A/N: Welcome back!

This is a completed story and clocks in at around 12k words. It absolutely will not continue up until the end of the series. The rest of the HEA will be implied.

This story was inspired by my novel-length Sansa fic with the same essential story device, but this is like the lazy, cracky, half-sibling of that dramatic, romantic, political one. Seriously, I was writing that one and just wishing I could have more Jaime in it, and then this happened. You're welcome? I hope. XD

"This is what you do all day?" Bran said from beside Jaime, standing in the hallway. "Being a Kingsguard is…" His mouth twisted with revulsion.

"Honorable," Jaime answered for him, trying not to laugh. Bran's mouth twisted further. Jaime agreed with Bran.

For all that Bran wasn't Jamie's squire, Ned couldn't stop the boy from visiting with him. Nor could he stop Bran from watching Jaime practice in the training yard. Nor keep Jaime from calling Bran over, handing him a wooden sword, and adjusting his grip.

"Bran!" Ned called, glowering from the fence as he watched the pair. "Jory needs you."

"But Father," Bran whined, the tip of his wooden sword dipping into the dirt. "The Kingslayer was showing me how to do a proper parry and–"

"Now, Bran!"

With a kick of frustration into the dirt, Bran did as told.

But he was back the next day. As was his father.

And the next, Ned's man Jory was there before the boy, to scold him and send him running.

For his part, Jaime simply waited. If Ned Stark thought poorly of you, not even the soundest reasoning in all of Westeros could convince him. If he loved you, as he did his children, well…

When Bran came to watch on the next day, Arya joined him. Jaime wasn't an idiot and knew to be respectful towards the girl who had killed the Night King, showing her the stances with no less patience than he showed Bran.

A good hit from Bran knocked the wooden sword from her hand and Arya onto her back into the dirt.

From the other end of the yard, two of the White Cloaks snickered. Meryn Trant grinned at his friend, saying loudly enough for Arya to clearly hear, "Who does the Stark brat think she is? That sword weighs more than she does. Making fools out of her whole family. It's no wonder they're the laughingstock of the capital."

Arya's face contorted where she sat in the dirt, struggling not to cry.

"Arya, I'm sorry," Bran said quickly. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard, honest–"

"You get hit when learning to fight." Jaime stretched a hand down to her. "Again."

Arya looked up at him, confused.

"Get your sword," Jaime continued.

"You heard him," Arya said. "I'm an embarrassment and–"

"Useless sacks of shit will always spew shit." The children gasped at his language towards a fellow Kingsguard. "You're a wolf. The wolf does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep."

"Herself," Arya corrected. But before Jaime could roll his eyes, the girl had grabbed his hand, pulling up to her feet.

Jaime had spoken as loudly as Meryn Trant, his voice carrying across the courtyard. The rasp of steel drawing sounded behind him.

"Useless sack of shit, am I?"

Perhaps a smarter man would have intended this result, would have hoped to goad Meryn into completing his humiliation. Jaime was not a smarter man. It didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it.

Especially when it had been so long since he'd had both hands.

Jaime savored the sound of his own sword sliding from its sheath. The hilt felt marvelous in his right palm. "Why not, Trant? I could use a warm-up."

And then, with a yell, Meryn was on him.

Arya and Bran watched, wide-eyed, as Jaime used exactly four moves to send the knight sprawling into the dirt.

"That, wolf cubs, is how to expose a hole in a man's guard," Jaime said. "You see, if Ser Meryn had only paid attention to his sword, instead of trying to run at me like a half-wit who couldn't find his thumb up his own ass, he'd–"

With another snarled yell, Meryn was back on his feet, charging again. Jaime parried and spun, the flat of his sword slapping Meryn's back as he passed.

"Now, what did I do there?" Jaime asked the Starks.

"You made him mad," Bran said with a grin.

Jaime cocked his head. "And why did I do that?"

Arya's grin was even broader than her brother's. "Mad people are stupid."

Meryn was back on his feet, fuming as he stared down the little Stark girl.

Jaime tsked, waving his sword toward Meryn to regain his attention, distracting him like a rabid dog. On cue, Meryn's gaze followed the sword. "See this supposed 'knight?'" Jaime called to the Starks. "If you keep practicing, someday soon, you'll be able to best him."

"Really?" Bran said, pleased.

Jaime flicked his eyes to the children. "I was talking to Arya."

Enraged, Meryn struck. This time, Jaime had to actually try to beat him, but the result was no less sure than the others.

On his stomach in the dirt, Jamie's foot on his back, Meryn wasn't done humiliating himself. "Filthy brats," he cursed. "Think just 'cause their father's Hand of the King, they can do what they like. But they won't always have a stupid Lannister to protect them, won't always–"

Jaime pressed his weight down harder. He leaned over Meryn, his sword tip stabbing into the dirt next to the man's eyes. "Those Stark children's little fingers are worth ten of you," Jaime calmly whispered. "Touch them, and if their father doesn't gut you first, I'll run you through myself."

Meryn snarled. Jaime lifted his foot. The supposed knight stalked off without another word.

In the distance, a figure leaned against the fence. Ned watched, saying nothing.

"Father!" Bran called on catching sight of him. Arya echoed his cry, both children racing over. The words spilled from their mouths, relating all Jaime had told them, all he'd done, his every sword swing exaggerated beyond belief. When Ned looked at him, Jaime tried not to gloat – really, he did. But hearing their happy chatter, his smirk came too easily. Ned said nothing to the Lannister, gave no indication whatsoever to the infamous knight.

But Ned never complained again.

...

"This is all you do?" Bran asked again, weeks later, standing next to Jaime in the hallway outside the king's chambers. Ser Mandon, on duty on the other side of the doorway, stared faithfully ahead.

"Sometimes," Jaime answered. "But sometimes the king has important, dangerous missions that he can only trust his bravest knights to handle. Under King Aegon, he sent Ser Duncan, his best and fiercest knight, to…"

Bran listened, enraptured, as Jaime spun his tales. When his septa called Bran off for dinner, he paused as he ran to give Jaime a little wave. Jaime nodded back.

He resumed staring ahead in the hallway, hoping he knew children well enough for his plan to work.

Ser Mandon turned to Jaime. "You are so full of shit."

Jaime shrugged, not the slightest bit concerned.

...

Only a few days later, standing on guard with Barristan while the king slopped soup down his chest, the next part of Jaime's plan came to fruition.

"What's this I've heard," Robert paused to wipe his beard. "About the Stark boy following you around like a puppy, Lannister?"

Next to Jaime, Barristan watched him out of the corner of his eye.

Jaime shrugged, pretending not to see. "The boy wants to be a knight. I offered him a spot squiring for me."

Robert squinted at him. "You've never taken a squire before."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Am I not allowed?"

"Course you're allowed," Robert spat the word. "Didn't expect it, is all."

"The North is such a dreary place," Jaime continued. "I thought a good position for his son would help Ned decide to come south more quickly, so we could all be rid of it."

Robert snorted, taking another bite. "So why isn't he your squire?"

"I would assume…" Jaime said slowly. This was the crucial part to convey properly. "Ned didn't look fondly on the idea of his son standing around in hallways."

Barristan looked away, hiding his smile. The man was as quick with his wits as he was with a sword.

Robert lowered his spoon, studying his brother by law. "You think Ned will like the idea of you putting his son in danger?"

"Of course not," Jaime quickly replied. "You've brought peace, anyway. But I'm sure there are small skirmishes to be put down, bandits to hunt, pirates to stop. I've heard Tarth has its share. The boy wouldn't even be far from his father."

Robert frowned. "Tarth. The little Sapphire Isle. They've always liked my family." When Robert looked back at Jaime, it was with a decisive nod. "Take the boy there. Ned'll love it."

...

Ned frowned at Jaime. "Robert said what?"

"He said to offer Bran the chance to be my squire as we sail to Tarth to defend it from outlaws and brigands," Jaime replied.

Ned stared at him.

Jaime cleared his throat. "Robert said, 'Take the boy there. Ned'll love it,' forgetting that your son isn't actually mine to take anywhere," Jaime answered truthfully.

Ned sighed. "Robert…" but he shook his head fondly.

"It's a near island," Jaime said carefully. Without Bran, Robert had no reason to ever let Jaime leave this shithole. "A safe island. Good people rule it–"

"You think they're good, do you?" Ned cut in.

"Robert does." Jaime fought to keep rein on his temper. "Renly does. They're friends with the Evenstar, Lord Tarth."

Ned snorted.

Jaime didn't know the other man well, had never wanted to, but even he could tell that Ned was a hairsbreadth away from telling Jaime and Robert to stuff their plan for his son where not even a maester could find it.

It was worth a risk. Jaime stepped closer. "I hate it here," he whispered. Ned looked surprised but Jaime barreled on. "I will never get a better chance to leave than this, because there will never be a squire Robert cares about as much as your son. I will teach him everything I can and take him anywhere you want, Stark. Anywhere at all. I tried to find somewhere safe, and close, but I don't give a damn where we go, so long as it's away."

Ned studied him again. Jaime didn't dare breathe.

"Four moons," Ned finally spoke. "And then you bring him back to me. Unharmed. You hear?"

The air rushed out of Jaime. "I will, Lord Stark. I swear it by all the old gods and the new."

Ned's lips curled. "I don't want your vow, Oathbreaker. If you hurt my son, I'll make sure seven hells won't be enough."

"Understood," Jaime said solemnly.

He waited at the back of the room as Ned called his children to him, explaining that Bran would be leaving for a while. Sansa, the pretty little thing, barely listened to a word. Bran cheered and whooped, racing around the Hand's quarters. Arya cried. She flung herself into her room out of miserable jealousy, not opening the door again before Jaime and Bran left.

Someday, Jaime thought, maybe Brienne would need a squire, too.