Bath
Jaime woke up freezing. Wet and fucking freezing.
Probably because someone had dumped him in his tub. He heard Tyrion laughing somewhere not too far away, which didn’t bode well.
And once he stopped choking water, a familiar face was watching him in amusement. “Alright there, Prince Charming?"
"Fine, little hellcat," he told Rhaenys. Jesus, he’d babysat her as a teenager. When did his pain in the ass next door neighbor grow up? “I’m breathing, which is better than I was."
"You smell like cheap beer," she pointed out with that vague helpfulness that usually meant trouble. “And you’ve managed to get light enough Jon and I can carry you."
"Yeah, well, not much else to do," he pointed out, trying to get up and cursing his fucking arm for not being able to do anything.
"Because you don’t want to do anything," Jon said, solemn and diasapproving. Who invited Stark’s mini-me, anyway?
"We can help, brother," Tyrion said, going serious. Which normally terrified Jaime, but the annoyance was still winning out over anything else.
"Are you giving me an intervention?" he asked, blinking water out of his eyes in surprise.
"Well…" Rhaenys and Jon looked at each other before she spoke up, “Tyrion and I are. Myrcella is still in school for a week, and Cersei is kind of throwing her own pity party. Jon’s just muscle."
"He’s quiet," Tyrion said with a look, sitting on the toilet as if Jaime wasn’t still dripping in a tub of ice-cold bathwater. “And I didn’t think Father should be involved."
"Hence me being within a five block radius," Rhaenys muttered, rubbing her ragged ear.
"What do you propose I do?" Jaime asked.
Jon flushed, and Tyrion raised his eyebrows.
“Well…”