Rhaenyra regretted not leaving. Remorse filled her when Vary's back turned and grew when the bells signaled a prisoner's escape. She hated her choice and loathed herself much more. Jaime returned to her chambers in a similar state. His face exemplifying his pure indifference of freeing his brother and betraying his beloved sister. He needed comfort in his state, demanding she please him as a wife should. He took her against the dining table. Rhaenyra hated it, she hated being his wife.
They were interrupted by a Lannister guard. The embarrassed fool turned away and gave Rhaenyra solace, he shared the news Tywin Lannister was dead. He was murdered on the privy, a cold look left on his face along with crossbow arrows. She deemed it poetic justice. The following morning it was confirmed Tyrion had given her this comfort for his old whore was found dead in his father's bed.
The threat of Tywin Lannister no longer existed. His death left a deteriorating house and a very happy Rhaenyra. His children fought for days, arguing over their youngest brother who made haste for the Dragon Queen. They screamed about their daughter, the young girl who was left in the care of the Dornish. Cersei would cry about their youngest boy who sat on the throne and his new wife who detested her.
Jaime would tell Rhaenyra everything when he sat with her and her children for dinner. It pleased her heart so until she was reminded by her own thoughts of her true identity. She questioned all, the decisions of others that lead her to have such a life.
Rhaenyra could not help but feel content with Jaime in her bed. A blissful bitterness rising each time as she separated the Lannister siblings further apart. The strange happiness came as an odd opposite to her redundant despise she held for him. She thought of this as she laid beside her snoring husband. Her back rested against the bed's detailed headboard as she ran her fingers through Jaime's golden locks. His face was pressed into her side with an arm draped over her body, he snored deeply.
The sun slowly peeked through the closed curtains, staining the floor with its shreds of light. The heat followed the light, burning through the walls of the Keep. Rhaenyra knew the bustle of the day would sound from outside at any moment. She would live out another repetitive day as Lady Lannister.
A smile spread across her face. Her hand moved from Jaime's hair to cradle his sleeping face. She gently stroked his scarred cheek with her thumb, giggling lightly. Rhaenyra brought her fingers to his nose, pinching at his nostrils. He struggled awake. His legs failed beneath the tightly made sheets. Rhaenyra's light laughter strengthened to a near uproar.
Jaime hit at her hand, heaving a desperate breath as he said, "What was that for?" His green eyes met her gaze, sharing an odd look of confusion and curiosity.
"You snore when you sleep."
He rose from the bed, gently pushing out of Rhaenyra's hold. Her face burned as she followed his naked form. Jaime quickly strutted to the dining table at the end of the room, reaching for fruit from the never barren table.
"So killing me would put an end to your irritation?"
She nodded, face reddening as he faced her. He returned to his place on the bed, nestling back into her side with two peaches in his grasp. Rhaenyra reached for the fruit as her other hand returned to his hair. "Murder is my solution to most things." She bit into the fruit and whispered a soft, "Thanks."
Jaime bit into his own fruit, resting his stump of an arm on his chest. "Why did you wake me so early? No one is screeching in the halls yet." He spoke through a mouthful, the peach juices dripped from his mouth in a disgusting manner. Both did not mind.
Rhaenyra pressed her fingers to the juice that spilled from his mouth, eyes intentionally lingering on his lips. She threw her peach to the dresser meaning to focus on her husband. "As a married couple, I feel it is appropriate to share bothersome irks." Her finger moved from the corner of his mouth only to the tip of his nose. "I have been having trouble sleeping as of late, especially when you," she paused briefly. "Visit me."
Jaime tossed his peach to the ground, moving to sit beside her. "Please tell me what bothers you, wife."
Rhaenyra averted her gaze from him. She wondered if he knew her identity. A curious thought, but one filled with logical doubt. "The thoughts inducing such insomnia all center on you," her lie fell with great ease.
"Me!" Jaime laughed, eyes brightening slightly. "All good I hope."
"No."
"Well," he paused, "Still of me."
"I worry about the day I become with child." Her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling gently. "If I do," she whispered. "I must know if my babe will inherit your family's tendency to kill old men." Rhaenyra felt his body tense against her. He laid rigid.
Jaime carefully pulled away, joining her against the headboard. "Easy, my father just died."
"Was killed," she muttered. Her hand moved to press against his stomach. His tensed body relaxed at her touch. "Tell me something," Rhaenyra smirked as his eyes closed. Her hand moved to his chest as she continued to speak, "Why did you do it?"
"What?"
Her fingers gripped at his jaw to turn his face toward her own. Jaime's eyes opened, they offered an unusually soft look. "Why did you kill the Mad King?" Her touch was not rough but demanding. Rhaenyra pressed her nails into his skin, "Tell me."
Jaime pushed her hand away, tightening a hold around her delicate fingers. "I had to."
She sat up beside him, the sheets fell from her body. Her hand returned to his jaw, pushing his face away from her naked chest. "Why?" She needed reasoning behind his deed. A justification for the act that ended the War of the Usurper and the centuries-long Targaryen dynasty. "They call you Oathbreaker, Kingslayer. Yet you refuse to offer any explanation behind your actions." Her voice raised slightly, a thick knot rose in her throat. "I am your wife. Tell me why and maybe I will stop hating you."
Jaime jerked his head from her grasp, her hand fell to his chest in a light slap. His eyes shifted to an unfamiliar shade, nearly appearing black in with a conflicting sadness and regret. He tensed once more, "I like to believe you were a good child, who attended all her history lessons with her Maester." His lips pursed as he averted his gaze from his young wife.
Rhaenyra said nothing, only bringing the sheets back to her chest. She rested beside his legs ready to watch him speak.
"It was the King's day of judgment, the day his heir died. Rhaegar had been slain, in what Robert Baratheon thought justice, at the Battle of the Trident." He did not take notice of his wife's shift in the movement at the mention of the late Dragon Prince. "My father was meant to defend the city from the rebels. He sat outside the city gates waiting for the news of the battle's victor. My father was never one to side with the loser, he would betray the King." He pressed his hand to his mouth as if still in shock, "I told Aerys to surrender, he refused to listen to me or any of his advisors. So, the gates opened and my father sacked the city."
Rhaenyra knew this, it was a vivid story told yearly to her. The victorious end to Robert's Rebellion, ending with the Usurper on the Iron Throne. Her Maester ensured it was a tale engraved into her memory.
Jaime sighed heavily, "I begged the King once more, but he told me to bring me my father's head, can you believe that my own father's head?" He laughed through a heavy set of tears. His cheeks became lightly stained, "The King had caches of wildfire stored throughout the city. He was fascinated with it, making it champion in trials of combat or simply for entertainment. He revealed in the way it made skin melt, how it turned bones black and to ash."
The King's victims were close to Rhaenyra's heart, the Starks suffered because of the green flames. A dark mark still remained in the throne room of the Red Keep where Rickard Stark was set ablaze.
Jaime's face turned red from anger as he continued. "His pyromancer stood beside him at all times. As the city was falling he turned to him and said, Burn them all. Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds. So, I did what I thought was right. I killed the pyromancer, the King turned to flee but I stuck my sword in his back." He whipped at his tears, pressing his fingers to his eyes. "He would say upon his death he would return as a dragon, born of flames. I slit his throat so it would not happen. He bleed out on the steps of the throne, I felt it right to take his seat. Your good father, Ned Stark, found me there waiting for judgment."
"What of the Targaryen children?"
Jaime sat shocked by her words and intrigue, he continued to cry at the thought of the heirs. "Butchered in their rooms, their mother desperately trying to protect them." He reached for her hand, "The twins were thrown into the Red Sea, the Princess was strangled." He intertwined their fingers needing comfort from her touch. "I fished for the bodies of the twins. I can still feel their greying flesh in my hands. Both looked as if they were sleeping, so innocent. I wrapped them in my cloak and carried them to the throne room, out of shame or fear I do not know."