A Lion Still Has Claws

Prologue

The open city of King's Landing seemed almost claustrophobic. Jaime Lannister had grown accustomed to his small cage and horrible living conditions for the past two years. The hustling city was overwhelming, as was the abominable Red Keep. He was all but stupid, he knew they spoke of him in their hushed whispers. He knew their eyes followed him where he walked.

Jaime glared at two servants scrubbing at the stone floor, their conversation stopped as he walked passed. He stood straighter, resting his hand against his sword's hilt to ease his nerves. With a roll of his eyes, he stalked up the stairs to the Tower of the Hand.

The climb up was strenuous. The journey being an intense play on the nerves of having to meet with the Hand of the King. He dreaded having to see his father in his broken state. The thought of running, falling even, down the stairs seemed better than meeting with His Lord father.

He had not properly spoken to Tywin since his return to the Capital, Brienne in tow. A simple glance over and his father returned to the confines of his tower. Jaime understood his father's silence for he returned to the Capital a weak man. The once golden Lion falling victim to the Wolves.

Tywin sat at his desk, an unusual smirk gracing his lips. He gestured toward a covered parcel laying atop his desk. Jaime smiled as he walked closer, enjoying his father's attempt at affection. His father pulled the fabric toward him to reveal a cleanly forged sword.

Jaime swallowed heavily as he moved to lift the sword with his left hand. He grasped its hilt, laying the blade against his false hand. He examined it closely, "Magnificent." Jaime twisted the sword to examine the etchings along its blade. "It looks fresh forged."

"It is," his father's tone exuded arrogance, clearly pleased to present his son with such a gift. He leaned his elbow against the desk as he continued to watch his son. Tywin's eyes filled with a vain sense of pride.

Jaime rose his brow, shocked. "No one's made a Valyrian steel sword since the Doom of Valyria."The lightness of the blade surprised him, his excitement rose at the thought of using it. He tossed it gently, catching it at the hilt with ease.

Tywin smirked, "There are three living smiths who know how to rework Valyrian steel. The finest of them was in Volantis. Came here to King's Landing at my invitation."

Jaime smiled, "Where did you get this much Valyrian steel?"

"Some from someone who no longer had need of it, "Jaime cautiously held the sword against its blade. His gold hand supported it as his eyes wandered over the steel lion's head at the hilt. "That is made from a dagger," He smiled, touching over the etchings of the lion detailing.

"Well, thank you. It's glorious." He smiled at his father in thanks. Jaime was grateful to bear such a weapon, to carry it in honor of his house. He tossed the sword once more, higher in arrogance. It fell loudly against the floor. Jaime clenched his jaw as he embarrassingly leaned to lift it.

Seeing his shame, Tywin spoke. " You can't serve in the Kingsguard with one hand."

Jaime sighed, "Where's that written? I can and I will."He struggled to lay the sword against the red fabric it once laid on. His anger rose as his father offered a cold gaze from across his desk. "The Kingsguard oath is for life." He motioned toward his armor, the gold, and white he proudly wore.

Tywin's lip curled in anger, "The war is over. The king is safe."

"How many people in this city alone would love to see his head on a pike?" Jaime gestured to the open window, green eyes gazing beyond the Red Keep's walls.

" Other knights protected the king while you were a prisoner," his father's nature remained cool in their shared tension. His hands rested against the arms of his chair as he spoke. "They will continue to do so when you go home. You'll return to Casterly Rock and rule in my stead."

"You are the Lord of Casterly Rock," Jaime said confused. He had refused the ancestral seat for years, however, his father's persistence of his claim remained constant. He closed his eyes trying to calm himself.

"I am the King's Hand," Tywin spoke obviously. "My place is here. I don't expect to see the Rock again before I die." Jaime turned, refusing to meet his father's gaze. His eyes fell to the floor in hopelessness.

" Do you know what they call me? Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. A man without honor. Now you want me to break another sacred vow," his voice faded in desperation. Jaime's eyes shifted to his false hand, repulse filling him.

"You will not be breaking any vows, "Tywin continued to speak calmly, "Now," he paused, slapping his hand against the desk. "What bride would you fancy?"

"I haven't even agreed and here you are forcing me to marry." He turned, his voice evoking pure annoyance. Jaime gripped the sword at his side as his heart began to race. The sick hope of marriage he always carried growing.

Jaimes's mind focused on one woman. His mind pictured her, detailing her in the most extravagant way. He thought of her eyes, her hair. She was the woman who made his heart race, the woman whose existence kept him sane in his small cage. Jaime blushed as he thought of the way her dresses hugged to her body. He smiled at the thought of her.

"The wedding will be after the King's of course," Tywin reached for fresh parchment and a pen. His voice carried a new sense of hope. "Say a name and I will make the arrangements."

"Rhaenyra Stark."

"Done."