Chapter Thirty-four
Evening came far too soon for Jaime's liking. After a glorious afternoon of lovemaking, he and Brienne had reluctantly parted ways so that they could both prepare for the feast. Now, he was alone in his bedchamber, readying himself for an ordeal he had no desire to face. Jaime had spent far too much of his life watching Tyrion suffer, and it never got any easier. There was a part of him that secretly wished he hadn't discouraged Tyrion from slipping out into the city to find some comfort for the night. Tyrion deserved to be treated a great deal better than Sansa Stark was treating him. Even if she had decided to marry another, she should have at least had the decency to tell him so herself.
Jaime took his time getting dressed, hoping that something would stop him from having to attend the feast, but nothing happened. No one came to his door with an urgent mission for him elsewhere, not even Tyrion. So once he was ready, he headed toward the hall, both his heart and his mind fraught with uncertainty.
Jaime would have preferred to have spent the entire night in bed with Brienne, but they were both expected to join the festivities whether they wanted to or not. Of course, once the worst of it was over—once Tyrion's heart had been torn into innumerable pieces, never to be mended—they'd both be free to do as they pleased, but Jaime was certain he would know no peace tonight. He foresaw himself spending the rest of the evening comforting Tyrion as he drowned himself in a cask of wine.
By the time Jaime reached the hall, the feast was already well underway. There was music and laughter and merriment pouring out into the corridors, and Jaime's gut tightened at the sound. He didn't want to have to pretend that everything was all right. He didn't want to be there at all.
Jaime made it as far as one of the large entryways that flanked the hall before he stopped, staring out at the crowd, desperately searching for Tyrion. Tyrion was nowhere to be seen, and Jaime began to wonder if he had any intention of attending the feast at all. Now, Jaime was sorry he hadn't gone straight to Tyrion's chamber and dragged him to the hall. For all he knew, his brother had absconded from the keep and was already deep in his cups.
Jaime scanned the head table, his eyes moving from one end to the other, quietly assessing the situation. Sansa and Gendry had already arrived. They were sitting close together, just beside Bran's empty space. The Dornish prince and several other lords and ladies sat to their left. On the opposite side of the table, Davos and Sam were chatting amiably, while Bronn was conspicuously absent.
Brienne had yet to arrive, and Jaime was more than a little disappointed. Although they had been apart for less than an hour, he was desperate to see her again. He loved her so damn much, and it was hard for him to be away from her, especially after everything they had shared. All of a sudden, he felt like an adolescent boy discovering the pleasures of loving a woman for the first time. It was utterly ridiculous, of course. It had been decades since he'd been that young and foolish, and yet, Brienne made him feel like a different man. Being with her made him a different man, and he missed her terribly.
There was still so much unspoken between them, so much Jaime wanted to say. Even though Brienne didn't want to discuss any of it, he still felt the overwhelming need to explain himself. He wanted to make sure that Brienne knew exactly how he felt about her and exactly how he felt about the past. She needed to know where she fit into his life, once and for all.
As Jaime stood there, his attention once again on the crowd, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder and a familiar laugh filled his ears. "I thought you'd be spending the night in your chamber with the Lord Commander. What? She realize what a worthless bastard you really are and kick you out of bed?"
Jaime shrugged off Bronn's hand and stepped aside, turning to look at him. "Don't you have someplace else to be?"
Bronn snorted. "Someplace I'd like to be, yeah. But I have to at least show my face at these things. Can't go upsetting Bran the Broken now, can we?"
"Have you seen my brother?"
"Can't say that I have. Why? Is he missing?"
Jaime turned away, his brow furrowing as he searched for Tyrion again. "I think he's had enough of watching Queen Sansa flaunt her new conquest before the entire court. Still, that doesn't mean he gets to shirk his duty. If we have to be here, then he has to be here too."
"She really is being a bitch about this, isn't she?" Bronn said. "The least she could do is be discreet. At first, I thought she was just trying to make the little shit jealous. But now, who knows? You think she's fucking him?"
Jaime glanced at Bronn, startled by the question. "Who?"
"Robert Baratheon's bastard, that's who."
Jaime shook his head. "If she is, I'd rather not know about it."
A knowing smirk quirked Bronn's lips. "Speaking of fucking, how was last night?"
Jaime didn't want to reply at all, but he knew Bronn well enough to know that if he stayed silent, it would just make things worse. "You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?"
"That bad, huh?" Bronn shrugged. "Well, she's not the only woman in King's Landing. I'm sure you can find someone else to satisfy your needs. Someone blonde and overbearing. That is what you like, isn't it?"
Jaime refused to even dignify that with an answer. He turned his attention to the other side of the room just in time to see Brienne walk through the door, Tyrion by her side. She looked even more stunning than she had the night before, this time in an emerald green gown that perfectly flattered her pale skin. Although Jaime loved Brienne just as she was, he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit sorry that she didn't wear dresses more often. He knew she felt awkward and ungainly in them, but he liked her feminine side. Deep down, Brienne of Tarth was the gentlest, most feminine woman he knew, and sometimes it was nice to see that outwardly reflected in her attire.
Bronn let out a long, low whistle. "I've gotta say, she cleans up pretty nice. Didn't think she had it in her."
"She's more woman than you could ever handle," Jaime said offhandedly, his eyes still focused on Brienne.
Bronn laughed. "I don't doubt it. Personally, I like my women a little less deadly, though I suppose there's no accounting for taste."
Jaime ignored Bronn's comment, and without taking his leave, moved farther into the room. The movement must have caught Brienne's eye because, suddenly, she was staring at him, a soft blush darkening her cheeks.
Jaime's heart constricted in his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to close the space between them, sweep Brienne up into his arms, and spend the entire night dancing with her. Then, when the feasting was over, he'd whisk her away to his chamber again, and they'd continue celebrating in private.
But one quick glance to Brienne's left reminded Jaime that neither one of them had that luxury tonight. Tyrion stood beside Brienne with a scowl on his face. He was clearly trying to avoid looking at Sansa, and Jaime wished there was something he could do to save his brother the public humiliation that most assuredly awaited him. Although the guests who had been invited to the Red Keep for the feast knew nothing of Tyrion's affection for the northern queen, everyone who lived in the keep knew far too well. And surely, Tyrion would be receiving more than his fair share of unwanted pity as the night progressed.
Knowing that he had no choice but to forge ahead, Jaime headed straight for Brienne and Tyrion, meeting them in the center of the room.
"Where did you find him?" Jaime asked Brienne, still feeling guilty that he hadn't gone in search of Tyrion himself.
"He was wandering around the Tower of the Hand. I had thought that, perhaps, you and I could walk to the hall together, but I found Tyrion instead."
"I'm sorry about that," Jaime said, truly remorseful. "I had too much on my mind."
Brienne eyed Tyrion pointedly. "You're not the only one."
Jaime looked down at Tyrion again. His gaze was focused on the opposite end of the hall, his head turned away from the head table. Clearly, he hadn't been paying attention to a single word either of them had said.
"Tyrion," Jaime called out to him, hoping to get his attention.
It took several seconds for Tyrion to finally blink the stupor from his eyes and turn to look at Jaime. "I don't want to be here," he said without prompting. "In fact, I'd rather be anywhere else in the world right now. Are you sure Jon Snow doesn't need any more recruits up at the Wall?"
"North of the Wall," Brienne corrected. "Or haven't you heard the rumors?"
"Oh, I've heard them. And I'd be just as happy living with wildlings right now as I would be freezing my balls off at Castle Black. After all," Tyrion said with a pained laugh, "what use do I have for them now?"
Jaime had yet to give up on the idea of relinquishing his title and recruiting Tyrion to provide heirs for the Westerlands, but he held his tongue. That was the last thing Tyrion needed to hear at the moment.
"Why don't we get settled at the table?" Jaime suggested. "We're already running late, and I'm sure King Bran wants to get the festivities started."
"I'd really rather not," Tyrion said flatly.
"You'll be sitting at the other end of the table, and you won't even have to look at the queen until she makes her speech."
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm afraid of."
Jaime held his hand out toward the table, gesturing for Tyrion to precede him. Hanging his head so that he wouldn't have to look anywhere but at his feet, Tyrion started walking. As Brienne approached, she slipped her arm around Jaime's, neither one of them the least bit concerned about the prying eyes of onlookers.
Brienne leaned in close, speaking in a hushed voice. "I think, when this is over, you should get him out of the keep and get him a drink."
"I'm surprised to hear you say that."
"I know what it's like to have a broken heart. And while I've never felt the need to drown my misery in anything more than self-pity, I think Lord Tyrion has more than earned an evening of revelry in the arms of his favorite mistress."
"You mean a cask of Dornish wine?"
"And a whore or two."
That was the last thing Jaime had expected Brienne to say, but he couldn't fault her for it. It was going to be a hellish night for Tyrion, and he would need something to get him through it.
Jaime and Brienne reached the table just as Tyrion was climbing up into the empty chair beside Ser Davos. As they exchanged pleasantries, Jaime glanced at the other end of the table, catching Sansa's eye for the briefest of moments. She looked concerned, uncertain, and Jaime had half a mind to walk across the room and tell her exactly what he thought of the way she was treating his brother. Of course, he knew it wasn't his place to do so, but he was tempted all the same.
"Jaime." Brienne called for his attention, and he finally turned away from Sansa.
Jaime let go of Brienne's arm and pulled back her chair for her, showing her the same courtesy he would show any other lady of the court. Brienne eyed him skeptically, and he offered her a sheepish grin. At some point, he'd stopped thinking of her as a knight and had started thinking of her as a lady, though he wasn't exactly sure when it had happened.
Brienne sat two seats down from Tyrion, leaving space for Jaime between them. When they were both settled, he turned his attention back to Tyrion, watching as he played with the stem of his empty goblet. No doubt, Tyrion wished the glass were already full, but the wine would not start flowing until King Bran had arrived and the feast began in earnest.
Jaime and Brienne chatted idly, making sure not to say anything that might alarm Tyrion. When Bran finally arrived, Jaime sighed in relief. The sooner Bran got settled, the sooner Sansa made her announcement. And the sooner Sansa made her announcement, the sooner they could all get on with their lives.
Podrick wheeled Bran to the center of the table, and a great hush fell over the hall. Bran addressed the guests as he had the previous evening, welcoming them to the feast, inviting them to enjoy themselves and to consider just how much their own good fortune could also be the good fortune of the realm. Once he was done, he nodded toward the far end of the hall, and the servants began to file in with heaping trays of food and overflowing flagons of wine. Dinner was served at once, and the festivities resumed with renewed vigor.
As soon as Tyrion had a full glass of wine, he downed it and called for another.
Jaime leaned in over Tyrion's shoulder as a serving girl refilled his glass. "I would advise you to go slow. You don't want to make a fool of yourself in front of the entire hall, do you?"
"My very existence makes me a fool everywhere I go," Tyrion replied, lifting his glass as the girl stepped away. "Tonight is no different. And the wine is not going to make me any more of a fool than I already am." He brought the glass to his lips and began to drink.
"But do you want to make a fool of yourself in front of Sansa? If you get drunk, she might think she's won."
Tyrion stopped, his glass only a quarter empty. He eyed Jaime thoughtfully over the rim.
"Well?" Jaime prompted.
Tyrion lowered his glass. "Fine. But once she's made her announcement, not another word out of you."
"Fair enough."
The evening seemed to drag on interminably, everyone waiting for that dreaded moment when the entire world was going to come crashing in on them. Jaime tried to enjoy Brienne's company, but his worry for Tyrion was too distracting, and it was hard for him to laugh and make jokes even in the presence of the woman he loved.
The first few courses were cleared away before Bran finally called for everyone's attention again, tapping his knife against the rim of his glass.
The hall fell silent, and all eyes focused on King Bran the Broken.
"One of my goals in inviting everyone here to this feast," Bran said, "was to begin securing alliances throughout the Six Kingdoms and beyond, for the betterment of all of Westeros. So many ancient houses have fallen in recent years, the result of endless wars that have seemed to last forever. As lords and ladies of Westeros, as the heads of great and noble houses, it falls upon us all to do everything we can to secure the future of the Six Kingdoms. And, as an act of good faith, to ensure the future of Westeros, Queen Sansa herself has agreed to make an alliance with one of our own."
There was a collective gasp about the room, a sound that settled deep in Jaime's chest, adding considerably to his unease. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tyrion fidget in his chair, but he remained deathly silent.
Bran turned to address his sister. "Queen Sansa."
Sansa abruptly stood, and not a sound could be heard anywhere in the room. Jaime's eyes flitted to Gendry. He was sitting tall and proud beside the northern queen, a knowing smirk on his face. Although Gendry was one of Robert Baratheon's many bastards, Jaime had never held that against him. Gendry had always seemed like a fine lad, good and strong and honorable. Nothing like his father. But suddenly, Jaime had a wholly different opinion of him, and he wished Daenerys Targaryen had never legitimized Gendry in the first place.
"Everything that King Bran has said is true," Sansa began. "Both the Six Kingdoms and the north are in desperate need of strong alliances to ensure the future of Westeros. When I left Winterfell for King's Landing, it was not with the intention of taking a husband, but King Bran has convinced me that it is what's best for all concerned. As Bran is my only living brother, and the head of House Stark, I have taken his advice under serious advisement. Bran gave me a name, the name of the only man he deems suitable to be my husband. Since I value my brother's opinion above all others, I have decided to marry the man he has chosen for me. As soon as the necessary arrangements can be made, I shall take Tyrion Lannister as my husband."
Another gasp shook the hall, and all eyes turned to Tyrion, including Jaime's. Tyrion was staring up at Sansa in stunned silence, all the blood having drained from his face. Jaime thanked the gods that Tyrion hadn't been downing his wine when Sansa had made her announcement because he definitely would have choked on it.
Jaime was just as shocked as all the other guests, but no one seemed more shocked than Tyrion. Jaime had no idea how any of this had happened, but he was sure he would find out eventually.
"Do you have any objections?" Sansa asked, her steely gaze focused on Tyrion.
Tyrion's mouth moved, but no words came out. He just stared up at her like a fish out of water, helplessly gasping for air.
Desperate to put Tyrion out of his misery, Jaime turned toward Sansa and answered for him. "I believe my brother has no objections."
"Good. Then it's settled."
Sansa sat back down in her chair without another word, and a strangled squeak escaped Tyrion's throat. When Jaime turned to look at Tyrion again, he found him still struggling to speak.
At the center of the table, Bran lifted his glass high in the air. "A toast, to Queen Sansa and Lord Tyrion. May their union be a happy and fruitful one."
All around the hall, the guests lifted their glasses to join Bran in congratulating the newly betrothed couple. "Here, here!" The call went out around the room as everyone drank to Sansa and Tyrion's happiness.
Finally, Tyrion roused from his stupor. He reached for his own glass, downing its entire contents in one swig. When he lowered the glass, he looked at Sansa again, the color finally returning to his cheeks. She was staring at him from the other end of the table, a self-satisfied smirk gracing her lips.
Jaime laughed. He couldn't help himself. Sansa Stark had played his brother for all it was worth. And while Tyrion, perhaps, hadn't deserved quite so much cruelty, he did deserve as much happiness as the gods could give him. And Jaime had no doubt that Sansa was going to make Tyrion happy, or that Tyrion was going to make Sansa happy.
The guests soon lowered their glasses and went back to their merriment, the room once again filled with music and laughter. Jaime felt a reassuring hand on his right arm, and when he turned his head, he found Brienne silently watching him. There was a huge smile on her face, and he suddenly found himself wondering if she'd known what Sansa was up to all along.
"Tell me you didn't know about this," Jaime said softly, not wanting Tyrion to hear.
"I didn't. I'm as surprised as you are, though I suppose I shouldn't be. I never should have doubted Sansa. I will certainly never doubt her again."
Jaime reached for Brienne's hand and lifted it to his lips. He placed a chaste kiss against her bare skin before squeezing her fingers and letting her go. He turned back to look at Tyrion, who was still staring at Sansa.
Jaime leaned in a little closer. "Maybe you should go talk to her."
"I . . . I don't know what to say."
"You're Tyrion Lannister. You always know what to say."
"But . . . but what if she laughs at me?"
"Why would she laugh at you? She's going to marry you."
"Yes, but only because Bran suggested it."
Jaime shook his head. "If you believe that, then you're an even bigger fool than I've always thought you were. You do understand that she had to say that so the northern lords would accept you as her consort, right? If she takes you as her husband because Bran suggested it, because Bran sanctioned it, they can hardly fault her now, can they?"
"Of course they can. Bran isn't their sovereign anymore. Sansa is."
"And yet, she's still a woman, and he's still the head of her family, and that still means something to them whether they're willing to admit it or not."
Tyrion squirmed in his chair. At the other end of the table, Sansa lifted her glass and took a slow sip of wine, her eyes never leaving his.
"She wants you, you idiot," Jaime said. "Now go to her before she changes her mind."
Jaime was tempted to pull Tyrion out of his chair and force him to his feet, but thankfully, he didn't have to. Without another word of prompting, Tyrion stood on his own. He took a step aside, as if he intended to walk straight to Sansa, but then thought better of it. Turning away from her, he inched closer to the table, refilled his glass, and downed another mouthful of wine before finally stepping away and heading in Sansa's direction. When he reached her, he held out his hand and spoke so softly that Jaime couldn't make out the words. A moment later, Sansa slipped her hand into Tyrion's and allowed him to lead her from the room.
Jaime exhaled a relieved sigh, relaxing for the first time that night. For a long while, he just sat there, staring at Sansa's empty chair, unable to move. He was still in shock, and far happier than he had expected to be that evening. Tyrion was finally going to marry for love. He was finally going to be happy. And while Jaime wasn't exactly jealous, he couldn't help but wonder what his life might be like if he could marry the woman he loved. He knew Brienne would never leave the Kingsguard for him, but there was a secret, selfish part of him that wished she would.
Brienne moved in close, her lips resting just below Jaime's ear. "Do you think you're capable of standing on your own two feet, my lord?"
Jaime laughed. He honestly had no idea if he could stand on his own. His whole body felt weak, and he suspected he might crumble if he even tried. He turned to look at Brienne. "I'm not entirely sure. If I fall, do you promise to catch me?"
"Always."
There was more promise in that one word than in all the confessions of love that had ever been spoken between them. Brienne would always be there to catch him. Always.
Jaime's heart swelled beneath his breast, and it took him a moment to recover his faculties. Finally, he said, "Tell me, Lady Brienne, what do you have in mind?"
"Dancing," she replied, her lips curving in a wide grin. "Lots and lots of dancing."
"Well, in that case, how can I refuse?"
Jaime rose from his chair, surprised to find himself quite steady on his feet. He took Brienne's hand and led her toward the far end of the hall where a dozen other couples were already enjoying a lively dance. Even though she would never be his wife, she was his lady, and that was more than enough for Jaime.
