Chapter 47 — King's Landing
Noon.
After days on the road, the mud and blood of the Riverlands had finally been left behind.
But when the massive outline of King's Landing rose into view, Brienne of Tarth felt no relief — only a heavy weight settling in her chest.
The closer they drew, the more the city's unique presence flooded her senses, thick and overwhelming, until she almost felt short of breath.
As the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, King's Landing held a special kind of allure for people across the continent. Brienne had been no exception.
Yet standing before it now, every scrap of that distant admiration shattered in an instant.
It wasn't that the city lacked grandeur.
For someone raised in the Stormlands, a metropolis capable of holding half a million people was awe-inspiring in both scale and construction.
But no matter how impressive it was…
she simply could not form a good first impression.
Because—
it reeked.
Even at the city gate, the stench hit like a physical blow. She tried holding her breath, but the smell seemed to have a will of its own, forcing its way up her nostrils.
This wasn't ordinary foulness.
It was a monstrous blend of sea-salt rot, human sweat, and fermented waste — a signature perfume unique to King's Landing.
How to describe it?
It was worse than Jaime after a year without bathing… after rolling through horse piss and mud… mixed with the odor from his infected wounds.
One word.
Intoxicating.
In the worst possible way.
"Cough—cough—!"
Brienne couldn't help coughing. She shot Jaime an irritated look.
"We could've gone in through the Gate of the Gods," she muttered. "Why did you insist on making this huge detour, Jaime?"
Jaime didn't answer right away.
He lifted his head and looked upward.
The bronze-bound gates stood open like the jaws of some colossal beast lazily devouring the flow of people. Above the arch, a roaring lion relief bared its fangs, radiating dominance.
"A lion," Jaime said quietly, a trace of long-absent pride in his voice, "should enter like a lion."
He even closed his eyes and took a deep breath — the nauseating stench seeming, impossibly, to stir nostalgia within him.
Under Brienne's look — the exact expression one might reserve for an idiot — Jaime muttered to himself, almost as if trying to steady his own spirit.
"A Lannister… enters through the Lion Gate."
At his deliberate display of swagger, the others tactfully said nothing.
They all understood.
This man had suffered more than enough along the way.
And maybe…
he needed this.
Jaime had been captured, maimed, humiliated, forced to drink filth… dragged across the realm with his dignity ground into the dirt again and again.
Now, this little ritual — entering the Lion Gate like a proper Lannister — was his way of gathering the shattered pieces of himself. It might look ridiculous…
but it was understandable.
Only Iggo gave a snort of disdain. Whether it was because Dothraki didn't grasp the symbolic importance of stone nests, or because the big woman still barely acknowledged his existence, no one could say.
Jaime straightened in the saddle, pride swelling in his chest. He squeezed his horse's flanks lightly, preparing to pass through the gate in the most dignified manner possible.
And then—
"Out of the way! Don't block the road, bumpkin!"
A sharp shout and the pounding of hooves came from behind. A lavishly dressed warhorse shot past his side.
The rider wore bright silks, a feathered cap — some young attendant, by the look of him. In his rush to cut ahead, the man's riding crop nearly brushed Jaime's horse's nose. As he passed, he even glanced back, eyes full of contempt and provocation.
"Fuck!!"
Jaime's horse reared in fright, nearly throwing him off. Only his excellent horsemanship kept him seated.
Unfortunately, the other horse's hooves kicked up a spray of filth… splattering him head to toe.
"You bastard!"
Jaime spun toward the disappearing figure, shouting after him, "Blind idiot! How dare you call me a bumpkin!"
"I am—"
"Save it, Jaime."
Terrified he was about to yell something like "My father is Tywin Lannister," Odin hurried forward to cut him off.
"B-but he called me a bumpkin!"
Jaime looked personally offended.
He was Jaime Lannister. The richest golden prince in the Seven Kingdoms! He'd suffered enough humiliation with the Brave Companions — if he came back to King's Landing only to be treated like this, what was the point of surviving?
"They weren't wrong."
Odin shrugged casually. "Look at you. If you're not a bumpkin, what are you?"
Jaime instinctively looked down.
Right…
Roughspun clothes stained with mud and dried blood. Once-meticulous golden hair now greasy and tangled. Face caked with dust and sweat. Patchy stubble on his chin and cheeks.
And his right hand… hanging uselessly from a crude sling.
Well.
Damn.
He really did look the part.
Jaime grimaced. When he'd left Harrenhal, he really should've squeezed Roose Bolton for some decent clothes.
Would Cersei even want to look at him like this?
Before he could sink further into that thought, another force shoved past.
"Move, bumpkin."
Brienne rode straight between Jaime and Odin, forcing her way ahead through the Lion Gate without ceremony, leaving only her back to them.
Jaime staggered but said nothing this time.
He only glanced at Odin and shook his head helplessly.
They both knew.
Brienne still hadn't let go of what happened by the Gods Eye.
Days ago, when they finished dealing with the Karstark men and reached the lakeside, Arya and the Hound were already gone. Only Odin and two corpses remained.
Brienne had wanted to pursue — she did not trust the Hound with a Stark girl — but Odin stopped her.
He reminded her:
Another Stark daughter waited in King's Landing — one who needed her sword and her oath.
Duty had forced Brienne to turn back.
But it had also made the burden on her shoulders heavier than ever.
"Let's go, my blood of blood!"
Odin flicked the reins lightly and called back, riding toward the gate.
"Wait—!"
Jaime hurried his horse forward to block him, an almost imperceptible note of… reliance in his voice.
Yes. Somewhere along this road, he had grown used to Odin's plans, his presence. The thought of him simply leaving felt strangely unsettling.
"Where are you going?"
Jaime swallowed. He swore before the Seven — even charging Robb Stark through a battlefield hadn't made him this tense.
In his haste, he blurted, "Aren't you coming to the Red Keep with me to see my father?"
"Don't forget, I still owe you that bathtub full of gold dragons!"
"That can wait."
Seeing his anxiety, Odin smiled and reached out as if to pat Jaime's shoulder — then noticed the manure splattered there and discreetly withdrew his hand.
"You and Brienne go ahead, Jaime."
"Go be with your family. Your sister, your brother — you've been gone from King's Landing a long time. They must miss you."
He paused, then added gently:
"A real man must make time for his family. A man who doesn't take care of his family… isn't much of a man at all."
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