Honour

Kingslayer

Kingslayer

It is a bright morning, the sun blinking awake and casting a golden yawn across the Red Keep. The light stretches its way up the stone walls. It is quiet, still early, but the courtyard is full of people, bustling to and fro. Lannister soldiers load the cart with luggage, ready the horses, preparing the convoy for travel. Jaime tightens the stirrups on his horse. He is decked in gold from head to toe, in his golden Lannister armour, the lion faces gawping at his shoulders, his hair glimmering in the early sun. Sansa watches him, her hands clasped in front of her. She is only bringing one maid, a young girl Jaime personally picked the week before, the daughter of one of his best soldiers. Her belongings fit in the underside of her carriage, she has so few of them. Despite having so little, Sansa feels heavy after her time in King's Landing.

She has lost so much, too much.

There are not many people come to see them off. They have chosen such an ungodly hour to slip out of the city unheeded, so the townspeople sleep whilst they escape. The Queen Mother watches from a tower, however. Sansa glimpses her blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. She is like a statue, an unforgiving figure cut out of stone atop a plinth of royal and impenetrable brick. Sansa cannot stop her lips from curling slightly. Though Cersei looms over her, they both know she is no longer at the Queen's mercy. It is made all the sweeter when Jaime comes to take her hand to help her into the carriage, and Sansa knows that she is ripping him away as well. Cersei has never respected their wedding vows, despite hearing them aloud and spoken into law; she has never accepted that Jaime is no longer hers. Sansa feels sure that is about to change.

She allows her husband to lead her to the carriage, but stops on the step.

Tywin stands in the archway. He watches them closely. Sansa catches his eye.

She wonders if he ever considered her a competitor. She wonders if she ever stood a chance. But Sansa also knows that sometimes it is better to slip through the cracks, to be underestimated. She thinks she has the patience to wait him out, to commit to the long game. The game of thrones is not about the crown, it is about survival. You do not win or lose, you live or die. Sansa inhales deeply, drawing herself up to her full height. Tywin looks away first.

She has decided she is going to live, no matter the cost.

She ducks her head and enters the carriage.

Jaime pauses in the doorway. He breathes deeply, his chest plate rattling from the force of his sigh, looking around at the courtyard. His men are nearly done, some of them already mounting their horses. He sees his father and offers him only a brief nod. He has been here for so long; years of his life, decades of it, have taken place within these walls. He has served this Keep and the people of it with diligence. His eyes find her, monitoring him like a vulture in the sky.

His sister is, of course, watching him. Jaime has been under her eye, under her thumb, for as long as he can remember. Even when he had been away, fighting his father's wars, he was still under her spell. He had never escaped Cersei. He had never wanted to.

Jaime stares up at her. Sansa touches his hand. He tears his eyes away from his sister to look at his wife. She smiles faintly at him. "Ready?"

He squeezes her fingers. There is a part of him that cannot wait to get away.

Jaime closes the carriage door, and turns to mount his horse, taking the reins in his gloved hands. His men await his order to set off. He casts a final glance over the courtyard. Since sitting in the Stark prison, he has become more conscious of the fact that his days are numbered, that he may never return to a place once he has left it. He thinks of the small unmarked grave his son lies in, among the wildflowers. Jaime visited him every day.