When The Throne Bleeds

33. The Last Lannister

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Tyrion blinked, casually glancing at the hand that had grabbed his shoulder. Neatly swept golden locks adorned the edges of Jaime Lannister's famed face as he stared in irritation at his younger brother.

"I've actually not thought about any place in particular. Don't you want to get away from these," he ran his eyes over the area in mild distaste, "wide-eyed swarms of sheep?"

Jaime rolled his eyes, gently pushing the dwarf back as he straightened himself.

"Oh, what a nice armour you've got there. It reminds me of the arse of the whore I'm going to meet in a few minutes. Do you know how much effort they put in keeping it polished?" Tyrion swayed a bit.

"You're too drunk." Jaime commented, eyeing him warily.

"Rather disappointing, I know. Especially when our dear king invites the entire city to celebrate his golden son's first kill. What did he kill anyway? One of the noble lords?" He said, his words coming out as smooth as Dornish wine. Even drunk, Tyrion Lannister had his charms.

"A boar. And, well, it took Joffrey more than one try to get the animal to surrender." Jaime shrugged, scanning the crowded area once again. Teeming masses of commonfolk were relishing the food of the great feast. A few had taken to strolling around and looking at the castle towers wondrously while the others gossiped about the rich lords and ladies among them.

The people were concentrated mostly in the southern outer courtyard, and on the tower wall in front of them, the head of a large black boar had been hammered to present their prince's celebratory kill. Jaime had no idea why Robert Baratheon had insisted on inviting the people of the capital to the feast along with the highborn nobles of honourable houses. It meant a huge hazard in security, and a huge responsibility on the Kingsguard but he doubted that the King cared.

"What in the seven hells is the King doing?" Tyrion muttered as he squinted his eyes at the form of Robert Baratheon vigorously clasping the arse of a woman whom he had pressed up to his chest. The woman was giggling shyly.

Jaime gritted his teeth in contempt. That Baratheon pig had the guts to flaunt his disloyalty to his marriage in front of him, in front of Cersei. His hold tightened around the hilt of his ornate sword as he looked at the high table set at the end of the courtyard, just below the balcony he was in.

Cersei's golden hair had been tied up in many braids and flowers, with softly brushed waves falling over her breasts. She wore a beautiful blue gown, and though he could not make out in the glare of the sun, he knew it looked exquisite on her. Her jaw was set tight and her cold gaze was on her husband. She then proceeded to search the area with her eyes, slumping slightly as she couldn't find the one she was looking for. A small smile lit up Jaime's face. He would have to visit her later.

"Look at you. Such a watchful lion." Tyrion smirked.

He shrugged. "Loads of meat here."

Tyrion chortled slightly. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to fuck."

He sauntered past Jaime, leaving the Kingslayer thoughtfully staring at the feast.