Lord Jaime Lannister half listened to his secretary read Olenna's response to his acceptance of the Tarth girl. Even as she wrote about the shortcomings of his betrothed, Olenna's protectiveness of the girl was clear enough. Jaime cared not that she was too tall or unused to the simpering courtesies of the King's Landing high born who suckled on power and falsehoods. She was young and by all accounts strong, he needed heirs and a lady wife to manage Casterly Rock, no more and no less. He'd had enough beauty to last a dozen lifetimes.
He dictated his response to Peck and crudely signed two bank drafts to Olenna, one as final payment for procuring his intended wife discreetly and another to secure her passage from Tarth to Highgarden where the charade of their courtship would begin. He'd firmly eschewed the dowry being offered for her hand, having no use for it and he doubted Lord Selwyn's munificence had much to do with the stability of his purse. Like as not it was to bribe some poor sot into requesting his uncomely daughter's hand.
Peck spent the rest of their afternoon going over farm production and reports from Lannisport's dock. There were repairs the dock master demanded be done posthaste to accommodate the growing number of ships coming from Essos and Jaime still had to find a man for the Lannister Bank in King's Landing. He'd been loath to have Tyrion as far away as Crakehall for his studies and doubted he'd be any keener to send him to King's Landing. No, he'd return to King's Landing once he'd seen fit to deposit his new bride as the new lady of Casterly Rock. Baelish had been succor to Lady Lysa Arryn and would soon be Lord of the Vale, the upstart had no more use for the Lannisters or controlling their money.
Baelish had been the least of his worries in the capital, his sister's divorce from Lord Baratheon set every tongue from King's Landing to Winterfell wagging. Caught in flagrante delicto with two lowly soldiers taking refuge from the war in Slaver's Bay as their wounds healed. Another charge of adultery had been lobbied against her by their own cousin Lancel and the House of Lords had dragged the trial on for a week to get out of every filthy detail. Papers couldn't stay on the stands long enough to sate noble or commoner alike. Her decided tumble from grace a bond that brought all together. He'd shown up with a blank visage and deposited her and the children in an estate outside of King's Landing and turned his back on the whole business. She'd seethed that Robert had bastards twenty deep in Flea Bottom alone and expected Jaime to come to her aid. Had he not been sure that at least the daughter was his he'd have let fate run its natural course for his sweet sister.
The pain in his severed right hand clapped him like a blast of fire, Peck stood up immediately to get a small dose of milk of the poppy and water. The boy was efficient by half and Jaime had come to depend on him almost entirely. Peck was the closest thing he'd had to a son and he'd blossomed under Jaime's tutelage.
"Send these to Highgarden today with the courier and book passage on the next train out Peck, I'll be glad to put King's Landing behind us as swiftly as possible." Jaime said through clenched teeth as the pain went off in waves. The filthy air and muck of the city did little for his mood or health. In truth the blind rage he felt at his sisters infidelity pained him more than the missing hand. His years of loyalty and fidelity a fat feast for crows.
He waited patiently for the draught of the milk of the poppy to work through his system and quell the pain, concentrating on a space above the portrait of his father. Had he not died from a fit of apoplexy prior to the recent shame brought upon their great name, this would have pitched him into the ground at a rate of knots. It was everything he had worked hard to repair after his father had lowered the standing of House Lannister, now Jaime begrudgingly had taken over as Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, his crime the earliest shame on their great house. Now men came crawling on their bellies to curry favor even as they cursed him behind his back. He was the supposed sister fucker, the king slayer and now a handless, aged lion. Were it not for his gold mines and the hold Lannisters had on banking, he would be a diminished lord of a laughingstock house slated for ruin. He would succeed for no other reason than to prove them all false.
Strong sons had been his father's preferred currency, young men with might who could win wars, be it on the battlefield or on the house floor. Jaime had been his sword hand whilst Tyrion's cunning had served equally. By all accounts his bride was an ox of a woman, as tall as he and not as fair of face, but he needed strength and a woman sired from the lineage of Duncan the Tall was precisely what he required. As the sweet relief washed through him he could only think of his father's sneer that reasonably passed as a smile being bestowed on him.
Jaime felt his pain ebb and heart rate slow as he drifted into a brief respite from his jumbled, poppy addled thoughts. He'd make his way to Highgarden and then back to the Rock, sending for Tyrion to join him. Should the gods prove fortuitous his heir would be well planted by the first moon after his wedding. Cersei had been the only woman for him but he knew he could woo any woman from base to noble with a word and a smile.