Chapter Thirty-two

After Brienne had left his chamber, Jaime had gone in search of something to break his fast. Now, he was hiding out in the kitchens, a stolen plate of food in his hands, as he stood against the wall watching the chaos around him. The entire castle was a flurry of activity, but nowhere more so than the royal kitchens. As far as Jaime could tell, preparations for the three-day feast hadn't stopped in nearly a week. Everywhere he looked, servants were scurrying about, scrambling to meet the needs of all the lords and ladies who had suddenly taken up residence in the Red Keep.

The room was hot, but Jaime didn't mind the heat. It felt good seeping into his aching limbs. Although Brienne was indeed a beautiful woman, she was no dainty maid, and she had left him with more than a few strained muscles that would need to heal over the coming days.

Jaime's lips curved in an unconscious smile. Being in Brienne's arms had been like being in heaven, and he was sorry that he wasn't there now. But Brienne had needed time to talk to Sansa, and he needed time to talk to Tyrion.

Jaime sighed. He had yet to go in search of his brother, but he knew he couldn't avoid it forever. So he quickly finished up his plate of food, stole a swig of wine from a flagon resting on a sideboard, and headed to the Tower of the Hand.

A few minutes later, Jaime found Tyrion sitting by the window in his solar, staring out into the bright afternoon sky, a drink already in his hand. Jaime quietly closed the door behind him as he entered the room, Tyrion never even bothering to turn around.

"Isn't it a little early to be drinking like that?" Jaime asked, noting the half empty flagon on the table in the center of the room. It was obvious that Tyrion had already been imbibing for quite some time.

"It's never too early to get drunk," Tyrion answered, "especially when you've got a broken heart."

Jaime shook his head as he moved closer to the window, pulling a chair away from the table and placing it next to Tyrion's. He sat down beside his brother, watching him with grave interest. Tyrion was in a particularly dour mood, and Jaime knew there was nothing he could do or say to pull him out of it. If Sansa Stark was about to marry Gendry Baratheon, then all of Tyrion's dreams were shattered, and there was no cure for that kind of heartache.

His eyes still on the window, Tyrion stretched his arm out toward Jaime, offering him his cup. "Wine?"

"No thank you. I actually had a good night last night, or don't you remember?"

The hint of a smile tugged at Tyrion's lips, and he finally turned to look at Jaime. "Yes, I had forgotten. Here I am, feeling sorry for myself, when I should be celebrating with you. I'm sorry for barging in on you this morning. That was uncalled for. I should have waited until you'd emerged from your chamber to burden you with my sorrows."

"Had you waited," Jaime said with a wry grin, "you would still be standing outside my door. If you hadn't interrupted us, I'm sure Brienne and I would still be abed."

"In that case, I'm even more sorry. At least one of us should know some happiness in this wretched life, and you deserve it more than I do."

"I'm not sure if either one of us deserves it, but I'm not going to argue with the gods. If they want to give me even a moment's happiness, I'm going to take it, without worrying about the why or how."

Tyrion laughed, a dry, harsh sound that betrayed the pain in his heart. "You do deserve it. You've sacrificed a lot, Jaime. You've come a long way from the man you once were. You're a good man now, and more than worthy of Brienne of Tarth."

"Oh, now, I know that's not true," Jaime said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to walk away just because I don't deserve her. If Brienne had to wait for a man who did deserve her, she'd spend the rest of her life alone because there is no man on this earth who will ever truly be worthy of the Maid of Tarth."

Tyrion's eyebrows raised in unison. "You really do think highly of her, don't you?"

"Of course I do. She is the noblest, most honorable person I have ever known, and I don't even deserve to stand in her shadow, but for some odd reason, she loves me, and I'm not about to deny her my love in return."

"When did you become so noble?"

"Somewhere between Harrenhal and King's Landing, I think," Jaime replied, referring to that long-ago time when he had first begun to fall in love with Brienne.

"And has Lady Brienne forgiven you for all your wrongdoings?"

A spike of apprehension cut through Jaime's heart, but he fought through it, keeping his tone calm and even. "I can't say that she has. Last night . . ." He smiled wistfully. "Last night, we were both so caught up in the magic of the evening that I don't think either one of us was thinking clearly. She loves me. She admitted that, at least. But we have yet to discuss the rest of it, yet to discuss the future."

Tyrion shifted in his chair, turning a little so that he could lean in closer, his interest clearly piqued. "And what kind of future are you hoping for?"

Jaime dragged his eyes away from Tyrion and stared out the window. It was a beautiful, balmy day, and had there not been a feast awaiting them later that night, Jaime would have been out commanding his troops, running them through drills, shoring them up for the day their services were needed for more than protecting a broken capital. The truth was, Jaime wasn't sure what kind of future he wanted. In his fantasies, he pictured himself and Brienne sitting before the hearth in Casterly Rock, ten blond-haired, blue-eyed children running around underfoot. It was the kind of life Jaime could never have imagined with anyone else. Only Brienne. But she was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and he knew she'd have to sacrifice a great deal to leave King's Landing and become his wife.

"I have no idea what the future holds for us," Jaime answered after a long moment. "When I first returned to King's Landing, Brienne vowed that if I ever proved myself worthy of her, she would leave the Kingsguard for me. But even if I somehow managed to do that, I could never ask Brienne to give up her position. She's worked too hard for it, and I would never take that away from her."

"Then what do you plan to do? You are still the Lord of Casterly Rock. You'll have to marry someday."

Jaime didn't want to marry anyone but Brienne, but he feared Bran might have other plans for him. After all, as king, Bran could command him to marry any lady of his choosing. Jaime didn't want Casterly Rock if it meant betraying the woman he loved. He didn't want the title or the lands that went with it either. He just wanted Brienne, and he was willing to stay by her side for the rest of his days, even if that meant giving up his birthright.

Jaime turned away from the window and looked at Tyrion again. "You could always take the title."

"Me? Are you mad? Father would be turning over in his grave."

"I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you? To wound Father one more time."

Tyrion scowled, but he refrained from answering the question. Instead, he said, "I can't take over Casterly Rock."

"And why not? If you're not going to be King in the North, then what's stopping you?"

"I was never going to be King in the North. Even Gendry Baratheon won't be King in the North. He'll be Sansa's consort, at best. Nothing more."

"You're avoiding the subject."

Tyrion sighed heavily, repositioning himself in his chair so he could face the window again before taking another swig of wine. When he lowered his cup, he said, "As you know, King Bran has commanded me to remain in King's Landing for the rest of my days. He is not a man who is easily swayed. How could he be when he's glimpsed the future? He has already chosen a path for me, spared my life so I could walk that path, and I have no say in the matter."

"Well, if it means leaving Brienne, if it means betraying her with another woman, I don't want Casterly Rock."

Tyrion's hand tightened around his glass, and he laughed bitterly. "I want it, but I can't have it. Just like Sansa Stark."

Tyrion was quiet after that, and Jaime made no further attempt to engage him in conversation. They were at an impasse, and there was nothing more to say.

Jamie's thoughts drifted to Brienne. For the longest time, he hadn't even let himself imagine what it would be like to be with her again. And now that they were finally together, everything was suddenly a great deal more complicated. There were so many questions he didn't have answers to. Just how would they navigate their duties while living as lovers? Would they continue to be lovers at all? Or would Brienne's deeply ingrained sense of duty and honor overpower her love for him and keep her from his bed?

A small laugh escaped Jaime's throat. He wondered if, in the long history of Westeros, there had ever been a pair of lovers on the small council before. Had any other Master of War ever found himself in the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard's bed? It was possible, of course, but Jaime thought it highly unlikely. He was fairly certain that he and Brienne were forging new territory. But then, that's what Brienne always did. She was a woman unique to this world, always blazing her own path forward, despite the obstacles in her way.

"I'd like to know what you think is so funny," Tyrion said, his gaze still focused on the window.

"I was just wondering if there has ever been a pair of lovers on the small council before."

Tyrion snorted. "Not that I know of, but nothing surprises me anymore. For all I know, Maester Pycelle was fucking Renly Baratheon right under King Robert's nose."

Jaime almost choked. "Well, I'm glad I already had my breakfast because I think I just lost my appetite."

"You're not the only one," Tyrion said with a chuckle. He raised his glass and swallowed the last of its contents, as if he suddenly needed fortification. When he finally lowered his glass, there was a melancholy look in his eyes. "I don't want to go to the feast tonight," he said, his tone turning serious. "I think I'm going to head out into the city and find myself some company to help me forget."

Jaime shook his head, disappointed that it had finally come to this. "Do you really think that's going to make you feel better?"

"It couldn't possibly make me feel worse."

"Oh, it could make you feel a lot worse."

Tyrion lifted his glass again, as if to take a drink, but seemed surprised to discover that his cup was empty. He looked around for the flagon, but it was on the other side of the room, and he didn't seem to have the wherewithal to retrieve it. Instead, he put the glass on the small side table at his elbow and shook his head woefully. "Anything has to be better than standing around here all day waiting for the axe to fall."

"You really think she's going to marry Lord Gendry?" Jaime asked. "Even after what happened between him and Lady Arya?

Tyrion shrugged. "I don't see why not. Excluding that bit of inconvenience with Lady Arya, Gendry really is the best possible match for Sansa. The sad truth is, I think he could actually make her happy."

"And why is that sad?"

Tyrion laughed, the sound strangled from his throat. "Because I wanted to be the one to make her happy, stupid fool that I am."

The weight of Tyrion's suffering must have suddenly gotten the better of him because he pushed himself off his chair and headed across the room for the flagon of wine. Jaime turned in his seat, watching his brother's every move. He was worried about Tyrion, more worried than he had been in a long time. Tyrion liked to put up a good front, liked to pretend that he was content with his life and fully in control. And yet, just beneath the surface, he was the most fragile person Jaime had ever known.

Tyrion refilled his glass and raised it to his lips.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Jaime asked, fearing that, if Tyrion kept drinking, he would be too drunk to attend the feast later that night.

"I assure you, nothing was ever wiser." Tyrion downed the whole glass in one swig and then went for another.

Jaime couldn't just sit there and let Tyrion drown himself in wine. He bounded from his chair and crossed the room in a few long strides, snatching the glass from Tyrion's hand before he could refill it again.

"That's enough," Jaime snapped, holding the glass just beyond Tyrion's reach.

Tyrion glared up at him. "And who are you to tell me that's enough? I'm the Hand of the King," he said, straightening his spine with false pride. "And you are just the Master of War."

"I am the Lord of Casterly Rock, and you are my younger brother and only heir, or had you forgotten? As the head of House Lannister, I do have some say in what nonsense you get up to. And as of now, I'm cutting you off." Jaime slammed the glass down on the table to punctuate his point.

Tyrion's mouth slumped open, and he stared at Jaime in disbelief. "You can't do that."

"Of course I can. I can do anything I like."

"No, you can't. Even if you take that flagon with you, as soon as you leave this room, I'll just call for another. Or better yet, I'll follow my first instinct and head out into the city to find myself some rich wine and a cheap whore."

The blood quickened in Jaime's veins as he struggled to deal with his sudden frustration. Tyrion was right, of course. There was little Jaime could do to stop him from making a fool of himself. Unless . . . "I shall speak with King Bran about it," Jaime said resolutely. "I shall tell him my concerns and enlist his help in keeping you sane and sober."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Of course I would." Jaime had barely spoken to Bran since his arrival, and it was never easy to be in the man's presence, but if the only way to protect Tyrion was to ask for a private audience with the king, Jaime would gladly do it, the consequences be damned. "After all, as you just said yourself, you live solely at Bran's mercy. You're here in King's Landing to serve him, not spend your days in drunken debauchery. What do you think King Bran would do if I told him of your plans?"

Tyrion turned away, mumbling something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing I care to repeat," Tyrion said sullenly.

"I will go to Bran if you continue to insist upon acting like a fool."

Tyrion shook his head, finally turning back toward Jaime. "Fine, fine. I'll refrain for now. But if you expect me to sit through Sansa Stark's betrothal announcement without imbibing a single drop of wine, you might as well have Bran send me to the cells right now, because there's no way I'm going to survive the night without drinking myself into a stupor."

"If you want to get drunk tonight, that's fine. The whole keep will be drinking at the feast. You'll be in good company. But for now, you need to stay sober."

"I've already agreed to your demands," Tyrion reminded him. "But as soon as Sansa makes her announcement—"

"I'll pour the wine myself."

"And you can find me a whore too. I don't think that's too much to ask."

Jaime was not fond of helping Tyrion indulge his vices, but under the circumstances, he wasn't about to deny the request. If Sansa Stark was going to marry Gendry Baratheon, there was no longer any point in Tyrion remaining faithful to her. Of course, Tyrion had never actually admitted that he'd been saving himself for Sansa all these years, but it was obvious to everyone who knew him. He loved Sansa, and there wasn't another woman in all the world he wanted in his bed. But if he was hurt enough and drunk enough, he just might be able to fool himself into believing that the whore he'd bought for the night was the woman he loved.

"I will help you in any way I can," Jaime said. "Just make it to the feast tonight without incident."

"I think I can do that."

"Good, because I have more important things to be doing right now."

A sly smile crossed Tyrion's lips. "Oh, like Brienne of Tarth?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."

"You don't have to," Tyrion said with a laugh. "Have fun, brother. Enjoy her while you can. Gods know, at least one of us should have some happiness in this life. If it can't be me, then I'm glad it's you."