Randyll Tarly did not have a hair on his head. Jaime Lannister felt Tarly may resent him for it, but that was before he realized he had no sword hand himself. I suppose that makes us even.
While Cersei held court, Jaime did what he was instructed. They needed allies, Jaime knew – apart from the two of them, the lack of royalty in the Red Keep was troubling. The death of Queen Margaery had brought the smallfolk up in arms. Tarly, known across the realm for his steadfastness as much as skill, was one way to win back their faith.
It would be hard to bring Tarly to their side, though. Lord Randyll had agreed to meet with the Lannisters out of respect for the Iron Throne, but Jaime knew he wanted war with them as much as the Queen of Thorns. But Tarly was Westerosi, born and bred, so Jaime attempted to reason with him in his language. He told him about the Unsullied and the Dothraki, about the reserves of gold held by the Tyrells, once earned by the miners of Highgarden and now destined to fall into the hands of savages and eunuchs. The bald man did not show it, but Jaime knew the lure of money would nab his attention. Even men of honor do not refuse a sack of gold for their troubles.
He entered Cersei’s chambers with hope. He found Cersei ready to cry with joy. Jaime could not remember the last time he saw giggles escape her. She stopped when she saw him. Always my sweet sister, trying to show herself tough. “Euron has interesting news,” she said. “The ironborn on Pyke have revealed to him a most favorable development. Daenerys Targaryen courts war with Jon Snow. The time to strike is now.”
Jaime was shocked. “Winterfell at war with the Targaryens? What made this happen?”
“Any alliance between Stark and Targaryen would never be easy,” said Cersei. The girlish smile was now back. “Lesser so when Daenerys Targaryen’s Hand is murdered.”
Daenerys’ Hand… Tyrion?
The silence from Jaime was all that was needed for Cersei’s grin to revert to stone. “Listen to me,” she said. “The minds of our two greatest threats are distracted. The time to strike is now. Gather every man you can spare and prepare to march. This is our chance to win more of Westeros-”
“Fuck Westeros,” Jaime heard himself say. “Our brother is dead, the same brother we grew up with in Casterly Rock. I know you had no love for him, but surely you can spare a moment instead of pretending you are as stern a ruler as Father.”
Cersei’s countenance refused to budge. “The time,” she repeated for the third time, “to strike is now. You need to leave. This is an order.” Cersei always began conversations with lack of emotion, but Jaime had not expected her to prolong that until now. This was something new. Jaime felt himself hesitate. “Is this about what happened the other night?”
Cersei maintained the silence, making Jaime silent. In the quiet, Jaime wondered how long Cersei delayed before telling him of the death of Tyrion. He wondered what more Cersei was keeping from her twin.
“Prepare to march,” she said.
*
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