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His son doesn’t look away from Tywin, doesn’t hide from his gaze by staring at the floor. Once, Jaime would’ve looked anywhere but his face, would’ve raged at Tywin just because he could. He would’ve thrown cavalier words left and right as if he were actually clever .
The silence has already been sitting long enough to make a lesser man squirm and stutter. But Tywin is beginning to realize his son is not a lesser man. Good.
“You knew.”
He can see the answer in Jaime’s face before his son speaks. He doesn’t have his betrothed’s inscrutable visage. Something to be addressed at a later date, perhaps.
“Yes.”
“You let it continue.”
“I swore to keep the secrets of the royal family.”
Tywin’s eyes narrow. He is unsure whether he is more displeased that his son kept his sister’s counsel above his father’s, or pleased that his son understands that family concerns are family concerns. Either way, once again Jaime’s flaws have been superseded by his sister’s idiocy. Only the quick thinking of a child has saved his family from complete ruin.
“You swore to protect the King above all else, including his queen. A vow you’ve broken yet again. It seems to be a recurring problem of yours.”
This time it’s Jaime whose eyes narrow. He leans back in his seat and continues to stare at his father, not a hint of repentance in his gaze. “Well, it won’t be a problem anymore, will it?” His son and heir drawls, as if this is a game, as if his head hadn’t been hours away from being separated from his idiot neck.
Tywin listens to those words for the bitterness he’d expect from the man who had stayed with an order it was clear he hated, serving a king he hated, despite the fact that he had been offered a chance to leave. The bitterness that had been there every other time the two of them had discussed Jaime leaving the Kingsguard. There is none, however, only that same facetious insolence he trots out any time he’s uncomfortable. While Tywin is pleased to verify the information he had collected from both Tyrion and the Stark girl, he finds nonetheless that he is still surprised. Why? Why is Jaime alright with this now, when his youth behind him, lost to that damnable cloak. What has changed? Can it really all be for a girl?
“Thanks to Sansa Stark.” He watches carefully for his son’s reaction to his betrothed’s name, and is taken aback to see Jaime’s lips quirk. Even more, Tywin is furious to see something sparkling behind his son’s eyes, something like information he is not sharing.
“Yes, thanks to Sansa Stark. How are you handling that, by the way? The way Tyrion tells it, our family owes Lady Sansa quite a debt. He also claims she told you no. And lived! Shame, I would’ve liked to see that…”
Tywin doesn’t rise to the bait, though his younger son will pay for those words sooner or later. His elder son will pay for them now. He times his next words very carefully. “Have you bedded her?”
Jaime splutters into his goblet—water, Tywin notes. When had his son stopped drinking wine?—and he watches impassively as his son chokes and coughs.
“Father, she hasn’t even bled yet—”
“Knowledge you have why? ”
Now , his son’s eyes dart away from his. Hmm. You want to marry my son, he had realized when discussing Lady Sansa’s terms, as he has come to think of them. I do, my lord.
How? How had that happened? He has puzzled over it, spun every scenario in his mind over and over again since Sansa Stark had first left his rooms. It is not difficult to ascertain why a young maiden might become enamored with a knight as renowned and handsome as his son. Tywin has been fighting off marriage proposals for his son starting as early as his son’s fifth day, the earliest a raven could’ve returned after being sent out with the birthing announcement.
But why does Jaime want to marry her? And how has she managed to so thoroughly coax him out of the shell he had retreated into years before she had even been born? Not that Tywin is complaining. In fact, the Lady Sansa has risen in his esteem continually since she had first been brought to his attention. She has an air of deliberation about her that reminds him of himself at her age—already battling problems far beyond his years with astute and succinct solutions. He had destroyed two Houses in their entirety before his ten-and-eighth nameday.
Sansa has dethroned a Queen.
In truth, it is a match he is eager to see through. His son could’ve done far worse, and Tywin has no doubt he would’ve stayed celibate and withdrawn for the rest of his days had it not been for the Stark girl.
Jaime has yet to provide him with a satisfactory answer and Tywin hums.
“How did this happen?”
“...father?”
“You and the Stark girl. How did it come about? Did she seduce you? Make you promises?”
Jaime’s brow furrows and he actually looks offended on the girl’s behalf. Interesting.
“No, she didn’t—” he cuts himself off with a hand raked through his hair. “She asked me to train her younger sister in swordplay as a nameday gift,” Jaime explains in a huff, as if that explains anything at all. Also, information he is already aware of, frustratingly.
“And? I’ve seen you ignore fully grown women offering you their favor with all the delicacy of one of Baelish’s whores, and some Northron chit asks for a sword and you decide to marry her?”
“I didn’t decide—” Tywin raises his eyebrow, and Jaime blushes . Very interesting.
“Did she seem like a child to you, father?” Jaime asks suddenly, leaning forward in his seat. “Did she talk to you like a child would, or cry in hysterics like a child would after such an attack?”
Jaime doesn’t continue and Tywin realizes that his son is actually waiting for a response. “No, she did not.”
“No, she didn’t,” Jaime repeats, vindicated. “Whatever Sansa is, she’s hardly a child —”
“I think you’ll find her father disagrees,” he interjects wryly.
“Yes, well, we’ve agreed to a long betrothal—” a fact he sounds—bewilderingly—untenably annoyed by, “and dear old Ned has already given his blessing. I don’t quite care what he thinks beyond that,” Jaime continues irritably. Obviously, whatever his son and his betrothed have between them is in spite of Jaime’s feelings for her father. Very, very interesting.
“Do you love her?” He asks, eyes intent on his son.
His child, his son, his only heir...Tywin had once been able to read him like the books Jaime couldn’t be bothered to touch in his youth. In the intervening years, somehow, he had lost the ability, and only realized it when it was too late.
But one conversation with Sansa Stark and suddenly Tywin can see all the cracks his son has kept sealed so tightly widening. His son is in love.
Tywin would never have wished such agony on the boy if he could’ve spared it. Perhaps they will have more time than he had had with his love. Perhaps not.
Jaime can’t meet his gaze, but nods succinctly, though Tywin already has all the information he needs. It changes nothing, in truth. They will marry, and Sansa will give birth to the next generation of Lannisters. Hopefully, they will be somewhat more promising than their predecessors. And yet, still… his heart aches for Jaime.
I’m sorry, my son.
“Do not let her slip through your fingers, then,” is all he can say.