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The hallway outside Corleone's office echoed with quick, light footsteps. Tyrion moved faster than usual, almost skipping despite his short legs. He was humming a bawdy song from across the Narrow Sea about a sailor and a dancer, his voice rough but full of life.
He turned the corner and nearly ran into someone.
"Careful—"
Jaime caught him by the shoulders. The white armor and cloak made him look taller, but his green eyes showed real surprise.
"What the hell are you doing here? And what's got you this happy?"
Tyrion grinned wide. "What, there a law against dwarfs smiling now?"
Jaime looked him over. Tyrion was still pale from the cells, but his eyes sparkled. Something had changed.
"You just left Corleone's office?"
"Of course." Tyrion leaned in close, voice dropping like he was sharing the best secret in the world. "And I've got news. Big news."
He paused for effect, then blurted it out.
"Sansa and I got divorced."
Jaime's eyes went wide. For a second he just stared. Then a laugh burst out of him, loud and real, bouncing off the walls.
"Divorced? Seven hells, you actually went through with it!"
Tyrion shrugged, still grinning. "It was her idea. I just said yes. Bishop Reynard did the whole thing right there in Corleone's office. All legal."
Jaime shook his head, still laughing. "Father is going to shit himself. All that work tying the North to us, and one signature wipes it out."
Tyrion mimicked Tywin's deep voice, low and mocking. "You've ruined everything, Tyrion." He switched to his own tone. "No, Father. You ruined it the day you forced us to marry."
They both laughed again, the sound sharp with years of shared resentment. For once it felt good to be on the same side against their father.
Sansa stepped out of the office.
She wore a plain gray wool dress and a dark cloak, red hair braided simply over one shoulder. No jewels, no paint. She looked older. Stronger.
She gave Jaime a cool, perfect curtsy. She didn't even glance at Tyrion.
Jaime nodded back. Neither of them spoke.
Sansa walked past them, boots steady on the stone. She didn't look back.
Tyrion watched her go. "She's not the scared little bird anymore. That girl died in the Red Keep. Whoever that is now… she might outlive all of us."
Jaime stayed quiet for a moment, then said, "You're right."
Tyrion clapped Jaime's leg since he couldn't reach his shoulder. "I've got to go check in with the City Watch. Daily visits to prove I haven't run off. Can't give Father any excuses right now."
He started walking, already humming that same song again, lighter this time.
Jaime watched him disappear around the corner, then turned and walked into Corleone's office.
Corleone was handing a heavy pouch of gold to Bishop Reynard. The coins clinked softly as the bishop tucked it away inside his robes.
"Thank you for your generosity, Ser Corleone," the bishop said. "The sept's repairs can begin, and the poorer brothers will eat better. The Seven will remember this."
Corleone leaned back in his chair. "It's a fair trade. You helped me. I help the Faith. Simple."
The bishop bowed again and left.
Jaime closed the door behind him. "Your reach keeps growing. Even the sept's for sale now?"
Corleone smiled faintly. "Not for sale. Just business. The bishop needed coin for repairs and the poor. I needed certain… conveniences inside the Faith. We both got what we wanted."
They talked about how Corleone had pulled strings to find Dontos Hollard so fast. Favors, payments, quiet deals across the city. Nothing dramatic. Just a web of people who owed him something.
Jaime drained his cup. The wine burned going down.
Then he set it down and looked straight at Corleone.
"I'm leaving King's Landing."
Corleone raised an eyebrow.
"I'm going to the Wall," Jaime said. "I need to learn how to fight with my left hand. Really learn. Not just swing and hope."
He flexed his left hand. "Right now I'm useless with a sword. I couldn't protect Joffrey. I couldn't protect Tommen. I couldn't even protect my own brother. I won't live like that anymore."
He asked Corleone to watch over Tyrion while he was gone. Keep him alive until Jaime came back.
Corleone didn't say yes right away. He set conditions. Jaime had to come back alive. He had to actually get good with the left hand. No half-measures.
Then he gave Jaime a gift.
A custom sword. Well-balanced, made for one hand, lion-head pommel with a small black hand sigil worked into the design. Not Valyrian steel, but the best steel that could be forged in King's Landing.
Jaime drew it. Swung it once. It felt right. Like it had been made for him.
They didn't say much after that. Just a quiet thanks and a nod.
Jaime left.
Corleone stood at the window and watched him ride north until the white cloak disappeared into the city.
He poured himself the last of the wine and raised the cup toward the north.
"Good luck, Jaime Lannister. Good luck to all of us."