A Feast for Dragons

her, even through the rank
stench of the corpse. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, to bury
his face in her golden curls and promise her that no one would ever hurt her .
. . not here, he thought, not here in front of the gods, and Father. “No,” he said. “I cannot. Will not.”
    “I need you. I need my other half.” He could hear the
rain pattering against the windows high above. “You are me, I am you. I need
you with me. In me. Please, Jaime. Please. ”
    Jaime looked to make certain Lord Tywin was not rising from
his bier in wrath, but his father lay still and cold, rotting. “I was made for
a battlefield, not a council chamber. And now it may be that I am unfit even
for that.”
    Cersei wiped her tears away on a ragged brown sleeve. “Very
well. If it is battlefields you want, battlefields I shall give you.” She
jerked her hood up angrily. “I was a fool to come. I was a fool ever to love
you.” Her footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet, and left damp splotches on the
marble floor.
    Dawn caught Jaime almost unawares. As the glass in the dome
began to lighten, suddenly there were rainbows shimmering off the walls and
floors and pillars, bathing Lord Tywin’s corpse in a haze of many-colored
light. The King’s Hand was rotting visibly. His face had taken on a greenish
tinge, and his eyes were deeply sunken, two black pits. Fissures had opened in
his cheeks, and a foul white fluid was seeping through the joints of his
splendid gold-and-crimson armor to pool beneath his body.
    The septons were the first to see, when they returned for
their dawn devotions. They sang their songs and prayed their prayers and
wrinkled up their noses, and one of the Most Devout grew so faint he had to be
helped from the sept. Shortly after, a flock of novices came swinging censers,
and the air grew so thick with incense that the bier seemed cloaked in smoke.
All the rainbows vanished in that perfumed mist, yet the stench persisted, a
sweet rotten smell that made Jaime want to gag.
    When the doors were opened the Tyrells were amongst the
first to enter, as befit their rank. Margaery had brought a great bouquet of
golden roses. She placed them ostentatiously at the foot of Lord Tywin’s bier
but kept one back and held it beneath her nose as she took her seat. So the
girl is as clever as she is pretty. Tommen could do a deal worse for a queen.
Others have. Margaery’s ladies followed her example.
    Cersei waited until the rest were in their places to make
her entrance, with Tommen at her side. Ser Osmund Kettleblack paced beside them
in his white enamel plate and white wool cloak.
    “. . . she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and
Moon Boy for all I know . . .”
    Jaime had seen Kettleblack naked in the bathhouse, had seen
the black hair on his chest, and the coarser thatch between his legs. He
pictured that chest pressed against his sister’s, that hair scratching the soft
skin of her breasts. She would not do that. The Imp lied. Spun gold and
black wire tangled, sweaty. Kettleblack’s narrow cheeks clenching each time he
thrust. Jaime could hear his sister moan. No. A lie.
    Red-eyed and pale, Cersei climbed the steps to kneel above
their father, drawing Tommen down beside her. The boy recoiled at the sight,
but his mother seized his wrist before he could pull away. “Pray,” she
whispered, and Tommen tried. But he was only eight and Lord Tywin was a horror.
One desperate breath of air, then the king began to sob. “Stop that!” Cersei said. Tommen turned his head and doubled over, retching. His crown fell
off and rolled across the marble floor. His mother pulled back in disgust, and
all at once the king was running for the doors, as fast as his eight-year-old
legs could carry him.
    “Ser Osmund, relieve me,” Jaime said sharply, as Kettleblack
turned to chase the crown. He handed the man the golden sword and went after
his king. In the Hall of Lamps he caught him, beneath the eyes of two dozen
startled septas. “I’m sorry,” Tommen wept. “I will do better on the morrow.
Mother says a king must show the way, but the smell made me sick.”
    This will not do. Too many eager ears and watching eyes. “Best we go outside, Your Grace.” Jaime led the boy out to where the air was as
fresh and clean as King’s Landing ever got. Twoscore gold cloaks had been posted
around the plaza to guard the horses and the litters. He took the king off to
the side, well away from everyone, and sat him