Tyrion

Tyrion Lannister stared at the long line of unoccupied spikes glistening in the afternoon sun as if ready for a new group of unfortunate traitors. He was thankful, of course, that his head was still upon his shoulders and not rotting on one of them. Below the spikes, were even more spikes, lining the dry moat of Maegor's Holdfast. Maegor the Cruel had loved pointy things, it seemed. A pity that his death was rumored to have been caused by his own father's need for such a chair.

The drawbridge that spanned the moat was now manned by none other than Ser Balon Swann, the only knight other than Jaime and maybe Ser Loras, who truly had any right to wear a white cloak. As if the thought of a Tyrell was enough to bring one forth, the Knight of Flowers himself approached the foot of the drawbridge from the direction of the White Sword Tower. He seemed sullen and as hot-tempered as a Dornishman. Certainly the sight of the man who, to Loras's eyes, still appeared guilty of trying to murder his sister could not have helped.

"You are relieved, Ser Balon." To his credit, Loras tried not to direct any of his anger towards his sworn brother. "Ser Jaime wishes to speak with you before you leave for Sunspear, Ser." His face was almost stoic at the mention of Dorne.

Tensions within the Red Keep were high today. With his dying breath the Mountain that rode had admitted that Tywin Lannister had ordered the death of Elia Martell and her children. Not surprisingly, Oberyn Martell was not satisfied with killing Gregor Clegane. If given the chance, he would likely pick off every Lannister in King's Landing save perhaps himself.

Every denizen of the Red Keep from his father to the lowest watchman was on edge, and for good reason. Violence had broken out on the Street of Silk last night when a pair of drunken lordlings from Dorne assaulted an equally drunk squire and his friends at Chataya's. The ensuing riot ended when no fewer than fifty men of the City Watch entered the fray. Peace was restored at the cost of one Dornish lord, three retainers, and four Lannister squires.

Tyrion watched Ser Balon, his protector as defined by the powers that be, leave for the White Sword Tower. He wondered what Jaime wanted to speak with Ser Balon about. Hopefully it would have something to do with preventing accidents.

In his stead stood brash Ser Loras Tyrell, in white enameled plate, at the drawbridge, his white cloak billowing in the autumn wind. The white knight did not like his presence but kept his face sullen. There was something strange about the Tyrells. Ever since the trial had ended, they looked at him with either loathing or nervousness. Then again, Tyrion saw enemies everywhere now.

The wooden gate opened, and he saw servants moving the holdings of his pitiful household. Most of it was clothing, but there were some personal effects as well, some his own, and some belonging to Sansa.

At the head of the procession was Podrick. That the boy was still around truly touched him. No other squire in the Seven Kingdoms could boast of such dedication to their master. Well, maybe Loras Tyrell could have, Tyrion thought with a grin.

"Podrick, my loyal squire. How are you still here?" Podrick merely shrugged as if such a thing was simply expected of him.

With them, he waddled down the stairs to the courtyard below. At the bottom, he instructed Podrick to move everything to a stable on the Rosby Road just outside of the Iron Gate. There they would wait for word to board the ship that had been commissioned by Cersei as a nameday gift for Myrcella. As he saw the procession left without him, He could not help but wonder if Cersei was having second thoughts about the gift, that he would sail out of King's Landing. For once, he found irony as sweet as a peach.

Tyrion cast his mismatched eyes in the direction of the Royal Sept. Outside the seven-sided building, he noticed none other than Prince Oberyn walking towards him. He walked in a calm rhythmic gait that gave no indication of the fact that he was a viper in human skin.

"Lord Tyrion," Oberyn called out. Tyrion moved to join the Dornish prince. It occurred to him, bitterly, that the Viper's leisurely swaying gait seemed like a cruel parody of his own waddle.

"My duties on the small council will keep me here it seems. When you get to Sunspear, will you see them, will you remind them just how much I love them?" He continued with only the slightest indication of mourning, "Especially Elia, it has been too long."

Oberyn picked up the pace and Tyrion made no effort to keep up. The Red Viper turned around one last time with some distance between them. "Farewell, Lord Imp, send Myrcella my regards." A chill went down Tyrion's spine as the Viper said farewell. Whether from a gust of wind or something else, he could not say.

He made his way for the godswood where he was certain he would find Sansa before linking up with the party of Dornish sailors at the postern gate of the castle's north wall.

As he passed the barracks at the base of the tower of the Hand, he could see two pairs of City Watchman bearing heavy loads on stretchers and covered in light woolen blankets. Once they were within the barracks, and out of his sight, Tyrion picked up his pace. He didn't need half a nose to smell the coming storm.

Jaime

He gestured to the Weirwood door that marked the entrence to the Lord Commander's office with his phantom hand. "Ser Loras, we will talk more of this later. You may leave Brienne with me."

The wench looked as ugly and awkward as ever, he decided when Tyrell left them. Someone had dressed her in woman's clothes again, but this dress fit much better than that hideous pink rag the goat had made her wear.

"Blue is a good color on you, my lady," Jaime observed. "It goes well with your eyes." She does have astonishing eyes, Jaime admitted to himself.

Brienne glanced down at herself, flustered. "Septa Donyse padded out the bodice, to give it that shape. She said you sent her to me." She lingered by the door, as if she meant to flee at any second. "You look..."

"Different?" He managed a half-smile. "More meat on the ribs and fewer lice in my hair, that's all. The stump's the same. Close the door and come here."

She did as he bid her. "The white cloak..."

"... is new," Jaime suggested, "but I'm sure I'll soil it soon enough."

"That wasn't... I was about to say that it becomes you."

He spoke without preamble, "I have a gift for you." He reached down under the Lord Commander's chair and brought it out, wrapped in folds of crimson velvet.

Brienne approached as if the bundle was like to bite her, reached out a huge freckled hand, and flipped back a fold of cloth. Rubies glimmered in the light. She picked the treasure up gingerly, curled her fingers around the leather grip, and slowly slid the sword free of its scabbard. Blood and black the ripples shone. A finger of reflected light ran red along the edge. "Is this Valyrian steel? I have never seen such colors."

"Nor have I. There was a time when I would have given my right hand to wield a sword like that. Now it appears I have, so the blade is wasted on me. Take it." Before she could think to refuse, he went on. "A sword so fine must bear a name. It would please me if you would call this one Oathkeeper. One more thing. The blade comes with a price."

Her face darkened. "I told you, I will never serve..."

"... such foul creatures as us. Yes, I recall. Hear me out, Brienne. Both of us swore oaths concerning Sansa Stark. Cersei mean to see her killed... innocent or guilty."

Brienne's homely face twisted in fury. "If you believe that I would harm my lady's daughter for a sword, you -"

"Just listen," he snapped, angered by her assumption. "I want you to see her to somewhere safe, like maybe Dorne. How else are the two of us going to make good our stupid vows to your precious dead Lady Catelyn?"

The wench blinked. "I... I thought..."

"I know what you thought." Suddenly Jaime was sick of the sight of her. She bleats like a bloody sheep. "When Ned Stark died, his greatsword was given to the King's justice," he told her. "But my father felt that such a fine blade was wasted on a mere headsman. He gave Ser Ilyn a new sword, and had Ice melted down and reforged. There was enough metal for two new blades. You're holding one. So you'll be defending Ned Stark's daughter with Ned Stark's own steel, if that makes any difference to you."

"Ser, I... I owe you an apolo..."

He cut her off. "Take the bloody sword and go, before I change my mind. Go to Dorne as I suggested and make good of the oaths, or if you prefer to chase after Steelshanks. There's a bay mare in the stables, as homely as you are but somewhat better trained. Or maybe you should just ride home to your isle of sapphires, it's naught to me. I don't want to look at you anymore."

"Jaime..."

"Kingslayer," he reminded her. "Best use that sword to clean the wax out of your ears, wench. We're done."

She bowed her head stiffly and left. "I will go to Dorne," were the last words she offered before leaving the room.

When he was all alone, he could hear his own sigh. The Red Keep felt more and more like a place of ghosts for Jaime Lannister.

Cersei

"We've been over this before as I recall. You will marry. The Tyrells refused my offer for your hand, but there will be others."

"I will not," Cersei spoke to her father as if nothing was more obvious.

"Jaime cannot marry nor, inherit lands. Your other brother is headed to Dorne, and I'll be rotting in the ground, before I let him inherit the rock."

He looked up from the letter he was reading, which was just a way of him showing how little he truly cared about his daughter. The daughter that he sold like just another brood mare, to a fat, witless sot who was the most unworthy of kings since Aegon the Unworthy. Cersei allowed that thought to fuel her anger as she looked him the eye. Eyes which told her how little he cared about her objections. She might have backed down from that stare once, but now she was angry enough not to care.

"You have told me more than once that you were the most capable of advancing our family's future. Your role in that future is more vital than ever now."

"I will not be shipped off to another unworthy husband to lie on my back while he has his way with me so that I can make you more pieces for your ambitions. I am the Queen Regent and I will remain in King's Landing, where I belong, with my son the King!"

"You are my daughter, and you will do as I bid. You have disgraced the Lannister name for far too long. You will marry again, and you will breed again." Her lord father's low voice brooked no room for argument, but Cersei was undeterred.

"No, I will stay here with my son and protect him. Joffrey is dead. Myrcella has been given to a nest of vipers by the man who murdered him. Now you want to send me away. You want to separate me from Tommen and steal away my last boy. Margaery will dig her claws in him, and so will you, and so will that vile snake until there's nothing left of him."

Tywin Lannister still looked at her as if she were only an angry child and not his queen.

"You already ruined one son and that cost us a war. You cannot handle the responsibilities of queen regent, no more than you are of capable of raising wise future kings!"

She slammed her clenched fist onto the desk. "I will burn our house to the ground, before I allow that to happen."

His face was full of color now. "And how will you burn down House Lannister?"

Cersei allowed a grin. "I will tell everybody the truth."

"What truth?"

Cersei could not helped but be astonished at her father's ignorance. How could he not have heard? Stannis Baratheon's proclamation had hit every castle from Dorne to the Wall. "You don't even know do you? How is that possible?" Laughter burst from her gullet at the absurdity of it all. "Why am I even asking, of course it's possible. How does a man so consumed with his family legacy not even notice what his family was doing? We were right there in front of you and you didn't even see the truth, the truth that killed Eddard Stark."

"What murderous truth would I have known?" She could see it finally, a twinge of doubt in his emerald-gold eyes. Only now did the great Lion of the West seem to understand what he was hearing.

"Everything they say is true, about Jaime and I. Eddard Stark, Stannis Baratheon, Tyrion, they all knew. Your legacy is a lie."

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he began coughing violently "I do not believe you." He spoke in between coughs which became more violent though nowhere near as violent as Joffrey had when he had died.

"Get out." Splotches of something left his mouth.

She turned to leave, and felt something wet upon her bodice. Cersei ran a finger across the wetness, and her fingers were stained red. A very dark stain of crimson, just like her dress.