In the bedroom chewing on the sheets. Who would leave a gift horse in the bedroom? And why would his father let anyone outside of the housekeeping staff into the bedroom?
The more Jaime thought about it, the more convinced he was that it was a relic from the dreams, just like Brienne's suit of armour was. It must have been Lord Tywin Lannister's horse. Why, or how, he didn't know. What he did know was that he might wake up one day to find a gold hand or a stump where his right hand should be, and that thought was quite unsettling.
They took slow, steady steps to the dining table - Jaime barely noticed that his father's hand was heavier than usual, but he said nothing about it.
"It won't win any awards but it's edible. I tried some before packing it up." Talking about the food or about anything to do with his trip to Italy would have been a much easier subject than the dreams. With most people on the network talking about them like they were normal, or going half-mad together with him, Jaime knew that he wasn't alone with this mass hysteria of sorts. But that didn't make them any easier to talk about. He ran his fingers over his beard to try and find a way of talking about it that wouldn't make his father stare at him blankly like he needed to spend some time with a psychiatrist.
"I've had a few of these... I don't know. I don't know what they are. I'm a... medieval knight of sorts."