In which Annalys Baratheon is arranged to marry Robb Stark and when her 'father' dies, she is forced to side with the North in the Five War of the Kings to save herself from being killed by her psychotic younger brother. What she didn't know was tha...
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Numerous days later, Podrick walked over to Tyrion, placing some sausages on the man's plate while Jaime sat across from them, uncomfortably, "Your new hand, it's nicer than the old one," Tyrion remarked, turning to look at Jaime before back at Podrick, "Wouldn't you agree, Pod?"
Podrick looked over at Tyrion before back at Jaime, "Is it solid gold?" He asked the man curiously.
"Gilded steel," Tyrion informed Podrick, only to notice how his elder brother wasn't eating, "You're not eating. Why is no one eating? My wife wastes away, my niece refuses to eat in fear of it being poisoned, and my brother starves himself."
"I'm not hungry," Jaime quickly responded, a bit of attitude in his tone of voice.
"You lost a hand, not a stomach," Tyrion pointed out, eating a bit of the sausage that was on it plate, "Try the boar. Cersei can't get enough of it since one killed Robert for her," He paused, raising his glass up to make a toast, "A toast. To the proud Lannister children. The dwarf, the cripple, and the mother of madness."
Jaime attempted to raise his own glass, only to clumsily knock it over with his left hand, "Oh!" He exclaimed as he did so and Podrick was quick to walk over to him to help.
"I'll clean it up." Podrick insisted, only to have Jaime quickly cut him off.
"No, I'll do it. Leave us." Jaime demanded, speaking in a stern tone.
Podrick nodded his head, walking toward the exit and leaving as Jaime placed his cup right-side up, "It's only wine." Tyrion reminded his elder brother, holding up his own cup before he began to pour it onto the table in hopes of making Jaime feel better.
Jaime sat back in resignation, watching a Tyrion stood up to pour himself another cup of wine, "I can't fight anymore." He spoke up, causing Tyrion to look at him puzzled.
"What about your left?" Tyrion asked his brother in a curious tone.
"I can hold a sword, but all my instincts are wrong," Jaime confessed, looking saddened, "How can I protect the king when I can hardly wipe my own ass?"
"You're the Lord Commander now. Command. Let others do the fighting," Tyrion suggested, walking over to his seat and sat back down, "When was the last time Father used a sword?"
"I'm not Father. I'm the Kingslayer," Jaime pointed out to Tyrion, letting out a large sigh, "When people find out I can't slay a pigeon..."
"Train, then," Tyrion suggested in a calm tone, "Learn to fight with your other hand."
"With whom? You?" Jaime asked, letting out a scoff, "Men talk. Soon as someone discovers I can't fight, he'll tell everyone."
"You need a proper, discreet swordsman. Or shall I say swords-woman?" Tyrion explained, causing Jaime to raise a brow while Tyrion smiled, "As it so happens, I have just the one. I think you'll be delighted with my choice."
