This is chronologically before Sansa XVII.
Late November, 299 AC
"Here, my lord."
Jaime dismounted with a wince as his stump banged against the saddle. Gone were the bustling wharves full of fishermen; gone was the fishmarket where ruddy cheeked wives and daughters sold the day's catch. The riverfront was a charred desolation, stone quays jutting into the river like broken fingers.
"I had the honor to fight beside your brother," Ser Balon Swann said. "He was a brave man for all his size. The Imp laughed as he fought."
Scorch marks blackened the grey stones of the quay where they stood. A breeze drifted over the riverbanks, carrying flecks of ash that stung at his eyes. Ser Balon's white cloak flapped in the wind. Sworn brothers are the only brothers I have left.
"How did he end up on the bridge of boats?"
Ser Balon frowned.
"His stallion galloped off the end of the quay. The horse fell, but your brother rose and kept fighting, as though he'd find Stannis at the other end of the bridge. I did not see the Imp again until the fighting was done."
"You swore to guard the king- how could you lose one of his own blood?"
"Ser Mandon Moore went after him, my lord." Ser Mandon was a dangerous man. Was being the key word. He'd drowned on the Blackwater, the white armor his funeral shroud.
"Yet it was a squire who brought my brother back." Ser Balon nodded.
"Podrick Payne. He would not leave the Imp's side, not for a moment, not even when Lord Tywin and the Queen Regent came. The poor lad finally fell asleep in the queen's arms."
Something was amiss there, but Jaime was too weary to think on it. His bones ached from weeks of hard riding, riding toward Cersei. She should have been waiting for me, not out hawking with the Tyrells.
"Leave me," Jaime rasped.
Ser Jaime Lannister stared at the river. Splintered masts marked where shattered hulks lay drowned under the dark waters. Most of the dead were long buried, but a few pale, rotten corpses still dotted the shore.
I should have been here. It was Jaime who belonged on the battlefield, Jaime who laughed as he cut men down. What had Tyrion been thinking? His little brother should have stayed on the ramparts. Ser Addam Marbrand and Sandor Clegane were the men to lead sorties, not a dwarf. I never would have allowed it, were I here.
But he had been in the Riverlands, delirious with fever, useless to even himself. And how did that happen, sweet brother? Tyrion's voice echoed in his ears. I let Robb Stark take me unawares in the Whispering Wood. I let Edmure Tully cut my hand.
The ghost of his sword hand throbbed, the phantom fingers clenched tight. My fault, all my fault. I wasn't here to look after you. I wasn't here to say goodbye.
There had been no chance for Jaime to bid his brother farewell, to gaze one last time upon his face. The funeral had been weeks and weeks ago, the bones long since sent to Casterly Rock. Podrick Payne had saved Tyrion from the wildfire, but he could not save him from death.
The roadside inn had been warm and dry, the food excellent after weeks of oatcakes and salted beef. The innkeep regaled his guests with tales of the Battle of the Blackwater as Jaime gnawed on a chicken leg, the skin crisp, the meat tender and juicy.
"The city had a grand funeral for all the fallen, and Lord Tywin's son was among them," the innkeep said, not knowing he spoke to Tywin's son.
"You've drunk too much," Jaime replied, glad of his beard and stubbled head. "No one's seen the Kingslayer."
"Not him," the innkeep belched. "The Imp."
Fool, my brother would never be in battle, he had wanted to say. But Jaime bit his tongue and dashed his beer in the innkeep's face instead, the tankard knocking out the man's few teeth. The innkeep would have struck him, but for Steelshanks and his men.
Jaime had abandoned the northmen at Maegor's Holdfast, along with the Stark girl and Brienne. With his sister gone, there was no one to keep him from mourning his brother.
His face was wet. That made no sense. There was nary a cloud in sight. The sun shone down from a sky of brilliant blue, the same blue as the eyes of the Maid of Tarth.
The sun was sinking below the horizon when Ser Addam Marbrand came for him. No matter that Jaime was exhausted, longing for a bath, a shave, a good meal. Lord Tywin was not a man to be kept waiting.
Ser Addam escorted him in silence, his white plate shining golden in the dusk. They had been boys together at Casterly Rock, long ago. Jaime's grandmother was a Marband, making Addam some sort of cousin. He had come to them at age seven, his coppery hair sticking up every direction. They became fast friends to the sound of the clack of wooden swords echoing off the walls of the Rock. Addam was a fine swordsman, but Jaime had been better. Before. When I was whole.
"I never thought to have you for a sworn brother," Jaime said, pushing those thoughts aside. They were nearing the Red Keep; he could not be weak when he faced his father. Ser Addam grimaced.
"Nor I. My father almost went to Lord Tywin, but..."
"Tell me of my other sworn brothers."
"Ser Meryn Trant was executed for his role in Joffrey's death, and the queen named me in his stead. Ser Preston Greenfield was killed by the mob during a riot; Ser Balon took his place. No one has replaced the Hound or Ser Mandon yet; your uncle persuaded the queen to leave those cloaks for men of Lord Tywin's choosing."
"How fares my kin?" Jaime asked.
"Lord Tywin has taken charge of setting the Realm to rights. Your uncle Kevan gives what aid he can, but he is weary and heartsick." Ser Addam paused a moment, marking Jaime's confusion. "Did no one tell you? Lancel died after the Blackwater. He took a savage wound beneath the arm, and bled to death in the queen's ballroom. The ladies were all in a panic, the servants were fleeing. No one sought a maester until it was too late."
"Not my sweet sister?" As queen, Cersei should have been with the ladies, though she would rather have taken up a sword herself.
"The queen was with me," Ser Addam said grimly. "She summoned Tommen from the Great Sept of Baelor, and I could not gainsay her. Ser Boros and I brought him to the Red Keep, by back ways so the gold cloaks would not see. I hear Ser Jacelyn barely held them together; near a third of the city watch died in the battle. When we arrived..."
"Yes?" Jaime prompted.
"I thought to have the little king stand at the gatehouse, to give the men courage. We had only been there a short while when the queen commanded that I bring him to Maegor's Holdfast. The river on fire, the battle undecided, and there I stood, with Ser Boros and the Hound, guarding the throne room, while the queen sat the iron throne with Tommen on her lap."
Ser Addam's lips were still tight with anger when he left Jaime at the entrance to the Tower of the Hand. The red cloaks gaped at Jaime as one leapt to open the door, and another thanked the Seven for his return. Jaime ignored them and began to climb the stairs.
By the time he reached his father's solar his face was sticky. Jaime wiped the sweat away with his hand, wincing as a ragged fingernail caught in his unkempt beard.
When he pushed the door open it was to find Lord Tywin sitting behind a table spread with maps and papers. Lord Tywin looked up as Jaime closed the door.
"Jaime," he said, cool and stern as the Rock itself. "I had thought to see you sooner. Kevan told me you arrived near midday."
"And so I did," Jaime said, sinking into the chair across from Lord Tywin. "I had matters to attend to."
"Ser Kevan has suffered a far greater loss, yet he seems able to do his duty."
The words hit Jaime like a blow to the gut.
"Father-" he made to gesture with his right hand, but he had forgotten about the stump. Lord Tywin rose, a hiss escaping from his teeth.
" Who dared?"
"A wound, taken in my escape from Riverrun. It festered, and would have killed me had the hand not been taken."
His father sat back down, a look of disgust on his face.
"You took a wound? You ?"
"All of Riverrun thirsted for my blood, and I had no help but Tyrion's false envoys. One killed the guards barehanded; another picked the lock of my cell. One was a mummer, and he convinced the guards to open the gates in Edmure Tully's own voice. The portcullis was half up when Edmure appeared. I slew a dozen men with a sword I seized from one of them, bested Tully, and dove into the river."
"Lord Bolton sent a raven. He says you escaped just before I marched on Riverrun. How is it that you never found our host?"
I'm sorry, Father, how was I to know? The gaolers told me nothing but lies, and then I was hiding from Tully's men and robbing smallfolk , Jaime thought.
"Ill luck, I suppose," Jaime said. "I was halfway to Harrenhal before the fever took me. Fortunately for both of us, Catelyn Stark sent her sworn shield after me."
Lord Tywin frowned, the lines in his face like cracks in a mountainside. "The woman from Tarth."
"Yes, the same woman Uncle Kevan tossed into a cell no sooner than I had arrived." Why he cared, the Gods only knew, but the wench deserved better.
"She declared her loyalty to a traitor," Lord Tywin replied, implacable. "A tower cell is what she deserves."
"You should be thanking Lady Catelyn; I'm only here because of her sworn shield. For some reason the she-wolf had the notion that I must be kept alive, lest her daughters fall in Cersei's vengeful hands."
"Speaking of which-"
The door slammed against the wall as Cersei swept into the room, an orange cat at her heels. Fine leather hawking gloves covered her hands; her hair tumbled down her shoulders like a river of gold. Cersei's cheeks were as crimson as her silk gown, her breasts rising and falling as she panted. Normally Jaime would have welcomed the reminder of how she looked when they coupled, but Lord Tywin's icy presence made his cock shrink as quickly as it had stiffened.
"Is it true? Have we caught the little wolf-bitch?" Her eyes glittered with triumph, but they were fixed on Lord Tywin, not the scarecrow sitting across from him.
"If you are referring to the capture of Sansa Stark, then yes, it is true," Lord Tywin said calmly. Cersei smiled a lioness's smile, all sharp white teeth.
"I want her head."
"You'll not have it. Sansa Stark is our only northern hostage at present, and she may prove useful."
" Useful?" Cersei snarled. "I spared her life despite her father's treason, and she repaid me by murdering my son. You-"
"You will compose yourself or you will leave the room," Lord Tywin said, his tone cold and hard as iron.
"I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Queen Regent! Were Jaime here-"
Jaime rose, willing his legs not to shake. For the first time Cersei glanced at him, her brow furrowed. Then her eyes widened.
"Jaime?"
He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but he could not. Not here. Not when her eyes lingered on his ugly stump, her mouth twisted in disgust. "Did no one tell you?" Jaime made himself smile. "I caught the Stark girl near Harrenhal. Consider her an early name day gift." Cersei turned away.
"Who helped her escape? Who plotted the murder of my son?"
"The eunuch suspects Petyr Baelish." Lord Tywin frowned. "The girl herself may not know. She would say nothing to Kevan, and fainted when he pressed her sharply."
"Doubtless frightened out of her wits by the black cells." Cersei laughed. "Leave her to me. Before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss."
"Sansa Stark is none of your concern."
" None of my concern?" Cersei flared. "My Lord Commander has lost his sword hand; has my Lord Hand lost his wits?"
Too late she realized what she had said. She stepped back as Lord Tywin rose from his chair, but that did not stop him. He struck her full in the face with the back of his hand. The blow knocked her to the floor, blood trickling from her lip where it had split.
"You are my daughter," Lord Tywin said. His voice was as calm as if he had cuffed a dog. "A Lannister of Casterly Rock, and you will comport yourself as such. Remove yourself from my presence."
Cersei swallowed, pressing her hand to her lip. Slowly she got to her feet, weak before Lord Tywin's relentless gaze. When she had left in silence, Lord Tywin returned to his seat, and Jaime sat back down as well.
"We have more pressing concerns than your sister's need for vengeance. Doran Martell should be here within the week to take up a seat on the small council, and Mace Tyrell is already complaining about the Dornish. As for you-"
"The Kingsguard is short two men," Jaime said. "Who will be my new sworn brothers?"
"Ser Mandon Moore was of the Vale. Lysa Arryn has kept her men out of the fighting, but she cannot rule for long without a consort. It seems Lyn Corbray has given up on securing her hand, and seeks to join the Kingsguard."
Jaime frowned.
"Won't that offend Doran Martell?" Lyn Corbray had slain his uncle, Lewyn Martell, on the Trident. Rumor had it that the Dornish prince had been severely wounded when Corbray cut him down.
"Doran Martell is a man who weighs the consequences of every word and every action; he'll not seek to give offense as soon as he reaches the city. I intend to give the other cloak to a Dornishman of Doran's choosing. That should placate him." Lord Tywin glanced at Jaime's stump, and opened his mouth to speak-
"By your leave, Father," Jaime interrupted. "The dressings on my stump need seeing to, and I'm hardly fit to be in your presence in my current state."
His father's eyes were on him, pale green flecked with gold, so cool they gave Jaime a chill.
"You may go."
Jaime went.
Welp, Tyrion is dead and the Lannisters are, ah, mourning in their own ways.
In canon, Cersei and Tyrion slap people frequently. That came from somewhere. Also, with no captive Sansa during the Battle of the Blackwater, the ladies panic after Cersei leaves and Lancel dies with no one to get him to a Maester in time.
What do you guys think?
