Chapter Twenty

For the next fortnight, Jaime made sure that everything he did was beyond reproach. He was on his best behavior every morning at small council meetings, and afterwards, he devoted himself to working with the troops under his command and organizing new and inventive ways to lure recruits to the capital. Even though Tyrion had forced him to be Master of War, Jaime found that he enjoyed his new position. It gave him a purpose, something to work at, something to make him feel better about himself. He was determined to right the wrongs of the past, and he was determined to be a better man for Brienne.

Jaime saw her every morning at small council meetings, but there was little spoken between them. And when they did speak, it was always about council business, nothing more. Brienne had given Jaime a chance to prove himself to her, but he had yet to figure out exactly how to do it. He wanted to shower her with grand gestures of love to prove his worthiness, but he knew Brienne would never be impressed by such trifles. She was a singular woman, and it was going to take a great deal more than shiny baubles and sweet words to win her back.

As Tyrion was so fond of pointing out, Jaime really didn't know all that much about women. Cersei had been the only woman he had ever angled to please, and she had been a wholly different creature from Brienne. If Brienne were the moon, then Cersei had been the sun. They both had given him light and life, but where Cersei had burned everything she'd touched, Brienne only soothed. They were literally as opposite as night and day, and experience with one did Jaime no good with the other.

One afternoon, after he'd finished maneuvers with his troops, Jaime retired to his chamber to ponder the matter further. He sat down at the small desk by the window and picked up the book he'd pilfered from what was left of the castle library. It was a small volume on courtly dance, bound in red leather and richly illustrated. Although Jaime could be quite graceful on the battlefield, when it came to dancing, he was woefully inexperienced. He'd never been permitted to dance with Cersei at any of the functions they'd attended together, and he'd never seen the need to learn such a skill to impress anyone else. But now that Brienne had promised to dance with him at the feast, he had no choice but to learn.

As Jaime sat there, thumbing through the gilt-edged pages, there was a knock at the door. Before he could secret the book away, the door opened and Tyrion stepped inside.

"Do you have a minute?"

Jaime sighed, dropping the book to the desk and slumping back in his chair. "I've got more than a minute."

"Oh, good." Tyrion closed the door behind him and crossed the room, stopping on the other side of the desk. "I was wondering, have . . . have you spoken with Brienne lately?"

Jaime's eyes narrowed on Tyrion in suspicion. "Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing really," Tyrion said with a careless wave of his hand. "It's just, I haven't heard from Queen Sansa in more than a moonturn now, and I was wondering if Brienne had said anything."

"You know we hardly talk, don't you?"

"Yes, I know. I just thought— I don't know, I just thought maybe she had said something."

"Well, she hasn't. I'm sorry to disappoint you." Jaime wished that he could allay his brother's fears, but he couldn't. Brienne hadn't said a word about Sansa in weeks.

Tyrion idly toyed with the book Jaime had left on the edge of the desk. "I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake. What if she never speaks to me again?"

It seemed quite clear now that Sansa had asked for Tyrion's opinion regarding her potential suitors in hopes of forcing his hand, and instead of declaring his intention to woo her himself, he had suggested she marry someone unworthy of her. Of course she wasn't sending letters anymore. Why should she?

"I'd hate to even consider such an eventuality," Jaime answered, "and yet, she was writing to you every other day before you suggested she marry Gendry Baratheon."

"I know, I know."

Tyrion opened the book and began casually flipping through the pages, and Jaime's heart instantly froze. The last thing he wanted was for Tyrion to know what he'd been doing before he'd entered the room, but Jaime feared it was only a matter of time before he figured it out.

"I only did what I thought was best for her," Tyrion said. "Gendry is the most eligible bachelor in all the Six Kingdoms. He's tall, conventionally handsome, titled, lord of a great keep, son of a king."

"Everything you're not."

Tyrion stopped turning the pages and stared blankly down at the book, his eyes fixed on an engraving of a line of couples engaged in a basse danse, but clearly not seeing it. "Yes, exactly," he said flatly. "Everything I'm not. He's perfect for her."

Jaime leaned forward and reached across the desk, gingerly slipping the book from beneath Tyrion's hands and pulling it away. He closed it and laid it on the desk beside him. "None of that makes him perfect for her, Tyrion. He's still in love with her sister, and according to Brienne, that is not likely to change anytime soon."

Tyrion continued to stare at the desk as if he hadn't even realized that the book had disappeared. It took him a moment to even move, but finally, he looked up at Jaime again. "If he married Sansa, it would. How could any man be married to such a woman and not fall in love with her? It's impossible."

Jaime fought back a knowing smile. "It only seems impossible to you because you're already in love with her. But I'm sure Gendry feels the same way about Arya Stark. If you were to marry Arya, would you instantly forget about Sansa and fall in love with her sister?"

"Of course not! Don't be absurd."

"Then don't expect Gendry to do it either. He's a man in love, and as such, he cannot control the yearnings of his own heart."

Tyrion stared at Jaime thoughtfully for a moment. "Why do I get the feeling that we're not talking about Gendry Baratheon anymore?"

Jaime snorted, glancing away from Tyrion for a moment, hoping to evade the question. Even though everyone in the Red Keep seemed to know exactly how he felt about Brienne, it wasn't something he wanted to discuss, even with his brother.

When Jaime finally looked at Tyrion again, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tyrion dragged his eyes away from Jaime's and looked down at the desk, his attention falling to the book, and Jaime fought the urge to squirm in his chair.

"What is that?" Tyrion asked.

"What is what?"

"That." Tyrion nodded toward the leather bound volume.

Jaime picked it up and shoved it in his desk drawer, his eyes never leaving Tyrion's. "Oh, it's nothing."

Tyrion raised a skeptical brow. "Nothing?"

"Nothing. Just some light reading material."

Tyrion rounded the desk, obviously intent on finding out for himself. "You've never been much of a reader," he said as he reached for the drawer handle.

But Jaime grabbed it first, holding the drawer closed as if his life depended on it. "It's nothing, really."

Tyrion's eyes found Jaime's again, and there was so much suspicion in his gaze that Jaime almost felt guilty. He could see Tyrion's mind working, trying to remember what he had seen in the pages as he'd flipped through them. Tyrion Lannister had one of the most agile minds in all of Westeros, and Jaime knew it wouldn't be long until he sorted it all out.

"Dancing," Tyrion said. "It's a book on dancing."

Jaime stared blankly at Tyrion, unable to even nod his head. He knew he'd been found out, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even a firm denial would get him nowhere where Tyrion was concerned.

A self-satisfied grin slowly spread across Tyrion's face, and he took a step back, shaking his head. "Planning on doing some wooing at the king's feast, are you?"

"It's not like that."

"Oh, isn't it? Why else would you be reading a book about dancing?"

Jaime sighed heavily, finally letting go of the drawer handle and leaning back in his chair. What was the point of trying to pretend? Tyrion clearly knew what he was about, and there would be no convincing him otherwise.

"Fine," Jaime said, "you've found me out. But please, spare me your mockery and ridicule. I know it's a hopeless cause, but Brienne has agreed to grant me a dance at the feast, and—"

"Has she?" Tyrion asked, his tone incredulous.

"Yes, she has. Is it really that difficult to believe?"

"Well, I must admit, I am rather surprised. I thought the two of you were keeping each other at arm's length. I thought there was nothing between you now but small council business."

"There is, but this is small council business. At least, I'm sure that's how Brienne sees it. Since we both have to attend the feast anyway, we might as well get a dance out of it."

Tyrion laughed, and Jaime felt the blood rush to his cheeks. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to tell Tyrion about Brienne's promise in the first place. He hadn't wanted to suffer Tyrion's ribbing.

"Is that what she told you?" Tyrion asked, his tone laced with amusement. "If it is and you believed her, you're an even bigger fool than I thought."

"And what, pray tell, do you think her motivation is?"

"I think that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard desperately wants to dance with the Master of War and that she's using this as an excuse to do just that." The grin on Tyrion's face widened. "I think you're a great deal closer to your goal than you think, brother, and this only proves it."

"I beg to disagree."

"Disagree all you like, but it doesn't change the fact that Brienne is finally warming up to you, whether you're smart enough to see it or not."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Jaime griped. "I don't know how to dance. I never learned. And if I have to stand up with Brienne and lead her in some court dance, I'm sure to make a mess of it."

"Hence the book."

"Yes, hence the book." Jaime reached into the drawer and pulled it out. He threw it onto the desk so that Tyrion could take a better look. "I'm not a strong reader though, as you know, and even the pictures are little help. I'm afraid it's a lost cause. I'll step all over Brienne's toes, and she'll stab me before we're through the first few movements."

Tyrion laughed again. "Oh, I'm sure it can't be that bad."

"It's that bad. I don't know why I even got my hopes up. I was so excited by the idea of being close to her again, of being given a chance to woo her, that I— Well, it doesn't matter. It won't work, and that's all there is to it."

Tyrion reached for the book, opening it once again and leafing through the pages. "These don't look that difficult," he said. "Surely, if you just follow the other couples and do as they do, you should be fine."

"If it's that easy, why have I never seen you dance?"

Tyrion dropped the book as if it had bitten him. "Gods forbid! Could you imagine me, the Imp of Casterly Rock, trying to keep up with all those people, trying to keep form? Oh, no, no, no, brother. That would never do. But you? You're tall and handsome, and every woman there will want to dance with you."

"What? With me and my one hand?" he asked, holding up his stump to illustrate.

"You're a great swordsman, even with one hand, and your body is lithe and graceful, whereas mine is squat and clumsy. You actually have a chance of sweeping your lady love off her feet. Don't throw it away just because you've grown fond of feeling sorry for yourself."

Jaime lowered his arm. "I could say the same thing to you."

"Well, don't. I have no intention of listening. That ship has already sailed, and it's crashed upon northern shores, never to see safe harbor again. But you, Jaime, you have a chance, and I refuse to let you waste it."

"The feast is in a few short weeks. There's no way I'm going to learn any of those dances by then. I'll just have to content myself with watching other men vie for Brienne's favor while I sit in the trenches."

Tyrion's brow furrowed as he stared up at Jaime. "You really do think she's the most desirable woman in all of Westeros, don't you?"

"I do. I know that you may not see it. I know that most other men may not see it. But I see it, and I can't help but think that the day will come when someone else will capture her heart."

Tyrion chuckled. "Like who? Tormund Giantsbane?"

Jaime scowled, but he refused to answer such an offensive question. "The point is, unless I can make some sense of that blasted book, I won't be dancing with Brienne or anyone else at the feast."

Tyrion closed the book and picked it up from the desk. He held it in his hands thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe you don't need a book," he said, finally looking up at Jaime again. "Maybe you need something else."

Jaime didn't like the look in Tyrion's eyes. It was clear that he was scheming, and that was a very dangerous thing.

Against his better judgment, Jaime asked, "Something else? Like what?"

"Oh, just something a little more practical, that's all."

"Tyrion," Jaime warned in a low voice.

"What? Don't you trust me?"

"Not in the least."

"Well, you'd better start. If you're to have any hope of winning Brienne back, you're going to need all the help you can get."