Mid April, 300 AC

"You should go to your father."

Jaime fumbled at his wine cup, his golden hand clumsy. He should have known this was coming the moment he received the invitation to sup with his uncle.

"I daresay he has more pressing concerns, the way he's been shut up with Lord Mace and Prince Oberyn. But then, trying an unflowered girl for regicide

is

a weighty matter."

His uncle looked distressed.

"Jaime, you do not understand."

Jaime snorted, forgetting his broken nose. The pain made his vision go white.

"I tossed the girl into the black cells myself, uncle; the meaning seemed plain enough."

Brienne had taken the news very poorly. The news of the Red Wedding and Lady Catelyn's death two days past resulted in a listless spar; even Pod could have given him a better fight. Jaime lacked the nerve to tell Brienne of Sansa's arrest until the next day.

He had expected the Maid of Tarth to crumple even further. Instead she'd fought like a woman possessed, her homely face twisted in fury. She'd broken his nose, though Pycelle had been able to reset it. His ribs and shoulders were bruised from the battering they'd gotten; the beating was so bad he could hardly dress himself this morning.

"Your father bears a heavy burden," said Ser Kevan. "But he is a just man. Tywin does nothing without good reason."

"Yes, I'm sure the black cells were quite necessary."

Ser Kevan sighed wearily. "Your sister craves vengeance. Some small token was necessary to appease her. The girl will come to little harm after only three days."

"I would think being found guilty of regicide is like to end in harm."

His uncle stared, astonished.

"Are you such a fool? Despite Cersei's ravings the girl had naught to do with Joffrey's death. These insolent songs and wild rumors are the problem. The smallfolk say the girl is blessed by the gods, that a red wolf avenged her father's death and carried her away to the Riverlands where she lived among the unwashed smallfolk." Ser Kevan rolled his eyes.

"This business of letting the girl give alms only made matters worse. The smallfolk say she's even more beautiful than the queen, and cheer her when she passes. Already there are those in the pot shops and winesinks declaring the girl Queen in the North. No, your father intends to clear her name before gods and men."

Jaime's head ached, whether from wine or confusion he could not say. "Robb Stark has not yet been found, dead or alive. Even if he dies, she has two brothers that come before her."

"Even a maester could not heal an arrow to the face, and Stark has none with him. His brothers are a missing cripple and a boy of three. The public trial shall show the girl for what she is: a fragile maid, helpless and weak, not Alysanne Targaryen come again."

"How? The only witness was Clegane, and he was off taking a piss from what Ser Addam said."

His uncle sighed, pressing a hand to his face.

"Clegane will not be called as witness. Ser Meryn Trant was the only man atop the ramparts with Joffrey, and the crows took his tongue long ago. The gods only know who paid him. Varys is convinced it was Baelish, but your father decided not to confuse the matter by trying a dead man."

"Ser Lyn Corbray asked after Littlefinger the other day," Jaime remarked, tearing at his bread with his left hand.

"Oh?"

"I implied that his death was the result of displeasing House Lannister."

Ser Kevan shrugged. "Perhaps. Your sister informs me that Baelish was killed by an angry patron in one of his brothels. Tyrion discovered his thievery shortly thereafter. Whether Tyrion arranged Baelish's death I could not say."

There was a hard lump in Jaime's throat. He took a gulp of wine and it sloshed over the rim, spilling on his tunic. His uncle's face filled with pity.

"We all mourn your brother, Jaime," Ser Kevan said.

Not my lord father

, Jaime thought bitterly.

Nor Cersei neither.

"How do you bear the loss of your son?" Jaime asked.

"I think of the family I have left. I think of Dorna awaiting me in Lannisport, of Willem and Martyn and Janei. Lancel lives on through them, as does House Lannister. When I return to Lannisport I shall see Lancel in the sound of Willem's laugh, the joy Martyn takes in swordplay, the way Janei fidgets when she thinks."

"I am glad for you, uncle."

"It is a comfort that you could share."

Jaime's stomach turned to lead. Heedless, his uncle went on.

"Sansa Stark is as lovely a bride as any man could ask, gentle and pious. Her lady mother bore three strong sons for Eddard Stark, as well as two daughters. When she flowers you have only to till the fertile field and she will bear you a crop of boys with Tyrion's wits and girls with Joanna's smiles. Your eldest son shall rule Casterly Rock, your second shall inherit Winterfell."

For a moment Jaime remembered how the girl had looked, naked as her nameday in the waters of the God's Eye.

A pretty child, but not for me. I'd sooner make another son with Cersei.

Jaime stabbed a crisp capon with his dagger. "I thought my lord father promised Winterfell to Roose Bolton."

Ser Kevan waved a dismissive hand.

"Tywin named Roose Bolton regent for Stark's youngest brother. That was before the Freys bungled the Red Wedding. The new Lord Frey is a grandson, Ser Ryman, as fat a drunkard as you'll ever meet. Gods only know what the rest of the Freys are doing now that the old man is dead. The little news we've received from the Twins is quite confused, but it seems Bolton fled after the wedding with the few men he had left."

"If Bolton should manage to get his hands on the boy, it is of little import. The northmen will spend autumn tearing each other apart, and winter will only make things worse. The Riverlands are burnt, and Lord Tyrell has assured me that no food from the Reach shall be sailing north. Between starvation and the cold half the north will perish. When you arrive in spring, with Ned Stark's grandson in your wife's arms, they will welcome you as a hero."

"A pleasant daydream, uncle," Jaime said, raising his goblet.

For some other man.

"You forget that I swore vows. I am a knight of the Kingsguard, and that is all I mean to be."

"Vows which the High Septon may release you from. Do not refuse an offer before considering it. Watch the girl at her trial tomorrow. Think of the comfort a doting wife might bring."

"Doting?" Jaime laughed. "We took her father's head before her eyes."

"That was Joffrey's doing, not yours. I spoke with the girl when you first brought her back to us. She was sweet and courteous, though she fainted when I questioned her sharply. You should know, Jaime, if you refuse... your sister urges that Sansa be wed to your cousin Lucion."

"Lucion?" There were so many cousins among the Lannisters of Lannisport that Jaime could not keep them straight.

"Yes, Damion's eldest son by Shiera Crakehall. He's two years your junior; you might recall sparring with him when you last visited Casterly Rock."

Jaime searched his memory. Dimly he recalled a man of his own height, thickly built and brawny. After their spar he had grabbed at a passing serving girl so hard he ripped her gown, and roared with laughter when she tried to cover herself. Lucion had ordered the girl to attend him after dinner, and the next day she'd walked bandy-legged.

"Surely there are other Lannisters," Jaime said. His uncle shrugged.

"Your cousin Ser Daven is promised to a Frey. My sons Willem and Martyn are too young to rule the North come spring."

"What of Tygett's boy?"

Tygett Lannister was the third son of Jaime's grandfather Tytos; Jaime faintly recalled his son squiring for Robert. The boy had the most irritating habit of interrupting Jaime and Cersei when they were seeking a moment alone.

"Tyrek has not been seen since the bread riots. Only you can rise to this task, Jaime. The glory of House Lannister depends upon it."

His uncle rose to his feet, brushing crumbs away. "I must see to the Stark girl and instruct her as to what is expected of her. I do not doubt that she shall do as she is told."

Ser Kevan opened the door, then turned back, his smile sad.

"All I ask of you, nephew, is that you consider your future."