After leaving the White Sword Tower, Jaime returned to the bedchamber Tyrion had assigned to him the night before. It was a small room on the ground floor of the Tower of the Hand, but Jaime was grateful for it. He had no desire to explore the rest of the keep, to visit the familiar chambers where he had spent his life making his worst mistakes.
Jaime went straight to the washbasin, rinsing the blood from his hand and face. He looked in the small mirror above the washstand and felt his nose one more time, just to make sure that it wasn't broken. He'd deserved much worse, of course, and he was very grateful that Brienne hadn't done any permanent damage.
Jaime knew he should have tried to explain everything to Brienne, tried to make her understand the real reason he had left her all those months ago, but he'd been unable to find the words. Brienne deserved more than rationalizations and excuses. She deserved action. She deserved a physical demonstration of his repentance, though Jaime had no idea what that might entail. All he knew was that he wanted to help Brienne work through her pain and anger in any way he could.
As Jaime stood there, staring at his own reflection, there was a knock at the door, and he groaned inwardly. As far as he knew, besides Brienne, the only people who knew he was even in the Red Keep were Tyrion and Podrick, and Jaime didn't want to see either one of them – Tyrion because he was in no mood to give his brother an accounting of his meeting with Brienne, and Podrick because he didn't think he could stand the look of disappointment on the boy's face when they talked about her. No, there wasn't a single soul in the Red Keep that Jaime wanted to see, but he knew the choice wasn't his to make.
Jaime grabbed a linen cloth from the washstand and dried his face. When he was done, he draped it over the edge of the basin and turned his attention to the door. Reluctantly, he said, "Come in."
The door opened, and Tyrion stepped inside. Jaime almost swore, but he stopped himself when he saw that Tyrion wasn't alone. Samwell Tarly had entered the room right behind him, dressed in white maester's robes. Obviously, Brienne of Tarth wasn't the only one who had improved their station since Jaime had left King's Landing. It was odd seeing Samwell Tarly in the garb of a Grand Maester, but Jaime wasn't all that surprised. There were very few capable men left in Westeros, and he'd only heard good things about Jon Snow's former brother of the Night's Watch.
"How did it go?" Tyrion asked as Sam closed the door behind them.
Jaime narrowed his eyes on his brother. "How do you think it went? Why didn't you tell her who she was meeting with? Why did you let her walk into the situation blind like that?"
"It wasn't my place to tell her. Besides, I feared if she knew, she'd refuse to meet with you at all. I was sure your notorious charm was going to win her over. I'm surprised I was wrong."
"You were more than wrong. Don't you ever do anything like that again," Jaime warned. "The next time you do anything that has even the slightest chance of hurting Brienne, you'll answer to me for it. Do you understand?"
Tyrion laughed, a sly smile pulling at his lips. "It is true love, isn't it?"
"Go to hell."
Samwell Tarly cleared his throat nervously, and both Jaime and Tyrion looked at him as if they'd both forgotten he was there.
"I hate to interrupt this heartwarming family moment," Sam said, his gaze focused on Jaime, "but Lord Tyrion asked me here to check you over, and I'd like to get on with it, if you don't mind."
Jaime's eyes found his brother again. "Check me over?"
"You look like hell," Tyrion said, "and six months ago, you nearly died."
"I've already been examined by a maester."
"When? When you first stumbled into that fishing village? Let Sam here take a look at you. It won't take very long."
Jaime hated the idea of being poked and prodded by one of Tyrion's lackeys, but he knew Tyrion wouldn't relent until he gave into his demands. So, without a word, Jaime unlaced his tunic and shrugged it off his shoulders. Then, he pulled off the linen shirt beneath and walked to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress as Grand Maester Tarly began to examine him.
"This looks dreadful," Sam said as he inspected the scar on Jaime's side.
The stab wound Euron Greyjoy had inflicted on him had left a nasty scar across Jaime's flank. Although the wound had healed, it had healed poorly, and the skin was puckered and red.
"By the Seven," Sam said, "how did you survive this?"
"Luck?" Tyrion replied as he ambled about the room. "By rights, that wound should have killed him, but it didn't. I guess the gods have other plans for my brother."
"Other plans?" Jaime asked as Sam continued his examination. "Like what? Spending my days wasting away in this room listening to you give me bad advice?"
"Does this mean you're not joining the Kingsguard?"
"Oh, no, I'm definitely not joining the Kingsguard. The new Lord Commander has made that abundantly clear."
Tyrion laughed again. "What did she do? Draw her sword and drive you from the tower?"
"She punched me in the face."
Sam's hands froze, and he looked up at Jaime. "She . . . punched you in the face?"
Jaime wished that Tyrion had come alone. It was hard enough talking about Brienne with Tyrion, but having Samwell Tarly in the room just made things exponentially worse. Brienne was a very private person, and she didn't need Jaime confessing her secrets to anyone. But he had already said too much, and he couldn't take it back.
"Yes," Jaime replied, wanting to put the matter to rest as quickly as possible. "She punched me in the face. Thankfully, my nose isn't broken."
"Are you sure?" And before Jaime could answer, Sam reached up and ran his fingers over the bridge of Jaime's nose, just to check for himself. A moment later, he lowered his hands and said, "You're quite lucky, you know. I expect, if she had really wanted to break it, she would have. She was obviously holding back."
"Because she loves him," Tyrion interjected.
"No, she does not love me," Jaime protested, horrified that Tyrion would even say such a thing.
Tyrion shook his head, making a tsking sound with his tongue. "Oh, dear brother, you never did know anything about women, did you?"
"Oh, you're one to talk," Jaime replied. "How are things with you and your lady love? I don't see her anywhere around here. How come you're not with her?"
Tyrion began to fidget, clearly unsettled by the way the tide had turned. "She's had a considerable change of fortune, as I'm sure you're well aware, and she has far better prospects now."
"I'll bet that hasn't stopped you from writing to her every day though, has it?"
"Every other day," Sam said. "He sends a raven to Queen Sansa every other morning."
Tyrion stopped dead still, staring at Samwell Tarly in stunned silence.
Sam must have sensed the tension in the room because he suddenly stopped his work and turned to look at Tyrion.
"What?" Sam said. "Did you think no one knew? Everyone knows. You were smitten with her long before she returned to King's Landing, and it's only gotten worse since she left."
"What . . . what do you mean everyone knows?" Tyrion said, his voice trembling with emotion. "Who is everyone?"
Sam shrugged. "Brienne, Podrick, Davos, Bronn. King Bran, I suppose, though he's never said anything."
"But . . . but the rest of you . . . what? Sit around and talk about it after I leave the small council chamber?"
A guilty blush crept into Sam's cheeks, and he turned back toward Jaime. "Of course not, my lord."
But Jaime could tell from the look on Sam's face that that was exactly what they did. It seemed everyone in the Red Keep knew that Tyrion was in love with the northern queen, and they all found it quite amusing.
Jaime cast a glance at Tyrion and found him scowling, but he refused to feel sorry for his brother. Tyrion was actively meddling in Jaime's relationship with Brienne. It was only fitting that the rest of the keep was meddling in Tyrion's relationship with Sansa.
"What's wrong, brother?" Jaime asked. "Angry that others are interfering in your love affair?"
"Pining from afar does not constitute a love affair, and you should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting it. Sansa is a pillar of virtue, and her behavior has always been beyond reproach. There is nothing untoward in the letters I send to her. It is all diplomatic correspondence, missives about supplies and troops and alliances, nothing more."
"I'm sure you'd like to make an alliance with her," Jaime said with a knowing grin.
"You're wrong. Regardless of how I feel about Sansa Stark, I have nothing to offer her. No land, no hereditary titles, and very little gold."
"Perhaps you should talk to your king about Casterly Rock. If Bran Stark grants you the title—"
"But I have no right to it," Tyrion said, stopping Jaime before he could finish. "You have more right to be Lord of Casterly Rock than I do."
"I may be the oldest living male Lannister, but that doesn't mean I deserve the title."
"Why? Because you've made some mistakes in the past? We've all made mistakes."
"The mistakes I've made can't be easily forgiven, especially the mistakes I've made that have hurt the Starks."
"King Bran is very pragmatic," Tyrion replied. "He forgives easily, but mostly because the concerns of this world do not weigh on him as heavily as they weigh on the rest of us."
"But I—" Jaime's eyes moved to Sam who was still standing uncomfortably close even though his examination had ceased the instant they had started talking about Sansa Stark. Jaime had never told Tyrion that he had been the one to push Bran from the tower window all those years ago, and he might have confessed at that very moment if they hadn't had an audience.
"Are we done here?" Jaime asked Sam, wanting some privacy.
Sam nodded. "Oh, yes, yes. I'll bring you some salve for that scar later. It should help the redness if you use it consistently. Also, you need to eat better and to get some exercise. Although I've never examined you before, it's obvious that you've lost a lot of muscle. You need to start taking better care of yourself."
Jaime shrugged. "What does it matter, really? I'm fine just as I am."
"No, you are not fine just as you are," Tyrion replied. "I almost lost you, Jaime. I don't want to lose you again."
"Well, you may not have much choice in the matter."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Just that I've already spent too much time in the Red Keep. I thought I could stay. I thought I could make things better for Brienne. But now, I realize that I can't. I should go."
Tyrion moved closer to the bed, as if he expected Jaime to get up and leave that very instant. "You can't go."
"There's nothing for me here. Brienne has made it very clear that she never wants to see me again. I will not be joining the Kingsguard, so what would you have me do?"
A self-satisfied smile tugged at Tyrion's lips. "I have just the thing."
Jaime sat up straighter, ready to argue, and Sam took an instinctive step back.
"Oh, no," Jaime said. "Whatever it is, I want no part of it."
But Tyrion ignored his protests. "I am appointing you to the small council. Pending the king's approval, of course, I name you Master of War."
"What?"
Sam chuckled, and Jaime turned to glare at him.
"Well," Sam said sheepishly, "it makes sense. It's been six months and we haven't found anyone suitable for the position. King Bran told us that the right person would come along eventually, if only we were patient. I guess he was right."
Jaime bristled, all the muscles in his body tightening beneath his skin. He looked at Tyrion again. "I will not—"
"Of course, you will. It's your duty to do so. You feel as if you've betrayed King Bran and his family, yes?"
"Yes, but—"
"What better way to atone for your sins than to serve the new king? I'm certain he'll approve the appointment, and when he does, you'll have no choice but to accept. To do otherwise would be to commit treason, don't you think?"
"Refusing a position on the small council is not akin to committing treason," Jaime said tightly.
"I don't know," Tyrion replied, turning his attention to Sam. "I think it is. Don't you, Grand Maester Tarly?"
"Oh, I agree with whatever the Hand of the King says, of course. If the Hand of the King says it's treason, I'm inclined to believe it's treason."
Tyrion looked at Jaime again. "See? What did I tell you?"
Jaime shook his head. "I don't want any part of this."
"Oh, I know you don't," Tyrion replied. "But you don't have any choice."
"But Brienne—"
"What about Brienne?"
"She's Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," Jaime said. "She's on the small council. You can't imagine that she's going to be happy with this appointment. She said she never wanted to see me again, but if you force me to be Master of War, she'll have no choice but to see me every damn day."
The smile on Tyrion's face widened, and Jaime finally understood what it was that his brother was trying to do.
"No," Jaime said. "You can't do that to her."
"I'm not doing anything to her. She is sworn to serve the king. She will serve the king, regardless of who sits across from her at small council meetings. And you will serve the king as well."
"Stop interfering in my life!" Jaime shouted as he pushed himself up from the bed, towering over his brother by nearly two feet. Suddenly, he didn't care that they had an audience. He'd had enough of Tyrion's meddling, and he had no problem telling him so. "If you don't stop," Jaime warned, "I'm going to send my own letter north. I'm going to tell Queen Sansa that you're in love with her. I'm going to tell her what a sad, pathetic fool you are."
But Tyrion just laughed, brushing aside Jaime's threats with a wave of his hand. "Go ahead. Tell her. Everyone else apparently knows. Why shouldn't she?"
"I mean it, Tyrion. This isn't some game. This is my life."
"Yes, and you've made a mess of it thus far. All I'm trying to do is help you mend it."
"Well, I don't need your help. I'm leaving King's Landing, and that's final."
"I suppose you leave me no choice then."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Grand Maester Tarly, please speak to Ser Podrick and ask him to put guards at my brother's door. Ser Jaime is not to leave the Red Keep under any circumstances. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Lord Hand," Sam said with a barely disguised smile. "I shall see to it straight away."
Samwell Tarly slipped from the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and finally leaving Jaime and Tyrion alone.
Jaime stared down at his brother in disbelief. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I am. Very serious." Tyrion's eyes trailed over Jaime's chest. "Just look at you. Sam is right. You need to eat. You need to recuperate. You're all skin and bones. Stay here, Jaime. Rest, take care of yourself. There's nothing out there for you beyond the walls of King's Landing, not unless Bran gives you Casterly Rock. Stay here and see what comes of it. I'm sure if you do, you'll be pleasantly surprised."
"You sound as if you know something I don't."
A wry smile quirked Tyrion's lips. "It's not that. I suspect that Bran knows something that I don't. He hasn't spoken a word about you in all this time, which I've come to learn means that he feels things are progressing just as they should. I trust him. And if this is what he wants, then I have to believe it's for a very good reason. Besides," Tyrion's smile softened, "it means I get to have my brother by my side for just a little bit longer, and gods help me, but I selfishly want that."
"And Brienne?"
"I think she needs to work through this just as much as you do. Give her some time to get used to the idea. I'm sure she's still in shock and things will be considerably different the next time you see each other."
"You mean she won't punch me again?"
"No," Tyrion laughed, "maybe next time she'll stab you."
Jaime didn't find Tyrion's attempt at humor the least bit funny.
When his jape fell flat, Tyrion instantly sobered. "All right, maybe she won't stab you. Maybe she'll throw her arms around you and kiss you instead."
"I think it's more likely that she'll stab me."
"Probably, but whatever she does, at least you'll know you deserved it."