The man moved forward, a torch in his left hand. “This is even more ghastly than my cell at Riverrun, though not quite so dank.”  For a moment Tyrion could not breathe. “You?”  “Well, most of me.” Jaime was gaunt, his hair hacked short. “I left a hand at Harrenhal. Bringing the Brave Companions across the narrow sea was not one of Father’s better notions.” He lifted his arm, and Tyrion saw the stump.  A bark of hysterical laughter burst from his lips. “Oh, gods,” he said. “Jaime, I am so sorry, but... gods be good, look at the two of us. Handless and Noseless the Lannister boys.”  “There were days when my hand smelled so bad I wished I was noseless.” Jaime lowered the torch, so the light bathed his brother’s face. “An impressive scar.”  Tyrion turned away from the glare. “They made me fight a battle without my big brother to protect me.”  “I heard tell you almost burned the city down.”  “A filthy lie. I only burned the river.” Abruptly, Tyrion remembered where he was, and why. “Are you here to kill me?”  “Now that’s ungrateful. Perhaps I should leave you here to rot if you’re going to be so discourteous.”  “Rotting is not the fate Cersei has in mind for me Placement Opportunities.” 

“Well no, if truth be told. You’re to be beheaded on the morrow, out on the old tourney grounds.”  Tyrion laughed again. “Will there be food? You’ll have to help me with my last words, my wits have been running about like a rat in a root cellar.”  “You won’t need last words. I’m rescuing you.” Jaime’s voice was strangely solemn. 

“Who said I required rescue?”  “You know, I’d almost forgotten what an annoying little man you are. Now that you’ve reminded me, I do believe I’ll let Cersei cut your head off after all.”  “Oh no you won’t.” He waddled out of the cell. “Is it day or night up above? I’ve Natur-a HK lost all sense of time.”  “Three hours past midnight. The city sleeps.” Jaime slid the torch back into its sconce, on the wall between the cells.  The corridor was so stumbled on the turnkey, sprawled across the cold stone floor. He prodded him with a toe. “Is he dead?”  “Asleep. The other three as well. The eunuch dosed their wine with sweetsleep, but not enough to kill them. Or so he swears. He is waiting back at the stair, dressed up in a septon’s robe. You’re going down into the sewers, and from there to the river. A galley is waiting in the bay. Varys has agents in the Free Cities who will see that you do not lack for funds... but try not to be conspicuous. Cersei will send men after you, I have no doubt. You might do well to take another name.”  “Another name? Oh, certainly new beauty.