The smell of butter was nothing new along this particular length of corridor near the popcorn room. Intent on her own business, Cersei nearly swept past. What stopped her? That intangible bond between twins, perhaps, a psychic twinge?
Whatever the reason, she stopped; and then she stared.
"No one can die. That doesn't mean they can't lose their skin to burning," Cersei snapped, but she did want to hear this story of Jaime's. Any story that involved the Imp and misfortune was one she wanted to know.
"What of the Imp?" she said. She refused to grant Tyrion the name of brother. That was only conferred when it was convenient for cesty purposes.
"Not that I am aware. But, then, she was still a maid. Our father should have known better; he should have had someone pay to bed her first, so that she would qualify for Tyrion's affections."
Jaime laughed brightly along with his twin. It had been a long time since he'd felt so free around Cersei and he even managed to forget Tyrion's words.
He leaned forward to kiss her, blissfully nostaligc at this point.
Jaime could taste butter on Cersei's lips as he kissed her. He pulled away, and licked his lips. "Perhaps we ought to bathe before we try that again. The taste of butter is hardly conducive to such things."
Whatever the reason, she stopped; and then she stared.
"Jaime?"
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"What of the Imp?" she said. She refused to grant Tyrion the name of brother. That was only conferred when it was convenient for cesty purposes.
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Then she began to laugh, high sweet peals of laughter. Her amusement was never so rich nor so rewarding as when it was at someone else's expense.
"That is the best news I have heard this year," she gasped.
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He leaned forward to kiss her, blissfully nostaligc at this point.
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