266 AC
Westerlands, Casterly Rock
Jaime POV
Ugh… what the hell happened? Last thing I remember was crashing on my bed after rewatching Game of Thrones for the thousandth time.
I blink, and suddenly I'm staring up at a giant woman cradling me like I'm a doll. She's holding another baby in her other arm, smiling down at us.
"My little pups, Jaime and Cersei Lannister," she coos.
…No. No way.
SON OF A BITCH!!! I'M IN GAME OF THRONES?! As Jaime fucking Lannister?! WHY?! Why couldn't I be reborn as a Stark?
I'm not built to deal with Tywin "I hate my kids" Lannister. And just as I'm thinking that, speak of the devil and in walks a younger Tywin walks into the room. No Charles Dance here, so yeah, this must be the book version. Great. Fantastic. Just kill me now.
Okay, okay, breathe. I'm Jaime. That means I can change things, right? I know the story. I know what's coming. If I play this right… I could marry Lyanna Stark. Rickard was looking for southern allies, and who better than the Lannisters with all their gold? If Lyanna's tied to me, she won't run off with Rhaegar. Robert's Rebellion? Avoided. Easy.
And seriously, who the hell would cheat on Lyanna Stark? From what the lore and fan art say, she's drop-dead gorgeous. You'd have to be drunk or just hate yourself to screw that up.
…Problem is, Tywin. My "father." How do I convince him to go along with my plan? Poison maybe? No, no, don't get ahead of yourself. I'll figure something out.
My baby body is getting heavy, my eyes drooping. Damn it. Guess scheming to fix Westeros will have to wait until I can walk.
11 Years Later
277 AC
Westerlands, Casterly Rock
Jaime POV
It's been eleven years since I woke up in this fucked-up world and in this even more fucked-up family.
Seriously, there are too many Lannisters. I swear, I meet a new one every other day. But overall? Life's been… pretty good, I guess.
I live in a big-ass castle. Still get lost in it sometimes, because apparently maps aren't a thing. At least sword fighting comes easy guess this body's talent carried over. Lessons are fine too. Half the time I already know the history, but I'll admit, it's different hearing people argue about the Dance of Dragons or Aegon's Conquest like it happened last week instead of reading about it online.
But gods help me, if I hear The Rains of Castamere one more time, I might actually lose it. It's like when you find a song you really like, but then everyone else discovers it, and the radio plays it into the ground until you hate it. That's me with Rains. Except here, it's not just overplayed but heavily overplayed. Plus it's tied to the Red Wedding in my head. Every feast I hear it, I can't help looking at the rafters for crossbows. PTSD in medieval cosplay, basically.
Other than that, things are fine… mostly. Couldn't save my mother, though. Joanna still died, and no one listens to a child when he tries to warn them about the danger of childbirth. That one stings.
On the bright side, I met Oberyn Martell once. That was… fun. The man's exactly what you'd expect: charming, deadly, and very proud of his spear. Honestly? Best part of my childhood so far. Especially when Oberyn and Elia gave my bitch of a twin a tongue lashing for calling Tyrion a monster.
Now I'm lying on my bed, nose buried in a book about Targaryen kings. Turns out there were way more of them than the show ever bothered with, and some of the ones nobody talks about? Honestly fascinating. I'm halfway through a passage on the Conqueror's grandsons when there's a knock at my door.
I sigh, set the book aside, and open it. Of course. My crazy, narcissistic sister.
And she's giving me a look. Not a sibling look. No, this is the same look I used to see from working girls in my old life. It's the "I know what I want, and it's you" look.
"Jaime, can I come in?" Cersei asks, her lips curled in what I think is supposed to be a flirty smile.
My stomach flips. I already know what she wants, and I'd rather eat my own cock than go anywhere near that path.
"Actually, I'm pretty tired. Good night, Cersei." I start to close the door.
But she stops it, leans in, and kisses me. On the mouth.
I shove her back, scrubbing at my lips like I just kissed a leper. "WHAT THE FUCK, CERSEI?!"
She only smirks, eyes glinting with smugness. "We were born into this world together. We belong together. The Targaryens did it for three hundred years why can't we?"
I want to scream the obvious answer in her face: BECAUSE THEY HAD FUCKING DRAGONS, CERSEI! Instead, I slam the door shut and lean against it, breathing hard.
Nope. Not happening. Not in this lifetime.
I crawl back into bed, forcing myself to push the whole thing out of my head. I'm eleven now, which means the clock is ticking. If I remember right, Lyanna Stark doesn't get betrothed to Robert until she's about thirteen. That gives me two years. Two years to convince Tywin that I should marry her instead.
First step tomorrow: talk to Uncle Kevan to get the idea of a match between me and Lyanna out there. He is the only one in this family who might actually listen. With that thought, I close my eyes and try to sleep.
The Next Day
Jaime POV
I knock on the door to my uncle Kevan's solar and hear his voice: "Come in."
I step inside and see him hunched over a pile of parchments. Since Father is still busy playing Hand of the King down in King's Landing, Kevan's been left to act as Lord of the West in his absence. Lucky him.
Kevan looks up and actually smiles at me. "What can I do for you, nephew?"
Kevan's always been more of a father figure to me than Tywin ever managed. Tywin couldn't be a father to a rock.
I clear my throat. "So, I know one day I'm going to have to marry someone."
He chuckles. "Yes, but not for a couple of years yet."
"I know," I say quickly. "But I'd like to have a choice in the matter. And I have an idea."
That gets his attention. He raises an eyebrow and waits.
I press on. "I've been reading about all the great houses. And I realized something that House Stark has never married into the south. But they've got a daughter, Lyanna, the same age as me. A match like that would bring the North into our orbit, and by extension, the Vale through Ned Stark's fostering. The Riverlands, too, thanks to Brandon Stark's betrothal to Catelyn Tully. And the Stormlands, through Robert Baratheon's friendship with Eddard Stark. One marriage ties together half the realm."
Kevan leans back in his chair, staring at me for a long moment. He's trying to decide if an eleven-year-old should be able to think like this. Finally, he exhales.
"I'll bring it up with your father," he says carefully. "No promises. But I'll try to make your case, nephew."
I grin. "Thanks, Uncle."
Leaving the solar, I can't stop myself from smirking.
Your move, Tywin.
277 AC
Crownlands, Kings Landing
Tywin POV
He is unraveling by the day. I still catch glimpses of the king I once served, but each sunrise strips another piece away, leaving only paranoia and rage.
I set aside the latest report and turn my attention to the letter from Kevan.
Dear Brother,
Your son Jaime came to me speaking of marriage. Normally I would dismiss such talk from a boy, but his reasoning was sound, and the match he proposed… worthy of consideration. Lyanna Stark. I write to you so you may weigh it yourself.
Your loyal brother, Kevan Lannister
Lyanna Stark.
At first, the idea seems unlikely. The North and the Westerlands have little cause to deal with one another. Yet, the more I consider it, the more sense it makes. The Starks would gain what they lack. Which is gold, ships, the means to strengthen their scattered strongholds. In return, House Lannister would bind itself to a people famed for their loyalty and for producing the hardiest warriors in the realm.
With the king's madness worsening, there may soon come a time to replace him. If Rhaegar ascends, stability will be needed. An alliance between lion and wolf could prove… useful.
That this suggestion came from Jaime surprises me little. The boy has always been sharper than others give him credit for. His skill with a sword is exceptional, but perhaps he has a head for statecraft as well.
I think on it no longer than necessary. The advantages outweigh the risks. The match is sound.
I dip the quill, press it to parchment, and begin the letter to Rickard Stark.
277 AC
North,Winterfell
Rickard POV
Maester Halwyn brought me a letter at first light. The seal was gold, the words measured. I have read them three times.
To Lord Rickard Stark, Warden of the North
Great houses share the same burden: to preserve strength and to secure the realm. In these uncertain times, when the crown grows unpredictable, such burdens fall heavier on those who can be relied upon.
My son and heir, Jaime Lannister, is near the age where his future must be settled. Your daughter, Lyanna, is praised for her spirit and beauty. A union between lion and wolf would be unprecedented, and for that reason, powerful. The North gains what it has long lacked: wealth and resources. House Lannister gains the loyalty of a House that has never bent nor broken.
I do not suggest this lightly. Consider it well.
Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King
Each time I try to count the dangers, yet the strengths outweigh them. With Lannister gold, the North could restore Moat Cailin, build ships again, feed our people in the long winters, even restore the Watch to what it was.
And yet… it means giving up my daughter. My little girl.
I glance from the window. Lyanna is in the yard with Benjen, washing down their horses. She laughs as she splashes him with water, her hair wild in the wind. The sight warms me, even as it sharpens the knife in my chest.
What comes first? The North, or her happiness?
Perhaps there is a way to weigh both. Let the boy come here. Let Jaime live in Winterfell for a time. If he proves himself worthy, if Lyanna smiles with him as she smiles today, then I will know.
I take up my quill and begin the reply. Outside, the snow falls heavy.
"For the North," I whisper.
277 AC
Westerlands, Casterly Rock
Jaime POV
Apparently Father actually sent a response. Which is why I'm trudging to my uncle's solar after my morning slaugh-uh, sparring with kids my age. I knock, hear Kevan's voice, and step inside. He's smiling. That's never good.
"What did you call me for, Uncle?" I ask, already bracing for disappointment. Tywin probably crushed my idea under his golden boot. I'm halfway through rehearsing my counter-argument when Kevan drops the bomb.
"Well," Kevan says, still smiling, "your father agreed. He sent the proposal to Lord Stark. And Lord Stark replied that he will allow the match, provided you court his daughter first. You're to spend two years in the North."
I blink. Once. Twice. My brain stalls out.
WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!