Jaime wasn't sure what the men were saying.
The Ironborn arrived before the city could prepare an adequate defense, landed, and pillaged. The areas most affected were, of course, those near the coast. The entire Lannister fleet had been sunk or stolen. They were silent and swift, just as was their style.
There was only one other isolated attack in the city center: the attack on the Stark mansion. From what Jaime heard, the Ironborn were quickly dispatched. Jaehaerys intervened.
Then came more fanciful tales, the prince's exploits more legend than ordinary man. And Jaime... he doubted. Men exaggerate easily.
He swallowed hard as he remembered the melee. He had not been ruthless, but cynical and quick. He did not fight; he stood his ground and won. His hand went to his chin, Jaime remembered how fast Jaehaerys knocked him down.
"He drove the Islanders back all by himself," said one of the men.
The problem was that it wasn't just one man. There were hundreds of men saying similar things. Jaehaerys became a nightmare for the IronBorn. They left soon because of him. It's not that Jaehaerys killed a thousand people, not, but the Lannisport's men saw him as a Savior and their fervor just went to the skies.
'Damn it,' Jaime thought. 'If what these men say is true, we owe him a lot,' and a Lannister always pays his debts. Just thinking about his own father's bad mood made his stomach knot.
"And he put an arrow through Princess Cersei's heart," Jaime heard the men gossiping as he walked among the corpses and ashes.
"What did you say?" He turned to the person who had spoken. His voice trembled, anger?, sadness?
"Princess Cersei was on the pirate Euron Greyjoy's ship... Jaehaerys shot her with a bow and arrow," the man repeated.
"We saw it," said another, and voices echoed.
Jaime felt the ground beneath his feet move. Cersei... she was an idiot. She was a horrible person, greedy and miserable. But she was also his sister, his twin sister—the one who had been with him since the womb. The one who dressed like him went sword training. They were inseparable in their childhood, until one of their mother's maids found them kissing.
"She's dead?" No matter how angry he was with her. The news made his heart feel as if it had been bound with chains.
'Why Jaehaerys... no, it's not like him. Did he tire of my father's plans? Is this his way of taking revenge... against a woman?' Gods, Jaime spurred his horse to the docks, the sun just beginning to rise.
There were still a few ships standing, but they would need repairs. Jaime rode along each of the docks until he found a figure sitting on the wood, calmly watching the sea.
The rain did not wash all the blood from his body.
"Jaehaerys!" Jaime shouted, with more anger than he intended. He saw a shiny axe next to the prince. The prince turned his head, looking over his shoulder, his eyes empty as the moonless night, a red line in his cheek, 'someone actually hurt him?', Jaime wondered. "Did you kill Cersei?" he asked, having to hold on to his horse's reins.
Jaehaerys nodded.
"By what right do you dare to—" Jaime began. Cersei, even if she died, should be treated like a Lannister: a trial, a sentence.
Hiii, hiii!
His horse whinnied as it tried to turn around.
"She had no legs or arms," said the prince, standing up. His eyes were red, blood had fallen into them. "No tongue," he continued. "Tied up like a decoration. She was suffering. I saved her from that suffering," the prince finished. He did not apologize or show guilt.
"She—" The description was so gruesome that Jaime felt dizzy for a second.
"Are you suffering too, Lord Jaime?" asked the prince, raising his axe and reflecting the sunlight.
Jaime backed his horse away.
He could not win against Jaehaerys. Not even on horseback, not even in full armor. And... was Cersei worth it? From what the prince said, he killed her out of mercy, like when a horse breaks its leg and has to be put down.
The sound of hooves pounding on the wood snapped him out of his daze. His father approached, leading a group of dozens of men, Lord Stark at his side. Aegon was nowhere to be seen.
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Jaehaerys walked past Jaime's horse and Tywin's. He resisted the urge to cut off both their heads.
"You're welcome," he said, meeting Tywin's conflicting gaze. The man tensed his shoulders, looked at the axe with interest, but didn't say a word. His tongue was too numb with pride to thank him.
"Jaehaerys," he heard Eddard call him. "What happened?" he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It was as if you weren't listening to our words."
"I wasn't," said the prince, walking away. He looked at the Great Jon, his armor stained with blood; the man had been hunting fish.
He walked to his mansion, the men parting as he passed. Lucky for them, they didn't want to interrupt his path. If Jaime had continued to fuck around because of Cersei, House Lannister would have lost two members, not just one.
'I killed a Lannister, but not the one I wanted to,' thought the prince. After killing his brother, Rhaegar, he planned to kill Tywin Lannister.
"Rhaegar is dead," he heard a man's voice behind him say. The Old Lion had followed him on horseback. He didn't thank him or ask for explanations about Cersei. "Aegon will be crowned king here," he warned him.
The man was probably gauging his reaction. Jaehaerys didn't give a shit. Aegon... he didn't know his nephew yet. He could well be another lunatic or a good king. 'Tywin wants to know if I want the throne?' Jaehaerys didn't want it. He didn't want to be at the center of all that shit. He was tired of the conspiracies and betrayals that left him with knives in his back.
"Long live the king... may he rule better than the last," he said, looking into the old man's green eyes. "It would be a shame if they shared the same fate," was a warning not just for Aegon, but for Tywin. Rhaegar had left too much influence on Tywin, which took away his power. If Aegon was the same...
'Who's next? Daemon. I'd rather take the throne for myself,' thought Jaehaerys, resuming his walk. He would kill Tywin later. Death waits patiently.
If Aegon did not serve well as king, only he, Viserys, and Daemon remained. Rhaenys could be an option, but with male heirs, she would be displaced.
He entered his mansion, his boots hitting the stone with a wet sound. "Jaehaerys!" he heard a small voice call out. Bran Stark shouted at him from a distance. "Rhaelle is crying, and Sansa still won't wake up."
Did the boy want him to slap him red in the face? What stupid joke was he trying to play?
"Wah-wah," and yet, even knowing the truth, he heard a cry in the distance—the cry of a baby.
"Am I imagining it?" he wondered, but the crying was still there, steady, loud.
He walked, his feet feeling like lead. He was afraid, afraid that when he found the crying, it would be a baby with black or golden hair, a refugee. Afraid that the little hope in his chest would explode and finish destroying him.
He opened the door; the expectant creak did not stop him.
"You stink!" Arya said as soon as she saw him. She was trying to calm the baby, but she herself seemed immensely irritated by everything. Arya's eyes were red and swollen. "I see where Rhaelle gets that smell from," she said, wrinkling her nose.
Jaehaerys looked up at the ceiling. It was made of polished stone, shaped like an arch, the stones held together by medieval mortar.
Then he looked down. Now the baby was silent, looking at him as she stretched her arms out toward him.
The crushing feeling in his chest was gone. It was as if someone had removed the stones he had been carrying on top of him. His daughter was alive. Jaehaerys didn't know who the charred baby he had picked up was. And he knew it was wrong, but he was glad it was someone else's child and not his.
"Da-da," was she going to say her first word? Was it Dad? "Da-cays," she said, then snorted. Then she waited silently.
Jaehaerys took her in his arms, ignoring Arya's requests for him to take a bath first. He felt her weight and how she felt in his arms. She was perfect, as she had always been. The girl kept shouting Da-cays and snorting. Jaehaerys felt the little girl's drool fall on his face, and even that felt good.
"You were in danger... I'll make sure that never happens again. I promise you that. No one will be able to hurt you, my love," he said softly, if he could sing with that sweet voice, the ladies would pray him to sing every time they saw him.
"Da-cays! Da-cays," the girl said enthusiastically.
"Yes, little dragoness... Dracarys," the prince repeated.