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Jaime

The sun was setting when he finally entered the Tower of the Hand. It was guarded by Lannister household guards, who knew him at once. "The gods are good, to give you back to us, ser," one said, as he held the door.

He climbed the stairs and pushed into the solar unannounced, to find his father sitting by the fire. Lord Tywin was alone, for which Jaime was thankful. He had no desire to flaunt his maimed hand for Mace Tyrell or the Red Viper just now, much less the two of them together.

"Jaime," Lord Tywin said, as if they'd last seen each other at breakfast. "Lord Bolton led me to expect you earlier. I had hoped you'd be here for the wedding."

"I was delayed." Jaime closed the door softly. "My sister outdid herself, I'm told. Seventy-seven courses and a regicide, never a wedding like it. How long have you known I was free?"

"The eunuch told me a few days after your escape."

"Did Varys mention this?" He moved closer to the fire, to let his father see.

Lord Tywin pushed himself out of his chair, breath hissing between his teeth. "Who did this?

"This was your goat's work. Vargo Hoat, the Lord of Harrenhal." Jaime responded with some annoyance.

Lord Tywin looked away, disgusted. "No longer. Ser Gregor's taken the castle. The sellswords deserted their erstwhile captain almost to a man, and some of Lady Whent's old people opened a postern gate. Clegane found Hoat sitting alone in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, half-mad with pain and fever from a wound that festered. His ear, I'm told."

Jaime had to laugh. Too sweet! His ear! He could scarcely wait to tell Brienne, though the wench wouldn't find it half as funny as he did.

"What about his Brave Companions?"

"The few who stayed at Harrenhal are dead. The others scattered. They'll make for ports, I'll warrant, or try and lose themselves in the woods." His eyes went back to Jaime's stump, and his mouth grew taut with fury. "We'll have their heads. Every one. Can you use a sword with your left hand?"

I can hardly dress myself in the morning. Jaime held up the hand in question for his father's inspection. "Four fingers, a thumb, much like the other. Why shouldn't it work as well?"

"Good." His father sat. "That is good. I have a gift for you. For your return. After Varys told me . . .-

"Unless it's a new hand, let it wait." Jaime took the chair across from him. "How did Joffrey die?"

"Poison. It was meant to appear as though he choked on a morsel of food, but I had his throat slit open and the maesters could find no obstruction."

"Cersei claims that Tyrion did it."

"Your brother served the king the poisoned wine, with a thousand people looking on. His wife was wearing a hairnet that carried the poison." His father continued. "I have taken Tyrion's squire into custody. His wife's maids as well. We shall see if they have anything to tell us. The king's justice will be done."

"You would condemn your own son to die?" in his guts, Jaime knew the answer, but he had to ask.

Tyrion

Another morning entered his cell. Bronn still had not come and his trial would begin in two days. The insolent bastard. But then again was that not the reason he liked Bronn in the first place? At least he got a descent sleep last night. His wife never said it in many words but it seemed that she had finally made her peace with him. It seemed funny that she was more open to him when he was a prisoner himself. He did not even have a real conversation with her until yesterday.

For his part, he was not angry with her, well not as much he was yesterday. Maybe it was that look Sansa always gave him. The look of a frightened child that realized he was the only friend she had left.

The door opened and instead of breakfast, he saw someone he never thought he would live to see again.

"You?"

"Well, most of me." Jaime was gaunt, his hair hacked short. "I left a hand at Harrenhal. Bringing the Brave Companions across the narrow sea was not one of Father's better notions." He lifted his arm, and Tyrion saw the stump.

Despite himself, a bark of hysterical laughter burst from his lips. "Oh, gods," he said. "Jaime, I am so sorry, but ... gods be good, look at the two of us. Handless and Noseless the Lannister boys."

"There were days when my hand smelled so bad I wished I was noseless." Jaime studied his nose. "An impressive scar."

"They made me fight a battle without my big brother to protect me."

"I heard tell you almost burned the city down."

"A filthy lie. I only burned the river." Abruptly, Tyrion remembered where he was, and why. "Are you here to kill me?"

"Well, now that you mention it she did ask." Jaime drawled.

"Did she ask you to kill her too?" Tyrion gestured to his mortified wife who sat on the bed.

Jaime nodded with some reluctance.

"Did you kill Cersei's son?" asked Jaime.

"Cersei's son?" Tyrion asked him with strange amusement his voice. He looked over at Sansa, if she knew the truth of Joffrey's parentage, she was hiding it well. Jaime looked at her too for a moment with guilt on his face.

Jaime then looked at him "Don't." Jaime said in a low voice with a disapproving nod.

"Well, the trial starts in two days."

"Ah yes." Tyrion exhaled, "trial for regicide and kinslaying."

"The Kingslayer brothers." Tyrion widened his hands with a theatrical gesture

"I like it, but do you think really we killed your son?" The color drained from Sansa's face at that comment, but Tyrion was past caring, he was sure he would have to tell her the truth after Jaime left anyway.

"And you are asking if I would kill you." Jaime continued thoughtfully, "what can I do."

"Could you smuggle two people out of King's Landing?"

He saw an expression of discomfort on his brother's face.

"Both of you are accused of treason, freeing you is treason." Jaime said with concern, "but there will be a trial."

Tyrion saw his wife mutter something inaudible.

"One of judges has wanted me dead my whole life, another hates me because of my wife, the last judge hates all Lannisters, and my sister." Tyrion paused at the mention of her name. "My sister has already tried to kill me in a not so discreet manner." He scratched the stump of his nose to give emphasis to his sister's determination. "Cersei doesn't want justice; she wants my head on a spike guilty or innocent."

"Not just yours"

"Someone gave her a pretty hairnet and convinced her to wear it to Joffrey's wedding, but Cersei won't care about that."

There was something Jaime wanted to say. Instead he simply rose from his chair, he left the cell.

Sansa crossed the room sat down in the chair that Jaime had just vacated and looked him straight in his mismatched eyes. Her eyes were the same pools of blue flame he saw in her lady mother but never in her. This conversation was going to be more difficult than he thought.