Chapter Text
“My Lord Hand.” Jaime stood clad in his whites across his father's desk, who raised his eyes from the papers he was riffling.
“I didn't send for the Lord Commander, but for Jaime Lannister.” He briskly beckoned him to sit.
Jaime took seat warily, without uttering a word. If his no longer father had sent for him, troubles – big angry ones – were at hand.
“Your sister is a fool. Clegane! What was she thinking, I ask you?” His hands curled into fists.
“Cersei is the Queen, and I'm not privy to Her Grace's counsel.” Jaime replied coldly.
“And your brother is even foolisher. Trial by combat, what a jape. How can he hope...” He steepled his fingers over his brow. “Kevan offered him the Night's Watch, on my behalf. Had I sent you; you would have stood a better chance to convince him.” His father stared at him. “You don't believe him guilty, do you?”
“I doubt it. It was Sansa Stark, if you ask me: the little dove took flight. So conveniently disappeared; and she had every reason to do it.”
“Every reason; maybe. Yet she couldn't do it, and less take flight unnoticed, alone.”
“Ser Dontos disappeared as well; who owns him? That's your answer.” Jaime tapped his golden hand on the desk.
“The latest to pay for his wine. Your path is leading nowhere: as likely, he got caught in a drunken brawl at the Flea Bottom, and ended up in a bowl of brown.”
“The question is: who would profit from it?” Jaime mused. “Stannis Baratheon. The marriage was needed to seal Highgarden allegiance; without, the Tyrrels could as easily switch side next time; it wouldn't be the first time either. Besides, her father Eddard Stark supported Stannis's claim; and even Renly, who was in his way, was murdered, a very timely and highly dubious death as well.”
“You are no fool, if you just care to stop and think; I might even agree.” Lord Tywin paused. “Be it as it may, who murdered Joffrey is not my most pressing concern now.”
Jaime glared. “What's then? Why did you summon me?”
“Thanks to your brother’s and your sister’s madness – Her Grace, if you like it best, my Lord Commander – whichever our enemies are, and whatever their plans, they'll work even better now. Prince Oberyn wants Clegane's head, a head I had no intention of granting him, and Lord Mace the Imp's one; and whichever the trial outcome, we will have the Martells and the Tyrells, our doubtful allies, at each other's throat.”
“Which one should I better champion for: Tyrion, or my sweet sister? What would you have me do, father?”
“How very droll.” Lord Tywin glowered at him. “None of them. There will be no trial by combat.”
“How could that be?”
“Set Tyrion free. Tonight. ” His father stated, rather than commanded. “He must leave Westeros.”
“You can't mean it.” Jaime was dumbfounded. “Do you want me to storm the Black Cells gates with my White brethren?”
“I didn't call for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Didn't you break loose twice from Riverrun? Make him sneak away. Your sister is welcome to squawk as much as she likes. The Tyrrels will cry out for vengeance aloud; but I'll found a way to placate them.”
“That's job for Littlefinger, or Varys. You'd better ask them.”
“Would you have me ask the Lord of Whisper to free my son? Don't be ridiculous; I could as well have the small council to sign a royal warrant. Besides, I don't trust any of them. The Hand of the King must have no hand in it. I don't even need to know how you did.”
“Keeping your hands clean as always, father?”
“It's the only way you can save your brother; or do you really think Oberyn Martell could win Ser Gregor? If so, you are even foolisher than both your siblings. Not even you on your heyday could. Tyrion is your task: haven’t you always been eager for action? It will fall upon me to deal with Highgarden and Sunspear.”
It turned out soon that Jaime and Cersei Lannister would be the ripe plums with which Tywin Lannister meant to keep the Tyrells and the Martells sweet.