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Stark came to see him after whatever had happened between him and Jaime's father. Jaime didn't see any blood anywhere, which meant that either Stark was as good as people said he was, or that they'd really only just talked.
Based on Stark's grim expression, Jaime decided to bet on the second.
"I'm not marrying your sister," Stark said, which seemed to indicate he'd been right.
"I'm sure she'll be happy to hear it," Jaime said. She would, too, once she'd have had a couple of weeks to think about it. "For myself, I'm quite sorry, of course. It might have been fun to have become brothers."
Stark grimaced. "Fun?"
"I forgot, you Northerners don't know what that word means. Well, I'm sure Grand Maester Pycelle will be able to explain. Assuming he's still alive. Is he, do you know?"
Stark looked sour. It was remarkable, in a way: the man had won a throne hundreds, if not thousands of people had literally killed for, and here he was, acting like someone had slaughtered all his friends and most of his family. Which, of course, they had, but still.
This day was not going to go down in history as the beginning of the reign of Ned the Joyful, Jaime could tell that much. It might be recorded as the start of the reign of Ned Who Was King For No Longer Than a Week Before Someone Killed Him.
Jaime had no plans himself, but he didn't feel much of a pressing need to put himself between Stark and any danger, either. So long as nobody expected him to take the job, it was all the same to Jaime who took the Throne.
"Here," Stark said, holding out a pin. Jaime had last seen it pinned on his father's chest. "This is yours."
Jaime held out his hand. Their fingers brushed. Stark flinched, like he'd touched something dirty.
"It was you or your father. Or marry your sister. So I chose you," Stark said. "Don't make me regret my choice."
"Never," Jaime said, meaning 'at the very first chance I get, and then for the rest of your life, probably'.
Stark looked grim at his sister's burial, and grim at his brother's burial, and grim as they burned Robert Baratheon, who had been his close friend, by all accounts, even if Jaime had a hard time picturing it.
"Have you ever considered smiling? I promise you, it doesn't hurt. Much," Jaime said.
"This is a funeral," Stark growled. "Have some respect, if not for me, then at least for the dead."
"I don't think they care." Jaime remembered Stark's brother as he'd died, the screams and the smells and the absolute sense of - well, injustice. What had happened that day had been wrong.
What was happening today might not feel right, exactly, but Jaime knew that it was better. Stark would be a far better ruler than the Mad King. Not that that was saying much, of course.
"I think you're the one who doesn't care," Stark said, turning to glower at him. "About anything but yourself."
Jaime actually felt a little hurt. "I care about my family."
"Right." Stark turned away. "Your family."
Jaime's father looked almost as grim as Stark, no doubt because he was calculating how much this little rebellion had cost the family coffers, and how few their gains had been.
Cersei looked beautiful.
"Only think, you might be standing here with my sister as your wife, instead of me as your Hand."
"Careful, Ser Jaime. You might make me smile after all."
"Gods forbid," Jaime said.
"Food supplies," Cersei repeated.
She looked glorious and naked, and Jaime felt he might have given his right hand for the rest of the world to just stop existing.
"He's a Stark," he said. "It's kind of their thing."
"Winter is coming." She shook her head. "He doesn't trust you."
"Well, he's not a complete idiot," Jaime said. "And he's not wrong. Sooner or later, winter always comes. We might be quite glad of King Ned and his obsession with our food supplies then."
"Why?" Cersei asked. "We've always managed to survive before. You know, I think he's getting to you."
"Yes," Jaime said, kissing her stomach. "I confess. Ned Stark has been wooing me relentlessly from the first day he named me as his Hand, and I am helpless in the face of his charming personality and sparkling sense of humor."
"He doesn't trust you, he doesn't like you, and one of these days, he's going to decide he doesn't need you anymore," Cersei said. "Father says - "
Jaime stopped kissing her and groaned.
"I worry for you," Cersei said defensively.
"We're talking about Ned Stark. The man's probably never had a dishonorable thought in his life." It might not make him any more likeable, but it wasn't all bad, to walk around without needing to worry about people getting burned alive for coughing the wrong way or the like. "I'm perfectly safe."
"Father says that there are some who think it was a mistake to put a Stark on the throne. That Ned Stark should go back to the North where he belongs. That if he stays here, sooner or later, someone's going to do to him what you did to the Mad King."
"I wish them all the luck in the world, I'm sure," Jaime said. "Anything else Father wants me to know?"
The King's Hand was not the Kingsguard. Jaime hadn't taken an oath to defend Stark with his life.
He still did it, though, when they were suddenly surrounded by about two dozen men who looked like they meant business. It was instinct, he told himself. Fighting was what he'd trained all his life for, what he excelled at.
Stark gave him an odd look, afterwards, as if Jaime had surprised him.
"What?" Jaime said.
"Could have given them a hand," Stark said. "Matter of fact, I half-expected you to."
"Only half?" Jaime asked. "I'm flattered."
Stark flushed. "You're not much for accepting a compliment, are you? Or an apology."
"See, in order for you to say something like that, I think you should either compliment or apologize to me first. Given that you haven't, well, you don't really have anything to base your opinion on, do you?" Jaime had almost forgotten what it felt like, to have drawn steel against a man and survive. Win.
"Very well. Ser Jaime. You have fought well in my service, and if I have ever doubted your loyalty, I know now that I was wrong to do so. There, how's that? Enough for you?"
Jaime stared at him.
Stark scowled back. "What? Words not pretty enough for you?"
"You - " Jaime started. "Are you a complete idiot?"
"It seems possible. What in specific did I do to give you that impression?"
"Honestly, I don't even know where to begin," Jaime said. "I really don't."
Stark waited, as if he was expecting more, but Jaime couldn't think of anything he wanted to tell him. He'd never wanted to be the King's Hand, he'd never liked Stark, and the feeling had always been mutual. A few dead assassins didn't change any of that.
Jaime wished they'd lived longer. The fight had been over too soon. It had left him with this energy inside of him, this restlessness. He wanted something other than paperwork and Stark distrusting him just because of his last name and then apologizing for it as if he had any right to change his mind about Jaime as easy as that, as if Jaime was supposed to do the same.
"All right," Stark said. "If that's how you want it."
"Wait," Jaime said, hearing the way his voice sounded, too sharp and too tense, like he was on the verge of breaking down or killing someone.
Stark stared at him, frowning now, and Jaime thought, damn it all to the seven hells and kissed him, hardly knowing what he was doing, or why; the only thing he did know was who he was doing it with, and that this could not possily end well, except that by then Stark had him pressed up against a wall, fumbling at Jaime's belt, and Jaime decided to stop thinking.
"Clever," Tyrion said. "Win his trust now, the better to stab him in the back later. Well done."
"It wasn't like that," Jaime said. He'd hoped that Tyrion, at least, would understand. "It's not like that between us. I - he's the king. I'm his Hand."
"You're sure you're not his wife? Cersei sounded a bit jealous, last time we spoke."
Jaime glared.
"You even have his look," Tyrion said. "It must be true love. Do send me an invitation for the wedding. I'll get very drunk and throw up on the shoes of anyone who ill-wishes the pair of you."
"Can you be serious for five minutes?"
"A considerable challenge. But for you, dear brother, I will try my utmost." Tyrion beamed at him.
"You're drunk," Jaime said.
"Well-observed, but irrelevant," Tyrion said. "You are in love with Ned Stark. You admire him, you want him to like you, you want to protect him. More, you want him to keep on being king. Which requires him staying alive. Now that is an even more considerable challenge, given that Ned Stark, while having many admirable qualities, is also an idiot. And he trusts you."
"I am not in love with Ned Stark."
"So you do admit to all the rest?" Tyrion nodded. "Excellent. That will save us a lot of time. Thus, the question now becomes: how do you keep Ned Stark from getting himself killed? To which the answer is: you fight for him. Against everyone and anyone who tries to kill him. Simple, isn't it?"
"It's not that simple," Jaime said.
"Well, you would need to convince Father you mean it, of course. Fortunately, he likes you."
"Ser Jaime." Stark looked up from his desk. Jaime had never quite realized how closely Stark's office resembled his own. His father had never spoken much about his work, not even after Jaime had succeeded him. "I received an interesting letter from your father. Do you know of it?"
"Last time I spoke to my father, he seemed less than happy," Jaime said, a bit wary.
"Well, he's a Lannister," Stark said. "When's a Lannister ever happy, unless there's profit involved?"
Jaime said nothing, waiting for Stark to remember.
To his credit, it only took him about a dozen heartbeats. "My apologies. It has been a long day. Please. Sit. Consider it a compliment, if you can."
Jaime sat. "What news from my father?"
Stark looked grim. Jaime realized that it had been a while since he'd seen that expression on Stark's face. "He pledges me his unconditional support."
"Generous of him," Jaime said. "And here I was thinking he'd already sworn an oath to that effect."
"He also reminds me that your sister is still unwed," Stark said. "Would I, perhaps, care to trade in my Lannister Hand for a Lannister wife instead?"
"Not both? Father must be going soft."
"Trying to hedge his bets, more like," Stark said.
"And?" Jaime asked. "Would you care to trade me in for a more attractive model that can also give you heirs?"
Stark snorted. "The heirs, I'll grant you. But 'more attractive'? Come now, Ser Jaime."
"Then, would you care to shock and scandalize all Seven Kingdoms by taking a Lannister husband? Though I'm not sure that would be legal. No doubt my brother Tyrion would know. He's a great reader, my brother."
Stark rolled his eyes. "I'm not marrying you. But a man's family should be important to him. You once told me you only cared for one thing, and that was your family. Now, you've served me well and you've served me faithfully. But if you'd rather go, I won't keep you. You deserve that much from me."
Jaime laughed.
Stark looked a little offended. "It's a sincere offer. I won't keep a man from his family, no matter what I might think of that family."
"I was the price you paid for the Lannister gold supporting your rebellion," Jaime said.
"Robert's rebellion," Stark corrected. "And yes, I'll admit you wouldn't have been my first choice, but things have changed. You've changed."
"Maybe I was never the man you thought I was," Jaime said. "You ever think about that, Your Grace?"
"You were the man who stabbed the Mad King in the back, and the man who stood by and watched as my brother and father were slowly burned alive," Stark said. "Now you're the man who's worked his ass off to help keep the kingdoms together, and well-fed and happy."
"The new me sounds rather boring."
"I like him better," Stark said.
"I don't," Jaime said, rising. "If that was all?"
Next thing Jaime knew, the Hand's tower turned out to have been invaded by his family.
He'd drunk some wine after his conversation with Stark, safe and alone in the privacy of his office, and then he'd drunk some more, and a bit more after that, until the world had at last become a bright and sensible place, where Jaime knew exactly what to do and who to be loyal to, and then he'd gone to bed, happy and content and without a care left in the world.
"You stink of wine," Cersei said, her nose wrinkling.
"Coincidence, I'm sure." Jaime looked around for a clean shirt. With Tyrion there, it seemed unlikely anyone would walk in and jump to any conclusions, but still, better safe than sorry. "What are you doing here?"
"Forcing Father's hand, of course." Tyrion helped himself to some of Jaime's left-over wine.
"He was going to marry me off to Loras Tyrell." Cersei scoffed.
"And of course there was also the matter of that, yes," Tyrion said. "Still, we're your loving siblings, brother. We only want what's best for you or, barring that, what makes you happy. I'm not entirely sure the two are quite the same in this case, but no matter. We are here. All your worries are over."
Jaime pulled a shirt over his head. "You need to leave."
"You need to stop mooning over Ned Stark. Cersei here needs to not get married to Loras Tyrell. And me - well, let's not talk about me. Unlike the two of you, I, at least, am well capable of taking care of myself."
"How many more times do I need to say this? I am not - "
Someone knocked on his door.
"Ah. That will be His Grace now." Tyrion offered Cersei his arm. "Shall we? Some things, a man needs to do by himself."
"Your brother sent me a note," Stark said, sitting down. He glanced at the half-full wine cups. "I burnt it."
Jaime tried to think of something to say.
"I told you once already, I don't want to marry your sister."
I do, Jaime thought. It was all that had kept him going sometimes: the knowledge that if Targaryens might marry sister to brother, they might permit a Lannister to do the same, and to the seven hells with what anyone else thought of it.
"But I need an heir. Several heirs," Stark said. "There always needs to be a Stark at Winterfell."
"You have another brother, don't you?" Jaime asked. "Big nose, actual sense of humor."
"Benjen," Stark said. "A good man. Better than you, I would have said not six months ago. He's for the Wall."
Jaime almost asked, is that what he thinks, too?. A Stark: of course he would think so, too.
"You love your sister," Stark said. "You want to protect her. I understand. I had a sister, too. I would have done anything for her. She was promised to wed my best friend. I was happy for her. And then some Targaryen princeling came along and destroyed it all."
Jaime said nothing. Everyone knew the story of how Ned Stark had bested the Sword of the Morning, Arthur Dayne, the finest swordsman alive. And how it had all been for naught, because Lyanna Stark had already been dead, slain by the man who had stolen her away from all who loved her.
Stark hesitated. "My point is, I get it. Not the - but all the rest, aye. You see, when it mattered most, I failed her. I let her die. I didn't keep my promise to her. So maybe I don't get to judge another man for the way he chooses to love his sister."
Jaime was beginning to wonder what Tyrion had put in his note. Or perhaps what Tyrion hadn't put in his note. He supposed he should be grateful Stark had at least had the common sense to burn it.
"But women - in our world, well, they have to marry someone, don't they?" Stark said. "Doesn't have to be a marriage out of love. It's just practical, is all."
"Gods," Jaime said. "You're not quick getting to the point, are you? You want to marry my sister, marry her with my blessing. Provided she agrees, too. Are we done now?"
"After the fight," Stark said. "When we - "
"It meant nothing," Jaime said, wincing as he realized how he sounded. Like a discarded lover from a play, putting on a brave face. "It happened."
"It did that, yes," Stark agreed. "And you didn't leave, after, or tell me you wanted to quit, or warn me to never touch you again, come long night or winter. In fact, we never talked about it at all."
"We fucked. Men fuck. What's there that needs further discussion? My technique? Yours? If it's a detailed critique you're after, I'm afraid my memories are a bit blurry."
"You were all right," Stark said. "I've no complaints in that department."
"I was 'all right'?" Jaime wondered why he even bothered getting worked up about this. "Just 'all right'?"
Stark shrugged. "It's only practice that makes a man better than all right at these sorts of things, and I'm guessing you haven't had much of that. Being with a woman - it's not the same. It's different."
"Gods. You almost sound like an expert," Jaime said.
Stark frowned. "There's no call to get your feathers all ruffled."
"Lions don't have feathers," Jaime said.
Stark looked at him.
Jaime looked back.
"I'll marry your sister," Stark said. "I don't plan on bedding her. I'd like to bed you, if you're willing. And if you and her - well, that's none of my business, is it? As long as you're discreet."
"I stand by my original assessment: the man is an idiot," Tyrion said. "Mind, a noble idiot, and rather more open-minded than one would expect from a Northerner. Well. All ends well that ends well. I suppose congratulations are in order, dear sister, dear brother."
"Queen Cersei. Has quite a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Cersei smiled. "Father can keep his Knight of the Flowers."
"Now there's a mental image." Tyrion shook his head. "No. I rather expect Father will be sensible about this. A daughter for a queen, that's not so bad. Better than to risk a son getting killed for a mere chance at the throne."
"Hm. I suppose we did do rather well." Cersei poured three glasses of wine.
"To be fair, it was Jaime who did all the heavy lifting. All you have to do is wear a dress and look pretty. An activity that ought to be well within your capabilities."
"And here I almost liked you for a moment."
"Please," Jaime said, picking up his own glass. "To family."
"Family and sleeping one's way to the top. May it one day work as well for me as it has for you."