a familiar face [initially closed: tommen, jaime] 

t-baratheons:

Tommen frowns. He resists the urge to wrap his arms around himself, but just barely. He wanted to go home hours ago to read and then sleep but his mum had insisted that he and his siblings stay until at least most of the guests had left. Tommen looks up at his uncle and sighs.

“I’d like to go home,” he says softly.

He sounds sad; he knows he does. And he is, sort of. He’s confused and he wants to think about what his uncle just told him. Maybe if he can find Myrcella, then they can leave together. Tommen feels for his book and takes comfort in the weight of it, pulling down his jacket on one side and making it fit funny.

“I’m tired.”

Jaime almost doesn’t hear Tommen’s muttered words, if he wasn’t so close to him he probably wouldn’t have picked it up. The sadness in Tommen’s voice makes him want to lead the boy out to his car and get him away from Kensington Palace as fast as he can, but he knows that’s not an option. Going too soon would bring suspicion down on the Baratheon family and make it look like they were fleeing the crime scene. Even if Tommen was still technically a child that wouldn’t stop the media from putting him - and many other people who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and born into the wrong family - in the spotlight after what had happened. He would rather the youngest Baratheon child stayed away from the public eye as he always had and he knew Cersei and Robert would feel the same.

“People won’t linger for long, once everyone starts leaving we can go as well.” He tells him, smiling slightly at the way his nephew’s jacket fitted rather ungainly on one side of his body after he’d pulled it down. “You might want to straighten that out, wouldn’t want the fashion magazines catching you looking like that.” He chuckled to show he was joking and to try and relieve some of the tension settling in the room.

He nodded slightly in agreement with Tommen’s statement, stifling a yawn as he looked down at his watch, eyes widening as he realised how late it had gotten. “Maybe if we find your brother and sister I can convince your parents to let you all leave a little earlier than usual.”

a familiar face [initially closed: tommen, jaime] 

t-baratheons:

Tommen knows of Doran Martell, though he’s never met him. He frowns as he considers the fact that the man is dead now and he will never meet him, and then he starts slightly when his uncle leans forward and puts his hands on Tommen’s shoulders. Tommen looks up at him with wide eyes, nodding at the reassurance about his parents. 

“Joffrey was just texting me. I told him to come find me but I don’t know if he will.” He frowns and pushes his fingers through his fringe. “Myrcella hasn’t responded yet.” He hopes she will, if only so that he knows she’s okay.

“Uncle Jaime,” he says slowly. “Why was Mr. Martell shot? It’s Sansa’s birthday; why would anyone bring a gun to a party?”

Jaime nods when Tommen tells him about Joffrey. If the ‘wildest’ of the Baratheon children has managed to take care of himself he’s sure Myrcella has handled herself well enough. “I wouldn’t worry too much about your sister. She’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.” He voices it mostly to assure himself. If anything happened to any of them Cersei would probably kill him, and then Robert, and then him again.

He’s left unable to think of a response to Tommen’s question for a few moments. How does explain this to a fourteen year old boy? Some people are despicable enough that they would murder someone for power, money, revenge or just for the hell of it? “Things happen, Tommen… Mr. Martell was a very rich and very powerful man, and some people didn’t like that.” Like half of the people in this room. He leaves the last part unspoken, he doesn’t want to frighten the poor boy, but still he can’t mask the grim expression that settles on his face.

a familiar face [initially closed: tommen, jaime] 

t-baratheons:

Tommen looks up from his phone, wondering how to find the loo his brother is in, when he hears his uncle’s voice. He sighs with relief, glad to see a familiar face. Typing out a quick response to Joffrey, he tucks his phone into his pocket and resists the urge to launch himself at Jaime the way he would have when he was a little kid.

“I’m okay,” he says. “What happened? I heard a gunshot.” His eyes widen with sudden panic; his text message had only gone out to his siblings. “I didn’t text Mum or Dad. Do you know if they’re okay?” 

Jaime pauses for a moment, considering whether or not he should tell Tommen everything or shield him somewhat from the event. He’s not going to stay a boy forever, no matter how much Cersei may wish he would. He tells himself before glancing back at the scene, now free of the two large pools of blood that had resided there earlier. “Doran Martell is dead.” Not ‘Doran Martell passed away,’ he doesn’t see any point in putting it gently.

He feels his own panic rise slightly when he realises he hasn’t seen or heard from Cersei, but quickly assures himself. She wouldn’t die, not without him. “No, no, your parents are fine.” He tries to calm his youngest nephew and places his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “It was only Mr Martell, and they caught the killer. Everyone else is fine.” He tells him, offering his best attempt at a comforting smile. “Have you heard from your brother and sister?”

a familiar face [initially closed: tommen, jaime] 

t-baratheons:

When he hears it, he nearly falls out of his chair. Tommen has never heard gunfire in real life, but there is no mistaking the sound. He watches as people all over the room start to gather and search for others, sends a text to his siblings and hopes they respond soon. He hasn’t seen Joffrey for hours and Myrcella has been missing in action, too.

Tommen folds down the corner of the page of his book and tucks the paperback into the pocket of his suit jacket, then makes his way through the room with a pounding heart. He has heard his parents argue about the dangers of their current situation, but it never occurred to him that people could die until now. That is, assuming someone is dead, which he does, because there was a gunshot. And gunshots are always ominous indications of death.

Once he’s settled after his conversation with Varys, Jaime decides to make his way around the room and search for anything out of place. He likes to believe he’s thinking ahead, the finger of blame for Doran Martell’s death will more than likely point at Robert - possibly at Euron Greyjoy and the Independent Party’s Mance Rayder as well - and it’s best to find what he can to prove the PM’s innocence, whether he ordered it or not. He scans the crowd for anyone who he knows was not fond of the Martells, keeps his ears open for any mutterings that are anything less than sympathies for the family. However, a flash of blonde hair in the crowd immediatly pushes that to the back of his mind.

He pushes his way past a few people to reach Tommen, calling out the boy’s name as he gets closer to catch his attention. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees that his nephew is relatively unchanged. A little paler than usual, but that’s to be expected after what’s happened. He doesn’t seem particularly horrified, simply shaken, and that settles Jaime a little. At least he wasn’t there to witness it. “Tommen, are you okay?” These kids are going to be the death of him, he thinks. Half of the time he’s worrying more over where they are and what they’re doing more than he does Robert.