Suspicions

"What did you say to her?" Tyrion demanded, bursting into Jaime's chambers with his tiny fists clutched at his sides.

At the combined sound of a sudden voice and quick footsteps to follow, Jaime shot up from his bed in alarm. After spending the past week in an empty dungeon with no company but his own, he had become accustomed to the silence. Once seeing that the intruder was only his little brother however, he sighed, visibly relaxing as he leaned back against the headboard.

"What are you going on about now?" Jaime grumbled, very much annoyed over the fact that he'd just been woken from the first decent night's sleep he'd had in months.

"I've just been to a small council meeting; a small council meeting where Daenerys announced that she's decided to give the Son of the Harpy a trial. She made this decision after speaking with you, alone in her chambers."

"Wait, you mean I wasn't invited to the small council meeting?" The eldest Lannister feigned offense by this sudden realization as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Jaime . . . " Tyrion warned, his already thin patience waning.

"Are you complaining?" Jaime scoffed in disbelief, the sheet that had been covering his bare chest dropping down to his waist as he leaned forward. "I thought you'd be elated."

"Did you tell Daenerys to give the Harpy a fair trial because you knew it was what I would advise, or what you thought was right?"

Stifling a groan, Jaime tossed his blankets aside and stood up from the bed. He knew his brother well enough to know that this topic was not going to be easily resolved. "It was good advice, Tyrion. Why the fuck does it matter what I think?"

"It matters to me."

"Dear brother, you're brilliant! If the girl knows what's good for her she'll name you Hand of the Queen."

"Only if she heeds my advice."

"It was your advice," Jaime assured him, raising his discarded trousers from the floor and pulling them up over his hips. "Why should it matter who spoke it to her?"

"Because if she's only going to listen to my advice after it comes from you, why should I go through the trouble? Why not offer yourself as Hand of the Queen instead?"

Once he had finished his pitiful attempt at tying the laces of his pants with one hand, Jaime paused as if he were actually considering Tyrion's suggestion. Raising his arm after a moment of silence, he eyed the stump that had been his right hand, indicating that he was quite literally handless.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "That bit's getting stale."

"Not to me."

Ignoring his older brother's display, Tyrion's feet fell heavily onto the stone floor as he stormed over to a table sat beside a large window overlooking Slaver's Bay.

"What is this, Tyrion?" Jaime questioned. "Are you jealous?"

While Tyrion did not verbalize his reply, Jaime watched as his younger brother busied himself by pouring a glass of wine, a satisfying clink sounding as he touched the neck of the decanter to the rim of his glass.

"My gods, you are!"

"Do you realize how long I had to work to gain Daenerys' trust when I first arrived in Meereen? You're the man who murdered her father, yet you waltz in here, say a few words . . . and she listens."

"I don't waltz. I've never waltzed."

"JAIME!" Tyrion roared.

Pulling on the tunic he'd been given the day before, Jaime bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling at Tyrion's reaction. Following his little brother to the table, he sat down, a defeated sigh leaving his lips as he stretched his long legs out beneath the table.

"She asked my advice, alright? Had I just listened to you tell her to practice restraint? Yes. I had your words in mind when I fed them to her, but I also had my bloody nightmare of a son in mind."

Tyrion frowned.

"Joffrey and his terrible reign," Jaime elaborated. "His cruelty when it came to showing mercy. What he did to Ned Stark; how he treated the man's daughters. His rashness. All things that Daenerys must caution herself against if she doesn't want to end up like her mad fucking father."

"Well, I can't very well disagree with that." Tyrion admitted.

Jaime cocked an eyebrow. "Finally, something you can't disagree with."

Ignoring Jaime's observation, Tyrion took a lengthy sip from his glass. After another moment spent in silence, he cocked his overlarge head to the side as he brought his gaze back to his older brother.

"Do you really think I'm brilliant?"

Jaime smirked. "I was wondering when you'd circle back around to that."

The two Lannister brothers grinned at each other, allowing themselves a tiny moment of enjoyment as the difficulty of the last few months momentarily drifted away.

"What happens next, Jaime?"

"Next?"

"Assuming you don't enrage Daenerys; that she doesn't have your tongue cut off and shoved down your throat after spending more time with you."

The corners of Jaime's lips quirked at Tyrion's suggestion.

"I'm being realistic, if you're to be continuing your private conversations with the queen." Tyrion reasoned.

Jaime nodded. "Go on."

Tyrion sighed. "Assuming she doesn't change her mind about having you executed once she gets to know you . . . what then?"

"What do you mean?"

"When she crosses the Narrow Sea and conquers King's Landing. When she takes the throne that so rightfully belongs to her; the throne that your youngest son currently sits on and Cersei stands beside. What then?"

"I can't—" Jaime's voice caught in his throat. "I can't think about that right now, Tyrion." Jaime swallowed hard, remaining silent as he processed his words and the guilt that set heavily behind them. "Now it's my turn to ask a question."

Tyrion shrugged, swallowing the remainder of his wine as he gestured for Jaime to continue.

"Are you in love with her?

The youngest Lannister spat out his wine, coughing loudly and quickly moving his hand to massage his throat. "Are you mad?"

"Are you?"

Tyrion sighed. "As lovely as she is, no, I am not in love with the queen. Despite my very truthful reputation of being a lady charmer, I'm still recovering from discovering that my father was fucking the actual woman I love . . . loved."

Of course Jaime knew that Tyrion was referring to Shae, the whore who had stood trial against him and lied about overhearing Tyrion and Sansa scheming to murder Joffrey. The night that Lord Tywin had been found, Shae's body had been discovered strangled in his bed just a few feet away. Jaime had never thought Tyrion capable of murder but as always, his little brother was determined to prove him wrong.

"Besides, not that it matters, but she's involved with her sellsword."

Ignoring his brother's steady gaze, Jaime shrugged this news off as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Is that right?"

"It's not unheard of. Kings have their mistresses, Daenerys has her sellsword. The ways in which she chooses to wind down after a long day of ruling shouldn't matter to anyone."

Jaime clenched his jaw at the thought of Daenerys curling up with that brute of a sellsword, the one who had beat the hell out of him with ease. If only he had been at his best, he could've taken the bastard on; showed Daenerys and her entire council just how he'd earned the name Kingslayer.

Fuck. Why do I care?

I don't.

"Have I said something to upset you?" Tyrion cocked an eyebrow as he took care to watch his brother's reaction to this new piece of information.

"No, of course not."

"You're certain?" Tyrion questioned, his voice taunting him in the way that only a little brother's could.

"I'm positive," Jaime assured him, moving to grab the decanter of wine from Tyrion to pour himself a glass. "But nothing can become of it. She's a smart girl, she knows that. The man's a sellsword, he's not fit to marry her; to stand by her side as she rules the Seven Kingdoms—"

"I don't think Daenerys has been inviting Daario Naharis to her chambers to discuss wedding arrangements."

Tyrion watched as Jaime chose not to respond to his comment and instead downed an entire cup of wine before pouring another. Never in his life had he been able to convince his older brother to join him for a drink as early as breakfast.

What is this queen . . . this woman . . . doing to you, dear brother?

And with that thought mulling over in his head, Tyrion raised his glass to tap the edge against Jaime's before leaning back in his seat with a sly grin.