Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope you're all having a great start to your weekend. Thank you all so much for reading and leaving your reviews, your favorites, and alerts. It truly warms my heart. It has turned a crappy week into a great week!

Dear readers, were you aware that you can now learn High Valyrian on Dulingo? I thought some of you might find that interesting.

So, I know some of you have been leaving questions and they've been going unanswered. Just be aware that I did read your question, but the primary reason I have for not answering them relates to spoiler-y stuff, specifically the questions about when Dany will finally arrive. Chapters relating to that are coming shortly. Do remember that she'll be on a ship for a couple of months once she starts on her journey.

kiwiSD - If I had to guess when Daenerys will make her appearance in Westeros...it's going to be in the 70s range.

I want to thank catzrko0l, once more, for being beta for this chapter and last chapter. You are awesome!

Chapter 55

Jaime XVIII

Jaime stalked towards the throne room with Pod trailing behind him. Any servants in the hallways stood off to the side and kept their heads bowed, anxiety twisting their faces. Although he looked terse as usual, he had managed to control his expressions so that the embittered turmoil seizing him stayed off his face.

He was alone.

King Aemon, Lord Stark, the remaining Kingsguard, and a few hundred Winterfell soldiers had all boarded the Dragonwolf and begun the journey to Dorne. Aemon had laughed at him and said he looked like a kicked hound as they were riding down to the docks to see him off. He had acted affronted and made an effort to appear unaffected, but the facade belied the pounding of his heart and the spike of anxiety. Normally, he was agitated only about doing his work as Hand; he finally felt like he was coming into his own in that position, no longer feeling like he was lost at sea. Now the king had to leave and place the responsibilities and running of the kingdom squarely on his shoulders.

While he still felt better suited for the position than either his sister or Euron Greyjoy, he was still out of his depth. I have no business being king, he thought. Aemon made it look so simple. He wore the crown with a solemnity expected of a man twice his age, yet it sat as easily on his head as his cloak lay on his shoulders. Unlike most kings who insisted on ceremony and made grand pronouncements to feel important, Aemon simply acted important and the people, noble and peasant alike, bowed their heads to him.

He'd be a fool to think they all respected him. No doubt Aemon's allied armies were a large reason why he sat on the Iron Throne, but he had made great strides in the three months he had taken it. It was not often anymore that he caught wind of whispered degradations against either him or Aemon, but those had noticeably curbed over time.

Jaime halted at the door and eyed it like he expected to be put on trial. Among the many responsibilities that fell on his shoulders, one was holding court and addressing any of the issues that the Seven Kingdoms' subjects brought to him. This was by far the task he had been least looking forward to.

He halted at the door and stared at it. I am a warrior. I've faced a legion of undead and embraced the Night King himself, but I am terrified of a bunch of people at court? He thought and cursed himself. Yes, this was a battle he rarely faced, but this should not have left him as intimidated as he felt right now.

"Open the door," he said. "I am ready." His voice was at least a steady blue. The guard leapt forward and pulled the door. A cascade of murmuring voices reached them and as he stepped into court, he turned to see a rainbow of colors from the voices of the nobility gathered there. He winced slightly before remembering to cover it and strode out to the center of the room. The voices fell away immediately, much to his satisfaction and he allowed himself a small smirk that his reputation to intimidate had preceded him already.

"The Lord Hand Jaime Lannister will stand in for, His Grace, King Aemon Targaryen I," the Master of Ceremonies called out over the crowd, his voice a vibrant green.

In front of the Iron Throne stood a chair of polished oak with gold leafing and ornate scrollwork. He sighed inwardly that servants the world over seemed to think that he required everything around him have the same ostentatious feel of a Lannister as his father demanded. He had grown up a soldier and lived as a Kingsguard in the White Tower; sparsity was a fundamental aspect of the order. While he didn't mind wearing expensive Lannister armor, since his father demanded designs that not only displayed the Lannister wealth, but were practical and intimidating, he felt he could manage his image just as well without the expense of looking like a glorified fool. Only his father seemed capable of wearing the Lannister wealth and make the other lords dance to his tune. The Rains of Castamere cemented that reputation. Father could wear a dress to court and everyone in the vicinity would bite their own tongues off to keep from laughing at him.

After everyone had bowed their heads, he sat down, his back straight and his eyes piercing. He took a moment to survey the crowd. His eyes landed on Lady Brienne, Lady Dacey, and Lady Maege standing somewhere in the middle and off to the side. They were all so tall that they were difficult to miss. They forewent their armor, but still wore male breeches and tunics. He gave them no acknowledgement.

The Tyrells were near the front. Lord Mace Tyrell, who was always puffed and strutting like a rooster, was looking around with such superiority one would think his own pride and joy was overseeing court. Lord Willas was among the few who had been granted a chair and he was one of the few who was looking at him with pleasant expectation. Lady Margaery and Robb Stark were holding a whispered conversation and staring into each other's eyes like besotted fools. They had practically been in seclusion since their wedding day. Lady Sansa stood proud and regal next to Margaery, with little Lady Shireen, who had a pleasant smile on her face. Next to her Lord Edric, the recently legitimized Baratheon son, stood looking small in his newly fine clothes. His nerves showed as he shifted on his feet and his eyes darted around the hall as though he expected to be tossed out. Ser Davos stood behind the newly betrothed pair. Lady Arya was nowhere to be seen. He imagined old Lord Stark would be cross with her if he knew.

Domeric Bolton was also present, lurking on the other side of the hall away from the Starks, Tyrells, and Baratheons. He was a handsome youth with flowing black hair and the same pale eyes as his disturbing father. Roose Bolton had long departed the Red Keep with his army as per King Aemon's and his orders. The elder Bolton had insisted that his son stay behind so that he may yet find a bride.

Lord Yohn Royce was a hefty man who could be seen standing at the edge of the crowd a few rows deep. He wore a deep frown and was eyeing Jaime like he expected him to declare himself king in Aemon's absence. Lord Edmure Tully was standing next to him with a peculiar expression that seemed to be caught halfway between a grimace and a mocking smile. It took everything in Jaime not to glare at Lord Tully.

If Lord Baelish or Lord Varys were present, he couldn't see from where he sat. He had a feeling they would deliberately disappear into the crowd. It was safe for them to see him but be unseen themselves.

Finally, on the other side of court from the Starks and Tyrells, Tyrion, Uncle Gerion, Lord Cyrus, and Lady Delphine were grouped together. They were the only ones who looked truly attentive. Lord Cyrus and Lady Delphine were smiling at him in encouragement, their children obviously absent from court. Uncle Gerion would give him an appraising look and then frown over the crowd as though he dared anyone to so much as snicker in his presence. Tyrion seemed desperately trying to smother his smile, looking torn between proud and amused at the pomp and circumstance.

The court was silent as he evaluated them and then he nodded and said, "Let the first petitioners in."

Lord Kavic Stromwell of the Crownlands and a stone mason walked down the aisle towards him. Lord Stromwell bowed, then stood tall and proud, dressed in his finest. The stone mason was a beat behind him, looking resigned and world weary. His clothes were ill-fitted as they clung too tightly to his large frame, but they were clean and well kempt. Although his gaze was cast entirely to the ground, he could commend the man for not showing fear in the face of nearly the entire nobility of the Seven Kingdoms.

The lord cleared his throat and said, "Most gracious of you to extend this opportunity before me, my Lord Hand. I am most honored to - "

"There are many petitioners behind you. Get on with it," Jaime interrupted.

"Y-yes, my Lord Hand. This stone mason has been overcharging me for repairs to a load bearing wall within my ancestral home of Stromland. His work has been consistently of inferior quality and he has had to rebuild the same wall many times so that it could finally withstand a strong wind. The last straw came when a chunk of rock fell out of the wall and hit my child who - "

"Stop!" Jaime barked and Lord Stromwell fell silent, staring up at him with a hopeful smile. His eyes narrowed at him and the smile faltered. "Lord Stromwell, seeing as you are a Lord in the Crownlands, I would expect you of all people to know the penalty for lying to your king."

The lord's eyes widened and he actually took a step back.

"Well, do you?" Jaime asked in a measured tone.

He gave a shaky nod.

"Say it then for all to hear."

"T-the penalty for lying to the king is death."

"That's correct. Now, I am not the king. But don't think for a moment there won't be consequences if you continue to lie," Jaime declared. The silence in the throne room was so complete that he doubted anyone was breathing. Lord Stromwell trembled where he stood. The stone mason had actually looked up at him with hope in his eyes. He flinched though as Jaime turned to him and nodded. "Your turn."

Now he could see the fear settling. He licked his lips and his voice stuttered as he began speaking in a surprisingly soft voice, "T-thank y-you, my Lord H-hand. I-it has b-been a year since Lord Stromwell hired me ta build a new stone stable. I spent a year buildin' the stable. The Lord Stromwell kept changing the plans. The workers he used were ill-trained. There 'ave been several deaths in the crew and smashed limbs. He wouldn' pay for the extra work and got mad when it wasn' done on time. He kep findin' new things to fix aroun' the castle and tol' me he'd make sure I ne'er worked as a stone mason again. I 'ave a family, my Lord Hand. I can't - "

"That's enough," Jaime cut him, though his tone was considerably gentler than it had been with the Lord Stromwell. For all of his stumbling, the stone mason spoke in a wavering clear yellow whereas Lord Stromwell had spoken in the same purple poisonous tones as Lord Baelish. Just a reminder of that slimy weasel was enough to sour Jaime's mood for the rest of the day.

"Lord Stromwell, slavery is illegal in the Seven Kingdoms. You cannot refuse to pay for services rendered. You will release this stone mason and his team from his obligation and pay him 500 gold dragons. And if you dare to lie to my face again, I will have your tongue ripped out. Have I made myself clear?" He snarled.

The blood continued to drain from Lord Stromwell's face until his complexion was nearly as white as snow. As Jaime continued to glare at him, he began to frantically nod. "As you say, Lord Hand," he replied, his voice higher than it had been.

"You're dismissed," Jaime said, already looking to the back of the room for the next petitioners. It took every ounce of willpower he had to stay seated. He was not used to sitting for lengthy periods of time and the opportunity to tower over Lord Stromwell had been nigh irresistible, but he should be able to project his strength and intimidation without having to leave his seat.

He allowed his eyes to stray back over to his brother and Uncle Gerion only to fall on his lord father Tywin. Uncle Kevan had also appeared and was standing next to Gerion looking companionable, though they respectfully stayed silent. He and his father locked eyes and he felt his shoulders seize in tension as his father glared back at him. After a moment, his father nodded and he would swear he saw the barest hints of a smile.

After more than a month of keeping low and fancy you walk back into court the minute the king has sailed, Jaime thought. He knew his father would have eventually made a reappearance and always at a time that was most advantageous to him. He was surprised that his father had actually stayed away from the Tower of the Hand for so long, having expected him to constantly badger him either about how he was failing in his running of the kingdom or how he needed to find a bride and put an heir in her.

Jaime pulled his eyes away in time for two finely dressed merchants to bow in front of him. He sighed inwardly but forced himself to focus as he commanded the one with the grievance to speak first. Aemon was entrusting him with the competent running of the kingdom and he'd be damned if he didn't put in the effort to manage it just as well as he did.

Unfortunately, another foolish soul had decided to go ahead and try his patience with a lie. He really hadn't wanted to command the punishment. But if there was one lesson he held to heart from his father, it was to never make a threat that one never intended to carry out. So the poor merchant was hauled away without his tongue. His howls were jagged and animated as they ricocheted around the chamber. There was no denying the horror on many onlookers faces at the spectacle.

He was warned, Jaime thought grimly, feeling his gut twist in anguish. There was neither fear nor joy on his face as he gave the command, but perhaps the barest trace of regret as he met Brienne's eyes and saw her stunned surprise.

After two hours, court broke for the day. He ordered Pod to send food to the Tower of the Hand so that he could sup in privacy. Now that he was regent, he'd be forced to take lunch with courtiers, but he need not do that everyday. A headache was brewing behind his eyes and he wanted nothing more than to nurse it alone.

One day, Brienne. One day we'll be together, he thought morosely as he walked back to the Tower, wishing she would be waiting there with a compress. It was agony to be so close to Brienne and yet so far. He had recklessly indulged in her proximity when Uncle Gerion had brought her over a week ago when he was still reeling over the birth of his son. Even as he nursed his wounds opened by Cersei, another cascade of emotions had overwhelmed him when he saw her. Relief, love, fear, panic, and anger. Relief and love to feel her presence like a soothing balm, fear that his feelings for her were so obvious that the world could see it, and panic and anger that she might now be in the line of fire for any one of his enemies to attack. It had been enough to make him sick and sure enough she got to witness one of his seizures.

He tried to cling to any hope. Despite everything she had heard and witnessed, she had stayed by his side, only fleeing when she couldn't handle his emotions. He didn't blame her. She couldn't know how desperately he loved her. That had been their first real conversation that didn't involve sword fighting.

Once he stepped through the door to his room, he shut it and leaned against the wood, sinking into the dead silence of the room. He would allow himself a few minutes of peace and then he had to start writing a letter.

|-The Dragon's Roar-|

Tywin I

For the first time since Jaime had been knighted, he felt a blossoming warmth of pride. Jaime sat in the makeshift throne with the forbearance of a king and he delivered his judgements like one. While he could decipher a stray amount of irritation in the tension of Jaime's shoulders, he otherwise peered down onto the petitioners like a true lion: all pride, a touch of arrogance, but mostly importantly, with power.

Jaime commanded the attention of the room and was unyielding when delivering upon his threats. He did find it strange that his son had a particularly strong preference for truth and an uncanny knack for seeing through the lies that the petitioners attempted to spin for him. It wouldn't be long now until only truth was spoken at court for fear of tongue removal or death.

He rather doubted King Aemon Targaryen had the balls to follow through on any such threat. The boy was as green as spring grass, so he was puzzled over the reasons why Jaime nearly cast himself prostrate at the king's feet. Lannisters did not concern themselves with the opinion of sheep and that included kings. He didn't entirely believe that the king saving his head from the executioner's block was a good enough reason for this kind of behavior.

And yet, Jaime wasn't some mewling cub who stroked King Aemon's ego. There had been no contrition on Jaime's face when Tywin received his dressing down from the king about being responsible for the deaths of innocents. He had been...amused and there was a calculatory light in his eyes as he had watched his own father be reamed. If Tywin didn't know better, he'd say Jaime had coached the king.

But this wasn't normal for Jaime either. For so long, his golden heir, the Lion of Lannister, had been such a disappointment. He had failed to learn to read at an appropriate age, he'd allowed himself to be used in the Mad King's schemes, and then he'd stubbornly kept his position in the Kingsguard when he'd had the perfect opportunity to leave it upon Robert Baratheon's ascension. Jaime was often thoughtless and impulsive, caring only about swordplay and little else, least of all the family's position in the grand scheme of the game.

Tywin would give Cersei credit that she had at least cared about the game, despite her infinite stupidity. If she'd really cared, she would've birthed the King Robert's trueborn heirs rather than those abominations up in the north, he thought. Just thinking about them caused his eyes to film red and he ground his teeth together. Cersei had nearly destroyed their legacy! If he ever had the opportunity to touch her again, it would be to strangle her himself. Now the brother that she had humiliated by raping was forced to pick up the pieces. Jaime had done an admirable job of not only moving the family past that embarrassment but by still showcasing their power. Now he could humiliate his opponents at court as well as in the training ring, and soon, on the battlefield.

It had taken so long but, finally, he had his perfect heir. Better sooner than later, but I was beginning to wonder if it would happen at all, he thought.

He still didn't believe Jaime was in quite the right mindset, however, if propping up this foolish notion of a Targaryen was anything to go by. The boy didn't even look Targaryen. That anyone could fall for such stupidity was beyond him, least of all his own son. If he hadn't known better, he would say he was flabbergasted by the Stark's clear bid for power, but Lord Stark had grand notions for power the same way the Silent Sisters deigned to speak. He could at least believe the dull wolf could pull the wool over King Robert's and Lady Catelyn's eyes to spare the boy any undeserved scrutiny, but to conceal the boy and plot over the years to unseat his very own friend whom he'd placed on the throne? That was a genius reserved for himself at best. The Lord Stark could nary comprehend the politics of the whole Seven Kingdoms rather than his comparably tiny neck of the North. How the Starks had ever managed to maintain their stranglehold on such a vast land for so long was beyond him. But they were old, stagnant. Perhaps some fresh blood was what was needed to lead the North. They couldn't allow those Northerners to believe they virtually ruled their own kingdom. It was time to reintegrate them back into the fold of the Seven Kingdoms and act like proper custodians of their land.

First they needed to deal with the Targaryen king. He was mercifully lackwitted in holding out for a wife. There was logic to it - he would give the boy credit for understanding that there was a push and pull with politics. Right now he had the power, but his lack of Targaryen appearance was a problem and it would grow unless he could cement his position by marrying the last Targaryen female. But she was half a world away in Essos. So far away, in fact, that it was unclear if she was even still alive. His sources said she'd married a Khal and had since disappeared into the desert.

The boy was counting on a miracle when he should've married the first woman that he could've put a child into. Hell, even begetting a bastard on a noble lady would secure him better than simply existing alone and waiting for the right woman to come along. His patience would be his downfall.

Patience will also be our downfall if I allow my foolish son to also continue putting off marriage and heirs, he thought, his lip curling in irritation. If King Aemon had brokered a deal for his son to marry anyone, it should've been with Margaery Tyrell. As Hand of the King, he deserved the second best in the realm at minimum. As often as the boy said he trusted his son, Jaime, and counted him a valuable ally, he did wonder if he was also smart enough to see the dangers in having a Lannister as an ally. He had heard that Lord Stark was not all that fond of Jaime having such a close position with his nephew. Maybe the dull wolf wasn't so dull-witted after all. He'd have to keep his ear to the ground regarding Lord Stark.

He was unsure what game his son was playing at, but the new rumors of his interest in women warriors was starting to become embarrassing, particularly the ones regarding Brienne of Tarth. After he had destroyed the possibility of marrying Lady Alysanne Lefford, a new rumor had developed that he'd already had a woman in mind and now the rumors suggested that woman was Brienne of Tarth. He had heard about how brutish and homely she was, but had never actually seen her. He visited the training yards one day, sticking to the outskirts and the shadows, and had been appalled. The rumors did not do her ugliness any justice. There was nothing soft or delicate about any of her features. She was practically a man, taller than even Jaime and grunted just like one! There was no denying, she did appear to have been excellently trained in the art of swordsmanship and held her own against Jaime longer than any other. But a woman's battlefield was in the birthing bed, not as an actual soldier.

And Jaime had actually enjoyed her company. There was no mistaking the light in his eyes, even as he continued to smirk and taunt her as he did with all of his opponents. His son did appear to actually be smitten with this woman! That simply wouldn't do. He shuddered to think of that brutish woman giving him grandchildren. Though she had the blond hair - not golden, but it would do - she lacked the fine breeding, the bone structure. The best he could say is she would actually make an excellent birther, likely to provide many tall, but ultimately ugly children. And worse, his brother Gerion had the audacity to encourage such a relationship!

It had reached his ears that Gerion had fetched Lady Brienne to console his son when he'd had an episode upon hearing the wretched news that his sister had, indeed, birthed him a son. It was tempting to arrange for the child to be dropped off into the ocean on the way to the mainland, but he was not confident that it wouldn't be traced back to him. He would have to bide his time.

That could not be the Lannister legacy! He would have to set Jaime straight and finally convince him to pick a woman. If the Leffords hadn't been so insulted by the previous destruction of the wedding, he would suggest them again, but Alysanne had since moved on. She was to be betrothed to Lord Domeric Bolton. Perhaps a Redwine or maybe even Lady Lysa Arryn, now she was without a husband. Though he had heard curious rumors about Lady Lysa that suggested she would hardly be a better match. And she was much too old, her womb feeble, barely managing to produce one heir for the Lord Arryn. No matter her status, she wouldn't do for his son to marry now. He needed a young woman, her child-bearing years ahead of her.

Tywin walked the corridors after his son; he had a feeling Jaime had retreated back to the Tower of the Hand. Though he had conducted himself well in front of the nobility and the petitioners, he clearly hadn't enjoyed the spectacle. He had seen a tightness around Jaime's eyes suggesting he was getting a headache. For some reason, Jaime was now susceptible to those. He had been furious with Jaime to have learned about this new weakness only after the Reach had joined, spreading stories of the way Jaime had collapsed during the negotiations with the Tyrells and been forced abed. Apparently, the Gods had deemed him too perfect and had seen fit to wound his heir.

These seizures he suffered were not infrequent either. Since the Red Keep had been taken a few months prior, Jaime had suffered no less than half a dozen of the damn things. It was unfortunate that he suffered such a catastrophic weakness, but it made it all the more urgent that he marry and bring forth heirs. At least the source of the weakness was a result of a devastating injury and had nothing to do with Jaime's breeding. There were plenty of examples of great rulers in history overcoming greater odds. He would just have to ensure that Jaime saw his way of thinking.

When he approached the door, he found only the usual twin Lannister soldiers. They nodded at his approach. Jaime's squire, Podrick Payne, was absent. Tywin knocked on the door.

"Enter," Jaime commanded, his voice carefully neutral. He opened the door to find Jaime hunched over a letter. When he looked up, there was a small smile on his face that quickly fell. "Father, what may I do for you?" There was no mistaking the undercurrent of annoyance.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your conduct at court. You handled yourself well. To think I ever feared that you would amount to nothing," Tywin said. He was careful to make sure pride could be heard in his voice.

Jaime was unmoved and continued to eye him suspiciously. "The king leaves and you finally make your presence known. Should I be surprised you visit me now?"

"As I was saying, I am glad to hear you have your wits about you. No doubt observations like those will serve you well."

His son's expression only darkened. "Speak your piece, father, I have a letter to write."

"What are you doing?"

Jaime blinked in confusion at him. "What do you mean, what am I doing? I am conducting the king's business as a good Hand should. I'd think you'd know that since you were Hand once."

"I am aware. I followed a Targaryen once. It nearly led the realm to ruin. You were there, I'm sure you're familiar with the fact that Aerys' last two Hands died. One by your blade and the other by his order. Do you want to end up like them?"

"Seeing as how I was there, I can safely say that King Aemon is not as mad as his grandfather. Thank the Seven for small favors."

Tywin cocked his head at that. Their family had never been particularly religious and while the sentiment was laced with Jaime's characteristic snark, it was still a remark that struck him as odd. The Lannisters did not actively say anything about the Seven. And it was just them alone. What was Jaime playing at, invoking them? Surely he didn't really believe in the Gods.

"Just because he exhibits no signs now, does not mean that he never will. King Aerys and I were friends once, before he became too paranoid, too upset that a Lannister was stealing his thunder. Before he stole you from me. This could be a ploy."

Jaime snorted. "Spoken like someone who doesn't know Aemon at all. He's about as guileless as a kitten. That Stark honor he was raised with makes him forthright. I'll give you it's not the most desirable trait for a king, but I'm there to be his muscle. The wolf and the lion make a valuable combination."

"Don't allow yourself to be used by this boy and his Stark family. He doesn't even look like Prince Rhaegar. How are you so sure that he is as he says?"

"Speaking as someone who knew Prince Rhaegar, I can see the similarities," Jaime replied. His voice was hard like a diamond and eyes sparking in fury; he was following his father's line of thought.

"Rhaegar died fifteen years ago. I'll grant you likely have a good memory, but one good enough to recall Prince Rhaegar?" Tywin approached the desk and he lowered his voice. "Jaime, a Lannister always pays his debts. We know this. But are you perhaps paying your debt to a wolf pup and not a dragon?"

"Don't think I haven't given it thought, father," his voice was a growl. "The Starks aren't you. They'd sooner continue hiding in their frozen wasteland of a home than contemplate a grab for power."

"Perhaps that's simply what they have wanted us to think all of these years. He was claimed a bastard once, there's nothing to say he can't still be a bastard used as a convenient lie."

"What would be the sense in that?" Jaime asked. "The grab for power only works if Robert Baratheon's children ended up being illegitimate. Are you suggesting my sister played right into the Stark's hands?" His jaw was clenched in anger and Tywin could see a tremble in his hands.

Tywin stiffened. "Your sister, in her infinite stupidity, damn near led this family to ruin! It is only by your superior upbringing that we've salvaged as much as we have. You are my heir, Jaime, and while you have stepped up in ways I never imagined you doing, you still have yet to fill your main role: it is time you took a wife and planted a child in her belly. That is the only means that will secure our legacy."

A knock at the door startled them both. "It's Podrick Payne, m'Lord Hand. I have your meal as requested."

"Enter," Jaime called.

Tywin turned and saw the boy stutter to a halt upon seeing him and then moved forward once more, the plate trembling in his hand. "Beggin' your pardon, my Lord. Should I bring another plate?"

Jaime took the plate. "Thank you, Pod, but Lord Lannister will not be staying for the meal. Return to your post."

"Yes, m'Lord."

Once the door was secure again, Jaime asked, "Where were we?"

"You need to marry!"

"Oh, of course." Normally this would get Jaime seething, but his mouth twisted into a smirk. "If you'll not recall, the king demanded that he approve of the match. I can only marry by his say so."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. "...this is what won your loyalty? The ability to choose your wife as you see fit?"

"You wound me, father. In all of my superior upbringing, do you really think that's what would ultimately buy my loyalty? Not my head, not Cersei finally getting her just fate, but marriage to a lady I've never met?"

"Lady Alysanne was convinced you called the marriage off because you desired someone else."

"I confirmed no such thing to Lady Alysanne. Her word is mud," Jaime replied.

Tywin's eyes glinted and he couldn't help but take a couple of steps closer. "Normally I would dismiss the entitled frivolities of a young lady snubbed, but after I saw you with that Brienne of Tarth, I'm not so sure her marks were amiss."

Jaime glared. "Lady Brienne of Tarth is naught but a training partner. She's the only person who doesn't cry when I beat them and is instantly ready for another challenge. She's more of a knight than half the knights in the entire Seven Kingdoms."

Tywin sneered. "Your words ring false. While I have been impressed with your conduct, any fool can read your eyes and see how smitten you are with her. She is not worthy of the position of Lady Lannister. She is merely the uncouth daughter of a minor lord in charge of a spit of land off the eastern coast who couldn't be troubled to bring her to heel."

"What must a Lady Lannister be? A sweet-talking and gossiping fool who looks pretty in the dresses she's constantly sewing for herself? Plenty enough of those around, father. If you can find one I'll like, then by all means, present her to me. But remember the decision rests with both the king and I," his son smirked at him.

"You may have stepped up in your responsibilities at present. But I still have a thing or two to teach you yet," Tywin growled, glowering at him.

"Another time, father. I would like to eat before my meal grows cold."

Tywin's mouth drew into a line, but he turned and exited. Jaime had the power, for now, to order him around like he was little more than a vassal lord. He still had time to whip his son into shape and he would. King Aemon and his dullard uncle were gone to negotiate with Dorne. When next the king returned, he wouldn't recognize his own kingdom, if he ever returned at all.