NOW:

Jaime found himself seated on one side of a dining table made of smooth, black oak. He glanced down at his lap before he flicked his half-hooded gaze to the young man seated across from him. Tommen rhythmically pulled his lower lip in and out with his teeth before he gnawed on it. The light-haired teenager repeated the nervous tic as his blue eyes darted between Jaime and Brienne as she bustled about.

Myrcella, however, didn't seem to be afflicted with the same anxiousness that her brother was visibly consumed with. Instead, she had placed her slender arms atop the table and rested her red-rimmed eyes upon Jaime's face. Her piercing gaze was resolute as she seemed to quietly take him in, studying him as fixedly as Tyrion would a newfound tome.

The young woman before him, so much like Cersei that it sent a visceral chill down Jaime's spine said nothing as her scrutinizing blue eyes swept from the silver creeping in at his temples to the dark beard adorning his squared jaw. She tilted her head to the side, her golden tresses flowing naturally over her shoulder with the movement, and Jaime was arrested at the sight.

Robert knew.

Does she know too?

Jaime cut his eyes to the side as he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably under her heavy appraisal. He placed his shortened arm on his lap, keeping it firmly from her view, just as Brienne slid into the seat to the left of him. He glanced askance at her, his partner, his friend, and felt the corner of his lip twitch upward into a small smile despite himself.

She did this for me. She brought them here so that I could see myself that they were okay.

That they are safe.

Alive.

She did this for me.

She tentatively reflected his smile as she placed a ceramic plate full of a heaping pile of mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, and creamed corn in front of him. On the opposite side of the many accompaniments, a large piece of strip steak still sizzled delectably. He looked down at the slab of meat, his mouth-watering before he looked further down toward his arm.

His smile faltered.

My favorite meal and I can't even enjoy it.

Brienne leaned into his side, slightly startling him before he realized she was reaching for his plate and tugging it back toward her. He furrowed his brow, confused before understanding began to dawn as he watched her silently cut up the steak into bite-sized pieces. When she pushed the plate back toward him, he placed his left hand over hers before she could pull away, and before he could even decide what he meant by the gesture.

He opened his mouth, working his lips as he fought to get the words out, but snapped it closed again when her face softened as she realized he was trying and failing to thank her. She carefully removed her hand before she placed it atop of his; she risked a gentle swipe of her thumb over his skin.

"Anytime, Jaime."

Jaime.

His name.

His name.

Not brother or lover, but his name.

He lowered his head, tears threatening to return to his already aching eyes, but the return of Tyrion spared him the embarrassment. The smaller man placed two similar plates before the younger set of Lannister siblings, scurried back into the adjourning room, then returned with his full plate. He set his meal down, climbed atop his seat at the head of the table, and grinned at the others.

"Well?" He quirked a thick brow and huffed softly in laughter. "Dig in, dig in!"

Tommen and Myrcella eagerly grasped their cutlery and dove into their plates, presumably unused to a genuinely home-cooked meal, while Brienne placed a final pat atop Jaime's hand before she pulled away to enjoy her dinner too. Jaime swallowed thickly around the lump of emotion lodged in his throat, then grabbed his fork before stabbing at a thick chunk of steak.

Tyrion peered at his brother from underneath a lowered brow. He chewed slowly before he pushed the food in his mouth toward the inside of his cheek, and announced that they needed music.

"Uncle Tyrion!" Myrcella scolded. "Not with your mouth full."

He waved a hand at her dismissively as he leaned to the side and pulled a cellphone from the front pocket of his pants. He awkwardly fumbled with the motion before he jabbed at the screen for a few moments. The room was soon filled with a soft instrumental piece.

"I don't like Pop music," Tommen said with a wrinkled nose as he cut into his steak.

"Actually," Myrcella interjected, "This song is considered Soul."

Tyrion popped a piece of steak into his mouth and tilted his head to the side. After a beat of listening to the music, he said, "I can see both. Who is this by again?"

The leading tone in his brother's voice caused Jaime to falter in his chewing. He perked a brow as Myrcella blushed and ducked her head.

Interesting.

"You played it," Tommen muttered.

"It's Sam Smith. Well, the original is Sam Smith. You know who this one is by." She offered Tyrion a pleased grin that he returned with a playful wink.

The trio continued their semi-argumentative conversation for several moments, allowing Jaime to focus solely on the next bite of his meal instead of having to participate until he felt the heaviness of multiple eyes resting on him. He looked up, the fork hovering above his parted lips, as Brienne cleared her throat awkwardly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I asked what you thought of the song."

The fact that Myrcella pointedly refused to address him by his first name, or even bother to use the term "uncle" as she did with Tyrion, did not go unnoticed by Jaime. He shifted uncomfortably at the implications that errant thought produced as the others continued to stare at him patiently.

"I like it," he finally admitted, although it wasn't entirely his type of music generally.

It was the correct thing to say, as Myrcella sat up straighter and brightened.

"I'm second chair in the orchestra."

Jaime blinked.

He didn't understand the correlation, and looked at her with raised brows as if to say Okay...and?

"That's my High School orchestra playing." She motioned vaguely toward where the speakers doubtlessly were. "I play the violin."

He hadn't known she played an instrument. He looked at her, then flicked his eyes over to Tommen, then back again. He didn't know much about her at all, come to think of it—either of them.

Myrcella's grin slowly faltered, and she looked down at her plate of food. She pushed her potatoes around. "I wish I could bring them all to my audition."

He finally had the good grace to ingratiate himself into the conversation. "Audition?"

"Myrcella has an audition with Julliard next fall," Tyrion crowed with a raised glass of wine.

The blond teenager, no woman, blushed at the exclamation.

Jaime could only help but feel astounded. "Myrcy," he exhaled, "that's amazing news. Congratulations!"

"Thank you," she murmured with a hesitant smile. Jaime returned it quickly, and he thought that it might have been the first time he had been able to do so without pretense in a very long time. "I'd like to play for you one day, Jaime. Would," she faltered, steeled herself, and pressed on, "Would you like that?"

The lump of emotion that had melted away before abruptly appeared again. The offer itself was a kindness that he was unused to, but the fact that she finally said his name had him nearly coming undone before them.

He offered her a teary-eyed smile and inclined his head in the affirmative.

"I would like that very much."

The young woman visibly preened and seemed to dive back into her meal with a renewed gusto. Jaime couldn't contain his smile at the sight before him: his son and daughter, sitting side-by-side, laughing and chatting animatedly as if their lives were never once tainted by darkness.

Or hatred.

Or sin.

Jaime blinked hard, willing the image of his beautiful children so happy and healthy to be burned into the back of his mind lest he ever forgets. He felt in a daze, a floating specter in an alternate dimension of This Could Be Your Life. It didn't feel real.

It felt perfect.

And then reality struck him:

"Can we see it, Uncle Jaime?"

"Tommen!" Myrcella chided her brother in wide-eyed alarm.

Jaime felt his eyes flit between the two blondes, could feel Brienne's concerned presence next to him, before he finally relented with a dip of his head. He brought his arm up, pulled the sleeve of the hunter green sweatshirt up to his elbow. It would have usually taken an effort, maybe a firm tug or two to loosen the snug cuff from his wrist, but despite having gained a few pounds since his return home, he was a far cry from his previously substantial weight.

The room felt devoid of sound. He felt his face flush, and his ears ring, a captive of their unshakable judgment. Then Myrcella, sweet, sweet Myrcy, looked up and met his eyes with her mother's own and simply said: "It's just an arm missing a hand."

She went back to her meal as if that was that.

Dumbfounded, Jaime sat back in his seat and wordlessly turned to look at Brienne.

She simply stared back, her guileless blue eyes softened at his slack-jawed expression.

"Close your mouth, Jaime," she instructed gently.

He snapped his mouth closed, unaware that it was hanging open before he dipped his head.

"Thank you."

Brienne smiled, wide-lipped and genuine, but beautiful in its uniqueness.

"No, no, I mean it. Thank you."

"I know, Jaime. I know."

Credit: framboise gave me permission to use the line "it's just an arm missing a hand" from his/her story titled "Rightly, wrong, here we are" [sic.]

I apologize for how late this is. I'm sure you're all aware of the craziness that's happening out in the world right now. I'm dealing with a lot of other things on top of that. Stay safe and healthy, my friends.

TBC...

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