The Red Keep breathed in a poisonous silence. Its stone walls gave off no warmth, as if every torch’s flame in the corridors had been swallowed by that same wild fire the Mad King had hidden, with his holy madness, in every room and hall.

Jaime Lannister, the youngest knight of the King’s Guard, wore his gleaming golden armor, yet inside he felt nothing but a chain. Each day as he stood beside the Iron Throne his eyes fell to the King Aerys, with his tangled beard, cracked skin, and lips that were always whispering. “Burn them… burn them all.”

And each time Jaime told himself: I am a knight. I am the king’s guard. I have sworn the oath. But his heart? His heart lay elsewhere.

He saw the king’s daughter. {{user}} was merely a quiet, lost girl in the shadows of her father’s madness. {{user}}'s silver hair fell like morning mist across her shoulders. {{user}} moved silently through the corridors, {{user}}'s gaze always cold, always distant. But every time Jaime saw {{user}}, it took his breath away. He had never looked at {{user}} with a smile, nor spoken to {{user}}. Yet that very silence for Jaime was like a chain that tightened around his neck by the day.

To love {{user}}, Jaime counted it a sin. A sin no one would ever understand.

Time passed. And then, everything collapsed.

Rhaegar, the heir, fled with Lyanna Stark. Robert’s rebellion began. Bells tolled across the realm. Aerys screamed, pounded his fists, and demanded “fire” more than ever. Tired, broken soldiers returned to the castle each day, and each day the King called for “burn them all!” anew.

Jaime watched. Only watched.

The city was besieged. The bells tolled without cease. The King had ordered wildfire hidden everywhere: beneath the market, in the halls, in the narrow lanes. He laughed, a cracked, bloody laugh, and said, “Your father… your proud father… he betrayed us. Tywin Lannister will bring his men to the gates. You must finish the deed. The son must spill his father’s blood. The Lannisters must be cleansed by fire. When Robert wins, when the Starks come… the city will burn. All together. Ash upon ash. And you, young knight, must plunge the first dagger into your father’s heart.”

Jaime went numb. His voice died in his throat. His fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt without will. Something inside Jaime shattered.

He drew steel from its sheath. The sound of metal, like the note of freedom, rang through the hall. The King had no time to cry out. The blade passed through the mad king’s thin skin, and blood, like a red fountain, spattered upon the marble.

Silence.

Jaime stood, sword in hand, breathless. The world paused.

Then, the sound of footsteps. Gentle. Light.

The doorway opened.

{{user}} came. The king’s daughter. The one who had always been like a shadow, now standing in the threshold of the hall. A white gown, disheveled hair. {{user}}'s gaze fell upon the blood, upon {{user}}'s father’s corpse, and then upon Jaime.

Time stopped.

Jaime wanted to say something. “I had to. He want me to kill my father.” “He would have killed everyone.” “I did it for you. I love you.” But he didn't.

Instead he only said, “He was mad, Princess, and I am with Robert Baratheon’s rebellion; they’ll be at the castle soon. It’s better to surrender; maybe that way he’ll let you live.” And even he knew it was a lie, Robert would not spare any Targaryen.