'You threatened him with war in front of half the court?' Cersei shrieked.

'He was beating two adolescent girls in front of half the court,' Jaime replied, 'I know you well enough to know that that would not have pleased you.'

She was struck by that. He could see it. There was a pause in her; a cessation of hostilities that briefly softened her beauty, making it youthful and brilliant rather than terrible. There was a smile in her, a silent acknowledgment of how well he knew her. But it departed in a second; in less than that; and iron returned to her, and ice, and hatred as she looked at him, and he at her. And suddenly she was no longer beautiful, and once again, he realised that he no longer loved her.

Isn't that odd. It's for that precise reason that she stopped loving me.

'Do you honestly expect me to believe that you did it for me?' Cersei spat.

'Not at all, sweet sister,' Jaime pronounced, 'if I did it for anyone, I did it for me.'

'You cut me, brother,' Tyrion interjected, scowling deeply, 'I trust you thought of me too. It seems an awful lot of trouble to go to just to entertain yourself. And I did so enjoy it.'

'I dedicate this event to Tyrion son of Tywin of the House Lannister!' Jaime roared without hesitation, 'let all the bards remember it when they commemorate this day in song! They almost certainly will, though I can't guarantee that their songs will bode well for Joffrey's reputation.'

'My dear brother,' Tyrion replied, 'that would imply that Joffrey has a reputation left to destroy.'

Jaime and Tyrion burst out laughing as Cersei leapt to her feet in a whirlwind of crimson and gold brilliance, her slender white fist pounding on the table.

'GET OUT!' she screamed, 'both of you; get out!'

'Why?' Jaime remarked, 'because we're telling the fucking truth?'

Cersei stared him down for a moment, returned to her seat and controlled herself, glowering at him as she would at the most arrogant, selfish man in Westeros; her face contorting unpleasantly as her lip curled.

And suddenly his thoughts were with Arya and wherever she might be; with how blank her face had been as she had knelt before the throne; with how she had gone away inside and shielded herself from the present and the past; her armour back on as though she'd never taken it off.

He remembered her in the anteroom; remembered the mask of indifference that was still adorning her face like marble, and how much, how horribly it had affected him; the swelling around her eye seeming to worsen with every step she took. She had found him almost without looking for him; and forgetting, as he always did, that he was no longer whole, he had raised both his hands to clasp her face. She hadn't flinched away when his stump had grazed her cheek, and she had closed her eyes with something like relief when the fingers of his left hand had gently clasped the back of her neck and turned her face upwards to his.

'Are you alright?' he had demanded, 'are you alright?'

As tears began to pour down her face, she nodded wordlessly, clearly not trusting herself to speak as he repeated the question; but her face was opening up beneath his gaze; her grey northern eyes like the rain; her breath tickling his face as she once again became Arya Stark, the girl who never wore armour.

Her hands had clutched his elbows, keeping his fingers at her neck and his body inches from hers; and he had kissed her forehead as she was led away to be attended by that grey sunken cunt Pycelle; the blazing warmth of her skin lingering on his lips even now as Cersei sat smirking at him; guessing his thoughts, most likely; and opening her mouth to continue her chastisement of one of the two truly good things that he had ever done while standing in that fucking room.

'You are Kingsguard,' Cersei declared, as regally as though she wore a crown on her head, 'and a Kingsguard serves for life.'

'Does he?' Jaime questioned bitterly, 'the last time we discussed it you called that 'nonsense.''

Cersei chuckled.

'The last time we discussed it, I still had a grain of respect for you. Things have changed considerably since then.'

That statement hurt him, though he did not care to admit it; and when Tyrion shifted in his chair and deprived him of the opportunity to respond to it, his gratitude was inexpressible

'In my illustrious capacity as former Acting Hand of the King' his brother stated, his thick fingers drumming on the arm of his chair, 'I feel it my duty to advise you not to fight him on this, Cersei.'

'I'm touched by your concern, brother,' came the acerbic response.

Tyrion smiled.

'Changing your mind after turning Ser Barristan's dismissal into such an entertaining farce would not send a very optimistic message about your ability to govern. Nor does it improve your chances of finding a halfway decent Hand. How's that going, by the way?'

Cersei smiled mockingly in return and chose to change the subject rather than answer the question.

'Uncle Kevan is the executor of Father's will,' she said, 'as Queen Regent, I have commanded him multiple times to reveal the identity of the new heir to me, as is my right, and he has committed treason just as many times by refusing to do his duty and tell me. He has also refused to be my Hand.'

'I'm delighted to hear it,' Tyrion said, 'the badge looked much better on me than it ever would on him.'

'True as that may be, dear brother,' Jaime interjected, 'I'm sure you don't mind if I ask Cersei to hurry up and get to the point? I'm getting bored.'

'Not in the least!' Tyrion replied with a flourish.

Jaime turned back to his twin.

'Got any wine, Cersei? This newfound acquaintance between my stump and Ser Meryn's nose has made the poor maimed thing hurt like the blazes, and I'd hate to pass out before you've actually gotten to the aforementioned point.'

'The point,' Cersei spat, not answering him, 'is that Father's will was drawn up before this preposterous change of heart and that it certainly doesn't name you as the heir. And it is with great sorrow that I must inform you that it is the will that will be respected by the Crown and by the Faith, not your own selfish wishes and desires.'

'While the Crown and the Faith are both formidable opponents,' Tyrion observed, smiling as Jaime ignored her completely, stood up and liberated a nearby table of a pitcher of wine and two glasses, 'you've forgotten one important thing.'

'And what is that?' Cersei asked.

'Wine, dear brother?' Jaime interrupted, taking his seat again and pouring out Arbour gold, 'Cersei has demonstrated no interest in the consumption of alcohol, which means there's more for us!'

'Some wine would be welcome after this morning's excitement!' Tyrion grinned, bowing as he accepted a glass with two fingers.

'And what is that?' the Queen Regent repeated, seething.

Tyrion took a long sip of wine and belched, making Cersei's nose wrinkle.

'That,' Tyrion stated, 'is Uncle Kevan. I'm quite sure that when he hears about this little development, he'll immediately declare that the will names Jaime the heir and dare anyone to say otherwise.'

Cersei went white.

'That is treason and sacrilege.'

Tyrion smiled mirthlessly.

'He would commit both a thousand times over if it meant ensuring that Father's wishes were respected,' he declared, 'if you knew him at all, you would realise that.'

'I know him well enough,' she replied dismissively.

'Of course you do,' Tyrion scoffed, 'forgive me. I'd forgotten that the only kind of love you know about is the sort that wells up in your pretty little heart each time you look in a mirror.'

Jaime knew that Tyrion thought no such thing, and that he had only spoken out of bitterness and anger. He knew that his brother often admired the deep, all-encompassing love that Cersei had for her children, and often considered it to be her sole redeeming quality. Cersei, however, did not know that. To know that would require her to understand Tyrion; to recognise him as a human being; to love him, even. So he felt for her, in spite of himself, as she sat contemplating Tyrion's words, enduring them as they hurt and humiliated her, and storing them up for the day that she believed she would avenge all the offences that Tyrion had committed against her, real or otherwise.

If only she had taken the trouble to love him, Jaime thought, he would have been the greatest ally that she could ever have wished for…and the truest friend that she could ever have had.

'I will give you one final chance, Jaime, to take back this folly,' Cersei declared, a hint of heat invading the coldness of her tone, 'apologise to His Grace, promise him that you will remain in the Kingsguard, and I will ensure that this will all be forgotten.'

Jaime almost laughed aloud.

'I am supremely confident of your ability to sway His Grace, Cersei,' Jaime replied acidly, 'but thank you. I'd sooner tear the little shit's throat out than apologise to him.'

Cersei glared bitterly at him, her eyes darker than the deepest of the seven hells.

'Get out of the habit of threatening him in front of me; in front of anyone, for that matter,' she growled, 'or it will be the worse for you.'

Jaime glared right back at her, fervently wishing that gaze could spear her and her rotten son through the chest.

'I couldn't possibly do that, sweet sister,' he said, 'threatening him is far too much fun.'

Chapter Notes

Valar Morghulis, awesome people! This is a note to say thank you for all the brilliant support that you've given in helping me spread the love of the weird and wonderful pairing that is Arya and Jaime.

This is also to say (and to apologise) in advance that there will be no chapter tomorrow. I need a bit of time to recharge my plot (and my batteries), but I will be back on Thursday once again with more hilarity from the two people in Westeros who most need to get together, as in yesterday.

Thanks once again and much love!