Chapter 13: Interesting Letter

Jaime's POV

The clinking of metal filled my ears. I slashed and blocked with my left hand while my right hand moved from left to right until each lethal arc came crashing down on Bron. With a quick spin on his left heel, he easily evaded my left-hand attack. It was still sloppy and easy to dodge, but the reflexes in my right hand were as strong as they were before I lost it. In place of my golden hand, a castle-forged dagger with a triangle-shaped blade was attached to my arm with a steel apparatus to keep it in place. The golden hand was great for meetings, but this dagger, about half the length of my longsword, had good reach and allowed me to fight somewhat like I used to.

I watched Bron's blue eyes widen as my right hand barely missed his cheek; he dodged just in time. Sweat dripped down my back, but I allowed myself a small victory as I saw droplets of crimson blood trickle from a horizontal scar on his cheek. His skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat as he walked away, dropped to the ground, and wiped his face with a white cloth.

His shoulders were hunched, and I had to admit that the fight had become more intense now that I had some use back in my right arm. My heart raced with excitement as I sat down beside him. The heat bore down on me as I looked up to see the bright blue sky. It was hard to believe that in the north, it was still snowing, and winter had yet to arrive. That place was cold, dark, and miserable, and my life had taken a nosedive ever since I went there.

My shirt clung tightly to my back as I leaned over, taking a swig from my skin of wine before tossing it over to Bron. He caught it easily; my hand coordination with my left was improving.

"You're doing well, but you seemed distracted. Why?" Bron's tone remained as arrogant and smug as ever, but I was more than a little surprised that he had picked up on it. Ever since we received the letter from Slynt nearly six, maybe seven months ago, and then the report from Tyrion, things just didn't feel right.

After he escaped and killed Father with that crossbow, Cersei assumed control and became even more unhinged. At first, she was convinced that Tyrion was hiding in the Tower of the Hand, partly my fault since I had shown him the secret passageway out of his cell. Then Varys had shown him the ladder to Father's room.

I could understand her worry, but what I couldn't understand was her decision to fill the tower with leftover wildfire and burn it down after Tommen's wedding. Not to mention that with Prince Oberyn dead and the Hound still alive, tensions in Dorne had risen. The Dornish claimed to support Tommen, but he was too preoccupied with his young queen to notice that his mother was running his kingdom into the ground. Allowing the Faith to regain power had led to unrest in the streets.

While Cersei lost control, I feared for Tommen if they ever found proof of his origins. Then there was Myrcella, still in Dorne. I had requested several times to retrieve her, but she refused, fearing it might worsen our relationship with Dorne if that were even possible. So when Bron asked me what was wrong, I should have replied with "What isn't wrong?" But most of all, I had been thinking about the North. Sansa was missing, and she hailed from the North and the Riverlands. All it would take was for Tyrion and Sansa to make their way to Castle Black and use the Bastard and his brothers to lead an army. However, Cersei was right about one thing: that boy didn't have dragons. There had been no sightings or news about them since Janos lost his head; he truly was mad. Though there were nights when I lay in bed and wondered if Tyrion hadn't lied to us. But even he wouldn't hide the dragons if he knew it would mean the end of our family. Cersei deserved it; she was going mad and had killed people simply because she could. But my children and anyone else with the Lannister name didn't deserve it, and he knew it.

"Hello, earth to the golden cunt!" I snapped my head up at Bron's cruel and annoying remark, letting out a heavy sigh. "My sister, the North, the South, the Riverlands. Everything is falling apart, and Cersei is not making it any better. She is consumed by paranoia, though you can't tell her that, or she'll have your tongue cut out. The city is running lower and lower on food and supplies, and her attitude and hatred towards the Tyrells won't make them any more generous than they already have been."

With a heavy sigh, I lifted my head to see a boy no older than fifteen. His eyes were drawn to the blade attached to my stump, and his brown eyes filled with excitement. His unkempt golden-brown curly hair covered his face, and freckles danced across the bridge of his nose. He looked skinny as if he hadn't eaten much at all. He spoke in a clear tone with a Flea Bottom accent, "Ser Jaime, Her Grace has requested you and the others to report to the Small Council's chambers."

With a quick nod, I made my way up the steps, my body aching and sweat pouring from every pore. I felt like I was cooking in my skin, but I knew better than to keep Her Grace waiting. She would be livid to see me like this, with my stump on full display instead of hidden away under a golden hand. She hated being reminded that I was a cripple, and she would hate it even more if I didn't get changed.

I rushed into my chambers, quickly donning my thick, golden-plated armor, which only made me hotter if that were possible. I then jogged to catch up with the Small Council chamber. Cersei glared at me, her curls slipping from her face as her golden crown with emeralds gleamed perfectly on her head. A look of disdain crossed her face as she glared coldly at me. Qyburn stood behind her, a small smile tugging at his lips, as I noticed the other lords in the room.

"So good of you to join us, Ser Jaime," her voice was cold and cruel as it lashed out at me. I nodded numbly and took my seat. As I sat down, I watched Cersei's eyes fill with hatred and disdain, and a coy smile played on her lips.

"Tell me about the Riverlands," I watched her face closely. She had sent me on a fool's errand just a few weeks ago to reclaim it since the foolish Freys couldn't do it themselves.

"Peace has returned to the King's Road. My sweet aunt and her idiot Frey husband took control of Hoster Tully's house with ease. The Young Wolf's only remaining uncle, his wife, and their unborn child are on their way to Casterly Rock as prisoners until the rest of the Riverlords bend the knee to the King and the Lord of their region." My words earned a snort of disdain, and I felt the tension in the air.

Uncle Kevan remained as still as a rock, not saying a word. Mace's face turned a bright red as he stared at the ground. Cersei spoke in a cold tone, "Even when they do bend the knee, he is to be kept, and the child is to be killed. If it's a boy, he would be a threat, and I will have none of Walder Frey's messes causing any more problems. Now, what of the Vale? Have we heard anything from Littlefinger?"

I gritted my teeth but nodded slowly, speaking in a cold tone, "As for the Vale, it has fallen silent. Not a word from Petyr Baelish. I sent ravens that have failed to return, so I sent out a party to report back to you and only you."

With a sharp, cold nod, Cersei continued, "The Bolton bastard writes that even as we speak, he is gathering a host to march on Jon Snow and Sansa Stark with an army ten times their size, and he foresees a victory by the end of today. I made it clear that both were to be left alive so that they could be brought to the capital to receive the king's justice."

I watched as Mace shrank in his seat, clearly troubled by Cersei's vengeful tone. I did my best to be the voice of reason, "There is a chance that the Boltons could lose. If the other lords see the Stark girl, they might switch sides. Then she will become the official Lady of Winterfell, and with a Stark back in power, we can say goodbye to the North for good."

Cersei glared coldly at me, her brows furrowing with hatred. She then turned her attention to Mace, "I have good reason to believe that they will lose. The North fears the Boltons more than they love the Starks. Plus, they are not the problem. There has been no word from Dorne for weeks regarding their support for King Tommen. Send a small ship to investigate. Now, onto more pressing matters. Mace, you are to leave with your men tonight. The city is starving, and I want at least two years' provisions moved from Highgarden to the city."

With a sharp nod, Cersei spoke once more, and as she did, I could see the wheels turning in Mace's mind when she mentioned dragons, "That wasn't the only raven I received. It seems that Ser Barristan Selmy has aligned himself with the Dragon Queen, and she does indeed have three dragons. She has crippled the slave trade and conquered Qarth, Yunkai, and Astapor. She is on her way to conquer Meereen. I have it on good authority that next, she will be moving on to Volantis, which is known to have the largest slave trade. But that is also where the Golden Company is residing, and I won't have her take those men for her own. Jaime, you will go to Essos and buy them before the Queen can even think about setting foot in Volantis."

I snapped my head up in utter shock. I knew Cersei didn't think much of me, so hearing that she wanted me to get the Golden Company meant something was amiss. She must be trying to get me out of the city for some devious plan. Cersei didn't seem to sense my apprehension as she continued, "She has Unsullied, the best infantry in the world, and the Dothraki, the best-mounted archers, though their numbers are few. Nothing is stopping her from amassing more. Right now, she has no naval power, and that is our only advantage. Dorne was the only region to resist the dragons, so we must have them in our grasp."

As I watched Mace, his face remained impassive, but I could see the gleam in his eyes at the mention of Targaryen dragons. Everyone knew that the reason the Tyrells were the loyal lords of the Reach was because of Aegon and his conquest. His lips quirked upwards for a moment, and he even bowed his head before swiftly turning to leave. But as he and the other lords left to discuss private matters, I couldn't help but wonder what was going on. The Tyrells were not to be trusted.

"The Golden Company has around thirty elephants and thirty thousand men. You are to buy them, and if possible, any other large sellsword companies. Don't delay, Jaime." I nodded my head and walked out into the hall, only to see Mace speaking to a pretty handmaid who looked like she might have worked in Littlefinger's brothel. He handed her a sheet of paper before making his way down the hall, gripping tightly to the pair. What was that man up to?