Jaime?

  Their first sight of Braavos was not the city itself, but the Titan that guarded the entrance to the lagoon that cradled it.

  From afar it appeared as a giant astride the open sea, and grew more intimidating still with each moment that passed. While it did not stand near as high as the Rock, it also wasn't a mountain that had been hollowed out, but a monstrosity of stone and bronze that had long since turned a vivid green.

  It let out a roar as they neared, a groaning and grinding sound that drowned out everything else for a few breaths. Jaime spied too many murder holes for him to count across the Titan's bulk.

  "A welcome as much as a warning," the old captain soothed. "It is good to be home."

  They were soon sailing between its hulking legs, their ship the size of a toe at most.

  "I've never felt so small," Tyrion jested, though his smile was a hollow one. They had grown closer over the fortnight it had taken to cross the narrow sea, and yet the closer they had come to Braavos, the more restless Tyrion had become.

  Jaime could not blame him. His heart still felt heavy for his own part in it, and he had hardly known her.

  He laid a hand on Tyrion's shoulder as he searched for something to say. "Solomon has not been wrong yet," he finally said.

  Tyrion snorted softly. "Those words aren't the comfort you think, Jaime. I would much rather this have been a wild goose chase."

  They sailed past the Arsenal soon, at least a hundred ships surrounding it. He had heard that the Arsenal of Braavos could produce a war galley each day when the Sealord called for it, though that had seemed a tall tale.

  Now he was less sure of that…

  "So it was true," the old captain spoke again as they neared an island near the Arsenal for inspection. "The sleeping giant has finally stirred, and its sons and daughters shall again set out to bring the First Law to those who spurn it."

  Jaime spied something of the Secret City itself now, sprawled across a hundred islands. There were hundreds more ships that he saw, many of them mighty dromonds teeming with men.

  It would be just their luck to be caught in the middle of a war.

  "The First Law?" he asked curiously.

  "Braavos was founded by slaves, ser. They had carved the First Law into the very bedrock of what would become Braavos, that none of them will ever be slaves again."

  Tyrion hardly seemed to be listening, lost in his own thoughts.

  "We had brought the First Law to Pentos as well, but instead of embracing it, the Pentoshi only paid lip service to it," the old captain continued with some fire in his voice. "Now that hubris has laid them low and Braavos will enforce the law itself. No doubt my sons have already pledged their ships. The gods know they wouldn't listen to me or their mother," he finished softly.

  "Then I wish them good fortune" Jaime returned. And he meant it. Solomon had mentioned that Varys had friends in Pentos.

  The old captain plucked his hat and gave a gentle bow as the customs officers came aboard and left almost as quickly. They sailed into Ragman's Harbor soon after, a harbor that could probably fit King's Landing's and Lannisport's docks together, and it was only one of several.

  "You'll find the Happy Port over yonder." Jaime looked out at one of the canals in the distance. "Look for a mural of a galleas with purple sails. Though I should warn you to hide your sword before the sun has set, ser. At least until the fleet has sailed to Pentos and the bravos with it."

  Jaime gave an absent nod as they stepped from the sleek ship, happy to feel something that wasn't creaky wood under him again.

  They had seen a few eyes turn their way as they traversed the harbor, not that it surprised him. A knight of the Kingsguard and a dwarf made for an odd pair.

  "Pledge your ships and your swords!" a crier in dark blacks and blues shouted as they passed. "The Sealord will pay a stipend for both! We have allowed the Pentoshi to mock us in their cups long enough!"

  The old man had been right. The atmosphere all around him felt hungry, like a wolf on the hunt.

  He followed Tyrion into an alley, his eyes open for the mural mentioned. It wasn't long before they had found it, and what a sight it was, the crew of the galleas on the mural being women bedecked only in thigh-high boots.

  A few more glances were drawn to them as they stepped inside, and it was there that he caught sight of a girl with a mane of golden hair, seated in a quiet corner as another ran a brush through it.

  His brother had spied the same, and had gone so pale as to seem a ghost.

  The matron that met them was an older woman with teats bigger than his head. "Westerosi, hm? Meralyn," she greeted with a mocking curtsy. "Though do call me Merry, I much prefer it. Shall I call for the girls? The work is slow this time of day, so most of them are free."

  "No need," Tyrion answered quickly. "I have come with only one in mind. I believe she goes by the Sailor's Wife now."

  The matron's dark eyes bore into his brother's own mismatched ones. "I shall fetch a priest from the Mummer's Ship to marry you then."

  "I need only to see her," Tyrion croaked out.

  "Tya does not bed a man she hasn't married, but I suppose I can tell her there is a dwarf asking after her. The singers could make a good jest of it," she said as she retreated up the stairs.

  Jaime tried for a jest himself. "I suppose we should prepare ourselves to be thrown into the canal should this go poorly."

  Tyrion's eyes had found the two again, a melancholy in his eyes that could smother the world. "You'll find that dwarfs float easy," his brother whispered not unlike a man on his deathbed.

  The matron soon returned, beckoning them over with a playful finger. "She will see you. The last door on the right."

  Jaime spied a very coy smile aimed at him as Tyrion ascended the stairs. He turned away with some heat to his cheeks as he followed.

  He might be angry with Cersei still, but he wasn't here to partake in whores.

  Tyrion stood at the door a long moment before he knocked. "It's open," they heard.

  They entered to find a woman with her hair dyed green and yellow in the manner that some women in White Harbor did. It was as they neared that he saw her eyes the color of the sky.

  His brother's lips seemed as dry as his eyes were wet. "Tysha."

  Something showed in her eyes, but she put on some confused airs still. "Tya, or the Sailor's Wife if you prefer. What have I done to deserve a crying dwarf on my doorstep?"

  "I understand if you are angry with me, gods, I'd understand if you wanted to put a knife through my heart, but I can see it in the lines of your face and your eyes. You have never been far from my thoughts."

  Jaime stood there as still as a statue, watching as her features quickly twisted in anger and bitterness. "I have thought little of you and less of Westeros."

  "I would not blame you for that either. Yet you have named our daughter Lanna."

  "Lanna does not even know your name for you to call her your daughter," she answered sharply. "Her father was lost at sea, as any here will tell you."

  "Tysha—"

  "And even if what you say were true, what madness drove you here now? I have not heard news that Lord Tywin had met the Many-Faced God, and believe me, I have listened. As long as he lives, he might yet discover that you had already left a stain on his name. You endanger her just by being here."

  She was breathing heavily by the end of it, her eyes full of pain.

  "At first I hoped you might find me anyway," she continued more softly, "but that was many years ago. You should go as far away as you have stayed thus far."

  Tyrion truly looked like a man on his deathbed now. "I was a fool. I let myself swallow the lies he told about you, though he knew not to speak them from his lips."

  While Jaime appreciated the thought, trying to mask his involvement, he had come here for a reason. So he stepped forward, drawing their eyes on him. "The fault is mine, my lady," he started, finding it easy to forget that she was no lady.

  He told her his part to play in it in no uncertain terms, and then he left them to speak alone when she stared at him with haunted eyes.

  Jaime had always known his father was cold and cruel, but he had always told himself that it was necessary, that he loved them all in his own way. That illusion had since fallen away. There was nothing necessary in what he had done to Tyrion or Prince Rhaegar's son and daughter. Even the Reynes and the Tarbecks, there was no need to extinguish two houses for the actions of a few.

  It all left him feeling empty as he found himself downstairs again, the matron eyeing him curiously.

  "Are you certain I can't convince you, ser? We have girls from as far as the Summer Isles and Ibben. Or would you prefer someone with more experience? I have seen you sneaking a look at these old things."

  He felt the heat come to his cheeks again as she weighed her teats in her hands, shaking his head as he fled.

  He wandered aimlessly for a time, thinking of Cersei. Gods, he loved her still, but she had taken after their father more than either of them, wielding the same cruelty as easy as he did.

  "Westerosi!" he heard someone call in thickly accented Common. "Come here a moment!"

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "I believe that is the cloak of one of the Kingsguard from the Sunset Kingdoms," another said with a smile like a baby shark.

  Jaime took a peek at the sky to see that it had darkened. Bravos then. Six of them.

  "I do believe you're right, Maello. Where is your king, ser? Have you lost him? Is that why you seem so sad?"

  A smirk came to his lips as he faced them. "Shouldn't you brave boys be pledging your swords to the Sealord?"

  "We already have, ser knight. But we have yet to settle a wager as to who will lead us, you see?"

  "So you thought to ask me? I am afraid I am here on the matters of the heart, not the sword."

  There was a grumble or two at his jest.

  "Fine pursuits both!" The first said with a hand to his heart. "Who then is the most beautiful woman in the world, ser?"

  "Our mothers," he answered easily. "Who could ever be more beautiful than the women who bore us?"

  One of them laughed. "A quick tongue, this one."

  "Yes, well said, Kingslayer," the first one said again, his dark eyes seeming darker in the gloom. "The Black Pearl wishes to speak to you."

  The name seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he could not remember from where. "The Black Pearl?"

  "There are beautiful women that are not our mothers."

  Cersei would twist herself in knots for him even considering it, but Cersei was not here.

  "I see," he softly said. "Then we shouldn't keep her waiting."

  Their number numbered seven when they left, thanks to him. He could not tell if that was auspicious.

  Cersei?

  She bit back a sigh as she listened to Stannis Baratheon drone on and on, all while the brute glowered down from his throne at the three men charged with treason and more. Friends of their missing master of coin, supposedly.

  Though they had a new one now, Lord Selwyn Tarth. He stood quietly next to his daughter and the pensive Stark. Cersei had heard his son had been stolen by the savage mountain clans in the Vale, and his anger she could understand. Solomon stood near to them as well, though he caught her eyes with a smile when she laid them on him.

  She cradled her belly as she returned his smile. It would not be long now. A moon at most.

  Margaery next to her brother and Renly smiled at her also, though she did not return it. While Solomon had made his preferences clear, she still did not approve of how she had vied for even a crumb of his attention like a bitch in heat.

  "Y-Your Grace, is this not too hasty?" one of them questioned, his thick blonde moustache quivering. "I have had dealings with Littlefinger, yes, but so had everyone that had frequented his brothels."

  Stannis gave the knight a miserly look. "Not everyone had frequented Baelish's brothels in search of girls not even flowered, ser, and fewer still have continued to receive coin from him. That is treason."

  His wife, the Lady Tanda Stokeworth, hardly seemed surprised at the indiscretions. He had been handsome once, perhaps, but now his belly would have rivaled hers a moon ago.

  "And on whose word is that?" the other knight shouted. A Ser Osmund Kettleblack, though she had never heard of him before today or much cared to. "On the word of your red whore, perhaps? Or the sorcerer that has turned the queen into his whore and this court into a place the Seven shun?"

  That he even dared to look at her as he said it had her wanting to tear out his eyes.

  "Still your tongue before I have it cut out, cur." It was rare that she found herself agreeing with the brute.

  "You have all been watched for near a moon now," Stannis continued after his brother. "Your guilt is certain, but some clemency would be offered if you were to reveal where your benefactor has—"

  "I shan't stand here and swallow lies from the red whore's servant!" With surprising strength he ripped a spear from a nearby gold cloak and ran at Solomon, and her heart quickened as she watched helplessly.

  Solomon though only seemed faintly amused, and perhaps he was right to as Ser Loras Tyrell's sword soon cleaved through one of the rampaging knight's legs, dropping him to the ground with a wet scream.

  "Perhaps some time in the black cells might loosen all your tongues," Stannis said in the same droll tone.

  "This is madness! Madness, I say! Tell them, brother! You know the last time I even spoke with the man!" the third and last, Lord Blount, pleaded with Ser Boros to speak in his defense. To Cersei's satisfaction, the Kingsguard knight would not even turn his head in his direction.

  As they were dragged from the room, she watched as the brute struggled to lift his heavy bulk from the throne. "A lordship and a keep awaits any man who can lead us to that murdering whoremonger!" he boomed. "And if it be a woman, then I shall bloody well name her a lady in her own right!"

  He soon stormed from the room, the court slowly following as they all avoided the slick of blood along the stones.

  Her eyes caught Solomon again as she touched her right cheek, a sign that she wanted to speak with him. Cersei then ascended to her chambers with Ser Boros beside her, and there she sent her servants away.

  While she had been pleased by Tyrion's departure, she had been less than pleased to discover that her twin had left with him, and not even from him.

  The gall to have her hear it from Ser Barristan instead…

  She let out the angry breath as she laid back on her bed. If she had not spoken those words to him after Varys had evaded them, perhaps he wouldn't have abandoned her to go gallivanting in Braavos. None of it had even made sense to her until Solomon revealed to her the reason, and then she could only scoff.

  She couldn't blame the low creature for trying to find the only fool girl to ever love him, but Jaime was always supposed to be at her side.

  A sound from the hidden passageway distracted her from those thoughts, and Solomon joined her on the bed when she beckoned him closer. She was tempted to have him inside her, but first…

  "Jaime… he must be in Braavos by now."

  His dark eyes caught hers as he toyed with her gown. "They both made it safe and sound," he answered easily.

  "What is he doing now?"

  "It would only hurt you to know," he whispered gently, but that only had her anger burning brighter.

  "I would still know. Show me."

  He retrieved the mirror after a moment, placing it in her hands. It still seemed lesser than it had been before he had expended it defending himself from Varys's knives, but she had been helping him to restore it. Knowing he needed her still brought a smile to her.

  "It will need your blood again," he whispered even softer, and she did not shy away from the price. Soon she was looking into its black depths.

  Her twin lounged in a dark room as a woman with skin like burnished bronze ran her nails along his neck, standing behind him as they talked.

  Then he kissed her.

  Then he fucked her.

  It was not long until she could bear to look no further, throwing the mirror away. "He betrayed me for… for some Braavosi whore!"

  "He feels guilty for it, but not enough not to."

  Her head felt hot at the words, and she soon heaved herself up to straddle him, staring down at him. She was worried she might be too heavy, but he did not seem to mind.

  Soon she was doing the same as she saw that whore doing, but she had a sorcerer beneath her, inside her, someone that the world bowed to, not a boy still dreaming of knighthood.

  She only fell back on the bed when she tired, panting softly.

  When she felt Solomon kiss her after, she scratched at his back with her nails, marking him. This was right, she quickly decided. There was not one other worthy of her, and not one other worthy of him. Cersei would spill the blood of a thousand maidens if he needed it, and she would do it all with a smile worthy of his queen.

  The brute just had to die, and then her Joff would sit the throne while she ruled as she was always meant to.

  She was confused when she saw him retreat just as suddenly, his eyes locked on the window. Naked, he moved to stare out from it, and she soon followed. The sight she saw horrified as much as fascinated her.

  Wildfire. It had sprung up in the city, and it was spreading its green tendrils further and farther.

  "Varys," she heard him whisper. "Littlefinger would not have been so careful where he set it off, only that he did. We are safe."

  Cersei sighed with some relief, hugging his arm to her breasts.

  "The Spider will get the chaos he wants, but it need not only benefit him." He turned to kiss her brow. "We will have to play things by ear for a time."

  "I am not afraid," she fiercely said.

  He smiled at her beautifully, and soon she watched him go. The procession of the wildfire drew her eyes again, and this time she could not look away.

  This was power. Solomon had said a new Age of Heroes was upon them, and only now did she understand his words.

  The lords, they thought power stemmed from swords and spears, but what could swords and spears do against such might? They might as well be children waving sticks at giants.

  In this new age, it was not men like her father that would thrive. They were too blind, too old.

  And she knew they must make way for the future, willingly or otherwise.