After leaving Brienne's chamber, Jaime had gone straight back to his room, determined to block out the rest of the world, Tyrion included. The instant he'd locked the door behind him, he'd collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling as if he could somehow find answers there.
Jaime was starting to think that accepting an appointment to the small council had been a grave mistake. He suddenly missed the small fishing village where he had spent the past six months: the smallfolk, the smell of the salt sea air, the simplicity of it all. But mostly, he missed the anonymity. He missed being a nameless wanderer, free of obligation to his family name. Sometimes, he hated being Jaime Lannister, hated being seen by everyone as nothing more than Tywin Lannister's son, or the brother of the King's Hand, or the lover of a tyrannical queen. Living in anonymity had been easy for Jaime, but facing his past was proving far more difficult.
Tired of staring up at the ceiling, Jaime allowed his gaze to drift toward the door. He wondered how difficult it would be to escape the Red Keep under Tyrion's watchful eye. He loved his brother, he truly did, but Tyrion's meddling had already gone too far. Although Jaime doubted there was anything he could do to stop Tyrion from interfering in his life, he at least had to try.
Determined to do more than just lie there brooding on the matter, Jaime forced himself up from the bed and crossed the floor. When he opened the door, he found two guards standing sentinel on the other side, and it took nearly all his willpower to keep from rolling his eyes. "I've been appointed Master of War," he said. "I'm on the small council, for gods' sakes. Is this really necessary?"
"We're here by order of the Hand," one of the guards replied. "Only he can relieve us of our duty."
Jaime inhaled a hard breath. When his nerves were calmer, he said, "In that case, follow me."
Jaime stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Then, he headed toward Tyrion's solar, hoping to settle the matter once and for all.
As Jaime walked, he heard the guards' steady footsteps behind him, and for the first time since his return, he wished he had a sword. When Daenerys Targaryen's soldiers had taken him captive six months earlier, they had relieved him of all his weapons, including Widow's Wail, and he had no idea what had become of his prized sword. He could only imagine that it was now somewhere across the Narrow Sea, being wielded by an Unsullied soldier.
Tyrion's door was closed when they finally reached it, but Jaime refused to let that deter him. Without bothering to knock, he reached for the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked. He pushed the door open and barged right in, despite the protests of the men behind him.
"Who . . . who's there?" Tyrion stammered, the sound of his voice accompanied by the telltale rustling of parchment as he quickly stuffed something into his desk drawer.
Jaime closed the door and fixed his eyes on his brother as he crossed the room. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No, no, of course not," Tyrion replied, pulling down nervously on the hem of his doublet and sitting up a little straighter in his chair. He looked quite guilty, though Jaime had no idea what he was guilty of.
"Really? Not scrambling to hide some evidence of foul deeds? You are a Lannister, after all. That is what we do, isn't it?" Jaime asked as he eased himself down into the chair across from Tyrion's and eyed him pointedly.
"I am not our father," Tyrion protested.
"Then what did you just hide away in that drawer? Plans to overthrow the king?"
"There's no need to overthrow the king. After all, it was my idea to appoint him in the first place."
"Your idea?"
"Yes, my idea. After I was arrested for helping you escape, for committing treason, I was thrown in a cell for gods only know how long. When I was finally released, I was led to the Dragonpit to meet with a select group of the surviving lords and ladies of Westeros. A council of surviving characters, if you will," Tyrion said with a laugh. "They needed a new sovereign, and since Jon Snow was no longer a viable option, I suggested that the council elect its next king, and Bran the Broken was the obvious choice."
Jaime was confused by just about everything Tyrion had said. He wanted clarification, but he wasn't sure quite where to start. "Why . . . why was Jon Snow ever a viable option to take the throne? I know he fought valiantly at the Battle of Winterfell and was elected King in the North, but how does any of that truly qualify him to rule Westeros?"
"You don't know?" Tyrion asked, his eyes narrowing curiously. He seemed genuinely intrigued by Jaime's ignorance.
"Should I know?"
Tyrion sighed. "I suppose not. I guess I thought that everyone knew, but then, what do the smallfolk really know of what goes on in the halls of the Red Keep?"
"What are you talking about?"
Tyrion leaned forward in his chair, and Jaime could tell by the look in his eyes that he was eager to share some great secret. "Jon Snow is not Jon Snow after all, but Aegon Targaryen, rightful son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, rightful heir to the throne."
Jaime stared at Tyrion in bewilderment. Not a single word his brother had said had made any sense. "How . . . how is that possible? Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell."
"He was," Tyrion said, "until he had the High Septon annul his marriage and ran off with Lyanna Stark. They were wed in secret, and Jon was born, not a bastard, but a Targaryen, with even more right to sit on the Iron Throne than the Dragon Queen herself."
Jaime was stunned by this news. He knew his brother had a flair for the dramatic, but even Tyrion couldn't make up a tale as fantastical as that one. It took Jaime a moment to take it all in, to figure out what it all meant. Finally, he said, "If that's true, then I can't imagine Daenerys Targaryen was too happy about it."
"She wasn't," Tyrion replied, easing back into his chair, "but Jon swore that he didn't want the throne, and she took him at his word because she loved him and he loved her."
"Really?" Jaime had never noticed a romantic connection between Jon Snow and the Dragon Queen, but then, he'd been so caught up in his own drama while at Winterfell that he wasn't the least bit surprised.
"Yes, really. They were lovers, and ultimately, it was Jon who killed her, for the good of Westeros."
"Yes," Jaime said, "I had heard that part. Everyone in Westeros knows who put an end to Daenerys Targaryen, and everyone knows why. But what I don't understand is why Jon isn't the one sitting on the throne now. Surely, assassinating a tyrant should not preclude him from taking his birthright."
"Ordinarily, it wouldn't. But before the Unsullied would leave Westeros, Grey Worm insisted that Jon be given a fitting punishment for what he did to Daenerys, so he was sent to the Wall to once again take the black."
"Does the Night's Watch even exist anymore?"
Tyrion laughed. "I'm not entirely sure. Jon did go north after he was released, but by all reports, he didn't stay long. Rumor has it that he followed the wildlings north of the Wall, and no one has heard from him since."
"I see I've missed a great deal, haven't I?"
"You have, but you have plenty of time to catch up. You've only been in King's Landing for two days now. Just give it some time." Tyrion reached across his desk to retrieve a half-empty flagon of wine. As he refilled the empty glass beside him, he asked, "Care for a drink?"
"No, I had more than enough last night, thank you very much."
"Yes, I heard," Tyrion said as he lifted his glass and took a sip, a knowing smile on his lips. "Bronn made sure you had a proper homecoming."
"Bronn made me drink until I couldn't see straight, and twelve hours later, I still have the headache to prove it. I think I'm done with drinking for a good long while."
"Well," Tyrion said with a shrug, finally lowering his glass, "it's probably for the best. You're on the small council now, and if you can't hold your liquor, you probably shouldn't be drinking in the first place."
"I can hold my liquor. That isn't the problem."
"Then what is the problem?" Tyrion asked, arching a brow in question. "How did things go with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard?"
"How did things go? She has a message for you. She told me to tell you, if you ever try anything like that again, you can go fuck yourself."
Tyrion laughed heartily at that, as if he found Brienne's threat genuinely amusing. "She is a spirited one, isn't she? You know, until she joined the small council, I honestly had no idea. She doesn't take shit from anyone. I can see why you like her so much."
"I do like her," Jaime replied, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes fixed on Tyrion, "and if you ever again do anything to embarrass her, or to meddle in her life, you can do more than just go fuck yourself. I will personally make sure that you pay for the privilege of offending her. Do you understand?"
Some of the amusement faded from Tyrion's eyes, and he seemed to grow an inch shorter. He cleared his throat. "Yes, I think I understand."
"Good," Jaime said as he eased himself back into his chair. "Because she's suffered enough, and she doesn't need you making her life any more difficult than it already is. It's bad enough that she has to sit across from me at the small council table every morning. She doesn't need you forcing me on her at every turn."
Tyrion stared down into his glass. "I was only trying to help."
"Well, don't. I don't need your help any more than you need mine."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Tyrion asked, raising his eyes to meet Jaime's again.
"It means that, just before I stepped into the room, you hid something in your desk drawer, and I have a fairly good idea what it was. Something to do with Sansa Stark, if I'm not mistaken."
Tyrion sighed heavily. He put down his glass and turned his attention to the drawer, opening it and pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment. He smoothed out the paper in his hands as he looked up at Jaime again. "It's stupid, I know. I was just writing her a letter."
"Then why hide it? I hear you write to her every other day."
"Yes, I do, but this isn't a letter I intend to send. I do that sometimes, write letters to her that just end up in the fire, pour out my heart and soul to her even though I know she'll never reciprocate my feelings." Tyrion laughed, the sound bitter in his throat. "I think, more than ever now, I realize that love is nothing more than a curse, a cruel joke the gods like to play on us just to bring us mere mortals to our knees."
"Yes, I know that feeling," Jaime replied. "Far too well."
Tyrion eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry, Jaime. I wasn't trying to hurt you or Brienne. I meant what I said the other night. I honestly believe that Brienne still loves you, and I was just trying to help."
Jaime shook his head. "Maybe two days ago she still felt something for me. Maybe she still cared, in her own way, because she thought I was dead and it's far easier to love a ghost than it is to love the flesh and blood bastard who left you for his sister. But now that she knows I'm alive, now that she knows that I just let her go on grieving my death while I still lived, she'll never have tender feelings for me again. I know that for certain now."
"I think you underestimate her."
Jaime almost laughed. "Oh, I learned a long time ago never to underestimate Brienne of Tarth. How dare you accuse me of such a thing?" he asked with a wry smile.
"There's something I want to show you," Tyrion said soberly. "I've been waiting for the right time, and I think this might be it." Tyrion folded up the parchment in his hands and put it back in the desk. He locked the drawer, pocketing the key so that no one would find the secret letter he'd written to the Queen in the North. Then, he hopped down from his chair and rounded the desk. "Come on," he said, cocking his head toward the door.
"Where are we going?" Jaime asked, refusing to rise until he knew.
"The White Sword Tower. There's something there that you need to see."
"I've already been to the White Sword Tower, and I have no desire to return anytime soon."
"Yes, I know. But this is important. I promise, it's not an ambush. I'm not going to drag you to Brienne's bedchamber and lock you both inside. I just want you to see something, that's all."
Jaime eyed Tyrion cautiously. He knew what Tyrion wanted. Tyrion wanted him to mend things with Brienne so that they could live happily ever after, but that wasn't going to happen. Jaime was tired of Tyrion's meddling, and he refused to stir from his chair until he was certain that his brother was done interfering in his life.
"Really, Jaime?" Tyrion chided. "What is it that you think I'm going to do? You're both three times taller than me. If you really wanted to, you could just pick me up and toss me out a window."
Jaime laughed. "You know, I think I might enjoy that."
"Well, I wouldn't," Tyrion replied. "Look, Jaime, you've already made your position very clear. If I meddle in your affairs, if I hurt Brienne again, you're going to do me bodily harm. I understand that perfectly well, and I promise, this is going to be the last time. I just want to show you one thing, and then I will stop plotting to push the two of you together, I swear."
"You? Stop plotting? Why don't you just swear never to drink again?"
"Gods forbid," Tyrion swore. "Now, get up and come with me. It's not going to take very long."
Jaime pushed himself up from his chair and followed after Tyrion. He had no desire to see what his brother wanted to show him, but he didn't want to spend the rest of the day arguing either. Whatever awaited him in the White Sword Tower wasn't going to make the least bit of difference. Jaime already knew where he stood with Brienne of Tarth, and nothing was ever going to change that.