✅️ The Last Velaryon - Robb Stark

52 - The Iron Throne War pt 3

The Southern wind howled around tent walls, a mournful cry that mirrored the ache in my heart. Catelyn Stark was gone. Murdered.  I felt the chill of it even here, so far north, a cold that settled deep in my bones.  I had a plan, a risky one, born from a desperate need to end this war, to save what remained of the North, of my husband. It required a deal with the devil, a serpent in golden armor. Jaime Lannister.

He was a prisoner now, held in one of our tents. Robb, understandably, was wary of me even being in the same room as him, let alone speaking. Our past... well, it was complicated. There was a time, before the war, before my marriage, when Jaime and I… we understood each other. A shared cynicism, perhaps, a recognition of the gilded cage we both occupied. Trust, of a sort, had formed in the heart of that understanding.

Robb paced the solar, his hand constantly going to the hilt of his sword. "Are you certain about this, Haelesa? Talking to him alone? He's a Lannister, a liar, a kingslayer."

I met his gaze, my own unwavering. “I know what Jaime Lannister is, Robb. But he is also a pragmatist. He values his own life, and the lives of his family. He also has a soft spot for King’s Landing if he hasn’t lost it after what Cersei did to the Sept of Baelor.”

His jaw tightened. He wouldn’t forget that Cersei was still out there. “And you think he’ll listen to you? After everything?”

“I think he will listen to the possibility of ending this war,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I think he will listen to anything that might get him back to his sister and his family.”

He stopped pacing and stared at me. I knew what he was thinking. He was remembering the rumors, the whispers that had followed me even to Winterfell. That Haelesa Velaryon and Jaime Lannister had been more than just acquaintances at court.

“I trust you, Haelesa,” he said finally, the words sounding strained. “But I don't trust him. Not for a moment.”

“I know,” I replied softly. “Which is why I need to do this. Let me speak to him, Robb. Just for an hour. Let me plant the seed.”

He hesitated, his internal conflict visible on his face. He loved me, I knew, but he also carried the weight of his crown, the burden of his people. In the end, that burden won. He nodded curtly. “An hour. No more. And I will be right outside the door.”

The tent was cold and damp, the air thick with the stench of mildew and despair. The only light came from a sputtering torch held by a guard who looked as miserable as the prisoners he watched over. Jaime Lannister sat on a rough-hewn stool, his golden hair lank and unkempt, his once-gleaming armor replaced with dull, grey prison garb. He looked… diminished. Almost human.

He straightened as I approached, a flicker of something unreadable in his green eyes. "Little Velaryon," he drawled, the nickname a familiar taunt. "Come to gloat? Or perhaps to offer some… conjugal comfort to a desperate prisoner?"

I ignored the barb, my face hardening. I learned a long time ago to build walls around myself, shields against the Lannister wit. “I’m not here for games, Jaime. I'm here to talk about ending this war.”

He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Ending the war? And what makes you think I have any say in that? I'm a prisoner, a pawn."

"You're Jaime Lannister," I said, my voice low but firm. “A man of influence, even behind bars. You still have ears in King's Landing, I imagine. And you still have Cersei.”