off Tywin's attempt to intimidate.

Jaime was for the umpteenth time stunned by just how powerful and self-sufficient his nephew had become. He had never made an attempt to grow close to any of... Cersei's children as they grew up, but having watched Joffrey all his life, he began to secretly dread the day Joffrey inherited Robert's crown and became king. Sure he'd nod and offer a dry agreement whenever Cersei would boast of how bold, willful, and perfect her golden prince was and how she couldn't wait for Robert to finally drink himself to death so that Joffrey could assume the throne, but in the privacy of his thoughts Jaime would count Joffrey's many flaws and even wonder how many of his shortcomings he shared with the Mad King. Cersei would have insisted all she wanted, but Jaime had little reason to believe that the realm would be any better off with Joffrey as ruler as opposed to Robert, regardless if the succession was peaceful or not.

But Seven Hells did Joffrey change his mind. Seemingly overnight the boy just... matured. Became every bit the warrior, intellectual, and sound moral authority that a king should be, in Jaime's opinion. He often wondered where this drastic change in character came from. Sansa was obviously a good influence on him, with her charisma, intelligence, and unexpected strength, but this had to be because of something within Joffrey, from before he met her. Was all of this in Joffrey all along? If so, why hide it all for so long under a veil of stupidity, cowardice, and cruelty? Where did Joffrey's astounding character come from to begin with? It couldn't have been from Robert, or Cersei, or... anywhere else. So many questions, so few answers.

Joffrey continued to stare back at Tywin until the old man had finally relented and offered the closest thing to a condolence he could make. "Understood, Your Grace,"

Joffrey nodded and returned his gaze to the rest of the council. "Regardless of their location, capability, or influence, an army of wildling invaders will only further damage the realm if they manage to breach the wall, which I should mention has not been properly manned or supplied in years. Something that the crown must rectify." He turned to Robb. "I will grant you leave to head north and aid the Night's Watch, but I ask that you stay here for at least a couple more weeks until we can get the matters of reconstruction and reassignment over and done with. I'm also planning a memorial service for your father and the fellow Northmen who died protecting the city from Stannis. Surely you should be here to honor them before you take their bodies back to Winterfell."

Robb's expression softened at the mention of his fallen brethren. "Of course Your Grace. And gratitude for the consideration you showed to them."

Joffrey nodded and stood up from the table. "I believe this meeting's business is finished. You are all dismissed. Grandmaester, Lord Tywin, you two remain. I have private matters to discuss with the both of you."

Everyone else save those mentioned cleared from the chamber. Tywin mouthed for Jaime to remain outside, prompting to take post outside the chamber and wait for his father and Pycelle to head out some twenty minutes later.

"What more did His Grace discuss with you?" asked Jaime as the fell in step.

"Your sister," Jaime immediately stiffened at the mention of her. "Queen Sansa and Pycelle have confirmed that Tyrion's murder was at her hand, and after hearing from Tommen and Myrcella of her behavior leading up to that night, it's become clear what we must do about her."

"You don't mean to try and convict her, do you?"

Tywin looked his son as if he were a simpleton. "Publicly charge the Queen Mother and sole female heir of House Lannister with murder, treason, and kinslaying? Do you honestly believe I'd allow that to happen? No, of course not. She may have sullied the family name and made a mockery of her son's reign, but she can still carry out her duty while serving out her sentence. Joffrey's commanded for her to be sent back to Casterly Rock, and after a year I will be allowed to arrange another marriage for her."

Jaime always had difficulty keeping his face schooled whenever Father spoke of Cersei's marital status, but after hearing of what she had done to Tyrion, doing so became much easier. "She will not at all appreciate being stripped of her authority here."

"She lost all right to her power when she made such a damning, stupid decision. She can cry, scream, and plead all she wants, but she has utterly failed in her duty to the crown. The least she can do is provide House Lannister with a few respectable heirs while she is still young and fertile and that is precisely what she will do."

Jaime was sorely tempted to make a snide remark on Cersei's marriage prospects suffering a huge downgrade since her youth, but thought better of it seeing what a dour mood Father was in. As if this latest stain on the Lannister name wasn't enough, the fact that Joffrey had risen Jaime to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, cementing his place in the order beyond dispute and ruining any chance of Tywin making Jaime heir to Casterly Rock only confounded his irritation. Jaime could tell Tywin was incensed by the fact that Joffrey would not be swayed on the matters regarding his two remaining children, and the fact that he wasn't willing to put any effort into refusing the position or suggesting someone else made it worse.

What cruel, yet delightful irony that the wealthiest, most influential man in Westeros could never seem to get the one thing he wants most of all no matter how much he tries.

"I should have been here," Jaime muttered. "I should've stopped her from doing something like this. Her own brother..."

"You were carrying out your charge to serve and protect the king. That Tyrion was too distracted by his whoring and drinking to realize the danger around him is his own fault."

Jaime clenched his fists in anger. Even with him dead and gone, his little brother was still little more than a waste of space in his father's eyes. There really wasn't much of a conscience or sense of sentimentality left in the Old Lion after all.

"Oh don't you start pouting. You are a man, not a simpering child. Fact is both your brother and sister condemned themselves with their actions. You are my only living child and sole progenitor of the Lannister legacy, despite the fact that you are restricted from inheriting all the rights and responsibilities that the position entails. Keep your head clear and attend to your duty with all the tact and vigilance your siblings lacked."

"Of course," Jaime muttered. With that Tywin marched off, and Jaime huffed an exasperated sigh. The mighty Tywin Lannister, the greatest king that never was. Quite the prestigious legacy he was leaving behind.

* * * * *

The casket was stately and well-decorated, rimmed with golden prongs and locks with the Lannister lion sigil engraved on its center. So expensive and well-crafted was it that one could be forgiven for thinking that it was built to house the remains of the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands himself, or perhaps even a King of the Rock of the olden days.

Father had ensured that Tyrion's body would be sent back to Casterly Rock in only the finest wears. Not because Tyrion had done anything to merit such a send off in Father's eyes, gods forbid. For all of Tyrion's supposedly many flaws and disappointments, he was still a lion of House Lannister. Gold had surrounded him when he came into this world, and gold would see him to his final resting place in turn.

Jaime caressed the fine ivory box slowly, the candles he had lit around the sept doing little to stave off the cold, solemn air that chilled him to the bone. His eyes were misty and constantly burning as he knelt before his fallen baby brother. This terrible numbness seemed to permeate his body, as if he was trying to subconsciously deny the horrible truth that he was staring at; that he had lost one of the few people he had been closest to all his life and that he was now essentially alone in this vast, cruel world.

"Hello little brother," he said softly, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm sorry I couldn't have come sooner, but well... the war and... my other duties kept me from..." He trailed off. It seemed so asinine and apathetic to say that had been too busy to save Tyrion's life, let alone to say a proper farewell.

"So much has happened since I last saw you." Saw you last. "Joffrey has secured his status as the one true king of the realm. He utterly decimated Renly. Sansa protected the capital from Stannis and killed the man personally from what I hear. Those two are a force to be reckoned with. A king and queen the likes that this country has never seen..."

Dammit, what was he doing? Why would a ghost need a catch-up on what he was missing in the world of living?

He had never been good at processing and dealing with death, Jaime realized in hindsight. He cried for weeks after Mother died giving birth to Tyrion, ceasing in his misery only when Father harshly scolded him that Lannister men didn't show such weakness. He nearly lost the contents of his stomach when he witnessed the executions of Brandon and Rickard Stark, reliving the horrific sights and screams in his head for days. And he internalized his murder of the Mad King and the consequences of the act for years, hating the world that had cast him down for it and drawing into himself for so long that the was hardly able to act in a social manner anymore.

"I've become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard now. Something that I only thought could happen in my wildest dreams and shared with you and you alone. Do... do you remember how we used to fantasize of going on great adventures together? Of forgoing our family name and the baggage that comes with it, of leaving Father and the Rock behind and just doing what our hearts desire? You travelling the world, finding a woman to love you, and creating a vineyard or business to settle down with somewhere warm. Me becoming a legendary knight, known only for my skill and gallantry, or a sellsword who traversed the seas, fighting all manner of warriors across the world?"

"I miss the days that life was that simple for us. When we could hide in the bowels of Casterly Rock and laugh and dream of things we could never be."

A cold gust of wind blew from the entrance of the sept and made the candles flicker.

"I... never told you this, but... when I talked of becoming a great warrior and chasing adventure wherever the wind blew... I always imagined you and Cersei would be right beside me. That we could revel and marvel at the world together. That one day, you two could finally grow to love each other and that we could have a great happy family amongst us three forever. But... I suppose I always knew that that in particular could never become real. Which is why I never told you... there's so many things that I never told you. That I... couldn't..."

He choked on his last thought. He had put up a good fight, but he lost control of his strength and felt tears streaming down like rivers down his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so, so sorry, Tyrion. For so many things. For not doing more to protect you from Father's wrath and disappointment, for not being around enough to keep you happy, for what happened with you and poor Tysha, for never being able to truly understand how sad and lonely you were..."

Jaime took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "And most of all, for never being able to see why you hated and feared Cersei so much. I never understood why she hated you. I was never able to change her mind about you. I tried to, truly I did. But I always became so caught up with what I felt for her, and what we did together, despite how wrong it was... and I let my work, and my dreams, and my bitterness and selfishness and everything else distance myself from the world. And I sought comfort in her arms and I let her indulge in her hate and lust and hauteur until she... and you..."

That black, trembling void in his heart that he felt since he first heard the news took hold of him and ripped a barrage of despair filled sobs from within. He leaned on the casket, crying as he hadn't in years as the grief, disbelief, anger, hate, self-loathing, and emptiness built to a fever pitch inside him and spilled out all at once. The world except for the bleak sept ceased to exist as the white cloak poured his aching heart out onto his brother's coffin.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, but when he finally got a hold of himself he knelt back up, wiped his face, and stared forward in silence, unsure of what to do or say to further express his regret to Tyrion's spectre.

A soft patter of footsteps sounded behind and Jaime whirled around. Queen Sansa was standing behind him in a black funereal gown holding a bouquet of flowers in her unbound hand. She looked quite solemn herself, and slightly flushed and guilty for intruding on such an intimate moment.

"Your Grace," Jaime stammered, quickly rising to his feet and bowing appropriately. "Forgive me. I did not know you were here."

"Please, none of that Ser Jaime," she answered. "I'm not here as your queen. I came to pay my respects to your brother, though I can see I am intruding so I'll come back later."

"No, it's alright. You intrude nothing. I just... let myself go a little. You don't have to leave on my account. Come, join me if you wish."

Sansa nodded gratefully and came to his side, kneeling before the casket and placing the flowers before it. She then closed her eyes and whispered her prayers, apologizing to Tyrion for failing to protect him, thanking him for being a loyal servant and good friend, and wishing him peace and acceptance in the afterlife by the Old Gods and the New.

The two sat in companionable silence for a while. Jaime felt an odd sense of comfort at the fact that someone else was here mourning for Tyrion, sharing the pain of his loss. He didn't have much of an opinion of Sansa Stark prior to his departure from King's Landing, but his brother had nothing but praise for her on the few occasions they spoke of her and Joffrey.

"I appreciate you doing this for him, Your Grace," Jaime started speaking again without giving much thought to why. "Forgive me for saying this, but I had thought with what you were forced to endure, with the deaths of your father and so many of your companions, your attentions would be towards mourning them."

Sansa cringed in pain at the mention of her brethren. "They do still weigh heavy on my mind, and I am still grieving them all, but with all the madness that ensued from that night, and the flood of responsibilities shouldered upon me after Tyrion's death, I never got the chance to properly say farewell to him. He was of great importance to me as well."

"I see."

"He spoke of you often, your brother."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Tyrion. He often spoke highly of you, when I asked him of his childhood and those he held dear to him. He always held you in the highest regard. For your skill in battle, your sense of honor and duty, your kind heart. You were a hero and protector to him. You do know how much you meant to him, didn't you?"

Another ache stabbed at his heart and spread throughout his being, but he ruthlessly squashed it down to address his liege. "Yes, I did. Tyrion knew very little love and companionship in his youth. People almost always rejected him because of his condition. Our mother died giving birth to him, our father was constantly away and never held any sort of affection for him, our aunt and uncles were similarly busy with their duties, and our sister... well..."

Sansa nodded in understand. "I can't imagine how lonely it must have been for him. Nor how much it must pain you to know what she did to him." She shifted uncomfortably on his knees, looking supremely guilty all of a sudden and unable to meet his gaze. "I suppose you must hold quite a bit of resentment towards me. Condemning your sister for this and forcing such terrible situation onto you."

Jaime closed his eyes as he recalled his reaction to the news all those weeks ago. Joffrey had summoned him to his tent in the Stormlands, looking pale and heartbroken despite his historic victory and barely able to meet Jaime's gaze when he handed him the letter from Sansa.

He could still remember the whirlwind of emotions that raged within him at Sansa's accusation of Cersei. He had denied it at first, furiously shouting and insisting that it had to be a mistake, even channeling some of Cersei's biased and poisonous diatribe about Sansa that she poured onto him during the nights they were entwined in bed in King's Landing. That Sansa was the one responsible and attempting to undermine Joffrey's authority in his shock, grief, and rage. Such treasonous words against Joffrey's queen and beloved wife should have warranted severe punishment, but Joffrey had taken it in grim understanding and merely had Sandor Clegane and his guard officers restrain him until he calmed down. He refused to see his King for over a week afterwards, unleashing his pain upon the battlefield as the wretched sods still loyal to Renly and backing Stannis continued to harass Joffrey's army.

Once he had vented, Jaime began to rationalize, and came to the awful realization that it had to be true. He had seen with his own eyes how much trust and respect Tyrion had gained and reciprocated to Joffrey and Sansa, and heard from his own mouth how great it was to work with them and what great hopes he had for the couple during their reign. The evidence Sansa had compiled was also too damning to ignore. And beyond all that, he knew Cersei.

He had always denied it, tried to insist to himself that the uglier parts of her personality and nature didn't outshine the beauty. That for all she could hate, that for however conceited and fickle she could be, she had her restraint. That for all she seemed to project all her problems on Tyrion, that for all the times she vocally wished he was never born and claimed he brought shame and misery on their family, she couldn't truly be capable of something like this. He was always beholden to her. She took advantage of that. And now, his brother was buried here, and his sister was so far removed from his heart, she was practically dead to him as well.

"It was... difficult to believe," Jaime admitted after a long, dreadful silence. "I... said things that I should not have. I held you in great doubt. But now, her guilt is clear to me. I... I think I always knew and feared somewhere in me that she was capable of something like this. He was never fooled though. If only I were as wise as he was. I could have protected him."

"Perhaps," she replied. "And perhaps if I had been more cautious, I could have averted all of this. We never know until it's too late, it seems."

Jaime nodded solemnly, watching as Sansa gently placed her good hand on the casket, a lone tear streaking down her face. Jaime thought back to when he first saw Cersei again upon his return to the capital. She was as beautiful as she had ever been, even clothed in a dirty rag for a dress with disheveled hair and a manic look in her poison green eyes. And yet that beauty that always took his breath away and weakened his reason and resolve barely registered when he had looked at her then.

As soon as she laid her eyes on him in her tower cell, she leapt to him, smothering kisses on him and whispering of how delighted she was that he had come to save her. Cersei had wasted no time in slandering Sansa, calling her a corrupt, conniving, witless, poisonous whore who was out to destroy the Lannister legacy and place the Starks as the tyrannical rulers of Westeros, and how it was up to Jaime to kill Sansa and her family, return Cersei to her power, and help her ween Joffrey off of Sansa's manipulation and set him straight and right again. So absorbed was she in her tirade that she was completely oblivious to Jaime's cold and unresponsive glare, and made her shocked and horrified when Jaime made it very clear he knew she was guilty.

The resulting argument had to have been heard by the half of the Red Keep. Cersei virulently cursed out him, Tyrion, Sansa, House Stark, Father, and all that she felt had conspired against her, all Jaime's yelling and damning statements of her hatred for Tyrion, lust for power, and bitterness over her 17 years of marriage of Robert getting to her rebutted by insults of him being weak-willed, easily manipulated, cowardly, vain, and not fit to be Father's heir. It hurt, but he had felt as though he had opened his eyes and truly seen his sister for the first time. All the subtle japes from Tyrion, the whispers of contempt of the smallfolk and other residents of the Red Keep, even the loud and frequent insults from Robert all seemed to make sense to him now. Jaime could feel nothing but shame at the fact that so many people had clued him in to how Cersei was not a redeemable person, and that it took so many of their deaths for him to finally understand.

That guilt was only compounded when Sansa asked him, "I do not wish to probe, but, did Cersei always harbor such resentment towards Tyrion? The way he spoke of her, there seemed to be not a trace of sibling fidelity between the two."

Jaime nodded glumly as flashes of some of the worst moments of Tyrion's life flashed before his eyes. "Yes. My sister always made it very clear that she had not a shred of love for him in her heart. My father was of a similar mind, and also inflicted on him a great deal of pain in his life." He then proceeded to briefly explain some of the worst things the two had done to the dwarf, from Cersei's abuse of him as a babe in front of the Martells of Dorne, their bias and stocked punishment towards them for any of his perceived wrongdoings, even the rape and defilement of Tysha, which nearly broke him in talking about again.

Sansa took it all in as gracefully as she could, but even she couldn't help the shocked looked of horror and disbelief on her face as she realized just how miserable her former friend truly was. Jaime didn't know why he was sharing so much about his brother so freely, but he realized that some of the pain he now felt was ebbing away as he shared it with someone else. Beyond just trying to deal with his guilt, he realized that now more than ever, it was important that someone else understand why Tyrion was such an astounding person in his own right, and why he needed someone to understand the pain he carried and what shaped him as a person.

Other than Joffrey, whose affinity to Tyrion after years of discrimination and contempt was a surprise to everyone, Sansa was perhaps the only person to truly look at Tyrion and see him for the brilliant mind, charming wit, and tender soul he truly was. It brought comfort and strength to Jaime knowing that this knowledge would help Sansa better understand him, and appreciate what he had brought to the table during his life.

"I think I understand," Sansa replied after Jaime finally finished. "I also understand why he held you in such high regard. You truly are a great brother to him, even now with him gone."

"Not that great, I'm afraid," he muttered looking down.

"You mustn't blame yourself for his fate, or what you failed to do for him. You were there for him in every way you could be, in every way a brother should. I wish I could connect with any of my siblings in such a way. I've never been truly close to any of them."

"Truly? I find that hard to believe. Robb deeply loves and respects you, and sees you as an equal. Jon would give his life to protect you without hesitation. And the little scamps Arya and Brandon seem to worship your strength and virtue."

Sansa chuckled lowly. "Regarding the last two, that's a recent change in opinion. And even so, I wasn't always so... worldly I suppose."

Jaime nodded and the two slipped back into comfortable silence again. Amazingly, he felt better having opened up to his niece-by-law. The festering wound had been balmed somewhat by her presence and sympathy. The girl had an ability to listen and relate to people he realized. To help them feel comfortable and honest with themselves. There was a gentleness and subtle wisdom to her strength and courage, an understanding of the pain of living and a drive to overcome it and help others do the same. No wonder Joffrey was so enamored with and loyal to her. No wonder everyone praised what a remarkable young woman she was. She was certainly a better queen than Cersei, he could admit to himself now.

The conversation died down after that, the two traded sparse insights and tales of their families before Sansa decided to end her respects and retire for the night. Before she could leave, Jaime called to her to say one last thing.

"May I be frank, Your Grace?" asked Jaime.

"But of course Ser, what is it?" the queen replied.

"I must confess this. I never had a very high opinion of your family. Your father and I had many bitter disagreements, and I let his perceived obsession with honor and pacificity color my judgment of him and you in turn. I had little to no faith in your capability as a prospective queen."

She didn't visibly react to his words, just stared at him with a blank expression patiently waiting for him to get ot his point. Jaime didn't know whether to feel unnerved or relieved.

"However, for all my issues with him, I won't deny that your father was a good man. A just and honest man, of the sort the realm rarely sees and direly needs more of. And he raised great children. In you and your brothers. I served under three kings over the course of my life, and the first two, Aerys and Robert, were colossal failures. One a murderous madman, the other a lazy, sloven drunk. I had all but abandoned the belief that there were such things as good kings in our time. You and Joffrey proved me wrong."

Jaime stood straight and held his head high to look proud and sincere as he looked at her. "You are every bit the queen that Westeros needs, more so than my sister ever was or poor Queen Rhaella ever had the chance to be. You have already handled the precarious situation regarding your coronation superbly well, and I know you and Joffrey will continue to rule this country well in the years to come. I wish to see you two succeed and lead this country to a brighter future, and I swear on my honor that I will protect the both of you and earn your trust. I imagine that you will probably take the words from the Kingslayer with a hefty grain of salt, but for all that my family and I have done, I wish to atone for through my service to you."

Sansa remained silent and her expression unreadable for an awfully long moment, before she nodded her head and offered a slight grin. "Thank you for your kind words, Ser Jaime. And let me make something clear in return. Do not think that I will hold you under the same scrutiny and scorn that Robert, my father, and so many others did. Whatever you've done in your past, as far as I am concerned, will remain in your past. So long as you stand by your words and carry out and your duty with integrity and assiduity, I see no reason why you can't restore honor to your name."

Jaime bowed, slightly stunned but greatly heartened by her words. She believed in him. Saw him for more than just a duplicitous oathbreaker. Trusted him even. For little other reason than for being her husband's uncle and carrying out his duty of keeping him safe on the battlefield. Did the queen's compassion know no bounds?

She started to walk back out of the sept before she turned back to him one last time. "Ser Jaime. You are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a high-ranking servant and advisor to the king and queen. And to me, that should not mean that you should delegate your duty to only being a glorified bodyguard. You have your own wisdom and experiences to share, and your own idea of what a good monarch should be. Do not keep that wisdom to yourself, especially if one of us should stray from the praise you've lauded on to us. If you ever see that Joffrey and I are doing something you do not agree with, or if we are failing in our duty to the people, come and talk to us. Be our council."

"You'd have me make my own judgment to see to it that you and Joffrey remain good rulers?" Jaime asked. "Taking such action is what lead to me losing favor with King Aerys, and subsequently gaining my infamous moniker, in the first place."

Sansa smirked slightly and turned back towards the door. "It should not be solely the responsibility of a king, or a queen, to ensure the prosperity or protection of the realm and its people." With that she walked out.

Jaime stayed for a while longer, pondering the queen's words. She wished for him to keep her and Joffrey steadfast and good? Sansa Stark truly was a fascinating woman.

He'd often wondered what it would feel like to serve and fight for someone he believed in. What it would feel like to pledge his life to someone worthy of loyalty after years of disappointment and regret. Yet as he stood there, he felt a soothing warmth in his heart at the idea that someone still believed him to be a man of honor, and that inner, primal obligation to carry out his duty to the best of his ability burned within him, stronger than ever.

Perhaps this is what it feels like, he thought to himself.

He looked to his white cloak, folded and placed by the spot where he was kneeling before Tyrion's casket. He picked it up and held it, remembering all he had done and neglected to do in the years since he first put it on.

I have a second chance at honor and good service. I will not waste it this time.