Sapphire Island was certainly a very fitting popular name for the place. The waters surrounding it were as blue as the mentioned gemstone, and as the vessel approached the coast, one had the impression of entering a dreamland. Of course, it was just an optical illusion, as he knew that behind the beauty of the scenery he could enjoy from the sea, there was another land full mostly of ordinary people with ordinary lives. With any luck, a few of them might be minimally interesting and less dull than the average, but Jaime wasn't very hopeful or thrilled.
Tarth simply was one more destination in his and Tyrion's journey around Westeros. All in all, being here was much better than the alternative: remaining home with his memories.
When Cersei's betrothal to Rhaegar Targaryen was announced, it had been like a brutal blow to the chest. She had told him in private beforehand, of course, after a particularly intense session of lovemaking. She had crushed his heart as if shooing away a fly, singing the dragon prince's praises as if he was Aegon the Conqueror reborn, and warning that they wouldn't engage in such improper activities anymore, because she couldn't risk her precious regal betrothed finding her anything less than virtuous and perfect. It turned out that their last tryst had been indeed their last one, her farewell gift to show how considerate she was of her twin's and devoted lover's feelings. There would be no more sex between them. Cersei had fallen in love with Rhaegar, according to her impassioned declarations, and every word had felt like a stab in the heart. Jaime's blood had frozen in his veins and he'd turned numb after her cold dismissal and condescension disguised as affection.
It was then that Jaime understood that Cersei had never loved him, not like he loved her by an abysmal shot. Fiercely, passionately. Obsessively. Unconditionally. All the time, since they were babies, he'd known what she was, how she was, and he'd adored her anyway.
But when, right after the throes of passion, she'd blurted out the news about her impending marriage, something deep, irreparable, had broken inside him.
Jaime had remained numb for several moon turns on end, going perfunctorily through the motions of existing, his only source of solace stemming from Tyrion, the only person around him capable of empathizing with him. The dreaded royal wedding had finally come and passed and Jaime could hardly remember a single moment of those horrible days, drunk to stupor most of the time in order not to endure Cersei glowing next to her brand new Targaryen husband, happier and giddier than Jaime had ever seen her. Even Tywin had reprimanded him harshly for his indecorous behavior, but Jaime couldn't have cared less. He was in grief, mourning his shattered heart and dreams.
He'd lost Cersei forever. Or, even worse, he'd come to the realization that she'd never been truly his. She'd always manipulated him, molded him, controlled him at her whim, and he'd let her, happy to be trapped in her clutches. But at last, she discarded him like garbage as soon as she was offered an infinitely better alternative, the incarnation of her dreams in the shape of the heir to the iron throne.
And to top it all, Tywin being Tywin, he'd been pressuring Jaime to choose a bride. Cersei has fulfilled her duty to our house by marrying Rhaegar. Now it's time you fulfill yours. You have to marry as well and sire an heir. Marrying and siring an heir were the last things in Jaime's mind. His father had listed the possible candidates among the Great Houses. Lysa Tully, as her sister Catelyn Tully had been recently betrothed to Brandon Stark. Lyanna Stark was also discarded for being betrothed to Robert Baratheon. Yara Greyjoy (Jaime definitely would never consider an ironborn, he was stubbornly unmovable about that condition). Mina and Janna Tyrell. Elia Martell. And that was basically the extent of the eligible candidates, as Tywin was adamant that the future Lady of Casterly Rock could only come from one of the most prominent houses in the Seven Kingdoms, no less.
Taking advantage of Tywin's extremely rare good disposition, due to the success of his plan to place his daughter on her way to become the next queen after Rhaella Targaryen, Jaime had made a proposal that his father had complied to, even if reluctantly.
He'd carry out a journey around the kingdoms to meet eligible women, and Tyrion would accompany him. Jaime knew that Tywin would never accept that condition, just to spite his loathed youngest son, so Jaime had an ace up his sleeve he'd resort to: he'd request a position in Aerys's Kingsguard if Tywin refused. The head of the Lannister house had raged, but finally acquiesced to the journey. There was nothing he wished more than for his eldest son to take in the role of heir of Casterly Rock.
So, barely a couple of weeks later, the brothers crossed the gates of the keep with an escort of Lannister guards.
Jaime's battered soul had felt instantly better at the prospect of spending many days on the roads, leaving everything behind and tasting freedom next to the only other person he loved the most in the world, Tyrion.
Their first stop at a great keep had been Riverrun, and Lysa Tully had proven to be a complete disappointment, even to Jaime's low expectations. She was a featherbrain and quite close to nuts, as opposed to Catelyn. If it weren't for the constant presence of Tyrion and the frequent company of Lord Hoster and his eldest daughter, who were decent conversationalists, as well as the almost daily training practice in the yards, Jaime otherwise would have died of boredom during his two-week stay. Enduring Lysa and, to a lesser extent, Edmure (who was a bit of a dolt, to tell the truth) would have been too much. On the other hand, Lord Hoster's ward, Petyr Baelish, had given Jaime the creeps. There was something about the small man that was unnerving. Tyrion, despite his young age, merely thirteen, had spent many hours verbally sparring with Littlefinger. The youngest Lannister enjoyed immensely engaging in those exchanges with his sharp mind and tongue. As for Jaime himself, he enjoyed much more sparring with his sword. He wasn't as stupid as Cersei had always made him believe, but even if he wasn't the complete dimwit she'd always painted him as, he couldn't compare to Tyrion's skill with words.
Jaime's relief at finding himself on the road once again after visiting a keep was great. If he was honest with himself, he preferred the discomforts of the journey, the countless hours on the horse and, the rest of the time, joining Tyrion in the carriage (his brother on his part had taken with him a lot of his beloved books to spend many of his hours of solitude reading), the trainings with the guards and the freedom of being far from his suffocating home, from inane social interactions and, in general, from anything that might remind him of Cersei.
He wasn't naive, of course. He'd known all along that one day she would have to marry and leave Casterly Rock. Leave him. As he grew older, after childhood, he opened his eyes soon to the fact that he couldn't have Cersei all for himself eternally.
But the knowledge hadn't made the fact less painful.
Currently, Jaime had just turned seventeen, he'd spent several moon turns traveling and he still needed to find a new purpose for his empty life, but he didn't delude himself. He doubted that he would find anyone who might interest him enough for him to wish to spend his life with. All women fell short in comparison to Cersei, to his regret.
The second great keep he and Tyrion had visited had been Highgarden, but the Tyrell available ladies had turned up as boring as Jaime had feared they'd be. Reasonably pretty, but insubstantial.
After that, it was the turn of Storm's End, and Jaime was secretly happy that there were no female candidates Lord Steffon could offer, so Jaime hadn't had to put up with courting anyone.
And now, instead of turning directly south toward Dorne, the brothers had decided to continue east and pay a visit to Tarth and the Evenstar. The Tarth house was a vassal to the Baratheons, but Jaime had heard that Lord Selwyn was a good man and the kind of person both Jaime and Tyrion liked to deal with the most: blunt, honest, sharp tongued and with wits. Besides, the island produced excellent warriors, including many of the best archers in the kingdoms, and that had called to Jaime the most, to Tyrion's exaggerated eyeroll.
With a bit of luck, this stay would be livelier and funnier than the previous ones.
"I'm eager to sample the local whores," Tyrion commented as they were both staring at the landscape from the boat.
It was Jaime's turn to roll his eyes. "Whores are the same everywhere, little brother." Tyrion had started visiting the brothels at Lannisport that year, just to spite Tywin, and he'd ended up enjoying those establishments too much for his own good.
"How would you know, big brother? You've never partaken," Tyrion retorted good-naturedly.
"No need to," Jaime retorted back, smiling. "Sex aims for the same goal everywhere: getting off one way or another."
"Your lack of imagination is blatant and almost offensive," Tyrion complained teasingly.
"Maybe." Jaime shrugged. He'd never been interested in any other woman apart from Cersei, anyway.
Tyrion chuckled lightly and looked ahead again. "Well, here we are. The Sapphire Island. Another place where you won't have to play the perfect gentleman. Tarth is not a great house."
Jaime snorted at his brother's quip. "Yeah. Lucky me."
The shore was getting closer by the minute.