Tyrion

"I know that look."

Jaime turned on him. He had slipped into the library as soon as the small council meeting was over. Tyrion hadn't glanced up from his book once as he entered.

"You remind me of Father sitting there; eyes for horns sprouting from your skull."

"I need not look at you to judge your mood. I've had since infancy to practice."

Jaime regarded him coolly. Tyrion took his time in marking the book's page before closing it with a clap of dust.

"There. Now what brings you to my cheery corner of the Keep?"

The word 'brother' hung at the end of the question, conspicuously absent.

"I doubt you can be unaware of why I am here."

"Then why bother coming at all?"

"I would have it said."

Tyrion gestured to a gilt chair opposite him. Jaime sat.

"As I was saying…I know that look."

Jaime understood the game. He would have to wait. His jaw worked.

"This is 'Resolute Jaime.' Hard-eyed and staring down a wintry horde of White Walkers. Only there are no wights for you now to sharpen your blade upon. So I might ask: what are you feeling so resolved about?"

"I want to leave King's Landing."

"Certainly. And you wish to go to Tarth?"

"You expected somewhere else?"

Tyrion didn't reply. He watched his brother, seeing the changes time had wrought in him since the war. He had been a young man once; golden, blade-like, elegant. Everything Tyrion was not. He had envied his brother his beauty, and loved him for it. But he envied him no more, and wondered if love was still a necessary parcel to it.

Jaime yet shined, but whereas he was a god before he was now encased in mortal flesh. Tyrion suspected it happened the moment he had lost his hand—his immortality lifted in exchange for salvation from their sister.

As for himself, Tyrion didn't care to think on it. At least the loss of his brother's hand had been poetic; he could not see what salvation he had gained with the loss of his nose. Unless it was to teach him to stop sniffing so many cunts.

So much for that.

Tyrion leaned back in his chair. "You've come to ask for my blessing."

"Would you give it?"

He smiled.

Jaime returned it. "I spoke with Jon. He is of the mind to let me go. But Daenerys insists on my staying. I did not count on her inheriting the Targaryen tendency toward superstition—afraid everything will crumble if I should leave. You can influence her in this."

"Why would I do that? If you recall it was your decision to stay."

"Yes; and the city's walls are almost rebuilt—in less than a year's time. Food is filling the streets and the roads are open. I have even recommended her choice in Queensguard. What more can be done? You've no idea how insufferable it is playing cyvasse every night with Selmy. "

"Come play with me."

"You'd let me win."

"Not anymore."

Jaime wrent his golden hand through his hair. Tyrion absorbed his silence.

"Jon has also neglected to mention that I've had my eye on Tarth recently."

It was a statement not a question. Genuine surprise writ across his brothers' face at that. He had him now.

"Why?"

"I have reason to believe it key in supplying what we need to suppress the border skirmishes."

"And what would that be? Gold? Surely the Lannister mines can produce enough."

"Surely they can. But even our coffers are not bottomless. Why would I waste our family's personal assets to fund the Queen's campaign? Not when there is an option that may be equally exploited in its place."

"Does Brienne know of your intentions?"

"I have already sent the raven."

Jaime laughed. "She will never agree. Do you think she wants her island dug into a mountain of dirt around her feet? All for a little gold? Stick to the mainland. They've got gold running freely through their rivers. I'm sure if you tickle some lordling's elbow they're bound to humor you."

"It isn't gold that I seek on Tarth."

Something in his face must have finally betrayed him because Jaime stilled. He stared at him for a moment, saying nothing. The smile that had been firmly rooted to his chin grew fiercer.

"What have you done you bastard?"

Tyrion's eyes widened. He reached for the pitcher of wine at the side of his desk and poured a full cup before placing it in front of his brother.

"I've merely anticipated your wishes. I shall convince Daenerys to allow you to leave King's Landing and rejoin Lady Brienne in exchange for your help in persuading her to champion our cause."

Jaime fixed him with an expression of disgust.

"How was it that you once told me Vargo Hoat pronounced it? Oh yes. Thappireth."