"Would you rather stay here for a time," Elia asks, "or do you want to go back to Casterly Rock?"

He flinches. The Rock is where he's built most of his memories with Cersei. Aside from there, the only other two memorable places are the inn in Eel Alley, which he's never passed by since that one night, and his old room in the Red Keep, also too far from where he spends his days as Elia's husband. "I'll write to my family to tell them I'll stay here for two more months," he decides.

"Rhaenys and Aegon will be pleased," she says, "and so will I. You're a good friend, and I like it when you're here."

He smiles at her and closes his eyes, sighing. Then he moves from the bed to the study, where he begins to write the letter.

To Gerion Lannister.

Uncle, I know I said I'd go back to the Rock after visiting Cersei in Sunspear, but we've run into some complications here in the capital. Nothing big or worrisome, but, as the Queen's husband, I cannot leave the city in good conscience.

I believe I'll be back in two moon turns. If there is any trouble, let me know.

He doesn't like to lie to Uncle Gerion, but there is no other way. He can't tell him he's staying on his own volition because he wants his Cersei-shaped wound to heal a little bit. He's not supposed to carry a Cersei-shaped wound in his heart, not when she's alive and well.

He thinks over writing a brief report on her wellbeing, but decides against it. He doubts he can write anything without letting some bitterness escape through his fingers.

It's hard to convince himself breaking things off with his sister was the right decision. Despite the hurt, he still loves her romantically; staying far from her during the rest of his time in Sunspear was among the hardest things he's ever done.

But staying together would only lead to misery. Jaime was doomed for heartbreak from the start, he knows it now. Best to rip it apart when they are still young, with plenty of time to move on and no complications between them. Briefly, he imagines Cersei birthing children with Lannister coloring, children he'd likely never come close to, and he shudders. I made the right choice, he reminds himself.


After five days of brooding, he wanders off the castle and finds the royal sept. He stops by the entrance, unsure of what to do.

In his two years as Kingsguard, he never stepped foot inside it on his own. The few times he did was due to Elia, when she wanted to pray. Even their wedding was held in the Sept of Baelor instead of this one.

Just as he turns to leave, a man in white robes shows up—the local septon, he remembers from the one time they crossed paths. "Lord Jaime," he greets him. "Good morning. Are you coming in?"

He toys with the edge of his shirt. "I was just passing by. I won't trouble you—"

"Nonsense," the septon raises his hand dismissively. "My morning duties and prayers are done. I have nothing else to do. Come in; it's been a long time since we last saw each other."

He holds back a defeated sigh as he follows the man inside. The septon before him is neither old or young; Jaime guesses he's in his 40s. Despite living in the Red Keep and attending mostly to the royal family and other highborns, he isn't dressed luxuriously like the septons in Casterly Rock.

The inside of the sept is not as humble as its priest, although it doesn't compare to others he's seen. Each god has an assigned altar, built from marble and illuminated by colored crystal windows. Wooden benches are positioned in lines in front of each altar, and there is an additional one between the Mother and the Father.

"May I know your name, septon?" he asks as he walks, because if he's going to spend some time here, he should know how to address the other man.

"Marc, my lord," he replies. "I grew up at the edges of Weeping Town, in the stormlands, just shy of Dorne—I'm saying this because you are probably wondering about my accent." He chuckles and nods; he indeed was. Wordlessly, he stops in front of the Stranger's altar. "Many people came to this exact place after the war," Septon Marc says behind him. "Everyone had something to say to the Stranger."

"Too many people died needlessly," he comments.

"Isn't it always the case with wars?" Jaime turns to see the septon smiling sadly. "Two powerful factions decide they cannot solve their problems with conversations and force men under their protection to fight—and die—for them."

He glances back at the Stranger. "Would you say every war is unnecessary, then?"

"I can't speak of all wars, my lord. I can't even speak of this one, as I do not know details of its origins, nor do I want to. But I can safely say most men who die in wars are not those who declared it."

Jaime's eyes travel down to the floor, unable to argue. The septon is right, after all. "Then why do the gods allow war to plague innocents?"

Septon Marc doesn't miss a beat. "The gods gave us free will," he replies. "War is not what they wish for us, but a price that is paid for our freedom, because we do not use it responsibly."

He glances up again, now looking at another altar. "And yet, we pray for the Warrior to bless us in battle. Are you sure all the gods don't wish for war?"

"My lord," he replies carefully, "you seem to have forgotten: these are not seven separate gods, but seven facets of one god only."

He blinks. "Oh," he lets out. "It seems that I have indeed." Truth is, he skipped religious lessons whenever he could. The few he listened to were actually Cersei's, and her septa was more interested in teaching her about wifely duties than doctrine.

They fall in companionable silence until Septon Marc speaks up again. "What have you come here for, my lord?"

He frowns. "You invited me in."

"Because I found outside the sept looking lost and hesitant. What troubles your soul, truly?"

He stares at the septon for quite some time. Can he tell him about Cersei? "How do confessions work, Septon Marc?"

The man smiles softly. "You tell me your sins, I pray for your forgiveness and assign you a penance in the gods' name."

"Do you keep secrets for people who confess their sins to you?"

"It is a prerogative, especially since the Faith Militant was disbanded."

"Good; I have confessions to make, then."

Septon Marc nods and guides him to a secluded room. A long silence falls between them as Jaime tries to think of where to start. Although he's not entirely sure of the importance of a confession, or whether the Seven do know mercy, he figures he should at least try. Perhaps his Cersei-shaped wound can truly begin to heal if the gods forgive him for incest. Eventually, he talks, starting with lesser sins. Septon Marc listens attentively to him with a neutral expression. Then he drops his main one. "I'm in love with my twin sister," he says, "and we've been together for years, until we broke things off in Sunspear."

He pauses, waiting for a reaction. Septon Marc shifts on his seat. "When you say 'together', do you mean carnally speaking?" He nods. "How old are you, Lord Jaime?"

"Eight-and-ten," he replies.

"And you've laid with your sister since…?"

"The first time we consummated our relationship was when we were fifteen, Septon. It was here in King's Landing."

The septon sighs in… relief? "You had me worried for a moment, my lord. I'd be greatly concerned if it happened earlier."

He swallows hard and tells him about how their physical relationship began. It is hard, because there are holes in his memories, but it is enough to leave Speton Marc alarmed. "It is good that it is over, my lord," he says when he finishes.

"Please, don't tell anyone about it," he insists. "It would ruin my sister's reputation, and she doesn't need that, especially now that we're over."

"Would it not ruin yours as well?"

"A little, but… May I speak freely, septon?" He nods. "All sins of carnal nature are more blamed on the women than on the men. People say men have needs, while women should only endure their marital beds and never find pleasure in the act."

Septon Marc sighs. "A shame," he says. "One of the many signs of how low the Faith has sunk."

That is not something Jaime ever thought he'd hear, especially from a septon. "What do you mean?"

He smiles sadly, just as he did not long ago. "Pardon, my lord, this is your confession, not my venting hour."

"You seem to be in need of an ear to vent to," he replies, "if I may be so bold. Would you rather have me finish my confession?"

"By all means, my lord. What else to have to say?"

He hesitates. As heavy as Aerys' death weights on him, he is too curious to continue. "For now, I am done," he says, unwilling to outright lie. "My sins with my Cersei were those burdening me the most. Anything else can wait for some other day."

"Of course. Bow your hand, please, my lord."

Jaime does as told, and Septon Marc murmurs some prayers as he rests his hand on his head. Then, he pushes his chin up so they are face to face. "As a penance, you'll fast for the next holy days within a year." Jaime smiles in acceptance. Then, the man relaxes. "Are you sure you want to know what troubles a septon's mind? Discussions of the Faith are usually not what lords and knights envision as ways to pass time."

He shrugs. "I am merely the Regent's husband, septon. I should have returned home days ago, but I'm postponing my departure to let myself heal from my separation. I have nothing else to do with my time." In truth, he could go to the yards, but there is only so much sparring one can do before they tire out. "So, what do you mean by 'the Faith has sunk'?"

It takes some time for Septon Marc to reply. "It must be odd for you to hear it, my lord," he says. "After all, the Faith creeps into almost every aspect of our lives, even of those who hold little to no belief in the gods. Knighthood oaths are bound to the Seven, political alliances are blessed by them in marriage vows, little girls are raised by septas, and so on. But, as a religion, the Faith has lost its essence."

"And what would this essence be, Septon?"

"The actual faith. Devotion. A belief in the Seven Who Are One and what it should represent to our lives." He sighs. "Do you know where the Faith was born?" He shakes his head. "In Essos. Andalos, to be more precise. The Seven have always been linked to political power; it is said the Father Above crowned the first King of the Andals, Hugo of the Hill, and the Maiden was his wife. It sounds strange, doesn't it? The Maiden being someone's wife and bearing him sons?"

"It… does, indeed."

"There is a reason for that, but it is not the time to talk about it yet. Anyway, back then, even though the Seven were behind every coronation—every king and queen backing their claims on the gods' will—the Faith and the Crown would go their separate ways. Priests followed civil laws and bureaucracy, while the Crown would obey the gods as everyone else.

"When the Faith came to Westeros along with the Andals, things went more or less the same. Whenever we could judge a monarch for their sins, it went the same as if we were judging anyone else. Yes, there is a social hierarchy, one we've always backed up, but in many things men are equal; sin included.

"And we didn't teach only what was sin—what was wrong. Do you know why incest is a sin, my lord, or lying with someone out of wedlock in general? Do you have any idea why we insist a man and a woman stay loyal to one another when they get married?"

He fidgets with his hands. "Bastards are a burden for families," he says slowly. "And women should be sure of who fathers their children. Siblings can sire abominations, or so I'm told."

Septon Marc shakes his head. "Your point of view is of a noble, of course, but the Faith is for all of us," he says. "When a man and a woman with no possessions other than the clothes covering their bodies get married, what damage does a bastard bring? What inheritance is messed up, when there is nothing to inherit? What difference does it make whether they consummate their love before or after their wedding vows? And what difference does it make whether this man and this woman are related?"

He clicks his tongue. "I don't know, septon."

"Of course you don't. Many of us, those at the service of the Faith, have forgotten. Some have never been taught where all these rules come from. We don't understand our own morality; we just… memorize rules and try to figure out how they work in the society we live in." He shifts on his seat. "You may be surprised to learn there is nowhere in the Faith's books saying women should not find pleasure in bed, for example."

Jaime tilts his head, but says nothing. "There is an answer to all those questions I've told you," he goes on. "One teaching, hidden between the lines of The Seven-Pointed Star, which explains why the Faith talks so much about sex. It is its purpose. Why the Seven Who Are One allowed us humans to enjoy an act that, in other humans, is done with the sole purpose of procreation. It is love. The gods have fashioned us with love, my lord. It is our great glory, and our great tragedy as well."

He takes a pause to breathe. "I don't understand," Jaime says. "There are many kinds of love, are there not?"

"Yes," he agrees, "and not all of them involve sex. I wasn't finished, my lord. There are many kinds of love. In fact, each god represents a kind of love. Remember what I said about the Maiden bearing a king's sons?" Jaime nods. "That is simply because the Maiden represents romantic, sexual love."

"It doesn't make any sense," he replies. "Should the Maiden not represent friendship, or something of the sort?"

"Oh, no, that is for the Smith," Septon Marc says. "Friendship is represented by the Smith, for he builds strong relations, which endure even when faced with great adversity."

"Forgive me, Septon, but that sounds… Shouldn't they switch? Shouldn't romantic love be the one that lasts?"

"And it does, but the foundations are different. Remember, we are not talking about amicable relations between lords and kingdoms, we are talking about genuine friendship between two people who are not family nor lovers. Such a bond is forged chain by chain, piece by piece, through all the things you've shared. It's about two people choosing each other without any interests behind it; there is no coin, no carnal pleasure, no political alliance motivating it. Do you have any bond like that, my lord?"

He thinks of Addam Marbrand, who's been with him since childhood and whose House was already tied to his through his uncle's marriage. He thinks of Elia, with whom he bonded through the hardships they faced under Aerys. "I do," he replies, smiling softly.

"Good. We should always look for friends in this world, no matter who we are: noble, royal, peasant, maester, septon, black brother… the Smith's love is one of the most accessible, for we can find true friends anywhere if we are willing to look. As for the Maiden's love… My lord, what do we say when we talk about romantic love? Do you… walk into love for someone? Climb towards it?"

Realization—or part of it—dawns on him. "No," he says. "We fall in love."

"Exactly." Septon Marc smiles. "We don't get to choose who we love, although we can—and must—choose what to do with it. The first step is a pull, taken whether we like it or not. The Maiden then offers two paths: you can embrace it or let it go. The right answer—the Maiden's choice, as it was called back in the day—depends on the person. You said you fell for your sister?"

"Yes, when we were small children."

"Oh, I am not talking about your childhood. I'm talking about when it turned carnal."

He hums. "As I told you, we were fifteen."

"That was when the Maiden offered you these paths. Can you tell me why you should have let it go?" He shakes his head; of course not. "Because sibling love does not belong to the Maiden. Family love is split between two gods: the Mother, who looks after parents and their children, and the Father, who watches over the rest—siblings, cousins, uncles, aunts and so on."

He flinches. "My love for Cersei and Tyrion doesn't hold a candle to what I feel for my cousins."

"I'm not saying those feelings are equal, my lord, only that they are watched over by the same god, because they bear similarities in nature. The connection you feel with your siblings is of shared blood. It is very different from the nature of your connection with your parents, as well as what you'll feel for your children, when you get them.

"In the world the Seven had in mind for us, a child would be the ultimate expression of love between a man and a woman. For that, parents love their children without reservation and vow to care for them. In turn, in a child's eyes, a father and a mother are those who give them life and care. They learn what love is through them. Again, this is in an ideal world; I am well aware this doesn't always happen."

Unbidden, his thoughts go to his father, and he nods in understanding. "Back to my original point," Septon Marc continues, "the Seven are split because these kinds of love are meant to stay separate in order to work. You and your twin share the Father's love, not the Maiden's. When you were presented with the Maiden's choice, and you chose to embrace her love, you fell into a trap—one not made by the goddess, but by your heart itself. These two loves don't mix because it can only end in misery. And it doesn't matter whether you are a Targaryen or not."

He blinks, remembering how this talk began. "But the Doctrine of Exceptionalism—"

"And that is the moment the Faith began to sink," Septon Marc cuts him off. "When we distorted our beliefs to a man's will. King Jaehaerys wanted to end the fight with the Faith, which is an honorable wish, but he didn't want to let go of his sister-wife. The High Septon should have refused to bless the union. In Andalos, people married outside the Faith as well; it was what we called 'civil marriage'. For whatever reason—I think it was due to cultural intertwining with the First Men—we lost civil marriage as an institution, and all weddings began to require a priest's blessing. Still, the High Septon had no obligation to bless a wedding that went against our beliefs. Instead, he accepted a false doctrine that claimed the Targaryens were above other humans because they rode dragons."

"Were they not?"

"Special abilities do not change one's nature. We're all still human. Proof of that is that the King and his Queen outlived most of their children. Queen Alysanne died first, with only three of her children still alive, and two of them didn't even speak to her anymore. But the Doctrine of Exceptionalism was the first fall down the stairs. In many other times, the Faith turned a blind eye to atrocities and bowed to the King's will. One only needs to look at Baelor the Blessed. How can one call him such when he imprisoned his sisters against his will and decided he was the one with power to elect the High Septon?"

"Maesters claim he had visions."

"Everyone has visions if they drink enough, my lord. The Most Devout should never have taken Baelor's words at face value. He vouched for a man who didn't know a single prayer, then for a child."

Jaime briefly thinks he has learned more about House Targaryen's history today than he usually did in a fortnight of lessons in the Rock as a child. "Back to the point," Septon Marc continues (although Jaime wanted to hear more examples), "as the Faith distorted its beliefs to conform with the wills of kings, we forgot our essence. We forgot about the Seven's message—the seven loves we should live and fight for. We forgot why there are rules and sins, and now we only 'teach' children what they should not do without giving them an explanation. Do you know why we bless political marriages?"

"Because there are no civil weddings anymore?" Should I bring this idea to the Small Council sometime? It sounds good.

"Oh, that is definitely a factor, but this kind of marriage always existed. We used to bless them under the Crone, as hers is the love for duty—children born under the Crone's love should be as loved as those born under the Maiden's. The Warrior's love is not for violence or war, but for your home. You defend your land because you care for it. Then, there is the Stranger's love, the one I'm most fond of: universal love, for all living creatures. Can you imagine why this love belongs to the Stranger?"

He doesn't need to think for long. "Death is universal," he replies. "The Stranger comes for us all, so he holds love for us all."

Septon Marc nods. "Well, I think this was all I had to say. I apologize for taking so much of your time, my lord."

"On the contrary," he replies sincerely, "I think I learned a lot today. Thank you for your lessons, septon. I'm glad I followed you."

The man smiles, and bids him goodbye as he leaves the room and the sept. Later, when Elia asks about his whereabouts, he tells her he had an enlightening talk with Septon Marc. "I'd repeat it all to you if I thought I'd be able to," he adds, "but I think it'd be better if you hear it from the man himself. He's a good teacher."

"I might do it if I get some free time," she replies, sighing dramatically. He laughs, and so does she.


He doesn't bring the idea of civil marriage to the Small Council's table just yet. It is something he'd rather keep to himself for time being; let it settle in his mind. For so long, he's made decisions on impulse. With Cersei, it was good; she liked his impulsive, beastly side. Now that she no longer stands by his side, he has to let go of that, as it has no place in his new life. He's been doing rather well in the Rock, but only because he assumed he'd unload it all in bed with his sister. He must make greater efforts to keep his good, measured behavior up.

As usual, he spends more time with Elia's children than doing politics, despite technically being a member of the Small Council. He still engages in conversation with some of its members—notably, Mace Tyrell and Doran Martell, as he considers their Houses to be the most likely buyers of the luxury items he's supposed to see ready when he returns. He talks a bit to Paxter Redwyne as well.

He does try to negotiate to buy food from Mace Tyrell's stock, but he claims his grain is only enough to feed the Reach. Negotiations fall short, and he decides to bring the subject up again in his next visit.

He also tries to get Ser Arthur to talk to him, but two months are clearly not enough. He tried to get Elia to bring him along to Sunspear, but she refused, claiming none of the three Kingsguard who stayed over in Dorne should go back there anytime soon. "It won't do them any good to relive their memories," she said before picking Ser Barristan and two of the new Kingsguard, Ser Hyle Hunt and Ser Osney Kettleback.

If only he knew what memories they didn't want to relive. He knows Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell followed Rhaegar to Dorne with Lyanna. When Rhaegar left his second wife's side, he left her with them plus Ser Gerold. After the war ended, Ned Stark went to retrieve his sister and came back with the three knights, Lyanna Stark's bones and her baby son.

Are the bad memories ones about Lady Lyanna? Did they witness her death? Were they forced to stand by as Rhaegar mistreated her, or, gods forbid, raped and struck her like Aerys did to Rhaella? Do they regret siding with the prince? Or is the truth something else entirely?

He leaves King's Landing without these answers once more.


There is a rather long to-do list waiting for him in Casterly Rock, as his brother gleefully tells him. He grows up and gets annoying, he notices, exasperated and fond at the same time. After his fallout with Cersei, spending time with Tyrion promises to be as refreshing as looking after Rhaenys and Aegon.

"First, the items you commissioned arrived last month," he says. "The artist is still here as our guest, waiting for you to inspect it. We invited the jeweler who designed them as well, and he arrived yesterday."

"Has anyone else seen it?"

"Aunt Genna has. She has her reservations, but decided to keep them to herself until you arrived. Are you coming?"

He nods and follows his brother to a chamber on the second floor, near where Cersei used to sleep in. Their aunt finds them midway and comes along. When he opens the door, the items are sprawled on the king-sized bed.

His first inspection is to determine what exactly he's seeing: necklace pendants, earrings, rings, tiaras, bracelets, brooches, lockets, silverware, candlesticks. On his second inspection, he grabs each item to check if there are any defects. "Some things don't match the design," he mumbles, recalling what the maester showed him before his trip to King's Landing. "Were they changed while I was away?"

"No," Aunt Genna replies. "Some of these are indeed defective."

He nods slowly. "Tyrion, would you please bring Maester Creylen, the jeweler and the artist here? I want to take a look at the designs and find out what went wrong."

As they wait for the men, Aunt Genna points out the flaws she saw. Her ability for it is way above his, so he just nods along, even when he can't see what she sees. "Have you talked to him about it, Aunt?"

"Not yet," she replies, shrugging. "I'd rather have you to back me up."

He sighs. "It shouldn't have to be this way," he says. "I spend half of every year in King's Landing, and I trust you, Tyrion and my uncles to run things in my name."

She smiles softly at him. "I know, and, had he come here while you were, say, away in the Vale, we'd have solved this without you. But he's been here for less than a month, and everyone thought you'd be here by then anyway."

"If you say so," he breathes out.

Eventually both men come. All six of them compare the drawings to the finished products, and Jaime asks the artist (Enry is his name), "Why did it happen, lad? Was it because you thought it'd be better the way you did it, or—"

"No, m'lord," he mumbles. "I never stray from designs, unless I talk to the person beforehand. Problem is that… some specifications were written instead of drawn, and I can't read."

He looks over at the designs again. Indeed, some details are described in words rather than in illustrations. "Is it not usual for you?"

"No, m'lord. Usually, everything is drawn out in detail."

He glances to the jeweler, Oswell, who sighs. "I couldn't draw everything I wanted, so I wrote it down. It didn't occur to me that Enry couldn't read."

An idea pops up in his mind, and he looks back at Enry, the artist. "Would you like to learn?"

The man startles. "M'lord?"

"Would you like to learn to read?" he asks again. "This was the first time you faced trouble in your profession because you can't figure out written instructions, but you're young, so there's bound to be more, especially if these things sell as well as we hope they do. So?"

Enry glances around nervously. Jaime takes a deep breath and turns to the maester. "Maester Creylen, would you teach Enry how to read and write if he's willing?"

"Of course," the man nods.

At that, Enry's hands shake a bit. "How much would it cost?"

"Nothing," Jaime assures him.

"Oh, good," he breathes out, clearly relieved. "Then I would like to, yes. Do you think I'd be able to teach my son when he grows up, or does it have to be a maester? I hope to pass my craft to him someday."

"Anyone can teach how to read if they have enough patience for it," Maester Creylen replies swiftly. "Don't worry; it's easier than it looks. I think you can learn within three or four months. In the meantime, I'll read these instructions to you so you can remake these items."

"Do you think you can reuse this gold and silver?" Jaime asks. Enry nods. "Great, then we're all settled."


The next matter is Lord Banefort, who wants to talk to Jaime—and only Jaime—about the money he's supposed to give him back. "He came here a fortnight ago," Tyrion informs him, "and decided to wait for you in Lannisport."

Jaime sends Cleos to retrieve the man, who arrives at sunset. For a moment, he thinks of postponing the conversation to the next morning, but then he remembers how he didn't like to talk to the man and decides to get it over with.

At first, Lord Quentyn Banefort—why does he have a Dornish name anyway?—asks for a delay. Jaime offers him two options: pay part of the debt now and settle the rest on a later date, or delay it entirely with fees. Banefort tries to talk himself out of both options, but concedes to the latter. To Jaime's pleasure, the man is out of the Rock right after breakfast.

To his relief, he receives reports of increases on food production across the westerlands. With luck, he won't have to negotiate much with Lord Mace when he goes back to the capital.

On the next day, he receives Damion in his study, who thanks him profusely for taking Lucion out of the city for a few months. "I told him about Lanna's pregnancy and he didn't bat an eye," he says with delight.

"How many moons is she?"

"She's supposed to give birth at any given moment, according to her last letter."

He recalls how he wanted to rush her wedding to Jast so there wouldn't be a scandal if she ended up pregnant. It seems I was right, after all, he thinks.

After solving the most urgent issues, he goes to Maester Creylen to check on his progress on designing the new castle to be built in Tarbeck Hall's place. It is mostly done; he's sorting out details like gardens and walls.

A month after his return, he learns Addam is taking care of some issues in Lannisport and takes his older cousins to drink in the city. Cleos, Lucion and Devan follow him to the inn Addam's staying in, and they spend the night at the docks. Cleos tells them about a drinking game he learned in the Twins. "My cousins would drink every time Grandfather slapped a girl's ass," he says. "Twice if the girl was from the family."

"Ew," Devan comments with a grimace. Jaime nods with a neutral expression, recalling Cersei.

"We can drink for every sailor's curse," Addam suggests.

"We'll be dead before sunrise," Jaime replies, chuckling.

"Okay, we can pick a specific curse."

Lucion frowns. "Isn't there a better game, cousin? I don't want to spend the night listening to sailor's talk."

"Fair enough," Cleos replies, opening a bottle of cider. "There is one in which… Well, let's say I guess something about you, Lucion. If I guess it right, you drink, and I go again with someone else. If I'm wrong, I drink, and it's your turn."

Jaime raises his still empty cup. "I like this one better," he says. "We get drunk while pretending to forge strong family bonds." The Father's love, he remembers from Septon Marc.

"Did I just become a Lannister?" Addam asks with a laugh as they get their cups filled. The Smith's love.

Cleos begins the game with Lucion. "You spent your months in King's Landing with whores."

Jaime turns to his cousin. "Drink," he orders. Lucion was rarely ever found in the castle, but, by the time he came back from Dorne, he already had a list of favorite brothels.

"That's an easy one," Lucion argues as he takes a sip. "Of course I did. Who wouldn't?"

Cleos immediately turns to Jaime. "You didn't," he quips.

Chukling, he takes a sip. "If it wasn't for Queen Elia, I'd be a septon in all but name," he adds, because he doesn't want to face questions about whether he and his wife are sexually active or not.

Cleos turns to Addam and guesses his intent in Lannisport, but he gets it wrong, so it's his friend's turn. Over the next hours, Jaime drink only three more times: when Devan guesses he was propositioned by Oberyn Martell in Dorne, when Addam guesses his encounter with Lysa Tully (now Baelish) was awkward and when Cleos guesses he learned how to sew while disguised as Cersei when he was a child. "But I can only mend a torn piece of clothing," he adds. "Can't count on me to sew a maiden's cloak."

They all end up sleeping in Addam's room, and Jaime is the only one who isn't nursing an unbearable hangover in the morning after.