Chapter Text
Everything was dark after the bricks fell and the dust filled Jaime’s lungs. A familiar bitterness renewed its effort to calcify Jaime’s heart, a process once slowed when Brienne entered his life.
Kingslayer. Oathbraeker. Man without honor. “How do you know there is an after?”
Jaime didn’t recall much following the Keep’s collapse, but he did remember the despairing feeling of knowing he’d never have the chance to die in the arms of the woman he loved.
A voice neither male nor female surrounded Jaime, embracing him, and the words caused him to spin on heel. “You failed, Ser Jaime.”
Unable to see his accuser, Jaime seethed in silence. Darkness and scorn. Lovely.
“You failed just as your brother failed.” At the mention of Tyrion, Jaime felt tears sting his eyes, and an all-consuming guilt pushed away the bitterness threatening to choke Jaime from within.
He shouldn’t have set me free, Jaime thought. If Daenerys would destroy the city she coveted, I can’t fathom what she’d do to Tyrion for aiding my escape.
“No, not that brother. A different brother.” A replying voice said, and Jaime wondered if he was losing his mind or rather, if the unidentified voice was reading it.
“A different brother? I only had the one,” Jaime spoke cautiously as he tried to see through the darkness, but it was endless.
Jaime sensed something moving, circling him, and a cool breath caressed his skin, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand. “You had many brothers; all but one were cloaked in white. One brother we spared for a purpose, but he failed too. You both failed to understand one another, and in doing so, you failed to fulfill your destiny.”
Spared a brother? Jaime’s brows furrowed. Spared a brother from what? Which brother?
“You need trust to have a truce.” Jaime’s own words from the past drifted by like a lazy breeze, the voice weakened by fever and the bathhouse’s oppressive heat. It was another reminder of Brienne that weighed heavy, but the unknown voice returned again. “To understand him, you need to see the world as he does. To succeed, you need to work together. You need to place the true heir on the throne.”
“There is more to be done than die?” Even in death, I’m denied rest. Absurd. Jaime laughed bitterly, more exhausted than vexed.
“You’ve more to do if you wish to live with her .” There was a promise in the words that Jaime reached blindly for, hoping to grasp it before the chance escaped him.
Brienne , Jaime thought, and a deep ache in his heart served to remind of the love lost when he charged south on a horse to stop his sister and Daenerys from destroying everything and everyone.
“See as your brother sees. We kept you together for a reason, and until you both understand that reason, your view will remain altered.”
Jaime’s eyes opened and adjusted to the early morning light creeping into the room. When the haze cleared, Jaime groaned in dismay, realizing he was back in the White Sword Tower.
“How do you know there is an after?” Bran Stark’s question taunted Jaime. Very clever, Bran. How can there be an ‘after’ when I’m forced to endure ‘before’ repeatedly.
Jaime swung his legs over the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. The sensation startled Jaime, causing him to withdraw his hand from unusually short, straight strands. Staring in wonder at his sword hand, Jaime mouthed the words “it’s back”.
As quickly as the revelation caused his heart to flutter with excitement, his lips turned down. It’s not back. What the fuck is this? This is not my hand.
Standing, Jaime appraised the room and cursed, realizing from the styling of the armor piled neatly in the corner that he was once more a member of Aerys’ Kingsguard. Panic caused Jaime to stumble backwards, his knees buckling and forcing Jaime to a seated position. He covered his face with his hands, willing it all away.
The idea of serving Aerys for a second time felt impossible. His breathing began to labor, and any prior confusion over his unfamiliar hand became secondary to the sense of doom choking him from within.
Trying to calm himself, Jaime commanded his body to a standing position. I need to know what year it is. Am I alone here? Has Robert’s Rebellion already begun?
Quickly throwing on breeches and a tunic, Jaime stepped into the hallway and searched the two rooms beside his own on the second floor of the White Sword Tower. Neither Oswell nor Lewyn were in their rooms, and Jaime hoped they were on guard duty rather than away at war.
Running up the winding staircase, Jaime startled upon reaching the next floor. Wait, this is the fourth floor, which means I was on the third floor. Whose room was I in?
Jaime ran down the winding stairs to the second floor. When his feet hit the landing, he sprinted towards his assigned sleeping cell. Jaime’s heart was pounding and his mind spinning. Bursting through the door, Jaime’s eyes landed on the bed where someone was curled up under the blankets, snoring lightly.
Golden curls spilled from under the blanket and made Jaime’s steps falter. Reaching out as he stepped inside, Jaime gently pulled back the covers and gasped when he saw himself asleep on the bed. What is this? Oh gods, has my spirit left my body? Am I still dead?
“Wake up!” Jaime yelled and shook his body, but again, he startled. The voice was not his own, but much deeper and alarmingly familiar. Barristan. Why do I sound like Barristan?
Jaime spun around the room, trying to find anything that might provide a reflection. The window had too much light pouring in to use as a mirror, but there was some silverware set out on the table.
Picking up a spoon, Jaime gaped at his reflection. Pale blue eyes were surrounded by messy blond hair turning white at the corners. I’m Barristan. This is worse than I thought.
Turning towards the bed, Jaime watched as groggy green eyes blinked open and appraised the room. “What’s going on?”
Are there two of me or is Barristan in my body? I’m not certain which is worse. “Wake up! Are you Barristan or am I still in there?” Jaime became frantic, uncertain how to express his identity crisis. He wondered if the gods had made a mistake, or if this was actually some perversion of the seven hells.
Any lingering fog dissipated in green eyes. Jaime watched his youthful body scramble off the bed wearing only smallclothes, spinning around and looking for something, likely a weapon. “What is this? Why am I not in my body?”
The remark confirmed Jaime’s suspicion. For whatever reason, the gods had chosen to return Barristan and Jaime to the living, but their bodies were swapped. “Barristan, stop. It’s me, Jaime.”
The remark stilled Barristan. Something akin to horror flashed in green eyes, and Barristan glanced down at himself in confusion. “Why am I not in my body? No, no. This isn’t real. This is a nightmare.”
“You’re telling me,” Jaime huffed, watching as Barristan, in Jaime’s body, began to pace wildly.
“Am I in your body?” Barristan’s panic was evident in his expression and tone. “Please, anything but that.”
“Anything but that !? This is an improvement for you , but look at me !” Jaime lifted the spoon to his face once more and scowled at the reflection. “I’m old! Old and far from golden!”
“Old!?” Barristan grabbed the spoon from Jaime’s grasp and looked at his own reflection, gaping at what he saw. “I’m trapped in the body of a child! Can I even grow facial hair? Why is my voice so high?”
Jaime considered his body, or rather, Barristan’s newly assigned body. “If I’m in the Kingsguard, it must be at least 281ac, but if we’re both here, perhaps the war hasn’t begun yet. I’m somewhere between five-and-ten and six-and-ten.”
Glancing down at himself, Jaime estimated that Barristan’s body would be around four-and-forty.
“Give me my body back,” Barristan pointed accusingly and took a step forward. The demand was laughable, and Jaime crossed his arms, his tone disbelieving. “You think that I want this? This is awful. Worse than death.”
“You died too?” Anger melted away, replaced by curiosity.
“Right after your queen destroyed King’s Landing with her winged beast. Aerys reborn. Well done encouraging her west, Barristan.” Jaime clapped Barristan’s shoulder in mock approval, though it was strange to be touching his own body which was currently governed by someone else.
“She did what?” The question was whispered, and Jaime considered Tyrion’s own opinion of Daenerys before the war with the dead. Tyrion had insisted that Daenerys was a good queen with not a whiff of madness, and while Jaime hadn’t been convinced, he had dared to hope.
“She flew her dragon into King’s Landing and destroyed the city and Keep. I rang the bells to signal the city’s surrender, but it didn’t stop her. In the end, she was no different than her father.”
Barristan renewed pacing and shook his head in stubborn refusal. “No, something must have happened. In Meereen she chained the dragons for killing an innocent. She’d not have used them to destroy the city.”
Jaime knew the role his sister played in causing Daenerys’ downward spiral, but he was too angry to give it voice. “Well it would seem she unchained her dragon to kill a city’s worth of innocents and surrendered soldiers.”
The topic reminded Jaime of his death, but more so than reliving the grief, he considered the voice in the darkness. Tempting as it was to continue berating Barristan for finally doing something wrong, Jaime wanted to better understand their situation. “What happened when you died? Was it dark?”
“Aye, only darkness.” Barristan sounded distant, haunted, but after a moment’s pause, he took a deep breath and continued. “Then I heard this voice, though it sounded otherworldly.”
“I heard the same voice,” Jaime replied, reflecting on the strange words spoken. “What did it say to you?”
Barristan shifted awkwardly, looking away quickly, but Jaime knew his own features well-enough to realize that Barristan planned to disclose partial truths. “Only that I failed.”
“Liar. What else did the voice say?”
A loud scoff echoed off the stone walls and Barristan narrowed green eyes at Jaime. “You of all people would name me a liar?”
“I would because you’ve stolen my body which I know better than you do. The look on your face is admission enough.”
Barristan began to protest, but approaching footsteps caused him to quiet and the two men glanced towards the door left ajar upon Jaime’s intrusion. Not a heartbeat later, Jonothor Darry stood in the doorway looking confused. “The pair of you are unnecessarily loud. Why are you both half-naked and arguing?”
Jaime pointed at Barristan and spoke accusingly. “Ser Jaime stole my things.” More specifically, Barristan stole my body.
A sarcastic laugh filled the air. “ I stole your things?”
As Jaime and Barristan began to bicker, Jonothor yelled over them. “I don’t particularly care who stole what, but the pair of you are late to relieve the Lord Commander and Prince Lewyn from duty.”
Jaime cursed inwardly and shouldered past Barristan. “As I said, Ser Jaime stole my things, but I’ll make do.”
Ignoring Barristan’s continued complaint, Jaime marched up the stairs and into Barristan’s room. He quickly donned armor and sword, but taking pause to compose himself, Jaime marveled at the absurdity of it. He was in the body of Barristan Selmy and once more forced to endure the Mad King’s reign.
When he put on his cloak, Jaime returned to the second floor to find Barristan emerging from his room with a displeased expression on his face. “I’ll not wear that absurd helmet you keep in there.”
In his earliest years as a member of the Kingsguard, Jaime often wore a golden helmet molded in the image of a lion. The helmet was pretentious and entirely impractical, but Jaime enjoyed it. “Yes, I’d hate for you to feel trapped inside a lion as I feel suffocated by wheat. For as weak as I feel, one stiff breeze might send me toppling into the dry moat.”
An embellishment, but not entirely untrue. Jaime could feel the difference in Barristan’s body compared to his own. Barristan was less muscular though admittedly in excellent shape for a man in his forties.
“That’s the problem with you,” Barristan countered. “You think strength alone is sufficient, but there’s a reason that I lived into my sixties and you died well before that. For as natural a swordsman as you are, you never learned. So bloody cocksure.”
It was Jaime’s opinion that Barristan and Arthur were the best in the realm, and as unfortunate as the situation was, he was intrigued by the prospect of using Barristan’s body to spar. “For your sake, Barristan, lets hope I don’t become overconfident and lose a limb or two before returning this aged body to you. Surely you’ve heard about my propensity for losing limbs.”
At Jaime’s side, Barristan stopped walking and glared. “If you do any such thing to my body, I’ll throw this awful vessel that I’m stuck in off the highest cliff.”
Staff approached from around a corner, forcing Jaime to lower his voice; a voice that sounded far too much like Barristan for his taste. “It would be a better death than what your dragon queen afforded me. You helped return fire and blood to the kingdoms, and now we’re forced to endure her father all over again.”
For the first time in Jaime’s life, he saw his own cutting smile directed at himself. “Perhaps I wouldn’t have been put in such a position if you didn’t impregnate your own sister, placing bastards on the throne. I never got the chance to tell you to your face how incredible it is that you managed to outdo yourself. Here I thought it impossible to commit an act more disgusting and dishonorable than killing the man you swore to protect.”
Rage caused Jaime’s hand to twitch where it hovered over the hilt of his sword, or rather, Barristan’s sword. If I kill him, is it murder or suicide? How does this work exactly? Will I immediately die upon killing him and we’ll both be returned to that awful darkness?
Before Jaime could dwell on it, Barristan turned on heel and continued down the hallway. There was something arrogant about his gait and Jaime couldn’t help but wonder if some part of himself lingered within his original body.
Unsurprisingly, neither the White Bull nor Prince Lewyn were pleased about the delay. They stood outside the king’s bedchamber, appearing agitated as Barristan and Jaime approached.
Pushing off the wall, the White Bull narrowed his eyes, glancing between the men. “Need I remind the pair of you that we are down two sworn brothers? The king grows more wary by the day, and yet, you stroll here casually as if we’ve one hundred men to rotate on guard duty.”
Jaime considered blaming his sworn brother, which curiously, would mean blaming himself. Taking a moment to consider the situation, Jaime remembered that he was in Barristan’s body, and if there was one thing Barristan valued most, it was his precious reputation and unflinching sense of honor. “Apologies, Ser Gerold. Perhaps with age my wrist proves less efficient when I seek relief. Took me longer than usual.”
At the implication that the most chaste knight in the Seven Kingdoms had been masturbating, the White Bull gaped at what was, for Barristan Selmy, a most uncharacteristic, indecent remark. Lewyn however appeared amused, his response in stark contrast to Barristan who, in Jaime’s body, was staring slack-jawed and horrified. Recovering quickly, Barristan defended his body. “You were doing no such thing!”
“Oh, I definitely was.” Jaime replied, smiling mischievously at Barristan who paled, making the golden curls atop his head shine brighter.
“You’re disgusting and that is entirely indecent. We were speaking when Ser Jonothor came looking for us.”
“Shame he wouldn’t join us,” Jaime countered, wondering how far he could push Barristan.
The White Bull’s hand reached out, his fingers curling over the top of Jaime’s breastplate and pushing him hard against the wall. “Selmy, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but if you keep this up, you’ll be doing double duty while we await the return of our sworn brothers.”
At the reference to Ser Arthur, Jaime quieted. They’re truly gone. I can’t save him. Jaime struggled to understand why the gods had sent him back and why he was in Barristan’s body, but the information was sobering. The realization that Rhaegar, Oswell, and Arthur had left brought with it an overwhelming urge to fix whatever had been broken.
Nodding in understanding, Jaime pursed his lips together and glanced over Gerold’s shoulder, noting the hate swimming in green eyes. For a moment it felt like looking into Cersei’s eyes. Jaime had seen the look before, but he always managed to convince himself it was passion.
Releasing Jaime, the White Bull walked briskly towards the exit, and Lewyn sauntered over slowly to tap Jaime’s cheek. “Either you’re sleep deprived, Ser Barristan, or the presence of two Dornish brothers has finally corrupted the purest among us.”
Jaime was confronted with the weighty responsibility that he had the power to influence Barristan’s reputation. Though tempting to hold that over Barristan, Jaime was worried that Barristan had the same control over Jaime’s name and future.
Surely Barristan isn’t that calculating or underhanded. He’ll not consider such things. Jaime glanced at Barristan as Lewyn walked away, following the White Bull’s path towards the only exit from Maegor’s Holdfast. Pale or green, the eye color mattered little. Hatred was easy to read.
Barristan stepped forward and spoke in hushed tones. “Is it not enough to tarnish your own name that now you mean to soil mine?” The accusation held an edge of disgust, and Jaime rose to the challenge.
Shrugging innocently, Jaime feigned consideration for the many ways in which he might destroy Barristan from within. “Perhaps I’ll visit the brothels this evening. Finally bathe your sword in something other than blood.”
“Do not use my body for your perversions,” Barristan warned, stepping closer and pinning Jaime in place with angry eyes.
“Why stop at the brothels?” Jaime continued, uncaring for the rage it was causing Barristan. “Perhaps I’ll get drunk at an inn and stumble into Maegor’s Holdfast naked as my nameday, just in time to relieve the White Bull from his next shift.”
“Perhaps I’ll do what should have been done the first time around and ensure a black cloak gets draped across your shoulders. Do your worst, but just know that we’ll both be ruined for it. Destroy my reputation, and I’ll destroy your life.”