An Honest Woman | Female Jaime Lannister | GOT/ASOIAF

Before II

Unable to sit in her chambers for a minute longer, she got to her feet abruptly. Even in grief, she was hardly one to remain still for long. Jaime pulled on a pair of breeches under her skirts, tied her long hair back and left. Her daughter didn't question where she was going, knowing well enough already. 

She came across the knight as he left the White Sword Tower, a weary look on his face.

"I want to spar," Jaime said. "You have the time. There's only two royals left to guard, now," Ser Aredan didn't laugh, but she wasn't smiling.

"Fine," Sarsfield sighed, clearly recognising that she was in a dark enough mood to beat the shit out of him. "I'm due a match with you, anyway. I've been rather fortunate in the training yard lately; it wouldn't do for me to get cocky," Her lips curled at that, as he grabbed two tourney swords and they set off for the usual place.

When she had first met the knight, he had been eighteen, three years older than her, but seemed little more than a boy in Aerys' court. Despite his admittedly excellent skill with a sword, he was remarkably humble and servile, and Jaime had dismissed him as a spineless lickspittle within five minutes of talking to him. 

She supposed the years Ser Aredan had spent being one of the few men in King's Landing who would spar with her had improved her opinion of him slightly, along with the fact he was the only other soul who knew the true extent of Aerys' madness. 

After she had killed Aerys and Rossart - earning herself the name Kingslayer, and him the unfortunate moniker 'Ser Aredan the Unaware' for letting it happen whilst he held the city - he had spent the days after hunting down Belis and Garigus, the other pyromancers that knew of the king's insane plot.

The moment they were in the hidden courtyard, in a quiet wing of the castle with no windows overlooking it, she undid her skirts, not caring if they got dirty as they fell to the ground, revealing the breeches she wore underneath. 

She reached out to grab the sword Ser Aredan was already offering her, swinging at him immediately. He blocked her, attempting a slash of his own, but Jaime had already stepped easily out of the way. She felt her mind sink into the fight, poured all her focus into her footwork, the swing of her sword, her opponent's movements and how she could beat him.

What she did like about Sarsfield was that he didn't hold back in any way because she was a woman; he had done so at first, but she had quickly irritated him out of it, as she did with most of the knights she sparred with. Being deliberately provocative, with merciless mocking and cruel jests designed to cut deep, was something Jaime excelled at. It certainly stopped her opponent pulling their blows, which was all she really wanted.

Ser Aredan the Unaware was one of the best swords she had fought against, despite his unflattering nickname, second only to Arthur Dayne. But Jaime was better. Despite her somewhat patchy education in swordplay, and relative lack of brute strength, she had speed, agility, fierce determination, recklessness and natural ability on her side, and, in any real fight, the element of surprise.

Her sparring with Sarsfield that day was brutal.

Just because she could block out thoughts of Ashara by focusing on swordplay, that didn't mean every single shit feeling didn't come out in the viciousness of her blows. Sarsfield more than held his own - he was hardly in a generous mood either, likely having been lectured along with the rest of the Kingsguard for letting the queen die - but Jaime won three matches out of every four they tried.

After what had to have been a couple of hours, both of them were bruised, battered and sweating, a state that normally left her feeling exhilarated and satisfied, but today only made her feel hot, sticky and aching.