He led the line expecting a riot, but saw scared men make way for Lannister and Arryn.
“Maybe I misjudged my sweet sister,” Jaime told himself. For a second, he was tempted to alter the course of his horse in the direction of the people, give them a wee fright. He scolded himself for such disagreeable thoughts, to look at the commonfolk as men rather than maggots, but it did not help. Fleetingly, he was reminded of the time his golden hand smashed the teeth of the commoner at Highgarden, and chuckles escaped his face. Euron may have died, but his spirit lives on with me.
Littlefinger rode with him. He was saying something. It was probably something clever, but Jaime was not listening. There would be enough time listening to his commands when Cersei would name him Hand to the Queen. Jaime had no intention of chiding her sister on her unbelievably foolish decision of bringing the snake back to King’s Landing. Let her be the largest roach in a kingdom of bugs, he thought, another unnatural chuckle coming to him.
It was eve by the time Jaime settled in the Red Keep. He had to get acquainted to the new faces. A mousy looking girl with hair of gold introduced herself as Mhaegen, in a dismissive tone that undermined her own name. Qyburn had been demoted to Master of Whisperers, and Tarly’s son Dickon had reached King’s Landing – he was to be named the new Commander of the City Watch after, what he now learned, with another dull thud of nothingness, the death of Bronn.
He had met all the members of the newly forming Small Council, but not Cersei. He did not know if he was avoiding her, or she him. The ceremony of making Petyr Baelish the new Hand was underway, but Jaime was in no mind to attend it. The ghosts of Tyrion, Bronn and the cunt of a kid with no teeth danced in his mind. It has only been an eve, and I already want to fucking kill someone.
He found his sword and went looking for the tree in the godswood.
*
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