Oberyn disappeared around the corner of the long street. Corleone watched him go, then turned to find Jaime and Brienne walking toward him side by side.
Jaime's face was still pale. His sword had been recovered and now hung at his hip again. "I'm sorry, Corleone," he said, voice rough. "I didn't help much tonight. Almost became a liability instead."
He gave a bitter smile. "Remember what you told me on the Kingsroad? Stay alive and don't play the hero. Looks like I was never meant to be one anyway. If my right hand was still—"
"This hand is good too," Corleone cut in. He reached out and lifted Jaime's golden prosthetic into the torchlight. The metal gleamed, every dent and scratch visible. "It suits you, Jaime."
He released the hand and gripped Jaime's shoulder firmly. "You once told me great men aren't born great—they become great through what they do. Tonight, when you stepped in front of me and faced the Mountain, I saw that greatness in you. It doesn't depend on which hand holds the sword. It depends on why you fight… and how you get back up when you fall."
He paused, then added with a half-smile, "That left-handed sparring partner you hired isn't doing you any favors. From tomorrow on, come to the Hall of Order every morning. I'll train with you myself. You've got the foundation from your youth. You just need time to adjust."
Jaime stared at him, then let out a short, genuine laugh. For the first time that night, some of the weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.
After a long moment, he shook his head. "No, Corleone. I'm leaving King's Landing. I'm going north. To the Wall."
Corleone blinked. "The Wall? Now? The Ironborn still hold parts of the coast, and things up there are—"
"This is my choice," Jaime said firmly. His green eyes were steady. "The Mountain was right about one thing tonight. The king doesn't need a Lord Commander who can't even hold a sword."
He looked past Corleone toward the dark northern sky. "The white cloak feels more like a joke than an honor now. I broke my vows once to save the realm. I can break them again to save myself."
He flexed his left hand into a fist. "I want to meet the man you mentioned before—the ranger they call the Halfhand. I want to see how a man who lost his sword hand trains his left to become one of the best fighters on the Wall. I want to understand what combat really means when everything else is stripped away."
His voice grew quieter but no less determined. "Better than staying here watching my hair turn gray while Joffrey plays at being king and my father turns every relationship into a ledger entry. Fighting… that's what keeps me alive. A lion that can't hunt gets driven out of the pride to die in the mud."
Corleone studied him for a long moment, then simply asked, "When do you leave?"
"After Joffrey and Margaery's wedding," Jaime answered. "I owe the boy that much. One last post to stand."
Corleone nodded. He didn't try to talk him out of it. Some paths had to be walked alone.
Jaime met his eyes. "If you can… watch over Cersei for me. She's been acting more and more like the Mad King lately. I know it's a lot to ask, but you always find a way. Because you're Vito Corleone."
Corleone raised an eyebrow. "You're dumping extra work on me now? High risk, low reward, Jaime Lannister. This one's going to cost you."
He smirked. "You owe me another favor."
Jaime stared, then laughed again—tired but real. "Yeah. Another one. I've been stacking debts since the day you pulled me out of the Riverlands. What's one more?"
"A Lannister always pays his debts," Corleone said. "But I think you'll be paying me back for the rest of your life."
They looked at each other and smiled. No hugs. No tears. Just two men who understood each other.
Jaime gave Corleone and Brienne a short nod, then turned and walked toward the Red Keep. His white cloak fluttered behind him, still clean despite everything. He didn't look back.
Corleone and Brienne watched him go.
After a long silence, Brienne spoke. Her sapphire eyes were clear. "Your sword work tonight… it was excellent. You've surpassed what I taught you at Harrenhal. You have real talent, Corleone."
"You taught me," he replied simply. "Every technique, every footwork, every word you said on that training yard—I remembered it all. A good teacher beats ten years of blind practice."
A rare, genuine smile touched her face. "I'm glad."
Then her expression turned serious again. "I'm leaving too, Corleone. Tomorrow."
"So soon?" he asked.
"Your swordsmanship has outgrown mine. I have nothing left to teach you. Staying here would only hold us both back." She glanced around at the clean streets of Flea Bottom glowing under the lamps. "This place is good. Better than Tarth. People here call me Lady Brienne or even Ser. They look at me with respect instead of disgust."
She met his eyes. "Sansa is safe for now. She doesn't need me anymore. But Arya is still out there. I swore an oath to Lady Catelyn—on the old gods and the new—to bring her daughters home. I have to keep that promise. And I have to kill Stannis Baratheon for what he did to Renly."
Corleone didn't argue. He saw the fire in her eyes. This was her path.
"Then go with the gods' blessing, Lady Brienne," he said. "May you find Arya safe. And may Stannis pay what he owes."
He paused. "And know this—the Hall of Order will always have a place for you. Not as a guest or a subordinate. As a friend. And as a knight."
"I'm not a knight," she reminded him.
"Titles don't matter. Actions do," Corleone said. "Whenever you return, as long as the lamps are lit, there will be a seat, a drink, and a friend who will listen."
Brienne stared at him, visibly moved. She didn't speak. Instead she drew her sword, held it upright in a formal salute, then sheathed it and turned away. Her steps were steady as she headed back to prepare for tomorrow's journey.
Corleone stood alone in the cooling night. The leaves were turning. Autumn had arrived.
He took a slow breath, straightened his cloak, and walked back into the brightly lit hall. The music stopped the moment he entered. Every eye turned toward him.
He stepped onto the central platform, raised one hand, and waited for silence.
When the hall was quiet, he spoke clearly.
"My lords, ladies, knights, and friends of the Black Hand… I have something very important to announce."