CHAPTER 15 | BURN THEM ALL

LAILA was allowed to wash herself in the baths of Harrenhal. There were separate baths situated in each corner, all accompanied by beautiful pillars and structures of the Old Gods. She arrived just as Brienne was leaving, and Laila grabbed her arm in comfort. "How are you?" She asked the lady knight.

"They've given me clean clothes and a bath. What else can I ask of them now?" Brienne said, adjusting the cloth wrapped around her. "What about you? How's your hand?"

Laila lifted her injured hand. "Cleaned and bandaged. I'll be fine."

They nodded to each other one last time, knowing that they'd meet after Laila was done. Apparently, their rooms were right next to one another. Laila stripped herself of her dirty dress and engulfed herself in the water. She washed the mud and toxins from her hair and body. She scrubbed away all the grime. She pushed herself underneath the water, soaking her entire self and contemplating the art of staying afloat. Laila came up for air and sighed, smoothing out her frizzy curls. She decided to lay back against the corner of the bath and rest. She knew she was currently in turmoil for being captured, but for once, she wanted to sit here and enjoy herself.

Suddenly, she heard a pair of feet shuffle in. Laila opened her eyes, spying Jaime and a servant boy at the entrance. She sat up, wrinkling her nose at the sight of him. "What are you doing here?" She asked.

"There are no reservations needed," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "I need a bath."

She rolled her eyes before sitting back again and closing her eyes. Her body was fully submerged in the water, so it wasn't like he could see. She heard him wiggled out of his shoes and say to the servant, "Help me out of these rags." A moment later, he ordered, "Now get out."

Laila heard him shuffling over to her tub, and then there was the splashing. Her eyes opened with a snap now, and she sat up. "Excuse me," she spat as he stepped inside her tub. "There's another bath for a reason!"

"This one suits me fine," Jaime quipped.

Laila tried her best to cover her bare chest, even though it was unseen by the hot water. Today was not the day she'd let the Kingslayer see her chest, but it was incredibly hard when he was sitting so much near her. She could just barely feel his legs brush by her own.

"Don't worry," he chuckled, ever so softly, "you're not the first woman who gone naked at the sight of me."

Laila narrowed her eyes. "I was in here before you arrived."

"Details, details," Jaime huffed, placing his stump outside the bath, like Laila was doing with her injured hand. "If I faint, pull me out. I don't intend to be the first Lannister to die in a bathtub."

"Why should I care?"

"Because," he drawled, "Lady Brienne swore a solemn vow, remember? You may not be a knight, but you're still part of it. You two are supposed to get me to King's Landing in one piece. Not going so well, is it?"

Laila pretended she didn't hear him and stayed silent.

"Gods, no wonder Renly died with her guarding him," he muttered.

"How dare you?" She snarled. "Lady Brienne has done nothing but her best to try to get you back to King's Landing, and that is how you repay her? You're disgusting."

Jaime looked away. "What's disgusting is the way the dirt clings to you. You can tell your mother was a lowborn."

Laila's free hand formed into a fist. Her eyes stared daggers into Jaime, who finally looked over at her. Gods, her stare was beautiful yet it scared him. It could cut gold. What a stare, he thought. If he still had his sword hand, he knew she'd think about breaking it in this moment, but she was too nice to take away the other. Or was she?

"Take it back," she said through her clenched teeth.

"That was ... not right. Forgive me," he pled, following her stare. "You and Brienne have protected me better than most, and I should learn to close my mouth."

Laila sat back, continuing her frown. "Are you mocking me?"

"No," he argued, "I'm apologizing. I'm sick of fighting. Let's call a truce."

Laila felt the water move, and suddenly, he was sitting to her left, holding out his hand. She didn't want to shake it, so she continued to glare at him. Laila still held her arm over her bare chest and she certainly wasn't going to move it when he was so close.

"Truces must have trust," Laila replied, "and I don't know if I trust you."

Jaime lowered the hand back into the water, but he didn't move. He sat in the spot near Laila, his eyes never leaving hers. "I trust you," he whispered.

Laila's glare softened. She hesitated, taking his words in. Jaime looked in between her and her injured hand, which formed in and out of a fist. She bit at the edge of her lip, but carefully removed her arm from her chest. Jaime realized this, and though he couldn't see her nude body anyways, he thought of this as a sign of trust.

"There it is." Jaime said, observing her with tired eyes. "There's the look."

Laila lofted a brow. "What look?"

He sighed doubtfully. "I've seen it for seventeen years on face after face. You all despise me." He looked up at the delicately painted ceiling. "Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. A Man Without Honor."

"Well," she said, adjusting herself on the seat in the tub, "what titles do you expect to receive when you kill a King?"

Jaime's jaw twitched. He glanced to his wrapped stump, eyes narrowing at the sight. He almost felt like crying, but he didn't want to do it in front of her. "You've heard of wildfire?"

Laila paused before asking, "The green fire, correct?" She then brought her other arm out of the tub, hanging them both over the edge. "Pyromancer's Piss?"

He nodded slowly. "The Mad King was obsessed with it. He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. He burned lords he didn't like. He burned Hands who disobeyed him. He burned anyone who was against him. Before long, half the country was against him."

Laila's eyes flickered to his. She watched him hesitate with confusion. "Why are you telling me this?" She questioned. "What have I done that qualifies me to retain this kind of information?"

"You listen," Jaime shrugged. "You care."

She couldn't argue with that, which was why she stayed silent.

"Now, where was I?" Jaime thought out loud. "Ah, I know – Aerys saw traitors everywhere. So he had his Pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city, beneath the Sept of Baelor and the slums of Flea Bottom. Under houses, stables, taverns. Even beneath the Red Keep itself.

"Finally, the day of reckoning came. Robert Baratheon marched on the Capital after his victory at the Trident. But my father arrived first with the whole Lannister army at his back, promising to defend the city against the rebels. I knew my father better than that. He's never been one to pick the losing side.

"I urged him to surrender peacefully, but the King didn't listen to me. He didn't listen to Varys who tried to warn him. But he did listen to Grand Maester Pycelle; that grey, sunken cunt. 'You can trust the Lannisters,' he said. 'The Lannisters have always been true friends of the crown.' So we opened the gates, and my father sacked the city.

"Once again, I came to the King, begging him to surrender. He told me to ... bring him my father's head. Then he ... turned to his Pyromancer. 'Burn them all,' he said. 'Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds.'"

Laila exhaled finally. She felt like she had been holding in a breath for eternity. Burn them all, she thought. It was like she could hear the Targaryen King in her head. She had been twelve at the time, still living in the Rills. She remembered hearing her father read the letter aloud to his brother – the only family member of his who didn't desert him, but was later killed. She was supposed to be asleep, but she listened by the doorway.

"Rhaegar Targaryen died at the Trident," her father said. "The Mad King is now lost. Robert Baratheon marches to take over King's Landing."

She shook her head at the memory, realizing Jaime was staring at her again. She wondered how long he had been observing her. "Tell me, honestly," he continued, licking his lips. "If your King – no, if bloody King Robb commanded you to kill your own father and stand by while thousands of men, women, and children burned alive, would you have done it? Would you have kept an oath to him then?"

Laila's mouth couldn't form a response, and it slowly became dry. She leaned back, idle. She couldn't move.

"First, I killed the Pyromancer. And then when the King turned to flee, I drove my sword into his back. 'Burn them all,' he kept saying. 'Burn them all.'" He looked into the water, realizing that it was now cloudy and full of their dirt. "I don't ... think he expected to die. He ... he meant to ... burn with the rest of us and rise again, reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies to ash. I slit his throat to make sure that didn't happen. That's where Ned Stark found me."

Laila viewed away. She kept her mouth in a thin line, beginning to flex her injured hand. "I ... I don't understand," she said in a soft voice. "Why didn't you tell anyone this? You were a member of the Kingsguard. Surely, they would believe that there was nothing you could do. You were protecting the people."

But when Laila turned back to look at Jaime, she realized how close he was to her. He was staring at her with keen eyes. The type of eyes that observed the flaws and blessings of a person. Laila's free arm went back to her bare chest, covering it quickly. He was so close that his hand practically lingered near her shoulder, and she found herself moving away from it slightly.

"You believed it, didn't you? The rumors?" Jaime lofted a brow, to which Laila nodded. "You think the honorable Ned Stark wanted to hear my side? He judged me guilty the moment he set eyes on me. By what right does the wolf judge the lion?"

Laila's eyes began to water. She shook her head, and she knew then how right he was. Never did Laila think that she'd be sitting here – in the baths of Harranhal – naked, and listening to the story that she thought she already knew. She felt ashamed, but not as ashamed as Jaime must have been. She thought she knew all along the death of Aerys Targaryen; her father had told her himself. It had all been Jaime Lannister's doing, but she had not once thought that he was trying to save the people of King's Landing.

She felt his calloused hand rub away the tears, causing her to glance up. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Kingslayer –"

"Jaime," he reminded. "My name is Jaime."

He was too close. His lips were right near hers. She could kiss him, or he could kiss her. Oh, gods, why would she want to kiss him? She couldn't. She shouldn't. By what right? She wondered, thinking over his words. By what right does the horse kiss the lion?

Their eyes were on each other, but then his moved to her lips. He leaned forward, and his beard tickled her chin. He was close, and – oh, he was going to kiss her. Even Jaime was surprised in himself, seeing as he never kissed anyone but his sister. But another woman was here, with the scent of soil and magnetic lips, and he was going to betray his sister's love. Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock was going to kiss Laila Ryswell of the Rills.

But as soon as his lips just about brushed her own, Laila parted them. She shook her head, muttering, "No, I ..." She moved around in the water, noticing her hand had fallen from her bare breasts. "I must go."

And that was when Laila quickly stepped out of the tub, wrapped a cloth around her bare torso, and ran out of the baths.