CHAPTER TWO
THE WHITE CLOAK

"I remember my childhood as a long wish to be elsewhere."
— Louise Gluck, Unpainted Door

Harrenhal
281 AC.

A boy is made a Kingsguard knight, and though he does not know it yet, it is perhaps the cruelest thing that can happen to him.

The plan had seemed so clever when his twin had first suggested it. (Then again—he'd been apart from her for so long by then that any plan that would allow them to be together once more would have seemed worth a try to him.) Jaime Lannister would do anything his twin sister asked of him. He always has.

Jaime and Cersei had come into the world together. Cersei had been first and Jaime had followed, his hand clutching at her heel. When he was away from his sister, it felt like the loss of a limb—painful, unbalancing, and impossible to ignore. There was precious little Jaime wouldn't do if it meant he could return to her side. So when she'd come to him and told him of her scheme to bring them back together, he'd accepted with barely a moment's hesitation, even though he'd known what it would cost him—his inheritance, his birthright, his father's high opinion. All of these things, Jaime had thrown away in a heartbeat for Cersei and he'd done so willingly.

If only he'd known how quickly things would go wrong.

Neither of them had anticipated the extent of their father's fury at Jaime's ascension to the Kingsguard and his subsequent surrender of his claim to the Lannister seat of Casterly Rock, leaving Jaime's younger brother Tyrion as his sole male heir. Underestimating their father's wrath had been a grievous miscalculation; one that had resulted in Tywin Lannister's resignation as King Aerys's Hand and his subsequent relocation from King's Landing to the Rock, where he'd taken Cersei with him. (A bitter irony, considering Jaime had only joined the Kingsguard so he could leave Casterly Rock to be at court with his sister.)

But there'd been no undoing King Aerys's decree that Jaime become one of his knights, so he and Cersei had been torn apart once again and Jaime had given up everything in exchange for nothing.

He thinks of Cersei as he takes a knee in the dirt of Harrenhal's king's pavilion and bows his head, feeling the warm heat of the sun beating down against his neck. In front of him, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, stands tall and proud in his glistening white Kingsguard armor, reciting vows that Jaime will swear back to him while the king watches. A sizeable gaggle of spectating tourney guests have gathered to watch, but Jaime spares them little attention. The only person he truly cared to see was miles away; he would not find her face amongst the crowd.

Despite his misfortune, Jaime cannot pretend that he doesn't feel a certain pride at his ascension. He knows that this moment will be the most defining moment of his fifteen years. Perhaps even the most defining moment of his entire life. To be made a Kingsguard knight is no small feat, and he is the first in history to have ever achieved such an honor at such a young age.

When the Lord Commander asks him to repeat the oaths, Jaime does. He pledges his allegiance to the king, to the crown, and swears off the life that would have been his had he remained his father's heir. He would never be forced to wed a woman he does not love; to rule a castle or keep he does not want. Instead, he would be a knight and find fame and adventure and glory as part of the Kingsguard.

After he finishes the last of his vows, Ser Gerold bids him to rise, and Jaime stands. The commander drapes his new white cloak over his shoulders; the weight of it heavier than he'd thought it would be. "Though we mourn the loss of our brother, Ser Harlan Grandison, we welcome you into our ranks, Ser Jaime of House Lannister. Stand and rise as a knight of the Kingsguard."

A grin threatens to split his face as the crowd lets out a roaring cheer and Jaime clasps hands with Ser Gerold, drinking in the moment. But his brief triumph is short-lived and the smile on his face dims when Jaime sees the king approaching out of the corner of his eye. He is quick to bow in deference to the man, offering him his humility rather than his pride. "Your Grace, you have my gratitude for allowing me the honor of serving in your guard."

When he lifts his head, King Aerys is regarding him with an odd expression. Jaime is taken aback by the man's appearance. He had never seen the king at such a close vantage before and forces himself to not shrink away from him. Aerys's skin is waxy and pale, with sharp cheekbones and hollow eyes that bore into him without ceasing until finally his mouth stretches into a cold, reptilian smile.

"Of course," the king replies. "You are the son of my former Hand. Quite deserving of such an honor."

Something in his tone suggests insincerity, but Jaime cannot fathom why. "You flatter me, Your Grace."

"Lord Tywin's heir," King Aerys continues smugly, as if he hadn't heard Jaime's words at all, and he begins to laugh. The sound sends a chill up Jaime's spine. "Yes, you will do fine in my service. Now run along, boy, but stay close. I may have need of you yet."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Jaime replies with a dip of his head, relieved to be excused from his unsettling presence.

The other Kingsguard are waiting to welcome Jaime into their brotherhood once he steps away from the king. Ser Arthur Dayne is one of the first to offer his congratulations and Jaime cannot stop himself from grinning at the knight's attention, basking in the warm glow of his praise. It had been Ser Arthur who had knighted Jaime in the Kingswood mere months ago and now Jaime would be serving at his side. The surrealness of that alone nearly makes him question if the entire day had been nothing more than a dream.

"Look at you! A knight of the Kingsguard already," Ser Arthur says with a jovial smile, clasping him on the shoulder. "I'll be counting that as my success."

After the knights, the crown prince finds him and grants him the same commendations. Prince Rhaegar hardly seems to resemble his father—tall and lithe and regal, with a thin silver circlet settled atop his head of sleek white-blonde hair. As Jaime looks at him, he cannot shake the impression that Prince Rhaegar seems more kingly than his father.

"I offer you my congratulations on your knighthood, Ser Jaime," the prince tells him in his low, melodic voice. "Our paths will likely cross again."

At the evening feast to celebrate the tourney's start, Jaime finds a seat with his new Kingsguard brothers. Sat amongst the older knights, the ever-present ache of Cersei's absence and his father's furious disapproval seems a dull, faraway thing. Almost forgettable, even. Jaime listens to the knights talking and jesting with one another; so enraptured by their stories that he hardly notices the hush that has fallen over the room until Ser Oswell ceases his lively storytelling midsentence.

A shadow falls over him and when he turns, Jaime finds that King Aerys has left his seat at the high table to stand before his knights. His unsettling violet-eyed gaze is trained on Jaime, looking almost contemptuous. "You, boy," King Aerys says sharply.

Jaime's brow furrows. "Your Grace?"

"I've come to a realization," he announces, loud enough for the entirety of the hall to hear, "that I have no need for seven knights at Harrenhal. The queen and the prince and princess have been left unguarded in the Red Keep. You will go there at once and watch over them until I return."

The shock of the words takes him aback and for a moment, Jaime forgets himself. "But the tourney—"

"Are you questioning me, boy?" The king demands. His voice is sharp as his eyes narrow to slits. "Are you daring to defy your king?"

"Your Grace," Ser Gerold interjects quickly. Jaime looks to him, grateful for the intervention. "Let me return to the capitol. I have seen enough tourneys in my day—the boy can stay and compete in my stead."

"No," Aerys says, his eyes narrowed to slits. "The boy will win no glory here. He's mine; not Tywin's. He'll serve as I see fit. I am the king. I rule, and he'll obey."

Jaime's temper flares, blazing white-hot and angry, as he realizes the truth of it all. His knighthood had been no great honor or testament to his skill; it was nothing but a sham—a way for the king to spite Jaime's father by robbing him of his heir and to humble House Lannister's pride. Jaime would win no honor and no glory for this king. Instead, he would be sent away to guard over the queen and her children like a glorified nursemaid.

Face burning from the humiliation of it all, Jaime spits out his courtesies and leaves the tourney hall with as much dignity as he can manage. Outside the keep, he packs his bags and saddles his horse furiously. He hadn't truly wanted this position, not without the promise of having Cersei, and even his knighthood had turned out to be a mummer's farse rather than a tribute. The only thing Jaime had truly managed to achieve in all of this was ridding himself of a betrothal to Lord Hoster Tully's simpering daughter, Lysa, and that seemed no great achievement in hindsight.

But there was nothing to be done about it now. Jaime had sealed his own fate the moment he defied his father's advice and pledged his oath to the king. He would have to pay the price for his defiance.

"What a mistake I've made," he mutters spitefully, swinging himself up onto his horse and starting off for the Red Keep, unknowing what will await him there—his greatest glory and his greatest tragedy.

♠

The Red Keep
281 AC.

The air is still and stinking of shit when Jaime Lannister arrives in King's Landing. Not even the softest of winds blows through the city. Instead, there is only a stifling heat and a stench that he thinks is akin to death. It makes Jaime long for home. On Casterly Rock, the air had always been clean and fresh. Sea breezes would blow in from the ocean and waves would crash against the stony coast-side cliffs. In the capitol, even the water seems dead and the air feels heavy and oppressive on his skin.

I'm to spend the rest of my life here, Jaime thinks dismally.

The Red Keep is an intimidating structure. Tall and towering, it casts the lower town in shadow and sends an unwelcome shiver down Jaime's spine. When his horse approaches the castle gates, they swing open for him swiftly. Jaime hesitates for a moment, wanting nothing more than to tuck tail and run, but he steels himself and presses forward instead. He knows what his father would say if he ran; that he is a lion of Casterly Rock and lions don't flee. Not even from the dragon's lair.

Back straight and chin held high, Jaime urges his horse inside the courtyard at a slow trot. The sound of the gates clanging shut behind him makes him flinch before he can stop himself. In his head, he hears his father's voice scolds him for acting like a scared little boy and he forces himself to hold his head even higher. Mummer's farce or not, he is a knight of the Kingsguard now. He cannot afford to appear weak.

A stable boy is waiting for him when he dismounts and the young boy takes Jaime's horse away, leaving him to climb the steps to the Red Keep alone. Servants and courtiers roam the halls of the castle, eyeing him with curiosity and suspicion alike.

Jaime wanders through the halls hopelessly, helplessly, unsure of what to do or where to go. Suddenly, the idea of remaining his father's heir and marrying another woman doesn't seem as dreadful as it did before. Lysa Tully wasn't that terrible, was she? He thinks and grimaces before shaking his head, because yes, Lysa Tully was that terrible and death itself would have been preferable to being forced to marry her.

"Ser Jaime Lannister?"

The voice startles him and Jaime whirls around, catching sight of an old white-haired man wearing the robes and chains of a maester. Jaime's eyes narrow as he takes him in, studying the man critically before nodding once.

"Yes," he says cautiously.

Something glints in the older man's eyes as he hurries over to him, nearly tripping on his robes in his haste. "Lord Tywin Lannister's son—what an honor!" He says eagerly, reaching a withered, trembling hand out to clasp Jaime's. "I am Grand Maester Pycelle. I admired your lord father greatly during his time as Hand."

Jaime smiles wanly, barely containing his annoyance for the sycophantic old man. "Perhaps you should tell him that."

"Of course, of course," Pycelle mumbles, nodding his snowy head in agreement. "I'm to take you to the queen now that you've arrived. Come, follow me."

Jaime follows unhappily, trailing after the man through the twisting stone corridors of the Red Keep as the maester prattles on mindlessly. "It's good to have House Lannister within these walls once again," he says. "I'm sure we will see much of each other while you're in the king's service."

"Only if the gods are hateful," Jaime mutters under his breath, feeling nasty and spiteful.

Pycelle glances over at him: "What was that?"

"Hm?" He asks, feigning ignorance. "I didn't hear anything."

"Oh! Well..." the old man says, puzzled as he strokes his long white beard before continuing with the tour. "Never you mind that. Now, what was I saying before... Ah, yes! Queen Rhaella rules the Keep while King Aerys is away at the tourney. She will inform you of your duties now that you've arrived."

Jaime says nothing to this, but privately hopes that the queen is at least more pleasant than her husband. His father never spoke much of the queen or her younger children when he talked of court; focusing his attention on the king and crown prince. Jaime recalls that his mother had been one of the queen's ladies before wedding his father, but Jaime had been young when she passed and he could not recall her ever speaking of her time in King's Landing.

Instead of leading him deeper into the Red Keep, Maester Pycelle brings Jaime outside to the castle gardens. The sudden shock of blinding sunshine after the darkness of the castle walls has him blinking light from his eyes, squinting against the brightness. In the distance, he sees a woman bent over a bush of blooming roses; her silver hair gathered up in a delicate jeweled net at the nape of her neck. At her side, a small boy clutches at her skirts, listening to the woman as she speaks in hushed tones.

Maester Pycelle clears his throat. "Your Grace, might I present to you Ser Jaime of House Lannister?"

Queen Rhaella turns to face them, abandoning her flowers. When he sees her, Jaime is struck by the woman's beauty. Like her husband and son, she possesses the same striking Valyrian features; silver hair and purple eyes, though hers are a pale shade of lavender. Her beauty is dampened only by her hollow cheeks and the deep sadness in her gaze that does not disappear even when her face breaks into a warm smile.

"Ser Jaime," she says in greeting, her voice soft-spoken and almost musical. "By the gods, you look so much like your mother."

Jaime is taken aback by her words. He hadn't thought to expect such gentility from the queen after the king's callousness; nor for her to speak of the mother whose features Jaime shared but could hardly remember. "I... Your Grace," he stutters, trying to recover quickly by offering her a bow and stumbling through his courtesies. "It's an honor. My mother—you knew her well?"

The question leaves his lips before he can stop himself from asking it, driven by a desire to know anything the queen could tell him about his mother. On the Rock, his father's household knew better than to speak of their late lady. His lord father refused to even utter her name; his heart hardened to stone after her death.

Queen Rhaella's gaze drifts somewhere far away, growing misty as she speaks. "Lady Joanna and I were good friends, once," she tells him solemnly. "She was my lady at court. I thought of her dearly."

"What happened?" Jaime asks, though he knows it likely is not his place to ask.

Something akin to anger flickers across the queen's face for just a moment before it fizzles out. "Life happened," Queen Rhaella replies, lips twisting into a forced smile. "Circumstances changed and so did we. Joanna wed your lord father and left court for Casterly Rock. We only saw each other once more before she passed."

From her expression, Jaime thinks there must be more to the story than just that, but he does not deign to ask. "Ah," is all he says, gaze falling to the ground. "I see."

The queen inclines her head before gracefully changing the subject. "I take it the Grand Maester has not yet introduced you to my daughter?"

"No, Your Grace," Jaime replies with a shake of his head. "I haven't had the chance."

"Naerys is grumpy," a high, sharp voice says, surprising Jaime. He'd nearly forgotten about the child who'd been clinging to the queen's skirts as they spoke.

"Viserys," the queen chides, giving her son a disapproving look. "Your sister has not been feeling well. You shouldn't speak ill of her."

"She's grumpy," the young Prince Viserys insists, a scowl marring his boyish face.

Queen Rhaella purses her lips. "Naerys took Ser Harlan's death to heart," she tells Jaime. "He'd been her sworn sword since she took her first steps. Come, follow me—I'll take you to meet her. She should know her new guard."

His mouth turns downward at this, but Jaime tries to hide his grimace and follows the queen to his post. It was as he had suspected and feared: he would be playing nursemaid instead of knight, guarding over a princess who—according to his sister's tales of King's Landing—was a sickly, invalid child that rarely deigned to leave her chambers or even show her face at court. He knows it could be worse; he could have been assigned to a post at the king's side, always under his unsettling gaze. Still, Jaime—never one to put much faith in the gods—sends up a silent prayer that the princess takes after her mother more than her father.

The queen draws to a stop just outside a set of ornate wooden doors. She raises a hand, prepared to knock, and turns to Jaime to say something. But before she can speak a word, she is interrupted by the sound of hastily approaching footsteps. A robed figure seems to emerge from the shadows of the corridor, his pale bald head glinting beneath the torchlight.

"Your Grace," the man demurs, his voice smooth and oily. He approaches and bows in acknowledgment to the queen. A sickly sweet floral scent accompanies him, filling the air with the smell of perfume, and Jaime recoils from him. "Begging your pardon for the interruption."

Queen Rhaella's face hardens into an impassive mask. "Lord Varys," she says coolly. "I was about to introduce our newest Kingsguard to the princess. Ser Jaime—this is Lord Varys, the king's Master of Whispers."

"Ah, yes," Varys says, turning his keen gaze onto Jaime. "Ser Jaime Lannister. Knighted at Harrenhal by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard himself. A pity the king sent you away from the tourney so suddenly. I'm sure you would have loved to compete."

Jaime clenches his jaw, fighting to keep a scowl off his face. He misliked this man already. "I go where His Grace commands."

"As we all do," Lord Varys agrees, a note of slyness in his voice. From the sleeves of his robes, the man produces a thin scroll of parchment. "For you, my queen. I believe you'll be wanting to read this posthaste. There was something of a... scandal at the tourney. I thought it best you were informed before the king's return."

The queen's expression does not change, but she reaches for the scroll immediately and scans the words. Her features grow pinched, mouth thinning to a hard line as she reads the message before rolling the parchment back up. Jaime wonders what the message says, but the queen does not deign to share it with him.

"Forgive me, Ser Jaime," she says, "but I must take my leave of you. If you wouldn't mind making your own introductions to my daughter..."

Jaime doesn't intend to protest her suggestion, but Queen Rhaella does not give him any opportunity to do so, regardless. She gathers her skirts and leaves swiftly, speaking in hushed tones with Lord Varys as she goes. Prince Viserys trails after them and eventually their footsteps fade down the long corridor, leaving Jaime all alone in front of the princess's doors.

He exhales deeply before squaring his shoulders. A sudden wave of nervousness washes over him, but Jaime dismisses it just as quickly;  silently chastising himself for being nervous at all. He's fought in battle before—crossed blades with the Smiling Knight himself and even killed a man—and he is a knight of the Kingsguard. What did he have to fear here?

So he knocks. And he waits.

For a moment, nothing happens. Jaime considers knocking again, but then he hears the quiet scuffles of movement on the other side of the door and he relaxes. Seconds later, the door swings open to reveal a girl standing on the other side.

The girl looks surprised to see him. Jaime feels much the same. From the stories he's heard of the princess, courtesy of his twin, he'd been expecting a girl far younger than this one—some frail, sallow-faced little wisp of a thing. A wraith, he remembers Cersei describing her dismissively. Not much of a princess at all.

She hadn't mentioned that she was pretty.

Jaime blinks. The girl blinks back, pale eyelashes dusting her cheeks. Princess Naerys resembles the queen more than she does her father, sharing the same lilac colored eyes, silver-blonde hair, and a heart-shaped face. There is a certain delicateness about her, to be sure, but she is certainly not the lifeless husk that Cersei had described to him when she'd mentioned the princess in passing.

The princess opens her mouth to say something. Then closes it. Then opens it again, and says, "You're not my mother."

Jaime laughs and shakes his head, grinning at her ruefully. "No, Princess, I'm not your mother. What gave it away?"

Her eyes narrow. "I think it was the hair," she replies, tilting her head back to look up at him quizzically. "Who are you?"

He frowns then. Had no one told her to expect him? "Ser Jaime of House Lannister," he says, standing up straighter. "Knight of the Kingsguard. I'm to be your new guard."

The princess's face falls, disappointment etched into her features. "You're the one replacing Ser Harlan?"

For some reason, it bothers him that she doesn't seem happy about this appointment. "Does that displease you, Princess?" He asks, unable to keep his tone entirely free of insult.

"No," she says quickly, though he can tell it's a lie. "You're just... different than what I expected, that's all."

He scowls then. "My apologies for being such a disappointment."

"I didn't mean that," the princess protests, shifting from foot to foot."It's just that I expected someone... more experienced, perhaps?"

Her words do little to placate him. "Evidently, I'm not good enough for anyone these days," he mutters, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Not even a twelve-year-old girl."

"I'm nearly fourteen!" Princess Naerys objects indignantly. "And I didn't mean it that way. It's just that Ser Harlan was an older knight. I knew him my whole life. I thought that perhaps Ser Barristan might be assigned to guard me after him or Ser Oswell, even, but instead I got... you."

"Me," Jaime repeats dully.

The princess's brow furrows and she purses her lips; the expression making her look very much like her queen mother. "I did not intend to cause offense, Ser," she begins. "Truly, I only meant that—"

Jaime holds up a hand to silence her. He thinks it's probably a terribly rude thing to do to a princess, but he doesn't want to hear what she says next. "I fear my pride can suffer no more injury today," he interrupts. "If it's all the same to you, Princess, I'll begin my watch now."

He almost regrets his choice when he sees her face fall, but the girl does not protest. "As you wish, Ser Jaime," she agrees reluctantly.

Jaime nods his head at her. "Princess."

She returns the gesture, dipping her head towards him. "Ser."

He closes the doors then, thumping the back of his head against the wood as soon as they shut. A dull throb of pain pulses through his skull as he casts his gaze upwards and heaves a long-suffering sigh, wondering how in the seven hells everything had gone so wrong so fast. And now my watch begins...

♠

Hours pass and Jaime spends them brooding at his post, ruminating on being insulted by an almost-fourteen-year-old girl. Eventually, even his annoyance isn't enough to keep him awake and his eyes grow heavy. His head bobs every so often as sleep threatens to overtake him before he jolts upright and rubs at his eyes, determined to chase the tiredness away and remain alert.

No wonder Ser Harlan died, he thinks unkindly. I could keel over from boredom myself.

Things weren't supposed to be like this—he'd been made a Kingsguard knight, the youngest Kingsguard knight in history, yet he'd been exiled from the grandest tourney ever held in his lifetime and had been delegated to do nothing but keep watch in front of a door, guarding against nothing but shadows and silence.

Jaime lets out a disgruntled sigh and leans back against the wall,  deciding to get as comfortable as he can. There was no reason for him to exhaust himself by staying awake when quite literally nothing was going on. He allows his eyes to shut and lets himself drift off for just a few moments...

A strangled scream from the other side of the door wakes him with a start. Jaime straightens immediately, eyes snapping open as he looks around wildly. The castle is still dark and silent and he almost convinces himself that he simply imagined the sound; that it had been a dream or some conjuring of his imagination and nothing more. But then he hears something else: the soft sounds of crying coming from inside the room he had been assigned to guard.

Panic overwhelms him for a moment as the worst of scenarios run through his head and Jaime unsheathes his sword. An intruder must have gotten in, he thinks frantically, kicking the door open without hesitation, and entering the room. They've attacked the princess. Gods, the king will have my head for this.

"Princess?" Jaime calls over the thunderous sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, searching for the threat, and he finds... nothing. Nothing but a girl, alone. A sliver of moonlight from the bedroom window illuminates the princess, sitting on the edge of her bed with wide eyes and tear stained cheeks. She looks at him with fright and Jaime lowers his sword immediately, sheathing the weapon. Aside from the tears, she appears to be unharmed, and he lets out a sigh of relief as his heartbeat slows.

"Are you alright?" He asks, gentler than before despite his vague annoyance at having been so alarmed for no bloody reason. "I heard you scream. I thought something might have happened—"

Princess Naerys shakes her head, pushing her silver curls back from her face with trembling hands before wiping the tears from her cheeks. In the darkness, she looks younger than she had earlier that day when she opened her door. Jaime had thought she was pretty then, like her mother, but there is a certain innocence about her now that makes something in his chest twinge painfully.

"It felt so real," she whispers, meeting his gaze. Her eyes are the palest shade of lilac he's ever seen in the moonlight. "The fire. The screaming. My father... It all felt so real."

Jaime's throat feels dry and he swallows hard. "It was just a dream," he tells her, though he can't tell if he's trying to convince her or himself. "A nightmare."

"No," she protests, shaking her head. "A memory."

A shiver runs down Jaime's spine, but he tries not to let it show as he steps forward and takes a careful seat next to the girl on the bed. He isn't quite sure how to comfort her. Cersei is the only girl he has ever known well enough to even consider offering comfort and he can't remember her being so soft or so vulnerable.

"What did you mean by a memory?" He asks lowly, not wanting to pry, but also needing to know the truth.

"He was just a boy," she murmurs, tucking her knees into her chest and hugging them tightly, making herself appear even smaller. "My age. Perhaps even younger."

Jaime feels sick. He's almost certain that he knows where this story is headed. "What happened to him?"

"He died," the princess says. Her eyes become glassy with fresh tears. "My father named him traitor and had him burned alive. I see it every time I close my eyes."

His blood runs cold as he tries to think of the right words to say. "Princess..."

"I'm frightened," she blurts out. "I wanted to be strong—to be brave, like my brother—but I'm not. I can't."

"You... you don't have to be," Jaime says, surprising himself with the words. The princess's eyes widen and he gives her a reassuring nod. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it? I'm not Ser Harlan, but it's my job to keep you safe."

A small smile creeps over her face and the knot in Jaime's chest seems to loosen ever so slightly. "I suppose you're right. That is your job."

"I know," he replies, all Lannister arrogance and pride. "I'm always right."

Jaime grins when he sees her roll her eyes, but the smile stays on the princess's face. It makes him feel warm inside—like he's done something good for once. It's not a feeling he's used to.

"Goodnight, Ser Jaime," the princess tells him after a moment and Jaime knows he's being dismissed, so he stands from the bed and walks towards the door, pausing just before he leaves.

"You know, you're braver than you give yourself credit for, Princess," he says to the darkness.

Princess Naerys is silent for a moment, and Jaime wonders if she may have fallen asleep, but then he hears her speak. "And you're a better knight than I thought you would be."

Jaime lets out a small, breathless laugh that she echoes. The warm feeling from before returns—brighter than before, and he allows himself to relish in it for just a moment before snuffing it out. There was no room for feelings like that in a place like this.

"Goodnight, Princess," he says softly, shutting the door.

And when he returns to his post to resume his watch, Jaime decides that perhaps guarding the princess's door is not such a terrible thing after all.

AUTHOR'S NOTES.

howdy (again) 🤠 i hope you all enjoyed chapter two! as always, please feel free to comment, vote, and share. interactions are always very much appreciated. these first few chapters have been roughly unchanged from the original version of this story, but the next few will be slightly changed. i really spedrun through robert's rebellion and glossed over a lot of events through big time skips in the first draft of this book, so expect to see some #brand #new #content in the upcoming chapters as i pump the breaks a bit and take things slower than before. see you all in chapter three ❕