A Golden Path: Framework 4.5 (ch. 51) (Patreon)

“I am not some strumpet for you to pass around!” Jaime kept his face impassive as their father delivered the news to Cersei. Jaime stood by his father, so he could see the storm of emotions on his twin’s face, which became a mask of pure rage and defiance. “You told me I was to be queen! The queen! Then you betrothed me to that useless fop Elbert! And now some lowborn peasant pretending to be a lord? Our equal?!” 

Cersei was red in the face, her emerald green eyes bright with fury. She didn’t bother to hide her ire. Not even here, in the Red Keep. Seeing her like this should stir something inside of him, but there was only a dull ache in Jaime’s chest in the loud silence that followed. 

Their father held her gaze, the silence growing more oppressive by the second, and it was only when Cersei looked away that he broke it. “You are my daughter. You are mine to bargain and betroth as I wish. That is your duty to House Lannister,” he spoke in clipped sentences. Cersei tensed in a way Jaime was familiar with, ready to argue once more. “It is a kindness that I allow you an opinion and inform you of why I have made the decision I have.”

He expected gratitude. For Cersei to say, ‘thank you.’ But she wouldn’t and he knew she wouldn’t. Jaime knew it was because she had too much pride, but their father would think she had too little sense. 

“If it is all the same, I wouldn’t mind an explanation, Father,” Jaime remarked, breaking the tension that filled the room. “I haven’t spent much time with Lord Atreides, but he must have impressed you if you’re willing to break a betrothal with the Arryns. That’s not something they’re going to forget easily. And what we gain is… a new kingdom, rife with disunity, and exposed to some rather angry slavers on account of the Exalted March.”

Jaime knew his father wanted the Exalted March to be a disaster. It was why they never joined the March. There was always a convenient excuse or a reason to delay until it became obvious the Westerlands wouldn’t lift a finger. Father had probably ground his molars into sand with every reported success. 

“Are you truly so desperate for a valyrian sword?” Cersei snipped at him, her lips pressed together in a sneer. As much as she would allow herself in Father’s company, at least, so it was  more of a displeased look. One that was quick to vanish when their father gave her a stern glare. 

“Do you truly think I am a man so cheaply bought?” Tywin rebuked with a displeased look of his own. Cersei, despite her fire, wilted at the rebuke. “That I would marry my daughter into a new house of a new kingdom for a mere dozen valyrian steel blades?” Jaime didn’t, but he thought they weighed a bit heavier on the scales than they likely should. 

Jaime knew how much his father hated the fact that their house didn’t possess one. He couldn’t say it wasn’t frustrating either, but mostly because it meant he couldn’t wield one. After he lost half of his sword arm to Robert’s hammer, the appeal lessened significantly. So, he understood Tywin wanted to show off a bit. Rub it into the Kingdom’s faces that their house possessed more valyrian steel blades than the rest of Westeros combined. 

“I have arranged your betrothal to Paul because it benefits our house,” Tywin continued. “It should be obvious to you, Cersei, if you were half as clever as you think you are.” He paused, as if awaiting an answer, and it was a trick Jaime knew well by now. As did Cersei, based on her scowl. When she didn't take the bait, he continued, “Three years. In three years, Paul has risen from no one to a Lord Paramount.” 

Tywin pressed his hands on his desk, pinning Cersei with a stern look. “The North has been transformed. For all of Rickard's ambitions, every success he has to transform the North from the barren backwater it's always been for ten thousand years -- every single one can be laid at Paul's feet. The surge in trade. The victories at the Royal Wedding. Every single major engagement during the Exalted March, save for Robert Baratheon's, Paul had a direct hand in.” 

Now Tywin leaned forward. “Do you think it is an accident that he became a Lord Paramount? That it just fell into his lap? Three years, Cersei. Three. Do you suppose a man of such capability would be content to waste his time on a kingdom that will slip through his finger or to be Aerys’ puppet?” He scoffed at the very idea. 

Jaime didn't particularly enjoy his lordly lessons with his father. But, almost in spite of himself, he did learn a thing or two about negotiations and planning. One of the most pivotal lessons his father all but beat into his head was understanding the man seated across from you in a negotiation and what leverage could be used to move him. 

From the onset, when their father informed them of a change in plans, something stood out to Jaime. Something he didn't say out loud, simply because he wasn't sure how his father would react upon realizing it. 

Tywin had been outplayed. Everything sounded like Paul used two levers to move his father -- his pride and his hatred for King Aerys. 

Cersei didn't see it. If she had, she would have thrown it into Tywin's face. “So, instead of being Aerys’ puppet, he will be yours?” She demanded in a clipped tone. 

“Yes,” their father answered shortly. “You will marry him. You will have children. And you will do so before the year is out.” 

That was the breaking point, but Cersei composed herself. “As you will, Father,” she said with poison dripping from every word, but it seemed so sweet. Without waiting for a dismissal, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. Tywin fixed a glare on the door following her with it was slammed shut, so Jaime offered a diversion. 

“Why not Lyanna Stark?” Jaime asked, bringing his father's gaze to him with Cersei's outburst forgotten. For the moment, at least. 

“Because the North needs him more than he needs the Starks,” Tywin answered. “Lyanna Stark gives him nothing. He already has a good friendship with Eddard, the respect of Brandon, while Rickard needs him for the North's continued success.” 

“Whereas we give him access to limitless gold,” Jaime remarked lightly. Tywin didn't disagree. He couldn't when part of the betrothal agreement had House Lannister funding hundreds of millions of gold dragons into the Triarchy's infrastructure. Building castles and towns on the insignificant islands so the kingdom wouldn't collapse with a strong breeze that was certainly coming. 

“We do not marry for love. We do so because it benefits us,” Tywin said with a hint of reproach for making a joke of it. “Aerys wanted a weak puppet king. Instead, he has facilitated a powerful player. After all, Paul Atreides built his fortune through trade. It made him an outlier in Westeros. Now he has three of the wealthiest Free Cities under his thumb and control of the Narrow Sea.” 

Meaning their investment would be returned in good time. Jaime nodded, accepting the reasoning even if he found it left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“And the alliance?” He prompted, earning a sharp glance from his father as a warning. Jaime could see the shape of it, but that shape was changing. He was marrying Lysa Tully, while her elder sister married Brandon Stark. Cersei was meant to marry Elbert, but now it seemed her hand would go to Pauls. Meaning the most likely outcome was Lyanna would marry Elbert. 

“It is in play,” Tywin admitted after a moment of thought. “However, the ambitions of the alliance are out of reach. Rhaegar turned out to be incompetent while Aerys, for all of his madness, is popular because of the Exalted March.” He grit his teeth as he made the admission. Jaime could see how that would impact things. They could hardly call for a Great Council in the face of Aerys’ incompetence and madness when he expanded the Seven Kingdoms, something that his dynasty failed to do even when they had dragons. 

Which left them rudderless. The marriages were being formalized. The alliance was becoming real. But their central goal was out of reach. 

“Go speak to her before she manages to make a fool of herself,” Tywin commanded and Jaime accepted the order with a nod of his head. 

It was only when the door was shut behind him that he allowed himself a small sigh. After getting directions from a servant in which direction his sister ran off too, he walked through the halls of the Red Keep. He couldn't say he much cared for the glances he received, or the whispers that followed him as people seemed compelled to recount how he lost his arm. 

At least back home, people knew better than to stare. Father had a minstrel's tongue removed for singing a song about a lion who broke his teeth on the antlers of a stag. Jaime didn't even have it in him to feel pity for the man, because what else was going to happen when you sang a song like that in the Westerlands? 

In any case, he paid it no mind. He was more than just his missing arm. And it was nothing compared to the whispers that followed Tyrion, so he swallowed whatever complaints that he had. Which became a little harder when Jaime heard a loud boisterous laugh echoing down the hall. A laugh he recognized quite well. 

For a moment, he considered turning around. Simply walking away. He had no particular urge for self flaggination, but neither was he a coward. So, after squaring his shoulders, Jaime continued to stride forward and rounded the corner. 

There, he saw Robert Baratheon and Prince Rhaegar. They were surrounded by a few hanger ons, though something in his chest clenched when he saw the white cloaks of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy. Instantly, the laughter died in Robert's throat when he saw Jaime. His gaze wasn't so much as hostile, but cautious. It had been more than a year since they last saw each other, which had been during the Melee, where Jaime lost his sword arm. 

Robert clearly expected him to hold a grudge. And Jaime did. Just not to the severe degree Jaime expected. He thought when he eventually met Robert again, he would feel this dark hatred. But it wasn't there. Instead, there was a much milder irritation and the urge to break his nose. He couldn't tell if that was progress or not. 

“Prince Rhaegar,” Jaime greeted the crowned prince first. Upon doing so, Jaime noted that the prince did not look well. He was naturally pale, which made the bags under his eyes stand out more while his paleness seemed more like a sickly pallor. 

He made himself scarce since they returned from Essos. To the point Jaime thought it likely that this was the first time he had left his room in weeks. Tywin thought it was because he couldn’t bare the humiliation -- Aerys hadn't punished Rhaegar openly, but rumors swirled about what happened behind closed doors because it was no secret that Aerys was extremely critical of his son and heir.

“Ser Jaime,” Rhaegar greeted him in turn with the barest of nods, immediately picking up on the sudden swell of tension. “What brings you by?”

“I’m looking for my sister. I don’t suppose she’s passed by?” He asked, and it was Ser Arthur who answered him. 

“She is in the gardens, Ser Jaime. She asked for directions to Lord Atredies,” he added, and that was a disaster in the making. 

“My thanks,” Jaime returned, his gaze going to Robert once more. He seemed to expect something from him and there was a part of Jaime that wanted to meet that expectation. But he had lost that fight with both arms, and he hadn’t yet mastered his left. While clever was never a word he would use to describe himself, Jaime did like to think he wasn’t a fool. 

So, instead, he inclined his head to Robert. The ‘Stormlord’ seemed a bit surprised, but he returned the gesture with a more relaxed expression. 

With that, Jaime continued to walk by the party while they made their way to whatever destination they were off to. Perhaps it wasn't exactly satisfying, but it was one Jaime felt good about. He hadn't been cowed or intimidated. And he learned he didn't hate Robert as much as he thought he would. 

He moved with haste towards the gardens, knowing that his sister already had a lead on him. He half expected to hear screaming when he entered the gardens -- not Cersei screaming, but whatever poor servant happened to be nearby. Yet, instead, he heard her laughter. 

Something clenched in his stomach at the sound. Cersei was his twin. They were each other's other half, as she liked to say. Or she used to before he lost his arm. So, he knew the difference between her polite but fake laughter and her genuine laughter. Something that had once been reserved for him. 

When he caught sight of Cersei, she was seated underneath a pavilion with Paul Atreides and an unexpected guest -- Lucerys Valis. The queen-to-be's brother sat across from Paul, a wineglass pinched between two fingers. He was the first to notice Jaime's approach. “Lord Jaime,” Lucerys greeted him with a raise of his glass. “How kind of you to join us.” 

Paul met his gaze with a polite expression, but beyond that, there was no reaction to his arrival. The same couldn't be said for his sweet sister. 

Her brilliant green eyes flattened in a way that hadn't before. Her smile became a touch more strained. It was as if she were silently screaming at him to go away. It was tempting to do exactly that. Because, while she would still speak to him, laugh with him, and even whisper secrets… There was a gulf that erupted between them since he lost his arm. Their relationship simply wasn't the same. 

Yet, all the same, he marched forward and took a seat. “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, sitting between Lucerys and Cersei. “I hope I haven't interrupted anything important?” 

“Important, yes, but it is good for you to be here. I was discussing the future development of the Stepstones with Lucerys and Lady Cersei,” Paul answered, and Jaime felt his interest pique. He knew for a fact that Steffon Baratheon had been running around the Red Keep like a chicken missing its head for weeks now to get his hands on those exact plans. “It seems you arrived just in time,” he added. 

As Jaime took his seat, a page boy arrived with a rolled-up map that was about the size of him. It was as he glanced at the boy that he caught Lucerys’ expression. It was a flicker of emotion, too fast for Jaime to identify it. However, he could identify the look he gave Paul as he accepted the map. Their eyes met, and even if he couldn’t hear the words, Jaime saw the message being passed between them. 

Jaime realized he had watched a power play. Paul had just checked Lucerys, even if Jaime wasn’t sure how. But, if he had to guess, given Lucerys was Aerys’ Master of Whispers… Paul had just used one of Lucerys’ spies for a menial errand. A way to tell Lucerys without words he wasn’t slick nor as good as he thought he was. Or that Lucerys’ spy network was compromised by Paul. 

Neither of them said anything about it, of course. And Jaime was certain Cersei didn’t even notice, instead too focused on the map of the kingdom she would preside over. Paul unfurled it on the table, allowing Jaime to see a kingdom that his father decided to invest hundreds of millions into. The maps were high quality, and while he was forbidden from joining the Exalted March, he assumed they were accurate. 

It was the additional information that caught Jaime’s eye, however. Uncle Gerion being granted Myr was no surprise, of course. It was a selling point on the whole marriage. He saw several familiar names, houses denoted on various islands from Dorne, the Reach, Stormlands, and a few Northern houses. The latter being less represented than Jaime would have expected, though there was a curious lack of a name by Lys. 

But two things did catch him by surprise. “Are these measurements accurate?” Jaime questioned, knowing it was rude, but he simply couldn’t help himself. 

“To the mile, Lord Jaime,” Paul verified. 

Lucerys tittered. It was a uniquely unsettling sound. “The Triarchy is greater than a mere few islands in the Narrow Sea. Even setting aside the disputed lands, the lands surrounding Myr are quite expansive.”

That was a word for it. When he thought of the Triarchy, he thought of a few barren rocks in the Narrow Sea that pirates had been fighting over since time immemorial. The Daughters, of course, were said to be mighty and great cities, but they were just cities. However, despite his expectations, Paul’s kingdom was… expansive. 

It wasn’t as large as the Reach, but it was comparable to the Crownlands. A bit bigger, even. 

The second thing he noticed was the placement of towns and lesser cities. Which, of course, would be built by his family. By them were estimated fleet sizes, populations, and more. It was then that Jaime realized Paul was grabbing the Narrow Sea by the balls and putting them in a vice. He was making it impossible to sail around Westeros without passing by a port for tolls to be paid. 

“It is a project many years in the making, I’m afraid. It’ll be ten years before the Triarchy is restored to its former strength,” Paul admitted regretfully. From the corner of his eye, he could see the flicker of disapproval on Cersei’s face. She didn’t want to rule over a kingdom on the edge of ruin. 

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Jaime remarked, taking greater care to inspect the map. He wasn’t a brilliant lord by any measure. He didn’t have that same natural cleverness Tyrion had where things just clicked in place with effortless understanding. “In ten years from now, you’ll be in a much stronger position than the Daughters ever were.”

That was the cold truth of it. If his reconstruction efforts stayed the course, than his kingdom would be a hundred times stronger than the divided Daughters or pirate-controlled Stepstones were. They, already, were enough to meet the full might of the Seven Kingdoms head on. To field ridiculously large armies a hundred thousand strong and rich enough to buy entire armies of mercenaries. 

The year was 280 AC. By 290 AC, Jaime figured the Triarchy would be one of the stronger kingdoms beholden to the Iron Throne. After that? It could become an honest peer to the Westerlands or Reach-

“I suppose the timeline is a bit generous. Unfortunately, those wretched slavers in Essos do have a say in our plans,” Lucerys tittered once more. “I suppose that is your reasoning for pursuing the hand of our dear Lady Cersei Lannister.” That wasn’t something he was supposed to know, but Jaime recognized what it was -- he was checking Paul back for the earlier display. 

“They do. Particularly Volantis and those behind the Black Walls,” Paul replied smoothly while Cersei stiffened. “A shame that you cannot put in a good word for us, Lucerys.” That sounded like a rebuke, but Jaime wasn’t sure why. Or how. House Valis came from Volantis. From behind the Black Walls. By all rights, they should have some connections inside of Volantis, even if they wouldn’t amount to much. It was hardly like they would stop invading because Lucerys asked. 

Yet, Lucerys’ lack of reaction was telling. He tittered apologetically, but the reaction felt like one to a mark well struck. 

“As for you, Cersei,” Paul began, turning to her and gently taking a hand. “I must beg your forgiveness for my presumptuousness. When I was negotiating with your father, and he offered your hand… I accepted hastily. I could hardly believe my fortune and agreed before he could rescind the betrothal.”

Tywin offered him the marriage? That was…

If Cersei found it suspicious, then she didn’t give a hint of it. “I suppose I could forgive you…” She said with a hint of a smile. An honest one. 

“You are generous and kind, my lady, but I wish to earn it. If you would allow me to,” Paul requested, making Cersei’s smile grow. 

It suddenly struck him why their father was so taken with Paul. King Aerys wanted a puppet lord, and instead? He invited a wolf through the front door and gave him a seat at the dinner table, all the while convinced he was nothing more than a lapdog. 

And that made him dangerous because men like Paul wouldn’t accept being beholden to anyone else.