A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

of the west followed close behind them. The winds snapped at their banners, making their charges dance and flutter. As he trotted up the column, Jaime passed boars, badgers, and beetles, a green arrow and a red ox, crossed halberds, crossed spears, a treecat, a strawberry, a maunch, four sunbursts counterchanged.
    Lord Brax was wearing a pale grey doublet slashed with cloth-of-silver, an amethyst unicorn pinned above his heart. Lord Jast was armored in black steel, three gold lion’s heads inlaid on his breastplate. The rumors of his death had not been far wrong, to look at him; wounds and imprisonment had left him a shadow of the man he’d been. Lord Banefort had weathered battle better, and looked ready to return to war at once. Plumm wore purple, Prester ermine, Moreland russet and green, but each had donned a cloak of crimson silk, in honor of the man they were escorting home.
    Behind the lords came a hundred crossbowmen and three hundred men-at-arms, and crimson flowed from their shoulders as well. In his white cloak and white scale armor, Jaime felt out of place amongst that river of red.
    Nor did his uncle make him more at ease. “Lord Commander,” Ser Kevan said, when Jaime trotted up beside him at the head of the column. “Does Her Grace have some last command for me?”
    â€œI am not here for Cersei.” A drum began to beat behind them, slow, measured, funereal.
Dead,
it seemed to say,
dead, dead.
“I came to make my farewells. He was my father.”
    â€œAnd hers.”
    â€œI am not Cersei. I have a beard, and she has breasts. If you are still confused, nuncle, count our hands. Cersei has two.”
    â€œBoth of you have a taste for mockery,” his uncle said. “Spare me your japes, ser, I have no taste for them.”
    â€œAs you will.”
This is not going as well as I might have hoped.
“Cersei would have wanted to see you off, but she has many pressing duties.”
    Ser Kevan snorted. “So do we all. How fares your king?” His tone made the question a reproach.
    â€œWell enough,” Jaime said defensively. “Balon Swann is with him during the mornings. A good and valiant knight.”
    â€œOnce that went without saying when men spoke of those who wore the white cloak.”
    No man can choose his brothers,
Jaime thought.
Give me leave to pick my own men, and the Kingsguard will be great again.
Put that baldly, though, it sounded feeble; an empty boast from a man the realm called Kingslayer.
A man with shit for honor.
Jaime let it go. He had not come to argue with his uncle. “Ser,” he said, “you need to make your peace with Cersei.”
    â€œAre we at war? No one told me.”
    Jaime ignored that. “Strife between Lannister and Lannister can only help the enemies of our House.”
    â€œIf there is strife, it will not be my doing. Cersei wants to rule. Well and good. The realm is hers. All I ask is to be left in peace. My place is at Darry with my son. The castle must needs be restored, the lands planted and protected.” He gave a bark of bitter laughter. “And your sister has left me little else to occupy my time. I had as well see Lancel wed. His bride has grown impatient waiting for us to make our way to Darry.”
    His widow from the Twins.
His cousin Lancel was riding ten yards behind them. With his hollow eyes and dry white hair, he looked older than Lord Jast. Jaime could feel his phantom fingers itching at the sight of him.
. . . fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know . . .
He had tried to speak with Lancel more times than he could count, but never found him alone. If his father was not with him, some septon was.
He may be Kevan’s son, but he has milk in his veins. Tyrion was lying to me. His words were meant to wound.
    Jaime put his cousin from his thoughts and turned back to his uncle. “Will you remain at Darry after the wedding?”
    â€œFor a while, mayhaps. Sandor Clegane is raiding along the Trident, it would seem. Your sister wants his head. It may be that he has joined Dondarrion.”
    Jaime had heard about Saltpans. By now half the realm had heard. The raid had been exceptionally savage. Women raped and mutilated, children butchered in their mothers’ arms, half the town put to the torch. “Randyll Tarly is at Maidenpool. Let him deal with the outlaws. I would sooner have you go to Riverrun.”
    â€œSer Daven has command