King's Landing was not at all as Jaime had remembered it. Daenerys Targaryen had left an indelible mark on every stone, every brick, in the vast city for as far as the eye could see. Half the buildings had been burned to the ground, while the other half had fallen walls and broken windows. Even six months after the Dragon Queen's death, little had been rebuilt. A tent city had risen outside the walls of King's Landing, and even within, merchants had erected makeshift stalls throughout the capital, hoping to lure a populace that was more than happy to stay beyond the walls.
Jaime had been leery about returning to King's Landing, but he'd heard that Tyrion had somehow been made Hand of the King, and he needed to see his brother again before he made any decisions about what he was going to do with the rest of his life. It had been a shock to discover that Tyrion was still alive, but then, Tyrion had been born with a silver tongue and could talk himself out of just about anything. Obviously, he must have given quite the performance to convince Bran the Broken to make him his Hand, and that was a story Jaime was eager to hear.
After Tyrion had helped him reach the dinghy beyond the fallen walls of the Red Keep, Jaime had rowed south, keeping close to the coastline. He had considered going north, but the current had been against him, and he'd feared what Brienne would say if she saw him again. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about her over the past six months, and he'd ultimately decided that she was better off without him. He was just as worthless as he'd told her he was the night he'd left Winterfell. Whatever Brienne's life was like now, he was more than certain it was better than when he had left it.
Once the little boat had cleared Blackwater Bay, the winds had taken Jaime toward Tarth, as if the gods themselves had wished to mock him. He'd expended what little energy he'd had left to avoid the island and had eventually made land somewhere beyond Storm's End. He'd come ashore in a small fishing village and had been taken in by a local fisherman who had found him a maester and nursed him back to health. Jaime had spent six months living among the smallfolk, and he had quickly learned that they didn't particularly care about rank or status or who sat on the Iron Throne. They just wanted to live their lives as best they could without starving to death or dying in someone else's war. Thinking he was one of them, they had been kind to Jaime, and he would never forget that kindness.
It hadn't taken long for news of Queen Daenerys' death or Bran's coronation to reach the small villages beyond King's Landing. At first, Jaime had been stunned by the news, but he'd soon learned to accept it, along with the fact that Tyrion was now Hand of the King. It had taken Jaime months to get his strength back, but as soon as he'd made a full recovery, he'd headed north for King's Landing, knowing that he couldn't stay in hiding forever.
Jaime had wanted to meet Tyrion outside the city walls, in one of the makeshift tent taverns that dotted the open landscape. In fact, he had paid a messenger to smuggle a note into the Red Keep, asking Tyrion to join him. But Tyrion had sent his own note in reply, demanding that Jaime visit the castle one evening after dark, so they could talk in private.
Jaime had gone to the specified gate and had been met by Podrick Payne – Ser Podrick Payne now. Jaime had peppered him with questions – about Tyrion, about Brienne – but Pod had refrained from answering, just saying that the Lord Hand had instructed him to keep his mouth shut.
Jaime could only imagine what his brother had in store for him. Tyrion had always been a bit arrogant, particularly when he had won a personal victory, and in the grand scheme of things, no one was a bigger winner in the game of thrones than Tyrion Lannister. He had cheated death more than any man had a right to, and he was now the most powerful man in the Six Kingdoms. Although Bran Stark wore the crown, Tyrion Lannister certainly wielded all the power.
Podrick led Jaime to the Tower of the Hand, or at least, what was left of the Tower of the Hand. As far as Jaime could tell, the top two levels had been lost in the devastation, and Tyrion had taken to living on the ground floor.
Jaime and Podrick stopped outside of a closed door, and Pod knocked.
"Come in." Tyrion's voice carried to them loud and clear.
Jaime's insides tightened at the sound. When he'd left King's Landing, he'd thought never to hear his brother's voice again, but now, they were about to be reunited once more.
Podrick pushed the door open and stepped aside, holding out a hand in front of him and encouraging Jaime to enter.
Jaime cast one long, doubtful look at Podrick before slipping past him and into the room. Before Jaime could say another word, the door closed behind him and he found himself alone with Tyrion.
Tyrion was sitting at a large table, the entire surface laid out with food. He had a goblet in his hand, and as soon as Jaime's eyes met his, he raised it in toast. "Welcome home, brother."
But Jaime didn't feel very much like toasting at the moment. "This is a bit much, don't you think?" he asked, eyeing the feast before him.
"Not at all," Tyrion said with a shake of his head as he lowered his glass. "My brother is alive and well, safe and sound and back in the family fold. We have much to celebrate."
Jaime eyed him doubtfully. "Other than Ser Podrick, who knows I'm alive?"
Tyrion shrugged. "No one, I suppose. Well, except Bran, of course."
"You told him because he's your king?"
"No, I never told him anything. But he sees all and knows all, so I'm sure he's quite well aware that you're alive, even though we've never spoken of it."
Jaime ambled into the room, drawn to the wealth of food waiting for him at the table. It seemed as if Tyrion had instructed the kitchen staff to have all of Jaime's favorites prepared in anticipation of his return. "Isn't the rest of King's Landing starving?" he asked.
"Anything we don't eat tonight will be gathered up and shared with the servants in the kitchens. And anything they don't eat shall be given to the beggars who sit outside the Red Keep waiting for scraps each morning. Nothing will go to waste, I assure you."
Jaime felt guilty for sharing in such abundance when he knew, firsthand, how the people beyond the walls of King's Landing were suffering.
Tyrion must have sensed his trepidation because he said, "You need to eat, Jaime. You're practically skin and bones. Sit for a while. Eat, drink, talk. And then, you can retire for the evening, take a hot bath and put on fresh clothes."
Jaime raised his eyes from the table and looked at Tyrion again, his emotions suddenly getting the better of him. "I thought I'd never see you again."
"And I thought the same thing."
"How . . . how did you ever become Hand of the King?"
"It's a long story. One for another night." Tyrion held his hand out toward the chair beside him. "Sit. We have much more important things to discuss."
Jaime moved closer to the table. It was then that he noticed the gift Tyrion had left for him beside his plate. He stopped dead still, staring blindly at the golden hand, the golden hand he had left behind six long months ago when he'd barely escaped King's Landing with his life.
"I kept it for you," Tyrion said. "I was sure you'd want it upon your return."
"I don't." The words were out of Jaime's mouth before he could even think.
"You don't?"
Jaime shook his head. "I . . . I don't think I ever want to wear that thing again. Too many memories. Too many bad memories." He looked up at Tyrion. "Will you remove it? I . . . I don't even want to look at it."
Tyrion cleared his throat awkwardly. "But of course." He put down his goblet and reached for the hand, moving it to the opposite side of the table, beyond Jaime's direct line of sight. And then, just for good measure, he draped his napkin over it, completely hiding it from view. "I'll just keep it safe for you in case you change your mind."
Jamie turned his attention back to Tyrion. He suddenly felt exhausted, and all he wanted to do was collapse, but there was something else he needed to do first.
Jaime rounded the table and approached his brother. Before Tyrion could say another word, Jaime leaned down and hugged him tightly.
Tyrion lifted his hands to Jaime's back and embraced him just as fiercely, though no words were spoken between them. They stayed that way for a long time before Jaime finally pulled back and settled himself in the chair beside Tyrion.
Tyrion poured Jaime a glass of wine, and Jaime accepted it gladly. He held it up in salute. "To you, brother, for saving my life."
Tyrion raised his glass in turn. "And to you, brother, for coming back to me."
They both drank.
Jaime was grateful for the wine. It was a fine vintage, the best he'd had in ages, and for a moment, he actually felt like himself again. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed any of life's luxuries. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like not to live like a peasant.
Jaime lowered his glass and looked at Tyrion, quietly examining him. Tyrion looked no worse than he had at Winterfell, all those months ago. Despite the fact that the fate of the realm rested squarely on his shoulders, he looked hearty and healthy. Tyrion thrived whenever he was in a position of power, and there was no doubt that he was thriving now. Jaime was glad. He had expected Tyrion to die the day they had last parted company. The fact that he was still alive was something close to a miracle.
"What?" Tyrion asked as he finally lowered his own glass. "Why are you staring?"
Jaime shook his head. "I just don't know how you do it. You've cheated death, yet again."
"And so have you. Apparently, it's very hard to kill us Lannister brothers. Many have tried, but none have succeeded."
Tyrion's lips quirked in a wry smile, and Jaime couldn't help but smile in return.
"So," Tyrion began as he put down his glass and reached across the table and started filling his plate, "where have you been for the past six months?"
Jaime turned his attention to the feast before him. Suddenly, he felt famished. "A small fishing village just outside of Storm's End," Jaime replied as he put down his own glass and started loading up his plate. "I was fortunate enough to find a kind soul to take me in and nurse me back to health. I headed for King's Landing as soon as I was certain I had the strength to make the journey."
"And what happened to returning north, returning to Brienne?"
Jaime frowned, his brows knitting together. He didn't want to talk about Brienne. He'd already made up his mind that she was better off without him in her life, and he didn't want Tyrion meddling in his private affairs. "I'm sure Ser Brienne has better things to do with her time than sit around waiting for me," Jaime said as he picked at his food. "When I left Winterfell, I made sure to make a clean break, and that's the way it's going to stay."
"But why?" Tyrion asked. "Why does it have to stay that way? You love her, don't you?"
Jaime looked up at Tyrion, staring at him for a long moment, struggling to decide how to reply. Of course, he loved Brienne. Although he had never confessed his true feelings to her, he loved her more than he had ever loved any other woman, including Cersei. He would always love Brienne. But she deserved better. She always had.
"It's been six months," Jaime finally said. "Regardless of what I once felt for her—"
"What you still feel for her," Tyrion corrected.
"Regardless, half a year has passed, and I'm certain Brienne has already moved on with her life. There's no point in dredging up the past now. I'm sure she's quite content at Winterfell, and I don't want to disturb her peace."
Tyrion shook his head and reached for his wine. He took another sip, and when he finally lowered his glass, he said, "So, if you do not intend to go north to be with Brienne of Tarth, what do you intend to do?"
Jaime shrugged and went back to picking at his plate. "I hadn't really thought about it. I assume the king has made you Lord of Casterly Rock?"
"He has not."
"What?" Jaime looked up at Tyrion in surprise.
"King Bran has not granted anyone that title. You and I are the last of the Lannisters, and I am here in King's Landing, living out my punishment, and you were nowhere to be found. Maybe he thinks neither one of us deserves it," Tyrion said with a shrug.
"That's absurd. Of course, you deserve it."
Tyrion shook his head, the hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm sure the king has other plans for the Rock, but who are we to question them?"
Jaime was surprised that Tyrion could be so cavalier about something so important. But Tyrion didn't seem the least bit bothered by the fact that their ancestral home was now empty, their father's title in danger of being passed to someone outside the family. Perhaps Tyrion knew more than he was admitting. Jamie wouldn't have been surprised if he did.
"So, what am I supposed to do?" Jaime asked. "If I can't return to Casterly Rock—"
"You can stay here and join the Kingsguard again."
Jaime was horrified by the suggestion. "You can't possibly mean that."
Tyrion put down his glass and leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands over his chest as he eyed Jaime thoughtfully. "Oh, I assure you, I do. Though, I can't appoint you myself. It will be up to the new Lord Commander to decide if you should be reinstated."
"And who's the new Lord Commander?" Jaime asked offhandedly, vaguely wondering if it was someone he knew, or worse, someone he had offended.
"Well, that is a good question, isn't it?"
Jaime glared at Tyrion. "Who?"
A knowing smile spread across Tyrion's lips as he replied, "Ser Brienne of Tarth."
Jaime's fork clattered to his plate, and he stared at Tyrion in stunned silence.
Tyrion just laughed. "I see I've shocked you."
"You . . . you can't be serious."
"Of course, I am," Tyrion replied, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. "Ser Brienne came south months ago and agreed to take the position as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. She was sworn in not long after you left King's Landing."
Jaime tore his eyes away from Tyrion's and stared blankly at the table in front of him. When he'd headed toward King's Landing, he'd been certain that Brienne was hundreds of miles to the north. He'd never imagined that she might be in the capital, that she might be right there in the Red Keep. Suddenly, Jaime didn't know what to do. All he knew was that he had to get out of there as quickly as he could.
Jaime pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "I have to go."
"Don't you dare," Tyrion warned, his voice stern. "Sit down, Jaime. We still have a lot to discuss."
Jaime turned his head, his eyes resting on Tyrion again. "I can't. I just . . ."
"Are you a man or are you a coward?" Tyrion asked. "Sit."
It took Jaime a moment, but he finally lowered himself back down into his chair. He stared down at the table again, trying to slow the blood racing through his veins.
"Brienne has done an admirable job of commanding the Kingsguard," Tyrion said. "She has proven herself capable and loyal, and I think she would be quite happy to have you among her ranks."
Jaime finally forced himself to look at Tyrion again. "She's not going to want me for anything. She's going to wish that I had stayed dead."
"How little you know about women," Tyrion scoffed.
"I mean it. What in the world makes you think that she'd ever want to see me again, much less accept me into the ranks of the Kingsguard?"
Tyrion reached for his glass again, though he didn't drink. "Well, as far as I can tell, Brienne is still just as much in love with you as you are with her. Of course, she refuses to admit it, no matter how hard I've tried to make her confess. But I suppose she just doesn't want to share her true feelings with me. After all, who am I? I may be Hand of the King, but I am still just a sad little dwarf."
"There's nothing sad about you," Jaime said. "Unless, of course, it's your sense of humor. You just want me to join the Kingsguard so you can push me and Brienne together. But it won't work. You said she's already taken her oath, which means, she has already sworn herself to a life of celibacy. If you honestly think she would break that vow, then you don't know Brienne at all."
Tyrion shrugged. "Perhaps." He brought his glass to his lips and took another sip of wine.
Jaime turned away. "I don't want to serve under Brienne," he said. "I couldn't do that to her."
"Why? Because you think it would hurt her, or because you think it would hurt you?"
Jaime inhaled a steadying breath, Tyrion's question churning in his mind like a storm-tossed sea. The truth was, he was a coward. He was scared to face Brienne again, scared to see the look of disgust on her face when they were finally reunited. It had been a long time since she'd looked at him that way, and even now, his gut twisted at the memory. He deserved her disgust, even her hatred. He'd purposefully broken her heart because he'd thought it would make their parting easier for her, thought it would keep her from following after him. He had never expected to survive the fall of King's Landing, but now that he had, he supposed he had no choice but to face the consequences.
"Well?" Tyrion prompted when Jaime didn't answer. "Why don't you want to serve under Brienne? Who are you really worried about hurting?"
Jaime sighed. "Both of us." He finally looked up at Tyrion again. "But the truth is, I owe Brienne. I owe her a great deal. If she wants to take me into the Kingsguard, if she wants to spend the rest of her life making me miserable, then that is her right, and I won't take that away from her. I will do whatever you wish, brother. Whatever Brienne wishes. It's the least I can do to atone for my sins."
Tyrion smiled again. "You know, I think that's the smartest thing you've said all night."
"Just don't make me regret it."
Tyrion's smile widened. "Oh, I promise, you won't."