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* * *
“You’re early,” Cersei pronounced as she let Tyrion in through the front door.
Tyrion checked his watch. “It’s 9:30 PM.”
“I told you 11:00.”
“Wrong brother?”
Cersei decided to ignore that. She led him into the kitchen and settled in the spot she’d been occupying for the last few nights.
“Where’s your corkscrew? Better still, where’s the light switch? Oh, there—hey! That hurt.”
“It needs to be dark.” She thought he was exaggerating the pain. She hadn’t hit him that hard. And then because she was thirsty, she waved toward the back counter. “Second drawer in from the sink. The glasses are in the cupboard above.”
“Have you taken up birdwatching, dear sister? You do know they don’t come out at night, don’t you? Unless you’re trying to observe owls and you’d need to move out of the city for that. I think.”
Cersei didn’t bother to lower the binoculars. As she stared out from the darkened kitchen to the lighted interior of the house next door, she heard the thwock as Tyrion removed a cork from the bottle of wine he had brought as a housewarming present.
“Here.”
She made no move to take the glass.
“Well, now I know it’s serious.”
It was infuriating. Move on, all her friends had told her. Living well, they all said, was the best revenge. She was a Lannister, Taena told her (as if Taena could ever know just what that meant). What Cersei needed, Taena had said, was a new beginning. Make a fresh start, live a fabulous new life, and show everyone—especially Robert and his slut of a new wife—just what he’d lost in her.
How was she supposed to do that with her ex-brother-in-law living next door?
“What has you so transfix—is that Stannis?”
“I made my requirements very clear to the realtor and she betrayed me like this. I’m going to see to it that she loses her license.”
“What did you do? Give her a list of the many, many people you consider to be enemies?”
Stannis was standing in his kitchen, staring with a perplexed expression at what appeared to be a chicken thigh or possibly a pork chop. Cersei curled her lip and finally lowered the binoculars. They had never gotten along. It was true that Robert and his brother were not close, but the Baratheons had their own brand of family loyalty, and she had no doubt that Stannis would absolutely welcome any chance to go running to him at the first opportunity. As Robert had been angling for more visitation (Cersei put that down to his slutty new wife because the gods knew Robert had never cared much about the children before), Cersei knew she had to be proactive.
Tyrion was already on his second glass. “Can we turn on the lights now?”
“No.” If they turned on the lights, Stannis would see her and then he would be the one keeping an eye on her movements. “We can go into the other room.”
“How long has he been living there? I thought he and Selyse were moving back to Dragonstone.”
“He’s new here too. There are still boxes in his living room.” She ignored her brother’s eye rolling and led him into the space she meant to use as a family room.
“Well, I can see your predicament. Stannis and Selyse as neighbors.” Tyrion shuddered. “The utter boredom.”
Cersei sipped at the wine. “No Selyse. It’s just him.” At first, Cersei had assumed that Selyse would be following with that odd little girl of theirs, but so far it had merely been Stannis. She wondered if there had been a divorce.
Tyrion had lost interest in the topic of Stannis and was inspecting the built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace. “Introduction to Pharmacology? The Norton Anthology of Essosi Literature? Girl of the Weeping Water? These are beyond esoteric, even for me.”
“My interior designer’s work.” Cersei had wanted deep, rich, red accents for this room and the books provided such a note.
Again, he rolled his eyes.
“I did not invite you here to discuss my décor.”
“You crush me. Why did you invite me?”
“So you can help me get rid of Stannis Baratheon.”
* * *
Jaime was not used to being the odd one out when it came to sibling dynamics. “Why are we sitting in the dark again?”
“Shhhh,” Cersei shushed him.
“I don’t think he can hear, Cersei,” Tyrion said.
“I can hear just fine. What I cannot do is see.” Jaime headed for the light switch only to be forestalled by a swat from Cersei.
“He meant Stannis.”
“What in the seven hells are you two doing?”
Tyrion sighed. “It needs to be dark, Jaime. Over there.”
It was hard to see, but through the darkness, he could make out Tyrion waving to the island in the kitchen.
“We picked up a pair for you.”
Which is how Jaime found himself staring out of a pair of binoculars at Stannis Baratheon and a thin, dark-haired, young woman in a leather jacket. She was perched on a kitchen chair, her long legs propped atop the table. Periodically Stannis removed objects from cardboard boxes and the woman would point. He would shake his head. She would point elsewhere and he would again object. Finally he would assent and then they would repeat this process again. “Cersei, I know you didn’t get the settlement you wanted and that Father cut you off, but if you’re that broke, there are inexpensive alternatives to cable—better alternatives—than watching ‘Stannis Puts Away His Cannisters.’ ”
His siblings paid no attention to him.
“Are you sure she’s Asha Greyjoy?” Cersei demanded even as the woman in Stannis Baratheon’s kitchen got to her feet long enough to help him move a plant stand.
“Positive.” Tyrion lifted a glass to his lips without setting down the binoculars. “Her Facebook isn’t locked down. It’s her.”
Jaime locked onto the one thing he knew and made the only possible conclusion, baffling as it was. “All right,” he said slowly. “Balon Greyjoy’s daughter is an interior decorator? So again, why are we sitting in the dark at 1:00 AM so spellbound by this?”
They paid no attention to him.
“I told you,” Tyrion said.
Jaime had never known one could actually hear smugness before. He found himself peering out through the binoculars to see this new development. “All right, so she’s leaving. Fine. Can we turn on the lights now?” Now that his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, he saw Cersei turning to Tyrion.
“Do we have an ID on the fingerless man yet?”
“No.” The smugness faded. “I’m still working on that. He’s in some of Asha Greyjoy’s Instagram photos, but he’s not tagged at all.”
“Did I miss a career change? Did you both get accepted to the police force?”
Cersei spoke as if this was all incredibly obvious. “I want Stannis to move out. You know how stubborn he is. I need ammunition.”
And rather than moving herself, or better still, doing her best to ignore her former brother-in-law, Cersei was going to these insane lengths. Jaime didn’t wonder at his sister, who had yet to master that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, but he did question what Tyrion could possibly be thinking. “Do you need money?” he asked in an undertone. “Is she paying you?”
Tyrion ignored him.
Stannis was letting in a bearded man. To his annoyance, Jaime realized he was actually aiming his binoculars and focusing them on the guest’s hands. Sure enough, there were missing forefingers on the one hand. His clothes were in good repair, but they weren’t expensive and he wore work boots. “Is he a repairman?” Great, he thought, now he was feeding into Cersei and Tyrion’s insanity. “Oh,” he said despite himself. “I can’t see Stannis giving a repairman beer. Actually, I’m surprised Stannis has beer at all.”
“We think he buys it for Onion Man,” Cersei said without irony.
Jaime briefly wondered if he should let Father know that both Cersei and Tyrion had lost their minds. Onion Man, whoever he was, was now handing his beer to Stannis to hold, while he dug in his pockets and finally produced a much folded piece of paper, and presented it to Stannis.
“He sells organic vegetables,” Tyrion explained. “Onions figure prominently on the logo on his truck.”
Jaime was about to suggest that if the man owned a business he could be tracked, but he did not want to encourage the insanity, when Tyrion sighed.
“Onion Man is underground,” he said. “He should exist. That’s a prison tattoo on his forearm, but we can find no trace of his identity. I’ve searched every database I can think of. We even went to Petyr and Varys. They’ve got nothing.”
“You know,” Jaime commented after a moment. “I always thought that the time Uncle Stafford made us all watch competitive bass fishing was the most boring night of my life, but I think you’ve both managed to top that.”
“There. Look,” Cersei snapped.
Jaime looked. Stannis and Onion Man were heading outside, helpfully illuminated by the light over the garage.
“Right on schedule.” Tyrion turned to Jaime. “They’ll start digging now.”
“Digging?”
As if on cue, Onion Man produced a shovel, only for them to disappear from view as they went to the other side of the property.
Jaime got to his feet. “If you want to watch Stannis Baratheon rearrange his cabinets, you have my blessings, but I promised Brienne I would be home soon.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he had said.
“Tyrion already told me,” Cersei said absently. “He said she’s an investigative reporter. That’s why you’re here. Ask her to come over. We need her skills.” When he didn’t answer, probably because he couldn't figure out how to make his jaw shut, she turned to him, her beautiful features arranged in a puzzled mask. “There’s plenty of wine for everyone.”
A call to Father and then possibly a doctor . . .
* * *
Brienne had never met any of Jaime’s family. He had spoken about them, of course. She knew that Jaime was fond of his younger brother, deeply missed his long-dead mother, had a complicated relationship with his father, and had an aunt and cousins with whom he was close. Brienne knew about his sister, had known long before their relationship had shifted into a romance, and had accepted it when Jaime said that was long over.
At some point, Jaime had conceded, Brienne would need to experience his family, but every time opportunities had arisen, he’d found excuses to forestall it. He meant to ease her into it, he said. They would start with a sane second or third cousin and work their way up to his nuclear family, one crazy relative at a time.
So when he dragged her out in the middle of the night to meet his sister, his brother, and his father all at once, she was quite surprised.
Last night there had been a long, confusing phone call from Jaime. He wasn’t going to be able to make it home, he said. After that, the conversation had been nearly impossible to follow, punctuated as it had been with references to interior decorating, “Onion Man,” nocturnal hole digging, nervous breakdowns, someone—presumably Cersei—assuring her that there was more than enough wine, midlife crises, and then at last, an awed “The hell? Did that woman just take off all of her clothes?”
Brienne had long come to realize that Jaime defined “complicated” and had finally told him that they’d sort it out the next day. They’d been playing phone tag ever since and she still lacked any clear sense of what was going on.
So now she was here, meeting Jaime’s nuclear family for the first time, and Catelyn’s advice about why it was best to avoid older men with baggage was really hitting her.
“I know this seems odd, Father,” Tyrion said, “But something very strange is happening over at Stannis Baratheon’s.”
“And why is that my problem?”
He had a point, Brienne thought. She was asking herself this same question.
Brienne had been anxious about meeting Jaime’s father. He had been civil so far. Brienne conjectured this was due to two factors: she was the only other sane person present and he had yet to see her because they were all standing in the dark.
Jaime was peering out at the other house through a pair of binoculars. “I will admit that it’s very addictive, watching Stannis, which is something I never thought I would say. Father, I know when I called you I thought Cersei was crazy, but now I think there’s something in this.”
“I told you.” Tyrion eyed his sister. “Perhaps you should let me be the one to film it.”
“You had better know what you’re doing,” Cersei said. “They’re still married. I called Renly to find out. Stannis will have to pay Selyse a fortune if she can prove adultery. I just wish we’d had the camera last night.”
Beside her Tywin Lannister drew in a series of sharp breaths. “I will only say this once. Turn on the lights.”
“No,” Cersei hissed.
The only reason Tywin Lannister probably hadn’t done it himself, Brienne concluded, was that he had no idea where the lights were.
“Uh,” Brienne began, and stopped as she realized they were all probably looking at her. “Maybe it would be helpful if one of you could explain what’s going on.”
“—Tyrion, I am losing patience—”
“—Very odd. Strange people—”
“—Onion Man and Stannis digging holes in the back yard—”
“—was naked and burning some—”
“—will cut you all off without a copper stag if you don’t—”
“—Smuggling—”
“—Blood magic rituals—”
“—Greyjoys are not known for their interior—”
“ENOUGH!”
As blessed silence descended on Cersei Lannister’s kitchen, Brienne thought she could get to like Jaime’s father quite a bit.
“One at a time,” Tywin Lannister barked. “Tyrion.”
They were still sitting in the dark, but ten minutes, and three forced accounts later, but Brienne at least felt like she had some sense of what had possessed Jaime and his siblings.
“You dragged me over here for this?” Jaime’s father demanded. “If you had behaved like Lannisters none of this would have happened.”
The conversation quickly began to take a deep familial turn and Brienne slipped out. She had only met Stannis once, but Renly had spoken about his brother at length. She doubted anything illegal was going on, but it wouldn’t hurt to make a few phone calls. When she returned, if the tensions had not eased, they were at least receptive enough to listen to her.
She thought they would be relieved to know that there was a weird logic to what Stannis Baratheon and his friends had been doing, but oddly enough the only one who wasn’t disappointed was Tywin Lannister.
Cersei’s face grew skeptical again. “None of this changes the fact that he’s going to tell tales to Robert.”
“Renly says he doesn’t think Stannis even knows you’re living here. He says Stannis isn’t that aware of things like that.”
Cersei seemed unconvinced and both Tyrion and Jaime kept returning to leeches and the naked woman in Stannis’ kitchen, but then Tywin drew in a sharp breath, again said, “Enough,” agreed to finance a new house for Cersei, somewhere without ex-in-laws, turned to Brienne and welcomed her to the family.
* * *
“You look exhausted,” Selyse said.
Stannis nodded. Exhausted felt like an understatement. For the past few weeks, he had been stretched in every direction.
“It’s over now,” she said softly, cradling their newborn in her arms. “The house could have waited. You didn’t need to do all of this.”
Asha, Davos, and Melisandre had felt differently. All of them led busy, complicated lives, but they’d given unstintingly of what little free time they had to help him prepare the house.
“I still don’t understand how or when you were able to do this.”
“At night,” he said simply, drawing an afghan over Shireen, who was curled up against him on the sofa. “Asha would come by after her restaurant closed to make certain the kitchen was appointed and arranged properly. Davos helped me prepare the nursery. He also planted the shrubs and some of the garden.” The garden was still unfinished. Stannis was unhappy about that, but in the end, Davos had pointed out that Selyse wasn’t going to be very happy if he accidentally planted scallions in what was meant to be a flower bed.
Selyse shifted the baby. “We’ll get to it later. I want Melisandre to bless the house first.”
“Already done.” In retrospect, Stannis felt it would have been better to wait, largely due to Melisandre’s propensity for performing rituals stark naked, but he had reached a point where he had simply needed it done. And if he had been tired, every moment spent on the house had been one he had not spent thinking about what would happen if Selyse lost yet another child.
“Well, it’s perfect. I love it.”
Stannis cleared his throat. Unfortunately the house was not quite perfect, but how to tell Selyse that Cersei was living next door and had been behaving in an extremely bizarre manner?
* * *