[closed]
Who: Jaime and Tyrion!
When: After Tyrion returns from Dismas, dinnertime!
Where: Jaime's room in the Alliance Headquarters
Format: Action
What: Brotherly bonding time? ...or brotherly "let's talk about horrifying things and get on the sameish page" time, anyway. Plus, food!
Warnings: Jaime being Jaime, Tyrion being Tyrion... XD which means probably a lot of bad words and sexism.
[He hasn't quite made the room what he'd like it to be, not yet. Still, the space, the view, even the simple furniture already installed on his arrival, make Jaime's new home considerably more comfortable than the modest chambers of a Kingsguard officer. The food, as it happens, lingers somewhere in the middle of the scale of richness - beneath the feasts Robert unwisely demanded, and above the bread and gruel thrown at him in the dungeons of Riverrun, or the lesser fare served in the castles and inns he'd made use of on his way from Harrenhall home.]
[...home. That nest of vipers and lions and roses. He remembers it clearly - his arrival, amidst shouts that the king was dead. Funny enough, really - he'd watched that boy grow, his son and nephew at once, always knowing he would grow to inherit the throne. But in the end, Jaime had missed his entire rule, rotting in a dungeon and scrounging through the mud.]
[He'd missed a number of other things, too. As it happens, those very things were half the reason he'd wanted to meet with Tyrion this evening. There are too many questions, too many things unsaid. Jaime has never cared for talking around issues, and yet these days he finds himself dancing in circles more often than not. Circles around Cersei, around Joffrey, around that lost wife of his, around... them. Because just as easily as he recalls the bells sounding out Joffrey's death, he remembers that scarred up face, and the last words Tyrion had ever spoken to his brother: She's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know. And I am the monster they all say I am. Yes, I killed your vile son.]
[Strangely enough, the bit about Cersei troubles him a great deal more than the part about murder.]
[There are other reasons for this meeting, too. Better ones - kinder ones. He misses his brother, as he had in the time they were separated, and before that last parting. And if it's all to fall apart - if their secrets are to be laid bare, then he may as well enjoy it while it lasts, yes?]
[So he presses his lips together a bit, sipping his wine and pushing a bit of honeyed chicken across his plate as he waits.]
When: After Tyrion returns from Dismas, dinnertime!
Where: Jaime's room in the Alliance Headquarters
Format: Action
What: Brotherly bonding time? ...or brotherly "let's talk about horrifying things and get on the sameish page" time, anyway. Plus, food!
Warnings: Jaime being Jaime, Tyrion being Tyrion... XD which means probably a lot of bad words and sexism.
[He hasn't quite made the room what he'd like it to be, not yet. Still, the space, the view, even the simple furniture already installed on his arrival, make Jaime's new home considerably more comfortable than the modest chambers of a Kingsguard officer. The food, as it happens, lingers somewhere in the middle of the scale of richness - beneath the feasts Robert unwisely demanded, and above the bread and gruel thrown at him in the dungeons of Riverrun, or the lesser fare served in the castles and inns he'd made use of on his way from Harrenhall home.]
[...home. That nest of vipers and lions and roses. He remembers it clearly - his arrival, amidst shouts that the king was dead. Funny enough, really - he'd watched that boy grow, his son and nephew at once, always knowing he would grow to inherit the throne. But in the end, Jaime had missed his entire rule, rotting in a dungeon and scrounging through the mud.]
[He'd missed a number of other things, too. As it happens, those very things were half the reason he'd wanted to meet with Tyrion this evening. There are too many questions, too many things unsaid. Jaime has never cared for talking around issues, and yet these days he finds himself dancing in circles more often than not. Circles around Cersei, around Joffrey, around that lost wife of his, around... them. Because just as easily as he recalls the bells sounding out Joffrey's death, he remembers that scarred up face, and the last words Tyrion had ever spoken to his brother: She's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know. And I am the monster they all say I am. Yes, I killed your vile son.]
[Strangely enough, the bit about Cersei troubles him a great deal more than the part about murder.]
[There are other reasons for this meeting, too. Better ones - kinder ones. He misses his brother, as he had in the time they were separated, and before that last parting. And if it's all to fall apart - if their secrets are to be laid bare, then he may as well enjoy it while it lasts, yes?]
[So he presses his lips together a bit, sipping his wine and pushing a bit of honeyed chicken across his plate as he waits.]