Jaime III

"The whore is pregnant!" his sister wailed. Cersei stormed into the sitting room with a flutter of red skirts. The utter despondence in her voice cut him right to the heart. Jaime wanted to help her, to say something comforting.

"It's not the first time Robert sired a bastard," he pointed out, trying to sound reasonable, but that only made Cersei cry harder! Sometimes, Jaime despaired of ever understanding women. Wasn't it a good thing the rutting stag didn't visit her in the night anymore? Let the flower girl handle it and have done with matters.

"You don't understand, Jaime!" she whimpered between sobs. "It's different this time. I'm barely queen anymore. All the court knows we aren't speaking. Gods, that letter from father..." she trailed off, and Jaime shivered sympathetically.

When Lord Tywin heard all the details, the wrath he'd put to parchment had been terrible to behold. There was even talk of sending her back to the Rock. Only Prince Joffrey had saved them that indignity.

Whose side are you on, boy? Jaime wanted to ask. Joff was no son of his, though Cersei would hate to hear him say the plain truth.

At first, Jaime believed her about Tyrion corrupting the boy, but anyone could tell it was false after hearing them talk together a few times, and they talked every day. All they ever spoke of was the "project". Labor and wages, titles, and budgets, it was enough to bore him to tears. Anyhow, Joff was too strong-willed to be misled by Tyrion. They bickered all the time over petty details. The royal mistress was his idea, and he said so, full-throated and unashamed.

"Come along, sweet sister," he spoke to her gently. "Let's break our fast with your children."

Her children, always hers alone, never his.

When Cersei saw Joffrey speaking softly to Myrcella, the weeping started again with renewed intensity.

"Mother, what's wrong?" the prince asked, his young eyebrows tight with worry.

"Oh, nothing," Cersei replied with false nonchalance. "Lyra Flowers is with child, did you know?" Though wet with unshed tears, her eyes were burning clear and green.

"I didn't, actually," Joff answered evenly. "And why does that discomfit you so, Mother?"

"Someone is seeking to supplant me and steal your birthright, my wayward fool of a son!" she screamed. Mycella started crying immediately, and Joff spent a moment trying to soothe her.

"You only have yourself to blame, Mother. I tried to convince you to reconcile. This child is no threat to me."

"I'm sure they said much the same of Daemon Blackfyre," Cersei retorted fiercely. "It is a dagger aimed at your heart, and mine!"

"Let me worry about that, you're scaring Myrcella. This is not appropriate to speak of in front of her." To that, Jaime could only agree.

"What does it matter? Tender years are no protection from court gossip. All the ladies will be laughing into their handkerchiefs every time my baby girl passes by. Laughing because of you!" Then the lioness lashed out. She reached across the table and slapped Joffrey with all the fury of scorned motherhood. It happened so fast that Jaime couldn't have stopped it if he tried. The twins always had quick reflexes, including her, woman or not.

Her son, never his, didn't react immediately. He just rubbed the red spot that slowly spread across his cheek while Myrcella joined her mother in tears.

"You're emotional and not in your right mind," he said with restrained anger. "And for that, I'll overlook this. I've got enough on my mind as is. If the project is to begin before my tenth name day, which is fast approaching, I need to get to work finalizing the details now." He stood up from the table abruptly. "Farewell, Mother, Uncle, Sister." He bowed to them each and exited the room without looking back once.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Jaime thought he heard Cersei say something about not wanting to lose the last part of her son. Well, she was doing a pretty poor job of it in his view.

After that, it was just him breaking his fast, alone with two crying girls.

Lucky me.

***

"Okay, don't push, there's plenty for everyone!" Joffrey cried to the crowd. They were all lined up while the prince himself passed out tools to the workers. Jaime had the honor of standing guard.

Lucky me.

"We need the stone from the ruins of the Dragonpit. Use your pickaxes to chip the stone into usable blocks. From there, we'll put them on carts to carry to the stonecutters, who will shape them. Work together, and use your heads. Above all, be safe! Try not to collapse anything and bring it down on your heads! At the end of the day, there will be generous wages for all!"

Every cutthroat in Fleabottom was here, it seemed. Men, women, children, it didn't matter; all had come for the prince's project. The sun beat down on them and the city, ripe-smelling at the best of times, really started to reek as the lowborn horde worked up a good sweat. The clicking and clacking of pickaxes striking stone near deafened him. They chipped away at the guts of the old Dragonpit, a little at a time, and shipped it back up the Street of Sisters by the cartload. Every day they worked, and every day the rubble receded a bit.

Jaime got to watch it all, cooking in his armor.

Lucky me.

***

Two turns of the moon later, Seven Hells and all the demons within emerged from the depths of the Earth.

All the city shook, and a green cloud shot up into the air, a pillar of pure malice that destroyed everything it touched.

No! It can't be!

What the fuck is that?" Joffrey shouted over the roar. It seemed there was a roar. Jaime's ears were ringing.

"Wildfire, my prince!" Tyrion was quickest to get his wits back. They were well away from the explosion, or else they'd be ashes right now. Good thing Joffrey had the idea for them to stay back and "direct traffic."

"Shit!" Joff swore. "Everyone back! Don't trample each other! Get back! Get fucking back! Away from the flames!"

People panicked. Horses panicked more, screaming and stampeding away, anything to escape the flames. The flames started spreading.

"Why the fuck was there wildfire in the Dragonpit?" Joffrey demanded, though none answered. None had an answer, save Jaime.

Aerys must've put it there, he knew at once.

"The flames spread quickly, nephew! We need to get out of here!" Tyrion shouted. That sounded reasonable enough to Jaime.

"No." The prince refused flatly. "I've read about wildfire. Water can't put it out. Nothing can put it out. It must be contained until it burns itself out."

"All the more reason to fly, boy!" Tyrion yelled and tried to pull him back, but the boy didn't budge.

"The faster we act, the better." Joffrey climbed up on a cart that was half-loaded with stone and held up his arms to get everyone's attention. "Good people! Hear me! The whole fucking city will be lost if we don't act now! I need every one of you, pickaxes, spades, hammers, whatever you have, and follow me! We must fan out and start pulling down houses and digging ditches, anything to slow the flames down! I know this city like the back of my hand, I'll show you where to work!"

The people, stunned and disoriented as they were, actually listened, for want of options. The boy had a loud, strong voice, though still quite high-pitched, and looked kingly enough with his golden hair blowing in the hot blast of the wildfire. Joffrey led his workers out, and they followed.

The wildfire burned for three days, taking a quarter of the city with it. None, though, outside the perimeter Joffrey made.