Almost, Always, All Yours - PiOneOneZero (2024)

Chapter 1: Praying

Chapter Text

Tywin walked interminably slowly down the room, silver cane dragging over the surface of the table as he did so. Jaime’s already stuttering words stalled all the more as he looked up into his father’s stony eyes.

“Again.” The single word Tywin spoke travelled down Jaime’s spine to his stomach and squeezed, the end of the cane tapping down in a dull thud against the page before him.

“A...A..eeee...gon T...tar...g...” The sharp swish cut him off a split second before pain exploded across his knuckles. He bit down on his lower lip as tears welled in his eyes, clouding his vision – the words swimming on the page even more than they'd already been. He’d learnt by bitter experience that making any sound or allowing himself to cry would only worsen his situation.

“This is unacceptable,” Tywin said flatly, “you’ve had this book for a week and you’re still failing on the most basic words. You should know this. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry father.” Jaime kept his head bowed, gaze focussed on the pattern of wood grain in the tabletop so he didn’t look at the line of red welts rising once again across his knuckles. Somehow seeing the damage made the pain worse.

“And what am I to do with sorry? Sorry doesn’t fix your attitude. Sorry isn’t applying yourself more. You embarrass me boy. 'Tywin Lannister’s son can’t read at the age of twelve', they’ll say and they’ll laugh at us. I won’t have it.”

“Yes father. I’ll try harder father.”

“I should hope so. I’d prefer not to have to remind you again, but if you leave me no choice...” He flexed the cane in his hands just above the tabletop where he knew Jaime would be able to see it in spite of his bowed head.

“Of course father. I don’t need a reminder, I promise.” The fire came again across his hands informing him of his misstep.

“I will be the judge of that you insolent little sh*t. Now get out of my sight before I have to remind you again how much of a f*cking disappointment you are.” Jaime pushed the chair back from the table slowly, suspecting a trap. When nothing happened, he slid his feet to the floor and took a couple of tentative steps away.

“Hurry up – before I change my mind.” Jaime turned and bolted for the door – no thought of the future consequences of this action, only needing to be as far as possible away from his father, Tywin’s sneering laugh echoing in his ears.

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It is said that in the moment before death your life flashes before your eyes, but that’s not quite what happened for Jaime Lannister. Lying in the pitch darkness, pain wracking every part of his body and his throat filled with dust, that flash was more a long, slow, agonising procession of painful memories, regrets and ‘what ifs’ as he felt his tenuous grip on consciousness slipping away.

Crushed against his left hip, Cersei’s body lay as unmoving as the stones that entombed them. He’d managed to locate her arm in the rubble, finding comfort in wrapping his fingers around it for a time, but as the painful minutes ticked on her skin grew cold and he drew his hand away. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity cared to listen that it had been quick for her, and that she wasn’t being forced to endure the same ordeal.

Trying to relax in the hope he would fall asleep and find an end to the pain, but finding it difficult given the weight pressing down on his chest, his mind once more slipped away into the past.

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Slamming the solid oak door and shooting the bolt, Jaime turned his back and slowly allowed himself to sink down to the floor. Crouched, heart hammering in his chest, he finally permitted the tears to fall. Wrapping his arms over his knees and burying his face into them, he cried until his shirt sleeves were damp and his head began to ache.

Avoiding the mirror as he rose - he had no desire to see what a state he looked - he walked over to the bed and fell back on it to stare at the ceiling. In spite of the hours he had put into studying the book he had failed yet again. Why did he find this so hard?

The doorknob rattled, and the sound was followed by a quiet knock when the door failed to open. Jaime lifted his head slightly to stare in that direction but didn't make a sound or rise from the bed.

The quiet knock came again.

"Jaime... Jaime are you in there? It's me." Cersei’s voice was quite soft, and he was torn between wanting to let her in and wanting to be left alone. Solitude won out.

"Go away," he shouted back.

The doorknob rattled again, more vigorously, followed by two firm thuds that were clearly Cersei trying to force her way through. Then her voice came again,

“Jaime Lannister, open this door right now or I’ll never speak to you again!"

Jaime was certain that wouldn't prove to be entirely true, but he knew his twin well enough to know that she would probably shun him for quite some time - and threaten worse - if he failed to comply. Her willpower had always been stronger than his.

He moved to the door and slid the bolt, making the concession of turning his back on Cersei as she entered the room.

Closing the door firmly behind her she grabbed his shoulder roughly and spun him back around. She paused a moment to take in his face which, by the look she gave him, must be a blotchy red mess.

"Darling what happened?” Her anger quickly turned to concern as she embraced him - he allowed his head to fall onto her shoulder and the tears came again. All he managed to stammer out between his sobs was,

"F... f- father... he... I couldn't..." He held his wounded hands up where she could see them. She sighed and drew back.

"He gave you another reading test, didn't he?" Jaime simply nodded in response.

“You know it’s quite simple Jaime, if you don't want him to punish you, you need to work harder." She frowned at him as she spoke.

"Cersei I have tried, don't you think I want him to stop? I just can't do it."

"Of course you can do it, everyone can read, even Tyrion can manage a few words and he's barely more than a baby,” she scoffed.

"I can't," he insisted, "whenever I look at the book I just can't seem to be able to see the words properly. It’s like the letters move around on the page. I don't know why."

"Try opening your eyes and not daydreaming about knights and tourneys," she laughed, "if you can't figure out a few names and dates when they're right there in front of you, you really are the stupidest Lannister." She shook her head as she turned away to the window, and looked down over the woods beyond the castle wall.

Jaime took the opportunity whilst her back was turned to dry his eyes on his sleeve and attempt to stop sniffing.

After a few quiet moments Cersei turned back to him and, resting her hands on his upper arms, said in a nicer tone,

"Now are you going to get cleaned up for dinner or am I leaving you here to sulk and be hungry?"

After a few deep breaths to compose himself, Jamie replied,

"I’ll get ready for dinner." Cersei smiled, a real smile, for the first time since she’d entered the room.

"There's a good boy," she said as she leant in towards him and planted a firm kiss on his lips, hand brushing over his hair, "don't let father see he's won – and… learn your lesson?"

With that, she turned and left the room; Jaime raised a hand to his lips, tracing over where hers had touched them as he longingly watched her go.

Chapter 2: Talk About Love

Chapter Text

Brienne returned to her room after her early morning sparring session with Podrick. She rubbed each calf as she removed her greaves, wincing at her aching back when she straightened up. She couldn't work out if she was stiffer than usual this morning or whether he'd given her a harder work out - either way he certainly seemed to be improving.

She caught herself smiling slightly – the pride she felt in her protégé finally distracting her enough from her melancholy. She mused that this could well be the first time she’d smiled since Jaime had departed nearly two weeks ago… and she caught her thoughts turning back to him again. She was still trying to come to terms with all that had happened between them since his highly unexpected but welcome arrival in Winterfell.

Part of her was determined not to allow her feelings for a man define her - indeed her entire life to this point had been built on her ability to take care of herself - but that wasn't the part of her that was desperately heartbroken.

Their liaison had become the worst kept secret in the castle, with everyone seemingly aware but too polite to openly admit their knowledge of it. They had been less proficient at hiding it, however, once he had left in the night after the best part of a month sleeping in her bed rather than his own.

Sansa had been quite forthright in her anger, feeling he had both deceived her in his intentions and besmirched her honour, but Brienne had - in spite of her hurt feelings - insisted he'd promised her nothing and she had shared his bed willingly without demanding such. Even after he’d abandoned her she still found herself determined to defend him - she understood what motivated his actions even if she disagreed wholeheartedly with his reasoning.

In truth she had just been happy that her long held attraction to him had been reciprocated and assumed anything more formal would be addressed in time. Time that it turned out they would not have. But she did not regret a moment of their time together, in spite of her broken heart and the gnawing fear for his safety – the only thing she did regret was her inability to save him from himself.

Removing the last of her armour, she sank into the tub that had been drawn for her. Following Jaime's departure, it had taken a few days for the maidservants to realise she liked to bathe immediately after her sparring session. Whilst he had been with her he'd taken great delight in preparing her morning bath, a pleasure she had been both bemused and entertained by. It was the little things she missed, as well as the larger ones.

Closing her eyes as she relaxed into the water, she took a moment to feel the pain of missing him rise in her stomach, before she forced her mind onto reliving memories of the treasured time they’d shared.

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"I’ve never slept with a knight before." Jaime's eyes searched hers, burning with that vulnerability he so often masked, and it induced her to reciprocate,

"I’ve never slept with anyone before," she finally confessed - she was aware he and half the castle already knew this but speaking it aloud made her feel powerful. Taking ownership of her virginity for the first time in front of the man she was about to lose it to made her feel in control, despite the fear that vibrated in her gut at the prospect.

Typically, he broke the tension with humour,

"Then you have to drink - those are the rules." His attempt to distract her from her nerves had the desired effect – her mind slipped instantly back into verbal sparring.

"I told you..." His kiss cut her off in mid-sentence, and all thought of anything but the feel and taste of him in her mouth was chased away.

She'd imagined this moment so many times in so many different scenarios, but the reality of it surprised her. There was a greater urgency and passion in his kiss than she had expected - one that she found herself returning.

The heat of his mouth was delicious, despite the strong flavour of wine, and as his tongue danced against hers a fire spread down her spine. Her blood roared in her ears and she felt a little light headed, struggling to resist the urge to laugh at the sheer delight of the moment.

He drew her in, pressing his body flush against hers, her naked breasts meeting his chest. He moaned softly into her mouth, the sound eliciting a twinge between her legs that made her gasp.

He drew away a little, breaking the kiss but keeping them pressed together, taking in her face. She was aware of her breathing coming fast and shallow, heart beating rapidly.

Suddenly realising she must look like a startled rabbit, she smiled, and his face lit up as he returned the expression. For the first time she felt like she was seeing Jaime Lannister truly without his barriers, and it thrilled her.

She reinitiated the kiss, controlling the pace this time as she slowly explored his mouth with her tongue, and he seemed content to allow her that control.

His golden hand was firm and cold against her back, a contrast to the damp heat of his skin on her chest - she wanted to tell him it was all right to remove it, that he didn't need to hide anything from her, but the thought was lost when he moved his left hand around to cup her breast.

He caressed it gently at first, gauging her reaction, but more firmly when she threaded her hands around the back of his head and deepened the kiss again.

A sharp flick of his thumb over her nipple sent more sparks tumbling southwards and she groaned in response, certain the noise was not an attractive one. He seemed to disagree, however, as he walked her swiftly backwards to the edge of the bed and pushed her down onto it.

His weight on top of her felt good, really good, and he returned his attention to her breasts, rolling one nipple between his finger and thumb and bending his head to the other, drawing it into his mouth and sucking gently.

Involuntarily she arched her hips off the bed, meeting against a hardness that brought back the nerves to her stomach sharply. He hissed at the contact and thrust against her thigh once before holding himself there and breathing deeply for a few moments. Then he spoke,

"You have no idea what you do to me."

Brienne was almost startled by the effect she appeared to be having on him - she couldn't find a way to respond so she merely raised a hand to his face, stroking his cheek in a way she hoped he would find affectionate.

She was greeted with a look she had never before received from any man - a look that conveyed pure desire, and it ignited a fire in her that she hadn’t known she possessed. Pulling Jaime closer against her once more she brought his mouth to hers – kissing him eagerly as she explored the firm muscles of his back.

He ran his hands down her sides, one warm and the other cold and she arched into him once more, this time the pool of molten metal between her legs finding his unyielding length through the layers of cloth.

Their moans came together then, louder and less controlled. She was caught up between the waves of pleasure, unfamiliar but incredible, and the growing sense of disbelief that Jaime Lannister, of all men, could desire her.

She had long resigned herself to pining over him from afar, grateful for the connection they had forged but convinced that, to him, it was no more than mutual respect and a common outlook. And now here he was in her bed. She found herself wondering how long he had returned the attraction she had harboured for him for many years.

She was dragged back to the present by the brush of his hands over her hips - then his golden hand caught in her trouser pocket and he swore, pulling away from her as he tried to free it with his good hand.

She grasped his wrist with one hand to still him, lifting his chin to meet her eyes again with the other.

"You don't have to keep it on - let me." Gently, she undid the fastenings and removed it, setting it aside on the table that was just within reach. She raised his right arm to her lips and tenderly kissed his stump. He shuddered slightly at the contact.

"Does it not… disgust you?" he asked, jaw clenched. She sighed and ran her thumb over the top of it again,

"Not in the slightest - in fact I find it one of the most attractive things about you." He laughed slightly - trying and almost succeeding in hiding his surprise. Then he followed up with the predictable joke,

"Is that because it means you'll always be able to best me with a sword?"

She resolved to confront him later about his determination to deflect difficult topics with humour, but now was not the time. Right now he needed her compassion,

"No, it's because you lost your hand protecting me - and it's a constant reminder of the man you really are, no matter how much you try to deny it." He looked down for a few seconds before meeting her eyes once more,

"It's all you," he responded, "you make me better than I ever thought I could be…" He paused, dropping his hand to the fastenings on her breeches, fumbling for a few seconds before freeing them. She helped him pull them away and discard them to the floor.

She felt his eyes on her, and she struggled with the urge to cover herself as he took her in. He continued,

"…and it's high time I thanked you properly." Then his hand was between her legs, stroking gently through the dampness there, probing at her entrance.

She threw her head back, sighing at pleasure she hadn’t imagined she could experience - then his thumb circled against her and she cried out at the intensity - he stopped instantly,

"Too much?" he asked, searching her face, his tone uncertain. She shook her head, taking a few moments to gather her response,

"Just... go slow." He chuckled deep in his throat, a sound that aroused her almost as much as his touch. He continued, drawing lazy patterns against the sensitive nub she'd barely acknowledged she possessed until now.

She rolled back and forth on the bed all thought of nerves and modesty forgotten, as he leant on his right arm beside her, trailing kisses on her neck as his hand worked its magic.

The pleasure built in intensity, her cries with it, and as he continued his strokes, gradually picking up the pace he slid first one finger, then two inside her - matching the rhythm he set with his thumb.

She hissed slightly but he continued, and she began to move with him. Just as she couldn't imagine climbing any higher she came apart, shuddering against him uncontrollably with a guttural cry, as white heat seared her vision.

He drew her against him, bringing his lips back to hers and kissing her gently as her breathing and racing heart slowed. The back of his fingers caressed softly over her hair and down her face as he met her eyes once more. He spoke, his voice even softer now, whispered and husky,

"Are you sure you want this?" He pressed himself hard against her as he said it, making his meaning clear.

Still flushed from her release, she sank into the pools of his blue-green eyes as she replied,

"More than anything." She demonstrated her certainty by turning her attention to the lacing on his breeches. To say she was unafraid would be a lie, but she was so ready to be one with this beautiful man that the fear no longer mattered.

She worked the fastenings for a few seconds before freeing them and helping him pull his breeches down. His rigid co*ck stood proud, purple and demanding - and she felt herself staring.

He allowed her a moment - she could feel his eyes on her, revelling in her gaze. Then he gently took her hand and guided it onto his length. She stroked up and down his shaft a few times - he threw his head back and drew his lower lip between his teeth, breathing shallow.

He reached out his hand to still her after what felt like only a moment, face flushed and panting - a new sheen breaking out on his skin,

"As incredible as that is, I’ll have to stop you otherwise this is going to be over rather faster than would be ideal.” She barely registered him sliding himself over her again she was so lost in the thought that she could have such power over him, to make him almost lose control.

His delicious weight on her snapped her back to reality once more - gasping at the feel of his co*ck pressing against her centre.

He stroked her face again, raising a questioning eyebrow for her to confirm her consent. She simply nodded, and he slid himself slowly into her. The feeling of impossible fullness was not without pain, but as he started up a gentle rhythm the sting eased, and she found herself meeting against his thrusts instinctively.

His face fascinated her, eyes closed, mouth slightly open and wholly unguarded, he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

His thrusts soon became more erratic, and his moans wilder, before he spilled into her with a cry and collapsed forward onto her chest, breathing ragged.

She stroked his hair as he came down, his expression now peaceful, more so even than when she had seen him asleep.

He rolled aside and sought her lips with his - now lazier and unhurried. He laced his fingers in hers and broke away, raising her hand for a kiss.

Words didn't seem to be necessary - they had said everything they needed to say with their bodies. Jaime met her gaze one last time before snuggling his head against her chest and throwing his arm over her. She pulled the furs up to cover them and wrapped her arms around him protectively before closing her eyes.

Chapter 3: Love the Way You Lie

Chapter Text

Jaime had lost all feeling in his right arm. He'd tried a few times to reposition himself to ease the pressure, but he hadn't succeeded.

It felt strange - taking him back years to when he'd first lost his hand. He'd felt a similar numb sensation as infection began to spread up his arm - before Qyburn had treated it and most likely saved his life.

At that time, he'd still felt the ghost of his hand often - pain, itching, cold. Lately that had become a rare occurrence, but it came back now, pain stabbing at his wrist and spreading down to his non-existent fingers.

He could tell his golden hand had been lost somewhere in the chaos, and his instant thought at the realisation was pleasure. He hated the cumbersome, uncomfortable thing, but Cersei had been insistent, and he'd long learnt the futility of arguing with her.

Brienne, wonderful Brienne had never needed such baubles to see him as whole, but he fought his mind's attempts to think of her. Almost every memory of her was a pleasant one and he did not deserve that. He didn't deserve to be happy after the way he'd left her, begging in the snow for him to stay.

She was better off without him - he could never be the honourable man she saw in him no matter how he tried. His aching arm refused to ease, and he growled with pain and frustration, but he was not afraid. He'd faced far worse things in his life than a slow death. In some ways this felt like a penance - if it was possible to atone for all he'd done.

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The firelight glinted off Cersei's golden hair as Jaime ran his hand softly over it, turning each strand into a dancing flame. They were lying in bed, spent, and for the first time ever after they'd made love, she hadn't immediately asked him to leave - she'd fallen into a soft slumber, curled against his chest.

She looked so peaceful there - he couldn't recall seeing her sleep since they were small and shared a room. He'd spent hours in those days just watching her breathe as she dreamed - only then had she ever looked truly serene.

He couldn't resist stroking her hair one more time, extending his thumb to run over her cheek. He instantly regretted it as she stirred and opened her eyes - smiling at him for a moment before realisation hit and her face turned to revulsion. She pushed him away from her,

"Jaime what the hell are you doing? Get the f*ck out of my bed!"

Normally he would have heeded her without pause, but this time something made him resist - a longing perhaps for that peaceful, dreamlike moment they’d shared before the fire’s glow. He tensed against her pushing hands and she froze for a second.

"Cersei, please don't make me leave. I just want to sleep next to you." She recoiled at the suggestion,

"I could never sleep beside you - what we do, what you do to me - it makes me feel disgusting.” He could feel the tears pricking at his eyes in reaction to her words,

"Cersei please..." she slapped him, hard - a sharp pain, stinging his cheek. He raised his hand to his face, to the warm, wet feel of blood, and he realised the ring she wore had cut him.

"Get away from me." This time he complied, darting for the door, if only in fear of what she might do next if he continued his attempt to remain.

In contrast, the fire in his room had almost burned itself out when he returned there - he moved across to the nightstand to light a candle and was startled when he saw the shadowy outline of a figure move towards him from around the bed.

He breathed out hard in relief as he realised who it was - by the size of the dark shape it could only be his little brother Tyrion. Shielding his face with one arm, he wiped the streak of blood and tears from his cheek with the open cuff of his other sleeve, trying to hide both from the child.

Despite his tender age and diminutive stature, Tyrion was extraordinarily perceptive, and Jaime could tell he had failed in concealing both his injury and his distress. He cut the boy off just before he had chance to speak,

"What are you doing here?” he asked. It succeed in diverting the small boy's attention for only a moment,

"I couldn't sleep - what happened to your face?" Jaime paused for a few seconds before quickly coming up with a response.

“I… I cut myself shaving." Tyrion eyebrows raised incredulously.

“I don't believe you," he challenged back, "You've been gone for nearly an hour - and anyway, you’re barely old enough to need to shave yet."

Jaime hung his head for a moment. How was it that everyone in his life seemed to be able to outwit him, even down to his seven-year-old brother? Perhaps he really was as stupid as his father and Cersei had always told him he was.

"I..." He gulped, before bursting into tears and dropping to his knees on the cold stone floor - he should have added more wood to the fire before he left. Tyrion was by his side in a second, tiny arms barely wrapping to the back of his elder brother's shoulders, but Jaime appreciated the comfort more than he could know.

He felt a small measure of shame at his breakdown but knew the one person in this world he didn't need to hide his pain from was his clever little brother.

“Tell me what really happened?” Tyrion's voice was almost a whisper, and the tender innocence of it pulled the truth from Jaime's lips.

"Cersei hit me." A gentle hand lifted Jaime's chin to meet his brother's eyes, the other brushing over his wounded cheek. He winced at the contact but met the boy's bright eyes.

"I know," Tyrion replied, "why do you let her be so mean to you?"

Jaime exhaled slowly - what right did this scrap of a child have to be so wise? He ran through a few pathetic fabricated answers before discarding them all and baring his soul.

"Because I love her." The answer hung, thick, in the air for a few moments, Jaime almost fearing what his brother would say next, and what that might mean. He was glad he knew Tyrion would never speak to Cersei about anything he'd said, or he may also need to fear his sister's wrath.

"I love you, but it doesn't mean I'd let you hurt me. Not without liking you less anyway." Jaime contained his relief - Tyrion was still too innocent to perceive what was really between he and Cersei, in spite of his intelligence.

"She doesn't really mean it," Jaime replied weakly, "she just gets... frustrated sometimes. It's hard being a girl - all she wants is to impress father, but he doesn't seem to notice her.”

"Well then she should hit father and not you. He deserves it far more anyway."

Jaime started away from Tyrion as he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor - he hadn't pushed the door completely to and was suddenly terrified of who might have overheard them. The door opened slowly.

Cersei's expressionless face appeared in the doorway, but it quickly turned to anger when her eyes laid on Tyrion.

"What are YOU doing here!?" Her gaze flicked to her twin, "and what in seven hells have you done to Jaime!?"

Jaime watched Tyrion’s eyes dart between him and his sister, panicked. His protective instinct towards his little brother emboldened him in the face of her rage,

"Cersei, what are you talking about!? You did this!" He gestured at his cheek, tensing against the fear that threatened to rise in his stomach at the boiling behind her eyes.

But they softened, and she moved towards him, causing Tyrion to back away.

"Jaime, darling, you know I would never hurt you." Her hand stroked tenderly over his hair, and she planted a kiss on his forehead. Jaime made as if to protest, but he couldn't find a way to argue with her without risking revealing too much to Tyrion.

His brother's eyes, whilst filled with fear, still darted between the two of them and his expression had turned quizzical. Cersei registered where Jaime was looking, and turned, almost hissing, back towards the child.

"How dare you hurt him like this you vile little sh*t - get out of here at once. And don't think I won't tell father!" Tyrion didn't hesitate to scamper away, with a final apologetic glance at his older brother as he did so.

Returning her full attention back to Jaime, she rubbed over his shoulders a few times before he felt himself relaxing into her embrace, nestling his face into side of her neck. In spite of everything, this was still the safest place in the world.

"There, there my sweetling… I'll make it all better. I won't let that nasty little thing hurt you any more."

Chapter 4: Can You Feel the Love Tonight

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The fires blazed as always in Winterfell's Great Hall, but a quiet chill had settled over the keep. Its occupants were sitting down to their evening meal in a rather emptier room than they had become accustomed to over the past weeks – the departure of Daenerys, Jon and their armies rendering the castle quiet and still.

Brienne registered the change, but found herself little affected by it - for all the sudden emptiness in her surroundings, her heart was full. For what felt like the hundredth time in the few minutes since they'd sat down she glanced at the man sitting to her right, flashing a shy smile and dropping her eyes as his met them.

His hand moved fractions of an inch across the table top, brushing his fingers subtly against hers and causing her stomach to turn over. For so many years, she'd heard songs of love and never related to them - not understanding how silly headed girls could find themselves overawed by the attentions of a man, when there were so many things that mattered more in the world - duty, honour, fighting injustice.

Now despite her years of training and her fierce independence, suddenly nothing else mattered but her golden lion with the sea green eyes that had utterly captivated her. She was just one of those silly girls after all.

It had been a week since the battle with the dead and practically every moment she'd been off duty during that time, she'd been with Jaime. Their injuries, both physical and mental, were healing - aided by the gentle exercise of long walks and light sparring. The greatest healing, though, had come from the countless hours he'd spent in her bed, learning every inch of her, and she him.

She returned the brush of his fingers - needing to feel his presence, solid and real beside her. She hadn't believed he was really going to remain in Winterfell until everyone else had left, and even now she constantly needed to reassure herself he was still here.

He avoided talking about the coming battle in King's Landing and she didn't push him on it - she could tell he was in denial. Whatever happened she couldn't imagine the Dragon Queen allowing Cersei to live, and she was not ignorant of the consequences that were to come. She was content for now to live in their little bubble of happiness, and whenever that was shattered she would be there for Jaime and support him in any way he needed, for as long as he needed, even if that was forever.

She had always known how huge a part of his life Cersei was and the hold she had over him so, in spite of the strength of bond he'd developed with Brienne, to expect him to magically forget Cersei was foolish in the extreme.

The food had arrived, and Jaime withdrew his hand in order to make way for the serving dishes - she felt bereft for a few moments until his fingers touched her again, this time against her knee, sending goosebumps prickling all the way up and down her leg.

She cast a guilty glance toward Sansa sitting at her left, anxious that the heat rushing to her face would give them away, but she was met with a soft expression. If Sansa had any notion of what was between she and Jaime, the young woman was masterful at hiding it. She had, however, been very warm in her invitation to him to remain in Winterfell, and Brienne knew too much of her intelligence to really believe she was unaware.

She was uncertain, however, of whether her Lady would approve of Jaime's wandering hand at the dinner table. He traced up her thigh and over the curve of her buttock, searching for the hem of her shirt and slipping his hand underneath. She tried to keep her breathing even as his warm, rough fingers met the small of her back.

Reaching over the table and digging a serving spoon into the dish of vegetables, she studiously ignored Jaime's smug-faced attempts to catch her eye, his fingers working softly against her back and causing her to shiver.

She turned to her left, ladling winter-greens onto Sansa’s plate. As she bared her whole back to Jaime, he took the opportunity to run the flat of his hand over it and down to her hip, fingers tracing her spine as he went.

Ignoring him was becoming increasingly difficult, but she managed it, scooping vegetables onto her own plate and then gesturing towards him to ask if he wished to be served.

He answered merely with an eyebrow, raising his golden hand to indicate his inability to fill his own plate - of course he would be perfectly capable of doing so if his remaining hand wasn't engaged in its persistent distraction…

It was the servant who came around the table to cut Jaime's meat for him that finally forced him to remove his hand. Brienne could still feel the ghost of his warm skin against hers, probing her defences, and she had to admit they were easy for him to breach.

She found she had little appetite for the food in front of her, her imagination wandering to what might occur after the meal when they could be alone.

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Brienne woke with a start, rubbing the back of her hand across her gummy eyes. She could tell by the ache behind them that it was still early - the room was dark aside from the glow of the fire, but she usually rose before dawn in any case so she couldn't really guess at the time.

Wondering what had woken her, she became aware of how hot she was - peeling back the furs her arm brushed across wet skin. Her stomach and chest were soaking with sweat.

She rose from the bed, enjoying the cool rush of air on her body - ordinarily getting up was an unpleasant experience in the freezing North, but not tonight - she savoured the sensation.

Looking to the fireplace as she moved across to the wash stand, she felt a sense of confusion as she observed the dying embers. How could she have gotten so warm? Even when she'd had Jaime sharing the bed with her she hadn't woken due to overheating.

She attempted to banish the thought of him as she stood before the window - taking a washcloth from the stand she dipped it into the bowl and wrung out the excess. The damp cool cloth was a relief as she ran it across the back of her neck and down between her breasts.

There was no sign of dawn on the horizon - she'd only been asleep for an hour, two at most. Glancing down into the courtyard she could see a couple of figures moving around in the dim light of the lamps, likely stable hands finishing up the last few tasks of the day.

The castle looked a little different - maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed as if the piles of snow cleared to the walls were somewhat smaller. The wind which had howled around the tower for the past few weeks also seemed to have dropped.

She ran the cloth over her stomach one last time before dropping it onto the table. A thaw had arrived, or at least a break in the weather - perhaps whatever magic had animated the dead had brought the cold with it and their defeat had rendered the world warmer again.

Moving to the trunk at the foot of her bed, she rummaged around until she found a soft, light blanket and spread it over the bed before climbing in. Her battle to keep her thoughts from Jaime failed as she realised she'd been dreaming of him - at least in dreams she could enjoy thoughts of him, without pain or anger.

Over the past few days, anger had become the predominant emotion. In some ways, her anger didn't feel justified – she'd always feared he would leave and go back to Cersei, always knew it was a possibility - but the longer he'd remained with her the more she'd convinced herself he'd moved on.

She found being angry with him hard when she loved him so much, and so she directed it more towards herself, kindling a rage when she thought of her naivety. Sansa would scoff at her, curse Jaime and try to offer comfort, but Brienne struggled to think badly of him in spite of everything. Not when she understood so much of what motivated him. She’d just hoped that, even with the looming shadow of his past, the depth and purity of what they’d shared would have been enough. But she had been a fool.

She closed her eyes and tried to settle back down, hoping she would dream of him again.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

After what seemed like an eternity, the dessert dishes were cleared away and Sansa took her leave,

"You are excused for the rest of the evening, Ser Brienne, I intend to go to the hot spring. I hope you will also find some time to relax." Her eyes flicked to Jaime - a split second look, but long enough for any doubt Brienne had as to the young woman's knowledge of their relationship to be completely dispelled. She tried to hide her embarrassment, with what she suspected to be little success,

"Thank you my Lady - enjoy your bath.” Brienne made her own exit from the room, with a very pointed look at Jaime as she did. Naturally, he wore a self-satisfied smirk, at both his actions during dinner and Sansa's subtle disclosure. She tried to make her look such that he'd be left wondering whether or not he was in trouble - he wasn't really, of course, but if he could play games then so could she.

She felt a small measure of irritation at his ability to disrupt her usually serious demeanour, but she chased it away quickly. It was probably good for her.

He caught up with her halfway up the stairs to her room, catching her around the waist and pushing her against the wall. In truth he was not strong enough overpower her, but to her simultaneous horror and delight she let him do it - a thrill rushing through her as he pressed against her, already half-hard.

She was certain he had a clever quip all ready, but she cut him off before he had the chance to speak,

"That wasn't very knightly." She jutted her chin at him, wondering when she'd become so confident in playing the games he created.

"You mean grabbing a Lady in the corridor, or my behaviour at dinner?" He was so pleased with himself, his lips such small fractions of an inch from hers she swore she could taste his breath,

"Both. You've behaved appallingly for the past hour." He laughed slightly,

"Well it's a good thing I have a plan to make it up to you then." His eyes softened - his ability to suddenly turn sweet still caught her off guard. He leaned towards her ear, and a shiver ran down her neck as he spoke,

"I’m going to make love to you all night long – in fact, you’ll have to beg me to stop." It was a cliched line, but it had the desired effect on her, she felt a tremble in her knees and had to press back against the wall to keep her balance. Her defence against this moment of weakness was to continue the game just a little longer,

"Judging by the bulge in your trousers I'll be amazed if your 'all night' is more than about ten minutes." Her forthrightness clearly surprised him as much as it surprised her. He took a single step backwards, releasing her from the embrace and offering her his arm,

"My Lady Ser, will you allow me to escort you to your room? I promise to behave like a proper knight for at least the rest of the evening." She accepted his arm without further comment, shooting him a quick smile.

He returned it - the line where their flirtations turned from playful sarcasm to passion was still blurry and passed through awkwardness on the way. They exchanged no further words, merely shy glances as they made the rest of the way to her room.

Jaime held the door for her, a new intensity in his eyes, and all thought of the game was forgotten. He pressed a soft hand against the small of her back as she entered the room, closing the door behind them.

She turned to face him, waiting for him to make the next move - still lacking the confidence to initiate intimacy. He must have read the hesitation in her eyes, as he stepped forward, closing the short distance between them and running the back of his fingers over her cheek before placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

He took her hand, leading her not towards the bed but to the fire side, kneeling on the furs before the hearth and motioning her to join him. She complied, dropping to her knees by the flames and meeting his lips where they awaited her.

Their kiss was slow and easy, and lingered like the winter snows - clothing discarded piece by lazy piece as they melted into one another. Finally naked they lay down, hot damp flesh against hot damp flesh - the fire's glow playing along the hard lines of his arms and chest.

Drawing back from her as she lay before him, he swept a long, slow desire filled look down her body and she did not shrink from his gaze but met it - awed by the beauty of the catch light in his eyes.

He followed his look with his hand, tracing light fingers down her chest and over her stomach as he shuffled backwards, parting her thighs with his shoulders as he settled there. She found herself drawing in a long breath of anticipation as his head bowed to offer a kiss of a rather more intimate kind.

The heat of his mouth felt almost impossible where it met against tender flesh. She moaned in pleasure as he began to work his tongue against her, a deep, throaty moan but she cared not for how she sounded.

He began slowly, but she found herself impatient after the long ritual of their undressing and she urged him on. He was a fast learner and had ample knowledge of how to please her from their short time together.

After a few more swift strokes, she fell over the precipice crying out unheedingly. He slowed his pace in response, but did not stop, continuing to work his tongue against her swollen flesh, beginning the build up again.

Her head swam with stars, and she lost count of how many times he drove her over the edge but he did not stop until she dropped her trembling hands to his head, mussing his hair and finally finding her voice,

"Jaime... enough," was all she could manage to say, and he ceased his relentless dance, pressing the flat of his tongue against her for a few seconds before withdrawing it and pushing himself up on his arms to move back over her.

Skin on skin once more, his throbbing erection pressed against her, hot and hard. His arousal at giving her pleasure thrilled her and she instinctively canted her hips towards him, inviting him to take her.

He did, slowly, eyes dark and intense, defying her to look away. She did not, locking her eyes to his as he stilled, co*ck buried deep inside her. Then he started to move, long measured strokes that stirred something in her core, a primal ache that built and built as she lost herself in the liquid fire of his gaze.

He began almost to growl, an animal sound in the back of his throat, that grew until he spilled himself into her with a jerk, pulling her over the edge with him one more time as she felt her inner muscles pulsing around him. Neither broke eye contact for a second.

Both shaking, they rolled to their sides, lips clumsy against cheeks and eyelids before finding one another – messy kisses interspersed with gasping breaths.

Brienne tried to slow her breathing, but as she did she realised Jaime's panting was turning into ragged sobs. She took his face in her hands, meeting his eyes with concern as they filled with tears,

"Jaime, my love, what's wrong!?" His eyes dipped, something akin to guilt forming there.

"I... You... you don't want to know." The tears continued,

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." She cradled his head against her chest, fingers combing through his hair.

"I just... I never felt like that before. I never thought I'd be with someone who... wanted me like that. For me." She ignored the implied third person in his words, and what it said about her, and his past life.

"I want you for you. Always."

Chapter 5: Scars

Chapter Text

Sunlight shafted in through the high windows, illuminating every mote of dust that floated in the suddenly still air. Jaime breathed hard, his head swimming. He looked down at his sword, washed red with the blood of the two men collapsed at his feet.

It dripped thickly onto the floor, the sound amplified in his ringing ears, drip, drip, drip. A final strangled gasp emanated from the almost corpse that had been his king. The king he had sworn to protect. The king whose lifeblood ran from his sword…

His vision started to blur, his face to numb and he staggered backwards, collapsing onto the steps before the Iron Throne. His sword hung loosely in his hand, smearing a long scarlet streak across his formerly pristine white cloak.

He tried once again to gain control of his breathing. When they came for him, and they would come, he must seem surer of himself. He must not further shame his father by breaking down. Tywin would pledge for Robert Baratheon - Jaime must protect the throne from any other who may try and take it.

He gathered himself enough to climb the remainder of the dais, steadying himself against the twisted mass of swords before sitting down heavily upon it. He tried to look composed.

That was where Ned Stark found him, lounging on the throne, doing his best to appear self-assured. Jaime wished in that moment, and for the long years afterward when this day would haunt his dreams, that it had been someone else. Anyone but the most gods-damned honourable man in the Seven Kingdoms.

He followed the trail of Ned's gaze to the fallen Aerys, the crimson-stained sword in his hand, and finally to the point where their eyes met. Reflected there he found only the disgust he would see a hundred thousand times more in the years that were to follow, but that would never rival the revulsion he felt for himself. The fact that he'd had no real choice changed nothing.

"You did this." It was half statement, half question - Ned could be in no doubt as to what had occurred, his uncertainty a sign of his disbelief. Jaime tried to remain cool,

"He was going to burn the city - he killed..." Ned cut him off,

"You are Kingsguard. You swore an oath!" He spun on his heel to address the men who had followed him into the room,

"See that this man is held until the new king is ready to deal with him." He turned back to Jaime,

"You are not fit to sit there! Go with my men. You will answer to his grace Robert Baratheon for this." Jaime realised then that Ned was not prepared to listen to him.

He stepped down from the throne, discarding his sword beside it and making his slow walk through the Great Hall. The eyes of the Northmen bored into him and he felt every one of those stares like a knife to the heart. But most painful of all was the leaden gaze of Lord Stark, a man he respected, but who would never now return his regard.

Four of them moved to flank him as he approached the door, four faces that would remain imprinted on his memory forever, despite his never knowing their names. As they exited the room his gaze was fixed straight ahead, so he could never be sure which of them had hissed,

"Kingslayer."

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It was impossible to know how much time had passed, trapped here in the muffled dark. Jaime had become increasingly aware of the pressure all around him, crushing him to the ground and preventing him from even lifting his head. He fought the rising sense of panic - his instincts kicking in and eliciting a fight or flight response.

The feeling was not wholly unfamiliar - taking him back to Winterfell and the hordes of dead, back pressed to the castle wall as he became sure he would drown under the endless waves of bodies. He fought then and Brienne reached down to pull him to his feet so he could battle on.

It took him back to a lake on the Gold Road, dragon fire scorching the hair on the back of his neck. The shock of water forcing its way into his lungs as he broke its surface, heavy armour pulling him to the depths, before Bronn dragged him back from oblivion.

But this time there was no-one to pull him out of his certain tomb, no-one to save him from the folly that had landed him here, the corpse of his beloved sister growing cold beside him.

It was fitting really, that he would die here in this place. He had already been trapped here for so many years - by duty and honour, by oaths and by circ*mstance. Trapped by his own foolish choices for good or ill. Trapped by a name - Lannister, and by another - Kingslayer.

Nothing good had happened here, so he deserved to have it be his end. He deserved to die without honour, the way that he had lived.

"You have forsaken every vow you ever took!" Catelyn’s words taunted him. Was she right? Had he failed to keep them all? Here buried in the long dark, in the yawning belly of the earth, fighting the image of a pair of sapphire blue eyes liquid with tears - tears he had caused - it certainly felt like it.

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Jaime sat down hard into the easy chair near the fireplace, dropping the armour he was carrying to the floor. King Robert had made him wear it, to re-swear his oath. The hearing had not gone at all as he'd expected, and he was certain his re-admittance into the Kingsguard was due in no small part to his father's influence.

He'd glimpsed the cold stare exchanged between Tywin and Ned Stark as he knelt before the Iron Throne, head bowed to his sword. The only pleasing thing about the whole excruciating experience was that he could return to his room - its familiarity a comfort despite the scorn he'd received, and would doubtless continue to receive, from his sworn comrades.

Deep in his thoughts, he had completely failed to notice he was not alone,

"It always astonishes me how unobservant you are brother. It's a good thing you don't make keeping watch your living." Cersei moved towards him, cat like, and he instantly knew she was in the mood for games. The dangerous kind of games where one wrong move would ensnare him.

"Thanks to Father, and likely a large quantity of gold pledged to the crown, I get to resume that honour." It cut him how little she thought of what he did, despite that fact it was all for her. So he could remain close to her.

"It wasn't only gold he bought Robert with - it was with me." Her gaze challenged him, demanded of him, but as her words sunk in he could only respond with shock,

"You're to marry the king!?" Jealousy rose in him like wildfire, he tried to contain it but he could tell she saw it, and liked it. She came a few steps closer,

"We knew I would have to marry. After Rhaegar - it was only a matter of time before father secured me another match." She was so matter of fact about it, so cold almost, but when she emphasised the word 'match' he could tell she was pleased. Pleased to have secured such a powerful husband.

"And will you be so thrilled when you have to share his bed!?" He knew he was pushing her more than was wise, but the jealousy continued to burn. She knew, and delighted in toying with it,

"Robert is very handsome. And I daresay a skilled lover – why should I not be thrilled?" He stood then, almost throwing himself at her, a firm arm around her back. They'd been apart for several weeks during The Sack and his subsequent incarceration – he was instantly aroused by their close contact and he made sure she could feel it.

"Because you already have me." She didn't try to hide her amusem*nt,

"You're my brother. And you clearly missed me." He kissed her then, roughly, the way she kissed him when it pleased her.

“This is all a game to you, isn't it? You and me. We’re two halves of one whole. How could you possibly think of anyone else?” He knew he was being ridiculous, knew this day was always going to come and its arrival was no more her choice than it was his. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Hush my love," she brushed a soft hand over his golden locks, “you know I have to do this. I will always be thinking of you. My valiant lion. My... Kingslayer." The word evoked as much pain as if she'd slapped him, and he took a long step back from her, aghast.

“Don't call me that. Never call me that." He had shocked her, he could tell, and it made her reply defensive,

"Why not? It's what you are.” She was right - he'd seen it in Ned Stark’s eyes, and in the eyes of every Northman. He'd seen it from the rest of the Kingsguard. Everywhere he went from this day forward, he would see it again. People he'd never met with their minds already made up. It's what he is after all. Not Jaime Lannister. Not anymore.

"I don't want that to be who I am. I don't want people to look at me and see a man without honour." She scoffed and it pained him,

"Who gives a sh*t about honour!?" She would never understand how crushing those words were - honour meant everything to him.

"I do. You realise they're all laughing at me. Laughing at my failure to become the only thing I ever wanted to be."

"None of that matters my love. Not Robert Baratheon, not your stupid honour. All that matters is you and me. We’re the only two people in the world." She brought her lips back to his then, hard, and pressed herself against him.

Chapter 6: What If?

Chapter Text

"Copper for your thoughts?" Brienne started - she hadn't noticed Sansa's light-footed approach across the fresh fall of snow. It had begun just after luncheon and that now the evening sun was starting to drop below the castle walls, painting the sky with an orange glow, it was about two or three inches deep. So much for her theory that the thaw had arrived.

"You can probably guess." She was doing her best to be stoic - with everything that was going on in the world, who had time to care about Brienne of Tarth’s broken heart? Keeping busy helped, but in the quiet moments her thoughts could only ever tend in one direction. She wondered if that would ever change - if she would ever truly be able to settle to life after Jaime Lannister. All she knew was that, for now at least, he filled her head. Sansa didn't press her.

"I didn't know you kept the old gods." Brienne had been seated beneath the weirwood tree when Sansa came upon her, bare feet submerged in the pool, the bitter cold finally giving her the grounding she'd needed.

"I don't, my Lady. I've never much been one for faith or gods, but with everything that's happened... I suppose I needed to try and get some perspective." Sansa simply nodded,

“I can understand that. This world is a cruel place - it's hard to believe in anything some days. But strangely, it's often when your faith is tested that you need it the most." She moved over to Brienne's side - the larger woman spreading out one edge of her cloak so Sansa would have somewhere dry to sit down. Their legs met, and Brienne drew comfort from the physical contact. She realised just how much she'd been missing the touch of another person - something she'd lacked for so many years, but had fast grown accustomed to.

She wondered then if their chance meeting was not so chance, and if Sansa had in fact sought her out. She glanced at the younger woman, seeing her for the first time as a friend, not just as the Lady she served. She allowed herself a moment to admire how much the girl had grown since their first meeting and it induced her to be forthright,

"I miss him." It was a simple statement, but it carried so much weight - 'miss' in this case was a Jaime Lannister shaped hole in her soul she doubted anyone else would ever be able to fill.

"Of course you do, you’re in love with him. He doesn't deserve it, but you are." Sansa was being protective, and righteously angry on her behalf - she appreciated it, but she was determined she would be the only one to decide who did or didn't deserve her love.

"He's not what everyone thinks you know." Defending him had seemed stupid and hollow for a time, but she'd come to realise it was, in many ways, defending herself; her own judgement. She couldn't have been so wrong about him - wasn't so wrong about him. She knew it, she'd seen the real Jaime underneath the reputation, the bravado and bullsh*t. All his bluster and arrogance was to keep people at arm’s length, to protect his vulnerable heart. Part of her clung to the possibility he was doing exactly that again right now.

"You've always been a good judge of character. I don't know what you see in him that the rest of us don’t, but it must be there." Brienne had, until this moment, closely guarded every bit of the real Jaime she'd been witness to. But now seemed the time, and the person with whom, to share.

As the sun sank below the horizon, and the godswood filled with shadows, Brienne told Sansa the real story of the Kingslayer that Jaime had trusted her with all those years ago in Harrenhal. In the process she transported herself back to that day, and when her tale was done her thoughts lingered on that part of the story she would not be sharing with the Lady of Winterfell.

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Brienne stirred from where she dozed in the chair. Qyburn was moving around the bed to check on Jaime, switching the cold flannel on his forehead for a fresh one. The dressing on his stump had already been changed - the previous one cast to the ground, stained with blood and a stinking pus that made Brienne's stomach heave.

"The fever has broken. He'll live." The former maester left the room, mercifully stooping to throw the soiled bandages into the fire on his way out.

She let her head rest back into the chair, rolling it to one side so she could see Jaime where he lay unmoving on the bed. He looked so small there, the layers of egotism stripped away. On his sick bed the Golden Lion of Lannister, the Kingslayer, appeared nothing more than a little boy. It was the first time she had seen him clean of filth and truly at rest. She wondered at Roose Bolton's hospitality when they were essentially treasonous fugitives in the eyes of those loyal to the North, but he'd certainly provided them with comfortable accommodation and she would worry about the rest of it later when she was certain Jaime would live.

It was a relief that Qyburn believed he was out of danger. She'd found herself caring more about his wellbeing in these past hours since he'd given her his confidence, and not just out of concern for the fulfilment of her oath to Catelyn. She carried a new warmth for Jaime Lannister - something she'd never believed possible. But she was not too proud to admit she'd been wrong about him.

Her wandering mind took a minute or two to realise a pair of unfocussed eyes were regarding her quietly. She rose from her chair and moved over to his side,

"Jaime? Jaime can you hear me?" Her voice was not above a whisper,

"Lady Brienne..." He coughed slightly and shifted as if he was trying to sit up, but his strength failed him, "... it IS you. I wasn't sure." He still seemed very weak, but his face was a healthier colour and his skin was no longer clammy. She seated herself on the bed beside him,

"How are you feeling?" He frowned at her - she wasn't certain if it was because he was trying to work out how to reply or whether he was wondering when she’d started caring enough to ask.

"I think... I’m alive." He'd lost none of his sarcasm - the best sign she could imagine that he WAS, in fact, feeling better. Where earlier it had irritated her, she now found it oddly charming. She smiled,

"I’m glad. I’m not sure my delivering your corpse to King's Landing was quite what Lady Catelyn had in mind." She expected him to chuckle - to appreciate her offering wit to for him play off, but for once he didn't, his brow creased in thought. Then he simply replied,

“You called me Jaime." He was so earnest she felt a wave of affection to add to the respect he'd gained from his earlier disclosure. She'd had no idea it meant so much to him, believing he basked in his epithet, but after their earlier conversation she ought to have realised the truth - it was merely something he hid behind. The fact he wanted her to call him by his given name affirmed that the trust he'd declared in her was genuine.

"Well, it is your name." He smiled then, the first smile she'd seen from him that wasn't flippant or mocking,

"You'd be amazed how many people have forgotten that. And the fact I'm a knight, but of course most of them don't think I’m fit to bear the title.” In the baths earlier, she'd had a taste of the pain he bore, but here it was more wistful. He really was hurt by what people thought of him. It must be difficult, she mused, everyone already having an opinion of you wherever you went. She had some experience of that, being what she was, but at least she could silence her critics with a sword. There was nothing he could do or say to change most people's minds about him, but somehow he'd managed to change hers. She hoped that counted for something at least,

"You'll always be a worthy knight in my eyes. You've proven yourself that." He looked surprised and genuinely happy,

"Well, it turns out you find allies in the strangest places. We come from opposing sides of a war and yet somehow we've found common ground. I suppose that means we aren't that different after all." He looked away for a moment, "I owe you an apology... for how I spoke to you when we first met. It was... unforgivable."

She met his eyes to be greeted with an expression of real regret, and she found herself wondering once again how he'd managed to hide his true self so effectively. She’d gained his respect and that meant he was now desperate for her approval - something he didn’t often get from people.

"I forgive you. I've had worse over the years, and as I said, you've done more than enough to redeem yourself in my eyes." He looked pensive for a second,

"So that truce we were talking about? Are we done fighting?" It was her turn to pause, phrasing carefully what she wanted to say next,

"You've earnt my trust. There's far too much fighting in this world - most of it needless. If we can remedy even a little of that then today is a good day." He nodded, face solemn, and offered his hand which she shook firmly.

"I was always taught that you can only trust family. I've never really given anyone else a chance... until now." He yawned, and she stood, making to leave,

"You're tired - you still have a lot of healing to do. I'll let you get some rest." She took a few steps towards the door before she heard him speak again,

"Stay." It was quiet, but Brienne knew she had not misheard him, "Please... stay." She returned to his side, nerves forcing her to disguise how his gentle plea had moved her. She softly squeezed his remaining hand before tucking the blanket over him, and pulled the chair up closer to the bed to seat herself back down. He closed his eyes and was soon snoring softly as she settled in to watch him sleep.

Chapter 7: Loving You is a Losing Game

Chapter Text

Cersei's face wrinkled in pain, her breath coming in short ragged gasps. Jaime tried not to wince at how hard she grasped his hand, crushing his fingers together - his pain was nothing to hers. After what felt like hours of gritting his teeth, her grip loosened and the creases on her face smoothed away. She took a few deep breaths before looking to him, smiling - the fatigue clear in her eyes in spite of her good spirits.

Grand Maester Pycelle moved around the bed, pressing a hand against the Queen's belly as he peered between her legs. Cersei turned her head to the side, her discomfort with the old man clear, but she said nothing.

"The babe will be here before long, your Grace." Pycelle took a jug of water from the side table, poured a glass, and handed it to her. Jaime helped her sit up a little more so she could drink, a few drops running over her cracked lips and dripping onto the bedspread.

"Do you hear that, my love, you're doing so well - just a short while longer and o... the baby will be here." He smoothed strands of hair away from her face where they clung to her damp skin. She nodded up at him with big trusting eyes, and his heart swelled with the reliance she was placing on him.

Under normal circ*mstances, she never allowed herself to be vulnerable, even to him. But this was the one time when he knew he could just be there for her, with no cat and mouse games. Solely the simplicity of her needing him and him fulfilling that need - almost like a normal relationship. Almost…

Her face contorted once more, and he held her – reminding her to breathe, providing the strength for her to cling to so her own wouldn’t fail her. She cried out, teeth clenched, veins standing out on her neck with the effort. Then, a higher pitched cry cut through the air and Cersei relaxed with a weak sigh.

"It's a girl," Pycelle declared. And then Jaime saw her, wrinkled and bloody, crowned with a head of downy golden hair. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen - their daughter. He loved Joffrey with all his heart, but something about his son had always told him the boy would take care of himself. He felt a wave of protectiveness for this tiny girl, a fierce instinct that came from somewhere deeper. He'd never felt so much like a lion as he did in that moment - he would kill anyone who tried to hurt his family.

After cleaning her off, the Maester placed the baby on Cersei's chest, where she encouraged the child to nurse – it took some effort but after a few moments she got the idea and latched on.

Jaime watched in wonder, caught up in the magic that had been absent at Joffrey’s birth. He remembered that day mostly with fear – for the wellbeing of Cersei and the child, and for the chance their indiscretion would be discovered. He was young and knew so little of what was happening he’d been unable to enjoy his son coming into the world in spite of Cersei’s joy.

Now, watching his newborn daughter snuffling at Cersei's breast was the most captivating thing in the Seven Kingdoms. After nursing for a short time, the babe fell asleep, mouth open, blissfully peaceful.

"Do you want to hold her?" Jaime's heart soared as he took in Cersei's words - of course he wanted to hold his child in his arms. Circ*mstances had prevented him being around for Joffrey as much as he would have wanted – perhaps this time they could work out a way for it to be different. He was just leaning down to take her when there was a commotion outside and the door flew open,

"Let’s see her then - obviously I'd have preferred another boy but at least I’ll have someone to marry off when we need to secure alliances," Robert guffawed as he charged into the room. Cersei looked up at Jaime, eyes wide and fearful,

"You have to go," she whispered urgently. Jaime's heart all but broke as he tore himself away. With one final glance at his sleeping daughter he left the room.

^^^^^^^^^

Fear and panic had left Jaime now. He lay entombed, resigned to his stony prison, his whole being a dull pain, breathing rapid and shallow. He felt Cersei’s silent presence all the more now as he faded in and out of consciousness, wondering each time if this would be his final waking before oblivion claimed him.

At least she was with her children now. He'd always thought of them as her children even though they were an equal part his. It wasn't like he ever got to be a father to them - they hadn't even known who their real father was. Well... one of them had, for the briefest imaginable period of time, but he didn't like to dwell too much on that. Amongst all his many failures it was easily the one that brought him the most pain.

He would have liked to be a proper father. His relationship with his own had been rocky at best, but he'd seen others share a bond with theirs he could only look at with wistful longing. If he was honest, he’d had no idea how to be a parent, even if his attempts hadn’t been horribly complicated by circ*mstance.

The romantic part of him had always imagined loving them would be enough. He’d wondered for years whether his own father truly loved him – if he did, Jaime wished he’d done more to show it.

Of all the many things people could say about his sister, she had always lavished love upon her children. They were the only thing she’d ever put before herself, and yet she’d ended up losing them all - the greatest fear of her life coming true. He'd never held much store by what she'd told him of the witch's prophecy, but perhaps with hindsight...

He shook the thought away. It was nothing more than superstitious nonsense - death was so commonplace in this world, especially over these past years of war, that it could easily have been a lucky guess.

He wondered what kind of father he would have been if he'd made different choices. If he hadn't joined the Kingsguard to be close to Cersei, and taken a different path. Perhaps even married.

A flash of Brienne came to him then, unbidden. Could he have made it work with her if he'd stayed? Could children - children that would be truly his - have been part of their future? She'd told him of her strong relationship with her own father, and he felt sure she'd have taught him all he needed to know.

It was pointless to think these things now, when he'd made his fateful choice and there was no turning back. But the image of what life with Brienne could have been made him feel infinitely more distant from Cersei, and his reasons for returning to her, even as he lay beside her body.

He allowed the full pain of loss to flood him - he had brought all this on himself and he had to acknowledge that he could have made a different choice. Despite everything that had made Cersei the focus of his entire life, Brienne had, for a time at least, chased all thought of his sister away.

And for the first time ever, he felt regret for fighting his way back to Cersei when he could have built a very different life for himself. A better life. And even though none of that mattered now, the realisation alone felt profoundly important.

In spite of his growing dehydration, he found a single tear to shed before he fell back into a fitful sleep.

^^^^^^^^

Jaime's heart raced as he halted his headlong flight along the hallway. He wasn't sure why he'd started to run, but he'd been possessed with the urge to be as far away from Cersei's birthing room as possible. Of course, there was a large part of him that could hardly bear to be anywhere else; the part that wanted to fight to the death with any who would have him leave, and take his family away to safety.

But he knew that could never happen, even if Cersei would allow it which of course she wouldn't. Any such attempt would be the end of them all and he would never risk that. So, for the second time, he could do nothing but walk away and let another man be father to his child - worse still a man he had virtually no respect for.

He ducked into an archway, panting, squatting down on his haunches with his head in his hands. His daughter was healthy, and beautiful - he tried his hardest to focus on that. It was all that really mattered after all, not his battered feelings.

He finally took a moment to glance around himself - it was later in the day than he'd thought and the lamps had already been lit, casting a soft shadowy glow along the corridor. The drapes had been drawn to keep the heat of the sun from Cersei’s face as she laboured and so he’d lost all track of time.

He watched as the long shadow of his little brother approached, rendered taller than he would have been even as a man of average height. Jaime quickly gathered himself.

“Is everything all right brother?" Tyrion wore an expression of genuine concern.

"Yes... yes all is well. I just... never mind." Jaime heard the pathetically constructed response as if it had been spoken by someone else, and he silently berated himself. Like it would do anything to dissuade his brother’s curiosity.

"Cersei - the baby..." Tyrion trailed off. In spite of his strained relationship with their sister he genuinely seemed to care about her wellbeing, and that of her child. Jaime realised how broken he must look, and how worried it must have made his brother,

"A girl - a beautiful healthy girl. Cersei is well. Tired of course, but that’s to be expected." Jaime’s sense of detachment from his own body increased – he felt somehow separated from the storm of emotions that besieged him, as if he was watching himself from above.

"Excellent news. And so why is it that you’re skulking out here in the corridor looking like the world's ended?" Jaime didn't need to lift his head to picture the knowing expression that would be plastered on his brother's face. He didn't want to have this conversation, and when he finally did meet Tyrion's eye, he made sure his expression conveyed that in no uncertain terms.

Tyrion regarded him silently for a few seconds, and Jaime watched his brother’s brilliant mind figure out its next move. He wasn't sure what he was expecting in response but Tyrion finally said,

“I think we should celebrate the safe arrival of our new niece. Would you care to join me in my apartment for a drink... or five?" The last thing Jaime wanted to do was get a skinful and end up saying something he shouldn't, but drowning his sorrows sounded pretty bloody good night now. Plus, Tyrion was right, the baby was healthy and safe and he must keep reminding himself of that.

The walk to his brother's rooms felt longer than usual. In truth Jaime was dragging his feet, as he was in no great rush to sit across a table from Tyrion and brave his challenging stares. When they arrived at the apartment, he tried to take up a seat by the fire, but Tyrion pulled out a chair for him at the table just as Jaime had known he would. He reluctantly took it, and Tyrion placed a goblet before him, sloshing wine into it carelessly.

"I opened the Dornish red - nothing but the best for this special occasion." Jaime's only hope was keeping Tyrion drunker than him, but given his brother's capacity for alcohol that would be no mean feat.

Tyrion's gaze demanded his attention, and he regarded his brother full in the face for the first time, trying to meet his eye with surety. Tyrion's fingers worked against the stem of his wine goblet as he formulated his next sentence,

"I'd ask if you want to talk about it, but I know you think you don't. So, somehow, I need to persuade you that you do." His head tilted to one side and Jaime resisted the urge to look away,

"Meanwhile, I need to work out how to persuade you there’s nothing to talk about." Jaime's foot knocked against the table leg as he sunk back in his chair, attempting to appear relaxed.

"Why would you need to persuade me - surely all you need to do is look me in the eye and tell the truth." Jaime tried to look at his brother as steadily as he could,

“There's nothing to talk about." Tyrion instantly burst out laughing,

“You always were a terrible liar." Jaime made a show of taking a long drink from his goblet, buying time to work out his response, but it didn't help - Tyrion had him and he knew it. He employed the only tactic he could come up with to try and wriggle out of the noose - playing for sympathy,

"I imagine it takes brains to lie and after all, I am the stupidest Lannister." Tyrion's tone in responding was more than a little disappointed,

"You've been told that so many times you've really started to believe it haven't you? You've let father and Cersei belittle you and tell you you're worthless your entire life. And you'd think with my height I'd be the most downtrodden!” Tyrion drank again, prompting Jaime to take another swig. He doubted he was going to come anywhere close to winning this battle, but he objected to Tyrion calling him downtrodden even if he knew it was true.

"So what exactly is it you think I need to talk about?" Tyrion's mouth twitched upwards into a half smile - Jaime saw a hint of grudging respect there for just a second before he guarded his face again,

"I'd have thought you'd know me well enough to know I won't make it that easy. You might be my favourite brother but that doesn't mean I'll give up my sport."

"I’m your only brother. And I would have hoped you wouldn't want to make sport out of my misery." Tyrion raised an eyebrow, but had the decency not to look triumphant,

"Misery? Well if you're miserable, who better to talk to about it than your favourite brother?" He raised his glass to Jaime, tipping his head at the same instant.

"You’re my only bro... damn you why am I even bothering!?" Jaime drained his glass and Tyrion was poised to refill it the moment he put it down,

"Because even when you're miserable you don't want to spoil your brother's sport. And that's why you're my favourite." He topped up his own glass then placed the decanter down,

"A toast - to the newest member of our family," Tyrion took a long sip before raising his glass again, "and another - to MY favourite brother trusting HIS favourite brother enough to tell him what’s bothering him." There was no escape now, no hiding behind a defence that would never be as well-crafted or skilful as his opponent. Where he fought with swords, Tyrion fought with words and there could only be one victor here.

He couldn't phrase a response, so he simply nodded - knowing full well Tyrion's keen mind had already figured everything out. Tyrion motioned to Jaime’s glass and he raised it to clink against his brother's, sealing the toast. Tyrion settled back in his chair, saying nothing more, but creating a space in which Jaime could make his confession.

He took one more long drink, praying for courage as a lightness rose in his head – and it was not just from the wine. More than a little detachment would be required if he was going to get through this, but he knew in his heart of hearts that his brother was the one person in the world he could really trust. He had to believe their bond could survive this,

"Cersei… I... we're more than brother and sister." He almost felt sick, and yet at the same time a sense of relief washed over him. Carrying such a huge secret was exhausting. Tyrion's expression remained neutral and he took another drink before replying,

"It's your baby." It was half statement, half question, and Jaime wasn't sure at first if Tyrion expected a response, but then his brother continued,

"And Joffrey?" This was a more obvious question and Jaime found himself nodding guiltily, gaze fixed on his wine glass. Without looking up he asked,

"Do you hate me?" The silence stretched for long painful moments and Jaime almost looked up, despite the fear of what his brother's expression would show. Then he felt Tyrion’s hand on his shoulder - his brother had moved around the table to Jaime’s side, and when he met his eyes the look he found there was one of nothing but compassion,

"I could never hate you, question your judgement yes, but hate? No, nothing of the sort. Even if this had been a surprise."

"You knew?" Of course he had, he knew everything, but having it confirmed was still a shock.

"Knew? Perhaps not. But suspected - yes, I did. You aren't as discreet as you would believe. At least, not to me. Not to someone who has little occupation but to observe others." Jaime nodded in defeat,

"How long?" Tyrion looked thoughtful for a few seconds,

"I’ve had an inkling for years. But I've only seriously believed it was true for maybe the past year. Since I've known what it is to love a woman. Makes it easier to see it in others."

"I do love her Tyrion. She's my whole world." It was a pitiful and pleading statement, and he hated himself for saying it, but to finally let it out was blissfully freeing,

"I’m certain she is. You'd hardly risk both your lives and those of your children otherwise. Gods know why because she doesn't deserve it for a second. But then love knows no rationality." Tyrion's acceptance, even begrudgingly, meant the world to him,

"I trust you with my life - you know I would never dream of admitting any of this if I didn't, but she can't know I've told you." Tyrion frowned,

"It's a terrible thing, brother, to be afraid of the woman you love.” The look of challenge was back, for just long enough to make Jaime squirm, before Tyrion snapped back into a lighter mood,

"More wine - another toast," he again sloshed wine into Jaime's goblet, then his, spilling a large portion on the table, "Our niece."

He looked pointedly at Jaime who took the hint and raised his glass high,

"Our niece."

Chapter 8: You Don't Have to be So Brave

Chapter Text

The clang of metal on metal rang out across Winterfell's courtyard. Brienne reeled backwards as Podrick swung his blade, and it grazed across her breastplate - the tip of his sword mere inches from her face. As soon as it had fully passed she shifted her weight forward, hard, and used the momentum to forge her own heavy blow which connected with his blade. He slipped his sword around hers to free it, and they both took a step back, preparing to engage again.

She dodged to the right to avoid his swift thrust as he danced towards her - she brought her own quick stroke singing at his knees. She'd expected it would make contact, as he had no time to change direction and evade the blow, but he jumped, clearing the blade in lithe fashion. Her surprise, and pride, caught her off guard and she barely managed to duck the blow he aimed at her head.

The sudden need to evade caught her somewhat off balance, and she swayed to the side. She was forced to reach out her free hand and grasp a saddle stand at the edge of the courtyard to steady herself. She held up her sword arm to defend against any further strike as she called out,

"Yield!" The look on Podrick's face could only be described as dumbfounded as he realised he'd bested her for the first time. Brienne had little time to acknowledge his victory, however, as her brief loss of balance was followed by a wave of dizziness that forced her to her knees. Sword discarded she braced both arms against the saddle stand as she fought to regain her breath. Her squire was at her side in a second,

"My Lady, Ser, are you quite all right?" She tried to push herself up but found even raising her head impossible for fear that the edge of nausea which hit her would rise in her throat. She swallowed thickly before responding,

"Yes Pod, I'll be fine in a minute," she said, in a tone that wasn't even convincing to her, let alone anyone else,"I thought I was fully recovered from the battle, but apparently I'm experiencing some sort of relapse."

After taking a heavy blow to the face in the fight with the dead, Maester Samwell had warned her she'd likely take some time to fully recover - head injuries could be tricky things, he'd advised. Tricky indeed - she'd been feeling fine for several weeks now, and training every day.

But perhaps today, they had gone a little harder than on previous mornings - Pod was challenging her more and more each day, and she needed to put increasing amounts of effort into besting him. She'd come out feeling really up for the fight today, but in spite of giving her all he'd still beaten her.

Her head beginning to clear a little, she realised how her insistence she was still injured may have hurt him. Had he interpreted her quick explanation as a belief that he couldn't beat her otherwise? That couldn't be further from the truth - he'd been getting closer and closer to it even before she took her blow to the head.

"Pod you did well - your footwork has really come on." She managed to turn her head enough to regard him with what she hoped was a look of pleasure - challenging given how she felt, but he smiled back so she'd clearly had some measure of success.

He moved over and hooked his hands beneath her armpits in an attempt to help her to her feet. She tried to push herself up, but another wave of dizziness hit her and she sank back to her knees, a large portion of her weight resting against her squire. He braced himself to support her, as she attempted to ignore the snowmelt soaking into her trousers.

"That's it Ser, you take it easy." Their close contact clearly made him feel a little awkward, she could hear it in his voice despite his attempts to hide it behind genuine affection. It irked her briefly - if she'd been a man he wouldn't have given it a second thought - but she acknowledged she'd probably feel the same if she was well enough to care.

Despite his discomfort, Pod eased her weight further back into his lap, allowing her head to rest against his chest. It was a strange feeling - he wasn't Jaime, his two real hands around her shoulders were not Jaime's, he didn't smell like Jaime or send her stomach into knots like Jaime - but he evoked memories of her love so strong it was as if he had somehow returned to her

Her mind dragged her back to that long night when they'd fought wave after wave of living corpses, pouring over them like water, pressed back to back with Jaime against the castle wall. They'd both taken plenty of hits, but remained standing until the heavy one that was still causing her head to spin. She'd fallen back on him in much this fashion, his arms wrapping around her as the endless tide of dead threatened to swamp them.

He'd bundled her back to her feet and they fought on, but it had been a moment of stillness, an island in the centre of peril. The memory was bittersweet, like every thought of him now, but that first feel of his embrace had remained with her. Later that night of course, she'd been in his arms for real. She'd relived that night over and over in the past weeks, but the memory that forced its way into her consciousness now was not of his appearance at her door after the battle.

For although that was the first time they'd lain together, and expressed the feelings that had been building between them for years, it was not the first time he'd sought her out in the night...

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The night was as clear as a bell and, despite the lateness of the hour, it was surprising how much light was still in the sky. The moon was hidden from Brienne's view behind the line of trees that flanked the camp she and Podrick had made by the riverbank, but she could tell it must be almost full. The light was not enough, however, to block out the blanket of stars that spread out above her.

She couldn't help but look up in wonder from her position on watch, breath making clouds in the frosty air. Laid over that beauty, she saw another image - of Jaime standing on Riverrun's battlements, hand raised in farewell. She wished she'd been close enough to read his expression, but regardless, she knew he'd felt something pass between them in that moment, just as she had. Not knowing when, or if, they would meet again was immeasurably painful.

Her reverie drew sufficient attention from her guard duty, that she failed to notice the shadowy figure sneaking up on camp until it was almost upon her. The second she saw it she stood, and drew her sword in one fluid motion,

"Who goes there!?" A familiar soft chuckle came out of the darkness,

"Who'd have thought I could take you by surprise? You're normally so very diligent in your duties, but it has turned out to be a truly beautiful night I grant you. Shame this world gives us precious little opportunity to enjoy such simple pleasures." Jaime moved into the firelight, head tilted to one side as he approached. Potential danger having passed, Brienne let her guard down a little, but the delicious thrill of his unexpected presence kept her on edge.

"What did the guards have to say when you left the castle for a night-time stroll?" It was only one of a hundred questions she wanted to ask him, but she was too afraid of most of the others to dare voice them.

"Nothing - I snuck out." She could see enough of his face now to catch the rather self-satisfied expression.

"How did you manage that without anyone seeing you!?" She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice – he was already pleased enough at catching her unawares without giving him further reason to be smug.

"The same way you did. Took a boat – it’s moored not far back down the bank. I knew you'd camp only a short way up river - you couldn't have gone much further without fresh horses.” He glanced to the sleeping form of Podrick a short stride from the fire, "Will we disturb him?" Brienne shook her head,

"Once he's out only a stampede will wake him." She felt herself shivering a little as she regarded him, and not just from the cold. She waited for an explanation of his bizarre appearance here, but he ventured nothing, moving closer to the fire to warm himself. She gave in, despite the fear gnawing at her gut,

“Jaime why are you here?" His face remained impassive, but he paused a little too long before replying. Surely he'd have come up with an excuse on the way here if he wasn't planning on telling her the truth? But as many of his past actions demonstrated, he often acted first and engaged his brain later. Finally, he formulated a response,

"I came to tell you that you were right. There was no need for bloodshed. At least we managed to save some lives in this war." He smiled, the fire outlining his lips and she fought the crack in her voice as she replied,

"We? You were the only one who saved bloodshed today. I could do nothing to persuade the Blackfish. You weren't joking when you said he was stubborn." His smile broadened,

"A little stubbornness can be a great asset. I've heard even a Lannister can be persuaded by a well thought out plan delivered with vehemence." She softened her expression enough to let him know she both recognised and appreciated the compliment,

"It may have been my plan but you had far more success than I did in carrying it out." She paused a moment to recall the face of the man whose pride had meant so much to him it had ended his life. She wasn't sure whether to admire him or pity him.

"What did you say to Edmure to persuade him to surrender the castle?” I'd be fascinated to know what you did differently to succeed where I failed." It was one of the safer of her remaining questions,

"I appealed to his better nature." It was a simple but loaded reply, one that begged further inquiry, and set her mind whirling. She had a horrible feeling it involved violence, and her curiosity was soon sated when he read her unspoken question and continued,

"I tied him to a pole and threatened his family. Seems to have worked on most men over the years."

"Jaime!!" She responded with shock, but if she was truly honest she wasn't shocked at all.

"Surely the objective was achieved and therefore the ends justify the means." He was right of course, but she didn't like anything sullying the noble knight image of him she'd fooled herself into inventing. She knew him capable of terrible things, had always known, and she loved him in spite of that. But putting him on a pedestal could only lead to heartbreak and besides, they hadn't reached the root of why he was here yet.

"Within reason." She tried to keep her reply light, but couldn't help following up with the next question that burned in her mind,

"How would you react to your family being threatened?" She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it nonetheless. He didn't disappoint her,

"Violently." He hung his head as if he realised she'd led him into a trap, "not that it achieved anything most of the time other than bringing more threat down upon us."

There was an exposed softness about him she hadn't seen before - a new vulnerability. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him vulnerable of course, but there was something raw here, a new pain that hadn't been dulled by years of taunting. An open wound, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was the reason he'd sought her out. Despite her fear of the question and everything it might mean, she reached out to him,

"Are you going to tell me why you're really here? You didn't come all the way out here in the middle of the night just to tell me I was right." His head was bowed forward, hair falling gently over his eyes, and she leaned forward a touch in an attempt to catch his eye. He evaded her gaze for a few moments before his eyes flicked in her direction. To her shock, she caught a glisten of tears in the firelight before he turned his head back. Staring off into the darkness he replied,

"We didn't get a chance to talk. It's been a long time." When he met her eyes again, he'd blinked the tears away and she was forced to wonder if she'd imagined them,

"We talked, a little." She paused before continuing, knowing her next question would get right to the root of things, "was there something specific you wanted to talk about?" She was surprised by the speed of his response - for once he was done playing games,

"Would I have rowed an hour upstream in the freezing cold if there wasn't?" The statement was almost demanding, and she wasn't sure for a moment how to respond other than with 'well what is it then'. She searched herself for something softer,

"Whatever it is, you can always talk to me Jaime – you know that. Otherwise you wouldn't have rowed an hour upstream in the freezing cold." It had the desired effect - he smiled a little, with just a hint of that familiar chuckle. She tried not to stare at him, turning her attention to stoking the fire in an attempt to give him the space to speak,

"My daughter…” he almost choked on the word, "I went to Dorne. To bring her home - a threat was sent to Cersei. Myrcella was in danger and Cersei sent me to save her. I failed." Brienne sneaked a look at him, but his head was down, elbows braced against his knees with his fist tightly balled. She'd heard, of course, about the Princess' death, and her thoughts had instantly turned to Jaime - to the private pain he'd be forced to endure.

"They poisoned her. We'd got her on the boat home, I thought she was safe." Brienne didn't know what to say, so she reached out a hand and rested it on his knee, giving a gentle squeeze. He looked up, placing his hand over hers,

"I was going to tell her. That I was her father - I was going to tell her but she already knew. Said she was glad. I couldn't believe it. I’ve never felt anything like that - I held my daughter and for five wonderful seconds I was a father - a real father - and then she was gone. She died in my arms." He didn't try to hide the tears now as they streamed down his cheeks. Brienne stood and moved to his side, cradling his head as he wept into her jerkin.

Chapter 9: Bad Things

Chapter Text

Jaime walked into the courtyard as the first few flakes of morning snow were beginning to fall. Some days the snow was so thick and the clouds so white and heavy it felt like Winterfell was the only place in the entire world. That feeling was compounded by the presence of an extraordinary woman, larger than life, who had captivated him.

He pulled up sharp when he saw that very person, deep in hushed conversation with Sansa - it was clear the younger woman had just been handed a note. He stood and watched them for long minutes, becoming acutely aware of the biting cold. He pulled his cloak around himself, and made to follow the two women as they turned away.

He hung back, observing, trying to discern the tone of their conversation and whether it indicated that the note brought news from King's Landing. News that he couldn't help but hope for, desperately, despite a more rational part of him that simply didn't want to know. That rational part which prayed distancing himself from events in the South would allow him to pretend none of it was happening. Fool himself that this happy life he was building with Brienne could last; and he could somehow prove he was worthy of it.

His mind grasped for a distraction from his spiralling train of thought - as he walked behind Brienne he allowed himself to fixate on her figure. The way he'd behaved towards her in the early days of their acquaintance still held a deep shame for him. Over time he'd begun to really appreciate her stature - the strength and prowess she possessed were qualities he'd gradually come to find intensely sexy. For all his initial scorn, under the armour she was very much a woman.

The musculature of her limbs, her lithe frame and her firm, tight ass only served as enhancements to her sensual curves and soft, milk white skin. He found his eyes following the line of her back along those very curves as he ran his tongue over dry lips, cracked from the cold.

He lost sight of the two women as they ducked through an archway, and the spell was broken. He felt another wave of shame at the shallow attempt to distract himself. His old defence mechanism, built on the use of arrogance, dismissiveness and levity to conceal his true feelings, had led most people to assume he didn't care. He'd regretted that many times, because he did care; he cared very deeply.

He followed through into a quieter area of the courtyard, thoughts drawn back to the contents of the letter. For good or ill he had to know the news it bore, so when they both glanced over at him he couldn't help but move forward and ask, "What happened?"

After looking to Sansa for leave, Brienne gave a brief summary, resignation in her voice, but he found himself unable to register the details. That did not, however, prevent the report from doing exactly what he'd feared, which was to make events in King's Landing all too real. His traitorous imagination began playing out an array of horrifying scenarios, each one resulting in the death of Cersei and their child. But it was a comment from Sansa, penetrating the fog of his racing mind, which really twisted the knife in his heart.

"I always wanted to be there when they executed your sister. Seems like I won't get the chance." With that she left.

He felt his defences begin to crumble. He hadn't been there when The Wall fell to the ice dragon, hadn't even seen it whilst it still stood, but he'd heard the stories from The Watch and the Wildlings. The image he had in his mind couldn't have better mirrored how he felt in that moment, as everything he'd built to protect himself from reality came crashing down.

He couldn't even bear to make eye contact with Brienne - turning sharply he walked away in the opposite direction to Sansa, mind cascading with images of Cersei in pain and terror.

^^^^^^^^^

Jaime woke in the dead of night, spooned up against Brienne's naked back. They'd made love before falling asleep, like they had most nights and mornings since that first time. He'd been sure to fall asleep with his arm beneath her, knowing it would lose feeling and wake him in the early hours.

He was reluctant to remove it now, in spite of his discomfort - he allowed himself a few moments to commit to memory the sensation of how well they fit together. It was not just a physical feeling - in so many ways they were the unlikeliest of couples, but on a level deeper than most people saw, their souls were connected. Some fundamental part of them was the same, and they each filled an aching void in the other. Jaime had never really believed in destiny, but this was the closest he'd ever come to experiencing it at work.

It was the strangest feeling - he'd spent his whole life thinking of Cersei as the other half of him, the part he felt lost without. He'd always imagined them as two halves of the same soul, but he felt happier and more content here with Brienne than he ever had with Cersei. He'd always wondered if Cersei felt the same way about him as he did her, but with Brienne it was not something he ever questioned.

Guilt wracked him then. Since Sansa's words earlier in the day he'd been increasingly unable to block out thoughts of what was happening elsewhere. Cersei would likely not survive much longer against the Dragon Queen's wrath - how could he abandon her at the time when she needed him the most?

He'd sworn a vow to always protect her, shaped his entire life around his dedication to her, and here he was over a thousand miles away in the bed of another woman. Thinking about how happy he was with that other woman and how perfect their future together was going to be whilst his twin, his lover, his other half died in fear and pain. That surely made him even more of a monster than any of the terrible things he had done in her name.

In that moment Jaime Lannister was forced to question who on earth he really was. He'd allowed Brienne to invent a narrative for him where he was a shining knight who could save the world, but it was all a lie. He was a selfish, cruel man and he brought only pain and destruction to whatever he touched.

Now he was faced with an impossible choice - stay and betray Cersei, or leave and betray Brienne. He would break something either way - Brienne was too good, his leaving would crush her. He knew because that part of their souls which was shared told him so, told him she loved him as fiercely as he loved her. Told him it would crush him too.

But whatever glorious future they could have once the war was over could not be built on a foundation where he continued to break vows, where he abandoned Cersei to her fate. He could not live with himself and it would destroy everything they could have been. He would deserve that future happiness even less than his past deeds permitted – he would still be that same man who pushed little boys out of windows to protect his own selfish interests.

The fact that Brienne would be a casualty in this sacrifice, that he'd allowed that to happen, was unforgivable - he should never have taken their relationship this far. Never hidden from the fact that his return to Cersei was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east.

He had been careful not to promise anything to Brienne - a cynical move which must have been harbinger of this ending. Whether she would see his sharing her bed morning and night for a month as akin to a promise remained to be seen. She deserved so much better and he prayed she would find it.

He ran a hand down her arm - he shouldn't really, afraid he would wake her, but he couldn't resist one last feel of her perfect skin. She was beautiful - he'd held back from saying it; knowing the baggage that word carried for her. He knew she'd feel mocked even though he could never mock her again, and would forever regret having done so.

He'd long hoped that one day he'd be able to say it and have her face light up; have her believe she was beautiful to him whatever the rest of the stupid bloody world thought. Then he'd tell her he loved her and ask her to be his for the rest of their lives. He'd make the greatest vow of his life - that he would always be hers.

But no. None of that would happen now. He realised in his churning thoughts he'd made the decision, knew whatever other instincts may pull at him his mind was made up. It had been made up since the Lady of Winterfell's fateful words - he'd felt it in the fading light of that last day, known in the desperation of their lovemaking it would be the final time even as his heart tried vainly to hold on.

Wanting to avoid any further agonising, which would in any case plague him on his long journey, and in more cowardly fashion avoid a painful conversation, he extricated himself from the glorious tangle of limbs that could have been his salvation.

Dragging on his clothes and taking a long moment to pause and look back at a blissfully peaceful Brienne, he left the room as quietly as he could and began making preparations to ride south.

^^^^^^^^^

Jaime could feel his strength failing. Even swallowing was becoming almost impossible. He couldn't have long – he hoped it would be soon and he could escape this endless procession of things he would rather forget. At least he now felt more numb than in pain - maybe the next time he fell asleep he would just peacefully slip away like in the stories. He closed his eyes and immediately Brienne rose, vivid in his thoughts.

He'd tried, TRIED, to keep his mind from her, tried to fix his thoughts on Cersei to affirm his decision, but she'd crept gradually into his thoughts in spite of his attempts to keep her out. Ironic really, it mirrored the way she'd crept into his life, into his heart, unbidden - completely blindsiding him. Cersei had been his whole life until Brienne had crashed unapologetically into it, casting the broken pieces of his resolve to the four winds.

He’d never imagined he'd look at another woman in all his days, but this woman had induced him to jump into a bear pit to save her - he'd given her his sword, he'd knighted her, fought under her command and even lost his hand to protect her. Eventually he'd ended up in her bed.

And yet he'd still managed to leave her. Still managed to allow his blind dedication to Cersei to drag him from her side. These long hours, days, however long he had lain here in physical and mental agony, had shone a new light on his relationship with his sister. And as much as he loved her, he didn't like what he'd seen.

Funny how confronting death could give you a measure of objectivity you've previously failed to find. He felt sick. Watching his life play out, scene by torturous scene, made it all seem like some kind of horrible joke. But the fact that the woman who had been his puppet master was lying dead next to him, denying him the final chance to confront her about his realisation, was the biggest joke of them all.

^^^^^^^^

Jaime's chapped fingers fumbled with the stiff leather of the bridle. He tried to still his shivering from the midnight cold - he hadn't imagined it could get any colder out here but he'd been wrong. He really did hate the f*cking North. The only redeeming things within 500 miles of desolate wasteland were a warm bed and a pair of sparkling blue eyes.

No. He had to focus - Cersei needed him, his beautiful Cersei, his other half. Brienne could take care of herself, but Cersei needed him, was lost and afraid without him. He'd selfishly allowed himself to stray from her side for too long and it was time to return. He hoped she'd be pleased to see him and not too angry that he'd left her.

He finally managed to finish fastening the bridle and turned his attention to the saddle, swinging it into place and beginning work on yet more fiddly straps. He tried not to get frustrated at how difficult it was to complete the task with one hand, saddle flap tucked beneath his chin as he tightened the girth.

He wasn't sure exactly when he became aware of Brienne’s silent approach across the snow, but he focussed even more intently on the task at hand whilst his gut churned in anticipation of her words. She was wrapped in a nightgown, arms folded about her - she looked cold and it took everything he had not to cease what he was doing and take her in his arms,

"They're going to destroy that city. You know they will." Her voice was flat but she did a poor job of keeping the emotion out of it - if she was even trying. He kept his gaze fixed forward, but now the shaking in his arms was not solely from the cold. If he looked at her, he knew he would crack and he couldn't do that. Couldn't fail Cersei in the final act.

He realised in that moment how final it actually felt, and it rocked him to his core. He fell back on one of his oldest habits - defiance in the face of certain defeat. It had brought him this far,

"Have you ever run away from a fight?” The dispassion in his voice was false, his words far from what he really wanted and needed to say to her, but he had to get away. He'd tried to avoid this conversation - the first fight he really HAD tried to run away from, because he knew he would lose. His heart pounded in his chest.

He had no idea what she was going to say or do next, but he didn't expect her to rush over and take his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. He saw then how this was going play out, her carefully crafted defences shattered, the raw emotion of her heart laid bare across her face. She always appeared so strong, but here was the fragility he knew she concealed, which he'd recognised in her because it was something he shared. The idea he'd opened this wound in her all but broke him.

"You’re not like your sister. You're not. You're better than she is. You're a good man and you can't save her. You don't need to die with her. Stay here. Stay with me." Her voice started to crack, the tears to well in her eyes and she managed only two further words, "Please... stay."

Jaime couldn't keep looking at her, couldn't witness yet more pain he had caused. Seeing it manifested there brought home every cruel, heartless thing he'd ever done, and he couldn't understand how she could call him a good man whilst her heart was breaking before him. How could he have deceived her so completely? What he said next had to make certain she would not follow him, never think of him with this undeserved love and reverence again.

“You think I’m a good man?” He met her eyes once more, finding an intensity in them that frightened him, “I pushed a boy out of a tower window, crippled him for life, for Cersei. I strangled my cousin with my own hands, just to get back to Cersei. I would have murdered every man, woman and child in Riverrun - for Cersei. She's hateful. And so am I.”

Hearing her break down as he mounted the horse and rode away severed the last few frayed threads of self-respect he still possessed. His tears mirrored hers - vision blurred he turned the horse south, towards dawn and whatever fate had in store.

And even if that was agonising death, it would be less than he deserved.

Chapter 10: I Gave My Heart Whole

Chapter Text

Brienne woke bleary eyed. It was dark but the room was still dimly lit from the fire. She realised instantly that she was alone in the bed and sat up, searching the room in momentary confusion. It was empty. Fear knotted her stomach - that kind of fear which feels like a punch to the gut, when the thing you've been most dreading comes to pass. Her instincts had been right - she'd known from the look in Jaime's eyes that afternoon, knew him too well to doubt his thoughts.

A part of her wanted to shake Sansa from her bed, scream and curse at her for the words that had surely set him down this path. But in reality she had only one person to blame and it wasn't the woman she was sworn to protect. It wasn't even Jaime - she knew the hold Cersei had over him, even after all this time and over this distance. He was a slave to his sister’s whims and the love they'd shared these past weeks could do nothing to change that.

Her heart was already racing, but its pace seemed to double when she heard hooves strike the cobbles below. He hadn't left yet. She ran to the window, naked and unheeding of the cold, and there he was, leading a horse into the courtyard. She grabbed the first item of clothing she could find - a dressing robe - and pulled it on as she left the room, bolting for the stairs in her desperation to get to him.

"You love him." She had no idea why Cersei's words of years before came back to her now, taunting. She'd realised it before even Brienne herself - the memory of heat flooding to her face at Cersei's declaration was one of mixed emotion. She’d felt a fool, Cersei's face curled into a sneer, but there was also pleasure in the recollection. She’d known instantly that the other woman spoke the truth and wondered why she hadn't seen it for herself. Back then she'd never imagined a day would come when he’d look at her twice, let alone grow to return her affections. In many ways she still felt as if she'd been living in a dream these past weeks and, like a dream, it appeared it had to end.

She reached the foot of the stairs, amazed that she hadn't stumbled in her headlong dash, but she hesitated before the virgin snow that stretched out towards him. She felt a sudden awkwardness - he'd clearly intended to leave before she realised, and she had no idea how he'd react to being confronted. Then she felt absurd – this man was the love of her life and nothing was going to prevent her from fighting for him. Steeling herself, she made her way slowly across the yard.

She could feel his tension as she approached, without any idea what to say to him but, as futile as this surely was, she had to try. She suddenly felt very small - the part of her that still believed there were some magic words that could change his mind shrank beneath the weight of her self-doubt. Cersei's incredulity had been more than justified - how could she ever have believed herself worthy of this man?

She began with words of caution, appealing to his sense of self-preservation, but she quickly saw he was blind to it and her resolve failed her. She didn't care in the moment, but to her later shame she resorted to begging him to stay, all self control abandoned in her anguish. But it was to no avail - she sank to her knees as he rode away, the pain of snow against bare flesh a mirror to the pain in her heart.

She had no idea how long she remained there, hunched over in the biting cold, uncaring who heard her uncontrollable sobbing if indeed anyone was awake to hear. Eventually she gathered herself and, wiping her face with the loose sleeve of her robe, turned back towards the tower. She felt numb, her feet dragging in the heavy snow in her reluctance to move; moving meant figuring out what came next and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

She started when she saw a dark shape that appeared to be watching her from the shadow of the castle wall. She tried to dismiss it as merely her imagination. but fear stabbed at her gut again when it spoke,

“I hope you don't think I'm prying, but I got the sense it was important I witness this with my own eyes. I do not know exactly why yet, but I imagine it will make sense in time.” Bran spoke in his usual flat tone and his impassivity grounded her enough to formulate a response,

“I doubt my embarrassing myself is worthy of historical note, but you know best.” She made to move past him, not wishing to prolong their awkward exchange. He spoke again,

"You did nothing you should be embarrassed about. Love makes people do all manner of strange and inadvisable things - I have seen far worse. Indeed I have been victim to far worse." She was already freezing cold, out there in the middle of the night in just a robe, but Bran's words extinguished what little warmth remained in her heart. They truly brought home to her for the first time that Jaime was the reason he was sitting in that chair.

"I really do love him." She didn't know what induced her to say it, to declare her love aloud for the first time, to this person and under these circ*mstances. But it felt important that she did.

"I don't doubt it. Nor should you doubt that he loves you in spite of his actions." It was hard to hear; odd to be consoled as to Jaime's feelings when, that very moment, he was galloping south, back into the arms of the woman who had been the source of all evil in his life. The woman he had chosen over her.

"If he really loved me, he wouldn't have left." She knew, even as she spoke, it wasn’t that simple. Nothing was ever that simple, least of all Jaime.

"He wouldn't have left if he'd truly been able to make that choice for himself." Bran had been half looking at her, or rather looking through her, eyes fixed in the middle distance - now his gaze snapped to her face,

"The bird that is raised in a cage knows only the cage. You can set it free a thousand times but it will always return. The cage must be broken before the bird can fly."

Every hair on Brienne's body stood on end, a shiver travelling the length of her spine. Bran's proclamation felt so much more profound than mere words and it took her long moments to even begin processing it. But the feeling it gave her was instant - in spite of her pain, she felt an odd certainty deep within her that she had no choice but to let Jaime go. She sent a silent prayer after him that he would find a way to fly.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne had been staring at her breakfast for ten minutes, pushing food around her plate without eating anything. Maester Samwell had not been overly concerned about her health when she'd visited him after being taken ill the week before, but she still felt nauseous with frustrating regularity, and had woken this morning with no appetite.

She pushed the full plate away and made her way out into the yard to watch Pod’s sparring session with one of the household guard. She was tired, more tired than she'd felt in a long time, with thoughts of Jaime keeping her awake at night, and Jaime haunting her dreams when she did sleep. Sometimes the dreams were pleasant and sometimes they weren't, but it made little difference to how bereft she felt when she awoke.

Her mind had chosen this past night to make her relive his leaving for the hundredth time, yet again forcing her to question what she could have said or done differently to make him stay. Bran's words came back to her once more, and with them that strange feeling, a cold shiver down her back and an unsettling hum of significance. She knew she'd felt something very similar before, somewhere in her past she couldn't quite recall, and it needled at her. Perhaps her mind didn’t keep revisiting that night over and over solely to torture her.

She shook off the feeling. Pod was trouncing the poor soldier despite her requesting the best recruit available. She did note however, that he used a few dirty moves he definitely hadn't learned from her - she would have to question him about their origins later. She also noticed the group of young ladies who'd gathered to watch - his reputation certainly seemed to have gained him a fan club. She smiled - she hoped he would find someone to be happy with, in time. He really was getting a little old to be a squire after all.

There was a commotion across the yard. It appeared a raven had just arrived - a number of people were pointing up towards the tower. Brienne felt as if her blood had turned cold. It had been some days since the last news from the South and she'd been floating around in a daze trying not to think about where Jaime was and what he was doing. There'd been no news of him in any of the previous letters and she held onto the hope that he hadn’t made it in time for the battle.

The last raven had indicated Daenerys and Jon were ready to attack King's Landing, and so the only logical conclusion was this bird carried news of the outcome. She had never been one to run from any situation, but the urge to do just that hit her so strongly that her knees almost gave way with the effort to remain where she was. She fixed her eyes on the tower door, waiting for the message to be brought down and presented to Sansa.

Time seemed to slow almost to a standstill as the door remained stubbornly closed. Brienne was staring so intently she began to see spots in front of her eyes. Then, her gaze was drawn by a figure walking past the tower and away from her across the courtyard. From the back he could have been Jaime - his hair was the same dirty blond and his gait so similar. She held her breath waiting for him to turn into the stable entrance - once he did, of course, it was someone else. But for those few short seconds, which had stretched out like eons, she'd convinced herself to believe it.

Her eyes snapped back to the tower. How could she have allowed herself to be distracted by a stupid fantasy? She scoffed at herself - perhaps everything that had happened in the past two months had been nothing more than a stupid fantasy.

She'd clearly missed the message being carried out, as the throng of people eager for news had moved over towards the Great Hall. Making her way in that direction, she could hear raised voices from inside. Her position in the household would permit her to enter without invitation, but she was reluctant. Faced with the truth she'd ached for mere feet away the urge to run rose in her again.

She hated herself for what mere thought of Jaime could do to her, even when he was hundreds of miles away. She still didn’t regret her choice to be with him, but it was moments like these that made her realise how much he'd changed her. She had thought she’d changed him too, for the better, and she couldn’t bring herself to believe she was wrong.

The sound of the door opening startled her. Sansa exited first, the wide eyed look on her face a mirror for Brienne’s growing anxiety.

"Ah, Ser Brienne, walk with me." She was breathless, her face flushed, and Brienne knew whatever the news was, it couldn't be good.

"My Lady, you look quite unwell." She resisted asking directly about the letter's contents. Sansa took a big breath, pausing at the top of her inhalation to gather herself before letting out a sharp sigh.

“I don’t know why I feel the need to present a face for you Brienne.” The familiarity in Sansa's words was not lost on her and she was gratified by it, "you've seen me at my worst enough times. It's just… where to begin."

Brienne took Sansa's arm and guided her through an archway to seek somewhere they could sit, undisturbed. She prayed her own countenance, and health, would hold long enough to find her Lady somewhere more private. She could barely contain her own need, but she managed it for Sansa's sake, the moment she swore her oath to Catelyn looming large in her mind. Seated, Sansa finally spoke again,

"Daenerys took her remaining dragon and destroyed King's Landing." Brienne swallowed the lump in her throat as she kept her attention fixed on Sansa's words, doing her best to ignore her own racing mind,

"Tyrion renounced her immediately and was thrown in the cells and Jon... " Sansa’s breath caught in her throat, and Brienne's heart almost seemed to stop as she waited long, agonising seconds for the end of the sentence,

"Jon killed her. He stabbed her in the heart." Everything froze. Ice from the ground seemed to spread up Brienne's legs and pool in her belly. She barely even dared breathe in case she might shatter. She could feel the fear and worry rolling off Sansa.

"And... where is Jon now?" She feared the response, but she couldn't allow the impossible tension to continue.

"They've locked him up too. We've been called south along with the other leaders of the Great Houses to determine what happens next."

"And what does happen next?" The question was as much for Brienne herself as it was for her Lady.

"I have no idea. But we must leave for White Harbour at dawn." Sansa stood, suddenly, "I have to make preparations." She turned to leave, but Brienne couldn't prevent herself from finally blurting out the question that had been burning through her since the raven arrived,

"What about Jaime?” She felt selfish, stupid, but as Sansa turned back to answer she could see a whole world of understanding in the young woman’s eyes,

“No word. I’m sorry." And with that she walked away. So they were finally heading south, and Brienne couldn't hide from the world, or the truth, inside these walls any more. Part of her welcomed it, an end to this interminable waiting. The rest of her, which had never been able see anything inside Winterfell's walls but Jaime, was sure that leaving here would mean breaking whatever spell had allowed their love to be real.

Thinking about her time with Jaime in those terms brought on that strange feeling once again - as if magic was at work. But this time it transported her back a few years to a moment far north of here, and she finally knew when she’d had that ethereal sensation before.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A fire blazed in the hearth. Brienne sat before it alone nursing a stein of tea. She'd sought out the solitude - the journey to Castle Black had been a long one, and Sansa was much engaged catching up with her brother after a tearful reunion. She didn't like to think too much about what the poor girl had been through, and even less about what she could have done differently to prevent it.

Still, she was safe now - she would bear the scars of the past few years but then, to a greater or lesser degree, so would they all. So, Brienne took this moment of pause, of quiet reflection. Life had rarely allowed for such indulgences in the recent past, and a warm fireside with no worries about wolves or bandits felt like a great blessing. In a few days, her wanderer's spirit would likely be yearning for the next grand adventure, but for now she was content.

She allowed herself to be mesmerised by the fire's dance, her thoughts drifting for a time until they began to settle on a favourite daydream. As she sat there, a face gradually formed in the flames, a handsome face - one she hadn't seen in over two years now, but which she could still recall as clearly as ever. She'd probably never see him again, but that didn't stop her thinking of him in idle moments, and dwelling on the time they'd spent together. Time which would be forever precious to her.

She'd become so engrossed she hadn't noticed someone else enter the room, but a noise at the door jolted her from her reverie and she turned to see who was interrupting her peace. The figure making their way across the room, red hair aflame in the light of the fire, was the last person she wished to see. She regarded Brienne with a quizzical expression. The blonde woman bristled, wanting to make clear that Melisandre was unwelcome - if there was any chance she wasn't already aware after their earlier altercation.

"What are you doing here?" Brienne braced one hand against her knee, the other reaching for the hilt of her sword. The witch seemed unperturbed,

"The Lord of Light guided me here.” She seated herself on the other side of the fireplace.

"I am not interested in your corrupt god, or his whims." Brienne struggled not to rise to her – in fact the only thing preventing her from running her sword through the witch where she sat was respect for the brothers of the Night's Watch and their hospitality.

"That is a shame – he's rather interested in you." Brienne didn’t have the patience for this.

"How absurd. What possible interest could he have in me?" The question was supposed to be dismissive, but Melisandre either took it for curiosity or else didn’t care to be dissuaded.

"He senses your power – indeed I sensed it the moment you first approached me.” Brienne snorted,

"It's the armour and the sword that give it away.” Melisandre leaned forward to look Brienne more directly in the eye,

"You think you know yourself so well. But your mind is closed to anything other than what is right before you."

"I am not in the habit of taking advice from witches – especially not a witch who killed my king."

"And you killed mine. So now we are even Brienne of Tarth.” Brienne was forced to pause for a moment, surprised into silence by the witch's response. It gave her the chance to speak again,

"But of course you aren't open to new horizons. Your mind is full of the Kingslayer."

Brienne felt suddenly cold. She knew from whatever dark spirit she'd seen kill Renly that the witch's magic was real, but how could she possibly know what was in Brienne’s heart?

"His name's Jaime." She surprised herself with the defiance she put into the words – but who else knew enough of the truth of his past to defend him if not her?

"You're in love with him." She'd been accused of this before, although this time it was less of an accusation – and less of a revelation.

"What’s it to you?" She wondered why she hadn't just denied it, but then it seemed pointless to lie to one who seemed able to see all. Besides, her love for Jaime was a beacon of light in a dark world and she refused to hide it away.

"He's a weak and broken man but you're stronger than you could possibly know. Strong enough for both of you. He will need you before all this is over."

Brienne hated this woman with all that she was, but her words brought on the strangest feeling. If what the witch said was true, she would see Jaime again one day. And no matter what happened in the battles to come, that was something to hold on to.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne had few possessions – years living on the road did not allow for a materialistic lifestyle. But what little she did own she had packed into a small crate ready to load onto the wagon train bound for the harbour. All, that was, aside from the things she would carry – the most important of which was Oathkeeper.

She took a long moment to run her fingers down the length of the blade and over the hilt before pushing the sword into its sheath at her hip.

“It’s yours. It’ll always be yours.”

Jamie’s words meant so much to her, and she wondered if their exchanges had stayed with him as they had with her. She also wondered if he knew that in exchange for the sword, and the faith he’d bestowed on her, she’d given him her heart. And no matter what they found when they got to King's Landing, whatever he had done or whatever fate had befallen him, that heart would always be his.

Chapter 11: Suffocating

Chapter Text

Jaime felt himself floating on a cushion of air. He couldn't be sure if he was alive or dead, but he felt strangely at peace, albeit a fragile peace on which the assault of painful memories still threatened to intrude.

Where before he'd fixed his focus on Cersei and tried to block out Brienne, he could now only find solace in thoughts of his fellow knight and battled to shut his sister from his mind. Any thought of Cersei made his profound sense of calm vanish completely. Knowing he could not confront her about his realisations was excruciating. He'd finally found himself free of her, and the fact that it was because she was gone and not because he'd chosen it ate away at him. She'd controlled him so completely he'd been unable to make that choice, and it would take time for him to accept that - if by some miracle he did happen to live.

Brienne had tried to help him, he saw that now. She’d slowly tried to persuade him he could be different; showed him that deep down he was different from Cersei, and what her poison made him into. He cursed himself that he had not been strong enough to break away from her on his own. She had always brought out the worst in him, whereas Brienne had trusted him, encouraged him, shown him he could be more. Under her influence he'd become a better version of himself.

He felt a desperation for Brienne so profound it would have made him weep if he'd still had the strength. He did not deserve to have her take him back, but if there was any chance of him getting out of this he intended to cherish her for the rest of their days. It didn't matter what she would, or wouldn't, allow him to be to her - he would swear himself to her in servitude if that's what it took. He would never presume they could be anything more - if she merely allowed him to be near her after what he'd done, that would be enough.

“It's yours. It'll always be yours.”

He’d seen in the sapphire pools of her eyes what his words meant to her, and he prayed she knew what they meant to him too. Even though he didn’t know it at the time, he hadn't just been talking about the sword. He'd been offering her all that he was.

He knew now, the love he shared with Brienne was the only real love he'd ever experienced. What he'd felt for Cersei had been infatuation, a false superficial love born out of abuse and co-dependency. And unlike his love for Brienne it had never been freely given.

Of course, as he had said many times in his life, you don't get to choose who you love, but he knew if it were possible he would have chosen to love Brienne. Cersei forced him to love her by making him reliant on her, by doing her damnedest to chase away every other support in his life until he couldn't function without her. Until his sense of self was wholly compromised.

His heart had never truly been Cersei's, just as the spirit of one imprisoned could never truly belong to their jailer. It would always belong to Brienne, sweet, loyal, too bloody good for this world Brienne. She was, and always would be, the love of his life and the very embodiment of everything he had ever aspired to be. He had many regrets, but the greatest of them all was never telling her how he felt, and leaving her crying in the snow believing he didn’t love her enough to stay.

Despite how he continued to linger, he felt sure in his heart that he wasn’t getting out of this alive. Cersei’s final and most complete act of control over him was to have him die with her, and as much as a part of him would always love her, he hated her for it. More so, the fact that he still loved her after everything made him hate her all the more, and despise himself.

“You poor fool. She’ll be the end of you."

How right Olenna had been – he’d been a blind man in a sighted world all his life, with everyone else able to forsee his fate but him. And now here he was, caught in a trap of his own making, complicit in his own destruction.

He had to admit there was a sick poetry to it all – he and Cersei had come into the world together and they would leave it together. He would never be his own person; never get to find out who he was without her. But then, maybe he was never meant to exist without Cersei, and maybe the answer to those questions was no-one. He’d never know now. He was ready for it all to be over.

Just as he felt himself giving up, surrendering himself to the darkness that pushed at the edges of his consciousness, the floating feeling lessened and his body grew heavy. The perpetual night he’d been trapped in became lighter, gradually, like the sunrise. The crushing weight lifted off him and he found himself standing in the Red Keep, whole once more, with sunlight streaming in through the windows.

At first he thought he was slipping into another memory, but this felt different somehow - he could not place this day, this feeling, as coming from his past.

He found himself walking toward the Great Hall. The castle seemed oddly deserted - it was eerie without the usual hustle and bustle of the day's business. When he reached his destination the doors were closed, but with the slightest push they opened easily, swinging inward before him.

This room also appeared deserted at first, but then he saw Cersei seated on the throne, legs crossed and arms folded in her lap. But that couldn’t be, Cersei was dead. He was surely still trapped in his own mind, but this was not a memory and his every instinct told him it was far more than just a fever dream. It felt as real as any other moment of his life, so the fact that she was sitting here when he knew full well she was lying dead beside him felt desperately wrong and he could find no rational explanation for it.

She regarded him imperiously, and he felt fear clench his stomach. Whenever he'd had to spend time away from her in the past he'd carried constant thoughts of her with him – sometimes the soft sweet Cersei he yearned for, but other times this angry, judgemental Cersei who he felt compelled to please. Which of the two he'd visualised as he galloped south switched back and forth with a regularity that should have given him pause.

"There are only two reasons for ever doing anything – one is love, the other is fear."

His brother had given up any outright attempt to persuade him from Cersei’s side years before, but he’d continued to slip in subtle messages designed to make Jaime contemplate his situation for himself. Tyrion knew Cersei had always had him pegged on both love and fear – but not any more. Things were about to change. He strode forward, ready to face her, ready to stand up to her as he'd never dared before. He knew now what this was – the chance to speak his mind that he had always been denied. He had no idea who or what had bestowed this upon him but he sent them a silent prayer of thanks.

"Nice of you to finally show up." With the threat of imminent death absent from this strange scenario, he was clearly going to hear her true thoughts on his decision to leave her and ride north. He could sense the anger rolling off her, and he was unsurprised she’d spoken first. She wanted to begin with the upper hand over him, as she always did, but this time he would not allow it. He took another defiant step forward.

"It's a long way from Winterfell to King's Landing." He kept his reply short, and without apology. She seemed pleasingly surprised, clearly expecting he’d be more deferent,

"Funny, the dragon bitch and her bastard lover have been here for weeks. Did you take the long way around? I can't imagine you marched with their armies." He knew Brienne was bound to come up sooner or later, in fact he fully intended to tell Cersei all about her, but for now he held back. He wanted to see what she already knew, what her inevitable spies had fed back to her. It was clear from her tone that she had a good idea what had detained him, and was trying to trap him into admitting it,

"I had reason to remain in the North for several weeks after the battle. Lady Sansa graciously extended me her hospitality." She raised her eyebrows - she was clearly astonished by his continued defiance,

"What possible... business,” she emphasised the word, almost spitting it at him, "could you have that would keep you from my side for a moment longer than your ridiculous knight nonsense demanded?"

"Personal business." He put equal emphasis on his first syllable.

"With your whor*?" Her eyes bored into him and he stared right back, pleased that he'd forced her into showing her hand.

"She is not a whor*." It seemed rich she'd be so angry with him after all the men who’d shared her bed over the years. He’d always known, turned the blind eye of denial, and remained faithful to her like a fool. The only reason he could fathom for her rage was that Brienne made her feel threatened, and that filled him with more strength than he’d had in years.

"Don't think I don't know you've been f*cking her.” She made it sound so cheap, so dirty, but the deep connection he and Brienne had shared had been so much more than a mere physical act, "I’m amazed you could even get hard for that big, ugly bitch." He moved forward up the steps of the dais, eyes fixed unblinking on hers, rage burning in his chest like wildfire. For the first time in their lives he saw her shrink back from him, just a little, a shade of uncertainty passing across her gaze.

"Don't you dare, ever, speak about her that way. She's ten times the woman you'll ever be." He watched her face as his words sank in, then her mind try to figure out its next move. He could see the thought process there, clear as day, cold and calculating. She stood, moving into his personal space and claiming it in her forceful way, which had always aroused him before, but now made him want to recoil away. She brought her hands to his face, pressing her body against him.

"I missed you Jaime." No, he wouldn't fall for her trap again. All the ways she manipulated him were so obvious now – she’d been playing him like a fiddle for years and, like a blind, stupid puppy, he'd let her. This time he pushed her away, turning his back as he took a step toward the high window. She moved towards him again, embracing him from behind, making certain he could feel her breasts pressed against his back, hands roaming his chest. He shook her off once more, turning back to face her.

"This isn't going to work on me any more Cersei." He softened his expression – as angry as he was, long ingrained instincts baulked at the idea of hurting her. It was a mistake – sensing a chink of weakness in his armour, she went in for the kill,

"Don't you love me any more?" She was so blatant, shameless, but he had to believe there were genuinely hurt feelings behind the question and he recognised the need to tread softly. He tried to be gentle but firm,

“Cersei l'll always love you,” he saw her eyes light with triumph, but as she made back towards him again he raised a hand to stop her in her tracks, “You're my sister and I love you. But I’m not in love with you. Not any more. I'm in love with Brienne and I’m going to marry her." His final declaration surprised even him with it's surety, but as he allowed the idea to linger in his thoughts for a few moments he felt a warmth spread through him. He didn't know if she would want him back, or even want to see him again, but the absolute certainty of his own feelings and desires made him feel powerful.

“How could you choose her over me? It's always been us Jaime, since the day we were born. You always told me we're the only two people in the entire world.” She’d begun to plead and he took a deep, calming breath, using it to steel himself against her attempt to sway him.

“I finally found someone of my own to love - someone I can be with openly, build a family with. Any normal sister would be happy for me." He hadn't got as far as talking to Brienne about the future, about children, but he realised he wanted that with her so very dearly. He could only hold on to the hope she would want the same, if by some miracle he made it out of this.

“We had a family, Jaime - we can still have one!” Her hands dropped to her belly and he turned cold. He knew in his heart it was gone, their nameless, faceless fourth child that had been denied even the short life of its sister and brothers. He mourned for them all, far more than he'd ever been able to express - except one starry night on a riverbank when Brienne had held him and allowed him the space to bare his soul. How had he not realised he loved her then?

"We can never be a family Cersei, we've been living a lie for years, a poisonous lie. I let another man father my children whilst you took me in and out of my box whenever it suited you." She looked horrified, but it was not horror at the realisation of what she'd done to him, it was horror that he'd finally worked it out. That he’d finally decided he wasn't going to take it any more.

“I was always there for you Jaime, always took care of you when no one else wanted to know you. When the whole world scorned you and called you names, I was the only one you could turn to. She'll never take care of you like me.” That was the first piece of real truth to come out of Cersei's mouth in the whole conversation. Jaime couldn't help but laugh in her face, knowing how right she was but in a wholly different way to the one she meant.

“You're absolutely right, she won't take care of me like you did. She'll take care of me immeasurably better because she treats me with the respect that I deserve. She truly loves me.” He knew it, as surely as he knew his own name. He'd always doubted what Cersei felt for him, but Brienne's every action conveyed her feelings without him ever needing to hear her say the words. And that certainty gave him so much strength.

"Jaime, I love you. I love you more than my own breath." And there he saw it, saw more than enough to chase the doubt from his mind - the years of wondering were over. The lie never reached her eyes, and she finally gave herself away. He'd always feared the answer to that long held question, but now he had it he felt nothing but elation. In spite of all the wasted years, the feeling of freedom was impossibly thrilling.

“You don't love me. Not the way I love you. No-one who loves someone could treat them the way you've treated me. You've manipulated me my whole life - belittled me, teased me, hurt me, then comforted me in the next breath. You controlled me so completely I was unable to let anyone else in. I never had a chance of having a normal relationship.” He took a breath that was almost a gasp, old habits suddenly kicking in. He felt shocked at what he'd just said to her; at what he'd just had the balls to say to her. She cut in,

"Jaime, you're raving..." He raised his hand before her face, cutting her off in mid-flow. Even the behaviour patterns of decades weren’t going to force him into letting her continue.

"No Cersei, you've done enough talking, it's my turn. I’m not going to let you silence me any more - I'm my own person damn it, not just an extension of your ego to dangle on a string whenever I’m convenient to have around or you want another baby. I’m not your bloody plaything." He paused again, but this time he fixed her with a look that dared her to speak and see what he would do. She remained silent – the wisest thing she'd done in years.

“I have wasted my entire life trying to make you happy. I compromised so much of myself doing whatever it took to get your approval, and I’ve finally realised I don't need it any more. I don't care whether you approve of me or not – I don't give two, wet sh*ts if you like my choice of wife because she gives me everything you took away from me. She encourages me to be myself and she brings out the best in me. And most of all she doesn't make me buy her love and she certainly doesn't try to buy mine." He raised his eyebrows at her, indicating that he was done, wondering what possible comeback she could have to his diatribe.

"Are you finished?" It was a meeker response than he'd expected, but even now he didn't discount a further attempt to manipulate. He was intimately acquainted with her final line of defence when she didn't get her own way, and that was to lash out. He braced himself for her rage, which could quickly become physical.

"I’m finished." She stepped towards him again, and this time he allowed it, if only to show he wasn't going to back down from his plainly stated position.

“Good,” she smiled, a dangerous smile, “but Jaime, darling, even you must be astute enough to know I’m never going to allow you to leave. No-one just chooses to walk away from Cersei Lannister.”

He shouldn't have been surprised really, shouldn't have been naive enough to hope for her to see the error of her ways, to ever stretch to an apology. Because of course she'd always known exactly what she was doing to him, and done it all with a ruthless, calculated intent. She truly was hateful.

“Cersei, I’m going now. I’m not going to let you threaten me. All you’re doing is proving everything I've just said is absolutely true." He turned to step down from the dais, but she caught his arm with her hand, digging her nails into his flesh.

"l’m going to give you one last chance to change your mind before I call for the guards." Jaime wasn't even sure if there were any guards in this strange place, or what they could do to him if there were, but he was overcome with the urge to get away from her, whatever the cost.

He reached to his hip to draw his sword from its scabbard, then realised he wasn't wearing one – he wasn't carrying a weapon of any kind, and it made him feel naked. He glanced around, but there wasn't anything he could even improvise as a weapon. Cersei’s head was already partially turned, ready to shout for help, and he was suddenly struck by her deadly beauty; the pale expanse of her flawless skin. There were tears on her cheeks, long streaks marking their path down her face. He realised at that moment there was only one way this was going to end, and if that was what it took to get back to Brienne, then that’s what he would do.

The next thing he knew, his hands were at Cersei's throat, both hands – his right whole again, as real as it had ever been. He didn’t know how it could be possible, but it was clear to him now that fate was at work here. Cersei was struggling to breathe, her face growing red as she clawed at his hands. But he could already tell he was too strong for her. She was trying to speak – through her dying gasps she managed to cough out,

“It... s... you. Yo... u're... th... the... Va... lon…quar.” Then she grew limp and her weight collapsed to the floor. The scene quickly began to dissolve before Jamie’s eyes as he looked down at his hands, disbelieving at what he'd just done. He could barely bring himself to process her words and their horrifying meaning – but they confirmed that there was far more to what had just happened than a mere dying hallucination.

He spiralled back into the darkness below the rubble, but he could still make out a faint light and there was less weight crushing down on him. He almost felt as if there was fresh air on his face. Then he heard crying. Someone was there – someone had finally found him. He tried to speak, but the mere act of breathing was taking all his remaining energy and no sound came out. He couldn’t even fully open his eyes, but he had to find a way to let his saviour know he was there; that he was still alive... just.

The crying seemed to be punctuated by banging – it sounded far away but he could definitely hear a noise like someone banging rocks together. It didn’t make any sense to his clouded mind, but he waited for it to stop, mustering every last ounce of strength that remained. He breathed in, deep, painful, so painful he believed it could be his last, then he coughed. It was a weak, pitiful cough, but a sound nonetheless. The crying stopped instantly,

“Jaime?” Tyrion. Of course it was him, and his brother's voice was filled with sudden hope, “Jaime, you're alive, gods be praised.”

He wished he could respond, but just continuing to breathe felt like an increasingly impossible task from each second to the next, even as the crushing weight was finally lifted from his body brick by brick. He fixed his thoughts on Brienne.

“l’m coming back to you my love. I'm holding on. For you.”

Chapter 12: Find My Way Back to You

Chapter Text

Dusk was just starting to fall over the mountains, light bleeding down toward the horizon. Brienne shifted in her saddle for the hundredth time, trying to ease the ache in her hips and back. She'd spent years on the road, riding for days at a time, but she'd never felt so ready to rest as at the end of this one.

A few months stuck in Winterfell had really impacted her fitness, and she resolved that wherever she ended up spending the next months and years, she would focus much more on training. There didn't need to be a war for her to want to keep herself sharp. Idle time spent with Jaime, followed by pining over Jaime, had distracted her from her vocation – a fact that brought with it a tangled mass of emotions

She'd been so much a loner, so determined to be independent her whole life, that wanting him, needing him, made her feel like a failure, and yet, she loved it. She was torn - devastated and betrayed by his leaving, afraid for his safety, and still desperately in love. Her heart felt sore, day and night, and she couldn't imagine what she'd do if he was gone, or how she'd handle seeing him again if he wasn't.

They were six days out from Winterfell, and should finally reach the boat some time tomorrow. They would make camp in the valley overnight - Lady Sansa's men had already ridden ahead to pitch the tents, and she could see the faint lights of fires beginning to wink into life below them as the road dropped down off the rise. There was a soft breeze blowing and it was surprising how much warmer it felt just these few hundred miles further south. The snow had largely given way to greenery, and it would soon be cosy in the camp with fires blazing.

They’d stayed the previous nights in inns and holdfasts, but she was actually looking forward to sleeping outdoors again - it took her back to years gone by, to happy memories of life on the road, with Pod, and with Jaime. Of course, they’d largely slept in the open, on bedrolls under the stars, but a tent still allowed her to hear the sound of the night - a natural music that always helped her drift off to sleep.

They reached the camp, and were shown to their sleeping quarters, the two larger tents for Sansa and Bran, and a small tent for her - with Pod sleeping in with the men. She was pleased to have privacy, and decided for once that she'd remove her armour for the evening meal, the delicious scent of roasting meat wafting in as she undressed.

A jug of warmed water had been placed on a stand near the bed and she pulled off her tunic, dousing her head eagerly before reaching for the bar of tallow soap beside it to lather her face and neck. A wash in warm water was never a luxury she would take for granted, and she enjoyed the few minutes of indulgence before towelling off and pulling on the fresh tunic she'd retrieved from her saddlebag.

Her stomach was growling by this point, and she realised just how famished she was. Thankfully her nausea appeared to have eased on the past few days ride - perhaps the change of scenery and air were doing her good. Her appetite had certainly returned with a vengeance, and she intend to make the most of it.

Sansa and Pod were already seated at the fire when she made her way outside, and Pod gestured to a space on the log beside him for her to sit down. She did, wishing there was something to rest her back against, but enthusiastically accepting the plate that was offered to her. She was halfway through her food when she looked up and realised her two fireside companions were staring at her.

“Well you're clearly feeling better,” Sansa's tone was lightly teasing, but there was a warmth to her comment, “I'm glad.” Pod was smiling whilst also shovelling food into his mouth - she could tell he was happy to see her enjoying her meal. It felt wonderful to have people around her who she trusted and cared for, and who cared for her in turn, especially in such uncertain times, both for the realm, and for herself. It was something she'd lacked through the years - she'd learned to rely on herself, but perhaps it was time to lean on others a little. She smiled back at both of them,

"I am, much better." Her improved health was a relief, but without that distraction her mind latched onto a concern for Sansa she'd been neglecting, and with it the guilt that came with that neglect. She must be so worried about her brother. "How are you feeling my Lady?"

Sansa didn't answer immediately - but that wasn't unusual. Astute and measured, she generally took time to carefully consider everything she said. Then, to Brienne's surprise, she smiled,

"I thank you for your concern, but I've endured much worse than this, as has my brother. Jon can take care of himself and, honestly, no matter what happens now I am glad we are free of Daenerys Targaryen. I never believed she was the right person to be our queen, no more than Cersei." Her objectivity was admirable, but Brienne wondered at the long term health of being so detached. She saw much of herself in Sansa, despite their contrasting journeys.

There was a commotion at the north end of the camp - the three rose as one from their seats and turned to see what was causing it. The sound of hooves galloping down the road towards them rang out across the valley. Brienne's hand instinctively dropped to her sword, and she felt a stab of pride when she saw Pod’s do the same. She couldn't imagine there was any danger to a Stark party in the North now, but she felt the familiar wave of battle arousal wash through her as her body prepared itself for possible attack. She led the way towards the northern camp entrance, edging a little sideways so Lady Sansa was shielded behind her. She didn't draw her sword, but kept her hand firmly on the hilt.

By the time she and Pod reached the road, the single rider had already been intercepted by some of the Stark men. She instantly recognised him as a Winterfell messenger boy and her confusion deepened. Had some important item been left behind that warranted his being sent after them? Then, the men who'd met him turned around and she quickly became aware that they were looking at her. One of them spoke,

"Ser Brienne, a raven came for you after we left Winterfell." She registered the scroll in his hand at the same moment the meaning of his words hit her. She was receiving a letter for one of only two reasons - either it was from Jaime or it contained news of Jaime. She moved forward wordlessly, and took the letter from his outstretched hand. She stared at it for a few seconds, painfully aware of the multitude of eyes on her, waiting eagerly for her to unroll it.

"I would be grateful if you could all have the courtesy to allow Ser Brienne to read her letter in private." She could have kissed Sansa - the Lady put a hand on her shoulder and turned her back towards their campfire. She remained silent as she guided Brienne to her tent, motioning her to enter, then said simply,

"If you need me I’ll be right outside."

Brienne entered and, seating herself on the bed, unrolled the scroll with trembling hands. Her heart dropped in her chest when she saw the writing - she realised then how much she'd been hoping to see Jaime's lazy scrawl. Instead she was met with a rather blocky, childlike hand she didn't recognise, on a page littered with blots and spelling corrections,

"Ser Brienne,

I hope you can forgive my poor writing skills, but I am charged with writing to you by circ*mstance as those who would be more suited to the task are unable to do so.
I am sure by now you will be aware of events here over the past few days, and the uncertainty with which the world is now faced.

However, there are those of us who understand that even as world altering events occur, concerns of the heart are still of great importance. Lord Tyrion currently resides in the cells, but he has impressed upon me the depth of your personal relationship with his brother, and thus within this letter you shall find news of such.

Firstly I shall end the suspense you are inevitably feeling and bring you that news - Ser Jaime is alive, albeit gravely ill. The house of healing in which he currently resides is doing everything they can for him, but we can only pray that he rallies.

Secondly, to the events which landed him there - it would appear that he entered the Red Keep sometime during Daenerys' attack, seemingly in the hope of getting his sister to safety, but was unsuccessful. Both of them were buried in the partial collapse of the Keep - Cersei did not survive.

When Lord Tyrion found them, Ser Jaime was barely alive. Tyrion was soon after incarcerated, but not before he passed me the message that his brother needed help, and so I did what I could. Jaime's injuries are severe, but he has shown some little improvement since my contacts in King's Landing brought him to safety.

I know you will be coming here soon with Lady Sansa, and I will meet you on your arrival to update you on Ser Jaime's condition. If I could send further news along your journey I would but as you know, that is not possible.

I hope this letter brings you some small comfort, I wish the news were better, but from what little I know of you, I thought you would rather be aware than spend further weeks in the dark.

Yours with best wishes,
Ser Davos Seaworth”

Brienne felt heat flush through her body - she was elated to finally get the news that Jaime had survived the attack on King's Landing. She was deeply grateful for Davos' letter, as he had rightly surmised, but now she must return to her interminable waiting.

It must have been some days since the letter was written, but she was oddly certain that Jaime was still alive - some sense she could not define told her she would surely know in her heart if he was gone.

She was hit with the sudden fear that he was alone and afraid, and her desperation to be with him burned anew. It didn't matter that he'd left her, she needed to be there to nurse him through his illness, as she'd done once before. She wondered how aware he was, if he know what was happening; if he wanted her as much as she wanted him. If he knew Cersei was finally gone from this world.

She stood up from the bed then, on shaky legs, ready to seek the support she had so resisted in the past. She was beginning to accept she needed it, and she would not be in any way diminished. She made her way out of the tent to find Sansa waiting anxiously a short distance away, and quickly gave her the news that would allay the worst of her concern,

"He's badly injured, but alive." A huge sigh of relief accompanied her words, and she watched the same relief wash over Sansa's expression. Then her Lady embraced her, tentatively but warmly, and she made herself lean in to the feeling of belonging, instead of shying away. Whatever happened with Jaime she knew she had people she could rely on.

The tears came then, all the diligently bottled up emotion of the past weeks flooding out of her, uncontrolled. She wondered if they would ever stop, if the impossibly huge well of love for him that threatened to burst her heart had an end, or if it would ultimately drown her.

As it was, she cried herself to exhaustion, Sansa and Pod half-carrying her to bed between them. The Lady helped her undress, and she fell quickly into a fitful sleep, dreams of Jaime following fast behind.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne's feet dropped into the soft bed of fresh snow as she dismounted. The forest was silent, all noise muffled by the white blanket that covered the ground, and adorned every branch. The snowfall had stopped now and the featureless pale grey cloud, which had stretched on day after day for the past few weeks, had finally given way to blue sky and sunshine. It was the perfect day to take some time to unwind.

Leisure pursuits had been such a foreign concept to Brienne through her life, and particularly in these past years of war, but Sansa had persuaded her that it was important not to dedicate one’s entire life to work. There had to be time to simply enjoy being alive otherwise what was all the rest of it even for? Besides, she'd warmed much more to the idea of free time lately, since she’d had someone to share it with.

Jaime dismounted beside her, and they tied the horses up to a tree before he started to unpack the saddlebags. Brienne gathered firewood, scraping away a patch of snow to assemble the fire, close to a fallen tree they could seat themselves upon. The wood took a little time to light, smoking away its dampness before catching properly. By the time it was ablaze, Jaime had hung and skinned the two rabbits they'd caught on the journey and they cobbled together a spit from hastily sharpened sticks roast them on. It had been a couple of hours ride to this spot, close to a large hot spring, which was the main focus of their visit, and Brienne was ravenous. She tore into the meat eagerly, soon polishing off her meal.

"Aside from the snow, this place really reminds me of being back on Tarth. It's so peaceful." Brienne glanced around the forest, feeling for the first time in a long while the pang of longing for her homeland. She loved it, and her father, dearly but it also held a lot of painful memories for her,

"You never talked about it much." There was a genuine interest in Jaime's eyes, but she also sensed a wariness - he was clearly uncertain if her past was something she was comfortable to discuss, and she felt a wave of love for his sensitivity.

“It was never Tarth that was the issue. It lives up to its reputation of being one of the most beautiful places in Westeros.” She hesitated, not sure if she should say what came to mind next, uncertain if it was too much, too soon. Something spurred her to be bold,

"I'd love to show it to you someday." He smiled, and the light in his eyes raised goosebumps on her skin.

"I'd like that." A simple response, but one that told her what was growing between them was significant to him as well as her. And that was enough for now – some days her mind tried to run away with thoughts of the future, but in the main she was content to just enjoy the present.

"I didn't have the most idyllic childhood, but it made me strong. You were right about none of the boys being able to overpower me." It was an odd time to hark back to when they'd first met, to those initial assumptions and prejudices. They’d said some hurtful things and made judgements about each other that were very wrong. But those early exchanges had also contained a question which remained unanswered all these years later. She hoped he would recall, and he did not disappoint her,

“But we never did discover if I could beat you in a fair fight. You said maybe we would one day - I'm glad it never came to that. It would have been fun to find out though, don't you think?" She wasn't wearing her armour, and neither was he – it had felt odd to leave the castle walls without it, but it hardly seemed appropriate for the occasion. There was, however, always the threat of wolves out here and so she had brought a sword. She found herself reaching for it at Jaime's words.

He was right, it would be fun to find out. Of course he may never be as good a swordsman as he'd been before he lost his hand, but he was certainly formidable. She liked to think she could beat him but that was in no way assured. He watched her as she stood slowly, discarding the scabbard to the floor, rotating her sword as she kept her eyes fixed on him.

"You want to go right now?" He couldn't disguise his delight and she wondered if he'd had his own thoughts of them settling this before she'd prompted him. She was suddenly excited by the game,

"Unless you aren't up for it." She watched her challenge burn through him, and he was quickly on his feet, catlike, blade in hand.

"Oh I'm up for it!" He emphasised the word 'up', the unsubtle innuendo heating her skin.

They circled each other, one way then the other, as they had on a bridge many years before. They could never have imagined back then, all that would come to pass between them, and yet here they were – at the culmination of a journey from hate, through grudging respect, to friends, comrades, and finally lovers.

Brienne took a tentative swipe at him, which he deflected easily. They were both well practiced at sparring, but without armour it was a whole different game. This was going to be won with finesse, not brute force, and she knew that would favour him.

He came at her, his footwork flawless across the frosted ground, snow scuffed aside. She parried him away, and he danced past her, turning sharply to face her again. She feinted to the left, as if she was going to swing a heavy blow, but then switched to the right coming at his shoulder, ready to pull back so she didn't hurt him. She needn't have bothered - he anticipated her move without the slightest trouble, their blades clashing sharply together.

"Your tell is much less than it once was, but it's still there." He knew her too well, and she was beginning to wonder how she was going to beat him. Then he made a move she didn't expect. He ducked, thrust to throw her off balance, then swung his sword aside as he rushed her, shoulder barging her to the ground, his weight landing hard on top of her. He pinned her right arm above her head with his good hand, forcing her to release her sword, face triumphant.

She bucked her hips, twisting beneath him and rolling him onto his back, straddling him. He didn't look any less pleased, however, and he pressed his hips up into her. He wasn't fully hard, but enough that she could tell he was aroused. So was she - she could feel her stiff nipples grazing the inside of her tunic, and dampness pooling between her legs as she ground down on him. When he spoke his voice was breathy,

"So do we declare you the winner then? I certainly don't feel like I've lost." She secretly wished he had been able to wholly overpower her, but the warrior in her couldn't bring herself to let him win, even for the game.

"It would appear so." She hoped she'd conveyed sufficient disappointment, even if it didn't last long. Now, as cold and wet it was on the ground, desire overtook her and she leaned forward to kiss him, hard, moaning as her breasts met his chest.

That was when he made his move, flipping her onto her back once more, and this time she didn’t resist. She loved the feel of his weight on top of her, pressing her down, snow melt soaking into the back of her tunic. It was oddly freeing to relinquish control, to allow herself to be vulnerable, to trust him enough to give herself to him. He'd been right all those years ago, she had wondered what it would be like for one of those boys to defeat her, to take her, but there was a yawning gulf between wondering and wanting.

It was Jaime, he did this to her. She loved and hated the way he quickened her heartbeat, how his voice twisted her stomach into knots, how his closeness prickled her skin with delicious heat. Just being near him made her want things she'd never known how to want before. He'd awoken her latent desire and she revelled in it.

He continued the kiss she'd started, firm but languid. She let him control the pace as she found the hem of his shirt and pushed her hands beneath the damp material. He drew in a sharp breath as his skin was exposed to the cold, then a second when her nails grazed his back. His hips thrust against hers once more and again she met them, although this time she remained on her back. The cold was seeping up from the earth into her wet skin, but the heat pulsing in her core made her remain where she was, in the thrall of the man she loved.

His hand found the lacing of her tunic, loosening the strings enough to slip inside and palm her breast. Just like everything else his fingers were cold, and slightly damp, but that only served to intensify the sensation as his thumb found her nipple. Her gasp ended the kiss, which he then traced down her neck. She nuzzled her face into his hair, taking in the smell of him which she loved so much, edged with the tang of woodsmoke from their cook fire.

She couldn't help but shiver then, as the cold reached her bones, and he drew back, regarding her with a frown of concern. She felt instantly bereft, but had to admit defeat or they would both likely end up ill from exposure. She was glad they'd brought towels and dry clothes for after the hot spring and they wouldn't be forced to ride back sodden and freezing.

She masked her disappointment as he helped her to her feet, only to be met with the sight of him flushed, his erect co*ck tenting his breeches, which brought with it a new wave of arousal. She pulled him to her by the front of his shirt, moving them backwards until she bumped up against a tree trunk. As he got the message and pressed her back against the tree, hard, she ran her hands down his sides then traced his rigid length through the damp fabric. He groaned and claimed her mouth with his again, tongue forcing its way in.

She fumbled the fastenings, eager to free him, needing to feel him hot and hard in her hand. He mirrored her urgency, moving his own hand to her trousers, struggling for a few seconds before giving up and yanking them down, buttons scattering into the snow.

In each of their previous encounters, he'd entered her slowly, gently but she urged him on by gripping his ass in both hands and pulling him to her. Pressing her backwards even more firmly he hooked his arms under her thighs and lifted her off the ground. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt him hesitate, so she bent her head to his ear,

"Jaime I need you inside me, please." He didn't need to be asked twice and, shifting his feet to gain purchase in the snow, slammed into her with one long thrust. She cried out with the delicious shock of it, but that cry quickly became a laugh of delight, and she tightened her grip on his shoulders.

He started up a relentless pace, f*cking her hard against the tree as she clung on, helpless and gasping with pleasure - the angle creating as much delicious friction outside as inside. They came together, fast, her climax surprising her with its speed and intensity, then his knees gave way, spilling them both into the snow.

He looked to her with concern at first, worried she'd been hurt in the fall, but she started laughing at the joy and absurdity of it. Uninjured, aside from a loss of dignity, they were soon both laughing uncontrollably, trying to cover cold, bare skin with what remained of their clothing before they found one another's arms and mouths again.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne woke from her dream in a tangle of furs, skin slick with sweat and heart racing. She felt immediately bereft for the lack of Jaime's embrace, body tingling with arousal. She silently cursed her mind for conjuring what had doubtless been their most passionate sexual encounter - happening just a few days before they'd parted she'd thought of it often, but the dream made it feel blissfully and painfully real once more.

The fact that she ached for his presence was to be expected, but she'd been surprised to find just how much she missed the intimacy and physical pleasure of sex – a foreign land to her before Jaime. His kiss, his skilful touch, his naked body warm and damp against hers, how good his hard co*ck felt inside her. She’d never imagined she could enjoy it, that she could crave him, the way she did.

She turned over, trying to ignore the throbbing ache between her legs, but she managed it for only a minute or so before frustration and curiosity got the better of her. She trailed a hand southward, dragging over sensitive flesh, pressing one finger, then two, inside herself. She stifled her gasps against the crook of her other arm, anxious she would be overheard. She'd never felt the urge to do this before, never known what to do if she had, but Jaime had shown her. He'd diligently explored every inch of her body until he found out what she liked, what felt good. For the first time in her life she brought herself to org*sm, imagining him thrusting into her, stomach clenched at the illicit thrill of it.

As the aftershocks died away, she felt a warmth and a comfort she'd lost touch with since Jaime had left. She felt close to him, and with that closeness came an overwhelming certainty that she would lie with him again, come what may.

“Hold on Jaime, my love, I’ll be there soon.”

Chapter 13: You Let Her Go

Chapter Text

Jaime came to with the feeling of soft hands on him. He tried to speak,

"Brienne, is that you?" No sound came out. He realised quickly it couldn't be her - she didn't have hands this soft. Her hands were calloused and battle worn, but to him they were perfect. Real. These hands he couldn't place. He knew he was no longer buried in rubble, but he couldn’t remember where he’d been when he fell asleep.

Tyrion. He remembered Tyrion's voice, his brother's tears. The crushing weight was gone, and he could breathe again. Where was he? The soft hands brought with them a feeling of warmth - there was still pain, but it was duller, more bearable. He tried to move, but he was tired, so very tired, and his body didn't want to respond.

There was a tightness, across his leg, his arm and torso. It took his lethargic mind several minutes to realise the feeling was bandages - wherever he was someone was caring for him. He made an attempt to speak again and a strangled sort of moan reached his ears - was that his voice?

"Don't try and talk my Lord. Just rest now." He didn't recognise the voice. It sounded like someone speaking through water - distant, muffled and distorted, but he could tell it was a woman’s voice. Tyrion? Brienne? Where are you? He tried to remember what had happened after he’d heard Tyrion’s voice.

Darkness, pain - so much pain. Hands on him, rough, strong hands but not Brienne’s - men's hands. Men's voices. Jolting, lifting and pain. Screaming, he'd screamed. A lot. He could still feel the roughness in the back of his throat. So much pain... he must have passed out.

Then he'd woken up here. He desperately wanted to know where he was, where his brother was. Most of all he wanted Brienne, but of course she was hundreds of miles away in Winterfell, probably hating him, probably wishing him dead. But, for the moment at least, it seemed he was defying her wishes and remaining out of the grasp of The Stranger.

What had he done? What had he given up for Cersei yet again? This time, she'd finally destroyed his life. He hadn't realised he had sufficient energy left for the fierce anger that her memory kindled in him, its only consolation being that she was now solely that; a memory. He resolved not to think of her again. She did not deserve even a single second more of him. His choice to try and save her if he could, or be with her at the end if he couldn't, had seemed so noble when he left. Now it had been proven beyond foolish, and he wished that he had left Cersei to the fate that she so richly deserved; to die alone whilst he was far to the North with Brienne, safe and happy. The time they'd spent together had been the best days of his life.

How many mistakes could one man make before the gods decided his life was forfeit? He didn't believe he deserved to be reprieved for a third time - Brienne had been his second chance at life, but he'd cast their love aside, and for what? A cruel, spiteful liar? He thought of the many good people who'd died needlessly through the years, and how much more they deserved to be alive than him. Perhaps he too wouldn't be here much longer, and maybe that was for the best.

For whatever time he had remaining, he would think only of Brienne. He owed her that much at least, that she be in his dying thoughts, whatever meagre substitute that was for being by her side. They hadn't talked of the future - he wondered if that was because, deep down, he'd known and feared what was to come. If that suppressed fear had held him back from committing to her - from voicing aloud the dreams and desires that, regardless, filled his head. Dreams of being with her always, of marriage, and of travelling the world together as they had in days long past.

He'd been overjoyed when she said she wanted to show him Tarth. His brief glimpse of it on the journey to Dorne had profoundly moved him, igniting the quiet longing for her that had settled on him since she'd departed King's Landing. Why then, had it taken him so long to realise he loved her? He'd never considered the possibility - not for so long a time, almost until it was too late. Then, emboldened by wine and the euphoria of victory, he'd finally declared himself; clumsy and uncertain. In spite of all he was, she'd allowed him in and bestowed on him her most precious gift; herself. After all that he'd somehow chosen to leave, despite her being everything he had ever needed. That made him the worst kind of fool.

Hot - he was so hot - it felt as if wildfire was being pumped into his veins. A cold cloth was pressed against his forehead, but it could only have been a minute or two until it was as hot as the rest of him. He struggled on the bed, managing to move a little this time, and eliciting more concerned, soothing words from whoever his carer was. Where was Tyrion?

"My Lord, you must rest. You're very sick and we're taking the best care of you we can, but you must conserve your energy." He tried to relax, hoping that meant his mysterious nurse would realise he'd heard her and talk to him again. He liked to hear her voice, it soothed him and made him feel more grounded, kept him holding on to the belief that he he was still strong enough to get well.

He thought once again of Tarth - The Sapphire Isle - and how its waters had indeed been as impossibly blue as in the tales. Such an idyllic place seemed too perfect to belong to this vile, corruption filled world where so many of those who called themselves noble trod others into the dirt for money and power. He had been no better than any of them, going to whatever lengths were necessary to satisfy his own ends. In contrast, just like the place that had birthed her, Brienne was too good for this world. Just by existing in it she changed it, made it a little better, brighter, and he liked to think that, for a time at least, she'd done the same to him.

And how could thought of his love’s homeland not take him back to that dark, fateful night on the road to Harrenhal? He would never regret what he’d chosen to do, what he saved Brienne from, even though it lost him his hand. It was one of the few true and noble things he'd ever done in his life.

"Why did you help me?" He hadn't known how to answer her at the time, and wasn't even sure if he knew entirely how to answer now. Because it was the right thing to do? Because she deserved it? Because the world needed people like her? Or because some deeply buried part of him had already loved her, even that long ago?

She was right of course, he'd known there were no sapphires on Tarth. There was precious little knowledge of Westeros that his father hadn't beaten into him at one time or another. The only sapphires he'd ever known Tarth to produce were the two sparkling blue eyes that had pierced right into his soul and found a tiny glimmer of goodness he hadn't even known was there. The truth was, he'd saved her because she had made it possible for him to save her. Because she'd made him believe there might just be something worth saving in himself.

After that, of course, there was the bear. He could never have envisaged the lie he'd told to save her once would come back to condemn her for a second time. And yet, it was still his responsibility to put it right - to satisfy both the demands of honour and the nameless force that compelled him to save her once again. That indefinable connection between them had been forged stronger with every passing day and refused to be broken whatever came. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was still a chance it could prevail once more, against its greatest ever challenge - the one that had come from within. And more so, whether that was something he deserved.

The gallop back to Harrenhal had been a blur, heart thumping in his chest as he tried to block out images of all the dreadful things they might be doing to her. As soon as they arrived, and his feet hit the courtyard stones, he heard the singing and he knew what he would find. She'd looked oddly small down there in the pit, facing off against that huge beast. Ironic, really, given the words he'd carelessly thrown at her when they first met.

It was hard to see her like that, rendered all but defenceless, her arms and shoulders slim without her armour, that awful dress clinging to her curves. He'd never truly thought of her as a woman until that moment, but in all the days after he had struggled not to. He'd watched as the bear's claws opened a gaping wound below her shoulder, crimson and angry. It would become a scar he'd know well - love in some strange way - and later run his fingers over many times when they lay together.

His mind was now captured by many jumbled memories of the blissful nights, mornings, and afternoons they'd spent wrapped up in one another, each shielding the other from the world, and from the past. It was almost hard to believe that, for a few weeks, he'd been privileged enough to be a part of something so perfect. He missed her, so viscerally he wondered how he was even continuing to exist without her presence. He needed her arms around him, her warm, naked body against his, more than he had ever needed anything.

He'd enjoyed every second of the incredible sex they'd had, and been unceasingly surprised by the passion he'd seemingly awoken in her. But beyond the purely physical, his need for her was about how safe she made him feel when he lay beside her; how she'd spoken to him and touched him with respect; how he’d been welcome in her bed, both before and after they made love; and about all the ways she'd made him feel good about himself.

He would be forever glad he'd thrown himself into that pit to save her. That he'd used his father's name as currency for the hundredth time despite what it had already cost him. He'd owed her a debt, one he'd sworn to repay with the Stark girls' lives, but that was before he'd saved her life after already saving her honour. One may be forgiven for thinking that his duty had been discharged.

But the debt he owed her, for all she'd done for him through the years, was one even saving her life a thousand times could not repay. She was everything, and he’d let her go.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The road out of Harrenhal was uneven, and even more tedious the second time. But it felt very right to Jaime, riding it with Brienne at his side, which only served to highlight the unease he'd felt without her on the previous journey. He should never have left her back there, and couldn't imagine now how he'd believed it would turn out well. After what Locke had done to him, and tried to do to her before, he was a fool to have even considered trusting the man’s honour. Thank the gods they'd made it back in time.

Neither he nor Brienne had wanted to linger after he'd talked Locke into letting them leave together – just long enough for her to change, and grab what few possessions they could locate. Her armour and weapons were nowhere to be found, but Jaime had already formulated a plan to replace those when they reached King's Landing. So, for now, they were at the mercy of the Bolton men, who he trusted to protect them only as far as it was in their own interest.

They’d made the ride down to their first night’s camp largely in silence – Brienne staring ahead, her thoughts her own, but he’d become adept enough at reading her that he could tell they were not happy ones. Perhaps the more unpleasant moments of the day were playing out in her mind, if so she had his sympathy - he knew how it felt to be assaulted by images you'd rather forget. The moment his hand had been severed from his body haunted him daily in excruciating detail. She’d talk when she was ready and he left her to her quiet contemplation.

To his other side, Qyburn glanced around constantly – the countryside was pretty featureless on this stretch of the Kingsroad, but perhaps he was on the look out for some herb or other. He didn’t really know the man well enough to make him out, in all likelihood Jaime owed him his life, but there was an aura about the old maester that set him on edge.

The day ended unremarkably, in contrast to how it had begun. Camp made and evening meal eaten, there was finally time to rest. The last of the Bolton men, aside from the two standing a distance away on guard duty, had retired to their beds, leaving Brienne and Jaime seated alone at the fire.

He nursed a tankard of hot spiced wine, whilst she preferred her usual tea. Qyburn had suggested a variation to the blend which she'd accepted graciously, and seemed to be enjoying. Their silence was companionable enough, both staring into the flames, but eventually Brienne spoke,

“It seems I have to thank you once again, Ser Jaime. This time for my life.” Her face was so much softer when she was unguarded like this, perhaps he could even see a handsomeness in it. He knew not many were permitted to see this side of her and he felt privileged that she trusted him with herself, even after the accord they'd reached.

"You have nothing to thank me for. In fact, I must apologise for my error in leaving you there in the first place." She took a drink and it prompted him to do the same. When she looked at him again there was a profound compassion in her eyes.

"You didn't have to come back for me. You were on your way to safety, on your way back to Cersei. I know what that means to you – what she means to you." He was shocked by her seeming acceptance of what Cersei was to him. He didn't expect that, from anyone.

"I... never thought you’d understand that. Cersei and I – we're usually nothing but a joke to people, a dirty joke to be told in alehouses. But I love her, in spite of it all."

"I know you do. It was you who once said to me 'we don’t get to choose who we love'. How right you were. There's little enough love in the world, so who am I to begrudge you for finding it?" Was there no end to the goodness in her? In a way she reminded him of Ned Stark, albeit less self-righteous. Perhaps Lady Catelyn saw that in her too - it would explain why she took Brienne into her service after Renly’s death. The idea that he'd left her to Locke's mercy was even more abhorrent after this unearned generosity,

"I did have to come back for you. When I found out they’d refused your father’s offer… call me naive but I’d never imagined that would happen. I suppose I’m just so used to being able to buy people with gold and my father’s name. I should have known what kind of person Locke is after... everything, but I just took my chance to get out of there and rode away. I owe you better than that." Brienne took a pot of water off the fire, and poured a little into a bowl that was beside her. Then she met his eyes again,

"I don't know how you persuaded Lord Bolton's men to return, but I know it must have meant risking yourself again. That's before we even start on you jumping into a pit with an angry bear." Jaime found himself as tongue tied as when she’d thanked him the first time. The feelings stirred up by praise were so foreign to him he was compelled to reject it, but it was hard to deny he had, in fact, saved her life.

Brienne turned her attention to loosening her tunic, easing it down off her shoulder to expose the bandage over her claw wound. Some blood had soaked through the dressings, and she winced as she gingerly removed them to reveal three angry slashes. They were deep and, in the one that ended just at the base of her neck, Jaime could see bone. She must be in a lot of pain, but she'd barely complained.

"Qyburn said I should change the poultice before retiring." She motioned towards the bowl with her head – it was beginning to emit a pleasant herbal scent, which Jaime was extremely familiar with. She winced again as she reached for the replacement poultice. Jaime shuffled along the log towards her, closing half the distance between them.

"Let me help you." She looked up, the firelight and shadow playing across her features. She smiled slightly,

"Thank you." He closed the remaining space, warming his hand at the fire before reaching down to take the poultice from the bowl. It still felt odd, and frustrating, doing everything with one hand but, as Brienne had told him in no uncertain terms, he couldn't just quit. This was his life now, and he had to get used to it.

Brienne hissed through clenched teeth as he applied the fresh dressing against her wound. He wished he had his other hand to rest on her shoulder and comfort her, but he hoped his look of sympathy would be enough. Her soft smile came again as she raised a hand to hold the poultice in place. As he withdrew his, his fingers brushed against her collar bone and he heard her breath catch in her throat. He paused for a moment, but she didn't recoil or push him away so he continued – retrieving a bandage and unrolling a short stretch.

Brienne tucked the end between her hand and the dressing so Jaime was able to wrap the bandage around her with his one good hand, over her shoulder and beneath her other arm. It wasn't an easy process, each hampered by their respective injuries, but Jaime persisted with greater than usual patience, pretending not to notice as her tunic slipped further down, partially exposing her breasts.

He was humbled and honoured once again, that she trusted him enough to be this vulnerable in his presence and once the bandaging was complete, he pulled the tunic up by the collar to cover her. Wanting to give her space, and needing space himself from the unexpected intimacy of the moment, he said,

"I’m going to retire now, unless you need any further assistance." She seemed so relaxed in his presence now it was almost like she was a whole different person. He found himself suddenly aware that soon they would have to part, and he realised he would really miss her,

"I don't, thank you. Goodnight Ser Jaime."

"Goodnight Lady Brienne." It was a short step to where a bedroll had been laid out for him, but only once he lay down did he realise just how exhausted he was from the events of the day.

And so, finally able to rest, he closed his eyes and he dreamed of her.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was wonderful, and painful, to go back to that time when she'd thanked him for saving her life, and sealed their friendship forever. She'd tried save his life in return; stood in the snow in just a robe, begging him to stay. And he could have - he could have stayed. Could have gone back even, once he'd left, like he had for her at Harrenhal. But he hadn't, and now he was paying the price.

He could feel himself growing weaker, feel the pain returning, pulsing out in waves from his stomach, and with it the wildfire heat that seared him inside and out. He was dying. He knew it now with a greater certainty than at any point through the immeasurable time it had been since the keep's collapse.

His strength was failing and breathing was harder once more. The darkness pressed in all around him and he felt sure it would take him at any moment. All he could do was lie, unmoving, and hope that by some miracle he would hear Brienne's voice again before he slipped away.

He left his body behind, retreating into his mind's eye to drift on the gentle tide that lapped the shores of Tarth, and he dreamed of her once again.

Chapter 14: Someone You Loved Part 1

Chapter Text

The grey dawn was slowly painting its weak light across the ocean. Brienne looked out over the water, fixing her eyes on the faint orange glow of the horizon. She prayed for the churning in her stomach to ease, knuckles whitened by her iron grip on the bow rail.

She'd been experiencing a return of her all too familiar nausea since they'd set sail, and had woken in her cramped cabin a short time earlier feeling really sick. She'd somehow managed to make her way shakily to the deck hoping some air would help, but it hadn't, and she'd spent the past half hour emptying her stomach over the side of the boat.

She was exhausted - every muscle ached from vomiting and her knees trembled with exertion. The waves were not exactly rough, but the motion beneath her feet was constant and gave her no respite. The ship pitched a little, and she felt her stomach rise in her throat, forcing her to retch again. She drew in a rasping breath, trying to gather herself, thankful that it now seemed she had nothing left to bring up.

As she continued to grip the side of the ship, she became aware of someone else's presence. They were approaching slowly across the deck, and the sudden fear of appearing weak set her on edge. She desperately tried to regain some sort of composure, and looked to her right to see who it was. She instantly regretted it, the attempt to turn her head redoubling the nausea, and she was sick again, bile burning her throat.

"Are you all right?" It was Sansa, thank the heavens - she instantly relaxed, knowing she didn't need to try and hold herself together. She couldn't speak, so simply shook her head in response. Sansa continued,

"I couldn't sleep so I came up to watch the sunrise. Then I... heard you." Brienne found it hard not to feel embarrassed, despite all they'd been through together. Listening to someone throwing their guts up was hardly a great way to begin the day, regardless of how well you knew them.

Sansa tentatively placed a hand on Brienne's shoulder, then gradually moved it down to rub her back. After a couple more dry heaves, she slowly regained control of her stomach. She managed to release her grip on the rail, but still leaned on it heavily with her forearms as she carefully turned her head to look at Sansa.

"Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that." Sansa's smile was empathetic, but warm – she didn't appear the least bit perturbed by her rather inelegant start to the morning.

"Seasickness is horrible. I had it a little when I left King's Landing, thankfully mild. Do you always get this sick? You never mentioned it before we set sail." Brienne shook her head again, gingerly, still not wholly trusting her recovery.

“I've never been seasick before in my life. And I have been on my fair share of ships.” She pushed herself up on her arms, slowly straightening her back until she was upright, but keeping one hand firmly on the rail to steady herself.

"But I thought your injury from the battle would have healed by now?" Sansa's brow was furrowed and Brienne appreciated the concern, but she was becoming very aware of how cold she was - she was only wearing the thin undertunic and linen trousers she'd pulled on before leaving her cabin. She suddenly felt extremely self conscious, wrapping her free arm around herself. Mercifully Sansa recognised her discomfort,

"We should go inside." Sansa offered her arm, hooking it through Brienne’s before helping her slowly move back inside. "We can sit in my cabin for a while, it's a little roomier than yours."

When they reached the room, Brienne eased herself onto the bunk and reclined against the bulkhead, leaving as much room as she could for Sansa. The younger woman retrieved a bucket and placed it unceremoniously beside her before sitting down.

"Just in case..." The idea of vomiting into a bucket in her Lady's cabin mortified Brienne, and she was thankful the rolling of the ship seemed to have eased a little. She brought a hand to the small of her back – the ache from their days in the saddle had still not abated, and clenching against the cold had made it even stiffer. She groaned, earning another anxious glance from Sansa,

"Your back's still hurting?" It was only a half-question but Brienne nodded, trying to adjust into a position that would ease her discomfort. She leaned forward again, arms resting on her knees.

"Too much time relaxing doesn't seem to agree with me." She expected Sansa to smile in response, but she didn't, keeping her lips pressed together as she looked Brienne up and down appraisingly. Brienne tried not to squirm under her gaze, feeling exposed again,

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Brienne’s unease intensified. This was starting to feel like an interrogation, one she was certain would end in her incriminating herself, but she trusted Sansa enough to hear the question. After all she didn’t have to answer it.

"Yes..." she replied tentatively.

"When did you last bleed?" The unease solidified into a lump of fear in her gut, forcing her to take a few deep breaths to settle herself again. Sansa returned her hand to Brienne's back, rubbing it in soothing circles, but didn't hurry her for an answer.

She'd known this moment would come, this question or one like it, and in a way it was a relief. It had become harder and harder to dismiss her nausea and dizziness as the head injury which had, in truth, healed weeks ago. She'd blamed her fatigue and aching back on allowing her training regime to slip, but even weeks of idleness could not explain the amount of weight she'd gained in her belly and hips; lacing her closer fitting breeches was now almost impossible. To compound all of that, the suspicions behind Sansa's question were wholly justified - it must be nearly three months since she'd had her moonsblood. It added up to only one conclusion. It was time to be honest, not just with those close to her, but with herself.

"I can't remember exactly, but not since before Jaime and I first..." She trailed off under Sansa's gaze, still shy to say the words. Sansa moved her hand back to Brienne's shoulder, the comforting weight steeling her slightly against what the young woman was inevitably going to say next.

"Brienne... I think you're pregnant." And there it was, the inescapable truth. Given how long she'd had to envisage this moment, she should have had some sort of considered reply ready. The fact that she had no idea how to respond other than to nod once more, stiffly, eyes fixed on the cabin boards, was testament to how successful she'd been in pretending it wasn't happening.

"You knew?" Sansa's voice was soft, but held a mild accusation,

"Yes, I did know, if I’m honest." When Sansa spoke again, her tone was gentler,

"Why didn't you talk to me? You don't have to face this alone." It would have eased the burden, to share it, but Brienne well knew why she hadn't,

"I was in denial." She didn't think she'd ever tried so hard to deny anything in her life – she’d been lying to herself for weeks and she didn't really know why. It wasn't as if that would make it go away. Sansa nodded,

"Well I know you aren't... experienced with men, but I didn't think you could be so naive as to not even suspect..." Despite the weight of the conversation, and its clearly serious implications, Sansa's comment amused her enough to raise a smile.

"Don't worry my Lady, I’m fully aware of where babies come from. I allowed Ser Jaime into my bed because I love him, and if that means I’m carrying his child then so be it." The surety of her response clearly surprised Sansa - indeed she surprised herself, meeting the Lady's eye with confidence. It was swiftly quashed,

"Did you not drink moon tea?" The mildly accusing tone was back. It was was an obvious thing to ask - such an obviously sensible measure to have taken to prevent exactly this outcome, and she was unable to keep her shame out of her response.

"Well... no." She hung her head again, cheeks burning.

"So you were trying to get pregnant?" Sansa sounded understandably confused - Brienne could see how she would reach that conclusion, but such a deliberate choice couldn’t have been further from her mind. Had she really been so wrapped up in Jaime that taking precautions hadn’t even occurred to her? Or was there more to it than that?

"No." Her tone came out very defensive - she sat up straight on the bunk again and Sansa's hand, which had still been resting on her shoulder, dropped away. The Lady's next question was gentler.

"But you weren't doing anything to prevent it?" Her incredulity was blatant, informed no doubt by Brienne's reputation of being practical and level-headed. She was uncertain if that reputation would survive such a monumental folly.

"I suppose not... I didn't really think about it."

"And you wonder at me thinking you naive..." She felt it, in that moment, like a silly little girl who'd been caught playing with things she wasn't supposed to. Sansa must think her a complete fool.

"I know I sound like an idiot - of course I knew there was a chance this could happen, but whilst Jaime was around... it was all so much like a dream it didn't seem to matter. Then when he wasn't – I didn't want to have to deal with any more heartache so I just pushed it to the back of my mind." It was a poor explanation. She was worldly wise enough to have known better - what sort of person left something so important, so life changing, in the hands of the gods? She was forced to ask herself if, deep down, she'd wanted this - was that why she’d been so reckless? Sansa was smiling, but Brienne could see a sadness behind her eyes.

"You thought he'd ask you to marry him didn't you?" She’d have wondered how a woman so young got to be so wise if she didn't already know. The irony that Brienne was, in effect, the inexperienced girl in this situation wasn't lost on her.

"I hoped..." Admitting it was almost harder than admitting to her condition and it made her feel even more of a fool. She finally managed to make eye contact again, and Sansa flashed her a half-smile, sighing deeply,

"There was a time when I thought all I wanted was marriage and babies. Of all the women I've known in my life I never imagined that would be for you."

“Neither did I. Until I met Jaime.” Sansa was right, she wanted much more out of life than solely marriage and children, but being with him had opened her mind to those possibilities. He'd made her realise that she didn’t have to deny herself a family because she wanted other things too.

"You really do love him don't you?" It was intended as a wistful question, but Brienne found it impossible not to be a little affronted,

"Begging your pardon, My Lady, but I would hardly be in this situation if I didn't." Amongst all the additional complexity her life had now gained, this at least was that simple. She loved Jaime, and would never regret her choice to be intimate with him, no matter what was to come.

"Of course." Sansa now seemed a shade embarrassed at what she'd inadvertently implied about Brienne's morals, and her next words were heartfelt,

"I really hope he's all right. For your sake, and the baby's." Sansa’s choice of phrasing made her situation suddenly feel very real. Intellectually it wasn't hard to understand, but emotionally it hadn't fully sunk in yet that she was to carry and birth a child. Almost unconsciously she dropped a hand to her belly. Was she really going to have a baby – Jaime's baby?

Finally admitting it to herself came with a wave of excitement, closely followed by fear. As much as she loved him, and would love a child that was theirs, she had to face the harsh reality that there was no guarantee he would live. Even if he did, would he want to take her as his wife? How did she feel about being left alone to raise the bastard child of a man of such notorious dishonour?

More to the point was it fair to the child to bring it into the world with such a burden to carry? This question brought with it the fiercest wave of protectiveness towards the tiny life inside her. She had to believe life was always worth living, regardless of the challenges it brought. She would do her utmost to prepare her child for whatever it had to face.

“So, forgive my continued ignorance, but what should I do now? This is... unfamiliar territory to say the least.”

“Let’s get you back to your cabin so you can try and get some sleep. Once it's a more reasonable hour, we should get Sam to see you. Maester Lewin always knew how to make my mother feel better when she was pregnant.”

The mention of Catelyn brought back strong images of the time they'd spent together. Lady Stark had always spoken of her children with such fire in her eyes. A mother’s love had been a hazy and nebulous thing to Brienne, her own mother having died when she was very young. The task that had been entrusted to her took on a whole new meaning now, as did the deep scars on Catelyn’s hands. Her baby was barely a person yet, but Brienne already felt she had a greater understanding of what it was to be a mother, and she knew that her life was forever changed.

^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne lay on the bunk, trying in vain to relax as Sam examined her belly. Sansa had agreed to stay with her, which made the whole experience a little less intimidating, but she was still quaking with nerves. She'd always hated having to visit a Maester – it made her feel uncomfortable and exposed. That feeling was further heightened given the reason for this visit and its accompanying vulnerability.

She'd been fortunate in not having many injuries or illnesses through her life, and was starting to realise her condition would necessitate vastly more physical examinations than she was accustomed to. She was not thrilled at the idea.

And why was it that all Maesters had such cold hands? Jaime had always been careful to ensure his hand was warm before touching her – well, aside from that one time in the snow and she hadn’t minded that. Even long years ago before any thought of them being... together, back when he'd helped her change her dressing after the bear pit.

She grazed her fingers over the scar below her neck, allowing her mind to tumble into hazy pleasant daydreams of how Jaime liked to touch it. Thoughts of him came with a new layer of complicated feelings now, love and concern still predominant, but the sense of abandonment, of loss, was redoubled with the admission that he'd left her with more than just painful memories.

Sam completed his examination and she gratefully pulled down her tunic to cover herself. Sansa dropped a supportive hand onto her shoulder. All he was going to do was confirm what she already knew, but it didn't make the moment of truth any less nerve wracking,

“Well, your suspicions are correct - you're definitely pregnant. I'd estimate about ten or eleven weeks along. The good news is your nausea and other symptoms should start to ease within the next few weeks, and I can give you a herbal remedy that should help until then.” He paused, lips failing to form around his next word for a few seconds, hands wringing together nervously. His voice was softer when he added, “Of course, there's always moon tea, if you'd rather...”

He trailed off, but the implication was clear, and the very thought made her feel sick all over again. No matter how afraid she'd felt, at no point since she'd had her first suspicions weeks earlier had she even considered not going through with this, be it with or without Jaime,

“No I wouldn't prefer that!” Her response came out angrier than she'd expected, her new protective instinct taking over.

“I just thought..." Sam's implied but unspoken opinion only added fuel to the fire – anger became rage,

"You thought because I'm not married, because the father left me, that I wouldn't want my baby?" He looked terrified, and gibbered under her gaze,

“No... I… I’m sorry... I didn't... I just... wanted you to know you have the choice.” She tried to soften her expression, to calm the passion that had risen in her like a mother bear protecting her cub. After all, in essence that’s what she was now. When she spoke again her words were still terse, but calmer,

"I've made my choice. I'll take the nausea remedy. Thank you." He shuffled around the room, gathering a few things from a trunk beside the bed, but didn't say anything further. Sansa’s hand squeezed her shoulder – the younger woman didn't speak either, but Brienne was thankful for her quiet, reassuring presence. After gathering the herbs and crushing them together into a pouch he finally spoke again,

“Brew this into a tea and drink as needed. That should last you until we reach King's Landing then you'll find the ingredients freely available - at least in the surrounding villages if not the city itself.” His qualifying words reminded Brienne of the state of destruction in which they were likely to find the capital, and her worries for Jaime reasserted themselves. Sam handed her the pouch and a paper with the recipe, "You should try to get plenty of rest, and not overexert yourself. I’m not going to give you a list of things you mustn't do, but I would strongly advise you hang up your sword until after the babe arrives." She knew this, of course, but coming to terms with a forced break from her vocation wasn't going to be easy.

"Thank you." Sansa offered an arm to help her stand, which she gratefully accepted. Sam turned to the women a final time as they made to leave, his nervous manner returning,

“I owe you an apology – given your symptoms I should have considered you may be with child when you came to me before. I... hadn't realised it was a possibility.”

"You must have been the only person in Winterfell." Sansa's quip was light, and came with a gently teasing smirk, but Brienne was still feeling sensitive and she couldn't help frowning at her. The younger woman continued defensively,

"Well I’m sorry, but the two of you weren't exactly discreet." Brienne knew she was right, she and Jaime had been so wrapped up in one another they'd barely noticed the prying eyes of others, but it was hard to accept being the subject of gossip, especially now. Once her condition was visibly showing, she was sure the taunting she'd always endured would reach new heights. It was one thing to be ridiculed as a lumbering beast of a woman, but when it become obvious she was carrying the Kingslayer’s bastard she would surely invite the scorn of the world.

Sansa shot her an apologetic look as they exited the cabin, and Brienne squeezed her arm to reassure her that she wasn’t truly angry. Despite the fact that she was the one who'd finally forced Brienne's hand, she wasn't sure how she'd have faced this head on without her.

Chapter 15: Someone You Loved Part 2

Chapter Text

Whilst Brienne and Sansa had been with the Maester, the morning had worn on and the deck was now bustling with people. All Brienne wanted was a place to sit quietly and look out over the calming waves as she tried to take in her monumental news. Her life had felt like some kind of bizarre dream since Jaime's surprise appearance in Winterfell all those weeks ago, but at some point she had to figure out how to come to terms with everything that had occurred and move forward. Of course, that could only really happen once they got to King's Landing, and she knew both what and where her future would be, as well as whether Jaime would be in it.

She glanced around, trying to find an area that was empty of people, and that's when she spotted Pod who was loitering further along towards the stern. He was craning his neck to look in their direction – clearly he'd been waiting for them, and when he saw her he began to move in their direction. Sansa leaned over to whisper in Brienne's ear,

"I think you two need to talk." She gave one last supportive squeeze as she let go of Brienne's arm, and made her way back inside towards the mess hall. Brienne hadn't expected to have this conversation so soon, but she guessed she was going to have to get used to this new reason for people to judge her, to cast scorn, to whisper and shoot furtive looks. Not that she expected any of that from Pod but doubtless, in some cases, she'd have coarse comments made directly to her face, and knowing that made her cautious. Taking a deep breath, she strode over to meet him halfway across the deck, trying to appear assured. His brow was deeply furrowed, the worry clear on his face,

"Are you all right? I asked where you were and someone said you were sick and visiting the Maester. Are you ill again?" So much for keeping her personal affairs quiet – it seemed it was almost as impossible to have privacy here as it had been in Winterfell. But Pod's concern was very sweet, and she didn't want to prolong it any more than necessary. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, mirroring Sansa's earlier comforting gesture,

"Pod, there's nothing to worry about - I'm absolutely fine. But I'm afraid you're going to have to find yourself a new sparring partner for a while.” She dropped her free hand to her belly, a protective gesture that was already becoming instinctive, "I’m going to be out of action for… about the next seven months." He looked confused at first, but she watched as his mind worked through the meaning of her words and realisation began to dawn on his face. His eyes flicked to her hand resting on her stomach, then met hers again.

"You're... having a baby?" His tone was one of disbelief and she nodded, trying not let any guilt or embarrassment creep into her expression. He knew she'd been having sex with Jaime, but now it was proven beyond doubt she couldn't help but feel abashed; over the years he'd become as dear as a son to her. She searched his face, gauging his reaction beyond the initial surprise. He slowly cracked into a huge smile, although his brow remained just a touch furrowed as he gradually processed the news,

"Are you happy?” She found his question instantly touching – it reminded her how sensitive he could be, and it also forced her to consider how she really did feel about it all, underneath the many layers of emotion - she'd barely acknowledged it long enough to know. She reached the answer much faster than she expected, her reply forming itself in only a few short seconds,

"Yes. Yes I am happy.” She returned his smile as she said it – she really was happy, in spite of everything, and the realisation filled her with a new hope for the future.

"Then I’m happy for you." He shrugged off her hand and threw his arms around her – she was quite taken aback at first, but his open affection was in no way unwelcome and she found herself embracing him in return. Again, she sent a silent prayer of thanks for the love and support she'd found – she knew she would need it now more than ever. After a few moments she felt him suddenly tense, and he broke away, face filled with concern,

"When we were sparring a few weeks ago, and you fell... I didn't hurt the baby did I? I’m sorry, I never would have fought you if I'd known." He was so anxious it almost broke her heart, and she was compelled to embrace him again,

"No Pod you didn't hurt the baby. And how could you have known when I didn't even know? Well, I mean I thought maybe but... if there’s anyone to blame for my sparring when I shouldn't have done it’s me." She was rambling, but it was such a relief to finally talk about this she could barely control the words pouring out of her. The fact that two of the people closest to her had accepted her situation, and by extension the choices she’d made, without judgement was even more of a relief. Whatever happened when they finally reached King's Landing, at least she knew she would never be entirely alone.

"So did the Maester say everything’s all right? You've been really sick." She couldn't help but smile a little as he gestured in the vague direction of her midriff.

"Well I can't say I've been feeling my best. But Maester Samwell says the nausea should start to pass soon. Most women have to go through this at some point in their lives, I can handle it." She made her last comment in an attempt to convince herself as much as him – she was used to being recognised for her strength, but swords and shields were her proficiency, not this. She couldn't fight this head on – she had to accept it quietly, to rest, to watch her body change in ways she couldn't control, to bring a tiny person into the world who needed her to be soft and loving, not sharp and hard. In truth she wasn't sure she could handle it at all. Pod read her pensive demeanour, and took her hand.

"Well I know you don't need anyone to take care of you, but I’m here if you need me. For whatever you need. And when we get to King's Landing I’m going to kick Jaime's ass." She couldn't help but laugh, not because she doubted his ability to give Jaime a good beating, but because of the sweet notion that, even pregnant, she'd need her protégé to defend her her honour.

"Pod, that’s very noble of you, but even in my current condition I’m more than capable of kicking Jaime’s ass myself." Tangled between the masses of feelings, there was some small part of her that was rather looking forward to putting him on the spot; to demanding he explain why he'd chosen to leave, and seeing his face when she told him she was carrying his child - when he realised the pain he'd condemned her to. She couldn't allow her mind to linger on the possibility that she may never get the chance.

^^^^^^^^^^

The grey wash of first light came with the kind of fine drizzle that soaked you to the skin within seconds. Brienne hated these sort of days, the road was long and cold, the wind cutting through to your bones no matter how many layers you wore. But today it fitted her mood as she watched the dark shape of Jaime rowing back towards Riverrun through the mist.

It hurt her heart to watch him leave – it had hurt the evening before when she and Pod had been the ones to go, but after his midnight visit, and the renewed closeness it brought between them, she could hardly bear to part from him.

He'd cried himself to exhaustion, her arms wrapped around him as he poured out his anguish and pain. He'd been back in King's Landing, after Myrcella’s death, but it was she he'd chosen to bring his grief to, not Cersei. She didn't know what to make of that, didn't have a word to describe what they were to each other now, but she knew what she wanted most in the world was to be with him. The fact that wasn't possible all but crushed her.

They'd parted awkwardly, clearly neither of them could reconcile how they wanted to say goodbye with what was appropriate; with the layers of complication that would be added to their lives if they gave in to how they really felt. So they'd embraced, stiffly, then drawn apart in silence, long seconds of intense eye contact passing before they made their farewells.

Then, he'd leaned in to plant a kiss on her cheek before he turned to go. It was hurried – she could tell he'd wrestled with whether to do it and finally gone with his impulse. It was so unexpected that it was over almost before she could register what was happening. Her head had been left spinning, her skin tingling from the cold breeze against her damp cheek, and the imprint of his fingers she could still feel on her arm. Part of her wished she'd been in possession of her wits enough that she'd turned her head to meet his lips with hers. Regardless, she knew she'd run the moment over in her head for weeks, playing it out a hundred different ways, and her bed would feel a little warmer for it through many nights to come.

She saw him out of sight around a bend in the Red Fork, and then turned her attention to packing things into her saddlebags. The cold was bound to wake Pod soon enough, despite the canvases they'd strung to shield their bedrolls from the worst of the rain. She was keen to get on the road – if her memory served correctly they were only a short distance from a settlement where they could secure horses to take them North.

A rustling in the bushes behind her put her on immediate alert. Turning sharply with her hand on the hilt of her sword, she was surprised to see a very awake Pod making his way back towards their camp. He smiled when he saw her,

"Good morning." She relaxed, her hand falling away from her sword as she realised there was no imminent threat of attack, but the implications of his having already awoken meant she remained on guard. How much had he seen?

"Good morning. I thought you were still asleep." She glanced over at the messy heap of his bedroll, which was half out from under the canvas and rapidly becoming soaked.

"I needed to piss." He looked sheepish, as if he felt like he'd done something wrong, but he held back from saying more. All hope he might not have seen Jaime was dashed. She didn't really want follow an awkward goodbye with an awkward conversation, but it seemed like she wasn't going to get a choice. She wished that she found it easier to talk about her feelings, but she'd spent so much of her life building walls to hide them behind that the idea of opening up was entirely foreign to her. She was still wondering what to say next when Pod surprised her by continuing,

"You know you can always talk to me. About anything... if you want." His forthrightness completely disarmed her and, as she found herself doing with increasing regularity, she berated herself for not giving him more credit. He really was maturing into an sensitive young man, and she was increasingly proud of him.

“Thank you Pod, although I’m not really sure what I want to say.” There was little point in trying to deny or hide anything she was feeling, but her instinct was still to try. He began packing his things, relieving some of the strange tension between them. Did she really want to confess everything that was in her heart to her young protege? Or was this his way of telling her he already knew what was on her mind, rendering any attempt at concealment futile?

"But you do want to talk?" It was more of a statement than a question, and he said it nonchalantly without looking up. His casual manner made her feel less self-conscious about unburdening herself.

"Yes Pod, I think I do." Her stomach churned, why was it she could easily handle half a dozen armed men charging at her at once, but she was cowed by the idea of a simple conversation? "I'm going to assume by your suggestion I need to talk that you saw Ser Jaime was here." He nodded, suddenly a touch uncertain – perhaps he'd expected to have to work harder to get that particular confession out of her,

"Yes... I did. I hope everything continued peacefully after we left? He didn't need our help any further?" Oh he could be smart when he wanted to, dancing around the issue, forcing her to be the one to explain Jaime’s presence.

“We were of little help to begin with Pod. I merely put an idea in Ser Jaime's mind that he executed flawlessly with his own skill.” She didn't want to expand further into his chosen methods – she still admired Jaime's results even if she would have gone about things in a different manner. After all, he'd been successful where she'd failed and that was something she'd have to unpick when she had time to consider it at length, "He came here last evening because he wanted to talk." Pod raised an eyebrow - talking was exactly what her squire was trying, and thus far succeeding, in getting her to do. For the second time in as many days she was forced to bow to Jaime's superior wisdom.

"To talk? About something personal?" He turned his head away again – with the last few things packed he fiddled with buckling the bag closed. She wasn't sure if the break in eye contact was for her benefit or his, but it eased the awkwardness for them both, "Don't worry I’m not asking what. I don't want you to break his confidence or anything." She sighed,

"Yes, he wanted to talk about something personal." It was a testament to how much Jaime's unexpected visit had unsettled her that she was so open to talking about it. It was that or remain in silence because she couldn't turn her mind to anything else.

"And he stayed the night...?" She hadn't quite expected him to push his questioning this far – to imply what he was clearly implying, but apparently he wasn't going to stop at an insinuation, "Did the two of you..." Heat rushed instantly to her face,

"No we did not. Whatever gave you that idea?" The fact that she was about as subtle in hiding her feelings as the Mountain was with a mace. That's what had given him that idea. She thought back to the simple gesture of a raised hand she and Jaime had exchanged on departing Riverrun – simple, but definitely not subtle.

"It’s just that Bronn said... " He trailed off at her deep frown. She had a good idea of the type of thing Bronn might have said, and it would make Pod's explicit question seem positively restrained. She didn't want him to elaborate.

"Yes, well, I don't think I want to know what Bronn said. Jaime and I are just... friends." She shouldn't have paused before the word friends, shouldn’t have given herself away any further, and in any case it was a completely inadequate way to describe their relationship. That word still eluded her.

"But you love him?" The question threw her completely - in part because, again, she hadn't expected Pod to be so blatant, or so insightful, but mainly because she'd been rightly accused of that before, with exactly those words. Pod’s motivation for asking was, of course, quite different from Cersei's, but she was in no stronger a position to deny it now than she had been then. Despite the years of separation she still felt as strongly for Jaime as she ever had,

"It’s of little matter. He loves another, and even if he didn't he'd hardly be interested in me." She wished she could sound less resigned, less hurt, but he’d offered her the opportunity to bare her soul and for once she was going to take it.

"Have you not seen the way he looks at you? Exactly the way you look at him." Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. She couldn't bring herself to believe it, not him, not her, not after a whole lifetime of scorn and him such a man and so beautiful. He was honourable, and they had a history together, a shared story, that was all. You were bound to feel close to someone when you'd saved each others lives, when you'd depended on one another, "I hope you meet again one day. When this war is over."

She didn't know how else to respond so she merely smiled at Pod, ending the conversation by shouldering her saddlebags and turning to lead the way towards town.

^^^^^^^

Brienne had retired early, the day’s revelations adding to her ongoing fatigue. It was going to take time to get used to her new limitations – she'd pushed herself all her life, to be stronger, to be better, always surpassing what others thought her capable of. It was odd and uncomfortable to feel vulnerable.

She'd never really imagined being pregnant, never thought it would be something she'd experience. She had a new found respect for the mother she barely remembered, for Catelyn who'd carried and birthed five children, and for all women who’d been through this – husband or no husband. Now she was starting to understand just how all-consuming it was and this was just the beginning.

Thinking of Catelyn made her wonder what kind of mother she would be. She was a warrior, a fighter – what did she have to offer a child? She knew precious little about being a mother, but she knew she loved this baby and she had to hope that would be enough. From what she knew of Catelyn, it had seemed more than enough.

Her hands strayed to her belly once more. It was still small, but there was undeniably a bulge there. She couldn't imagine how she'd deceived herself for so long – she'd already had to let out the straps on her armour by three holes. Soon, she would be unable to wear it at all, and that frightened her more than any other aspect of this. Without a sword in her hand, who was she?

There was nothing she could do to change what had happened, but she couldn't help feeling this would be easier to face if she had Jaime with her. He’d been unable to share in the moment of discovering they were going to have a child, and that brought her a profound sadness. How different it would have been if he'd stayed - she'd have celebrated their news instead of trying to run from it.

Thoughts of him lying gravely ill returned. It was days since she'd had the letter from Davos – who knew what condition he was in by now? She couldn't bear the thought of him being dead. But what if he lived? What then? Could they really just pick up as if nothing had ever happened? Would he want that? Did she? She loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone in her life, but he'd left her, and not just that, he'd left her pregnant. She could tell herself he didn't know that all she liked, but as Sansa had so eloquently pointed out, they hadn't been careful. He must have imagined the chance was there. Even if she could forgive him for leaving her, could she forgive him for leaving their child? And if he had known, would that have changed anything? Would he have stayed? She wondered if she'd ever get to ask him any of these questions, and whether she really wanted to know the answers.

It would be another week before they got to King's Landing. Then she would find out one way or the other. She didn't know how she'd wait that long, but at the same time even a year, two, and she wouldn't be ready to face the uncertainty of what was to come.

She turned over and tried to quiet her racing mind enough to sleep. She battled to get Jaime out of her head, but all her thoughts would settle on was an image of him sitting beside her holding a tiny child with the fairest hair and piercing blue-green eyes.

^^^^^^^

Brienne once again stood at the bow rail with her knees trembling. The past week had seemed to go by both interminably slowly and impossibly fast. At least Sam’s tea had worked as intended and she'd struggled much less with her nausea over the last few days, but unfortunately it could do nothing for her perpetual exhaustion.

And so, here they were, King's Landing looming large on the horizon, and the sense of heightened anxiety she felt was mirrored by all on the ship – every one of them was facing uncertainty to a greater or lesser extent, and uncertainty was the enemy of peace of mind. Sansa had gone below deck, an hour of nervous pacing getting the better of her but, in spite of her own struggles, she'd been able to find a little reassurance for Brienne before retiring to her cabin.

So now she stood alone, watching the dockside grow larger, searching thus far indistinguishable faces for Davos. She’d dreamt of Jaime most nights since they’d parted, but these past few days the dreams had grown darker, filled with danger and lingering threat – fifty foot bears, hordes of the dead and Cersei’s looming face everywhere she turned. Jaime had been there, but his image was hazy and out of her reach. It left her with a knot of fear in her stomach, and an unshakeable sense of foreboding. She tried not to read too much into it, but it had become increasingly difficult to hope for the best.

The faces massed at the dock gradually became clearer and she spotted Davos at last. Confronted by the presence of the person she'd sought desperately moments before she felt a wave of intense fear and stepped away, resuming Sansa's pacing on her behalf. She wanted to delay the moment she saw if the expression on his face was one of joy or sorrow for as long as possible.

But she could only turn away from inevitability for so long – soon enough they had docked and the gangway was lowered. She kept her eyes fixed away from where Davos was standing – walking beside Sansa, their arms softly interlocked so each could give the other unspoken but much needed support.

She was finally forced to meet Davos' eyes when they drew level with him – she'd been mistaken in expecting to read the news from his face; his expression was masterfully flat, a well practiced skill from his many years as a smuggler no doubt. Her heart hammered in her chest. Then, he gave himself away, his eyes dropping for a split second before meeting hers with cold intensity.

"I’m so sorry. Ser Jaime took a turn for the worse yesterday. He died in the night." The world seemed to blur as her knees gave way beneath her.

Chapter 16: My Immortal

Chapter Text

Brienne sat silently on her chair between Sansa and Davos under a blue sky with the sun beating relentlessly down. They were partially shielded from the heat by the canvas shade over the Dragonpit’s dais, but she still felt as if she was slowly cooking - sitting there in her too tight armour, growing increasingly lightheaded.

This was likely the most important gathering she'd ever been, or ever would be, party to and so she made herself listen attentively to the discussions on the fate of Jon Snow, and who would be the next ruler of Westeros. Sansa had been her unwavering source of support for many weeks now, and today she needed her sworn sword to be there for her – Brienne was determined to make that happen, despite her preoccupied mind and the heavy weight crushing her heart.

She would not allow her own personal mess get in the way of the oath she'd made to Lady Catelyn. She'd allowed herself her moment to break down, and now she had to move forward – she herself had been the one to tell Jaime he couldn't quit when he lost his hand, and she had to live by her own convictions. Besides, she had the woman she was sworn to, and an unborn child, who were relying on her now.

But that moment of breakdown had been exactly that, howling out her anguish on the dockside – her heart shattering for her lost love. Why? Why had he gone back to Cersei just to die? And why had the gods let him live, just for him to slip away mere hours before she'd arrived? The hopelessly romantic part of her that believed the stories, and which had got her into this mess in the first place, also believed that if she'd been here there was something she could have done to save him. That just by hearing her voice, he would have rallied – opened his sea green eyes and allowed her to drown in them once more. But that wasn't to be, and it felt overwhelmingly unfair. Of course, she knew there was nothing fair about life, about this world, but having him survive Daenerys’ attack just to be snatched away again seemed particularly cruel.

Sansa and Davos had pulled her to her feet and bundled her to somewhere more private where she could recover her wits; Pod rushing along close behind. She remembered little of the next half hour or so after that, surrounded by cargo crates, her mind consumed with the immediacy of grief. The only recollection that stuck in her mind was a whispered conversation somewhere above her slumped head which contained the words 'she's carrying his child’. It made her feel every bit the weak, feeble woman she knew her behaviour caused her to appear, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Once the tears came no more, she found the steely resolve she'd lost touch with too often lately, and used it to build a wall around her heart – one which it would take something monumental to breach. Her life was to be one of duty from here on out, and she knew in time she could make peace with that. After all, she'd believed that was all it would be for most of her days, and she'd been satisfied. She would reserve all the love she shielded from the world for the child that was to come, and beyond that she would not risk her heart again. Doing so only led to pain.

So, she engaged her mind on proceedings as fully as she was able, her gaze straying numerous times to Tyrion as he stood before them. His eyes met hers more than once, and she could see the full depth of her sorrow reflected there. He was the only person in the Seven Kingdoms who'd loved Jaime as much as she had, and she took some small solace in their shared grief. She hoped once matters were resolved here they would get some time to talk, even though she would hardly know where to begin.

Despite the protests of Grey Worm it was determined Jon's life be spared, although he would be sent back to The Wall. She glanced over at Sansa – her relief that her brother need not die was palpable, and Brienne was glad the Starks were not to be forced to endure any further loss, although the Lady's immediate relief masked any thought of the painful parting that would inevitably follow.

Then, their new king was chosen, and Brienne joined the rest of those assembled in giving her ascent. The decision brought with it an air of hope, hope that years of war were truly ended, and they had chosen someone to lead them who would be just, and wise. She’d been shocked by the extent of damage the city had endured – it would take time and care to rebuild, not just buildings but lives. That had to begin with faith in those in charge.

And of course, the newly renamed Six Kingdoms were not the only part of Westeros that had gained a new leader today – Sansa would become Queen in the North, a role that she had, in reality, fulfilled for some time already, but was now recognised and ratified by all present.

After that the gathering broke apart and Tyrion, in his first duty as Hand, was dispatched to inform Jon of his fate – he shot her an understanding half-smile as he turned to go. Sansa then begged some time to speak privately with her brother, and Brienne stood slowly to leave, conscious of her light headedness and not wishing to make a further spectacle by fainting. She'd only taken a few steps before the King’s voice rang out behind her,

"Ser Brienne, I should like a few moments of your time once I've finished talking to my sister." She turned, again carefully, and nodded in a manner she hoped came across as adequately respectful,

"Of course, your Grace." She tried to imagine what King Bran could possibly want from her, likely something about taking care of his sister once they were back in the North and Sansa... Queen Sansa had a whole kingdom to be fully responsible for. She was not certain whether he was aware of her circ*mstances, although his uncanny abilities seemed to mean he was aware of many things without having to be told. In any case, she would continue to serve his family as well the inevitable limitations of her condition would allow.

"Ser Davos, you have been in King's Landing for several weeks, could you find some accommodations for Ser Brienne so she can make herself comfortable? I will make my way to the Red Keep once I am finished here."

"As you wish, your Grace." Davos smiled at her, his smuggler’s skills again hiding any opinions he may have on her earlier loss of dignity, and he gestured for her to go before him out of the Dragonpit.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne had spent very little time in the Red Keep – in truth she'd spent very little time in King's Landing. She'd been here briefly around Joffrey’s ill-fated wedding, and again for an even shorter time when they'd tried and failed to persuade Cersei to bring her armies North and help fight the dead.

Both of those visits, and consequently every brick and stone of this place, were filled with memories of Jaime. To compound this, the quarters Davos had secured for her were in the White Sword Tower, where Jaime had armed and armoured her before sending her after the Stark girls – one of the most cherished of all her memories. It was also, of course, where he had lived for many years, and his presence was so strong here she almost expected to turn and see him walking through the door.

At first, she found the feeling disconcerting and frankly distressing. But by the time she'd changed out of her armour and had a cool, refreshing wash, it had settled on her. It was almost as if a part of him still lingered here, and the feeling he wasn't completely gone went some small way towards comforting her.

She took the opportunity to have a lie down whilst waiting for the Starks to arrive – it was a relief to rest after the oppressive heat of the Dragonpit and, thankfully, within the stone walls of the tower it was much cooler. The hazy feeling she’d had gradually passed, and she allowed her eyes to close. Time to rest without the constant rocking of the sea was a relief, and it was peaceful here, whereas on the boat there had always been noise of some sort, day or night.

She had only been laying back for a few minutes before she felt herself drifting off. That was when there was a light tapping at the door. She sat up quickly, and brushed down her clothes to try and make herself look presentable. She felt a slight head rush, so chose to shuffle over and perch on the edge of the bed, rather than take the risk of standing,

"Come in." She fully expected a servant or message runner to be on the other side, but when the door opened, it was the King himself, with Sansa behind him pushing his chair. Brienne immediately made to stand, but he lifted his hand to indicate she remain seated. She compromised with a sharp nod as she sunk back onto the bed.

Sansa left his chair halfway between the door and the bed, then smiled softly at Brienne before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. Bran regarded Brienne with the same expressionless look he always seemed to bear, and she brushed her hands over the bottom of her tunic once more in a vain attempt to straighten out the creases – nerves made her painfully aware of how under-dressed she was for this audience.

"I trust you've had a little time to rest – I know you had some unwelcome news on our arrival." She should be used to his abruptness by now, but she was still taken aback by it. In many ways, it was fitting he be here on this day given he'd also witnessed the immediate aftermath of Jaime's leaving Winterfell. Such moments may barely qualify as footnotes in the annuls of history, but they were monumental to her, and Bran’s being there to see them made her life feel more noteworthy, for all its pain.

“I am... somewhat recovered, thank you your Grace. I believe it will take quite some time for the reality to fully sink in, but I am resolved to focus on my duties." Her words made it sound so easy, but she knew full well the reality was going to be far, far harder – and she was certain he also knew that despite his dispassionate nature.

“That is good to hear.” He began looking around the room, lost in some distant thought, and appeared in no hurry to reveal the reason behind his desire to speak with her, "It is rather strange this is the room Davos found for you. Aside from the fact it's on a lower floor so I'm easily able to visit you here, this was once Ser Jaime’s room." Brienne felt the strangest shiver down her back at his words, and she was compelled to turn her head sharply, almost as if she expected to see someone else in the room. There was no one there, of course, but when she turned back to her new king again, she was glad that there would be no teasing for her folly.

"I... had not realised." She found herself wondering if the feelings of closeness she'd had towards Jaime were because there really was some essence of him still present here. If that were true, it would mean believing things she'd always dismissed as folklore and superstition, but then she had fought against an army of dead men, alongside a force fronted by dragons. She’d been forced to reassess many of her beliefs recently – why should this be any different?

"It is most fortuitous really – you will not need to move your things very far." She wasn't sure if he intended her to respond and ask him his meaning, or if he'd simply neglected to explain himself, forgetting others were not as all knowing as he. Either way he read the confusion from her face and continued,

"I came here to make a request of you. I wish you to become Lord Commander of my Kingsguard." She was stunned, and this time it was not just due to his abruptness. In many ways she still hadn't entirely become used to the idea of being a knight, an ambition she'd long held dear but never expected to realise – such recognition as this was more than she could ever have dreamed. It would pain her deeply to have to refuse.

"I cannot express how honoured I am, alas it is impossible for me to accept. I would be neither capable, nor of the requisite moral standing to take up that mantle – I am with child your Grace." She watched for a reaction, some glimmer of shock or disgust. There was nothing.

“I am aware.” Once again she was met with simple acceptance. Did this mean he wanted her in one of his most trusted positions regardless? “You needn't worry – all necessary accommodations will be made for your condition. Indeed, quite aside from there being no better person in all Westeros for the role, that is one of my many reasons for appointing you. You have served my family tirelessly for many years Ser Brienne. Now you must allow us to take care of you – and your child.”

Not only did she have no idea how to respond, she was quite literally struck dumb by his words, her mouth gaping open. She had never imagined such generosity – all she'd done was perform her duty to his mother to the best of her ability, and with varying success, in the manner many thousands of sworn swords had done over countless years. There was nothing so very remarkable about that. It was a bittersweet moment – to be elevated far beyond even her own lofty ambition, at the same time as losing the man she’d hoped to spend her life with; the father of her child. She was so overwhelmed with conflicting emotion she had no idea how to feel. She was also not ignorant of the fact that, if she’d been to marry Jaime, she would have been unable to become Lord Commander. It was little consolation. After several long moments, breathing through the mass of thoughts and feelings, she eventually recovered her voice,

“Thank you, your Grace. I do not know how to adequately express my gratitude – your favour is far more than I could ever deserve. I am, however, currently pledged to your sister – of course your Grace's wishes are foremost, but it would only be right of me to discuss the matter with her and seek her consent to release me."

“As you wish, although my sister is already aware of my request and in agreement that it would be best for you to remain here when she returns North. Having said that your desire to do things in the proper way is exactly what I would expect from you.”

“In that case I humbly accept.” She rose from the bed then, and knelt before him, “I am afraid I do not have my sword to hand, nor am I dressed for the occasion, but I hope you will accept my fealty nonetheless."

“I will. You shall have a proper swearing in ceremony in due course, but for now I will not take up any more of your time. I am certain you are eager to talk with my sister, and after that I believe there is another who very much wishes your ear.” He called for Sansa, and this time she entered the room with a servant who walked over to assist him out of the door. Brienne supposed she would get used to his cryptic statements in time, and she turned her attention to Sansa,

“Are you feeling well enough for a stroll about the gardens? I prefer to walk and talk when the opportunity presents itself, and I shall be glad to enjoy the place now I finally feel welcome here.” Brienne nodded - she pulled on a comfortable but presentable doublet and accepted Sansa’s offered arm.

^^^^^^^^^^

It was still unbearably hot but, as a North woman, Sansa was no greater fan of the heat than Brienne, and had suggested they take their walk in the godswood where there was plenty of shade. They ambled slowly beneath the trees enjoying the cool air that was blowing in from the sea. Brienne was not entirely sure how to begin this conversation, and Sansa did not press her. They both seemed content to enjoy quiet reflective time together conscious that, although they had not yet discussed it, their companionship would soon be at an end. After half an hour or so, it was Sansa who finally turned to Brienne, taking each of the taller woman's hands in hers,

“I want to give you my most heartfelt congratulations on your promotion. I am certain you will excel in your new role.” It was an oddly formal choice of words, ill-fitting with the affectionate contact – a sign perhaps that she was no more prepared for this conversation than Brienne.

“I am flattered you have so much confidence in me, my Lady... your Grace." It seemed there were new titles for everyone today, and they didn’t all trip off the tongue just yet.

“My Lady will do just fine. It will take me a while to become accustomed to anything more." Brienne smiled, heartened she wasn’t the only one struggling with all the changes,

"I imagine it will take me just as long to get used to Lord Commander – although I'm sure it won't take long at all for someone to suggest it should be Lady Commander. The first one who does will become fast familiar with the pointy end of my sword." Sansa laughed,

"I wouldn't expect anything else. You never did like being called a Lady."

“That’s because I never felt like one. I knew from a very young age that I was destined for something else.”

"Much like my sister. The two of you are strikingly similar in many ways."

"So it would seem. I regret that I have not had the chance to get to know her better. Although I much enjoyed sparring with her on that one occasion. She is a proficient fighter, albeit of a very different style to myself."

"And she's a lot shorter." This time it was Brienne's turn to laugh,

"Indeed my Lady, but then so are most people." The conversation stalled a little then, their repartee petering out with the recollection that this was not just a simple chat between friends. Brienne resumed their gentle stroll along the winding paths of the godswood, in the hope that it would lessen the weight of what needed to be said. She was loathe to return the conversation to formal matters after their lighthearted exchange, but it had to be done and so she forced herself to continue,

"I am aware your brother has already sought your permission to release me from your service, but honour demands I make the request myself." She felt nervous, even though she knew Sansa would not refuse, and some selfish part of her half wished she would, so they could remain together.

“Of course - I accept your request but only, I must make clear, with a heavy heart. However, I must not be selfish – my brother's need of you is greater than mine. The allegiance of the North to a Stark queen is assured. In the early days of his reign, Bran will need people he can trust at his side, and I cannot think of anyone outside his family he can trust with more certainty than you.”

"I thank you my Lady. It is also with regret that I ask it of you. If there was a way for me to continue serving your whole family I would do so in a heartbeat."

“You will still be serving my whole family. I will sleep easier at night knowing you are here to watch over him. Besides, Bran tells me he feels the right place for you to be is here, and I have learnt to trust his feelings.”

“I believe I am also coming to that conclusion." She paused, finding herself staring off into the distance for a few moments, "For the first time in many years I find myself feeling positive for the future of this world. There’s a lot of rebuilding to do – homes, lives, allegiances, faith. With you and your brother in charge – Westeros couldn’t be in better hands. You will be a truly excellent queen.”

“I am certainly going to do my best." Sansa sighed, deeply, "l’m really going to miss you. I’ve been trying to work out how best to say it - I don’t want to make you to feel bad about remaining here.” Brienne could hear the quavering in Sansa’s voice, and it brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away.

“I am going to miss you too; keenly. I know you will be much engaged, ruling a kingdom, but I would be gratified if you could find some little time to write." The reality of their parting was beginning to hit home, and with it the true realisation of how much she’d come to rely on Sansa. Watching her leave was going to be immeasurably hard.

“Of course! I shall want to hear from you too, as often as possible. I want to be kept up to date with everything, from boring political discussions to the goings on of the court, but most of all about you - how big you’re growing and when the baby comes. Although I suspect you'll be even busier than I am, with a King to guard and a child to raise.” She was right of course. The idea of ruling a kingdom suddenly seemed far less daunting to Brienne than the life that was before her.

“I have no idea how I'm going to balance things to be honest – but I’m sure I’ll work it out. I don’t really have much choice after all.” Sansa's eyes dropped for a moment, and when they looked into hers again they were filled with sorrow.

"I’m so sorry… about Jaime." Brienne nodded breaking eye contact, fighting tears again. As much as she would miss Sansa, and had not relished the idea of discussing their parting, this was the part of the conversation she'd dreaded the most. When she replied, she kept her eyes cast down in an attempt to hold herself together,

“I know you are, and I thank you. I don't think it's fully hit me yet that he’s gone. This place feels so full of his essence... I don't know whether that's good or bad. I'm functioning on a strong dose of denial at the moment.” A single tear got away from her, and rolled defiantly down her cheek. Sansa lifted a hand to gently brush it away,

"It must be so hard. I've lost people but... I can't even begin to imagine..." Brienne felt sure Sansa was intimately acquainted with the pain she was going through, perhaps she hadn’t lost a lover, but she’d lost more than enough to know.

“I can't shake the feeling that there's something I should have done, that I should have said differently. I never told him I love him... I hope he knew it, but I never said the words. I should have gone after him." She’d thought about it for days afterwards, just getting on a horse and galloping in his wake. But she would never leave Sansa like that, and he knew it damn him, DAMN HIM!

"You're the last person to blame. This is all on him – his actions, his choice. You've nothing to feel guilty for." She was right of course. Brienne knew in her heart that there was nothing she could have done to change this, but she was the one left here, alight with anger and nowhere to direct it – Jaime was gone and Cersei was gone so the only person left to blame was herself.

“He told me he was hateful, just like his sister, but even after all that's happened I can't believe that. Nothing's more hateful than failing to protect the one you love, and I failed to protect him. Just like I did with Renly.” She glanced at Sansa as her hand came to rest on her shoulder once again,

"But just think about everything you have succeeded in protecting. There was nothing you could have done to protect Jaime from Cersei, or from himself. He was set on a destructive course long before he met you - the time you spent together made him into a better man, and you should hold on to that."

“I suppose it doesn't make much difference now. I just need to make sure I never fail in that regard again.”

"You won't.” Sansa was right - it wouldn’t happen again, because she had no intention of allowing love to blind her from her duty as she’d done in the past. Her child would hold her heart, and she would die before allowing any harm to come to it. When she continued, Sansa's tone remained soft,

“Now the war is over, you'll be taken care of, as well as caring for others. My brother will make sure of that - and you'll be much closer to home again; to your father. I’m sure he will want to watch his grandchild grow." Mention of Brienne's father set her to contemplating how he would react when she told him she was pregnant. She was certain he'd be pleased she was finally continuing the family line, but as to the circ*mstances, and the father...

"I'm sure he will, once he gets over the shock of my bringing home a bastard to inherit his seat." Her words sounded harsh even to her own ears but, much like Tyrion, over the years she’d learnt the best way to defend against your perceived flaws was to own them.

“He's well known as a generous man, and he loves you. Besides, you're his daughter not his son – at least he can be certain the child is yours.” Brienne snorted – trust Sansa to meet her bitterness with levity.

"Well I can't argue with that."

“And I’m sure Tyrion will want to take good care of you too – you're family to him now, and he believes he has no family left. I'd love to see his face when you tell him he's going to be an uncle again.” She’d expected to console with Tyrion over Jaime, but she hadn’t really considered the idea of an ongoing relationship with him, or that he would want one with her child. Since they were now both remaining in King's Landing, such things were much more possible.

“I suppose we are family, when you put it like that. He seems like a good man.”

“He's the only one who treated me kindly when I was here before. Well, aside from Littlefinger but the least said about him the better. You know Tyrion and I were wed? Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been if we'd stayed married.” Brienne read the wistful look in her eyes,

“You care for him.” It was mostly a statement rather than a question, but Sansa's lack of comment confirmed it. “You're certainly well matched in intellect. I am certain you'd have many spirited discussions. I’ve discovered regular verbal sparring is an excellent basis for a relationship." Sansa laughed,

"You may be right, but our destinies lie at opposite ends of the world so I guess we'll never find out. And I'm at peace with that - I'm not sure I ever want to marry again."

“After the past few months I've learnt never to rule anything out. You’re still young – in a few years time you might feel differently; or when you meet some dashingly handsome young Northman to sweep you off your feet.”

“I’ve learnt not to allow handsomeness to blind me, but I’m not averse to the idea of looking.”

“Of course - and if you do find a young man, he’d better treat you impeccably or I’ll be riding North to beat the life out of him.” Sansa smiled warmly,

“Thank you… for everything. I should have trusted you far sooner – if I'd listened to you about Littlefinger it would have saved me a lot of pain.”

“I wish I’d been more convincing, more able to persuade you, but you were young and you had no reason to trust me. He’d taken care of you up to then, or so you thought. I suppose now I should be the one berating you for blaming yourself and wondering about the road not taken. What he took you into… in no leap of imagination could you ever be to blame for that. I will forever be sorry I couldn’t protect you from it – but it’s neither of our faults.”

“You’re right of course – but then you usually are. My brother will have an excellent advisor as well as a protector.”

“I shall do my very best to serve him in whatever capacity he needs me. It's what I promised to do for your mother, and she entrusted to me the task of keeping you and your sister safe. I am certain she would also want that extending to your brother.” She paused for a few moments, her mind wandering back over everything that had happened since she’d fled Renly’s tent with Lady Catelyn. “I never imagined, when I swore myself to your mother’s service, where that would lead me. If it wasn’t for her I would never have met you… or Jaime. I can’t imagine what my life would be now, aside from its being very different. Your mother was a good woman, and she loved you and your siblings with a fierceness I can only aspire to. I’m so sorry she was another casualty in this dreadful war. I shall be well pleased if I am even half as good a mother as she was.”

“I think you will be a wonderful mother. You’ve been my faithful protector, and look at what an excellent young man Pod has become. Much of that is down to your influence.”

“I hope you’re right. I certainly intend to do my best.”

“That is all you can do, and all anyone can expect.” She turned them on a path towards the Keep, “We should be getting back - I’d love nothing more than to walk and talk with you all day, but I promised my brother I would join him for lunch and you mustn’t get too tired.” Brienne was about to protest that she was fine, but now Sansa drew her attention to it she became very aware of the aching in her back and legs. The idea of another lie down suddenly sounded very attractive.

They made their way back up to the terrace, pausing on the steps of the White Sword Tower to embrace with teary eyes, and a promise to make more time to talk before Sansa had to leave. They were about to part ways when Brienne spotted Tyrion sitting on the steps a short way from the door, clearly waiting for them to finish. As Sansa turned, Brienne bowed her head to him,

“My Lord Hand, may I be of service?”

“I have been awaiting your audience, Ser Brienne, if it please you.” Brienne made to reply but Sansa cut in,

“I believe you mean Lord Commander.” There was a playful tone to her mild scolding – it was unlikely the King had yet informed Tyrion about her new position, but Brienne also sensed a hint of pride in Sansa’s words which was very touching.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Commander, I was unaware. Congratulations on your appointment.”

“Thank you - I would very much like to speak with you. I believe we have much to talk about.”

“We do; but first I have a duty to perform.” He paused, head bowed, clearly wrestling with how to phrase whatever he had on his mind. When he raised his eyes to hers, they were filled with tears, “I asked for Jaime’s body be brought to the Keep. I am going to see him and I came to ask if you wish to join me?”

Brienne’s heart felt as if it froze solid in her chest. If she accompanied him it would mean fully facing up to the fact that Jaime was gone, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that yet.

Chapter 17: The Next Right Thing

Chapter Text

The temperature noticeably dropped as Brienne followed Tyrion down the steps to a chamber below the Tower of the Hand. She hadn't known this room was here, although she knew there must be many secret rooms and passages within the Red Keep, and she supposed she would become more familiar with them in her new role. Of course, much of the Keep was damaged, hence Tyrion had asked for Jaime to be brought here. Once upon a time he would have lain in the Great Sept of Baelor, before Cersei had destroyed it – consequently there was no crypt in the keep itself.

They reached a heavy wooden door at the bottom of the narrow staircase – Tyrion shouldered it open and stepped down a further couple of steps into the antechamber below. Brienne hung back for a few moments, fear gripping her once more, before she forced herself onwards. Fear had become her familiar companion lately but she would not allow it to rule her, whatever came. This was something she had to face, regardless of how much her instincts were telling her to turn and run.

The antechamber was fairly dark, lit only by a single pair of sconces on the far wall. There was no door through into the main chamber, just a doorway framed by thick walls, but it was at the far left hand side of the room so Brienne couldn't see through into the chamber itself. Tyrion looked back at her – his face betraying all. He was no more ready for this than she was.

He held out a hand – it was a profound gesture in the moment; a wordless invitation for her to share in his grief. She took it, the difference in their heights forcing her to stoop a little and he to reach, but it didn’t matter to either of them. They moved forward as one, the doorway wide enough to admit them side by side, and as they took the single step down it felt like dropping into an abyss. The main chamber was slightly more illuminated, but the light was still soft and flickering. Jaime was laying on a stone table at the far side of the room.

The first thing that struck her was how peaceful he looked - she was used to seeing death on the battlefield where it was all blood, guts and pain. Jaime looked as if he was merely asleep and could wake at any moment. Someone in the house of healing had shaved his beard, and the merest hint of stubble shadowed his features. His hair, however, they hadn't chosen to cut – it had grown longer in the weeks since she'd seen him and now fell softly almost to his shoulders, freshly washed and fair as fair in the torchlight, rather than the dirty blond she’d come to know so well. The Golden Lion of Lannister. He really looked it, lying there in repose; startlingly beautiful. It seemed impossible to her that he was no longer alive.

Of all the hundreds of scenarios she’d played out in her mind over the past weeks, standing here confronted with him dead and cold was not one of them. Her mind had clearly desired to protect her from that thought, but now she wondered if that had been for the best. Maybe she’d have been more prepared, but she wasn’t sure anything could have prepared her for the reality of him lying there. It froze her to the spot, unable to either move forward to his side or retreat to the other room where she might somehow remember how to breathe. Her fingers hovered over her belly, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it; how could she even begin to accept the truth with his unborn child growing inside her? It was too much.

Tyrion was equally stunned. She could read it in the stiffness of his gait as he stepped up to the table, releasing her hand as he did so. She didn’t know if seconds, minutes or indeed hours passed as she stood in a hazy trance watching the soft curls on the back of his head shake as he cried for the loss of his brother; his protector. Jaime had talked about Tyrion often and she’d seen the love he held for him shine in his eyes. It had been easy to infer that they’d been all each other really had. Jaime had Cersei of course, but… had he really? Had she ever been his champion in the way he had been hers, body and soul? Her eyes were drawn back to Jaime’s face.

I was your champion. I would have followed you to the ends of the earth, if you’d let me. Why didn’t you see it? Why couldn’t I reach you? She wished she could ask him. Then maybe, somehow, she could begin to understand. To have some small inkling of why he’d chosen death over their future, together.

She knew Tyrion had spoken, had said several things in fact, but she had no idea what any of them were or even if they were addressed to her. Her ears were buzzing and he seemed very quiet and distant. Whatever he’d said, he moved away – he didn’t try to make eye contact and she honestly wasn’t sure she’d be able to focus on him if he had. He retreated to the doorway and sat on the step, arms resting on his knees and head in his hands. There was nothing left now to prevent her moving forward aside from her own reluctance.

She stepped slowly up to Jaime's side, feeling almost shy; wishing he could make a joke or throw an insult at her to break the tension, but that would not be. Now she stood beside him she could see how pale he was – all the colour was drained from his face. She desperately wanted to touch him, but she was afraid of how his skin would feel; that the spell keeping him alive in her mind would be broken. A part of her even wanted to climb up there beside him, to press her body to his and remain there; to close her eyes, melt into him and forget this world. But she couldn't allow herself that indulgence.

She felt a sudden desperation to memorise every inch of his face, terrified that through the long years to come she would forget what he looked like; that his impossible beauty would fade into the fog of memory. She wanted to remember everything – not just for herself, but to pass on. What could she possibly say to make him real to his child; the child that would never know him? How could she capture that much wit, grace and spirit in mere words? She had to find a way – she owed it to their child, their beautiful child, for how could someone who was half of him not be beautiful in spite of who its mother was? She knew, intimately, what it would have meant to Jaime to finally get to be a real father, and the fact that it was going to be denied to him one final time broke what little remained of her heart.

"Jaime, I love you. I need you. Please don't leave me." She finally touched him then – he was cold, ice cold like the wights at Winterfell on their endless tide of death. It didn't stop her taking hold of his hand and placing it on her belly, "We're having a baby." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tyrion, who had looked up when she spoke, turn his head at her revelation, his eyes closing with a pained sigh.

It wasn't how she'd planned on him finding out, but in all honesty it had slipped her mind that he was there. At least now there would be an easy beginning to the long conversation they'd need to have once they left here; for now she was too consumed with her final moments with Jaime to worry about it.

No. She refused to believe that’s what these long painful minutes were; minutes that at the same time felt impossibly short. This couldn't be the last time she would see him. She couldn't let him go. She held his hand to her belly, hoping, praying somehow that this was all a bad dream, a terrible mistake. The tears streamed down her face, followed by supplications to any god that cared to listen.

She promised them she would do anything, anything, if they would just send him back to her. She didn't even know half of what she said, but she begged and pleaded with all the strength she had left. Her fear of touching him gone, she kissed his face, no longer caring how foolish she looked or how weak. After everything they'd been through – months alone together on the road, his hand, the bear, Riverrun, winning the battle of Winterfell against impossible odds, and finally giving in to their feelings. She simply refused to believe it could end like this.

Finally, after she'd collapsed over him, body heaving with wracking sobs, Tyrion came over and gently coaxed her away.

"Come on. Come away now. Come sit with me and take a drink." It took him several minutes, but eventually he persuaded her to turn, and she looked for the first time into his tear-stained face. Their shared grief hung thick in the air. His attempts to get her to leave were less effective – she couldn’t walk away from Jaime knowing it was the last time. She just couldn’t do it, and Tyrion read it in her eyes,

“I know. Believe me, I know, but you can’t stay here. He’s gone.” The tears welled in his eyes again, and she wished she knew what to tell him.

“I can’t. I’m not ready. Not yet.” A startlingly clear image flashed through her mind, unbidden, and she spoke her next words before she fully realised what she was asking, “Can we bring him to the White Sword Tower? I want to be close to him. Just this one night.” He stared at her incredulously, as disbelieving of what she’d just asked as she was herself, but something in the wildness of her gaze washed the refusal from his lips. He sighed,

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but all right. Just for tonight, if that’s what you need. But then he’ll go to Casterley Rock.” She nodded, relief and gratitude flooding her. He gestured then for her to go before him out of the room, and he led the way from the antechamber back up the stairs, checking every few steps that she was still following him.

The staircase was long, and spiralled upwards seemingly without end. She felt herself growing out of breath with the exertion, again cursing the way her condition sapped her strength, making her feel weak and vulnerable.

She gripped the door frame as she ascended the final step into Tyrion’s solar. She felt a shade lightheaded, less so than she frequently had over the past couple of months, but still enough to make her feel unsteady. If Tyrion noticed he did a good job of hiding it – he pulled out a chair for her to sit down, which she accepted gratefully.

He didn't join her immediately, moving around the table to rummage in a drinks cabinet on the far wall. He retrieved a decanter of what appeared to be wine and two glasses, tipping a mouthful into one glass and placing the other on the table. He swigged it down, looking thoughtful, then said,

“Mmm, not bad. Not Dornish but it'll do." He placed his glass down beside its fellow and filled it – then he regarded her quizzically for a moment before placing the decanter down.

"Apologies if I'm being presumptuous, but I’m going to assume you're not currently drinking wine. Although I'd fully understand if you needed a glass after..." he trailed off, dipping his eyes momentarily but not long enough ease the pressure she felt for a response.

"I am not. But thank you." He nodded, curtly,

"Right then. Give me a moment." He turned back to the drinks cabinet and a series of clinks and thuds followed. She fidgeted in her chair, unsure what to expect from the upcoming conversation, from this man she’d heard so much of but in truth barely knew. After several minutes, he returned with a tall cloudy bottle. Again, he poured a little and tasted it before appearing satisfied.

"Apple juice? I’m sorry, I haven't had chance to get properly moved in here yet, but at least it seems Qyburn left us some reasonable beverages. You must come and have proper drinks with me in a few days." She generally didn't care much for the sweetness of fruit juices, preferring tea or just water, but she didn't want to dismiss his efforts. Besides, the sugar would probably do her good after the day she’d had.

"Apple juice is perfect." He filled her glass and pushed it across the table towards her, before finally taking a seat. His eyes seemed to pierce into her, even as he took a deep swig from his glass. She was not even remotely prepared for this, and she hoped he would speak first as she had no idea what she'd say. He didn't disappoint.

“So, you're carrying my brother's child.” It was a simple statement, wholly without accusation, but she could feel the weight of his sadness behind it. He knew as well as she did what this baby would have meant to Jaime.

"Guilty as charged." She realised then, for the first time, the depth of guilt her decisions brought her. There would never be any regret over choosing to surrender her maidenhood to Jaime, but she still felt guilt at her recklessness, at the inevitable burden she had placed on her now fatherless child. She loved that tiny life more than anything, and she would do whatever she could to protect it. She hoped it would not grow up to resent her for failing to refuse Jaime until he agreed to marry her.

"And you’re well I trust?” If Tyrion read anything of the weight behind her words, he gave no sign of it.

"I am. I mean I've been quite nauseous, although that seems to be passing now, and I’m permanently exhausted. But nothing beyond the usual pregnancy afflictions." As she opened up to him, it struck her how much his manner put her at ease.

"Good. I'm glad to hear that." He took another swig from his glass as she did the same, “Does the King know?”

“He does. I told him when he asked me to be Lord Commander, but he already knew. I don’t know if Sansa told him or… well you know how he is.” He nodded,

“And he still wanted you for the position? Interesting.”

“Believe me, I was just as surprised. There I was telling him why I’d have to turn down the greatest honour of my life, and he knew before he even offered it to me.”

“I wouldn’t be that surprised. The Starks think very highly of you, and rightly so.” He paused, but it was clear he had more to say. When he continued, his eyebrows were raised and head tilted to one side appraisingly, “But what he was offering wasn’t the greatest honour of your life. I mean, it was an honour of course, but the greatest honour of your life was when my brother knighted you. I could see it in your eyes.” His perceptiveness stunned her; she knew she’d allowed the raw emotion of that night to leave her unguarded, but nonetheless how had he seen to the heart of her so completely? She’d heard much about his brilliant mind, but now she was seeing his uncanny ability to read people for herself.

“All I ever really wanted was to be a knight. A real knight. But I’d made peace with the fact it was never going to happen.”

“Then it did, and Jaime being the one to give that to you was the icing on the cake.” He placed his glass on the table and wrung his hands a little nervously as he regarded her, "He really loved you, you know. I'm not sure if that’s what you want or need to hear right now, but I felt I should say it." A part of her told her to try and be gracious, but she didn't have it in her, and feigned politeness didn't seem necessary or even appropriate. They were family after all, as Sansa had pointed out to her, and family didn't stand on ceremony.

"You'll forgive me if I have a hard time believing that." He didn't seem fazed by her response, as if it was exactly what he’d expected.

"I can understand you feeling that way, but you should know I've never seen him as happy as he was after the two of you were together that first night. Really, truly happy. I'm so glad he had that, however briefly."

"If that’s true, then why did he leave?" If there was anyone who had even a shade of insight into the answer to that burning question, it was him.

“I don't know. Well, not exactly anyway – and I'm not going to make any excuses for him. But the hold Cersei had over him... I've never seen anything like it. It didn't matter what she did, what she made him do or anything I had to say. It was like he was under a spell, always had been, ever since we were children. Perhaps if our mother had lived, it would have been different. Things might not have happened that drove him into Cersei’s arms…” He paused, briefly, wrestling with some difficult emotion. When he continued, his voice was sombre, and muted,

“Our father used to beat him – I don't know if he ever told you that?” Brienne felt cold, hearing the truth about Jaime's painful formative years. He'd never talked about his childhood, but the revelation didn't surprise her. He'd always seemed in awe of his father, and she'd sensed there was fear there behind the respect. Now she understood why.

"He didn't. The only family he ever really talked about was you." Tyrion smiled weakly,

"Well I'd hardly have expected him to be telling you all about Cersei." He took another swig of wine, before placing down the glass again and fingering it lightly, "There's something else I don't know if you knew. Cersei was pregnant." A cold shiver passed down Brienne’s spine. It wasn’t an easy thing to hear – to know he’d been with her that recently, but perhaps it gave her just a sliver of understanding. Could she bear it slightly more if Jaime had left her for the sake of his child rather than for Cersei?

“Is that why..."

"As I said, I don't know for sure. I didn't see him for long enough to discuss at length why he chose to leave.” Brienne went cold for the second time in as many minutes as the implication of his words sunk in,

"You saw him here!? After he left Winterfell!?" Tyrion looked away for a moment, and she saw a flash of something as he turned – a fresh injury; an open wound she knew she shouldn't press. When he turned back to her his eyes were damp again,

"I did." She dropped her head away from the intense eye contact he'd made, needing to escape the fullness of his pain. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it, so she remained silent, making it clear she wasn't going to push the matter further. After a few moments he continued,

"I want you to know that regardless of what he may have done afterwards, he tried once again to save the people of this city. He rang the bells for surrender; and before he left to do that, he gave me this." He tossed a scrap of paper across the table at her. She stared at it for a moment, reading her name in Jaime's barely legible hand scrawled across the outside. The same feeling that had made her freeze in the chamber below returned, but this time she managed to push through it; with shaking hands she reached out and picked up the note. It took her an interminable length of time to unfold it, her fingers failing to function properly, but finally she managed it.

She stared at the page, reading the single sentence there over and over until it ceased to have any meaning, whilst Tyrion fought to keep his gaze from searing into her face. She knew he was desperate to know what it said, but it took her several minutes to gain enough control of her churning emotions to speak. When she finally did, the overriding feeling that came through in her tone was anger, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling,

"I love you and I’m sorry… What the f*ck am I supposed to do with that Jaime!?" She stared back at Tyrion, and for the first time she saw him flinch just a shade under her demanding gaze. She didn’t really expect him to answer for his brother – it wasn’t reasonable or fair to ask him to, but she had nowhere else to direct her rage, or her pain, “What use is sorry to me now…?”

“Very little I imagine, but at least it shows he was thinking of you on that last night. I hope that means something, that he didn’t just leave and put you from his mind.”

“Perhaps.” She knew it would, in time, when she’d found a way to accept this; figured out how to make sense of it all. The hand that wasn’t holding her glass strayed to her belly, “It doesn’t help this little one though; doesn’t bring back its father.”

“No. It doesn’t. And for that I am very sorry. But, that’s my niece or nephew you’ve got in there, and quite aside from my own desire to look after my family, which includes you too just to be clear, it tells me Jaime would want me to make sure you’re both taken care of.” He retrieved the decanter and poured another glass of wine.

“I don’t want to be accused of going around in circles, but if he wanted us to be taken care of, he would have stayed.”

“And I also repeat, I can’t explain his actions or defend them. The only thing I do know for certain is that you’re the only woman in his entire life who ever turned his head from Cersei - and he could have had his pick of women, believe me. He loved you, without a shadow of a doubt.” She couldn’t refute his logic – didn’t want to either, although she had no idea whether the weighty evidence of Jaime's genuine love for her made her feel better or worse,

“I have to find a way to let it go, and to focus on our child now – it’s not going have the easiest life.” She sighed deeply. Confiding her feelings to him seemed right and appropriate given the bond they now shared, “I’ve made such a mess of everything.” He took a deep swig from his newly refilled glass, then cradled it in his lap,

“You didn’t know what was going to happen - perhaps you were a little careless, but who can claim they’ve never made mistakes? I certainly can’t. If you’re looking for guilt then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong person. All you’re going to get from me is my support, and my respect.”

“Thank you. That really means a lot.”

“I mean it. If you need anything, big or small, I want you to know you can come to me. I’m here for you – because I want to be, not because of a sense of obligation.” He drank again, even deeper this time, and she sensed a slight change in his demeanour, a tremble in his arm as if he was suddenly nervous. When he continued, it followed into his voice,

“I… I’d offer to make an honest woman of you. If I thought there was any chance you’d accept. And if the King would allow it.” Her stomach churned – it was a very odd feeling, the idea made her uneasy, but at the same time she was deeply touched. She realised she should have expected this,

“I deeply appreciate the sentiment, but you’re right I could never accept, even if my role would permit it. I could never trap you that way. What if you fell in love with someone? You’d end up resenting me.” Her thoughts turned to Sansa and their earlier conversation. Even without all the other reasons her marrying him would be impossible, she could never do that to her friend. Regardless of the fact that they weren’t together, or likely to be, she had to leave that chance open for the two of them. Who knew what the future held?

“That’s as maybe, but I have no intention of marrying anyone else, and it would be better for the child.” She felt suddenly affronted at his assertion – it felt like pressure, and judgement of her refusal, even though she knew that was not his intent.

“I will decide what’s best for my child.” The immediate change in his expression indicated he’d realised his error,

“Of course you will. I beg your pardon.” He dipped his eyes briefly, “I don’t suppose anyone would believe for a second that it’s mine in any case.” He drained his glass, and didn’t pour another. It seemed the conversation had reached a natural conclusion. Brienne finished her own drink and rose from the table,

“Thank you. For… all of this. I am sure we will talk again, soon, but I have something I need to do.” And she did. She’d realised there was a pressing matter she needed to deal with right away, whilst she had certain things fresh in her mind. It wouldn’t be easy, but perhaps afterwards she may start to feel a little better. It was time for her to tell the truth about Jaime Lannister, her truth, for all the world to see.

^^^^^^^

Brienne allowed the excess ink to drip from her quill back into the bottle, as she stared at Jaime’s short entry in the Book of Brothers. She’d known since her conversation with King Bran that this was something she would have to do, and that she wanted to do. The very idea of it, that she could commit to history all the good Jaime had done, the deeds most of the world never knew of – that they were blind to given his reputation – felt like the first step on a road towards healing. But it also felt very, very final.

She began to write, the words flowing easier from her heart to the page with each sentence, as all the while she filled in the blanks in her head – those personal and private things between them that she would not commit to paper. It felt right, it felt good, even though the tears welled in her eyes with the memories, and the freshness of her grief. Regardless of her own pain, she owed it to him that history remembered him in the right way; that it remembered all the people he had saved, and even more he'd attempted to save. That in spite of the corrupting influences of his father and sister, there had been a shining core deep inside him that was good, and honourable, and righteous.

She stalled at the last, trying to work out how to describe his final actions. Thinking of what Tyrion had said about Jaime ringing the bells on the way to find Cersei, she allowed his story that last act of self-sacrifice, stretching the truth of his choice to return to King's Landing. But it wasn’t entirely untrue, and to his death she also shone a favourable light, although here she spared the details that tore at her heart.

Closing the book with a satisfying thump she sat back in her chair, releasing the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and with it some measure of the fear that had knotted her stomach since their arrival. She had given her final gift to the love of her life, and tonight she would sit in vigil over him. When dawn came, somewhere in the endless pool of strength within her, she would find a way to let him go. Then it would be time to move onwards – one single step at a time. That way, it might somehow seem possible.

Chapter 18: Hey Love, It’s Me

Chapter Text

The fire blazed strongly in the hearth. The evening sun had long fallen below the horizon outside the tower's windows, and sitting in their stone walled room of flickering light and shadow, it felt to Brienne as if she and Pod were the only people in the entire world. Of course Jaime was also with them, but he lay on the bed at the far end of the room, ever silent.

Tyrion, Sansa and Davos had all joined them earlier in the evening to pay their respects – if any of them harboured thoughts about Brienne's choice to spend the night by Jaime’s side, they kept them to themselves. They'd raised glasses, shared stories and memories, and listened as Pod had lifted his hauntingly beautiful voice in song.

Brienne could tell from the faces of the others gathered there that she wasn't the only one transported back to Winterfell, to the eve of battle. Then, none of them had known if they would see another dawn; in truth, likely expected they wouldn't. This was a different atmosphere, a new sadness, each lost in their own private thoughts.

Brienne couldn't escape the feelings of that night – the fear and the hopelessness of waiting until the dead finally came pouring over Winterfell's walls like a spring tide. She was also painfully conscious that all those weeks ago, Jaime had sat beside her. Later in the evening he’d asked her to kneel before him and bestowed upon her the greatest gift she’d ever received. His faith, his trust, had given her all the courage she'd needed to get through those long dark hours – tonight she had to find that courage on her own.

Gradually, each of them had retired, Davos nodding politely, whilst Sansa had planted a soft affectionate kiss on her forehead. Tyrion lingered a little longer, and she was happy to let him, their earlier frank, open conversation igniting the beginnings of what would hopefully become a lasting friendship. He coaxed wistful smiles from her with tales of Jaime as a boy; the good memories, although the spectre of less happy ones loomed large, unspoken.

He sensed her need for quiet after a time, and offered a gentle embrace, which she accepted, before taking his leave. The faltering glance he cast at Jaime spoke volumes of his love – it was wonderful to see but also searingly painful. In some ways she felt selfish, keeping his brother all to herself as she was, but she could tell he understood and there was no need for words. She had known Jaime in ways his little brother never could, for all the strength of their bond.

Pod had risen from his seat soon after, but she found herself suddenly anxious to be alone with Jaime and she'd asked him to stay a while longer. He'd smiled, softly, his features so much more a man's now, and less creased by uncertainty. He'd dropped a hand to her shoulder companionably before retaking his chair.

And so, now here they sat, largely in silence although Pod was humming softly to himself as they both stared into the flames. He was resting back in his chair, still wearing his shiny new Kingsguard armour. She’d been both surprised and gratified by his decision to join – he was young, to commit himself to a lifelong oath, but she knew he would be an excellent addition to the white cloaks under her command. On a more selfish note, she was happy to have him remain close – with Sansa leaving soon she’d need his solid, reliable presence all the more in the weeks and months to come.

The King had knighted him in the courtyard; Pod knelt on the painted map of Westeros, whilst she looked on almost bursting with pride at how far he’d come. Bran had insisted on taking her sword to perform the ceremony, which she initially found odd since he could very well have used Pod’s, but perhaps the fact Oathkeeper had been reforged from his father’s sword was significant to him, and she had to admit the name was appropriate for such an occasion.

He’d also surprised her by drawing the sword across his palm – this was not part of any tradition she was familiar with, and she was concerned at his intentionally injuring himself. He showed no sign of pain, however, stemming the bleeding against his tunic as he spoke slowly and with assurance, before softly tapping each of Pod’s shoulders with the bloodied blade. He returned it to her, and in the absence of anything suitable to wipe it on, she’d pushed it back into its scabbard as was, making a mental note to clean it properly later. As she did so, the King had regarded her with the strangest look, almost a hint of a smile on his usually flat features, and that odd gut-twisting feeling had washed over her again.

Suitably fitting sets of armour had been found for them both from the armoury, with the promise of personally forged ones later when King's Landing was sufficiently recovered. Brienne mused that she’d need to wait until she’d given birth and recovered her figure in any case. She’d now discarded hers to the back of a chair by the table, but Pod seemed determined to keep his on, and she was pleased to see his obvious pride in his new role. She’d worn hers long enough to complete Jaime’s entry in The Book of Brothers before being forced by discomfort to remove it, but the ceremonial nature of that moment, and the fact it was the first duty she’d performed as Lord Commander, meant it had felt important to be in the correct regalia for her position.

The thought of congealed blood coating the flawless Valyrian steel of her sword began to bother Brienne, and despite how comfortable and relaxed she was, she felt compelled to clean it. Rising reluctantly from her seat, she searched the room for a suitable cloth, Pod looking up from his drink quizzically. It took a few minutes before she found a ragged piece of material under the bed, and retrieved it before settling herself back in her chair by the fire.

The temperature had dropped significantly since sunset, but really it was still too hot to have a fire – despite this, her time in the North had brought Brienne to find the flames comforting and she liked being close to them. She felt very calm and peaceful as she drew her sword and spat on the blade before rubbing the cloth over it to clean it of blood. This was far from the first time it had been coated red, and there was certainly less of it than on previous occasions, but this regular ritual always settled her mind.

It took very little to pull her thoughts back to Jaime, and the memory of him gifting her this blade was never very far from her mind when she held it in her hand. She watched the reflected light of the flames play off the steel, images of that day playing in her head, followed by those of other days, and nights. Soon, it was not just the fire flushing her skin with heat, as her thoughts strayed to the feel of his hard, naked body pressed against hers. Missing everything about him, both emotional and physical, burned painfully in her chest.

After several minutes, the blade appeared clean – she would polish it spotless tomorrow, but it would do for now. She pushed it back into its scabbard, hooking the sword belt over the chair once more, then tossed the soiled rag into the fire.

Its dampness tempered the fire for a moment, but the wood was well alight, and when the cloth caught it began to crackle and smoke, sparks dancing around its edges. She breathed in – the smoke smelled a little strange, spicy almost, and she felt it tingle on her tongue and the inside of her nose. A shadow seemed to pass across the flames, and it sent an all too familiar shiver down her spine. Once again she turned in her chair, half-expecting to see someone there but, just as before, there was no one. Pod looked at her again, then over his own shoulder to see what had disturbed her. She tried to dismiss it,

“Sorry, thought I heard... it was nothing." His expression was one of concern – it seemed he was permanently worried about her these days and she was determined that was going to change. She was his commander and he should turn to her for support, not be a crutch for her to lean upon. She shot him a quick smile of reassurance before turning her focus back to the fire.

The remains of the cloth still glowed brightly as it burnt away in the base of the flames, and Brienne found watching it almost hypnotic. It was all but gone when it was replaced by Jaime's smiling face. The image was so clear, so vivid, she knew it was not just in her mind, and she stared, fixated, as it grew smaller – a scene revealing itself around him. She saw her own face, seated below him, and a baby in his arms, before the vision dissolved away.

A strange warmth spread through her as she blinked several times, staring more intently into the fire. The image did not return, and although she braced for the inevitable pang of sadness she only felt cheered by what she saw. It was the strangest thing – the peaceful feeling that had been with her for the past few hours was redoubled. She hadn't felt this relaxed in weeks and she took a moment to enjoy it before the inevitable crash. It didn't come.

Pod yawned deeply, his now empty glass discarded to the side table between them. There was nothing to suggest he’d seen anything in the fire, his eyes falling closed as he rested his head back in the chair.

"You should go to bed. I’ll be fine here." And she meant it – she now felt ready, for what she wasn't sure, but she was filled with the strength to face whatever was to come.

"Are you sure?" He was understandably reluctant to leave her given her fragility over the past few days, but she smiled at him, a full smile this time, and he visibly relaxed.

"Yes, I’m absolutely sure." She reached a hand out to his, squeezing it affectionately and he appeared reassured. He busied around the room, tidying glasses to the main table and gathering his few belongings before taking his leave.

She felt his absence immediately, but it did not make her apprehensive now. The strange image she'd seen in the fire replayed again and again in her mind, and she rose from the comfort of the flames to move over to Jaime's side. There was an easy chair already close to the bed, so she seated herself in it and reached out to take his hand, folding her fingers in his.

^^^^^^^^^

Brienne found herself walking through a pine forest. The trees grew dense and close, such that the way ahead was very dark – the fact that she could just about see enough to find her way was all that told her it must be daytime, and some small amount of light was penetrating its way to the forest floor. The wind was strong – she could hear it roaring in the canopy far above, although beneath the trees it was eerily calm and quiet; even her footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet of needles covering the path like a new fall of snow.

The eerie feeling grew as she walked – it seemed the forest was completely deserted, not a sign of human or creature of any kind. Just as she was processing the sensation of being entirely alone, air rushed past her right ear accompanied by the sound of wingbeats. She turned a full circle, hand dropping to the hilt of her sword, but she saw nothing. The rushing sound came again, now past her left ear, but this time she stood firm, eyes ahead as she half drew her sword from its sheath.

Before her, on a tree stump, a raven alighted. She stared it in the eye for long moments, gripped with the need to avert her gaze from the message attached to its leg – a message she knew instinctively was for her. An invisible force compelled her forwards.

Her hands almost felt as if they belonged to someone else as she reached down to retrieve the note, like she was floating somewhere high in the trees watching herself. The paper seemed to unroll itself across her palm.

"It’s yours. It'll always be yours." She looked down at the raven once more, and she realised it wasn't perched on a tree stump at all - its feet were wrapped around the hilt of a sword that was sticking out of the carpet of needles, partially buried in the ground. Her hand instinctively reflexed back to her own sword at her hip, the words yet again taking her back to the day Jaime had made that gift, but her hand met against empty air.

She looked down, groping desperately at her belt in disbelief – she'd gripped it only a moment ago but now it was gone. She turned, searching the ground behind her, even though she knew there was no way it could have fallen out. No sword. It didn't make any sense.

The raven cronked loudly, making her jump and spin back around. It flapped its wings once but didn't take off, and she noticed there was a familiar shape to the hilt its feet rested upon. She reached down once more, and the bird hopped several strides to a rock a short distance away as she gripped the hilt and pulled. It came away easily, feeling warm and light in her hand – it was wooden rather than steel, but in all other respects it was an exact replica of Oathkeeper.

She held the sword up, turning it in her hand to inspect it, and that was the moment a shaft of sunlight broke through the previously impenetrable canopy, striking the blade and setting it aflame. She recoiled in shock, but although she could feel the heat it gave out, she somehow knew it couldn't burn her. She reached out her free hand and passed it through the flame – aside from a slight tingle in her fingers, she felt nothing. Even so, she lowered the blade tentatively. That was when she realised she was no longer standing in a forest.

In front of her was a uniform palisade wall, stretching far above her eye-line. She stepped forward, trying to get her bearings, then she heard an ear-splitting roar from behind her. Even as she spun on her heel she knew what she would see; knew where she was; when this was. Her heart thumped in her chest at the memory - but she was wrong.

There was a bear rearing high on its hind legs, bellowing, but not at her. Jaime stood shaking, his back pressed to the far wall of the pit, wooden sword prodding ineffectually at his foe. He wore no armour, his mud-caked shirt ripped open down the front, streaks of blood staining his golden hair. His right arm hung useless at his side.

"Hey!" The word came sharp out of her mouth unbidden, instinctive, and the bear turned, but as it did so its paw came down heavily, tearing its claws into Jaime's chest and flinging him to the ground like a rag doll. Brienne screamed, charging at the bear with no thought for her own safety, or how she had any chance of defending herself against it with the wooden sword she clasped in her hand.

As she reached it, she saw the bear hesitate for a split second, its eyes flicking to her flaming blade, and she took the chance to aim a heavy swing at its stomach, fully expecting it to bounce off ineffectually. The sword cleaved deep into the bear’s flesh, tearing into muscle and bone, spilling its guts to the ground as its coat began to catch fire. She stumbled sideways, thrown off balance as the bear came crashing down but she barely paused, dancing inelegantly around the animal’s smouldering corpse as she dashed headlong towards Jaime who lay motionless on the ground.

She was afraid of what she would find, but he was somehow still breathing, shallow and laboured, but breathing nonetheless. She dropped to his side and pulled his head into her lap – her discarded sword, now extinguished, clattered dull against his where it had fallen to the ground. His eyes were glassy, but he looked at her with recognition,

"Brienne!" He coughed with the effort of talking, his voice coming out thin and barely above a whisper, "You came back for me."

"Of course I did." He laughed, hoarsely, blood welling from his mouth and running in a thin line down his chin,

"I always said I wanted to die in the arms of the woman I love." She shushed him, her hand smoothing his blood stained hair away from his face, "I’ve never been afraid of death, but now I’m here, with you holding me, I don't want to go. Please, Brienne my darling, please save me."

Tears fell from her eyes onto his face, and she scrunched them closed, dropping her head down to rest her forehead against his. She only had them shut for a moment, but when she opened them again he was gone, and she knelt alone in the dirt. She turned, but the bear had also disappeared, and the pit palisade – all that remained beside her were the two wooden swords, crossed over each other on the ground. She stood, wiping a sleeve across her tear-stained face, and retrieved them – sheathing her own scorched blade and pushing the wooden replica of Widow’s Wail into her belt at her right hip.

When she looked around her, the first thing she noticed was that it was dark. She stood at the foot of a winding staircase, barely illuminated by torchlight from somewhere a long way above. Something compelled her to climb, step after step, but only a floor or so up it became clear that the tower was ruined. Loose stones, fallen beams and chunks of rubble began to block her way, but she continued on, a burning need to reach the top she couldn't explain. She slipped and fell more than once but it didn't stop her, in fact it only served to fuel her determination.

As she rose higher, the light grew stronger – she passed a number of sconces, their torch flames burning low and weak, but each one flared with light as she drew close to them. Although they served to illuminate her way, she could tell the cold light that continued to grow stronger was daylight and she knew she must be reaching the top. As she ascended the last few steps, her hands met against leaves where foliage had begun to grow through the crumbling stonework, eating it away even further, and she suddenly felt the precarious nature of her situation. She shook the feeling off – she'd come this far now and every fibre of her being told her that this was where she was supposed to be.

She came upon a door at the top, cracked and splintered, with shafts of sunlight carving through it. Puffs of dust clouded into the air as she pushed it open, further slivers of wood cascading to the ground. Light blazed into her eyes from a window on the far side of the empty room, and she raised an arm to shield them. Vegetation crowded the scene, growing up through the walls and the floor, and the decayed remnants of what must have been furniture were coated with a thick layer of dust.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the harsh light she realised there were two silhouetted figures before her. She moved forward, until the frame of the window masked the sun, allowing her to see them more clearly. One was a woman, dressed in a dusky rose, her long fair hair falling in waves to her waist. She stood close to the window, her hand resting on the chest of a man who was braced in the frame of the window, his fingers gripping the crumbling edges of the stone. The sun kissed his golden hair as it shafted into the room, and Brienne felt her heart stop beating in her chest.

A thousand thoughts stirred up by what was before her raced through her mind at once, and every one of them caused her pain. She gasped in a breath, her heart surging back to life with one heavy thump before settling into a fierce rhythm. Cersei turned, narrowed eyes fixing on Brienne with disdain, whereas Jaime met her with a soft curiosity through the fear that clouded his gaze. Cersei sneered as she spoke,

"You think I won't do it? You think you can save him? He's mine to do with as I please." Brienne darted forward, her left hand pulling Jaime’s sword from her belt and tossing it to him with one smooth motion, but she could see straight away that it was futile. Without even looking back at her brother, eyes filled with challenge, Cersei shoved hard and the stone around the window gave way, pitching Jaime backwards into thin air. Watching in dismay, Brienne froze for a moment taking in Jaime's horrified expression, as Cersei’s sneer turned into an evil smile.

He loved her, with all of his being, and she was just discarding him like a piece of rubbish. She had never deserved him and he had deserved so very much more. Brienne charged, shoulder first, seeing Cersei's expression change to one of fear before she looked away. She braced, eyes closed, for the impact, prepared to carry both of them out of the window if need be, but she met against... nothing.

Long seconds passed, and still nothing. She felt frozen in time, floating. Then, a soft breeze began to play against her hair and she opened her eyes. She had no memory of falling, but she found herself lying prone, face pressed against damp grass and the smell of morning mist in the air. She was pierced by a stab of fear, as she thought of the baby inside her for the first time since this had all begun, but there was no pain – she appeared to be uninjured. Gingerly, she raised her head, but fog obscured all except the short expanse of ground that was right before her. She took her time getting to her feet, brushing the loose dirt from her damp clothing, hand lingering a second longer over her belly.

"I hope you're safe in there," she whispered, before stepping forward into the mist. As she walked it grew darker, and more menacing, the fog becoming clouds of swirling smoke, thick and cloying, clinging to her and chilling her to the bone, giving her the urge brush it away. Each time she did it just clung more fiercely, curling onto her face and making her cough.

Just when she felt she couldn't stand it any more, an encampment emerged out of the gloom, hazy torchlight bleeding into the murk that cloaked the world. A single striped tent loomed large before her, its cheerful colours muted, but still a stark contrast to the washed out darkness. Its unlaced flap gaped open, beckoning her inside.

She didn’t want to step in. She knew it, this tent, this time – in many ways this was where it all began, where she’d tasted failure for the first time; where she’d set off on a path that had entwined her with Jaime. Of course, she knew she had no choice but to go inside – she had to see this through, to watch these events unfold and embrace their inevitability.

As she entered, a sudden wind whipped the canvas, redoubling her sense of unease. She’d known Renly would be standing there, but seeing him very much alive as he turned to her with a smile was still a shock. She’d believed she loved him once – now that feeling was confused, but she still cared deeply for him even though he’d been gone for so many years. Also long dead, and also dear to her, Catelyn sat cross legged at the table with a glass of wine.

It warmed her heart to see them both again, but she knew she was looking at ghosts; at a moment far back in time that she had no desire to even recall, let alone relive. But she knew it was coming, as the swirling gale whipped against the tent once again. Her heart raced in her chest.

She walked over to Renly, drawing her sword as she did, determined to be ready this time – resolved to prevent the heinous injustice she'd failed to stop before. He appeared alarmed as she moved closer, but even as she lifted her free hand to calm him, the poisonous shadow began to creep beneath the canvas and she knew it was futile.

Even in dreams her sword could do nothing against the evil magic that wormed its way into a place that should have been safe; that she should have been able to keep safe. She saw that now. It didn't stop her from trying, pressing forward with her front foot to meet the shadow blade as it thrust forward – straight through the solid wood of hers before it pierced Renly’s ribcage with the same sickening wet crunch that had kept her awake for many a night afterwards.

She froze, tensing, as if the mere force of her will could change this; prevent it from happening again, but his body collapsed limp to the floor once more. She glanced to Catelyn, but there was no shock there – perhaps the other woman had also known what was going to happen. Her eyes were fixed on the corpse at Brienne's feet, wide and staring. Brienne didn’t want to look down – she knew what she would see, didn't want to feel that pain again, that sense of loss and failure, but she couldn't prevent her eyes from trailing down along the path of her sword as it fell to her side, until they met the scene below.

She felt the loss just as keenly, but the sense of failure was markedly absent. She knew now, as she hadn't all those years ago, that there really was nothing she could have done. She felt the power of the magic that had done this and she'd been unable to stand in its way. She looked at his face, frozen in shock, and she found herself wondering if he'd had any notion at all of what happened.

As she did, she felt a shiver flow down her spine – although clearly dead, his expression, no, his very features reformed before her eyes. His face changed, his eyes, his hair, and she watched in disbelief unable to tear her gaze away as he slowly stopped being Renly Baratheon and became… Jaime Lannister. She was breathing hard, her heart racing so fast she almost felt as if it would beat out of her chest.

She stared, wondering how many times she would be forced to endure this pain, when she saw spots of red start to appear on his skin. Confused, she leaned closer, then she realised they were dripping from her sword. Blood had run down the blade of her sword and fallen onto his face – and it seemed to be coming from within the wood itself.

Then, Jaime began to move – barely perceptible at first so she almost thought she was imagining it, but after a few seconds his beautiful eyes opened and he slowly rose to his feet. Brienne no longer knew what to think, other than she was happy beyond measure to see him standing whole beside her. She reached out an arm, using her sleeve to wipe away the blood that was now running down his face.

He smiled, warm and happy, and he reached down to wrap his fingers in hers. She allowed him to lead her – out of the tent into what was now blazing sunshine, not a trace of mist to be seen. She couldn’t help but squeeze his hand; to feel it solid and real in hers as they walked onwards. The world became white, and warm, bright sunshine licking soft flames towards them to brush against their skin.

Red stone steps unfolded before them; countless steps that seemed to reach into the sky. He paused, his hand dropping hers to press against the small of her back, encouraging her onwards. She turned to look at him, his beautiful smiling face filled her with happiness, but also the deepest melancholy. He nodded, inclining his head to indicate she go on without him. She made as if to turn back, but he pressed his hand firmer,

“Go on my love, you must finish this alone. Here, take my sword.” He handed her the wooden Widow’s Wail, and he read her confusion – she dropped her hand to her own sword as he continued, “Trust me, you’ll need it.”

She tried to take his hand again, tried to pull him to her – bereft at the very idea of letting him go, but he pressed his sword into her hand and she was forced to take it, pushing it into her belt once more.

“Go now. Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon.” Every hair on her body stood on end at his words, memories of all the times she’d felt this ethereal sensation pooling together, squeezing and churning into a mass of indefinable emotion in her gut. It really did make her believe she would see him again – in the real world, once she’d done whatever was necessary for her to leave this place.

First, the Red Witch Melisandre at Castle Black, then Bran in Winterfell on that painful night, and almost every minute since she’d set foot back in King's Landing, that feeling, that knowing, it all culminated here in this moment.

"He will need you before all this is over."

Perhaps that meant it wasn't over. Maybe she could still save him. She began to climb, trusting in all of it, trusting in Jaime as his hand slid away, leaving her with the strength, with the belief to keep stepping forward. She reached a heavy door and without hesitation she pushed it open.

She wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting – the only room she knew of with such a door was the Great Hall, a place she’d never seen. That was indeed where this was, but nothing like she’d envisioned it. She had no idea how much of the difference was her own poor imagination and how much was as a result of Daenerys’ attack, but the enormous Weirwood tree pushing its way up through the floor was due to neither of those things. Its branches spread wide across the span of the room, cascading vine like leaves down the thick pillars at either side. Water pooled still and dark at its feet.

The room was open to the sky, with swathes of wall and ceiling crumbled into rubble at one side. The infamous Iron Throne itself was melted away to nothing, thick, solid chunks of it petrified where it had cooled in its flow down the steps of the dais.

As far as she could tell, Brienne was alone in the room – she looked around, feeling a little uncertain, but it didn’t prevent her from moving forward, trying not to look at the faded blood stain on the floor at her feet.

Throughout her time in Winterfell, she’d found the godswood peaceful and welcoming, despite feeling no connection to the gods of old. She’d often managed to find a clarity there that had otherwise eluded her, so she’d come to think of it as a sort of sanctuary. She began to gain that same sense of ease now as she moved beneath the leaves.

Reaching the edge of the pool, the urge came upon her to sink her feet into the water. She sat briefly to remove her boots and on standing again, took a moment to flex her bare toes against the smooth marble. Taking a step forward, the cool water rippled over her tired feet – it felt heavenly.The trunk of the mighty Weirwood loomed before her, the deep ravines of its bark running upwards, vein-like. Right in the centre, just at her eye level, a huge cross appeared to have been hacked away. She was drawn towards it, moving through the deepening water, forced to wade as it rose above her knees. She reached the tree, tracing her fingers over the deep wounds in its flesh, feeling their shape. Then, she realised what they were, and she knew what she had to do. Far from mere vandalism, a pair of longswords had been carved from its wood – swords she carried at her belt.

She drew them, taking a moment to turn them in her hands before matching them to the tree’s wounds. For a second it seemed like nothing happened. Then, they began to feel light and cold in her hands where she pressed them into the trunk. Soft tendrils of ice crystallised outwards as the swords sealed themselves back into the trunk from which they had been hewn. She took a step backwards, watching as the entire tree froze and changed, the base of its trunk reforming into what became… a throne.

That was the moment she realised she was no longer alone.

“Thank you for returning my father’s sword.” He appeared as a child, and he walked down from the dais to take his seat on the throne, but she knew it was Bran nonetheless, “The two halves are reunited now as they were always supposed to be.” She acknowledged his words with a single sharp nod,

“Your Grace.” She moved up to his side, and he reached down to lift something into his lap. It was a book, and she recognised it instantly as he leafed through the pages to find the one he wanted,

“The story isn’t over. There’s still time.” The Book of Brothers gaped open, and she knew before she looked down that it was on Jaime’s page. When she did look, however, she was not met with the words she had penned in tears a few short hours ago. A single verse meandered in decorative script down the page.

“Warm sun did rise on lion’s pain,
So pure of heart through cruelty’s reign,
Their strength was seen in oaths fulfilled,
Though forged in hate, did favour build
To bond long sealed with ancient blade,
And cage now broken, debt shall be paid.”

She wanted to ask Bran, what it meant, but she already knew in her heart – understood every word, and the anxious excitement they brought burned bright and fierce below her heart. She turned back to him, wondering if he would show any reaction, but the scene was already beginning to dissolve and she was left floating in white mist once again.

^^^^^^^

Brienne opened her eyes to the room in near darkness, the fire burning low in the grate. Her hand still loosely clasped in Jaime's rested softly on the bed at his side; images of the dream she'd had swam vivid through her mind. It had all felt so very, very real.

She glanced at Jaime's face, almost with expectation – with the hope, after what she'd seen and heard, that he would simply awaken. But he was as still and cold as he had been when she drifted into sleep.

She stood, slowly, straightening out the stiffness in her back. The calmness, the peace, that had been resting over her all evening was even deeper now. It was the strangest feeling – she hadn't been so content since the day Jaime left Winterfell, but nothing had changed. He was still gone, and yet she knew something had been set in motion that was not yet complete. She felt it with a surety that almost frightened her - some power was at work that she didn't understand or know the origin of. She was compelled to speak, to talk to the man on the bed before her, even though she knew he couldn't hear her.

"Jaime? Jaime my love, it's time to wake up now. I need you. I'll always need you.” She leant down, planting a kiss on his lips before allowing her head to rest against his chest and arm wrap around him, as if she would hear his heart beating.

She didn't. She closed her eyes, scrunched them together as if she could will him back to life, as if the strange cryptic messages she'd received in her dream were more than just that. That it hadn’t been merely a dream.

"I dreamed of you my love. I dreamed you were coming back to me. I know it's true." She felt her own breathing as she nestled there against his chest, deeply in and out, in and out – wishing, praying for his chest to rise in answer. But he remained silent, still, resolute and stubborn as he had been before she went to sleep.

After a few more minutes, she rose back to her feet, disbelieving that nothing had changed. She'd really thought...

She suddenly felt foolish, to hope, to believe in what? That she could perform magic? She shouldn't have been so naive as to get her hopes up just to have them dashed once again. But for just one heart-stopping moment she’d believed fairy tales could be real. That goodness and love and redemption truly existed in this world in spite of everything.

She moved away from him, gathering her belongings from around the room, her armour and sword belt she left on the back of the chair to be retrieved in the morning – there was little point carrying all that weight upstairs to her new permanent quarters.

Her legs felt heavier with every step up the stone stairs, the sense that she was leaving something unfinished still lingering, but the rational part of her mind couldn't bring itself to sit beside Jaime any longer, praying for a dream that would never come true.

She reached the top floor – she wondered if Bran had considered the logic of her moving to the traditional Lord Commander’s rooms in her present condition. She'd been so surprised by the honour she hadn't thought to question it, but she now felt utterly exhausted after the climb. She collapsed on top of the bed without undressing and quickly fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

^^^^^^^

In the bedchamber far below, dawn began to creep its way slowly, quietly, through the window. All was still, the fire reduced to ash and a dull glow in the hearth, its dying warmth soon to be replaced by the sleepy heat of the day. There was nothing to suggest this was anything other than just the start of another morning, until the silence was broken by a sharp gasp.

Then, Jaime Lannister opened his eyes.

Chapter 19: Wake Up With the Sun on My Face

Chapter Text

Jaime breathed deep and fast for a few moments, his heart racing unevenly in his chest. He’d woken with a jolt, as if there’d been a loud noise but the room was completely quiet. He supposed it was possible something in a dream had startled him, but he couldn’t recall dreaming anything since he’d last drifted off.

He felt strange and everything around him looked hazy. He tried to work out where he was – he could see very little of his surroundings without lifting his head, and yet instinct told him that this was somewhere very familiar. His mind felt fuzzy and slow – thinking was hard so he could barely process what he was looking at. All he knew was he'd lain on this bed before, many times.

Every part of him ached, but it was now with fatigue and not the relentless choking pain he'd been gripped by for what felt like forever. He also felt mercifully cooler despite the warmth of the room – the fever had passed. Was he really going to live in spite of it all?

He tried to lift his head but quickly felt a blinding wave of dizziness – he allowed it to drop heavily back to the pillow. In the brief time he'd held it up, however, he’d managed to work out where he was – in his old room in the White Sword Tower. He was confused – it didn't make sense that he would be in this room, under any circ*mstances he could think of; particularly completely alone and lying fully clothed on top of the bed covers, his sword resting on the bed beside him.

He couldn’t guess at how much time had passed, but the way the light fell softly through the window onto his face told him it was was morning. He stretched – he could feel his toes, and realised how long it had been since that had last been the case. His body was so stiff he knew he must have been asleep for days, but it was a relief to finally feel something other than just pain – to breathe freely without fearing every breath would be his last.

He ran his hand over every part of himself that he could reach – everything seemed in place, aside from an odd cramping around his stomach, which could be due to the length of time since he'd eaten properly. Memories of someone pouring broth into his burning throat made him shudder and clench his jaw closed - he knew it was necessary to keep him alive, but it had brought him intense discomfort. He wondered again at the fact he was now alone – along with whoever had nursed him, Tyrion had been here.

His brother’s presence was the one thing that he knew had been real, amongst the memories and feelings that had poured relentlessly through his mind. He was the one who had saved Jaime from his crushing prison, and his heart ached to hold him. He wanted to tell him all he had come to realise, everything Tyrion had tried to tell him for years which he'd dismissed and ignored. How different life would have been if he'd listened to his brother.

Brienne’s face formed, vivid in his mind, and his stomach clenched at the feelings she brought to the surface. He desperately wanted to see her - he had so much to say; so much to apologise for. The need to get back to Winterfell as soon as possible burned in his chest – he had to tell her he loved her and that he wanted to be with her always.

He raised his head again, pushing through the head rush and the tingling in his limbs; forcing himself stubbornly to his feet despite his body feeling like it was on fire - burning with fatigue as if he'd sparred all day. He tried to take a step, but his legs gave way beneath him and he crashed to the floor, breath rasping with effort.

After what felt like hours, that was where Tyrion found him.

^^^^^

When Brienne awoke, the sun was already high in the sky and streaming through the window – indeed it was likely the light and warmth on her face that had finally woken her. Her head felt awful – she had no idea what time she'd finally fallen into bed, but she could tell she hadn't had nearly enough sleep. She rose slowly, peeling off her damp, sweaty tunic and throwing it to the floor.

She really needed to wash, and fortunately there was fresh water on the washstand - it was cold, but that was pleasant on her hot skin as she dipped the flannel and ran it over her neck. The lucid dream she'd had whilst she slept beside Jaime still played sharply in her thoughts, followed by a labyrinth of feelings. She'd never had a dream anything like that before, and it was hard to believe it was meaningless. She'd seen magic with her own eyes more than once; experienced it at work for both good and ill, and she knew what it felt like. Perhaps she'd expected too much, but the lingering sensation that last night’s revelations were still unfinished refused to leave her.

Feeling much fresher, she dried herself and tossed the towel onto the back of the chair. She was beginning to grow accustomed to these simple luxuries once more – most people of her status took such things for granted, but she'd survived without them for many years whilst the road had been her home. She’d lived that way without second thought, but she was very thankful she didn’t have to sleep on the ground and bathe in the river in her current condition.

She stretched, reaching her arms towards the distant ceiling, accompanied by a chorus of crunches from her neck and back. As she dropped her hands back to her sides, she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the far side of the room. She gasped in shock – the modest curve of her belly appeared to have doubled in size overnight. The child that had been largely a vague and nebulous thing was suddenly a very visible reality. She rubbed a soft hand over her stomach, marvelling at the miracle that was happening within her. If she was searching for evidence of magic she didn't need to look any further than this.

"Hello little one. I suppose this means you're ready for the world to know you're in here?" Brienne couldn't honestly say she was similarly ready – she wished she could feel happier, more excited, and she was both of those things, but they were tempered by fear. Bran had promised she, and the child, would be taken care of and she didn't doubt his sincerity, but she still harboured so much uncertainty about what was to come. She imagined most women in her condition were afraid of giving birth, but to her that was the least of what she had to face. Physical pain was one thing that held no fear for her at all – it was merely endurance and she’d proven her capability on that score many times over.

Her mind wandered back many years to when Catelyn had talked to her of that pain – back then she hadn't imagined she would ever birth a child, least of all one fathered by the man Catelyn would commit to her charge not long after. She wondered what Lady Stark would make of all this – she held Jaime in as much scorn as anyone else, more even after what he'd done to her son and, by association, her husband. What would she think of Brienne and her choices if she could see her now? Catelyn had also talked to her extensively about love, so she had to hope the Lady would understand, even if she didn’t approve. It had been gratifying to see her again in dreams, however briefly. She hoped that whatever came after this life, wherever her Lady was now, she was at peace.

She allowed her hand to linger a few moments longer on her belly, staring at the figure reflected in the glass – she barely recognised her own body. She’d trained hard for years, pushed herself beyond what even she believed she was capable of. Her every muscle had been toned and firm; this new softness was hard to get used to. In some ways it almost felt like a failure, but she fought against that feeling – she had a new set of challenges now, and she would meet them head on. There was something, someone, more important than her fitness and martial prowess.

She turned away from the mirror, retrieving a fresh tunic from her small trunk at the foot of the bed. She pulled it on, glancing back to the glass again to see how visible her newly prominent belly was – the material that had previously fitted loose was taut across her stomach. She rummaged in the trunk again – packed in the bottom was the gambeson she'd worn with her old armour, before she'd received the gifted set from Jaime. It was a long time since she'd worn it, but she knew it was well padded and fit looser than any of her other clothes. She buckled into it, and was satisfied that her condition would now not be immediately obvious to the casual onlooker.

She wasn't sure if she'd still fit into her new armour now; she and Bran had both known she would only be able to wear it for a limited time, but she hadn't expected the moment to come quite this soon. She’d have to discuss suitable alternatives with him, but that prospect came with a whole world of mental obstacles she’d have to confront in the coming days.

A formal schedule of duties hadn't yet been drawn up – the King had given Brienne and Podrick a few days to settle in, and for Brienne to come to terms with… Jaime, before formally taking up their commissions. Brienne wasn’t sure Jaime's death was something she’d ever fully come to terms with, but she’d perform her duties nonetheless. Bran would be guarded by some of the Stark men until the departure of those who were returning to Winterfell – a few may remain to take up permanent positions in the Kingsguard, but they would discuss those appointments in due course.

So, for now, she was free to do as she wished – perhaps not the best thing for her present state of mind, which would be better served with set tasks to perform. Even sparring, her default activity for any free time, was firmly off the table. She sighed; her immediate impulse was to return to Jaime, but at some point she had to let go – to stop her dreaming, her childish pretending and start to move forward. She turned to the nightstand, picking up the comb she'd left there and dragging it through her hair, whilst considering how to spend the day.

As she did she glanced up at the window. Sitting on the outer windowsill was a white raven. There was nothing tied to its leg – it was merely sitting there, preening itself, fluffing out its feathers in the morning sun. When it noticed her it looked directly at her and cawed loudly before taking off. She felt compelled to rush to the window, to see which direction it flew, but when she got there, there was no sign of it. She rubbed her eyes, searching the courtyard but the bird was gone.

She was certain she hadn't needed any more odd sensations which made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck; any more cryptic signs that unseen powers were at work, but apparently someone or something thought she did. Tossing the comb onto the bed she left the room and made her way to the stairs.

^^^^^

Jaime watched the door open as he lay collapsed in an aching heap. Time seemed to slow – he had no idea whether the person entering the room would be friend or foe, so he breathed out with relief when he saw the familiar shape of his little brother. His racing heart began to settle, and the tension in his muscles to ease.

But instead of rushing to Jaime's side to see if he was all right, or calling for help from beyond the door, Tyrion merely froze in his tracks. Jaime had long moments to observe the shock on his brother's face, and he could only describe it as total and utter disbelief. He'd never seen him so dumbstruck, not at the children's deaths, not when he'd been dragged away in chains, not even when he'd killed their father and his whor*. Jaime couldn't fathom what was going through his brother's thoughts, and it wasn't just due to the haze that was still clouding his mind. Something had shaken Tyrion to his core. Finally he couldn’t stand the silence any longer,

"Well say something.” His brother didn’t even appear to register he had spoken, remaining slack-jawed and staring. Louder and with greater urgency, Jaime added, "I could do with some help here."

His words finally seemed to snap Tyrion into action, and he disappeared beyond the door for a moment – Jaime heard snippets of a whispered conversation before his brother returned. Tyrion moved over to his side, but he was still behaving oddly – he didn't ask if Jaime was hurt or check him over, he just ran a gentle hand over his brother's face, continuing to stare, eyes wide. Jaime's stomach was gripped with a strange anxiety.

"Tyrion, are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost." His brother laughed – high and hard, and Jaime's anxiety became real concern. Tyrion seemed almost hysterical. It took several long, worrying moments for him to calm down before he finally answered,

"I have seen a ghost. I'm looking at one." Jaime's confusion deepened and Tyrion must have read it right from his face, "You've got no idea have you? Jaime, you died."

The second the words left Tyrion’s mouth, images started to assault Jaime's mind. Flames crept up the sides of his vision, and a tower loomed before him, the walls running with blood. He reached out, grasping for Tyrion's hand, and his brother took it, his face coming into sharp focus as the images faded away. Tyrion's shock was gone, his features now creased with concern.

"I don't know what’s happening." Jaime could hear his own voice – strangled and trembling with fear. His head still felt strange, as if he was watching everything from far away. He’d died!? What the hell did Tyrion even mean – the words didn’t make any sense to him. Surely they’d made a mistake.

"Neither do I, all I know is you're alive and that's more than enough for me right now." Two more figures entered through the open doorway, and they both stopped dead when they saw Jaime just as Tyrion had done.

"Well f*ck me!” Bronn’s unmistakeable tones, harsh as ever, rolled unapologetically into the room, "I thought that guard was taking the piss but here you are, Jaime f*cking Lannister, nine lives like a gods-damned cat." The other person who'd entered the room remained silent but, squinting through his hazy vision, Jaime made out the form of Davos. His expression was less one of shock and more of curiosity. It was a look which suggested to Jaime that the Onion Knight had some knowledge of what was happening to him. Given the time he'd spent with the Red Witch, Jaime's curiosity was piqued. After a few seconds to gather themselves, the two men moved over to lift Jaime back onto the bed, propping him up on the pillows.

"Did you summon the Maester?" Tyrion's face was still creased with worry.

"Aye, not that I imagine this is within his usual realm of experience." Davos squinted at Jaime appraisingly, and his sense that the man knew more than he was letting on intensified, "Ser Jaime what do you remember?"

Jaime cast his thoughts inward, cautiously after his unsettling vision. He barely knew where to begin explaining all he’d been through whilst he lay dying. The memories were hazy – so much of his life had been stirred up and jumbled together it all seemed a blur. He’d made so many mistakes and endured so many heartaches and for what? Someone who he'd been too blind to see through – so smitten he'd failed to realise how badly she'd treated him for years. Tyrion had been right - deep down he’d always known what she was, but he’d still believed she loved him; that it was the two of them against the world. Now he knew now how wrong he’d been. Through all that pain shone the one person who'd helped him break away, who'd shown him who he really was; who he could be.

The flames returned, but he leaned into them this time instead of shrinking away, felt their warmth – the same warmth Brienne had brought into his life. He saw her take his hand, run to his side, over and over; she'd saved him so many times before that he knew with certainty she'd saved him once again. Maybe he really had died, but somehow she'd pulled him out of the dark, back from the precipice; given him the chance to make things right, and that was exactly what he was going to spend the rest of his life doing. How did he now explain that? How did he answer Davos' question in a way that didn't make him sound like some kind of raving mad man?

"I dreamed – so many things I can hardly make sense of them. I saw blood, and flames." It was an impossibly vague way to put across what he'd experienced, but it appeared to be enough for Davos, who pressed his lips together with a frown and gave a barely perceptible nod,

"I've seen this before. The Red Witch, at Castle Black,” he said cryptically. He reached a hand toward Jaime's shirt, raising an eyebrow to request permission to lift it. Jaime had no idea what he was looking for but he had respect for the man and if he thought he had answers Jaime wanted to know them; he nodded back his consent.

Davos flipped back the material to reveal a series of deep stab wounds in Jaime’s pale stomach – knitted together with stitches, but gaping open more than healed wounds should, whilst free of blood or infection. There was a chorus of gasps – even Bronn, who'd once told Jaime he'd seen everything and could never be surprised again, looked rather taken aback. Jaime stared at flesh his mind couldn't recognise as his own – his hand trembled as he reached out to run it over the wounds, tensing, but there was no pain. Either he really had been brought back by some magical means or he was still dreaming, and this didn't feel anything like a dream. Davos continued,

"I saw Melisandre raise Jon Snow from death and it was very much like this. This is the work of gods – but as to who brought it about..."

"Jon Snow? I never heard the full story of what happened there." Tyrion looked intrigued – Jaime wasn't sure why his brother was so concerned about the Dragon Queen's consort, but he was glad of the momentary distraction. It made him realise he had no clear knowledge of what had happened since the battle – he didn’t doubt Daenerys had been victorious and was now firmly seated on the Iron Throne with Snow beside her, but he couldn’t fathom how Tyrion had persuaded her to allow him to be dragged from the rubble. More to the point, to subsequently have his body brought here of all places. He burned to know the answers, but there was time enough for all that later, once he felt less groggy, once his remarkable recovery started to make any sort of sense.

The jumbled sound of voices discussing Jon Snow at volume suddenly ebbed away, and Jaime looked up to see Podrick Payne enter the room, mouth agape as he stared directly at him with an expression that was becoming all too familiar.

“It’s true!" he exclaimed, the look of shock still frozen on his face. Tyrion, on the other hand, cast an irritated glance at the guard standing just outside the door,

“Is this round the whole castle!? I told you to be discreet.”

"I didn't breathe a word m'Lord, only to these two as directed.” The poor man looked terrified, gesturing to Bronn and Davos. Tyrion sighed, annoyed, and shot a final warning glance at the man before shutting the door firmly. His gaze flicked back to Jaime with a strange uneasiness in his eyes, before settling on Pod.

"Where’s Brienne?" He half-whispered it, as if he could keep Jaime from hearing, but the words travelled straight to Jaime’s heart, gripping it with fear and excitement. That was when he realised Pod’s presence should have told him his love was also in King's Landing. His mind was still clouded - he couldn't think straight and even the most obvious things were passing him by.

"She’s here!?" He searched the room as if he’d find her, and his eyes fell on a familiar sword belt and scabbard hooked over a chair at the table; they answered his question. There was also a set of Kingsguard armour on the back of the chair – his muddled brain managed to register Pod was wearing the same familiar regalia of the white cloaks. There was nothing about this morning that made sense. All he knew was he needed to find Brienne right now, and then everything would fall into place – he was already rising from the bed, fighting the haze. But Bronn reacted with lightening speed, pinning him down,

"Come on you idiot. You're in no fit state to go anywhere. I’m sure we can have her fetched here if you're so desperate to see her." Jaime stopped struggling, but he looked to his brother with urgency – he didn’t want to beg but he would if he had to. Pod glanced quickly between the two of them before addressing Tyrion,

"But he doesn't know anything about what's going on. About her position or the b… " Tyrion cut him off in mid flow,

"I think, Pod, those are things we should allow her to tell Ser Jaime herself." His look was very pointed. Clearly a lot more had transpired than Jaime had initially guessed, and he wanted to know about all of it. Right now though, he just wanted to see her; wanted to hold her, if she'd let him. Pod nodded, abashed, holding his tongue on saying more,

"She’s still abed. She must have retired very late – I don't know what time but she was determined to continue sitting up when I left."

"Someone should talk to her before she finds out for herself." Tyrion’s words were suffixed by the clear sound of the door opening. Bronn was already facing that direction, still poised over the bed to prevent Jaime making any further attempts to leave. As the others turned, he said,

"I think it's a bit late for that." Pod stepped back to give Brienne a clear view of the bed, and all their eyes were on her as she stared at Jaime, eyes filled with wonder rather than shock.

"I knew it was real!" she breathed, before her knees gave way and she grasped for a chair.

Chapter 20: Enough to Go By

Chapter Text

Brienne gripped the back of the chair until her knuckles turned white, head bowed and knees shaking with the effort of remaining upright, but she refused to collapse to the floor for the second time in as many days. She wished, in this of all moments, she could trust her legs to hold her up – prayed that this body which felt increasingly less familiar by the day would not fail her again. She looked up to see the walls of the room closing in on her vision – it made the already impossible scenario in front of her feel even less real. She forced herself to breathe through the invisible band that had tightened itself around her chest.

"Well I think we have an answer as to who did this…” Brienne had no idea who had spoken, and she didn't much care. The room was crowded with people, but she only had eyes for Jaime - he was half-sitting up in the bed, and he was very much alive. After all she’d been through in the past weeks, somehow, from somewhere, she’d been gifted a beautiful miracle, and she had no idea who or what to thank for it; for him.

Ever since she’d seen the image of him holding their child in the fire last evening, and with more certainty than she'd ever possessed about anything, she'd known that he would be returned to her, and no rational thought since had been able to shake that conviction. It scared her, a deep, consuming fear that shook the foundations of everything she'd thought was true, but she was overjoyed to have her every belief shattered just to see him breathing once again. She’d always tried to forge her own way in life – to be wholly independent and to prove women could be so much more than merely a warm bed for men to come home to after blood and glory, but right now none of that mattered. The elation she felt forced her to admit he was her everything.

Likewise, his eyes were fixed on her, a softness in them that held a thousand thoughts and feelings, filling her insides with butterflies and casting the tatters of her resolve to the earth. He looked so young and so vulnerable, thinner than he’d been all those weeks ago, with his five o'clock shadow and his hair long and fair as a babe's. It turned her thoughts back to his child, nestled within her, and she resisted the urge drop a hand to her belly.

She couldn't begin to describe how it felt to see him there, breathing, his blue-green gaze washing over her like the sea – it was everything she'd dreamed and more, but her heart was still so sore her desperate relief was edged with pain; her stomach remaining knotted in a tight ball. There was a lot to be said, a lot to tell him, and she had no idea where to begin with any of it. The one thing she did know was that she needed all of these people to leave so she could kiss him; press her face into his neck and just breathe him in – to let the comforting weight of his arms fall around her and hide from all the difficult things she needed to say. Since entering the room she'd barely registered who else was present, but when Tyrion spoke words he seemed to have read straight from her mind, she could have kissed him too,

"May I suggest we all give Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime some space – I’m certain they have much to discuss. There will be plenty of time for the hows, whys and wherefores later." His eyes were bright with joy – he must have been equally desperate for time with his brother but he was giving way to her once again. She was immeasurably grateful, and that gratitude was mirrored in Jaime's look toward Tyrion – his obvious desire to be alone with her clenched her stomach all the more. Everyone filed out of the room – Brienne only realised Pod was present when he gently squeezed her shoulder as he moved past; she leaned into the welcome contact, shooting him a half-smile and whispering, "We’ll talk later."

Every instinct she possessed urged her to bolt straight to Jaime's side, but she forced herself to be measured; she managed to hold back to just hasty strides before her lips fell on his. He answered her with the same hunger, his tongue searching out hers eagerly as he pulled her against him. She hated the thick padding between them in that moment, wishing she could feel his taut chest press flush against her breasts, but that tiny part of her mind not driven by need was glad of it. She wasn't ready for him to know about the baby yet – had to have this moment be solely about their simple need of each other before all the pain, loss and complexity got in the way. And for those few blissful seconds it really did feel that simple, as if everything could go back to the way it was, and all that heartache could just be forgotten. But it couldn't. She could feel it, the hurt and anger trying to force its way out as if it would start to bleed through her skin.

He pulled away first, his hand on her arm and eyes searching her face – for what? For her forgiveness? All she'd wanted since the second he left was to have him back; for her child to have its father – she'd made every imaginable excuse for him in her head and explained away his actions to others many times. But now he was here in front of her, asking her for the same absolution she'd created endlessly for him since the day he left, she couldn't give it to him. As badly as she wanted him, she couldn’t allow herself to forgive him so easily for all he'd put her through. Then he spoke,

"I love you." She’d prayed, day after day, to hear those words, whispered them to her pillow at night, and then into his ear as he lay before her, cold and still. She wanted them to melt her rage away, wanted to make peace with the fact he'd had to have all this happen to realise it. But they didn’t, and she couldn't.

"Then why did you leave?" Her voice came out flat and barely above a whisper; she didn’t know how she’d controlled it – she wanted to shout, to scream out the question that had been churning around in her head for so long, gnawing at the edges of her sanity. It seemed like she’d come up with a million possible explanations and reasons through the past weeks, and now she needed to know. Had to finally hear what had been in his mind when he'd made that choice; when he'd cast her aside like she was nothing to him.

He tried to pull her back to him, but she pressed him away. He’d hidden behind his name, behind his good looks and charm, all his life – if he wanted a future with her she needed him to confront his actions, to take responsibility for them and face the consequences. To acknowledge what he'd done to her – the woman he claimed to love; the woman who, he would soon find out, was to be the mother of his child. She saw the moment he realised there was no escape this time; saw fear reflex to his face, just for a split second, before he hid it away,

"Cersei needed me. I swore to always protect her." The fact he explained it like that, with talk of vows, made it harder to be angry and gave her at least a sliver of understanding, but it didn’t erase the hurt. She'd hoped there was more, told herself he'd had some other plan when he got to King's Landing, but it really was that simple. He really had chosen Cersei over her. She hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to break any more, but the battered pieces which remained were rendered dust by his words.

“I needed you." She tried to keep the quavering out of her voice – she wanted, needed him to know how much he'd hurt her, but the lifelong instinct not to appear weak was hard to break. Guarding her feelings had never been her strongest suit, but pregnancy had made controlling those emotions even harder. She was growing tired of being a burden to others; others who held her up willingly, despite their own need of her strength, but she really had needed Jaime, so very much. He dipped his eyes, cowed by the immediacy of her pain,

“Not like she did. I wanted to stay, believe me, but she's not strong like you. I couldn't bear the idea of her dying alone." Did he not know her at all? Had she hidden what she really felt for him that well? It wasn't like she hadn't always known how much Cersei meant to him but she'd hoped, believed, what had grown between them over the years was something more. That what they'd had was real, unlike the warped fantasy Cersei had sold him all his life.

"Is that what you really think of me? That I’m just ice inside – too cold and too ugly to have any feelings? I love you Jaime and I need you every bit as much as Cersei did.” He looked back up at her then, his face creased with sorrow. Despite everything, it still pained her to hurt him; cut her deeply to know it was she who’d made him feel that way. He lifted his hand to run it over her cheek and she let him – it was exquisitely painful to feel his gentle touch, his love, and yet she wanted it with everything she had.

"No, no, Brienne, please, I’m so sorry. I never thought anything like that – I could never think that about you. You're perfect to me." It would be so easy, just to give in to him, to avoid all this anguish. Cersei was gone now and here he was alive and all hers if she just allowed him to be, but her anger and hurt had to go somewhere, she couldn't just brush them aside like that. The last thing she wanted was to compromise her own feelings to spare his and end up resenting him – she still needed answers.

"I need to know why you chose to leave like that. You could have talked to me, explained what was in your head. You slept in my bed every night for a month, let me believe we had a future – the very least I deserved was the truth and you were going to leave without so much as a word...” It poured out of her, everything she'd had swirling endlessly around her mind for weeks, torturing her and keeping her awake at night. She’d had to face his death and the denial of any chance to get answers from him – now that chance had been returned to her she couldn't hold back. His crestfallen look deepened,

"I didn't want to risk you following me. I wanted you to be safe. And... I felt guilty. For leaving, but not just for that… there's more.” He shifted his weight on the bed, struggling to hold himself up on just his good arm – she wanted to help him, but she could sense he needed this moment of space from her uncompromising gaze. When he met it again, he took her hand, his eyes burning with resolve, “There’s something I didn't tell you, but I have to be honest now – I have to tell you everything. Cersei... we… were together before I left for Winterfell. She was… there was a baby. I had to try and save my child."

He searched her face for a reaction - she was immeasurably glad Tyrion had already told her, because she didn't know how she'd have handled finding out like this, in this moment when she was already so filled with conflicting emotion she might burst. She'd imagined many times how she would tell him, wondered how it would play out when the moment finally came. Now he'd given her the perfect opportunity and she felt herself baulk; he'd been honest with her, now she had to do the same for him. But she couldn't keep her pain out of what she’d so wanted to be a special, beautiful moment between them,

"And what about our baby Jaime?” She watched his face crease with confusion, then realisation slowly dawned – shock was followed by wonder, then he released his breath, sharply, but his smile failed to entirely mask his sorrow,

"You're... pregnant!?” She couldn’t respond in any other way than to nod, before it all became too much and she was forced to turn away – it meant she barely heard the whispered words that followed,

“Gods, I’m so sorry.”

^^^^^^^^^

Jaime's heart raced unforgivingly in his chest – was this really happening? Had Brienne, the woman he now realised was the love of his life, who’d seemingly found a way to bring him back from the dead, really just told him she was carrying his child? He was overcome by joy, and shame. He knew she'd be heartbroken when he left her crying in Winterfell's courtyard all those weeks ago, begging him to stay; knew because it destroyed a part of him to do it, but he’d never even considered the chance he was leaving her with such a burden. He thought he'd been freeing her of one – saving her from a lifelong association with one such as him. Now he knew he'd been within a hairsbreadth of condemning her, and their unborn baby, to far worse. It all but killed him again to think of her like that, pregnant and alone, abandoned by the man she loved, who she’d believed loved her. Any semblance of honour he’d once possessed was long dead, but what kind of man did that make him, truly?

He didn't have the first idea how to begin making amends for what he'd done. All he could think to do was make it clear to her how much he loved her, wanted and needed her – to spell out the commitment he was prepared to make. He'd imagined saying what he was about to say countless times as he lay dying, delirious with fever and trapped in the prison of his own mind, but never like this,

"Marry me." She had her back to him – he wished he could see her face but the fact he couldn't meant for one long, beautiful second he could pretend his pathetic, wholly inadequate sorry was enough, and everything would be all right. When she turned back around her expression was flat, unreadable; she’d unbuckled the arming jacket she was wearing and shrugged it off, throwing it on the back of a chair. Now she'd removed it he could see why she'd had it on – the garment did a very effective job of disguising her early but obvious pregnancy. She moved back towards him, with a hesitancy, a shyness he’d only seen once before – the night they’d made love for the first time. She clearly felt intensely vulnerable like this, and in spite of everything she trusted him with that vulnerability. He was humbled beyond words.

His eyes were fixed on her stomach – he badly wanted to touch her but he had no idea if she'd let him. As it was, when she reached him she took his hand herself and placed it there. He ran it over the swell of her belly a few times, before pushing beneath the hem of her tunic to feel her skin, warm and smooth under his fingers. He felt her tense but she didn't stop him – she dropped to sit beside him on the bed, so he didn't have to reach. This was his child inside her, too small yet for him to feel it move, but he already knew in the few short moments he’d known of its existence he loved it, and he would do right by it this time, whatever that took. He fought to chase away the inevitable thoughts of his other children, how he’d been a terrible father and repeatedly failed them all – but there was nothing to be gained by torturing himself with those memories.

Brienne brought him back into the present when she ran a soft hand over his hair – the affection in the gesture touched him somewhere deep in his core; a place no-one else had ever been able to reach, that he himself hadn’t even known existed before her. It was only when he tried to move his hand higher, to brush the curve of her breast, that she finally stopped him and he fully registered she had given no answer to his question. He knew no way forward other than to ask it again, looking her in the eye this time, laying the full expanse of his heart bare before her,

"Will you marry me?” Her eyes closed as she dropped her head and sighed – a single tear escaping to run down her cheek.

"I wish you wouldn't ask Jaime, not now, not like this. I'm not going to marry you just because I’m pregnant with your child, whatever the world expects of me. I need to figure out if it’s what I really want first. Besides, there are other considerations now. It’s… complicated." He didn’t know what other complications there could be, but there would be time enough later to hear about everything that had happened whilst he’d been... away. All he cared about right now was her, and the baby. As to not being sure if she wanted him, he couldn't blame her; couldn't imagine what she'd been through all these weeks believing she'd have to bring up his bastard child alone. He would never forgive himself for putting her through that, no matter what happened. If he was truly honest, he didn’t want her to take him back that easily either – he deserved to be punished for what he done, to be made to atone for all the pain he’d caused. It was high time.

"I understand, but I needed you to know it’s what I want. It's all I want – and not just because of the baby, because I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. What you and I have – it's real. I see that now." She looked up at him again – her eyes were still damp with tears; tears he'd caused,

"I'm not saying I don't love you too - if I didn't it wouldn't all hurt so damn much - but I'm confused. I couldn't be more relieved and glad that you're alive, and you're here with me, but I don't know how to look at you and not feel pain. You tore my heart out Jaime – I thought I'd lost you. You left me. You left us." When she said the word 'us’, her hand strayed to her belly, almost without thought. He ached to place his own hand over it, but he had to allow her the space to finish; to let her tell him exactly what he’d done to her, "I never even came close to opening myself up to someone as much as I did to you. I thought we were something special and I can't just pretend you didn't choose Cersei over what we had. It cut me so deeply that after everything we went through together, you'd still rather die with her than live with me. I need time. To work through it all." Of course she did – it was the very least she could ask of him, time, but it still hurt him; frightened him. What if she never wanted him back? He'd have find a way to deal with that, somehow. He'd still be here for her, for their child, no matter what was to come. He'd start by showing her even more of his heart,

“I suppose a part of me was scared, that I wouldn't be enough for you. That I was damaged; tainted. I didn't think I deserved to be happy." He'd never laid himself open like this; well, perhaps he had once, secretly in the night with the stars as witness – and that was also to her. She dropped a hand to his shoulder – she looked so sad, and he didn't know if it was for him or her, or both of them.

"What about what I wanted? What about what I deserved?” Her words were like a punch to the gut. She was right – he was just beginning to recognise the true depth of his past selfishness. He would change, he vowed it to himself in that moment, and he would do everything necessary to prove it to her, “You have to promise me Jaime, whatever happens between us from here on you have to be honest with me. Tell me what you're feeling, don't try and hide from it. Relationships are about trust – if I can't trust you then what do we have?” She was being so gentle with him, as gentle as she could bring herself to be and he was undeserving of this kindness. If it was possible to love her even more, he did.

"I swear it. I won’t keep anything from you again. I had a lot of time, to think, while I was lying in that rubble. It made me question everything, my whole life – I realised I’d been living a lie for years, maybe forever. If I could go back and change things I would stay in Winterfell, with you, but I can't undo what I’ve done; none of it. I can only make sure it’s different from now on. So I'm here for you in every way you need – you, and our baby. If you'll let me be." It felt good, to share himself like this - to have someone who listened; someone who cared. He’d spent so long hiding, putting himself aside, trying to keep the peace, he hadn’t known how to do anything else, but she’d shown him a way out and he was going to grasp it with everything he had.

"Of course I will. I'll always need you Jaime, no matter what we are to each other, and you have to know that I would never keep you from your child.” She was too good to him. He had no idea how fate thought he could deserve such as her after everything he'd done. Not only that, when he'd thrown it all away, someone, somewhere had seen fit to give her the strength to bring him back. He wasn't going to f*ck things up this time. He was going to make everything right if it took until his last breath.

Brienne kicked off her boots and moved nearer to him on the bed – he could sense her need for closeness, and he shuffled over so she had room to lie down beside him, wrapping his arms around her as she snuggled her head into his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes soft and unguarded,

"I’ve been hoping such a long time for answers, but I feel like I only have more questions. I’m so tired – right now, I just want to sleep in your arms. I've missed you so much. Is that all right? Can we leave what comes next until later?" Curled up against him, the curve of her belly pressed against his side, she felt nothing short of perfect. He'd give her a lifetime to work out what came next if she allowed him this. Hells, he was going to give her a lifetime regardless,

"Oh my darling, of course. I missed you too. Sleep now, I'll be here when you wake up." He planted a kiss on her forehead and pulled her a shade tighter against him, "I’ll always be here."

Chapter 21: All You Had To Do Was Stay

Chapter Text

Brienne awoke curled against Jaime's side – he was shifting beneath her and it had disturbed her from her peaceful slumber. She realised immediately that she was far too hot, but the last thing she wanted to do was move away from the indescribable bliss of his embrace.

It was real. He was really here and he was really alive. She’d half expected to wake up and find herself alone in her own room, and for all that had happened since last evening to be one of the many fantasies she'd had whilst they'd been apart. But he was warm, solid and undeniable beside her, and for all the dragons and giants and walking dead men that had become a part of every day over the past few years, him lying there with his chest rising and falling was the most astonishing thing she'd ever seen.

She’d slept so soundly – judging by the light still streaming into the room, it could only have been for an hour or so, but she felt more rested than she had since the last time she'd lain in his arms. The overwhelming comfort and safety she felt there was very, very welcome, but it would do nothing to help her unknot her tangled mass of confused emotions.

Their earlier conversation played in her head, hazy and unreal. Had he really asked her to marry him and had she really refused? The thought of that moment had been her most cherished dream for years now, but the reality had been nothing like her romantic fantasies. She’d hadn’t allowed herself to truly believe he would ever ask her, let alone that she would refuse him when he finally did. Was her response something she would live to regret? She knew in her heart her dearest hope was she’d find a way through the pain, and that if he ever asked her again she’d be able to say yes.

But able was the important word – not only by her own feelings but also by obligation. She had to remind herself that even if she could, in time, let go of everything that had happened since he'd left Winterfell, she had other responsibilities now, other commitments. She’d sworn herself to the king, and honour would never allow her to renege on that, no matter how circ*mstances had changed since she'd made her pledge.

Of course Jaime didn’t know that yet – carrying the secret weighed on her but she knew she wasn’t quite ready to tell him; needed a little longer for them to breathe before adding yet another layer to their complex situation. She had no idea how he was going to react – she hoped he would be pleased for her; tell her she deserved the historic honour of being the first woman to hold such a position. The part of her which remembered how he'd allowed his heart to guide his head so many times in the past wasn't so sure…

He moved again, with a soft moan this time, and her eyes shot to his face worried that he was unwell, but his cares were smoothed by sleep and she realised he was merely dreaming. She wished she could see what he was seeing; felt a sharp, desperate need to be that close to him again – her mind travelling back to the night before when somehow they'd dreamed as one. His face creased into a smile – whatever he was dreaming about it was clearly pleasant.

Then he moaned again, followed by an utterance of her name, deep and breathy, that travelled straight to her core, twinging heat between her legs and forcing her to press them together. She now knew exactly what he was dreaming about and it scared and thrilled her in equal measure. Her stomach clenched tightly – the overwhelming feelings evoked memories of the first time they'd lain together, as if she was a maid once more; although her belly straining tight against her tunic refuted all chance of her ever being mistaken for that again.

He shifted once more, rolling towards her, his mouth mere fractions of an inch from hers so she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. She licked her lips, the moistness redoubling the intoxicating brush of his breath – she tried vainly to ignore the gush of wetness between her legs. His hips pressed forward against her – he was fully hard and let out a long low groan at the contact.

Her mind tried to persuade her to move, but her body betrayed her – it longed to press in against him, to satisfy the ache that flooded her senses. She lay frozen between the two impulses whilst he thrust softly against her, until finally she found the strength to shift a little. She couldn't remain like this much longer or her resolve would crack and she’d be forced to kiss him. Gods she wanted him; craved his co*ck inside her – was she reduced to such weakness? To a primal lust that overrode every rational emotion?

She had to have the time and the space she'd asked him for, but with him warm and alive beside her, smelling so much of sex and... Jaime, it was all but impossible to roll away. Somehow, she managed it, bumping him with her hips gently but deliberately in the hope she would wake him. She knew what he was seeing, or perhaps reliving, was just a matter of desire, exactly the same as her reaction to him, and when he woke he would neither expect nor ask anything of her.

She turned her back to him, closing her eyes and pretending she was still asleep. She knew the instant he awoke, heard his sharp intake of breath, felt him jerk his hips away from her. He paused for a few moments just breathing, listening perhaps, to see if she was awake. Then, he leant over to look at her, and she kept up her pretence – she was clearly convincing as he only remained there for a moment before collapsing onto his back. She felt some more shifting behind her, and a tugging at the sheets, before he lay still once more.

She gave him a moment, before moving slightly and letting out what she hoped sounded like a genuine yawn as she opened her eyes. She’d expected him to respond, but he remained frozen, so she rolled over to see him clutching a blanket over himself as he kept his hips angled away from her. She wasn't sure what to say next, didn't know how to tell him he didn't need to try and hide his erection, his arousal, from her.

She knew he was just trying to protect her, trying not to put any pressure on her, but despite the difficulties between them she wasn't afraid of his body, or his intentions. She'd long believed in his honour, and she knew she could trust him to give her all the time she'd requested, hells she could trust him with her very life. She knew in her heart he cared for her as strongly as he claimed, in spite of his mistakes. Honesty – that was what they'd agreed to, and if she expected it from him, she owed it to him in equal measure. The realisation emboldened her,

"It's all right. No hiding any more, remember?" He pressed his lips together with a slight smile – she could tell he was embarrassed and it was the strangest thing. She'd seen the whole range of emotions from him through the years, from fear to grief to anger, but she couldn't ever remember seeing him embarrassed. He’d always exuded an irrepressible confidence in his own abilities and physicality, but here he was rendered meek by his loss of control. She continued,

“It sounded like you were having a pleasant dream." Returning to the playfulness that had characterised their relationship from its earliest days felt safe, and she hoped it would ease the growing tension. She'd never thought of herself as someone prone to wickedness, but she felt it in that moment; she couldn’t suppress the broad smile that swam its way onto her face. He cleared his throat,

"It was about you. I'm sorry..." He looked distraught, and she knew her tactic hadn’t worked – his shame was so palpable she could almost feel it rolling off him. She hated to see him feeling that way – like his own needs and desires were something to be ashamed of; that they were secondary to hers. She raised a hand to brush his hair away from his face – it was almost imperceptible but he flinched as if he expected her to hit him. It stirred a painful feeling in her gut, and she found herself suddenly feeling intensely protective towards him; the fear in his eyes cut her to the core. She naturally had no desire to think of him with Cersei, but she couldn’t help it in that moment; found herself wondering how his sister had treated him to make these his instinctive reactions. She also hadn’t been able to shake Tyrion’s revelations about their father, and she knew if there was to be a future for them she’d have to get him to talk about all of this in time.

She knew no better way to give her reassurance than to curl back into him again, wanting him to know she meant what she said – that it was safe to bare all of himself to her. As much as she wasn't going to give in to her own arousal, she couldn’t deny his desire for her meant a great deal, and more than just physically. He wanted her, and she knew him well enough to have seen the depth and vulnerability of his heart. Jaime was a man who needed more than just shallow attraction to want intimacy. His brother’s words came back to her, 'He could have had his pick of women', and she knew it was true - his beauty was obvious to all with eyes to see it. He'd chosen her, connected with her, however briefly – for all the heartache he’d subsequently caused, that had to count for something.

The curve of her belly pressed once more against his side – it was such a good feeling, knowing their child was safe there nestled between them. It felt right, and she wished she could just let go of her pain and allow this to be her future, but she knew she couldn't allow the fact she was pregnant to make the decision for her. She tried to imagine how she'd feel, what she'd want, if it was purely about she and Jaime without the additional complication of a child to think of. She couldn't work out whether his baby growing inside her made her feel softer or harder towards him from one moment to the next. He continued to press his hips away from her, but he folded her willingly back into his arms. His head rested gently on the top of hers, and she could feel his breath moving her hair, sending shivers tumbling the length of her spine. Finally he spoke again,

"I didn't thank you – for bringing me back. I don't know what you did, or how... but, I know it was you. I don't know how to explain it. I heard you, I... felt you in my head." She didn't need him to explain – she knew instinctively, just as he had, the connection they'd made; felt power she didn't understand,

"I don't know how either, it just sort of… happened. All that matters is you're here – our child has its father and I don't have the words for how happy that makes me." His left arm was wrapped around her shoulder, so it was his golden hand he dropped between them to run over her stomach – it felt odd, even through the linen of her tunic; warm but unyielding against her. He'd always been self conscious of it before, avoided bringing attention to it and especially touching her with it, so the fact he did so now gave her pause,

"We’re really having a baby." She couldn't help but look up at him then – his eyes were damp and held a lightness that sent her heart into somersaults. He was truly excited at the prospect of becoming a father, for real this time. She'd known he would be, known how much a child he could acknowledge as his own would mean to him, but seeing his joy spelled out across his face like that made her want to kiss him so badly she could barely hold herself in check.

"We most certainly are.” She placed her hand over the smooth metal of his pressed to her belly, "This and the fact I've barely been able to keep food down for the past six weeks or so has left little room for doubt." He sighed, dropping his closed lips softly against her upturned forehead,

"Have you been that sick?" Yet again she was torn, part of her wanted him to know it and to be hurt, the rest to protect his feelings. Honesty, she reminded herself. It could be the only way forward for them now,

"I've been feeling pretty awful, yes - I almost passed out a few times too, but it seems like it's starting to lessen.” He drew away a little – the only way she could describe his expression was crushed. She could feel his heart rate increasing where her cheek was pressed against his chest,

"I should have been there.” The reflex response her mind provided was harsh, and her instinct was to push it away and find something softer, but she realised it had to be said; she deserved to voice everything she’d gone through,

"Yes. You should." He didn't flinch – his expression remained one of openness despite his obvious regret, and it gave her hope he wasn't going to shy away from taking responsibility for what he'd done, "But there's nothing you can do to change it now and we both have to work out how to accept that."

It sounded so simple, but the cold logic didn't stop her dwelling on what his being there might have looked like. She knew those thoughts would continue to besiege her in the coming days and weeks as she tried to figure all this out. Images swamped her – Jaime beside her in Winterfell when news of the battle in the south came; the warmth of his body as they slept side by side on the road; finding out about the baby together; him proposing marriage and her accepting. She wasn't sure how she would ever fully shake those shades of a phantom past that would never be; how thinking of it could ever stop hurting. She couldn't be sure if those same lost possibilities haunted him as they did her, but she felt enough, knew him enough, to believe in his sorrow and regret. Unfortunately, sorry couldn't magically fix everything,

"Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?" The question pulled her out of her reverie, pushed her mind into the future instead of the past – uncertainty was at least better than pain, for now. She'd allowed herself little time to really picture the child that was to come, everything that had happened with Jaime consuming her until the past couple of hours,

"I... don't know. Should I be able to tell do you think? Have some sort of... gut feeling? A mother’s intuition?" It was a stupid thing to worry about, but that was perhaps a symptom of the fact that nothing about pregnancy or the idea of becoming a mother was in any way familiar to her. She'd envisaged her future for so many years and neither a baby, nor the man required to create one, had been a part of it. He chuckled at her panicked response, and it went some way towards relaxing her.

"I shouldn't think so. There are witches who claim to have that ability l’m sure, but I imagine they’re just guessing. That's all I was asking – to guess, for fun." He’d been trying to lighten things and she felt suddenly silly at her overreaction. She only got a few seconds to contemplate her answer, however, before there was a knock at the door. They jerked away from one another, Brienne straightening her clothing as she sat up, and Jaime pulling his protective blanket more firmly into his lap. He shouted,

"Come in." Tyrion had returned with the Maester in tow – on seeing Jaime, Sam seemed just as astonished as everyone else had been, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to give her any further insight into Jaime’s miraculous recovery. If she was honest with herself, there was only one person she knew who would have those answers, if anyone did. She stood from the bed, running a reassuring hand over Jaime’s arm – she had to understand what had happened to bring him back, and why. As much as she'd believed it possible as she sat beside his body, she was no closer to making sense of it. If she could, maybe she'd find enough breathing space to figure out the rest.

Sam moved over to begin examining Jaime, and she bent to pull her boots back on before moving towards Tyrion. She hoped he would have time alone to talk with his brother once the maester was done with his work, and she also hoped he could be gentler on Jaime than she had been able to. She knew Tyrion had his own pain and anger, but they were different to hers, and Jaime needed someone more readily able to offer forgiveness – his need for it was pouring out of him. She smiled at Tyrion and he smiled back, taking her hand supportively as she leaned into his ear,

“He knows about the baby, but we didn’t get on to everything else. I couldn’t work out how to tell him about…” she trailed off, gesturing to her Kingsguard armour still hooked over the back of the chair.

“Do you want me to tell him? I happily will, but not if you’d rather tell him yourself.” It was a generous offer, but allowing him do it felt like she was running away from a hard conversation. She took a moment to consider what would be easier for Jaime, not just for herself,

“If you could… I’m not sure he’s up to me dropping any more on him today." He nodded, and squeezed her hand between both of his before dropping it as she moved past him towards the door.

Chapter 22: Believer

Chapter Text

Once Brienne had left, Jaime turned his attention to his two new visitors, being sure to keep the blanket pressed into his lap to hide his lingering arousal. Fortunately, the bumbling maester seemed largely oblivious to most things beyond whatever had his immediate attention – Tyrion, however, knew Jaime far too well to be deceived, but spared him a deal of embarrassment by restricting his reaction to a knowingly raised eyebrow. Jaime was relieved – and that feeling of relief increased when, before long, his awkward problem subsided.

He hadn’t been surprised by his physical reaction to having Brienne close to him again – he’d thought about little else whilst he’d lain close to death for what he now knew to be a number of weeks. She’d been so gentle with him, so honest, it was far more than he could possibly deserve. She hadn’t run from him, but seen him, heard him – allowed him the space to express himself as he had to her. She truly was the best person he’d ever known – to have such patience, such strength after everything he’d put her through was all but unimaginable. Discovering that he was to have a child with her was the greatest honour of his life.

He still didn’t know what had really happened in the past day, whether everything they’d told him was really true – it wasn’t that he didn’t believe them, but it was just so difficult to wrap his head around. He knew magic existed, of course he did, and he’d heard tales of people raised from the dead numerous times, but… why him? What could he possibly have done that would make him worthy of such a gift? He knew there was nothing, not a thing, that could even come close to making up for all the terrible things he’d done, let alone elevate him to being granted something such as this. So he didn’t know what to believe – in fact the only thing he could say he believed in for certain, was her.

Sam completed his examination, declaring Jaime as healthy as any man he'd ever seen, despite the ugly mess of bloodless gashes cutting into his stomach. He’d barely spared a thought for Euron Greyjoy since the moment he left the Iron Islander's broken body in a cove below the Red Keep, but he found himself wondering now if it was still there, the flesh slowly falling away from his bones. It could so easily have been Jaime lying on that sandy shore – it was a miracle he'd survived the injuries from their fight as long as he had. The feeling of cold steel plunging beneath his ribs came back to him in a flash, sharp and choking, his hand reflexing to his belly, but the pain was wholly imaginary. Running his hand over the scars felt very strange, as if they weren’t a part of him; it was going take some time to get used to them – despite the wounds posing no further threat to his health, Sam was uncertain as to whether they would heal any further - this was beyond his expertise.

For all the lack of certainty, at least Jaime’s clean bill of health meant he was granted permission to leave the bed – his legs still felt weak and tired, but he made it to a chair by the table without incident, a hand leaning on his little brother's shoulder for support. Tyrion lingered at his side, and Jaime leaned down to pull him into an embrace, knowing his brother well enough to read his need, and sparing him the indignity of having to reach up for comfort like a child. When they broke apart after a few long moments of solace, Tyrion turned away quickly, fixing his attention on a bottle on the table. Jaime could tell he was attempting to hide his emotion – using the opportunity to gather himself.

The maester departed after collecting his things, and Jaime was left sitting opposite his brother, nursing the goblet of wine Tyrion had poured. As much as he loved spending time with him, it was hard not to feel like every time he sat alone with Tyrion he was about to be interrogated. The gaze that met him across the table was exactly the one he'd come to expect – challenging and with an ever-present air of disappointment. Jaime often wondered how he'd grown up to be so confident when it seemed that his entire family always knew better than him, about everything. If the three of them had ever had anything resembling a cordial relationship, they would probably have spent many years devising ways to have a good laugh at dumb old Jaime's expense.

But the only healthy relationship within the Lannister family had been between him and the man sitting opposite him – their love for one another was the single real thing either of them had experienced for many years, despite the fact it had been strained at times. Fixing on his brother's eyes now though, he could see something fundamental had changed between the two of them. Tyrion still looked at him as an exasperated adult looks at an ill-behaved child, yet the tears that leaked from his eyes, and ran down cheeks creased into a smile, spoke of hope – a hope neither of them had possessed before.

"How are you?" The choke in his brother's voice rendered the question almost laughable by the amount it concealed. Too much, really – Jaime had no idea how to express everything he was feeling either, so he supposed it was understandable Tyrion had begun with something safe. Unfortunately, there were no safe answers,

"Well, I’m alive – which is, by all accounts, an improvement on a few hours ago. Although I’m still finding it all hard to process. Was I really dead?" Tyrion sighed, wiping the dampness from his face with the crease of his sleeve.

"Is your lover's pain, and your brother’s not enough to assuage your doubts? I’ve seen many people die over the years, too many, and I’ve always felt sorry the next time I saw a sunny morning and they didn’t. But really you had the easiest of it – I suppose it was just like falling asleep and waking up again for you. It was those of us left here that had to suffer.” He was angry and hurt just as Brienne had been, of course he was, and Jaime wasn't sure what to say – whether to apologise first or refute his brother's assertions. Could he apologise again and not make it sound hollow? Every word he'd said to Brienne in that regard had sounded empty and insufficient even to his own ears.

"In between a castle landing on my head and... dying, there was a lot of time to think. After that... I’m not sure I really know, or that I ever will, but I do know you were the one who pulled me out of that rubble. Did your best to save me." Tyrion nodded, eyes turned down, his signet ring clinking against his goblet,

"It was the very least I could have done." A single tear ran down his newly dried face, "I thought you were dead when I first found you... both of you. You couldn't imagine my joy when I realised you were still breathing, but in a way that just made it all the harder when you didn't recover. And Cersei..." He trailed off – Jaime could feel the weight of their entire lives resting thick in the air, and he realised just how much of an obstacle Cersei had been between them all these years. It was clear Tyrion didn't know how to broach her with him; had no idea about Jaime's fever sent clarity,

"You couldn't have done anything for her. I know – she was cold by the time you found us." Tyrion's head didn't move, his hand still worrying at his goblet; just his eyes flicked back to Jaime's, dark and piercing,

"Yes. She was already dead." He shifted in his seat, reaching out to pour more wine, whilst he searched Jaime’s face, "Are you all right?" The tone of his question suggested he hadn’t received the reaction he expected. In all honesty Jaime had no idea if he was all right. When he thought of Cersei surely he should be feeling anger or sorrow, or more realistically some combination of the two, but there was only numbness, emptiness, where those emotions should be,

"Honestly? Thinking of her I feel nothing at all. I meant it when I said I'd had a lot of time to think. It's true that you see your whole life before you die, at least it was for me anyway. Nothing like watching it all from a distance to give you some perspective." Tyrion frowned at him oddly – he knew his brother wasn't used to him speaking with anything resembling sense or objectivity when it came to their sister, and it had clearly confused him, made him wary. Jaime spelled it out for him, "You were right. You've always been right about her, and I’ve been the blind, stupid idiot you always said I was. She played me like a harp and I let her all our lives; and now, we’re finally free of her." Tyrion’s confusion turned to surprise, and he even managed a half-smile through the mass of emotions Jaime knew he must be feeling,

"I’m glad you've finally realised it, and a part of me is even more glad it was for yourself, not just because I told you. I only wish it had been years ago; that would have saved us both a lot of pain.” Jaime knew, of course he knew - he bitterly regretted all the wasted years, and hated the fact it had taken death for them both to make him see it; things could have been so different. Tyrion’s tone changed as he continued, "But I don't want you to think I'm glad she's dead. She was my sister – a part of me still loved her even after everything she did and said to me… and to you." Jaime nodded – he couldn't find it in himself say the same, even though he knew it must be true; she'd been his everything for his whole life. That couldn't simply vanish, in spite of how betrayed he felt,

"Where... where is she now?" He wasn't sure he really wanted to know; realised that meant there might be the possibility to see her and he couldn't even process that right now, let alone decide if it was what he wanted. Regardless, perhaps it was something he needed – if only to be sure she was really dead. A tiny part of him still doubted it – the part that held his fear. If he he searched deep within himself, though, he knew that she was gone. He hadn't realised how he'd always been able to feel her presence until he couldn't any longer; like background noise you only noticed when it stopped. Perhaps that was where the emptiness stemmed from – a part of him had died with her. If that was true, it was a part of himself he no longer needed or wanted, and was glad to be rid of.

"Daenerys... had her body burnt. Davos only just managed to get you out of there before her Unsullied got to you." The mention of fire sent flames licking into the edges of Jaime’s vision again, and a heat with them; his hands reflexed to his face to try and protect it. The image of Cersei's cold, stiff body with fire engulfing it loomed large and startlingly vivid, and he clawed at his skin in an attempt to make it stop. Why would his mind not allow him to be free of her? He gripped the table, his affliction slowly passing; he only realised he'd scrunched his eyes closed when he regained enough of himself to feel the ache in his cheeks. When he opened them again, Tyrion was at his side, a hand on his arm and eyes filled with concern,

“You really aren't all right. Come on, tell me, tell me everything." Jaime stared into his brother's eyes, and he felt a closeness to him that hadn't been there in years; that had been locked away since Tyrion had killed their father... no, before that. Since Winterfell, the first time, since... the Stark boy. A wall had gone up in Jaime's mind that day; a wall built of shame. He'd kept people at arms length since then – things had even begun to change between him and Cersei. On some subconscious level he’d been slowly crushed under the weight of what his poison love for her had made him do – no, that he’d chosen to do. The only one who'd even come close to breaking through his barriers was Brienne, and when he'd sensed that, fear had made him run away. Now, under Tyrion's tender gaze he could feel the wall start to crumble. He was ready to let people in – ready to face everything he'd done,

"I don't know what to tell you. The fire... it's like there's a fire burning in my mind. Maybe it's my punishment, for all the pain I’ve caused. I’ve just been told that, physically, I’m in perfect health – no maester can help me with this." Tyrion's grip on his arm tightened, and his other hand cradled the back of Jaime’s head,

"I know I've gained a reputation for being pretty smart over the years, but I can't claim to have all the answers. I can only imagine recovery from death comes with some unusual experiences – a lot has happened and a lot has changed. It’s going to take time to adjust. The best I can offer you right now is my ear; and more wine." Jaime couldn't help but laugh – Tyrion was right. He needed to relax and breathe, stop expecting to feel entirely himself just yet. Only a few short hours ago he had been dead after all. His thoughts turned back to the Dragon Queen, and all his earlier questions,

"So what does Daenerys Targaryen, the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms think of my astonishing resurrection? Or haven't you told her yet?" He expected some witty response, but Tyrion's face paled and he turned away to pour the promised wine, taking a long time over the simple task. When he finally turned back, he held out Jaime's refilled goblet but failed to meet his eye,

"Daenerys is dead."

^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne entered the map room to see the king at a table off to the side, deep in conversation with Ser Davos – they were pouring over a selection of papers spread out before them. She approached tentatively, not wishing to intrude on their conference, but also suddenly aware she had left Jaime's room without her protective arming jacket and the realisation made her feel acutely exposed. She folded her hands over her stomach before taking another step towards them. Davos glanced over, smiling, but Bran had his back to her and made no effort to turn in his chair as he spoke,

“Lord Commander. How fortuitous – I had wished to speak with you. Please, come closer." She moved to the table, Davos shifting over so she could stand beside the king, before bowing and making as if to take his leave. The King’s next words stopped him in his tracks, "You should remain Ser Davos. I believe you will have something to bring to this conversation." Davos frowned slightly but, with a brief flick of his eyes to Brienne’s belly, pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit down before taking a seat himself. Her long ingrained instincts made her want to refuse, but the practical part of her knew she'd be forced accept the need to push these urges aside as her pregnancy progressed. Besides, she was beginning to feel a little lightheaded and, realising she'd neglected to eat breakfast, made herself accept graciously. The king continued,

"I heard the good news about Ser Jaime, I assume it is that you wish to speak to me about." She nodded – the way he always seemed to know what you were going to say, almost before you did yourself, felt uncanny even though it was hardly a leap this time, given the circ*mstances,

"It is, your Grace. I... hoped you might be able to help me understand. How this was possible." She looked at his face for the first time since she’d entered the room; it held the same impassive expression it always did. She wished she'd known him before he become the Three Eyed Raven – known the lively little boy he'd once been, but perhaps that would just make seeing him like this, serving him, all the harder. It would also make knowing what Jaime had done to him even more heartbreaking than it already was.

"You want to know if you did this. The answer is yes, it was you, your bond with him that made this happen. With a little helping hand." He leaned his bandaged hand on the table, and her eyes were drawn to it, realisation hitting her like a mace to the helmet,

"King’s blood...! I cleaned my sword, threw the rag in the fire..." It hadn't even occurred to her, before or afterwards; she'd done it without a shred of thought for the potential consequences,

"You did, and you held him in your heart when you did it, as I knew you would. But that was only the beginning; a push in the right direction if you will. You did the rest yourself.” She'd done nothing, known nothing about any of it. She couldn't possibly have such power, even with his help,

"But how? How could I have done this? Such magic is not within my gift.”

"You’d know how, if you looked inside yourself deeply enough – the Lady Melisandre told you a time ago; you're stronger than you know." The red witch – words that had made her feel strange, words that she'd pushed away and not thought of again until her strange dream, echoed in her head 'He's a weak and broken man, but you're strong enough for both of you. He will need you before all this is over'. As much as Brienne hated that woman, she had to admit it was clear she’d known some measure of what was to come – somehow, she'd seen it,

"But... I don't follow the Lord of Light…” Just speaking the name made images of poison shadows, and Renly’s limp form collapsing to the ground, assault her senses once more. The idea that the same entity had taken from her and later given back in such profound ways was deeply conflicting – she didn't want to let go of her anger and disgust, because that felt like dishonouring Renly’s memory, but if this was true how could she continue to hate the higher being who had returned the love of her life; the man who held her very heart within him? "…and he killed Renly." Her voice came out small, uncertain, but she reminded herself both men present had already seen her far weaker and more vulnerable than this, and she had nothing to hide from them – no sense of bravado to maintain.

"If Renly hadn't died the way he did, you would never have met your Kingslayer." He looked at her, straight in the face for the first time, his eyes softening almost imperceptibly. He emphasised the word 'your' and the idea that in some sense Jaime belonged to her, with her, in spite of everything pushed the warm, fluttering sensation from her stomach up into her chest. She was so overcome by the feeling that her breath stilled for a moment. She couldn't refute what Bran had said in any way – if she hadn't been forced to go with Lady Catelyn, she may never have met Jaime, and certainly wouldn't have spent the time with him for them to get to know each other as they had; for her to save his life numerous times, as he had hers, and begin the long, slow fall into one another. “You would never have conceived the child you guard as fiercely as a lion. The child which means Ser Jaime's blood flows within you.”

"So it was all supposed to happen?" She blurted it out, but it was the logical conclusion to what he’d said. A part of her liked the idea of being considered special enough to be part of some grand plan laid out by higher beings, but it also made her feel powerless, unable to have influence on her own life,

"I would be lying if I said I knew. Prophecy exists, but in many ways perhaps knowledge of such can cause it to fulfil itself. R'hllor took a life from you before, a life you were powerless to save; perhaps he decided to give you one back – the faceless men talk so often about the red god demanding balance. But I know little of gods, and see nothing of them but the results of their actions. You came to me for answers and I am not certain I can give them to you, not in the definitive way you want." He turned to Davos,

"You've seen this before, saw Jon Snow raised from the dead. Not only that but it was you yourself who went to the red priestess and asked her to try and bring him back, right at the moment her previously unshakeable faith was failing her. What made you do that?" Brienne had heard of this, of course she had – it had happened not long before she'd met Melisandre at Castle Black herself. She knew Davos had been there, but not the full extent of his involvement, and now she understood Bran’s desire to have him present,

"We needed Jon Snow back, Your Grace. The Watch was in turmoil – I thought it was worth an attempt at least." Bran tilted his head just a shade to the side, his eyes narrowing as he continued to look at Davos,

"But what made you think she could do it?"

"I'd seen her perform astounding acts of magic before. If anyone could do something like that it was her."

"But was it her that did it, or was it you?" The same unearthly feeling Brienne had experienced numerous times now came back even stronger; she could almost taste it. She could tell by the look on Davos' face and the way he shifted in his chair that he felt it too. "You were the one who believed. Maybe it's belief itself that is important, and that's the real magic." He turned back to Brienne again, eyes searching her face dispassionately. How could he not be affected by the same ethereal feeling that hung palpably in the air?

"Do you understand now? Whoever else may or may not have been involved, it was your belief that brought Ser Jaime back. You willed it to happen. I know you want more than that from me, but consider this; what if you can find it in yourself to trust and believe that everything is as it should be? That you, and he, are exactly where you're supposed to be at exactly the right time. What if that were true?" She wanted to believe it – she could feel her desire for such a simple resolution threatening to consume every other emotion,

"You think I should forgive him."

"What I think doesn't matter - you should do what you believe is right. But he's free now. He can be what you need him to be."

"And what do I need him to be?"

"Your husband. And a father to your child."

"But... are you saying you'd allow..."

"That I'd allow you to marry in spite of your position? I would. It’s unconventional perhaps, but I believe it would be in the best interests of everyone involved, myself included. I knew your circ*mstances before appointing you, they are now somewhat changed, but what hasn’t changed is my conviction that I could not find anyone better, and I would never force you to choose between your duty and your family. If you decide marrying Ser Jaime is what you want, of course; I would not wish to influence a decision you must make entirely on your own."

The revelation lifted her, but also set her stomach churning with fear. Knowing she could marry Jaime if she wished, with the king's blessing, filled her with a fierce hope, but a part of her had been relying on using the threat of his refusal as a shield. She suddenly felt even more cowardly at leaving Tyrion to tell Jaime of her new position, but she knew she still had to face the many words and emotions to come in that regard. Would she be ready to tell him the king would give his permission if he asked for it? Right now, she really didn’t know.

Chapter 23: Stand in the Light

Chapter Text

"Daenerys is dead."

All the emotion that had been drained away by Jaime's thoughts of Cersei came flooding violently back, the intensity of it taking his breath. In these past hours since he'd awoken, he'd largely avoided thought of events in King's Landing after he’d fought Euron Greyjoy and entered the Red Keep. It had been easy to presume Daenerys Targaryen had taken her place on the Iron Throne following her razing of the city. Both Brienne and others had said things which hinted at more, but he'd been so focussed on the woman he loved and how he could make amends to her, that he'd pushed all other considerations aside.

Now he was confronted with the idea of a different world to the one he'd he'd envisaged, and amongst the many feelings evoked by that revelation was a sharp relief. With it came the realisation that he'd been holding a deep subconscious fear of Daenerys' wrath; he hadn't allowed himself to imagine what she might have in store for him in the coming days, but the spectre of it had lingered in the back of his mind. He'd been devastated by the possibility of Brienne not wanting to rekindle their relationship, but if Daenerys had wanted to banish him, or worse kill him for a second time, Brienne's wishes - the thing he'd pinned his very heart upon - were rendered irrelevant either way.

It seemed absurd that he'd been able to push it all to the back of his mind, but one only need look at his history with Cersei to see his powerful capacity for denial. The shock of an onslaught of possibilities made his voice falter, and he could only stammer out,

"How!?" How indeed – a woman on a dragon with as much angry fire in her belly as her mount had in its throat had defied the entire defences of a city; what, and more importantly who, had finally brought her down? Tyrion's eyes remained fixed on the floor as he moved slowly back to his chair,

"It was.... Jon Snow. You should see the city Jaime. There are no words to describe the devastation – buildings reduced to molten ash, bodies burned where they huddled in the streets. I could see the anguish in his eyes as surely as I felt it in my heart - we’d both believed in her… loved her so devotedly it was all but impossible to accept that she could have done this. I was completely wrong about her. She would have killed every man, woman and child in the world who stood in her way. Bend the knee or die - that really sounds like the kind of better future we were all fighting for doesn't it?"

Jaime could tell by the break in Tyrion’s voice and the sorrow in his eyes that there was far more to tell, but the revelation about Jon turned him cold. The lad had seen the tyranny, the cruelty, in his lover's single-minded philosophy and he'd found in himself the courage to end it - to end her - for the good of all. It was impossible for him not to draw comparison between the actions of Ned Stark’s bastard and his own – Tyrion’s words to him at Winterfell echoing in his ears

'She never fooled you. You always knew what she was and you loved her anyway.’

He was right... well, for the most part. Jaime had always known what Cersei was – been intimately acquainted with her ruthlessness and her callous disregard for any who, even passively, stood in her way; despite his blindness to it, she'd been just as callous to him. He was now deeply ashamed that he'd continued to stand by her regardless; allowed his love for her to drive him to deeds he would live to regret. Where he had been utterly deceived was in her feelings towards him - he'd truly believed she loved him in spite of everything she was. Now he knew she'd seen him as little more than a commodity - he was convenient because she knew she could always rely on him to do her dirty work for her. She'd snap her fingers and he would come running; just begging to be used.

He admired and envied Jon Snow in equal measure – he'd found the spine, the guts, to do what Jaime should have done a long time ago. Arguably, it should have been even easier for Jaime to take that leap - unlike Jon, he’d had someone else waiting to help him pick up the pieces. Tyrion continued to regard him with his usual appraising look, head tilted to one side, and Jaime felt his brother read his thoughts right out of his mind,

“You have more in common with Jon Snow than you know… far more. He didn’t scream right in there with a sword and carve off her head – he hesitated, for more than just a moment, tormented by his own indecision. He had to be talked into it. Just so you know, it wasn’t easy or simple for him.” Jaime wished his brother wouldn’t try to lessen the burden of his guilt, because he didn’t want this to be any easier; he wanted to feel the full weight of his decisions press down on him the way they’d pressed down upon those he loved. He wanted to bear his responsibilities, rather than hiding or running from them the way he'd always done.

“...and I imagine it was you that did the talking.” Tyrion was not the only one who could read others and besides, he’d been on the receiving end of his brother’s attempts at persuasion more times than he could count, “It worked on him though. He listened to you.”

“I’m not his brother. I suppose that made it more straightforward, without all the painful, complicated years of shared history to tie conversations up in knots.” Jaime was finished with excuses; they’d done him no good in the past and they certainly wouldn’t now. He appreciated Tyrion's generosity, but it would be wrong for him to accept it,

"I imagine you’re right; it doesn’t make me feel any better about myself though, not that I want or deserve to. Let me feel guilty - I am after all.” Tyrion’s expression showed Jaime he understood, and was pleased, with this new resolve. “So we have a new king then. Good King Jon, first of his name."

Tyrion’s averted gaze and tightly pressed lips told Jaime he had assumed wrongly for the second time in as many minutes. Long seconds passed before his brother’s reply came, and when it did he spoke without meeting Jaime’s eye once again, “We do have a new king, but it isn't Jon Snow. The Unsullied wanted him executed but the Council of the Great Houses somehow managed to persuade Grey Worm to send him to The Wall."

"So who is in charge then? Not... you?" The guffaw that escaped Tyrion's throat sounded barely human,

"Hardly. After I denounced Daenerys and spent a month in jail, I think whatever minuscule chance I had of being asked to be king entirely vanished; not that I would want it even if the opportunity was there. No, our new king, as chosen by the Great Houses, is Bran Stark.” Even as the surprise... no, shock hit him, he could feel Tyrion’s eyes boring into him again, searching for his reaction. He could tell his brother was feeling exactly what he felt - the thread of Jaime's shameful connection to the Stark boy, who was now to be king, stretching back through time; still painfully taut, even after all that had happened to them both in the intervening years.

Bran Stark. Whoever would have imagined? The little scrap of a boy he'd pushed from a window so long ago, and at the time with barely a thought; belying how it had haunted his dreams ever since. It was an unconventional choice, but Jaime supposed all these years of war had started with him, so it was oddly poetic that they were to end with him too. Flames licked at his mind again, and with them came a burning desire to talk with their new king as soon as he could, knowing there was so much more to be said between them. Their brief words in the godswood at Winterfell had never felt like enough. Glancing up from where his eyes had fixed, unfocussed, on his glass, he realised Tyrion was still anxiously waiting for him to say something,

“He’ll make an excellent king. Who better than one who can see all the failings of man through the ages to prevent us making the same mistakes again? Daenerys may not have been the dawn of a bright new world we were all hoping for, but perhaps we’ll get it all the same.” Jaime’s words may be cliché, and an extreme oversimplification of the challenges they now faced, but he found in them some sense of solace and hope for the future, and it was a strange feeling. Had his life really been so devoid of those things that they felt foreign to him? How could he have been so unaware of his own reality?

“I hope you’re right. I really do – I suppose I’d say I’m cautiously optimistic; but then I hear the idiot he’s made Hand is a whor*r and a drunkard so you never know what might happen…” It took Jaime far too long to catch up to the meaning of Tyrion’s words, and his attempt to play it cool was a dismal failure. He settled for raising a glass in his direction,

“Congratulations little brother. I’ve heard those tales are vastly exaggerated and he’s actually a rather astute political mind.” Tyrion smiled, appreciating Jaime’s poor attempt at humour in the way only a brother could,

“Thank you for the vote of confidence. I wish I was anywhere near as certain.” He swirled the ruby liquid around in his glass, “I suppose it was inevitable the Starks would end up ruling the bloody world – they’re just so godsdamned tenacious. I never imagined I’d end up advising one though.”

Tyrion’s words about the Starks drew Jaime’s eyes to the familiar suit of armour over the chair beside him once again, and suddenly he understood; finally realising why he was here of all places – the fog clearing and the pieces of the puzzle he’d been missing earlier falling into place. Brienne's words echoed in his mind, 'There are other considerations now.’ His next question was barely above a whisper, betraying his reluctance to ask it,

"She swore herself to him, didn't she? Brienne… she joined his Kingsguard..." He didn't want to think about her state of mind in making that choice – what it meant for their future, their child. Tyrion's expression was one of sorrow, clearly conscious of what this news may mean for his brother's future happiness, but Jaime also sensed a hint of relief in it - perhaps due to the fact that he would no longer have to find way to tell him.

"Yes. You were dead Jaime - he promised to take care of her, and make sure the bastard child you left behind was provided for.” Tyrion’s words stung, deeply, despite the truth of them - perhaps because of the truth of them. He followed them up with something even more shocking, “He asked her to be his Lord Commander, and she accepted."

"Lord Commander...” Once again Tyrion's eyes were fixed on his stunned face waiting for his response to this new revelation. The implications were far reaching, so much so that Jaime could barely wrap his mind around them fully, but his gut reaction did not betray that at all,

"She deserves it. I can't imagine anyone who would do a better or more diligent job. Even with a child on the way to think of." His words belied the pain that settled heavy in his gut as reality sank in, and clearly surprised Tyrion who took a moment to reply,

"That's very generous of you.” Jaime chuckled, the soft rumble in the back of his throat easing the lump that had lodged itself there. Generous? He wasn't sure that was the right word – if indeed there was any word to describe his feelings toward her right now. Poets had tried for centuries, with varying levels of success, how could one artless as he hope to even come close?

"I'm not sure I've ever been accused of generosity before; but it's true – our new king couldn't have chosen a better person for the job. At least it makes sense now, what she said about there being other things to consider. I couldn't have imagined her serving a Targaryen – she's loyal to the Starks through and through; with one of them on the throne where else could she possibly be? I assume Sansa saw fit to release her then?" Jaime noticed the slight, and quickly masked, crease in Tyrion's brow at the mention of the Stark girl. He could infer plenty about his brother's apparent lingering feelings for his former wife, but he stored the realisation away – now was not the time to press it further,

"She did – Sansa is to return to the North and rule it as an independent kingdom. It was decided best that Brienne remain here, given her circ*mstances and the King’s need. You should be thankful – I presume you also intend to stay in King's Landing?" The North independent once more... Jaime supposed that decision made a lot of sense given all that had happened; all his family had inflicted upon the Starks. What he had seen of Sansa in Winterfell told him she would make a wise and fair ruler. As to his own future...

“I... don't know. I suppose that really depends on Brienne... what she wants. I imagine I’ll be here for a while - at least until I have any kind of plan for the future in any case. When I left Winterfell, I never thought about what might happen afterwards."

'How do you know there is an afterwards?'

Bran's words echoed in his mind, sending chills the length of his spine. Had their new King known Jaime's fate when he'd said it? Did he now know what Brienne was going to decide about their future? Jaime couldn’t even begin to face what his life might look like without her in it and he hoped, if she was sincere about wanting him to be there for his child, he would never have to.

"I noticed the two of you had been... snuggling when we arrived. Did you f*ck and make up?" Jaime had never been coy, or prudish, but he struggled not to cringe a little at Tyrion's choice of words. He hated his feelings for Brienne to be reduced to something that sounded so cheap – sex had always been a private and meaningful thing for him, unlike his brother’s years of whor*house pantomimes,

"Not exactly. She said she isn't sure she wants to be with me. I suppose it's only what I deserve."

“She's upset, of course... and she's pregnant. That makes everything so much more serious, and complicated." Tyrion's look was still appraising, but now softer, the corners of his mouth showing a hint of a smile, "You're going to be a father Jaime. How do you feel about that?" Jaime kept his eyes fixed on his glass, the indescribable joy that this child brought him tempered by remorse, just like every other positive feeling he had.

"I've been a father before." He detested his own bitterness, but he had to own his failings in this regard, as he did all his others. He looked up then, meeting Tyrion's eyes reluctantly, not wanting to see what he knew he would find there; the sense of loss heavy in the space between them.

"...and I've been an Uncle; but it can be different this time." Jaime wanted to believe him, wanted the hope that he'd tasted since his return to become part of every day reality.

"I hope you're right brother. Gods know I've screwed things up enough in the past, and the recent past at that. I want to do right by my child this time... and by Brienne, as far as she'll let me."

"...so you did offer to do the decent thing?” The well-worn chastising look was back, and Jaime wondered if there would ever come a day when he’d redeemed himself enough to meet his brother on an equal footing.

“You mean did I ask for her hand? Of course I did, what do you take me for? I wish you wouldn't reduce it to doing the decent thing though; I love her. I'd want to marry her even if she wasn't pregnant, but that's up to her... and up to the king too now I suppose.” Tyrion didn't respond for long seconds that further thickened the air between them as they passed. When he finally spoke, there was a new softness to his tone – all hint of accusation absent,

"If you love her, then why in seven hells did you come back to Cersei?" It was such a simple question, but the reasons, the excuses; they were far from simple, and Jaime grasped for an explanation he could put into words. He didn't find one.

"I… really don't know any more. It seems like a hundred years since that night I left Winterfell – I imagine it must have made sense back then, but whatever I thought... believed... none of it matters now. I was just an idiot – a blind, foolish idiot. Turns out I really am the stupidest L..." Tyrion cut him off, sharpness back in his voice once more,

"Don't say it. Can't you see they told you that to control you? You've hidden behind it for far too long; everything can be different now if you’ll just let it be." Could he really turn his life around? All he’d ever wanted had been within his grasp, and somehow he’d thrown it all away; but here was his brother telling him there was still a sliver of a chance,

"You don't think it’s too late?"

"It's never too late to change. Never too late to try and make amends." It certainly felt too late, and even if it wasn’t, he had no real idea where to begin with such a monumental task,

“I don't know how to fix everything. I owe her so much more than I can ever repay. What if she never forgives me?” Jaime could hear how pitiful he sounded, but it appeared Tyrion was willing to indulge him,

"I can't promise you that she will, or that the king will allow you to be together if she does. You just have to be there for her and trust that the rest will work itself out in time. Never forget that she brought you back; she doesn't believe devoutly in any gods that I know of, hasn’t shown any previous hint of magic powers. That's some strong bond, some force of will that allowed her to do that. Any idiot can see how much she loves you and love figures out a way big brother."

Jaime was suddenly struck by the calm in Tyrion’s manner – he had spoken of his pain, but Jaime detected no anger and he wondered how, unlike Brienne, Tyrion was so readily able to forgive him; so ready to reassure him that everything would be all right in time. Jaime wasn't sure if he would be able to do the same in Tyrion's position.

"Maybe it does, but how could I ever be worthy of her? How could I have pretended I was, even for the short time we were together? What have I ever done that's good enough or noble enough to measure up to the way she's lived her entire life?" Tyrion smiled, breaking out in a quiet chuckle as his eyes lifted from worrying his glass to his brother's face,

"Plenty, it turns out. Some of which I had no idea of until just a couple of hours ago when I stumbled across a rather fascinating eulogy; but I’ll leave you to discover that for yourself. There was, however, one particular detail missing from it - one thing which would make you worthy of any accolade or honour you care to name, without any of the rest. Most of the world may be unaware, but I know what you did. I heard the bells." Tyrion's eye contact intensified and Jaime gained some sense of his brother's eagerness to forgive him – the embryonic shoots of the redemption he'd sought for years were sprouting there; but it wasn't enough. It just didn't feel like enough after everything else he'd done,

"It didn't damn well work though, did it?" He wasn't sure if he'd ever believed it would, but he supposed there must have been some tiny seed of hope for him to have even tried,

“I… no, but you did it and that means something.”

“Does it?”

“It means something to me. It means you were full of sh*t back in that tent when you claimed you’d never much cared for innocents… but then I knew that already. Your life would have been very different if that had been true.” He paused to refill Jaime’s glass, and his own, all the while a frown creasing his brow, “I've asked myself, these past weeks, why you bothered to lie to me when you must have known I'd see right through it. Then I realised – you're so used to lying to yourself you barely know what the truth is any more. That cold, ruthless version of yourself doesn't really exist - you made him up to fulfil what others wanted of you. They're both gone now, father and Cersei - you can stop trying to prove yourself to them. You don't need to fight against that better person any more - you can be who you were always meant to be; the Jaime Lannister you really are underneath it all.” Jaime was floored. Despite how often Tyrion had seen right through him in the past, the realisation his brother knew him better than he knew himself still shook his very foundations.

“If you're right, and I'm as weak and foolish a man as that makes me, how can you possibly believe I deserve another chance?” Now he sounded truly pathetic. Surely there was a limit to how long he could spend swimming around in this same ocean of regret before he found a way to shore? He knew he didn't deserve to feel any better, but in time he must get past this useless self-flagellation and find some purpose. Otherwise whatever had brought him back had done so solely to torture him, rather than to allow any form of redemption. Tyrion’s sigh was the deepest yet, and again he turned away before formulating his reply,

“I’ve got a pretty good idea of what failure feels like - if I’m honest with myself it's all I've ever damn well done too. Others have allowed me to start over more times than I can count and I'm not sure I believe myself any more deserving of that than you do. Besides, without another chance you can't make amends – King Bran himself appointed me Hand so I can try to put right all the wrong I’ve done. So you see, I have to forgive you and give you that same chance – if I don't how will I ever be able to start forgiving myself?” Jaime laughed, nasal and cheerless – how had the infamous Lannister brothers become this f*cking noble? Their father would be so very proud…

“You haven't killed and maimed, not like I have.” Finally finding the words he believed would silence Tyrion, Jaime was shocked when his brother barely paused before replying,

"Perhaps not directly, but I've enabled those things – I’ve turned a blind eye and allowed them to happen. We aren't so different as you would make out you know."

"You never walked away from me. Never chose death when I needed you to live, to stay by my side. How can you forgive me for that?" He was clutching now, desperate to outdo his brother - he realised how warped that was, almost competing for which of them was to be crowned the worst. Tyrion met his eye fully, tears cresting over a visibly breaking dam, and Jaime knew he’d finally reached the root of it all; the source of his brother's determination to declare himself equally irredeemable,

"That's the easiest part to forgive Jaime; because it's my fault. I could have, should have, left you in that damned tent. You have no idea how that decision has tortured me, but it is my fault and I have no choice but to face up to it. I couldn't bring myself to tell Brienne you know – I lied to her, by omission at least. How could I have told her I was the reason the father of her unborn child was lying dead before her? We’ve been through a lot of messed up sh*t over the years, but watching her weep over your body when I was to blame? That is, with absolute certainty, the hardest thing I've ever had to do. So it's very easy for me to forgive you - because I could have stopped you, and I didn't.” By the end of his outburst, Tyrion was breaking down, his voice cracking and the tears streaming unchecked. Jaime made no conscious decision to rise and move around the table to his side, but instinct carried him there with no heed to his own, still fragile, state as he pulled his beloved brother into his arms.

^^^^^^

Brienne re-entered the White Sword Tower with Bran's words still ringing in her ears, 'What if you could trust that everything is as it should be?' What if she could? How suddenly easy and simple life would be, but her desire for that simplicity didn't make her any more certain. The events of the past few days ought to have left her ready to believe anything, and yet she found herself filled with doubt. All she could ever ask for in life was laid out before her, tantalisingly within her grasp; the recognition of her skills she’d believed would never come, a prestigious position and the opportunity to assist in shaping a brave new world. On top of those things, she had captured the love and respect of the most beautiful man she'd ever met; a man who could become her husband with merely a single word of assent; a man with whom she'd already conceived the child she thought she'd never have. It was almost too good to be true – how could she trust that this was all meant to be when she couldn't even trust herself? Couldn't see a way to reconcile the conflict between her mind and her heart?

She entered the Round Room so preoccupied with her thoughts that it took several seconds to realise she was not alone. She pulled up sharply when her eyes fell on Jaime, sitting at the table with the Book of Brothers laid open before him. He looked up as she approached, his expression wary with a shade of guilt, and for a moment she wondered what he was doing so secretively for her presence to garner that reaction. Her eyes were drawn to the page before him.

He raised his arms as if to shield it from her view, but quickly realised the futility of the gesture, and sighed with resignation as he shrank back into his chair. It didn’t really matter in any case – she already knew what she would see there, and she felt a sudden anxiety at the thought of him reading words she'd never intended for his eyes. Her neat script, which had felt perfectly fitting such a short time ago, now seemed wholly inadequate under the gaze of the man it was intended to immortalise.

When she raised her eyes from the page to his face she was greeted by a shyness; hair falling into his eyes. Gods he was beautiful – and that stomach churning excitement she'd long felt every time he looked at her began to return. Then he spoke,

"This is what you wrote about me...?" His voice was filled with what could only be described as astonishment, "I left you! I took your maidenhood, then I left you - pregnant - and rode thousands of miles to die with another woman, and yet you made me out to be some kind of hero? How... how did you find it in your heart to do this!?"

She walked slowly around the table to stand beside him – his eyes followed her progress across the room but she didn't feel hurried by him, just buoyed by the respect and love she felt pouring out of him. When she'd sat there, in that very same chair, she'd desperately hoped that what little of him she could put into words would be enough - and now she knew that it had been.

When she reached his side she placed a hand onto his shoulder and allowed the other to drop to the page; fingers tracing reverently over her words – every ounce of her love for him laid out in soft brushes of ink against the parchment. He felt it all, as keenly as she had when she'd sat and written there – she knew he did, and in that simple understanding between them was the certainty she was so desperate for. She knew in that moment, however long and hard the road was to be, that she would eventually be able to forgive him. She'd never imagined that instead of being the end, this was only the beginning, and now everything had changed.

"It's just the truth." And it was - their irrevocably intertwined lives were otherwise filled with complication, but what she'd written there really was as simple as that – as simple as the naked awe in his unflinching gaze. Just plain, ungilded truth. She didn't know how there could be any refuting it, but he clearly had more to say, stuttering in his response,

"But you aren't in here." He was aghast, his mouth gaping as he fumbled for words in a manner she'd never seen from him before. His good hand groped for hers where it rested on his shoulder, almost as if he feared she would take it away before he got the chance. She fought the part of her that wanted to withdraw it, finding she needed the solidity of that contact to ground her as her heart continued to race, his palm above and his broad shoulder below,

"It’s your entry. It's supposed to be about you Jaime. Your good deeds, not mine." She watched a whole series of emotions play out across his face – she could almost sense the memories she knew he was reliving, some that she was a part of and others not. His grip on her hand at his shoulder tightened,

"...but I would never have done any of these things without you." She wanted to reassure him, wanted to tell him he could still have become a better person if they'd never met, but how could she? How could she be so certain; she knew that goodness, nobility and honour had always been there under the surface, but it had been locked away – beaten down by a cruel label and the scorn he’d received for so long. It was a brutal twist of fate that the most courageous and self-sacrificing thing he'd done in his life, long before he met her, was the very thing that had led to him withdrawing from the world. She wanted to believe he'd have found a way regardless and looking into his eyes in that moment, his whole soul raw and exposed, she could no longer remember the man she'd thought he was when they met in a filthy cell countless nights ago.

He was just her Jaime, fragile, vulnerable, and desperate to be loved. Where better than in his gaze, his touch, his love for her to find the conviction she'd been struggling to grasp onto? He believed in her far more than she ever had, or ever would, believe in herself. Would his trust be the beacon to guide them out of this, when hers could not?

"You did them Jaime. That's what matters."

Chapter 24: Calm the Storm Inside of You

Chapter Text

Jaime retired early, all eyes on him as he left the room. The evening had been oddly reminiscent of the eve of battle at Winterfell - albeit warmer even without the roaring fire, and with no great likelihood of death on the morrow; but the same people had assembled in the White Sword Tower, Tormund Giantsbane excepted. Strangely, given the much more relaxed circ*mstances, the air seemed as thick and the conversation as stilted. He'd felt stared at, like some kind of oddity, miracle even, which he supposed in some eyes he was; and despite their quiet truce there was still a palpable tension between himself and Brienne, with so much still to be resolved. He was already exhausted, and sitting there for just an hour trying to make small talk had drained him completely, so he made his excuses and returned to his room.

He’d wanted to speak with the King, felt like he could hardly start his new, lifelong duty of making amends in a better place, but the remaining Starks had been much engaged with the departure of Jon Snow since early afternoon, so Jaime would have to wait. His own demands seemed of little importance compared to the King’s family business and the many other affairs competing for his attention, but he would seek an appropriate time in the coming days.

After stripping off his clothes and frowning in front of the mirror as he passed his hand over his deeply scarred stomach, he collapsed back onto the bed. It was odd to be back here in this room after all this time, filled as it was with so many memories of his time in the Kingsguard before the War of the Five Kings. Some of them were pleasant but many others he'd rather forget – like those in the early days of his disgrace and anything involving Cersei. Would he be truly free of her in time? She was gone from this life now, but would she eventually leave his thoughts and dreams too? He tried to push her away, but memories of her were quickly replaced by other dark thoughts.

The idea he'd actually been dead fully hit home for the first time - if not for Brienne that would have been it; the end. Connecting with exactly what that meant deeply unsettled him; a strange and uncomfortable feeling resting itself in his gut. He'd always said he didn't fear death, and he'd truly believed that. He knew he feared it now - but by the grace of whatever god had allowed this, he would have left Brienne alone to raise their child in disgrace, and missed out on this fresh chance for a family of his own. He would never have been able to hold his baby, to watch it grow or to hear it call him father. Those thoughts terrified him far more than anything else he had experienced, or could ever imagine. He was finally afraid of death because he finally had something to live for – he'd always thought Cersei was that, but now he knew she'd never been enough.

His heart raced; he knew he was panicking – the walls of the room and the flames in his mind closing in on him once again. The memory of those long hours, pinned beneath rubble swamped him and his chest tightened; his lungs feeling like they were filling with water as if he was drowning. Just as he felt he might pass out, dark spots swimming through his vision, he finally found an image of Brienne to latch onto. One very vivid memory of a special night with her - the night they'd made love for the first time - was the hand that reached down and pulled him out of his despair.

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Jaime squared up to Tormund Giantsbane. His surprise in the face of the northerner was twofold - firstly that his instinct to cut off the Wilding's pursuit of Brienne had actually resulted in him rising to his feet; and secondly that he was taller than the other man by a couple of inches. But here he stood, and was not met by the violence he might have imagined, only by an expression of disappointment. He creased his brow apologetically and patted Tormund a couple of times on the chest, turning away to follow Brienne out of the room.

The wine he'd consumed blurred his vision a shade, but he was glad of it – it had helped turn the increasingly strong feelings he'd been having for Brienne since his arrival in Winterfell into action. It did nothing, however, to calm the raging nerves in his stomach or the pounding of his heart, and that reaction made him feel a least a little ridiculous. Most unmarried men of his age would have lost count of their conquests years ago but, if he had read her correctly, Brienne was about to become only the second woman he'd ever been intimate with.

He knew by her reaction to Tyrion a few moments ago that he would be her first – he’d long suspected that of course, but she’d never admitted it openly; at least, not in words. It meant she’d have no idea what to expect, no other to measure him by, and yet he still felt woefully inexperienced and naive. He knew he wanted her, and felt all but certain she wanted him, but it didn't stop him being terrified of what was about to happen. Despite his already foggy head, he paused to grab another jug of wine before heading to the stairs.

He paused at her door, hand raised to knock, but suddenly doubtful; his courage deserting him. What was he doing? How could a woman such as her, who embodied the very essence of honour and righteousness, want a remorseless killer like him? How could he have even thought it? He swallowed thickly – the one thing he'd rarely been accused of was cowardice, but he'd be hard pressed to deny it to anyone who could see him now. His mind strayed back to the room behind him, to a broad smile and eyes filled with joyous abandon; he’d never seen her so happy, so… free. The look on her face when he'd allowed his hand to linger on hers filled his head – a perfect reflection of all he felt for her; feelings which had grown stronger every time he'd looked at her for years now. He knocked.

Long seconds drummed out whilst he waited for her to answer, his blood pulsing in every part of his body. When the door finally did open it was more sharply then he'd anticipated and he found himself frozen, startled, under her gaze. She looked surprised and... something more he couldn't put a name to. It was likely a combination of several thoughts and feelings – he'd certainly be hard pressed to separate the jumble of things in his own head. Did she have some inkling of what was to come? Then, he realised her expression had become one of expectancy and he suppressed his wave of panic. Say something Jaime!

"You didn't drink." He moved around her where she stood blocking the doorway, unable to stand the intensity any longer, scared of losing his nerve again in the face of her. He placed the jug and goblets he was carrying on the table.

"I didn't drink?" He could hear in her tone that she was trying to work out why he'd come to her room, and he wondered if he'd been obvious enough about his burning desire for her. They exchanged a few more confused words before he handed her the goblet of wine he'd poured. If anything she now looked even more puzzled – a voice in the back of his head was screaming that he looked like an idiot and to just say something sensible, but he had no idea what that sensible thing could be; no idea how to start explaining what the hell he was doing there. The sweat rolling down between his shoulder blades made him realise how hot he was. He wasn't sure how much of it was the heat of the room and how much was nerves, but he turned away from the fire.

"You keep it warm enough in here." Removing his gambeson gave him the opportunity to escape both the immediacy of her, and his growing desire, for a moment – he prayed it would ease the stifling heat of the room, and the equally burning tension between them. She explained her method for keeping the fire going and his instinctive reply – an attempt to rekindle their long established playfulness – came out more patronising than he'd intended, eliciting an annoyed and dismissive response.

Why was it like this between them? Why couldn't he just bloody well tell her how he felt about her? Was it really that hard to just speak the truth – that he wanted to fling her down and tear off her clothes, just the way he’d teased her about all those years ago. The answer was lost behind more sarcastic words, and he started to wonder if this was going to go anywhere or if she would just end up throwing him out of the room. He had to break through their self-imposed barriers somehow – had to confirm what she really felt towards him beyond doubt. He poured more wine,

"How about Tormund Giantsbane? Has he grown on you? He was very sad when you left." He was finally showing his hand now – she was an intelligent woman and surely couldn't fail to read his intent, despite her inexperience,

"You sound quite jealous." It was breathy, and a clear change in tone for the conversation. Not only was she now clearly aware of why he'd come to her room, but she was also prepared to call him out on it. He wondered if she was expecting him to deny it – to continue the game. He didn't,

“I do, don't I?" The intensity returned – she didn't shy away from it and that made his heart soar. Whatever she thought of his clumsy, wine-edged suit, she had done nothing to discourage him since the moment she'd opened the door. Indeed, beyond that, since his arrival in Winterfell. In the end it was he who was forced to break eye contact for a third time, after she all but stared him down without offering a response - her expression demanding to know what he was going to do about the jealousy he'd all but admitted to. His attention was suddenly drawn back to the heat of the room and he decided to take advantage of it, her surety in the face of his advances redoubling his determination to push forward before his nerve deserted him for good,

"It's bloody hot in here." He began trying to undo the lacing of his shirt, struggling with one hand and his teeth. She watched him for a few seconds, frowning, as he turned his gaze down to his task. He was going to wait for her to make the next move this time, no matter how long it took. As it was, she surprised him with the speed of her reaction,

"Oh, move aside." She pushed his hand out of the way, roughly, and that first contact sparked lightning flashes the length of his spine. All he could do for the next couple of seemingly eternal moments was stare into her face, her sapphire eyes turned down to the fastenings of his shirt, vibrant in spite of the bruising that coloured her left; soft lips closed gently together. If she was nervous she was hiding it well. The urge to kiss her came over him so strongly and so sudden he had to refocus his attention on something else. He dropped his gaze downward, momentarily distracted by the small but undeniable swell of her breasts, before he brought his hand to the lacing of her tunic. She reacted instantly, stilling both of them,

"What are you doing?" His eyes flicked to hers for a split second before returning to his work,

"Taking your shirt off." They locked gazes again, but this time he knew the games were done. She didn't take her eyes off his as she moved his hand away, gently this time, before she slowly unlaced her own tunic. As she did he watched the shifting light of the fire play across the angles of her face and dance down the length of her neck to caress her fingers, his heart surging relentlessly in his chest. She unfastened the shirt all the way down, then seemed to pause, a shade of uncertainty in her eyes. She stopped short of removing it and allowed it to hang loose, just a hint of the curve of her breasts showing through the gap. Part of him wanted to rip it off her, but the remainder was so captivated by the quiet way she'd taken control that he held himself back once again.

She switched her attention back to his shirt – pulling it from his belt and pushing her hands beneath the hem. The first contact of her knuckles, grazing against his sides, was like igniting wildfire – he lifted his arms and the flames seared up his body as she pulled the garment over his head. It took him an awkward few seconds to shake it over his golden hand, the ghost of her touch still burning into his skin. She then returned her trembling hands to her own shirt, her nerves finally starting to show, and he yearned to feel her heart racing against him. She did not shy away though – once again her gaze met his with strength and assurance as she allowed her tunic to fall to the floor; her lips parted so he could feel a shade of her breath, rapid on his face. He fought to keep his eyes on hers, and not allow them to rake down the length of her body. Not yet.

"I've never slept with a knight before." It came out softly, and he knew he'd finally allowed her to break through the defences he'd held fast between himself and the rest of the world for years. He searched her face for a reaction – now he'd put into words what was about to happen between them, was she going to flee? There was a flash of fear in her eyes, and her reply was faltering, but she didn't move,

"I've never slept with anyone before." There was the tiniest crease in her brow, her soft, tentative words betraying the true depth of her nerves. He'd known, of course, but hearing her say it flooded him with tides of emotion – she'd waited all these years and in the end chosen to give herself to him. It made him feel humbled, both with the honour and with the weight of responsibility it put upon him. When he'd stepped in to preserve her maidenhood all those years ago, he could never have imagined he would be the one to finally take it from her. He hoped, prayed, he could be everything she'd dreamed of. She need not have the same concern – all he wanted from her was someone prepared to take him as he was, and she'd already proven herself that.

"Then you have to drink. Those are the rules." He'd wanted to ease the tension, lessen the pressure he worried was crushing down on her, but he instantly regretted it. He should have known that of all the times to be flippant, this was the last – it was a big deal for him, but it was an even bigger deal for her. He wanted to help her relax and enjoy it, as far as she could, but he still needed her to know the depth of his feelings. The last thing he wanted was for her to believe he saw this as a bit of drunken fun. She made to quip back at him,

"I told you..." but he cut her off, his mouth crashing onto hers. He was done with the verbal sparring, the to and fro. They'd danced around this for years and all he wanted now was for the waiting, the wondering, to be over – he needed to finally taste her, to press his body against hers and hear her moan his name. He should probably have been gentler, needed to keep in mind that this was her first time and not let passion run away with him – the last thing he wanted to do was scare her. But despite the fear that was surely coursing through her, she met his fierce pace – her tongue moving against his with more enthusiasm than skill, but he didn't care.

He pulled her in; her breasts were small but the feel of them, naked against his chest travelled straight to his groin, and he couldn't fully stifle the moan that rose in his throat. She tried to draw in air – gasping with fear or pleasure, or a little of both, and he broke the kiss for a moment, to check she was all right. She looked frankly terrified, but she didn't try and pull away from him. So he waited, giving her a moment of space, acutely aware of the closeness of their contact, blood pulsing southward.

Then, she smiled – she’d smiled more times tonight than he recalled her doing in all the years since they'd been thrown together, and he finally had to admit it was because of him – that there was no longer any doubt how she felt about him. It made his heart surge with excitement, and he couldn't control the idiot grin that broke out over his face. She really cared for him – had desired this, thought about this moment as long as he had. Seeing her smile here in his arms was more than he'd ever dreamed. Love was a word that had held as much fear as joy for him throughout his life, but there was nothing to fear in the face of this incredible woman, her heart laid bare before him.

Then, she kissed him again, at her own lazier pace this time. He submitted, allowing her a few moments of control; he wanted it to be longer but the strength of his desire almost made him dizzy. He slid his hand around to her breast, palming it gently, praying it wasn't too much too soon. He needn't have worried – she reacted by locking her hands behind his head and crushing his lips against hers with an urgency that spurred him on. That first touch of her, warm and soft beneath his fingers, her permitting this intimacy – it felt incredible to be this trusted, this desired. She groaned, deep and throaty, and hearing her express her arousal so freely was intensely erotic. He was overwhelmed by the need to lay her down, to take her, to be her first; he wanted to possess her, if indeed a woman such as her could ever be possessed by anyone but herself.

He stumbled them towards the bed, pushing her down, relishing the feeling of their bodies pressing fully together for the first time. It was too fast, he knew it was, and yet at the same time far, far too slow; it was now clear they'd harboured feelings for each other for years, only finding a way to express them by sparring verbally and sometimes physically. Since she'd departed King's Landing after their months on the road together, their meetings had been all too brief – reunited only to have to say goodbye again. In reality all either of them had wanted to do was fall into the other and never climb back out.

He'd wanted her so badly for so long, and yet somehow he still hadn't known the full extent of his need for her, until the immediacy of them here on her bed; his weight pressing her down as she yielded beneath him, his co*ck growing harder by the second. How the hell had they both resisted this for so long when it seemed so impossible now to prevent, if either of them had wanted to? The wine induced fuzz in his head indicated that all they'd been lacking was the courage to push beyond that boundary, and it was all suddenly so damn easy.

Returning both his hand, and now his mouth to her breasts, he drew sounds from her even she surely hadn't known she could make – many would have doubted there was anything like this passion in such a woman but he'd known, seen through to her vulnerable soul, sensed her desire hidden behind those impossibly blue eyes.

She arched her hips, crushing against his rapidly growing erection. It was agony and ecstasy – he thrust against her once before he stopped himself – he didn't want to frighten her, and he breathed hard in an attempt to regain control. Forcing himself to be still, his raging desire had to go somewhere, and it escaped from his mouth as he gasped out,

"You have no idea what you do to me." And she didn't, he could tell by the startled look in her eyes but he couldn't take it back now and nor did he want to. She was lost for words, a first surely, but despite her shock she ran a hand over his cheek with a tenderness he hadn’t known he needed until right that moment. As impossible as it seemed, his desire multiplied tenfold, and all he could do was stare at her like he was seeing her for the very first time – he'd never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted her right now. She pulled him to her again, eager lips clumsy against his, her hands raking down his back.

Her hips shifted against his again and his now fully erect co*ck found its way between her legs, rubbing the length of her heat through the layers of fabric. She moaned into his mouth as he broke away, gasping out his own pleasure. He was possessed with the need to have her fully naked beneath him and he trailed both hands down her sides, his real one sliding around to the fastenings of her breeches. Then his damn golden hand caught in her pocket and he couldn't stop himself cursing out,

"f*ck. Piece of sh*t..." and he jerked away from her, pulling at it fruitlessly with his other hand. He knew this was all too good to be true and now he'd gone and blown it. He was so angry with himself, he almost didn't register what she was doing until her fingers gripped his wrist, and her other hand gently lifted his chin to meet her eyes. Who knew she, a warrior, could be so gentle, or that he needed that gentleness from her like a desert needs rain? She whispered something he barely registered, and then removed the godsforsaken thing from his arm. She raised his stump so she could kiss it, with something that could almost be described as reverence. He didn't understand what she was thinking – her touch against the ugly thing felt odd and he couldn't help the shiver of discomfort that ran the length of him. He had to ask her,

"Does it not... disgust you?" He felt sure she was only trying to protect his feelings, and felt a new wave of affection for her, but he didn't know how she could bring herself to put her lips against it. To his surprise she touched it again, softly, and this time he almost found the sensation enjoyable, as strange and unfamiliar as it felt.

"Not in the slightest – in fact I find it one of the most attractive things about you." He couldn't help but laugh, his surprise and delight difficult to disguise – the fact she found his disfigurement, and more to the point he himself, attractive was still almost astonishing despite the fact he was in her bed. His idiot mouth could only find the usual quip with which to reply, and he was kicking himself almost before he'd finished the sentence,

"Is that because it means you'll always be able to best me with a sword?" She frowned just a shade before masking her disappointment, and answered gently,

"No, it's because you lost your hand protecting me – and it’s a constant reminder of the man you really are, no matter how much you try to deny it." He couldn't meet the stark, honest truth of her gaze - the love and respect he saw there was too much and he could not bring himself to accept it. He swallowed the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, before looking up to give that same honour back to the one who really deserved it,

"It’s all you. You make me better than I ever thought I could be..." He couldn't wait any more, he had to have all of her - he could see from her unfocussed gaze she was as ready as she was going to be, and he dropped his hand to unfasten her breeches, releasing the breath he didn't know he'd been holding when the loose material fell away. Their eyes remained locked as she helped him discard the garment to the floor. He could see and sense her discomfort as he raked her body with his eyes, but also that she was she resisting it; some part of her enjoying his attention in spite of herself. It was not the first time he'd seen her naked of course, nor she him when it came to it, but the baths at Harrenhal felt a whole lifetime ago, and they'd looked at one another very differently then. Neither of them had a clue their journey would lead them to this, and Jaime spared a second to wonder what that past version of him would have thought if he could see them now,

" ... and it's high time I thanked you properly." The first feel of her wiry hair, then her heat against his fingers, was like lightning travelling straight to his groin, his balls tightening and his already impossibly hard erection straining painfully against his trousers. Call him a masoch*st but he enjoyed it - he'd waited this long for her, what was a few more minutes of excruciating anticipation whilst he gave her pleasure she'd never known? She writhed beneath him, breathing hard – gods she was so wet, and knowing it was all for him turned him on even more. He extended his thumb and pressed gently against her cl*t – she cried out and he froze, unable to tell if it was from pleasure or pain. He searched her face for the answer as he asked,

"Too much?" She shook her head, but took a few moments to reply, breathing deeply,

"Just... go slow," she panted out, breathily. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, seeing how undone she was; knowing he'd done that. He shuffled them further into the bed and, leaning back on his right arm, continued with a lighter and slower pace, nuzzling kisses into her neck as he pressed his face there and inhaled.

Then, he watched her as she gradually let go, forgot herself and surrendered wholly to his gradually building touch, clenching around his fingers as he pushed them inside. Her face moved through a range of expressions, each more beautiful to him than the last, before finally her lower lip slipped between her teeth and she roared out her release against his shoulder, every muscle in her body taut and trembling.

He was overcome with the need to hold her, wrapping her in his arms and pressing gentle kisses against her lips as she slowly relaxed and regained control of her breathing. He could have stayed there forever, watching her bask in the afterglow of the pleasure he’d given her, but without even really knowing he was doing it he raised a hand to trace down her face, and met her eyes as she opened them once more. The look there reignited his own desire from a background ache to a desperate need, and he whispered,

"Are you sure you want this?” He pressed his painful erection firmly against her, knowing it would all but kill him if she said no, but knowing he must have that, must hear her tell him she did. She didn't break his gaze for a moment as she breathed,

"More than anything." He believed her – she really did want him, and after all they'd endured he was the one she was going to surrender herself to. He intended to treat that with the honour it deserved.

She dropped her hands to his trousers, shaking fingers betraying her nerves once more, but she soon managed to undo the fastenings and between them they pulled them down and away. His relief at the release of pressure on his groin must have been palpable, but her attention was fixed on his co*ck, eyes almost out on stalks. It suddenly struck him that although she'd doubtless seen many naked men through her years in barracks and the battlefield, himself included, it was entirely possible she’d never seen an erection before.

He allowed her to take him in for a few moments, enjoying the attention if he was honest, then the urge to feel her fingers grip around him became too much, and he took her hand and placed it on his shaft. She stroked him tentatively, her calloused hand clearly far more used to grasping a sword, but her lack of skill did nothing to lessen the exquisite feeling, his throbbing co*ck so desperate for her touch. How desperate, he hadn’t quite anticipated, and he was forced to still her after only a few moments – he’d expected to be able to stand it longer, to give her some time to get used to the feel of him before he was inside her, but just a few strokes and he was dangerously close to spilling into her hand.

"As incredible as that is, I’ll have to stop you otherwise this is going to be over rather faster than would be ideal." He tried to hide his shame at having to say it, feeling like a horny teenager instead of a worldly man in his mid-forties who ought to have far more control. But he didn't, and he couldn't wait any longer, as he moved himself back on top of her and pressed the head of his co*ck between her legs, rubbing it gently against her. Somehow he held back from penetrating her before he had the chance to look once more into her beautiful face, hand grazing her cheek as he raised an eyebrow, giving her one final chance to change her mind. She nodded her consent, and as she did he pressed forward gently, entering her for the first time, her intoxicating heat enveloping him. He gasped with the pleasure of the sensation, holding still for a moment, praying he could somehow last long enough for this not be embarrassing.

He wanted to keep looking at her face, and he did for a time, as he thrust into her slowly, trying to be as gentle as he could, desperate not to hurt her. She was tense at first and he knew she must be in pain – he tried not to feel guilt, knew it was unavoidable and that she would stop him if it became too much, but she gradually began to relax and after a few minutes started to move beneath him. The intense pressure in his groin built and he knew he was crying out with ecstasy as he allowed his thrusts to become harder. He lost all sense of time, of where he was, even his own name – everything but the feel of her under him, around him, as he spilled his seed into her and his shaking arms gave way, pitching him forwards onto her chest, gasping.

His sweaty skin stuck to hers - her hands were in his hair, fingers teasing against his scalp, and it felt almost as good as his co*ck growing soft, still inside her. Once he could remember how to breathe he rolled to the side, lips seeking hers for lazy kisses, slow and languid, without the earlier urgency. He laced their fingers, raising her hand so he could kiss it, as he gazed into her eyes; feeling like he was staring into eternity.

The urge to be held came upon him strong and without warning – he resisted it for a few moments before wondering why he felt he had to, and he allowed himself to snuggle his head into her chest, breathing her in – she smelled of sweat and leather, and the lingering scent of arousal. She sensed his need, pulling up the furs and wrapping him in her arms; and curled up there he found the safety and love he hadn't known he’d been searching for his entire life.

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Reliving that amazing night calmed Jaime and helped him hold back the darkness – he could not imagine what had possessed him to give that up; to give her up. Before they'd first lain together, he’d thought about it many times, but whenever he had, he'd always imagined comparing her with Cersei and being consumed with how different they were. When that night had finally come, he hadn't even thought about Cersei for a fraction of a second. It was probably the longest he'd gone without her entering his head in... forever. Brienne was the key to the freedom he sought so desperately, and he could only pray that Tyrion was right; that it wasn’t too late to make things right with her – that love really could find out a way, in time.

Chapter 25: I'll Be Good

Chapter Text

Morning came, thin and weak, the previous fortnight’s scorching heat giving way to a clinging fog. Jaime had lived in King's Landing for most of his adult life, so he knew it would clear soon enough and the relentless sun would break through once more. As much as he hated the cold of the North, some days the heat of the city got too much even for a southern boy like him, and a couple of hours respite on a dull morning were a welcome relief. He took his time over his morning wash – allowing the cool water to run over his hair and down his face, and as every morning since he'd been restored to life, it did something to wash away the darkness and fear the long reaches of each night continued to bring. Awake or asleep, he was assaulted by the same procession of painful memories that had tormented him whilst he lay dying, and the flames; even in sleep he could never entirely escape the licking flames that threatened to consume him. Some nights he felt like he was burning alive from the inside out. Fixing his mind on Brienne could hold them at bay for a time, but he knew they were still there, waiting for him – the blistering heat lingering just beyond the edges of his awareness. Only the grey dawn brought relief, when he could rise from his bed and keep himself busy; could believe he really was alive, and be glad of it.

The course of the rest of his life was no more certain - it was strange to have no clear duties to perform and no-one to answer to; the freedom and time to think were both a blessing and a curse. His determination to atone was fierce, and he would dedicate every waking moment he was able to that cause for the rest of his days; days that by rights he should never have had. To that end he'd spent hours walking the city, helping anywhere he could, despite the image of Aerys which haunted him whenever he looked upon the face of an injured and suffering child,

"Burn them. Burn them all." With the bone-chilling memory of his words, the flames came once again.

His frustration at how little practical assistance he could offer was his constant companion - he had few skills beyond those of a knight, and he was now an aging and crippled one at that; still to fully recover his strength from his strange ordeal. So much of what was needed in the short term required heavy lifting, which his lingering weakness and missing hand did not allow. But he could cook, albeit the food was plain, he could assist the masters under instruction, and he could run any errands that were required. At first, many of those he tried to help insisted such tasks were were beneath him, but he would not relent. Now he was treated just the same as any of them, and the long, exhausting days held a camaraderie he had come to deeply value, as well as making him sleep easier when he fell into his bed at the end of them. Jaime was also hugely gratified at being able to contribute materially by means of gold and much needed supplies, now the Lannister fortune was solely in control of Tyrion and himself.

He'd much enjoyed the time he'd spent with his brother over the past weeks – quiet evenings talking about everything and nothing, love and loss, with the wine always flowing freely. It was the simplest of pleasures, and yet just like every other moment that had been gifted back to him, unimaginably precious. The details of events in Kings Landing from Jaime’s entombment until his waking were naturally a topic of choice, and with those discussions came many blurred and fractured memories. They reignited his curiosity about the soft voice and hands that had soothed him whilst he lay dying; his body burning with the fever that now seemed to have settled itself in his mind. At Tyrion’s suggestion, and with Davos’ assistance to lead them to the healer's house he'd been nursed in before he passed away, he’d finally been able to meet the person to whom they belonged.

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The narrow Fleabottom backstreet had largely managed to escape the devastation – its entranceway barely visible between a crumbling shack on the one side and a half-collapsed fish stall on the other. The journey here had been enlivened by the story of how Jaime had come to lie in a house in this place for several weeks; that he had Ser Davos’ quick thinking and his many contacts to thank. They'd bought him time, if nothing else – he'd have been scarcely more than a skeleton by the time Brienne had arrived otherwise.

The three picked their way over the rubble and into the alley. As Kingsguard, Jaime had never had cause to visit this part of the city, being somewhere a king would not usually go, at least openly. To his shame he'd had no idea there were streets this narrow, where one could so easily touch the walls on either side at the same time. How could he have spent so many years in the capital and been wholly ignorant of how a large proportion of its occupants lived? No longer would he sit beside his fellow nobles in their ivory tower, removed from the rest of the world - he wanted to do whatever was in his power to help these people.

After a few hundred yards Davos ducked into an entrance; Tyrion, and then Jaime, following behind through the low doorway. The room they entered was dimly lit and had a number of trestle beds set up around the walls, with a central seating area next to the fireplace at the far end. Around half the beds were occupied, a couple of the patients asleep or possibly unconscious, and a third sitting up and drinking from a bowl of what smelled like broth. The scent brought back a flood of memories, and although by sight the room was not familiar, Jaime's other senses confirmed he'd lain here barely conscious for a long time. There was a single figure seated by the fire, who rose to her feet at their approach. She stared at Jaime with the same look of utter disbelief that had become so familiar to him through the past weeks.

"My word… Ser Jaime as I live and breathe. I knew I would not believe it until I saw you with my own eyes, and even now you’re here I’m still not certain that you're real." She moved over and took hold of his hand, squeezing it between both of hers. The moment she touched him, he knew it was her – the woman who’d cared for him, made those long days and nights of suffering somehow bearable. More shards of memory came back to him.

“Raya. That's your name. I remember now, you told me.” She was shorter than he'd imagined, and older, but the wave of warmth he felt toward her was just as strong.

"That's right, my Lord. I was never sure how much you could hear me, but it's good to know something got through at least. I’m sorry I couldn't do more for you, but... well, it seems things have turned out favourably somehow. I am very glad." She smiled up at him, the look of wonder still fixed on her face. He withdrew his hand so he could reach into the pouch at his belt and pull out a fat purse of gold dragons, which he held out to her. She raised her hands before her and shook her head.

"I cannot accept any money from you – Ser Davos has already more than paid for the cost of your care." He was taken aback – through his life he'd rarely met people who were not motivated by gold,

"Please, take it. You must know my brother and I have much more where this came from, and if you won't keep it for yourself, please use it to help those who cannot afford to pay." She sighed a little before nodding and graciously accepting the purse from his outstretched hand, turning to place it into a chest behind her. When she turned back, she moved in to embrace Jaime and he folded her into his arms. Despite how small she was, he couldn't help but be carried back to hazy memories of his mother, when he was the little one held safely in a loving embrace.

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Jaime knew the experience of that visit would stay with him – the knowledge that there were people in the world who willingly cared for others for no personal gain, regardless of who they were or what they'd done, had a profound effect on him. It made him all the more determined to use his remaining days for good.

Although he kept busy Brienne was, of course, never far from his thoughts. He suppressed the urge to go to her, to beg and plead, for that would serve neither of them; she still needed space and if he was honest, so did he. All he could do was keep proving to her, and to himself, that he was a better man now. Somehow he had to wait patiently for her to figure out the rest on her own, whilst he kept his distance and watched her belly grow bigger with his child. Then, assuming her new position would even allow them to be together, hope she still wanted him at the end of it.

He shook his head - he caught himself in these pointless trains of thought many times a day, but he no longer allowed them to stop him pushing forwards. He dressed and made his way out into the courtyard. On his way through the Keep towards the city, the door of the Great Hall caught his eye. With so much work to occupy everyone who now resided in the Red Keep, Jaime had not yet found an opportunity to speak with the King, but some sense he couldn't name led him towards that door knowing he would find Bran alone inside.

His first view of the partially destroyed Throne Room shocked him, in spite of all he had seen and felt in his headlong rush to Cersei, and afterwards. The great old room had always seemed so permanent, so steadfast, even as its many occupants came and went with the changing of the tides. The Iron Throne - symbol of all that both united and divided the kingdoms, coveted by so many, now lay in a solid river down the steps of the dais built to hold it. Little had remained constant through the turbulent years since Robert Baratheon’s death, but as Jaime looked upon the devastation he realised the world had changed for good this time. Perhaps the long years of uncertainty were finally at an end.

Bran was sitting in his chair at the ruined side of the room where the stonework spilled away, and Jaime slowly picked his way over the debris towards him. The King did not turn to look at him, and when Jaime reached his side, he followed the younger man's gaze to where it was fixed, somewhere out in the middle of the Blackwater. It was a calm, still day, the sunlight beginning to break through the early fog, as he'd known it would, glinting off the surface of the water.

Jaime took a few moments to breathe in the morning air and enjoy the quiet – it was amazing how, after living here for so long, he was seeing everything with brand new eyes. Eventually, the king broke the silence,

“I knew you'd come.” There had been little time to talk with Bran in Winterfell, between battle preparations and his romantic involvement with Brienne, but even during their single brief conversation, Jaime had gained a sense of the boy and his distant manner.

”I’m not that person any more.”
“You still would be, if you hadn’t pushed me out of that window, and I would still be Brandon Stark.”
“You’re not?”
“No, I’m something else now.”

He'd understood nothing of what those words meant at the time, but after his own brush with powers unknown he was more readily able to accept them. Some days he wondered if he was still Jaime Lannister.

He hoped Bran would say more, but he resumed his silent vigil over the bay. Is this what Jaime's actions of a heartbeat had led him to? Some emotionless oracle, a mere shell of the vibrant little boy he'd once been? Jaime was gripped by one thought, one feeling, in that moment,

“I’m sorry.” It still seemed painfully hollow, and Jaime was suddenly afraid that after all these long years of wishing he could make things right with the boy, now he had his opportunity nothing he could say or do would ever be enough.

"You already said you were sorry, and I told you what I thought then – I understand why you did it and we are both the better for it in the end.” Jaime could hardly deny it for his own part, but was this really better for Bran than everything else he could have been?

"It's easy to apologise in the face of death, your Grace – when we didn't know if there would be an afterward." Jaime's use of Bran's own words gleaned some small reaction from the king as he finally turned towards him,

"There nearly wasn't for you." Jaime didn't know if Bran’s words were intended as provocative, to shake him, but if they were he was successful. He'd already realised the weight behind them, already confronted the reality of his death, but hearing the truth laid out starkly like that still unsettled him. It also served to remind him precisely why he was here and what he needed to say,

"You're right – I could be lying dead and cold next to my sister's bones right now. I could have left this world without ever making right the awful things I’ve done, all the evil I allowed to happen; perhaps without even realising just how wrong I was in the past." Bran nodded slowly, the slightest raise of his eyebrows the only change to his expression,

"It sounds like you've been doing a lot of thinking. People don't get second chances in this world, but by some twist of fate you have one Jaime Lannister. What are you going to do with it?" The question was so simple and yet the answers were not. The old Jaime would have shrugged off such a challenge with bravado and horsesh*t, because he refused to look that deeply inside himself for fear of what he would find. But this new version of him had found the answer and was not afraid – he knew now that looking hard enough to see his own darkness was the only way to find the light.

“I am going to be a better man - and I’m going to start by proving to you that I’m sorry, not just saying the words. I have to make proper amends for what I did to you – I owe you a debt and I intend to pay it whatever the cost.” Bran's expression didn't change, but somehow his face seemed lighter,

"I should expect nothing less - after all, a Lannister always pays his debts." Before the King had even finished, Jaime could feel himself cringing - gods he hated those words and all they'd been used for. Bran seemed to sense his discomfort and offered a little reassurance,

"On the face of it that always seemed like such a noble mantra - perhaps now commanded solely to the charge of you and your brother it will be used for good. Do not worry yourself Ser Jaime, you will get your chance to repay me soon enough." He returned his gaze to the horizon and as long, silent moments passed Jaime began to wonder if he had been dismissed. Then, the king spoke again,

“It is strangely peaceful sitting here amongst the ruins of war. I like to watch the birds – they care not for the affairs of men. There's nothing like a free bird soaring over the waves; I always despised the idea of birds in cages, don't you agree?” Bran's tone left Jaime uncertain as to whether he was expected to reply, but he stuttered out a rather feeble response,

"I... suppose it isn't really where they belong, your Grace." He was struck by a sudden feeling that he was being tested, but he wasn't sure why, or what the test was. The King continued as if Jaime hadn't spoken,

"... and yet, some of them seem to sing anyway, and eat out of their master’s hand as if they’re content to be there; but then I suppose if they've always been in the cage they don't know any better." He looked at Jaime again now, his gaze seeming to sear right through him into his very soul. That was the moment when Jaime realised Bran was talking about him; he was that caged bird. The King knew, everything; understood all that had been churning through Jaime's mind since the moment of the Keep's collapse. Not only that, but he could see Jaime knew it. Then he asked,

"How are you feeling?" Jaime had been asked that same question endlessly since his waking, and he had no better answer now than on any of those previous occasions,

"I’m alive. Beyond that I really can't say. I keep expecting I'll eventually start feeling normal again, but the world has changed so much, and I've changed so much. I don't think I even know what normal is any more."

“It's a difficult thing, being dragged back from the brink of death, or in your case even beyond it. You've spent much of your life running away from the consequences of your actions and hiding from them behind your father’s influence. Now you're facing up to it all for the first time - your past, your future. It's a great deal to process all at once - perhaps you're being too hard on yourself.” Had Jaime heard him correctly? Was this man, this boy king, really telling him to be less hard on himself after all that he'd done? After what Jaime had done to him? Bran’s eyes still pierced him like needles, and all he could do was freeze under his gaze,

“Who would have guessed when you pushed me out of that window, that you'd end up a cripple yourself?” He looked pointedly at Jaime’s missing hand as he said it, “It means we’re in a unique position to understand each other. I think you’d agree that it's best not to dwell on what we've lost, but on what we've gained." Jaime glanced down at his arm, and the lump of gold at the end of it which had never felt right; he wouldn't have thought about it in those terms, but he supposed the loss of his hand had gained him Brienne. He couldn't imagine where Bran had benefitted from his actions, but the King read the question from his mind and supplied the answer,

"None of us could possibly have known it at the time, but you gave me far more than you ever took away. I'd most likely have taken up a sword or bow in support of my brother's cause, despite his and my mother's inevitable protests, and been killed long ago. Instead, I learnt to fly; and now, so can you." Jaime realised that he could – that he really was free now, and losing his hand, kindling that first flame of a bond with Brienne, had been his first step on the road to that freedom.

"I... fully intend to your Grace, so far as I am able."

"You never really wanted any part of it, did you - the Lannister quest for world domination.” It was more a statement than a question. “You were always a lover at heart, despite your prowess as a fighter, and that's the one thing about you that hasn't changed.” Jaime couldn't dispute his words, and for once, he found he didn't want to,

"All I ever really wanted beyond a life of honour was a wife, and a family I could claim as mine – I just... chose the wrong woman." In a way it felt good to say it - to finally own his greatest folly,

“We don't get to choose who we love. An old friend of mine was fond of saying that, and how right he was. I am uncertain he ever really came to terms with it though.”

"But it was my choice to do all the things that love demanded of me, as much as I may have told myself otherwise."

"It was indeed, but you learnt better in time; and in spite of how fierce and all-consuming that love appeared to be, it didn't stop you falling in love with another. One far better for you, and infinitely more deserving." Jaime couldn't help feeling as he had when he'd first spoken with Tyrion after his return - that he was having to fight to paint himself in a negative light. He'd at least partially understood his brother's forgiveness, but Bran's mystified him,

“I ruined that though, didn't l? I had my chance with her, but I threw it away; and now she's put herself beyond any possibility of us being together.” He'd known Brienne would come up at some point – had hoped she would; he wanted to know what the king had to say about her, and the ridiculous mess Jaime had created.

“I can see why you would think that, but this is a changed world and there's no reason why it can't have changed rules. I will permit you to marry Ser Brienne – if you can persuade her to have you; on that score I can offer no guarantees." Jaime was astonished – even after the understanding they’d reached through this conversation, he had not expected this. He could feel his heart beginning to race with nervous excitement – he had spent the past few weeks believing that even if Brienne did eventually find a way to forgive him, they would never be able to marry or even be together. Now to be told that might be possible – it was almost too much for him to handle.

"I... do not know what to say, your Grace. I do not deserve such allowances."

"Perhaps not, but she does, and considering your pre-existing involvement it would be callous of me to deny you permission to wed. Besides, there are a number of people, not least my brother Jon, who would never forgive me if I decree that your child be born a bastard. However, I have a condition – and a firm request, but I hope the former will help you with the latter.” He paused, eyes sweeping back out to sea before meeting Jaime’s again, “You will join my Kingsguard as Ser Brienne's second. She will naturally require an extended leave from her duties in a few months' time; you will act as Lord Commander in her absence. Assuming, in time, she does agree to marry you then suitable quarters will be provided for your family.”

“You... wish me to join your Kingsguard!?” He could barely believe it – the boy whose life he'd come so close to ending was now asking him to guard it with his own. If Jaime had asked Bran to demonstrate belief that he'd changed, he could have imagined no greater proof than this.

"I do – and I understand your surprise given our history; but who better to guard my back than a man who believes he owes me more than he will ever be able to repay. I will repeat what I said to your brother, Ser Jaime – you've made many terrible mistakes, and you're going to spend the rest of your life fixing them." Jaime could not help but smile - the story he shared with this boy had come full circle. He'd known his quest for redemption had to be rooted here and so, despite the seeming absurdity of Bran's choice, it actually made perfect sense. He needed no time for consideration of the King's demand, so he dropped straight to his knee,

"Your Grace, I pledge to shield your back, to keep your council, and to give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new." Jaime thought he detected the merest hint of a smile as he looked up into the King’s face.

"And I vow, that you shall always have a place at my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that would bring you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new." Jaime rose slowly, brushing the dust of the Throne Room’s crumbling walls from his knees. He felt a warmth in his chest and with it his embryonic sense of hope grew stronger; he felt good about himself for the first time in more years than he wished to count.

"I thank you once again your Grace. But, I beg your pardon, you said you have another request to make of me?" Bran had turned once again towards the sea, and his gaze remained fixed there as he spoke his next words,

"I do. And to this one I hope, for your own sake, you will swear even more solemnly than the first. It is not a good idea to devote your life entirely to another person, but you already know that – you will bear the consequences of your mistake for the rest of your days. Do not make it again - promise me you will find out who Jaime Lannister is, before you pledge yourself to Ser Brienne.” He was right, of course he was; he was right about damn well everything. As much as Jaime's heart burned through his chest with the strength of his love for her, he knew he could not allow himself to build his entire life around dedication to another again. His heart would have him cast himself on her mercy, but he knew that path well and it led only to certain ruin. The unshakeable resolve he so admired in her had been built around a cause, and he needed to continue building one of his own. He would to prove to her that he was everything she believed he could be; but even more importantly he would prove it to himself.

"I swear it, your Grace. With all that I am, and with all that I have." The manner of Bran's sharp nod told him the King was pleased,

“Then let us go to the practice yard. I feel it only right and proper that I put you through your paces. Besides, the Small Council have been working hard and are somewhat starved of entertainment.” Bran summoned the servant who had been waiting nearby and Jaime led them out of the room, with a building excitement for the fresh challenges that now awaited him.

^^^^^^

The godswood, as Brienne had discovered with Sansa on their first day in King's Landing, was a deliciously cool escape from the heat of the southern afternoons; so it was there she found herself drawn once again on another sweltering day. She found peace beneath the heavy boughs, and something of an escape from the relentless procession of conflicting thoughts and feelings to which, otherwise, there seemed no end. They did not entirely desert her here, but she felt removed from them as she walked – soothed by the rhythm of her feet against the stony ground.

It was not merely the welcome shade that brought her back here day after day, however – she had never been spiritual, but after all that had happened over the past few months, her mind had been drawn to age old questions; to thoughts of what lay beyond the fabric of this world. She'd been raised to follow the Seven, at least as much as was decent in the Stormlands, but the more primal ways of the old gods held an increasing intrigue for her these days. Whether that was due to her years of service to the Starks, or her experiences in the frozen wastelands of the North, as Jaime liked to call them, she couldn't be sure.

Whatever the reason, here she was, strolling over paths that were fast becoming familiar; a new daily ritual that went some small way towards replacing the sparring routine she was currently denied. At least she could enjoy this quiet pastime now, most of the symptoms that had plagued her through early pregnancy finally seeming to have passed as promised. She patted the flat of her palm against a solid trunk; touch wood they had passed.

Sansa's face was never far from her mind when she walked here, and thought of the Lady now came with a vivid memory of her joy at the news of Jaime’s miraculous recovery. Brienne had never had any doubt as to the depth of feeling between them, but it was deeply touching to see it spelled out across her face. Indeed, after what he'd done to her family, Brienne could have forgiven Sansa for being glad of Jaime’s death – her happiness was without doubt for Brienne alone, and that meant a great deal; she had been a true friend through these past months. The day she would return to the North crept ever closer, and Brienne did not want to think about that too much. She didn't know if it was going to be easier or harder to say goodbye to her confidant now she had Jaime back, and all the complications he'd brought with him.

The majority of her past few weeks had been filled with Small Council business – there was so much to discuss, so many things that needed to be arranged and a daunting amount of rebuilding to be done. To her relief, despite the fact she was the only woman there, and a pregnant woman at that, she’d thus far had no difficulty garnering the appropriate amount of respect from her fellow council members – occasional silent side eye from Bronn notwithstanding. Bran had assured her she would not be expected to undertake any guard or other active duties until she was fully able – in the meanwhile he would be much relying on her for strategic advice, as well as assistance in recruitment of the Kingsguard to full strength. She was glad her endless fatigue of the past couple of months was finally abating or the schedule would have proved beyond her.

As to Jaime, her thoughts were no clearer for numerous afternoons pacing out in the godswood, turning things over and over. In order to figure it out, she somehow had to untangle all that had happened from what she wanted, what he wanted, and the baby. For all her countless miles trodden here, she was becoming even less convinced that was possible. Meanwhile, he'd been doing his best to act relaxed around her but, in the small amount of time they'd spent together over the past couple of weeks, she'd sensed his underlying agitation. He had strange moments of absence where he'd stare off into the middle distance, and she knew he was going through things he didn't want to burden her with. She wanted to let him, but she knew she couldn't; not yet.

Whatever they were, he was keeping himself occupied - he seemed to spend most of his days out in the city, and when he returned in the evenings the dust and grime that clung to him made it obvious he had done a hard day's work. It was clear he was helping where he could, quietly and without ceremony; the knowledge brought her feelings she could not name, but her heart was warmer for them.

Despite her generally improved health, the climb back to the terrace took her breath, and she was forced to pause several times. She was not helped in this by the armour she was still stubbornly insisting on wearing - and somehow just about managing to squeeze into with the removal of a few elements - but she was determined to keep it on for every last day she could, despite her intense discomfort. Even once she gave in, her breathlessness was one thing she knew would only worsen in the months to come - it would force her to slow down, but she found a greater peace in that knowledge now. Along with all the unanswered questions, Jaime's return had ignited her joy at the prospect of motherhood, his obvious delight at becoming a father heart-warming and infectious. Consequently the ever progressing changes to her body were now, for the most part, a source of wonder rather than frustration.

When she reached level ground she could hear the clear sound of swords clashing, and old instincts put her on alert, but there were no cries of battle to go along with them and she quickly realised it was merely two people sparring. The urge to join was strong, but her hand found her belly rather than her sword; she could never resent her baby, and it would only be a few months after all. She paused briefly, resting against the low wall whilst her breathing recovered, taking the opportunity of a few quiet moments to push her hand beneath her brigandine, which was now buckled very loosely, and rub her palm affectionately over the firm swell of her abdomen. When she continued in the direction of the sound, she kept her hand pressed there, comforted by the feeling of closeness it brought to the child within her.

As the two combatants came into sight she pulled up short – below her in the practice yard were Podrick and Jaime, watched off to the side by the King and the rest of the Small Council. The feelings that came over her were mixed – pride, envy and a profound uncertainty as to who she wished to prevail. As it was, Pod largely seemed to have the best of Jaime – he’d recovered quickly enough from his ordeal, but it would appear he was not entirely back to fighting strength. She dismissed the wave of concern that washed over her – he was a big boy and could take care of himself despite the many faults he could be accused of. Besides, she must remember her need to remain detached.

Watching them drew her thoughts back to a river crossing many years past, when Jaime head been shackled and weak from imprisonment; he'd fended her off with skill but not much power, and he was doing much the same with Pod right now. She was fully absorbed in their intricate dance, ducking and parrying every stroke with them in her mind, so it was only once they'd paused to take water, and she was thinking how mature Pod looked in his gleaming Kingsguard armour, that she realised Jaime was wearing the same. As she approached, she tried to tell herself it was merely the only armour that could be found, that he hadn't any other to wear, but another part of her was slotting together the pieces that explained what was happening here. The king's presence compounded her suspicions and she found herself completely blindsided by her cascading emotions as she reached the edge of the courtyard.

Tyrion was the first to turn, the look on his face betraying everything that each of the others confirmed as they followed him. Jaime had been sworn back into the Kingsguard for a third time, and they were all concerned about what she was going to think. Jaime himself searched her face for a reaction, his anxiety palpable. Confronted with this unexpected development, her overwhelming emotion was pride – he had committed himself to the service of a Stark king, something she could not have imagined even six months ago before he'd ridden north to Winterfell to fight at her side. She'd accepted his pledge to serve under her command then, and she would do so again now, gladly. It pleased her, that she felt that way, despite all the other emotions she knew would follow. When she'd come upon him in the Round Room shortly after his return, he'd been so gratuitous about her appointment as Lord Commander; he'd told her he was proud and she'd believed him in spite of the pain she could see behind his eyes. She was thankful to be able to feel that same pride for him now.

He'd known what her new position meant for their future, or what he believed it meant anyway, but she knew differently; it would not prevent them from being together, from marrying. She hadn't put him right then, and she knew her intention to keep it from him would not change now – assuming the king hadn't already informed Jaime himself. She wasn't ready to confront those possibilities yet – but the ‘yet’ in that thought betrayed a future where she would be. Attached to that knowledge was more hope than she cared to admit, but for now she had to address what was before her – an array of expectant faces who did not deserve to be kept in concerned suspense any longer. She took a final determined step forward before opening her mouth, only to be cut off by the king,

"I hope you do not mind my reappointment of Ser Jaime to his former position Lord Commander, but he certainly has the requisite skills and experience, and I believed you likely to be in agreement with my choice." She swallowed what she'd been about to say, cast a lingering glance at Jaime that she hoped suitably conveyed her feelings, and rephrased her words,

"You are quite correct, your Grace. I have no objection to Ser Jaime serving under me."

"From the look of you, you're more used to serving under him." Bronn's laughter echoed around the courtyard as he raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at her stomach. Tyrion shot him a filthy look, and Jaime's hand reflexed to his sword in preparation to defend her honour, but she did not feel the embarrassment she may once have done – in fact she found the joke at least somewhat witty. She cast a half smile and her own raised eyebrow back at the master of coin,

"Have you not some gold to be counting, Ser Bronn, or have you already spent it all on wine and whor*s?" He returned the smile, and with it a look that gave away the seed of a grudging respect. She'd known many men like him over the years and it was a wonder she'd taken so long to work out how to handle them. He flicked his eyes to the other Small Council members, then to Podrick, gesturing with his head that they leave – they did, Pod moving over to push the King’s chair at his request.

Jaime hadn't moved, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. Even after her firm declaration of assent, he was still regarding her with trepidation – maybe she'd even say fear. She knew it was instinctive, born of the rage and punishment he'd been subjected to with his every misstep; she was sure he wasn't really afraid of her, but him reacting this way still broke her heart. It was not the first time she'd seen him cowed before her over the past few weeks, anticipating her wrath; it gave her a new insight into the way he'd been treated his entire life, and consequently how he expected their relationship to be. She hoped there would be a day when he believed differently and, despite how hurt and angry she still was, she instinctively wanted to set him at ease,

“I meant it you know. I am... more than happy to have you serve with me – you remain a valued friend regardless of... everything else. Besides, the armour looks good on you." Her final sentence was accompanied by a smile, and what could be construed as a hint of flirtation. Her own words blindsided her; feelings overtaking her attempts at rational control. He flashed a smile back and her stomach twisted in excitement, heart thudding in her chest. She knew the flush that followed had coloured her face and she turned away a little in the hopes he wouldn't see.

"I did always like how it looked – this was my original set, so it’s good to know it still fits so well after all these years." He skimmed his hand over the polished metal, and she could sense the nostalgia he was feeling, hoping it was pleasant for him, "...it looks good on you too." His eyes on her were pleasing, his voice soft with a shade of shyness – she tried to berate herself for failing to resist his charms, but she couldn’t,

"Mine doesn't fit quite so well." She looked down as she ran a hand just as he had, over the mercifully short breastplate and down to where the wide leather belt he wore cinched at his waist was missing from hers. She paused on her stomach, fingers splayed, before raising her eyes back to his face.

"Not right now, but that's fine by me. I’m sure we can stand a few months of you not fitting into armour whilst you bring our baby into the world." He moved a few steps closer, finally seeming to relax a little. His increasing proximity and the way he said 'our baby' with endless depths of emotion quickened her heart all the more, and she fought to keep her breathing level - gods, she wanted him and she hated herself for it. She managed only an 'mmm hmm' in response to his resolve, as she succumbed to mental images of him pushing her roughly against the armoury wall and f*cking her hard, before she wrestled back control. Fortunately he didn't appear to have noticed - if he had, he did a masterful job of hiding it as he continued,

"I hope you don't think I'm treading on your toes – it was the King's request, not my suggestion, but I thought it made an odd kind of poetic sense considering our history." He looked at her so earnestly she would have been unable to declare it even if she had objected,

"Not at all. Having both you and Pod to work with – it will be good to have men I know and trust around me. Especially considering I’m not going to be at full strength for some time." And it was a relief – knowing she could rely on them to pick up the slack, despite the fact it would surely only serve to complicate things with Jaime even further. Her attempt to reassure him seemed to fail, however, as he shifted nervously from foot to foot. His next words told her why,

"I'm glad you feel that way, because he asked me to act as Lord Commander when you have to take your leave.” She was initially surprised, but given the King's earlier words about his experience, he really was the logical choice to lead the white cloaks in her absence.

"You certainly seem to have regained his trust. I’m very proud of you Jaime, you've come a long way. It pleases me that you'll have formal duties to perform, to go along with the work you've already created for yourself. I've always found that structure and discipline help the mind to heal." Her praise was rewarded with the slightest of smiles, but his eyes betrayed the rest, as they always did. He was holding back, trying to contain his emotion, but she could tell how deeply her words had moved him. She was gratified that the risk had been worth it - she knew she was delving into dangerous territory, inviting him to open up to her, and she prayed she wouldn't regret it.

"I’ve learnt over many years to listen to your wisdom. It’s never led me astray yet." She waited, long seconds, then realised he wasn't going to say anything more. That was when she realised she needn’t worry; his thinking was the same as hers – space and time was what they still needed regardless of their desires. The bond that was slowly rebuilding between them was fragile, and could so easily fracture if pushed too hard. She desperately wanted him to hold her, to renew the intimate closeness she'd only ever felt with him, but she compromised - dropping a hand to his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze as she moved past him towards the main keep. She whispered into his ear,

"I'll see you at our next briefing then," and forced herself to keep her eyes forward as she walked away.

Chapter 26: Ghosts That We Knew

Chapter Text

The days continued to tick by, and with each morning that came and went, Brienne had a harder time squeezing into her clothing. Now nearly halfway through her pregnancy, to her surprise, her contented resignation was starting to become real enjoyment. Her body was so different now, but she still felt strong and powerful, and she hadn't expected that. She smiled as words she’d once said to Catelyn came back to her, subtly changed,

"Not battle strength, perhaps, but… I don’t know… A woman’s sort of strength.”

She felt closer to her traditional womanhood now than she ever had – filled with a new understanding of how it must feel to watch others fight whilst waiting by, shielded and vulnerable. She'd run away from every attempt to force her into a conventional role her entire life, so to find herself embracing this new experience was strange to say the least. She was distracted every few minutes by the miracle that was happening inside her; preoccupied with wondering what the future held for her, for Jaime, and this child that had already immeasurably changed her life even though they were yet to meet.

Sansa had eventually taken pity on her clothing woes, and so as her parting gift she'd sent the finest tailor she could find to assist in providing Brienne with a new wardrobe. Despite her initial protests at the fuss and insisting that the Lady had gone to too much trouble, Brienne had to concede to the necessity and was, in truth, extremely grateful.

She'd never given much thought to what she wore, armour aside of course, but she was now being forced to face the lack of simple, practical attire for a woman in her condition. She'd had to confront the idea that dresses would be the easiest thing for her to wear for the remaining months of her pregnancy, and it had proved even more difficult than she'd anticipated; the spectre of taunting and mockery she’d suffered as a young woman looming large and painful in her memory. For now, she'd resisted, relenting only on a single item – a gown for the forthcoming feast prior to the northern party's departure for Winterfell.

Aside from that, she'd opted for long tunics and loose laced trousers that would hopefully continue to fit for several months, including a few sets in the Kingsguard regalia so she would have something to wear for official business. The dress, having no opinions on such a garment, she had left up to Sansa's capable judgement – the tailor arranging to return on the morning of the feast to make any necessary adjustments.

Dressing in her new attire was a relief, and made her realise just how uncomfortable she'd been for quite some time – as if she was still wearing the armour she could now only dream of fitting into. She took a deep breath before turning towards the mirror, trying and failing to ignore the mess of crumpled writing papers on her desk that were many unsuccessful attempts to pen a letter to her father. She reached out for the most recent one, casting an exasperated glance over clumsy words that couldn’t even begin to convey all she had to tell him, before throwing it back onto the pile. She’d have to face it eventually, but there was a huge wall around the task in her head - almost as big as the one around Jaime. Perhaps when she found a way around one she’d somehow resolve the other, but she suspected neither of those things were going to happen today.

Finally catching sight of herself in the glass, she had to admit the tailor had done an excellent job, and she looked more than presentable, if unconventional. She turned each way a couple of times to observe how well the clothes fit on certain parts of her whilst allowing ample room where it was needed. She paused to smooth the material over the curve of her belly, smiling a little when she realised she actually quite liked how she looked, before leaving the room.

^^^^^

Jaime had learned to recognise the sound of his brother's footsteps many years before; ever anxious of being caught with Cersei he’d developed an excess of alertness and caution. For a small man Tyrion certainly seemed to make enough noise as he walked, his boots striking smartly against the polished stone. Their relationship had been much more relaxed of late, but today the sound of him approaching sent a shade of that old, familiar apprehension tumbling into Jaime’s gut. He had no idea what Tyrion's business was, so there was no real reason for his reaction – was it possible he could sense some subtle hint in his brother's footfalls that spoke of foreboding?

As Tyrion turned the corner and Jaime saw trepidation masking his brief smile, his nervous energy solidified into a solid lump of unease. Worse still, when he reached Jaime’s position at the end of the corridor he paused for a fraction of a second before speaking – if Tyrion wasn't certain exactly what he was going to say long before he said it, that meant he was worried.

“I believe your guard duty ended precisely one minute ago. Would you walk with me?” Jaime was about to protest that surely it could not be time just yet, when Podrick came screeching into the corridor from the opposite direction, buckling a final strap on his armour as he apologised effusively for his lateness. Fully expecting a triumphant expression from his brother, Jaime's nerves were only compounded by the lack of it – Tyrion merely gestured with his eyes and inclined head that they should leave.

Only a few steps down the hallway the thickness of the silence between them was already overwhelming and Jaime was compelled to break it,

“How do you know what time my guard shift ends anyway?” Tyrion always knew everything, or seemed to, so it was a largely redundant question, but he had to say something, anything, to ease the feeling that someone had gripped his stomach and squeezed.

"I’m the King's Hand. It's my business to know, Also you're my big brother – so in the finest tradition of little brothers, it's doubly my business." Gods he was infuriating – he clearly had something specific he wanted to talk about, but he seemed determined to make Jaime work for it. Why was anybody's guess, but Jaime clung onto the hope that it was merely to be annoying and not, as he actually feared, because Tyrion had something difficult to say. He’d had many hard conversations with his brother over the years and he’d rarely come off the best of them – he’d hoped this fresh start meant they were now a thing of the past, but Tyrion’s serious demeanour told him otherwise. His fears were outweighed, however, by a burning desire to finally escape the shadow theatre their father had raised them in, playing them off against each other like pawns in his twisted game. He stopped dead, forcing Tyrion to draw to a halt beside him.

"Just, tell me what this is about." Tyrion regarded him with raised eyebrows – as surprised as Jaime was by his own directness.

"Let's... get a drink first." There was a forced gentleness in his voice that confirmed everything Jaime had feared. He turned to continue walking towards his chambers, but Jaime dropped his hand to Tyrion’s shoulder, spinning his brother back to face him.

"No, I'm done with all this horsesh*t. Just tell me what you want or I'm not coming with you." Tyrion's shock was redoubled, but seeing Jaime's need for directness he finally seemed willing to relent and explain himself. Eyes raised to the ceiling and with a long sigh, he said,

" ... we need to talk about Cersei." Jaime was shocked into silence for a few moments - he shouldn't have been, realising he should have expected this from Tyrion at some point, but his determination to block her from his mind had proved so effective that any reminder of her was now like a slap to the face. His first instinct was absolute resistance,

"I don't want to talk about Cersei. Why in seven hells would you think I have the slightest interest in talking about her?" He watched Tyrion's eyes drop closed, and heard his sharp exhalation. He looked resigned – it was clear that his concern was rooted in the anticipation of this reaction from Jaime, but he'd brought her up regardless. A part of Jaime was desperate to know why, but the remainder was deeply afraid of what was behind the wall he’d built around her in his mind. He felt himself shutting down, trying to push the difficult emotions away.

"Jaime... we have to..." He cut Tyrion off in full flow – suddenly consumed by a choking wave of anger, pain and fear that was so overpowering he had to escape it,

"NO! I can't, I… won't!" It felt desperately wrong to assert himself this way, fear making his face feel numb and his limbs buzz with agitation. It was as if he wasn't just shouting at Tyrion, but at Cersei for every time she'd found a way to force him into something he didn't want to do.

He turned on his heel and paced away at a speed he knew his brother would struggle to match, but there was no sign of Tyrion attempting to follow.

^^^^^

Brienne had no appointments until early afternoon and so, still craving her morning workout, she’d restlessly wandered the castle for about an hour until she found herself at the armoury door. She paused to glance around before descending the few steps into its blissfully cool interior. She justified it to herself with a pretence of checking the inventory, but in reality she just wanted the opportunity to swing a few swords without fear of being discovered.

She was pleased at the quality and weighting of some of the blades, but none of them were anything to the impossible perfection of Valyrian steel she was used to with Oathkeeper. Still, it felt incredible just to spin a sword in her hand again, enjoying the sound as it cut through the air. She knew she'd missed it, but only now did she realise exactly how much.

On a less positive note, she could already feel her loss of conditioning – a tightness through the back and a subtle disturbance to her balance that made each stroke feel just a little off. The increasing fullness of her chest, which she'd been studiously attempting to ignore for the past several weeks, was suddenly very apparent; forcing her to adjust her well-practised arm movements. The realisation made her blush a little, despite the fact she was alone – thoughts of Jaime and what he would think of her changing body were muddled with a sense of loss for the one she'd had.

She went through several more sequences of thrusts and slices, stepping and turning carefully in the restricted space, gratified at only having to catch her balance once or twice. Wheeling around with one more strong stroke, to her great shock she was forced to pull up short to avoid carving Tyrion's head off where he'd poked it through the doorway. Her arm suddenly felt weak and buckled, the sword dropping to the ground with an echoing clang, her other arm grasping out for a shield rack to steady herself. Meanwhile Tyrion had, understandably, ducked back out of the room, and she could hardly blame him. A few moments of uncertain silence followed – she could hear him breathing heavily even over the thundering of her own heart in her ears. Then, he spoke,

"Is it safe to come in?" He sounded uncharacteristically timid – but given their near miss, it was more than understandable. She was still struggling to calm down herself,

"Yes, I’m sorry, I didn't mean..." As he tentatively stepped down into the room, Brienne felt the need to shield her stomach with her free arm as if it would somehow hide her guilt, reaching out with her foot to pull the sword clumsily towards the rack behind her.

"You didn't mean to nearly kill me? I’m sure you didn't." She knew he could read the shame right off her face, and he was perceptive enough to work out it wasn't just about their mishap; instinct made her rattle off her prepared excuse,

“I was just... checking out the equipment.” She dropped her eyes to the floor, unwilling to face his knowing look,

"Yes, I’m sure you were - not secluding yourself away where you can practice with a sword out of sight of disapproving eyes, of course.” Her gaze was drawn almost involuntarily back to his face, his eyebrows were raised knowingly, but there was more sympathy there than accusation,

"I..." her justification died in her throat,

"You don't have to explain yourself to me – you should do whatever you feel you need to do keep yourself healthy and happy. I’m certain the best person to know what you are and aren't capable of is yourself, regardless of what anyone else has to say about it.” In that moment, with his words that eased her deepest held insecurities, she knew beyond any doubt that she would grow to love him as a brother. She’d sensed it might be possible when they’d talked after Jaime’s death, but now she was certain. He respected her as an equal – she’d worked so damn hard to garner that respect from men for years and she held so much unspoken fear that, now she was carrying a child, she'd once again be viewed as nothing more than a weak, inferior woman. For him to assuage those fears so casually made her burn with the same blissful acceptance she'd felt when Jaime knighted her in front of a room of approving men.

"That means more than you could know – sparring has been a part of my daily routine for so long I... it's been hard. Having to give that up."

"I'm sure. And I’m sorry to disturb you from your limited leisure time, but… I need your help.” He was the King’s Hand, so his asking for her assistance as Lord Commander would hardly be a revelation, but she could sense from the quiet tension in his voice and his restless hands that this was not official business. He cleared his throat before continuing, "…it’s about Jaime."

“You’re worried that something isn’t right with him. He’s been… odd.” She wasn’t sure if talking about his strange absences would be a relief – by the willingness and speed with which she’d replied it seemed so, but maybe it would have been easier to keep telling herself they were just her imagination. It was too late for that now though - it seemed the distance she’d been trying so hard to maintain between them was about to get a whole lot less distant.

“You’ve noticed it too. It’s like he’s somewhere else half the time.” He moved a couple of paces closer to her, his voice becoming softer, “I know things aren’t easy between the two of you at the moment, so I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you. But I need to make arrangements... for Cersei, to have what's left of her sent back to Casterley Rock. I want Jaime to be involved; I tried to talk to him about it but he just blanked me and stormed off. I’m concerned his anger towards her is preventing him from coming to terms with her death." It was hard, to hear about her, to remember both his past and what he'd done – his heartbreaking choice to return to her. But she'd prepared herself for his inevitable struggles to deal with losing Cersei before he'd ever left Winterfell. She promised herself then that she'd support him through it, and he needed her to do the same now however painful that was going to be for both of them,

"I’m not sure whether I’ll make things better or worse, but I’ll do what I can. Regardless of what’s happened between us I told him I’m here for him and I meant it." Tyrion’s relief was palpable,

"I'm hoping he'll be more prepared to listen to you. He’s been as good as deaf to my attempts to talk to him about her for years. He can't just keep blocking it all out – however angry and betrayed he feels right now, there's a lot more there to work through. He can't move on until he's done that – and neither can I. Even after all her lies and power games she was our sister and we loved her. We need to grieve properly regardless of how awful she was." Brienne nodded in agreement with his words – she’d indulged her own emotions day and night for months, deservedly, but now it was time to be strong for Jaime.

"I'll do my best. I want to help him... if I can." She made as if to leave the room, but Tyrion remained where he was, looking a little sheepish,

"Well... we have to find him first. I have no idea where he's gone.” She didn’t know if he was hoping she’d have some suggestion, but she knew where her own spirit had been drawn to lately. Thinking about how similar feelings might pull at Jaime gave her a sharp flash of... inspiration? A brief, but crystal clear image not unlike the one she’d seen in the flames on the long night before his return.

“I think I might know where he is.”

^^^^^

At first, Jaime's only thought was of escape. He stumbled over rubble, falling once and failing to break that fall with his one good arm – he impacted his knee, hard, and swore. The flames that had become his constant companion crept their insidious way back into his vision once more, and he pressed his back against a nearby wall to hold himself up. He fought them with his eyes crushed closed, breath coming in ragged gasps as he waited for the throbbing in his leg to abate.

When he'd gathered himself enough to open his eyes again, he'd been transported – somehow he was in the past, weeks ago during Daenerys' attack, fire falling from the sky all around him. He knew it wasn't possible, but everything he could see told him otherwise. Besides, he’d been brought back from the dead, so he doubted he would ever trust his judgement about what was possible again.

Despite how real it felt, one thing was profoundly different to these same events all those weeks ago - the urge to get to Cersei was gone. He was now filled with the burning need to flee from her, and it forced him to question himself – was that really what he was doing? Not running from Tyrion but from her? His anger with his brother for bringing her up redoubled. Why, and how, was she still affecting him so deeply? His need to be free of her was so strong it was painful, and yet here she still was - standing firmly in his way, just as she'd always done.

He felt like he was endlessly treading the same ground; reliving every spiteful word, every time she'd been physically violent with him, how she'd callously pushed him aside whenever he wasn't of immediate use to her, or banished him from her bed after they'd made love when all he wanted to do was hold her. His desperation to let it all go was all-consuming, and yet he just couldn't seem to find a way. His searing rage wasn't easing with time. He'd believed she was his life for so long, when in truth she'd held him back from living. Somehow, in spite of her, he’d found himself tantalisingly close to real, true happiness, but his blind devotion to her had ruined even his one chance of escape. That final act of cruelty towards him had not been by her, but by himself, and thus her control of him was complete.

Back still pressed hard against the rough stone, he raised his face to the sky, real or imagined ash raining down onto his face, and roared his anger and frustration to the heavens. Once his long cry of anguish died, he whispered out a prayer, hoarseness burning his throat. It was meant for whoever, or whatever, had allowed him to be raised from the dead; gifted him the second chance he did not deserve.

“Please help me get through this. Please help me work out how to be a man Brienne can be proud to call hers.” At least for a moment, he felt peace. He knew it wouldn't last, but he surrendered himself wholly to the feeling for whatever short time it remained with him. It gave him the urge to move, and so he started walking, but with no urgency now. His destination was unclear, but his feet seemed to know where he was going. He felt connected, to what he couldn't say, but he could sense it was something greater – a higher power he'd felt only once before. The forgotten dream he'd had before he once again awoke into this life cascaded into his mind all at once, taking his breath; Brienne's face clear and ever present. He didn't know what any of it meant, but as his blissful calm started to fade, and the destructive thoughts to return, he held on to the instinct that had filled him, and followed where it led.

After what felt like hours of walking, but was surely only minutes, Jaime found himself standing in the rubble of the Great Sept of Baelor, one of the worst possible places he could have come to escape Cersei. Yet here he was, questioning whether he’d really been drawn here by some spiritual power or merely by his increasingly overwhelming thoughts of her. He was now assaulted by the memories this cursed ruin evoked; Cersei's wedding to Robert, Joffrey's death and then Myrcella's... Tommen would surely have lain here too if Cersei hadn't blown the place to seven hells.

"Burn them. Burn them all.”

She'd done exactly what Aerys would have done if Jaime hadn't stopped him. It was that simple, and the fact he'd even entertained going back to her bed afterwards was unforgivable. And yet he had, because he'd allowed love to blind him to his own principles for the thousandth time. He couldn't make sense of any of it, didn't know how to reconcile how he'd felt then with how he did now – to bridge the gap between the real Jaime and the one he'd invented to please her. As glad as he was to have this new life, a part of him mourned for that lost little boy who wanted nothing more than for her to love him, and would do whatever that took at any cost. He represented the innocence that had been robbed from Jaime at such a young age he could barely remember it.

That was when the tears finally came – for his mother, for the countless ways his father and Cersei had hurt him, for the real loving family they could have been, for poor little Tyrion who'd tried and tried in vain to make him see reality. But most of all for so many wasted years, which he could have spent with the only woman who'd ever really made him happy – how he'd been complicit in his own destruction and just the gods-damned f*cking injustice of it all. He collapsed to his knees, the one he'd injured earlier sparking white-hot pain all the way up his body and exploding behind his eyes. The pain brought more tears until he was sobbing, face in his chest where he lay curled on his side, arms wrapping him into himself.

He heard Brienne and Tyrion’s approach long before they came upon him. He wondered how they’d found him so quickly with the whole damn city to search – he’d have thought himself predictable, but he hadn’t even known he would come here so he couldn’t imagine how they did. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his brother involving Brienne in their family bullsh*t – he wanted her so much right now, but he felt shame at the prospect of her seeing him like this, even though she’d witnessed him at his worst more than once before. He wanted so badly to be a better person for both of them, and for the child to come; indulging himself this way didn’t feel much like that. He shifted himself to be more upright, wiping an arm across his face in a vain attempt to look presentable; to somehow disguise his distress, Brienne's words of years before ringing in his head,

"You have a taste, one taste of the real world, where people have important things taken from them, and you whine, and cry, and quit. You sound like a bloody woman."

Only this time it wasn't one taste – it was his whole f*cking life. His whole family. What a pointless f*cking waste. They'd had power and riches beyond most people’s wildest dreams, and where had it got them? They'd been so concerned about all the threats from the rest of the world, they'd never seen the threat from within. Never realised that all they'd ever done was set themselves up to annihilate each other; none of the hurt and pain others had inflicted on them could possibly compare to what they'd brought on themselves. That stupid bloody prophecy Cersei had agonised over for years pushed its way into his mind unbidden,

”Gold shall be their crowns, gold shall be their shrouds. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonquar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.”

It had all proved true in the end – but how much of it had turned out to be self inflicted? Perhaps not Joffrey, but Myrcella and Tommen? She’d heard 'little brother' and assumed without question that it would be Tyrion – how differently would she have treated both of them if she'd known?

He tried to push himself to his feet, but more pain lanced through his knee and he slumped back to the ground – noticing for the first time the blood that had soaked through his white Kingsguard breeches. He tried to stop the tears from coming again, but the dam was broken now and they welled traitorously over his scrunched eyelids, betraying him once more.

The next thing he knew he was enveloped in strong arms, and the overwhelming scent of Brienne. The feeling of safety was instant and absolute; wrapped in the knowledge that he was loved. Tyrion’s hands combed soothingly through his hair, as he whispered nothing words. He looked up, and there they were – his family. Here they'd been all along; everything he wanted and needed right before him, whilst he’d continued chasing after an empty fantasy. This was real.

"It's all right Jaime. You need this. You need to cry – let it all out." He found himself falling into Brienne’s impossibly perfect eyes once again. Her expression had regained the softness that was for him alone; it had been lost, guarded behind her pain since his betrayal, but now here it was.

“It doesn't make me a bloody woman?” She looked confused for a moment, before seeming to recall the conversation he was referencing, the softness from her face following into her words,

"Jaime, no, you're allowed to grieve. You lost your… sister." There was an almost imperceptible pause between her last two words, as if she didn't know how to describe Cersei, or perhaps even to refer to her at all. But he detected no hurt, no anger.

Was this grief? He wasn't sure. For himself and Tyrion maybe, for the normal sibling relationship he and his sister should have had. But for Cersei herself? No – she didn't deserve it and he refused to give that to her. He'd already given her more than enough. He pulled away from Brienne a shade,

"Maybe I should have been a woman. Maybe if Cersei had been the man she'd always wanted to be then everyone would have been happy. She was so envious of me, but the stupid thing is, she'd have done an infinitely better job of being me than I ever have, at least in our father's eyes. He could never see that she was everything he wanted me to be. Everything he tried to beat into me, she already possessed in spades." It poured out of him, the resentment he'd held back for years, everything he'd tried so hard to bury and to deny. Tyrion moved around into his vision, seating himself on the rubble before him.

“You're right – Tywin Lannister fathered two boys and a girl, but out of the three of us, ironically it was Cersei who was the son he always wanted. Ruthlessness, thirst for power, a reverence for the Lannister ‘legacy’ – the only thing she lacked was a co*ck, and she could never forgive any of us for that.”

“Why do you want to talk about her so badly? Surely you're as relieved she's gone as I am – do you not want to forget the whole sorry mess?” Tyrion dropped his head for a moment, and when he raised it again his eyes were filled with an infinite sadness,

“We have to send what's left of her home. Despite everything she was still our sister Jaime. A Lannister. And you loved her above all else for almost your whole life. That can't just be gone overnight no matter how angry and betrayed you feel.” Jaime couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing,

“You’ve spent almost your entire life trying to pull me away from her, but now you want to drag me back there when I just want to be done with it – you make literally no f*cking sense.” He tried to drop his head again, but strong hands on his cheeks stopped him. Brienne held his face in the gaze of her sapphire eyes, filled with emotion,

“Jaime, listen to me. Tyrion’s right – you have to allow yourself to grieve. You can't move forward... we can't move forward otherwise." Her words were like whisky on a cold night, filling his chest with warmth – she'd said 'we', and with that one tiny word came endless hope. When he spoke his voice was barely above a whisper,

"You're saying we..." She sighed, but the softness in her eyes remained, and she stroked the back of her fingers over his face.

“I still don't know Jaime. All I'm saying is that I think I need you to properly face this before I can figure it out. You can't forget all about her just like that. As much as you might hate it, she’s a part of you. Somewhere in there is a lot of sorrow, behind the anger is loss. You need to work through all that not just block it out. Until you can do that you may as well still be stuck under that rubble.”

“But I just... I can't bear to think about her. It’s burning me up inside.” Tyrion stood from his seat where he’d been quietly frowning as he allowed Brienne the space to speak,

“I’m sad Jaime. I’m f*cking gutted that she's gone, even though she made my life miserable and her no longer being here is the best thing for both of us. I'm letting myself feel that because my grief is about me and what I need, not about her. Deciding she doesn't deserve our sadness isn't going to magically stop us feeling it.” With Tyrion’s words Jaime realised that, far from being alone in his conflicting feelings, his brother had been going through the exact same thing, and somehow he'd found his way to the other side. He nodded slowly, starting to accept they may be right, that the well of pain inside him was not something he could simply wish away, and fighting it was only making this even harder. Instinct made him look to Brienne, for what he wasn’t sure, but her response told him she must have read his unknown question from his face.

“If it's my permission you need, then you have it. I knew what she was to you long before we were ever... anything. Grieving for her, continuing to love her memory, those things aren't being disloyal to me if that's what you're afraid of.”

“But... I left, to go to her. We were... and I left…”

"I understand Jaime. Why you did it. Why you went back to her." Her expression was impossibly sincere, despite how unbelievable her words were,

"You... forgive me!?"

“I didn't say I forgive you – a reason is not an excuse. But I know your choice to leave wasn't about me - it wasn't even about you. It was entirely about her. You came whenever she called, and that kind of habit is extraordinarily hard to break. I do understand that.” She was truly the most incredible person he'd ever known. She was still able to show him such love, such consideration, in spite of the hell he'd put her through. That was the moment when he realised – she was showing him it was possible to be angry at someone, to be hurt by what they'd done to you, and yet still continue to love them. With the impact of her words, he was finally ready to admit to himself that he felt exactly that way about Cersei. He almost choked as he sobbed out,

“I hate her so much, but I still can't bloody well stop loving her! I wish... I wish we'd just been brother and sister – that I'd had the strength to say no to her. I wish I'd never done any of those things...” Tyrion approached him with a half smile, dropping a hand to his shoulder as he replied gently,

"But you did do it. All of it. Sleep with her, father her children, do her every bidding no matter how horrific. And you left Brienne to go back to her. No amount of wishing is going to change any of that. But those are just things you've done; they don't have to be who you are." His eyes flicked between the two of them; the deepest fears of his heart, which he’d been so afraid to face, pulled into the open,

"I’m scared. I anchored my whole life around doing what Cersei wanted. What if... what if I don't know who I am without her?" He hadn’t wanted to say this, especially to Brienne, but she spoke again now, firm and certain,

“I know who you are. I told you the night you left me. You're a good man, and all you've done since you came back to us is prove that.” He locked gazes with her then, and for the first time since he'd ridden out of that courtyard in Winterfell, he felt the full force of the connection between them. In it he found the belief that they could, they would, find a way back from this,

“I know who I wanted to be, back when I was a green, idealistic squire, but I could never live up to that. Never live up to you…” She stroked his face again, shaking her head a little and sighing,

“Jaime, you sacrificed the honour and glory you craved to save half a million people. I should be the one afraid of never living up to you.” He wished, for just a moment, that he could look at himself through her eyes. Believe in even a fraction of the goodness she saw.

"It feels like I've spent my entire life being half of someone. I just want to be whole."

"You are whole. Just, let yourself love her and be sad. Then keep moving forward. We'll figure all the rest out in time." He felt exhausted. He hadn’t thought there were any more tears left, but a fresh flood rose in him now, and these were for his big sister, for the good times; because he could finally admit there had been some in spite of all the sh*t. It felt cleansing, healing, just as Brienne and Tyrion had promised him it would – and with it, the licking flames in his mind were finally extinguished.

Tyrion now also moved in to embrace him and, there in the ruins of the Great Sept, the two people he loved most in this world held him whilst the years of pain began, at last, to wash away.

Chapter 27: Picking Up the Pieces

Chapter Text

Brienne stood at the side of the hall in her velvet gown, feeling very self conscious. In spite of her discomfort she had to admit Sansa had done an excellent job with her attire – the dress was simple, and would have looked very elegant on most women, but she couldn’t believe that about herself. She knew she looked awkward and uncomfortable, and her condition coupled with her muscular frame must make her appearance border on the ridiculous. She’d been paid a number of compliments over the course of dinner, but she felt sure they were merely the politeness that most felt appropriate towards the new Lord Commander.

Once they'd eaten there was a general appetite for dancing, and she was resolved to take no part in the increasingly raucous festivities, grateful that her condition meant she had an excellent excuse. She planned to play the role of interested bystander until such point at which the King retired and she could sneak away to bed – despite not being on official Kingsguard duty she still felt it only proper she be in visible attendance at Bran’s first formal occasion.

She spared a glance towards Jaime who was deep in conversation with Tyrion at the far side of the room – the resolute part of her wished she could truthfully say it was the first time she’d looked over there, but she’d been struggling to keep her mind or her eyes from him the entire evening. Something fundamental had shifted between them since his recent breakdown – seeing him vulnerable like that took her all the way back to Harrenhal; to the moment she'd first felt herself falling in love with him. It was difficult to see him hurting so deeply, but she knew he needed it, knew he had to allow himself to feel that pain before he could really start to heal.

She could feel her resolve slowly melting, feel it growing harder and harder to maintain the barrier between them, which she forgot the reason for with increasing frequency. She was still trying to process everything she'd learnt about the truth of the Lannister family; she'd known there was darkness in Jaime's past, but now she knew exactly how dark it had been, and just how many of his questionable deeds had been shaped by the way he'd been treated, both mentally and physically. When his father had finished caning him for not being exactly the son he wanted, he would run to Cersei for comfort, only for her to beat him too - with both her hands and her words.

It made her want to forgive him everything and fold him in her arms to protect him from ever being hurt again; to build a life together where she could see him happy, and know she'd been the one to finally give him that. After all, hadn't there been enough pain for all of them? There had, to be sure, but there was still one thing holding her back – the fact he’d suffered years of abuse at the hands of his father and sister was undeniable, but to imagine it rendered him entirely without the power to make different choices was a disservice to him and to herself in equal measure. She could not in all good conscience allow herself to see him as totally blameless and he would not wish her to either.

During her reverie she’d felt secure in the belief he hadn’t seen her watching him, so she was shocked when he locked gazes with her for a split second before they each hurriedly looked away. She somehow resisted the urge to look over again, but she felt his eyes on her a couple more times over the next few minutes, and she tried in vain to berate herself for enjoying it. Desperately in need of distraction, she was relieved when Sansa came over to talk – perhaps now she would win the battle to keep her eyes from him, although her thoughts were a different matter.

So the moment had come – tomorrow morning Sansa would finally be setting out on her long return journey north to take up the mantle she was more than worthy of. Brienne’s life had been made up of many greetings and partings, but she knew this would be one of the hardest – between the myriad new responsibilities each of them had, it was difficult to imagine when they would have the chance to meet again. Brienne had already resolved she'd part with the woman who'd become her closest friend with dignity, despite the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"I'd ask you to join me for a stiff drink, but that doesn't seem appropriate given your present condition." Sansa moved in close beside her, near enough to feel comforting without pushing too much into Brienne's space – as it was she’d happily have allowed the younger woman as close as she liked.

"I'll gladly toast to your safe journey with tea, water or whatever other soft drink is going so long as it isn't considered bad luck."

“Not in the North so far as I know, but perhaps not water as I’m aware that's considered unseemly in some parts." Sansa's words were far from slurred but her usual fluency was stilted enough that Brienne could tell she'd had more than one drink already. She supposed the lady must be feeling nervous about her new life to come and, aside from the two of them being parted, she was also leaving her entire remaining family so soon after finding them all again. Brienne signalled to a nearby servant, asking them to bring her some tea and another glass of the mead Sansa had been drinking – he nodded curtly and relieved the lady of her empty glass.

As Brienne turned back towards Sansa she couldn't prevent her gaze from falling on Jaime once more. His hair had darkened as he'd aged, but the warm glow of fires or lamps brought out the gold, and in the soft flickering light it almost appeared to dance - her mind was instantly pulled back to the crypt below the keep where she’d seen him lying dead, her heart so sore she’d feared it could never heal. In that moment she would have broken every vow and bond she’d ever taken to have him back with her, including those with herself; and now here he was, so very much alive and laughing at something Tyrion had just said, the creases around his eyes brought on by age and wisdom only making him more beautiful. Her heart stilled for a moment – the mass of feelings that assaulted her was so intense she almost felt faint. It was astonishingly easy to forget the miracle that had occurred within these very walls, but every so often something like this would happen to remind her, and she was flooded with overwhelming gratitude every time.

When she met Sansa's eyes again she was greeted by a knowing look, but it quickly softened as she formed her mouth around gentle words,

"What are you thinking?" The question made Brienne smile; she could just as well ask the question of herself – what was she thinking? Trapped in this eternal void between raw emotion and good sense she barely knew any more, aside from the fact that the former was beginning to win out over the latter despite her most determined efforts.

"You know what I'm thinking." For she surely did, this wonderful woman who'd pulled out all the deepest truths of her heart over these past few months, seemingly without effort; who reminded Brienne of her mother Catelyn so much it sometimes brought her close to tears.

"I do, but it might help you to say it out loud – to admit it to yourself." She wasn't ready, still unable to give up her struggle in spite of herself, but yet again Sansa's quiet, non-judgemental presence induced her to speak.

"I want to give in to these feelings so badly." Sansa's eyes darted to the two men on the other side of the room for just a fraction of a second before she cleared her throat and replied,

"Then why don't you?" Brienne had wondered that so many times – was it really just that simple? Was she the one making everything so complicated after all? No – there was nothing easy or simple about the weeks of pain that were still so fresh in her mind and raw in her heart,

"I still can't forgive him for everything he put me through." But there was no conviction in her reply. She was tired – weeks of worry and heartache followed by more long weeks of battling against herself had left her exhausted, and it was beginning to show. She had no strength left to fight it now.

“But Brienne, I think you've already forgiven him – you're just too stubborn to admit it to yourself."

"It doesn't feel like stubbornness – it would feel weak if I were to give in. I can't just roll over and allow him to believe it's all right that he hurt me so badly; that what he stole from me doesn't matter." Sansa reached out a hand to lift Brienne's chin as she attempted to break her gaze,

"No-one could ever believe you weak, least of all him. You're the strongest woman I've ever met, stronger still after everything you've faced in the past few months. You should never have had to go through that much pain, but in spite of it all you love him, the deepest, truest kind of love there is – more than you should and far more than he deserves." Sansa's eyes pierced her, rendering any attempt at concealment utterly in vain,

“Of course I do." The other woman’s hand slid from her chin down to her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“You're agonising over what you should do when maybe there's no right answer. Maybe you just have to do what will make you happy regardless of what your head is telling you. Love isn't something you can reason with and it seems frankly ridiculous to try. You might be making a point, but all you're really succeeding in doing is punishing both of you, and for what? Some stupid sense of pride?”

“But…”

"No. No more buts. I know you might think I’m being harsh, but I’m trying to help you get past this – take it as my parting gift. If I believed for a single second you had genuine doubts about wanting to be with him I wouldn’t be saying any of this; but I know you don’t.” She dropped her hands to take both of Brienne’s in hers, “I think we all know he never would have done any of those things of his own volition – that he never would have chosen to leave you – and he’s already punished himself for that far more than you ever could. The woman who was poisoning his mind, the one who really deserves the full force of your anger, is gone now. If you want him as much as I believe you do then go and tell him, don’t let Cersei f*cking Lannister destroy any more lives. Just imagine how much she'd hate the two of you being together – marry him, be happy and let her be damned, that’s the best retribution you could ever have."

It was exactly what Brienne needed to hear. She could feel in her bones that Sansa was right – in essence her impassioned speech was not so very different to what Brienne herself had preached to Jaime just days ago. Perhaps she just needed to allow herself to love him after all.

^^^^^^

Jaime battled to keep his attention from constantly wandering back to Brienne as his eyes roved around the room. As far as he could recall, it was the first time he’d been at a formal occasion without Cersei and he felt her absence keenly, although now he allowed himself to lean into that feeling instead of shying away. It was strange, how accepting her into a new place in his heart made him less preoccupied with his anger not more, and how the world felt infinitely calmer without her looming over his shoulder. Brienne and Tyrion had been absolutely right – denying himself all thought of her was not a healthy, or effective, way to let her go.

Breaking down in front of them so wholly had proved healing in a way he could never have expected – time spent with Tyrion over the past few days felt effortless, all the former walls to their relationship fully broken away. Brienne also seemed softer toward him, but although he got the clear feeling that she would come around in time, he'd struggled to read her exact thoughts, so he held back from pressing her for an answer. He wanted her to come to him in her own time, whilst quietly praying it would be soon.

A glass of rum appeared in his eye-line, its warming strength catching in his nose before he reached out to take it, his eyes dropping to meet his brother’s.

“It's been a long time since we were at an occasion like this – since we had something to celebrate. Feels good doesn't it?" Jaime nodded, smiling, glad of his brother's company and cheered by the sentiment, but he couldn't prevent his eyes being drawn back to Brienne again. She looked uncomfortable standing alone at the side of the room, arms wrapped around herself. It made his enthusiastic response come out very non-committal,

"Mmm hmm…" She was wearing a velvet dress in a deep red – it highlighted her curves in a way that was flattering but not too revealing, and couldn’t fail to remind him of their time in Harrenhal. Those days in the ruined castle had changed everything between them; he’d felt the first stirrings of feelings for her even though he hadn’t admitted it to himself until much later.

Back then of course her belly had been flat and toned - now it was softly rounded and it gave him a thrill every time he looked at her to know that it was with his child. A child she would allow him to love and nurture, who would call him father; and who she would never pretend had been sired by somebody else. Given her general awkwardness about her body, and how that made her move, one could have been forgiven for assuming pregnancy would have made her appear even more ungainly, but it sat well on her. She looked every bit the woman he knew she was beneath her armour – both real and symbolic. He yearned to feel those curves beneath him – to run his hand over her warm, pale skin, and his groin stirred in response to the thought.

"Jaime, you should just go over there and talk to her. The dark and brooding act doesn't suit you despite how disgustingly handsome you are." His eyes snapped back to his brother's face – he was not coy about his feelings or his desires, but the fact his choice of partner was now someone Tyrion approved of, celebrated even, was still strange and surprising to him.

"I can't, she's still too angry with me. If I pressurise her I’ll just end up pushing her away forever." He knew he sounded self-pitying, but he couldn't help himself – he wanted to be with her so badly, to show her how committed he was; being this close but just out of reach, waiting for her to decide his future for him was akin to torture.

"I think you're wrong – I think she's cracking." Jaime wanted to believe him, but he couldn't indulge himself with wishful thinking; not until he knew for sure. Otherwise he was just in for more heartache and disappointment down the road.

“If someone had treated you the way I've treated her, would you even entertain the idea of letting them back in again?" He'd been so prepared to wait for her – and he would still wait an eternity if he had to, but he hadn't expected it to be this hard. After so much time apart through the years he’d thought just being close to her every day would be enough. But it wasn’t; nowhere near enough.

"If she isn't entertaining thought of you, why can't she stop looking over here?" The words gripped his gut – he wasn't sure if it was with fear, excitement or at little of both. His eyes, which had been studiously fixed to Tyrion's face for the past few moments, were pulled back over to Brienne.

The last thing he expected was that she would be looking back at him, her gaze soft and her hair, which had grown longer and thicker over the past few weeks, curling gently around her ears. He was astonished that Tyrion was right – she snapped her eyes away as quickly as Jaime did, but the fact she had looked and, if his brother was to be believed more than once, was undeniable. He knew what he wanted to think, could feel the burning emotion rising in his throat, but he wasn’t sure he could allow it – didn't know if he could bear that much hope.

"I... " He was lost for words; he just needed his clever little brother to tell him what he had to do to turn a look, a thought, into a promise; to fix this whole mess and make the family he'd dreamed of for so long a reality. He looked at Tyrion, trying not to make his expression too pleading,

"Everyone is rooting for the two of you, you know. If this world needs anything after all the years of sh*t it’s to see people happy." He didn’t know what he’d expected Tyrion to say, but it wasn’t that. He’d been used to nothing but scorn from the entire world for years, so he simply could not bring himself to believe his brother’s words.

"Rooting for us? Are they really? They don't think she's too good for me? Because she is – far too good. She deserves so much better than a Kingslayer who’s spent his whole life f*cking his sister and destroying anyone who stood in their way." He knew that's who he was, of course he did, but now he truly heard it as others did for the first time. It made him feel sick – how in seven hells had he managed to justify his behaviour to himself for so long? Tyrion barely blinked in response,

“The only one who can make that judgement is her, and you already know she loves you in spite of it all – maybe even because of it some of it. What’s done is done Jaime, and you've already proven that you're so much more than that. Move forward, remember?" His eyes strayed to her again – she was now in close conversation with Sansa, her self-consciousness melted away, but the image of that brief eye contact was still seared into his mind.

“I want her to see me and feel pride that I’m hers, not be reliving all the pain I’ve caused her. I believe that’s what she wants too but… it’s just the way she looks at me sometimes, as if she’s scared of what she feels for me.”

“Of course she’s scared. Anyone would be terrified of feelings that strong – you know that better than anyone; so don’t you tell me you’re not scared too. One of you has to figure out a way - you’re both fearless on the battlefield, now you need to find that same bravery with each other.” How, how could he get past his terror of losing her? Battle courage was one thing, but these stakes felt so much higher than the possibility of death. You didn't have to live with the consequences of dying.

“Maybe she just needs more time.”

“She’s had long enough now to know one way or the other. I can’t help feeling that if she was certain it was over between you, she’d have told you already. It’s time to put your big boy pants on and go fight for her.” Emboldened by Tyrion's words, he could visualise himself walking over there, her cautious smile as he drew close turning his insides to molten metal. He suddenly knew exactly what he would say to her.

“You’re right. I’ll do whatever it takes to win her back – if she wants me to swim naked through a vat of steaming horse sh*t, I will.”

“The things we do for love.” Jaime couldn’t help but laugh - his brother had a unique talent for turning his own words back on him, but it was nice for them to be intended kindly for once. He took a few moments to steel himself then downed the last of his drink, hoping it would give him the courage he needed. Weaving between the dancers, he made his way across the room towards her.

^^^^^^

Brienne and Sansa’s drinks arrived and they performed the promised toast, each avoiding locking the other’s gaze too strongly for fear of the emotion that would inevitably follow. After making arrangements for Brienne to see her off in the morning, Sansa excused herself and headed towards Tyrion – a fact Brienne declined to comment on; not wishing to embarrass the Lady or make her feel any awkwardness on their last evening together.

She was watching Sansa's elegant strides so intently as she moved across the room, that she didn't notice Jaime’s approach at first; consequently she was somewhat startled when he appeared close by her. He was a little shy and tentative – she knew how hard he’d been trying not to put pressure on her. In truth, he couldn't have picked his moment better; just when Sansa’s words had broken through her armour and the soft underbelly of her soul was exposed and vulnerable, specifically to him.

"You look lovely." His voice was like honey and made her stomach tremble – despite her preoccupation with her appearance through the course of the evening, the only person whose opinion she truly cared about was his. Knowing he approved lifted her spirits more than she could have imagined – for once a gate didn't immediately snap down over her feelings for him and it was thrilling.

"Thank you." She was still unused to receiving compliments and had no idea of the appropriate way to respond. It was also now some time since they’d been intimate, and her former shyness in the face of his obvious appreciation reasserted itself. She tried to mask it, but it was unnecessary – he dipped his eyes, his own nerves obvious. It was strange to see him so unsure of himself and it made her heart beat faster, picking up on his emotion. In the face of him she couldn’t help but feel that Sansa was right – the last thing either of them needed was more pain, and the fact she was now the one causing that pain when she could just choose to stop seemed self-destructive in the extreme.

"I know you wanted us to keep our distance for a while and I’ve been trying, but well... I've wanted to dance with you ever since I heard about your history with Renly. So... please can we pretend everything is all right? Just for one dance?" He held out his hand, his right arm folded behind his back, head bowed in a perfect pose of gallantry, and the final pieces of her defences were shattered. Her stomach fell to the earth as, struck dumb, she simply nodded once and reached out to him – sparks cascading through her at that first touch.

He walked her out onto the marble floor. She could feel the eyes of the room on them, but she no longer cared. He pulled her to him, gently but firmly as the music started up. It was a song she knew well, slow and romantic unlike the raucous reels of earlier in the evening. The press of his body, the scent of him and the warmth of his hand on her hip overwhelmed her senses for a few moments. She fought to regain control as he began to move them slowly but skilfully around the floor. Not being one for balls herself, she’d never really imagined him on such an occasion, or thought about whether he’d be an accomplished dancer, so she found herself both surprised and impressed at his prowess. It made sense really - he’d moved in these circles all his life and spent much of it as a knight. Time at court had understandably given him more proficiencies than merely those belonging to the battlefield.

The shade of jealousy that accompanied his mention of Renly was wholly unnecessary, but she loved the idea that she could provoke that in him. It was so long ago, but she still remembered everything about that night, how good he'd made her feel, but it was nothing to this. She'd believed herself in love with Renly all those years ago, and for such a long time afterwards, but she knew now that it had been nothing but fantasy. It was the man before her who'd made her see real love for what it was – not roses and fairytales, but on all-consuming fever that overrode any rational thought; made every emotion, good or bad, more raw and more acute than she could ever have previously imagined. Nothing else could have the power to sweep every scrap of baggage away leaving naught but the two of them here now, caught up in each other wholly.

His eyes, his impossibly blue eyes, loomed deep and liquid before her gaze – not sapphire blue like the familiar waters of her homeland, but the wild blue green of the open sea, filled with mystery and promise; inviting her, begging her, to drown in them. She was utterly bewitched – her increasingly losing battle was one she'd, in truth, lost years ago; somewhere on the road between Riverrun and King's Landing at the moment he’d unknowingly captured her heart.

Whilst she’d been lost in thought he’d drawn her even closer, his chin tilted just a shade upwards, inviting her to cross the negligible remaining distance between them and allow their lips to meet. She was frozen there for a few moments, consumed by the perfection of his warm breath on her face and the relentless quickening of her heartbeat. Then, she kissed him.

Despite how many times she’d imagined this moment over the past weeks and months, she'd never come close to the reality – a flood of feelings so intense she would have struggled to remain on her feet if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. They’d had moments so much more intimate than a simple kiss in a public ballroom, as betrayed by the fullness of her figure, but it was hard to recall how it was possible to be any closer than this.

Then, without warning, she was standing in a snow covered courtyard, the cold cutting through her damp clothing as she watched him galloping away from her. The rational part of her brain knew it was merely a vision, that she could still feel him pressed firmly against her, but the emotion of it was very real. She pushed him away, staring at his bewildered face as they both stood rooted with shock for long moments. Finally he made a move back towards her, his hand outstretched, but as much as she burned with the desire to take it, she couldn't. She turned and fled - the tangle of pleasure and pain that assaulted her proving impossible to reconcile.

Chapter 28: Little Do You Know

Chapter Text

The music seemed to die away and the surroundings to blur - Jaime’s cheeks burned as he watched Brienne leave, every eye in the room turned to him where he stood frozen on the marble floor. He'd rarely felt embarrassment – perhaps his life would have been very different if he had – and he'd long learnt to build barricades against showing any weakness. But some of those gathered knew the deepest feelings of Brienne’s heart, and his – they knew what she meant to him and just how much he’d be breaking as she walked away. Their witnessing his pain, his shame, yet again made him want the ground to swallow him whole.

The look she'd given him before she turned to go was seared into his mind - that same look again; the fear of how she felt for him washing the colour out of her face. He tried to hold on to his brother's words, “Of course she’s afraid. Don't tell me you're not scared too." And he was, but not in the way Tyrion meant. He was terrified of losing the one truly great thing in his life, but he could never be afraid of her or how he felt. He'd been controlled by a terrible imposter for love his entire life, how could he fear something, someone, so unwaveringly good?

He felt a hand on his arm – he instinctively jerked it away and turned to see his brother's face, creased with concern. He couldn't do this now, couldn't try and put this crushing tightness in his chest into words. He suddenly felt incredibly hot and, finally recovering his ability to move, paced towards the terrace in desperation to get some air, and with it some freedom from the intrusive gaze of those present.

Outside it was cool, and quiet, a soft breeze blowing in from the bay. Jaime leant his arms on the wall overlooking the godswood, whilst he tried to recover some semblance of composure. Thankfully Tyrion hadn't immediately followed him out there – Jaime knew his brother would come in time but he was thankful that, for now at least, he seemed to have decided to give him some space.

What had happened back there? Just as Tyrion had said she would, Brienne readily accepted his olive branch, and for the first time since he'd left Winterfell he felt a shade of that old delicious tension between them. As he'd held her she'd melted against him, and the hope he'd been battling to keep in check for weeks had burst through his defences. Then, without warning, she was gone.

He let his eyes roam amongst the trees, remembering another time he'd stood in that very spot – but on that occasion, not long after their return to King's Landing, she’d stood beside him. He knew now that the first stirrings of love for her were already in his heart even then, but at the time all he’d cared about was being reunited with Cersei. How short-sighted he had been.

He fixed his eyes on the heartwood at the centre of the trees below him, and he mouthed a silent prayer that soon, somehow, they would find a way forward. He’d never had much luck with the Seven so he may as well appeal to the old gods; at this point he'd try anything. If she couldn't move past all that had happened, what was the future going to look like? Not knowing the answer to that question was truly terrifying.

^^^^^^^^

The regret Brienne felt as soon as she reached her room and fell onto the bed burned as much as the painful memory which had assaulted her. But it was pointless – she could not return to the ballroom and she would have been unable to do anything differently if she had. She was so damn tired of feeling tired, of the constant struggle with herself. Despite how determinedly she had striven forwards for months, and how she’d always prided herself on her endurance, she was all but ready to give up.

It had taken weeks of soul searching to find forgiveness for Jaime and now, beyond her control, some unknown part of her had thrown up another hurdle. It was crushing – every part of her ached, both with the need of him and with the pain of his betrayal which she still did not seem able to let go. What twisted power had answered her pleas for him to be returned just to force her to endure this new anguish? Was what she’d believed a blessing also a curse? Was this the price she had to pay for him – that he was alive but never to be hers again?

She spent the next several hours tossing restlessly in bed, sleep evading her as her mind roamed back and forth between happy and painful memories. She'd impressed on Jaime the importance of moving forward but what kind of a hypocrite was she stuck in the past herself? She had to find a way to reach the damaged, frightened part of her which was still frozen in Winterfell’s courtyard – the part that could not allow the unbelievable scenario of the past months to be anything more than a dream. Even after all this time; even with his child growing inside her, she was still unable to entirely accept that he could truly love and desire her. How could she be sure that this would not all turn out to be a cruel joke, culminating in him leaving her again? Was she testing him - seeing how much she could push him away before he finally admitted it had all been a sham?

She knew now she was getting to the root of it all – perhaps the sharp memory of that night had not been intended to cause her more pain but to protect her. She knew that Sansa was right – the reason he left her was gone now, and it made sense to believe he would not abandon her again; but emotionally it was not so easy to convince herself. So many years of mocking and scorn had made her cautious and ill-trusting, and those instincts were desperately hard to break. The memories of years ago when Renly had saved her from ridicule were naturally re-ignited by the evening’s events, and the associated feelings with them. They put her on the defensive, and she could feel herself throwing up every well-crafted barrier Jaime had previously broken down.

Knowing sleep was a distant dream, she finally allowed the twinges in her back brought on by an evening on her feet to force her from the bed. She drew a candle from the drawer, lit it, and set it in its holder, then began pacing the length of the room in an attempt to ease the cramping in her spine. Exhausted by her self-analysis she allowed her mind to wander.

^^^^^^

The flames were dying down, closing the small sphere of the world into a space that contained nothing but two bedrolls arranged about the fire. Brienne sat cross-legged on her blanket, her eyes darting about the darkness for any threat that might be lurking, but aside from the occasional crack of the dimming embers all was quiet and still. Each time she glanced around, her gaze inevitably fell back on the Kingslayer, who was curled on his side, arms bound before him where she'd manacled him to a tree. He too was silent – she assumed he was asleep but she couldn't be certain; at least if he wasn't he didn't seem to be feeling talkative.

She hated to admit he'd been right earlier when he'd said the dead faces of those hung women would swim across her vision when she closed her eyes. She’d be exhausted tomorrow but the idea of trying to lay down and sleep with them so fresh in her mind made her shudder. Giving him even this small concession was disgusting to her – he'd spent the past few days doing nothing but trying to goad her, insult her and make her feel small. It wasn't as if she wasn't used to it but she'd struggled to hide the fact he'd succeeded and it made her hate herself.

She’d told him she didn't care what he thought – she wished it was true but she knew it wasn't and what was worse, so did he. Despite his grave dishonour he was a renowned swordsman and a part of her desperately wanted him to take her seriously. She'd seen a shade of it when she'd cut down those Stark men – he'd looked a little surprised, perhaps even impressed, and she couldn't deny that it pleased her. She’d worked long and hard to gain the skill and condition she had, resolving that if her life's fate was to be laughed at by men, she could at least wipe the sneers from their faces by besting them in a fight.

She shivered – she'd hoped to avoid feeding the fire again, and risk attracting wolves or passing bandits to cause them trouble, but she had to admit she was too cold. She threw some more branches on, and poked at the embers with another to try and rekindle the flames. After a few minutes the fire began to burn higher, despite the dampness of the wood making it smoke thickly. She sat back, raising the flats of her palms to the renewed heat and rubbing life back into her numbed fingers.

Looking around once more, she started when she saw the firelight catch in the Kingslayer’s eyes where he lay watching her. At first he said nothing, blinking as he regarded her face. She stared back, hoping not to appear unsettled. Finally he spoke, his voice low and gravelly,

"You should get some sleep." She laughed, gracelessly, almost snorting,

"And let you keep watch? You must be joking!” He rattled the chain that bound him to the tree, eyes not moving from her face,

"I’m not going anywhere, and you know I’ll cry out if anyone comes – I can hardly defend myself." He made a sensible argument, and after a few more moments of stubborn silence she conceded and lay down, pulling the blanket over herself, but she did not dignify him with a response.

Any concern that those three dead faces would loom back into her head was soon chased entirely away. To her annoyance, all she could see in her mind's eye was him, ragged, bloodied and caked in filth, and looking at her with those heavy, dark eyes. His words echoed in her head,

"None of them were strong enough. I’m strong enough."

She was thankful for the darkness as she felt a flush of heat rush to her face. She half opened her eyes to find him still watching her and a prickle of heat danced down her body. She turned over and scrunched her eyes more tightly closed, now hoping that she would see the dead women again.

^^^^^

Brienne was jolted out of her reverie and came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the floor, hand reflexing to her stomach. She wondered for a moment what had startled her, listening intently for a sound in the darkness. Then she felt something – a faint but definite movement beneath her splayed fingers. She'd wondered if the flutterings she'd been feeling for the past few days were her baby's first stirrings or just indigestion, but this was unmistakable. The rippling came again beneath the tight skin of her belly and she caught her breath. It was the strangest but most wonderful feeling.

Her anguish momentarily forgotten, she searched around in the dim light for something to put on her feet – in spite of everything she had to go to Jaime and share this with him. Steeling down the stair in her slippers and nightgown, mind caught up in the past as it was, she could hardly fail to be drawn back yet again to that freezing night when she'd bolted down the stairs with the fingers of fear gripping her heart. She paused halfway, breathing, trying not to let it overwhelm her again – she had to remember that this time Jaime would not be preparing to leave, but sound asleep and waiting for her. He'd promised he would never leave her again; now she had to find a way to start believing it.

She reached the bottom – the tower was silent, and dark aside from the pool of light created by the candle she carried. She crept quietly past Pod’s room and the two others that were thus far occupied, until she reached Jaime’s door. She turned the handle as quietly as she could, praying he had left it unbolted so she wouldn't be forced to knock and wake half the castle. The door clicked off its latch and swung open with a creak that was almost deafening in the silence – she froze, but all remained quiet so she moved inside, pushing the door closed behind her before making her way over to the bed.

She saw Jaime’s sleepy face in the candlelight, and all other thought but the need to be close to him deserted her. Placing her candle on the nightstand she knelt down beside the bed. She reached out falteringly a couple of times before finally touching his face, running her fingers across his cheek and over the sharp stubble at his jaw. The feel of his beard on her face and... elsewhere was something she had never expected to enjoy, but she loved it, revelling in its prickle against her fingers. He stirred a little, pressing his face against her hand but he didn't wake.

She grew bolder, leaning down to plant the gentlest of kisses on his lips – she didn't know if she'd expected him to kiss her back even in sleep, but he didn't. His breath came soft against her face as she drew away, sending sparks the full length of her body. It was cool in the room – she was wearing only a thin nightshirt and no underwear, and she shivered. She eyed his blankets with envy, both for their warmth and for the contact they had with him. She had no idea how he would react to waking up with her in bed with him, but the need to be close to him was strong, and she still felt desperately sorry for what had happened earlier. So, kicking off her footwear, she eased back the sheets and climbed in.

He was naked – she'd known he would be, but the heat of his skin against her bare arms and legs still gave her an illicit thrill. She hadn't come here with any thought of sex, but pressed up against him with his scent filling her nostrils it was hard not to be consumed by the possibility, even with things so unresolved between them. She kissed him again, more firmly this time, and as he began to stir she imagined the soft smile that would crease his face when he realised she was there.

^^^^^

Jaime woke slowly to the sensation of something hot pressing against every part of him. He was confused at first, the fog of sleep making it hard to fully process where he was or what was happening. It was still dark, so it shouldn't be this warm yet. It took him a few moments to recall the events of the evening, and slightly longer to realise that despite those events, Brienne was now in his bed; not only that but he felt sure that she’d kissed him. He wanted nothing more than to forget her abrupt departure and wholly surrender himself to her, but as she leaned in again some other feeling compelled him to push her back.

"Brienne, what is this? What happened earlier? Are we…?" As he trailed off, she sighed, the same sigh she'd answered this question with every time he'd asked it for weeks - in fact, close to months now. The one that broke his heart.

"Jaime I..." He cut her off, not wanting to hear any more,

“You don't know. Right. I get it,” he replied, half rolling over before she put a hand out to stop him, “l can’t do this with you any more. Me taking you as a lover without committing to anything is what got us into this whole mess in the first place. What we have... it's special, and I don't want it to be reduced to just sex. Cersei spent years manipulating me with sex to get what she wanted. I’m not going to be with you unless we do it properly.” Even in the meagre candlelight he saw her already pale face wash white as she realised what she'd inadvertently done,

"I’m so sorry. I never meant..." she trailed off, clearly mortified, and for a second he felt awful that he'd even suggested she would treat him that way. But he needed her to know he was serious – he had to do things the right way this time. Had to have his feelings and needs heard.

"I’m sure you didn't. I want you Brienne, more than I could ever put into words; but I have self respect now – you taught me that. You either want to be with me or you don't, and if you don't what in seven hells are you doing in my bed in the middle of the night?" He watched as his words sunk in – he could almost feel her shame as she drew back from him.

"I didn't come here for sex, and I’m so sorry if I've hurt you. I couldn't sleep and then... I needed to tell you, about the baby... but when I saw you I just... I couldn't help wanting to be close to you..." She trailed off several times, her thoughts jumbled, but he could only fixate on one of them,

“What about the baby? Is something wrong!?” The panic rose thick and choking in his throat, but the soft hand she ran over his cheek, along with her smile, reassured him.

"No, don’t worry, nothing's wrong. It’s just, I felt it moving for the first time – I wanted you to know, but now I feel stupid." His heart melted, in spite of everything she was as good as her word – she really did want him to be a proper father to this child. He kissed her cheek lightly, his hand dropping to her stomach.

"It's not stupid at all – I'm glad you came and shared it with me. I know it's only a small thing, but getting to share these moments - to feel like I'm a part of this - it means everything to me." He hadn't realised he was crying until she lifted a hand to wipe the tears from his cheek,

“Jaime, of course you're a part of this; even though I'm the one carrying it, this is your baby just as much as mine. I wish you could feel it too – but you'll be able to soon I'm sure. I feel more the size of a castle every day.” Her words made him laugh,

"However you feel, I think you look amazing." Even in the dim candlelight he could see her cheeks colour a little as she dropped her chin. It took her a few moments before she met his eyes again,

"Listen Jaime I..." she trailed off once more, sighing, clearly frustrated at her inability to express herself. He caught her chin to stop her breaking his gaze this time,

“It's all right. You don't have to try and do this now. I’m sorry, for how I reacted when I woke up, I just... it was unexpected was all, after what happened earlier. I guess I was still feeling a bit fragile after you left. I... I thought we’d had a moment there..."

"We did." Those two simple words, spoken with more confidence than anything else she'd said since she entered the room, were everything he needed. He didn't say anything else, just waited for her to gather herself enough to continue, "I do have to do this now. I've kept you hanging on for long enough. I want us to be together Jaime, but I have to ask you to wait a little longer, if you can. I still have some things I need to work through." Heart surging in his chest at her words, he didn't have to hesitate for even a second before replying,

"I would wait a lifetime for you. It might not be easy, but I would do it. You have nothing to fear. My past is full of shadows, but you’re my light Brienne, my future.” She sighed again, this time with something like relief,

“I can’t claim to know much about love, at least aside from what you've taught me. All I know is you're in my head every second of every day – it feels so good, but at the same time it hurts so damn much." Her frankness surprised and pleased him – she was finally starting to open up and it made him believe she really was ready forgive him. This felt like the first few tentative steps on a new path for them; one they would walk together. A part of him wanted to apologise again, to promise her the earth, but he knew this was not the time. Right now she just needed him to be here for her - strong and solid. Despite his insistence they not be intimate, he couldn't bear the thought of her going back to her own room now.

"You can sleep here if you want – just sleep, nothing more." He had no idea how she'd respond, but she only paused for a few seconds before nodding, then reached out for a shirt he'd left thrown over a chair close by and passed it to him. He pulled it on, before making a little more space for her in the bed. She slipped back under the covers and he folded her into his arms.

Chapter 29: Used to the Pain

Chapter Text

Brienne dismounted her horse at a clearing in the trees, the weak moonlight breaking through to cast faint shadows on the stony ground. Pod dropped down softly beside her, wearing the same look of concern which had creased his features since they'd left King's Landing. She knew from long experience that there was little point in trying to reassure him, so the next best thing was to completely ignore it.

“Here seems like as good a place as any.” She gestured to an area with a couple of large, flat rocks where they could sit, then tied her horse to a nearby tree before looking around for firewood. It was a refreshing change to find dry wood easily available – a luxury she’d rarely encountered in the frozen North.

It was now quite some time since she'd built a fire in the open like this, and as soon as she stooped to collect the first branch she realised that bending was much more difficult than it used to be. However she attempted it her belly was in the way, firm and unyielding, the baby wriggling in protest. After struggling for a few minutes Pod stopped her,

"Please, Lord Commander, let me do it." His tone was somehow both worried and apologetic – she tried her best not to find his constant fretting over her irritating, but it wasn't easy. She held back from snapping at him, but only because she could tell he was as concerned about annoying her as he was about her perceived fragility. Her innate stubbornness made her want to continue all the more in the face of his protest, but she had to admit she was tired after their long ride. Taking a rest sounded very attractive right now so she gave in,

"All right." She moved back to the clearing and sat down, reminding herself how grateful she was to have Pod here – as much as she'd initially wished for time alone, after another long day on the road with her thoughts she knew she was in real need of someone to talk to.

At first she'd railed against the errand King Bran had sent them on – she knew it was largely fabricated; an excuse to get her away from King’s Landing so both she and Jaime could have some space. Her knee jerk reaction had been annoyance at being treated like a child, cajoled and lied to. Surely Bran, Tyrion, and whoever else had been involved in cooking up this plan could have simply discussed it with her? Seething anger quickly followed - she was deeply affronted that they'd imagined she wouldn't see right through it.

But, after a day or so of stomping around the Red Keep, her temper had cooled and she'd come around to the idea. She'd realised a few days away may turn out to be all she needed to get things straight in her head, and the hopeless romantic side she'd recently discovered furnished her with visions of a dramatic return where she fell into Jaime's arms, all forgiven.

It would not be that simple, she was certain, but the change of scenery couldn't hurt, and she welcomed Bran assigning her a practical task. She also appreciated him allowing her to take responsibility for herself, to know her own physical limitations, rather than dictating everything she mustn't do. Those demands he, and Jaime to his credit, left to the maesters – Pod being the only one who’d taken it upon himself to fuss over her. Besides, her opinion on the true necessity of their task aside, one or two of the local holdfasts and villages they'd visited over the past few days had produced some promising recruits. The castle was in need of new staff in many capacities, not just soldiers and guardsmen.

By now, Pod had the beginnings of a fire going. They didn't really need it, as even the nights were quite warm now the winter had started to recede, but there was something deeply comforting about the glow of the flames as dusk fell.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors."

Brienne had rarely been afraid of the dark – the only occasion she could recall was back in the North when they'd watched a thousand Dothraki flames extinguished, then waited in horrified silence for the dead to come looming towards them. What she needed right now was a sense of nostalgia, to reconnect with herself and regain some of the simplicity her life had once held. The warmth of the fire in the darkness focussed her mind in a way that made it seem possible. She wanted to pretend this was just one of many nights she and Pod had spent on the road through the years, at least for a few minutes until her restless mind broke through that facade.

There was no practical need for them to be out here – there were local inns aplenty, one of which they were staying in tonight, but she'd persuaded Pod to spend the evening in the woods. He’d frowned, just like he did at most suggestions she made right now, but stopped short of flatly refusing. Thankfully he appeared as willing to indulge her as to worry about her.

She’d never liked a crowded tavern at the best of times, and they were terrible places to try and talk about anything meaningful, let alone private. They could have decided to camp, and spend the whole night away from other people – even better to clear her head – but she wasn't sure her hips and back could stand it, and needing to piss eight times a night was far less of a facing when there was a privy just down the corridor. Having said that, imagining Pod's horror at the mere suggestion almost tempted her to propose it anyway, but sense won out.

So this was their compromise and, fire finally crackling away, Pod settled himself beside her. He passed her a stein of tea he'd brewed from the kettle that hung over the flames, cradling his own between his hands. As resistant as she'd always been to sharing anything personal, he'd done a pretty good job of getting to know her through the years - sometimes he even seemed to know her better than she knew herself. His behaviour made it clear he was aware she wanted to talk, but if that made him nervous, he betrayed no sign of it.

She shifted cautiously on her rock, doing all she could to avoid showing discomfort in case he began fretting again. He kept his gaze on his drink. In spite of her tension, a quick glance revealed him to be completely at ease, and her habitual guard began to drop a touch. It allowed the well of emotion Jaime had discovered in her to bubble to the surface.

“Thank you Pod, for being here with me. I don’t just mean now, I mean for all the years you’ve been at my side. Especially these past few months. I don’t know if I could have got through them without you.” He looked up, smiling broadly; there was no sign of the twitchy, nervous boy she was so accustomed to.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather have been.” His voice cracked a little as he spoke, and she had to fight to hold onto her own composure, “you’re a great teacher, and a great friend. And you’re still the best fighter I’ve ever seen.”

“I was.” It was a knee jerk response; she hadn’t intended to sound self-pitying, but even she was surprised by how raw those feelings of loss still were. She thought she’d come to terms with all the changes in her life and her body, but perhaps she hadn’t entirely.

“You will be again. I know how hard you’ll work - you’ll be back to full fighting strength in no time.” He paused, a shade of his old nerves coming back, and she sensed he was uncertain about what he wanted to say next. He took a long swig of his tea before continuing, “Now you're going to be an incredible mother too; and even though you might feel weak, to me you’re as strong as you’ve ever been. Everything you went through, and you just carried on.”

“I didn’t feel strong. There were days, weeks, when I don’t even know how I got up in the morning. It’s hard to be that vulnerable, especially when you’ve been used to always being strong.” His eyes fixed on her face, a deep sorrow in his eyes,

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from all that pain.” The guilt was evident in his voice – she’d had no idea he felt that way, “I’m annoying, I know, the way I keep hovering over you at the moment, but it’s just because I care about you. I want you to be safe... you and the baby.” She smiled, she knew it was weak, but she did appreciate the sentiment. For the first time it occurred to her that his recent behaviour was, at least in part, her fault. Was it reasonable to expect someone in his position not to worry about her when she’d been such a mess of late? She could hardly be irritated at him treating her like she might break when she did appear that fragile.

“You’re not to blame for any of it. You’ve been there for me every moment, which is more than I can say for some people.” Was she still so bitter? She’d thought finding a way to forgive Jaime would have freed her from the pain of his choice, but the hurt was still just as acute.

“Do you know what you’re going to do yet… about Ser Jaime? It’s him you want to talk about isn’t it - that’s why we’re out here?” She could have kissed him for making it so easy – he was so genuine and uncomplicated that he’d never been difficult to talk to, but in the past he’d have waited for her to broach a subject, or at least danced around it, instead of being quite so direct.

“You’re an astute young man, Pod - of course that’s why we’re out here. As for what I’m going to do, I thought, I… hoped I’d have worked it all out by now. Naively, perhaps, but there it is.” She looked him in the eye, reaching out a hand which he took affectionately. The comfort was very needed, “I think I’m only just learning that there’s a huge chasm between finding forgiveness and rebuilding trust.” He squeezed her fingers gently,

“I suppose it comes down to whether you want to start to trust him again or whether you want to walk away? I don’t pretend to have any answers for you.”

“I could never walk away – even if I wanted to our lives are tied together now, both with the Kingsguard and with this...” She rested her free hand on her stomach, glancing down, “But regardless of those things, I do want to be with him. I told him as much before we left. I just… I want to know when his betrayal is going to stop hurting. How many times I need him to prove to me that he’s sorry before I can let it go.”

Pod stood up from his rock, releasing her hand, and moved over to the flames. He stirred the pot – their food must be almost ready now, but she wondered why he’d chosen this of all moments to break the conversation. Perhaps she was asking too much, putting the weight of her all her doubts on his shoulders. Then he turned to look back at her,

“I don’t know if you’ll like what I have to say.” So that was it, he was mulling over how to tell her she was being ridiculous; that if she’d already decided she and Jaime had a life together, why was she still holding back? Perhaps that was exactly what she needed to hear,

“I’m so tired of the endless repetition of my own thoughts that anything you have to say on the matter is wholly welcome, regardless of how much I may not like it.” He took the finished stew from the flames and placed it aside before returning to his seat, turning towards her and retaking her hand – this time between both of his.

"Maybe it never will stop hurting, completely. Maybe you have to learn to live with what he did – just like he has to."

He was right, she didn’t like it. But as she ate her meal, then later as they rode back to the inn in companionable silence, it was his words that repeated endlessly in her head instead of her own. The more she thought on it, the more she wondered if her relentless quest for peace was the very thing preventing her from finding it.

^^^^^^

Brienne could tell it was daylight, but she resisted the urge to open her eyes. Doing so would mean letting go of her dream – a dream so vivid she could still imagine the feel of Jaime, hard against her lower back. It was a completely foreign sensation, just like everything else that had happened in her mind over the course of the night, but she'd enjoyed every bit of it.

She pressed her hips backwards, as if to drag her buttocks against his phantom length, moaning softly. She'd never had a great imagination, but it had somehow found itself this night, along with some deeply buried instincts about to what to do in such a situation. Her reverie was broken by a very non-imaginary voice,

"If you carry on doing that I'm afraid I can't be held entirely responsible for what happens next." Her eyes flew open and she flipped over as if she’d been scalded, staring at an undeniably real Jaime with utter disbelief. He was such a practiced tease, she'd never seen him fail to hold his composure – until now. The expression on her face caused him to laugh out loud.

“You thought it was a dream!” He quickly gained control of the laughter, but not the smirk, which spread to his eyes, “Was I that good?”

She froze, uncertain how to respond, half embarrassed and half afraid that, having only just discovered they really had slept together last night, it was just a bit of fun to him, fuelled by drink and the elation of victory,

“I... I wouldn't know... I mean it was, good, but I don't have anything to compare it to so..." His eyes immediately softened, and he drew her against him, pressing a kiss to her forehead,

"I'm sorry – it was awful of me to tease at such a moment, but you just looked so astonished I couldn't resist." He planted his next kiss on her lips, lingering there for a moment and giving her some measure of reassurance that he wasn't about to flee her room and never speak of what had happened between them again. He pressed his hips forward, his obvious arousal making her gasp, and she broke away, suddenly fearful without the blanket of wine.

She rolled to the side and sat up, pulling a fur with her to cover her breasts as she felt him run his hand down her back. She rose from the bed and washed quickly, trying not to feel self conscious as she ran the washcloth between her legs, before pulling on some clothes. She was painfully aware of what the time must be and how late she was for her morning sparring session with Pod. She felt a sudden anxiety that she'd be asked why she was late and either be forced to explain or lie.

Pulling on her boots she turned back towards Jaime, and it was only then she saw the hurt on his face. She realised it was all genuine, and that he was just as keen for this to mean something as she was. She moved back over to the bed and ran a soft hand over his hair and down his face. Her latent instincts willed her to kiss him, but she wasn’t ready for what might happen if she did. She needed time to let last night fully sink in before falling into bed with him a second time.

"I should go – we're late for breakfast." She moved over towards the door, and was just about to turn the handle when she heard him whisper,

"Brienne..." She turned back – his expression was so earnest it brought a new wave of love for him welling up from deep inside her, " ... can I see you again... later?" She couldn't help but smile, despite her raging nerves - the playful nature their relationship had possessed since its infancy reasserting itself once again,

“I’ll make up the fire – I know how warm you like it.” She just caught a flash of the broad smile that lit his face as she left the room.

Walking down the stairs she initially felt elated – the years of tension between them had finally led to this; being with him… physically was everything she’d dreamt of and more. Beyond that, knowing there really had been something between them all this time and it hadn’t just been her imagination - that a man so stunningly beautiful could desire her… it made her feel a new lightness inside. But those feelings quickly gave way to nerves, which heightened with every step.

She felt different, almost so different she was someone else, and she was afraid other people would be able to see it – that they would know what she had done. She railed against the guilt – she'd made a choice, for herself, permitted herself something that she wanted, and she’d enjoyed every moment of it. She refused to feel any shame or remorse in that decision, regardless of the views of society, but she couldn’t claim to be unconcerned about the opinions of those she respected and called friends.

On entering the dining hall she could already feel the heat rising to her cheeks, and she raised a hand in an attempt to hide the colour she feared would be obvious. Thankfully, when she looked up, she found the room much quieter than on the previous few mornings. The festivities of the evening had clearly left many still abed even with the sun well risen in the sky. Perhaps even she would be forgiven for her lateness.

She glanced about herself – the servants had done an excellent job of cleaning away all the abandoned tankards of the night before, and breakfast platters were laid out at the far end of the room. She headed over there and loaded her plate with food, the gnawing hunger brought on by the previous day’s exertions, followed by a night of little sleep, finally hitting her.

She collected some tea from the end of the bench, then moved over to take up a chair beside Podrick. He'd been trying to catch her eye since she'd entered the room, but she'd studiously ignored him, breathing deeply in a vain attempt to cool her burning skin and calm her racing heart. He was also holding a cup of tea, his empty plate pushed to the side. He looked up at her and smiled as she sat down, but said nothing.

What followed were several minutes of awkward silence – she could tell he knew, what else would have prevented him from asking after her whereabouts that morning? She could feel the blush, hot in her cheeks again, so she kept her eyes firmly fixed on her plate as she spoke – desperate to break the tension despite having no idea how she was going to explain herself,

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for sparring this morning, I... " she trailed off, both unable and unwilling to come up with an excuse. Fortunately he jumped at the opportunity to continue the conversation,

"It's all right – Sandor was awake. He went a few rounds with me so I didn't miss the practice." It would hardly have mattered if he’d missed one day, especially given their long ordeal, but given his unshakeable diligence she wasn’t surprised. She nodded in response, grateful he hadn't been left standing around waiting for her to show up.

The silence then continued for more long minutes, Pod's hands gripping around his tea until there was a hint of white in his knuckles. Neither of them looked up. Brienne couldn't imagine what was going to break their stalemate until her eye was caught by Tyrion who came whistling into the room, greeting them with a nod of the head and, towards her, just a hint of a raised eyebrow.

She realised then that all attempt at concealment would be utterly in vain, and a part of her wanted to embrace it, to shout her love and her joy from the rooftops. But years of bitter experience had left her with a desperate desire for privacy – and that guarded part of her was mortified. Then Jaime also entered, and she tried not to watch Pod's eyes travel his path into the room, flick to her face, and back to his tea again. She braced for further excruciating tension that could surely only grow worse as Tyrion and Jaime came over to join them, but she was surprised when Pod finally spoke again,

“It’s all right you know. I’m not going to be shocked or angry or anything – why would I be angry? Why would anyone? I’ve known you love him for years, you know that. And I’m sure Tyrion's glad you're making his brother happy.” It came out in a rush, all at once, everything he'd clearly been churning over as they'd sat in silence. Yet again, despite his inelegance of phrasing he'd managed to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. She felt herself relaxing just a touch – they'd all nearly met their deaths, it made sense that a breach of propriety would be happily forgiven. Besides, she was hardly some delicate flower of a woman that had just ruined her chance for a good marriage – she’d harboured no dreams of marriage at all.

“Thank you Pod, I… I’m just not used to this kind of attention.”

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, and I’m sorry if I have. But I’m just so pleased for you – I’ve never seen you like you were last night, and you shouldn’t let your worries about what other people will think spoil that now. You deserve to be happy.” Warmed as she was by his sentiments, it was only in that moment she really began to wonder what Jaime’s long term intentions were. He’d asked to see her again, but beyond that…? She trusted in his feelings for her, but could she really believe he’d abandoned Cersei for good after a lifetime of devotion? A gnawing doubt began to creep into her gut,

“I am happy, really, but I don’t know if it can be that simple for us.” Pod turned his now empty cup around in his hands a few times before replying,

“He has a past, of course he does, but I thought you’d come to terms with that a long time ago – before we even met. How could you have fallen in love with him otherwise? The two of you are here together now, and you love each other. What could be simpler than that?”

It was then that Jaime and Tyrion came to the table, cutting the conversation short. She flashed a smile at Pod, then made her best attempt at greeting the brothers without awkwardness. She was uncertain as to her success – Tyrion made a poor show of hiding his mirth, but said nothing beyond an enthusiastic ‘Good morning’. When her eyes met Jaime’s, her whole body seemed to tingle with the thrill of remembering their night together, and anticipating what was to come. Pod was right, she couldn’t allow anything to ruin this – she loved him, she wanted him, and she had to allow that to be enough.

^^^^^

Rain fell steadily as they rode the long miles back to King's Landing. Brienne was glad of it – the gentle drumming against her hood was a soothing meditative distraction from her thoughts. She felt calmer this morning, but she still had much to think on – Pod’s words of the previous evening and dreams of Winterfell that had come to her in the night, as they often did, jumbled with all the hurt that had been pressing on her chest for weeks, making it hard to breathe.

She glanced over at Pod, his hood also pulled well up against the weather so she could barely see his face. When had he become the teacher instead of the student, and how had she not noticed it happening? Whether he saw or sensed her looking at him she couldn't be sure, but either way he turned, cracking a half smile as he met her eye.

"Are you all right? Do you need to rest?" She shook her head,

"No I'm fine. I just..." She'd so hoped to be making this return journey with greater certainty in her heart, but it had been staggeringly naive to hope that a few days of space would change everything. He reached out a hand to squeeze her arm,

"You need to give it time – I know you really want to move forward but you can't force it." She irritated even herself with her sigh; she didn't just want to get past this, she needed to. Her hands on the reins brushed against the firm curve of her stomach, a constant reminder that time was something she didn’t have the luxury of. Their child would wait for no-one, and as the weeks rolled onward the need for resolution before it's arrival felt ever greater. Then, everything would change again and she would need every bit of Jaime’s support and love. She had to be able to accept it.

The shape of the Lion Gate appeared in the distance, looming out of the mist. She couldn't wait any longer to get back to King's Landing - if the past few days had made her realise anything it was that she needed to work through this with Jaime, not without him. She spurred her horse, enjoying the wind in her face despite the awful weather and her extra weight, which made easing forward out of the saddle a challenge. She sensed Pod’s horse taking up a gallop behind her – she was glad she couldn’t see his face, or hear his inevitable protests over the wet thundering of hooves.

Chapter 30: Second Hand Heart

Chapter Text

The morning was wet and grey. Jaime had just come from King Bran's chambers, handing over watch to one of the two trusted Northerners who had remained behind to become white cloaks. A part of him felt ill at ease that there were still just five of them rather than the full compliment of seven, but with only Bran to guard even five was perhaps more than required. Then again, with Brienne soon to be out of action, and he himself more than a little distracted by impending fatherhood, it was as well to have extra cover.

He yawned – although he was now well recovered from his strange ordeal, he still frequently found himself more tired than had once had. Consequently the night shift was a significantly greater challenge – he chuckled to himself, at least it was good practice for when there was a crying baby to attend to. He turned the corner; ordinarily he would go back to his room and sleep for a few hours, but despite his fatigue he was restless. Brienne and Podrick should be returning this morning and he found himself so impatient to see her that he could not even imagine trying to sleep right now.

He paced the corridors for a while – it was likely too wet outdoors for anyone to be in the sparring yard. Pod was always up for a few rounds, but with him gone even Bronn was likely to have his feet up somewhere with a tankard of beer rather than entertaining any thought of swordplay. It was a shame, Jaime couldn't imagine anything better to work out his agitation than to clash some steel, plus there would be the added bonus of his being attractively rain soaked when Brienne arrived. He snorted at his own ridiculousness. Certainly parts of their shared history read like a fairytale – an image of a bear came to mind – but she would instantly see through something so contrived.

Waiting had never felt so interminable and, the inside of his skull feeling like it was filled with bees, he paced quickly out to the yard, resolving that at least he could hit the stuffing out of some practice dummies. Anything to avoid wearing a trench in the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast and the soles from his boots.

He practised for half an hour or so, hoping he would eventually work out his frustrations, but realising very quickly it was fruitless. He hated this feeling – it set him back years. He’d retreated to this yard many times when Cersei had been dismissive or angry with him – it never worked then so he didn't know why he thought it would now. He’d thought himself a different person from who he used to be, wanted so fervently to believe it, but here he was behaving just as he always had – and this time he was entirely to blame for his own disquiet.

By the time he was done he was soaked through – with both sweat and the unabating rain. He threw his sword to the ground in disgust, instantly regretting his lack of respect for the weapon. He picked it up again, turning it over to check it for damage, despite knowing its Valyrian steel would be as flawless as always. He wiped the blade clean on his breeches. As he was pushing it back into its scabbard, Pod’s feet appeared in his eye-line. He raised his head, restlessness turning to nerves as he realised Brienne must not be far behind. Then he saw the expression on Pod’s face and his gut twisted with fear.

"Ser Jaime... the Lord Commander she... she's taken a fall." His heart, which had taken up a racing pace, seemed to stop entirely for a moment before thudding back into life. Time seemed to slow, the world shrinking to just Pod’s rain spattered face. His blood raged in his ears. No... this couldn't be happening.

"Where is she!? Is she all right... the baby!?"

"She’s awake – they're taking her to the tower, the maester’s with her. I don't know any more than that, Tyrion sent me to fetch you." Jaime was already running before the boy had finished his sentence. He had to get to her, could not lose her or their child now after all they’d endured. If he could just get there he felt sure that, somehow, his mere presence would be enough to prevent anything terrible happening - as if he could have that much power. Was this how she'd felt as she made the long journey south from Winterfell, not knowing if he was alive or dead? He'd imagined the pain, felt the guilt acutely, but he had never conceived of it being as bad as this horrendous wrenching in his chest.

He reached the Serpentine Steps and took them two at a time with barely a pause, not caring that they were wet and he could so easily slip. It seemed to be raining even harder now, but he wasn't sure if it was just the speed of his headlong dash driving the rain into his face. The top came quickly but it could never be fast enough – the sprint that followed, across the outer bailey yard to the door of the White Sword Tower, was only a few hundred yards but it seemed to take years. Tyrion awaited him at the door.

"They’ve taken her to your room – we knew you wouldn't mind." He didn't care where they'd taken her, he just had to get there. He burst into his room – the Grand Maester was attending to her and barely looked up but Davos, who was standing near the door, started at Jaime’s abrupt entry then caught his arm as he moved towards the bed,

"Let the Maester do his work lad. I know you want to help but there's nothing you can do for her just now." He shook the Onion Knight’s arm away and strained forward to see Brienne's face where she lay on his bed, wet hair plastered to her forehead. His heart hammered in his chest and he fought to regain control of his ragged breath.

She looked pale, and frightened, but her eyes were open and locked with his. She said nothing, just creased her brow with sorrow and apology. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, but he knew he couldn't, so he forced himself to turn away. At that moment Pod rushed through the open doorway – Jaime had thought to leave him leagues behind, but he'd managed to all but keep pace. His frustration and worry burst out of his mouth at the sight of the lad,

"What in seven hells happened!?" After Locke's men, Harrenhal, the dead… they'd only been out on a few days’ ride in peace time. She was supposed to be safe.

"She wanted... to get back... we were galloping." His reply came in snatches between his gasping breaths, "We were nearly at the Keep… a dog ran out and her horse spooked… " Jaime fixated for a second on the revelation that she'd wanted to get back quickly, and whether that desire was in reference to him, but he shook it away – it hardly mattered now,

"...Galloping...! She's pregnant for gods’ sake, why did you... you were supposed to be taking care of her!" He knew his anger was unfair, Brienne could not be prevented from doing anything, but all his boiling anxiety had to go somewhere. To his surprise he was met by a rage to match his own,

"You want to talk to me about taking care of her!? I've barely left her side in months! I was there when she cried herself to sleep at night, when she was sick morning after morning carrying your child. And where the f*ck were you!?” You could have heard a pin drop - even Pod looked a touch startled by his own tirade as he paused to gulp in air, and Jaime was too shocked to say anything, “Gods only know why but she loves and respects you, and instead of with her you were with your murderous bitch of a sister. And you have the gall accuse me of not looking after her!?" It was true, all of it, he'd tortured himself with it for months, but hearing it laid out that starkly was like a punch hard enough to bring him to his knees.

"Enough! Both of you!" All eyes snapped back to the bed at Brienne’s words. She looked exhausted and her raised voice was weaker than usual, but Jaime was relieved to see Sam helping her to sit up a little. He rushed to assist, his gaze turning pleadingly to the Grand Maester,

“Well!?" Brienne's eyes also turned to the maester at Jaime’s question, and he directed his response to her,

"You've got some bad bruising on your lower back and legs, but nothing beyond that, and thankfully all seems to be well with the child. I suggest you get at least a week of complete rest, to be certain everything is as it should be. I will check on you each morning until you’re fully recovered.” Jaime released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and Brienne began to laugh, almost sounding giddy with relief,

"You mean I've caused all this chaos and I've escaped with a bruised backside? Thank the heavens!” She smiled up at Jaime as he leaned in to embrace her then, as he drew back, turned to Pod where he still loitered at the end of the bed, "Pod come here." She reached up a hand to cover Jaime’s where it rested on her shoulder, and held out the other to her former squire. Sam nodded politely and made to leave the room,

"Thank you Grand Maester," Brienne called after him, and he paused to turn back before leaving, his customary nervous half-smile on his face. She took Pod’s hand as he drew to the side of her, then looked from his face to Jaime’s and back,

"I appreciate both of your concern, but this was entirely my fault. It’s extraordinary luck that nothing worse happened. l've been so blindly determined to prove I can do everything I always have, that I've been stupid and dangerous. I promise you both I will be vastly more careful from now on." Jaime dropped a kiss on her temple, then moved away, beckoning for Pod and Davos to follow him,

"Come on, we should allow the Lord Commander to rest." He desperately wanted to stay with her, but he could see the fatigue washing any remaining colour out of her face, and she smiled weakly at him again as her head fell back against the pillows. He paused to grab a change of clothes so he could get out of the sodden ones he was wearing, which allowed Pod to leave the room without making any further eye contact with him. He was about to follow when Brienne spoke again,

“Jaime…” He turned, slowly, and was met with the same soft smile that had made his gut twist and his heart skip a beat so many times before,

"I’m sorry about Pod… he's become very protective of me." He nodded, tight lipped, as she held his gaze – what was she looking for? Some sign as to whether he was hurt by the boy’s words – as if he somehow warranted shielding from the consequences of his actions?

"What did he say that I don't deserve?" She dropped his gaze then, her brow creasing as she looked down at her clasped hands,

"I don't think we should dwell on the past any more." She looked up, her eyes dark and intense, and part of him felt compelled to spill his entire heart to her once again. His head took over, but before he could repeat his gentle appeal for her to rest she seemed to read his thoughts as she added, “Don’t worry I’m going to get some sleep now. I’ll see you later.”

He nodded sharply, unwilling to say anything that might risk further conversation. He turned on his heel as if dismissed by his commanding officer which, he reminded himself, she was – amongst a myriad of other things. Tyrion was waiting outside, and Jaime went with him, his head full and his heart remaining behind in the room he’d just left.

^^^^^

It was several hours later when Jaime crept back to his room to see if Brienne was awake, taking care not to disturb her if she wasn't. He'd passed the time with Tyrion in his solar – they’d shared their relief at Brienne's lucky escape and taken some lunch. Whilst they'd eaten, he’d tried not to read too much into her desire for a speedy return to the city, and her parting words – hope had been a dangerous mistress to him for so much of his life that he'd learnt caution in venturing into her arms again.

As it turned out Brienne was awake, stretched out sleepily on the bed, but she raised her head as he entered the room. Her smile was warm, and even though she was clearly still very tired there was a new calm about her – she’d seemed very tense and unsettled since their reunion weeks ago, but now that unease was markedly absent.

"How are you feeling?” Her physical health, and that of their unborn child, were his primary concerns, any question about her feelings on their relationship could wait despite his burning impatience.

"I'm all right. Tired, and sore, but other than that I’m fine. Honestly." He must have betrayed some hint of scepticism, which induced her to add that final assurance. He believed her – there was a little colour in her face again, and she pushed herself up on her arms without any trouble. He was relieved, and that relief forced all the pent up thoughts of the past few hours into words,

"You had me scared there for a while. I… guess I got some small taste of exactly what I put you through and it was harder than I could possibly have imagined. Thinking I might lose you... and the baby I..."

"You don't need to explain – I know."

"Of course you do." She shifted over a little and patted the bed beside her – he kicked off his boots as he moved over and sat down. She snuggled her head into his shoulder. A part of him just wanted to enjoy the moment, being close with her, but he couldn’t wait to ask about the events of the morning any longer,

“So, what happened? How did you come to fall? You probably never fell off a horse since you were a child - maybe not even then.” She laughed slightly and it lightened his heart – he'd been a little worried about whether she'd be affronted by the question,

“You might think that but I assure you I fell off plenty of times.” She sighed a little and looked down, then met his eyes again with apology. “I honestly don’t know – the horse barely spooked but I was unseated. The next thing I knew I was on the ground. My balance isn’t what it was I suppose.” She looked so sorrowful he almost regretted asking the question, but he'd hoped it might prompt her to explain her great hurry to return. For a short time it appeared she wasn't going to say any more, but then she tentatively continued,

"I've been doing a lot of thinking and... I want to tell you all of it. But first I just want you to hold me for a while. You're not the only one who was scared back there.” Her voice was soft, perhaps softer than he’d ever heard it.

"Whatever you need." He shifted on the bed so he could wrap her into his arms, although he held back from pulling her too close, not wanting to do anything to make her pull away from him again.

"All I need right now is you. When I was lying there in the dirt, in pain and terrified for the baby, the only thing I wanted was to be in your arms." Her words quickened his heart – was this it, the moment he’d been waiting for for weeks? He’d thought of little else, but now it was here he could barely bring himself to believe it. Was he finally going to get the family he’d always dreamed of?

“I’m here – everything's all right now.” She moved even closer, sinking deep into his embrace and nuzzling in under his chin – the feel of her warm breath on his neck as she spoke gave him goosebumps the full length of his body,

"Mmm you smell so good.” The idea that he smelled even vaguely pleasant right now made him laugh,

"Do I!? I spent most of the morning working up a sweat in the yard then sprinted all the way up here. I felt sorry for Tyrion at lunch. I should have gone straight to the bathhouse, but I wanted to check in on you first." She looked down at herself, brushing a hand self consciously over her mud-spattered skin and clothes.

"A trip to the bathhouse sounds rather perfect right now – would you help me go and get clean?"

"I thought you wanted to talk?" He would give her whatever she wanted, but he was desperate to hear what she had to say.

"I do – we can talk there." There was a pleading in her eyes as she drew away to look at him, and he felt his heart melt – he could sense that this was just the first of many times he would be giving in to her in the years to come; and he knew wouldn't begrudge her a single one.

He helped her into a robe and some loose trousers, trying hard not to touch or look at her too much for fear of what it would do to him. The last thing he wanted now was to make her feel uncomfortable, and even if she was mentally ready, she was in no fit state to even consider acting on those kinds of feelings.

The walk to the bathhouse was more difficult than he'd expected – Brienne was very stiff and sore, and she leant on him heavily. He was surprised – it was unlike her to admit to any kind of weakness, in fact he would have expected her to deny it fiercely, even causing herself further pain in the process. It seemed she was ready to put her trust in him again – as to the rest he would have to remain patient.

When they arrived he hesitated in helping her undress, and this time she sensed his need to keep a distance between them. With a hint of her own shyness she said,

“I think I can manage now.” He turned his back as she did the same, and he stripped quickly. He unfastened the straps that secured his gold hand and placed it on top of his discarded clothing before sliding into the water. He took a few moments to wash himself, using the task as a distraction from Brienne slowly undressing before him; avoiding those parts of himself that might lead to the situation becoming embarrassing.

When she was done, and began walking gingerly over to the edge of the bath, he couldn’t resist glancing up for a moment. She took his breath away, and his mind back to a vivid memory from years ago. The instinct to revive their old repartee, which had seemed lost since his betrayal, came upon him. Perhaps lightening the mood would distract them both from the fact that they were naked and alone together, and everything that might mean,

“There’s another tub.” She frowned, momentarily confused, but her mouth gradually curled into a smile as she realised his game,

“This one suits me fine.” She slid into the water with confidence, wincing only slightly as her feet met the bottom of the bath. It seemed his distraction tactic was working, “...but if you’re expecting me to tell you I’m not interested, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She held his gaze with an air of challenge, but only succeeded in maintaining it for a few moments before they both burst out laughing - Brienne gritting her teeth slightly at the pain it caused her,

“I’m sorry for teasing when you’re feeling so delicate, but I couldn’t resist.” Her smile remained,

“If I minded you teasing me we’d never have ended up where we are today. It’s the way things have always been between us, all the way back to when we first met. I thought you were just mocking me then, but now I know you were trying to get me to talk; trying to figure me out. You couldn't bear the silence, even though we were enemies.”

"I was never your enemy." His words markedly raised the tension in the air. She broke eye contact suddenly, turning her attention to washing herself – slowly and deliberately. Jaime recalled how she’d scrubbed at her skin back in Harrenhal, her discomfort with his presence clear. Now she seemed completely at ease - knowing that melted away his many worries of the long weeks since his return, and induced him to spill his heart, “It takes me back, us being here like this. We’ve come a long way these past six years. We’ve changed – and the world has too.” She paused, soap held still against her arm, and she looked at him with a wistful softness in her eyes,

“I think I’ve revisited every moment we spent together these past few months. It’s been a journey, for certain.” Knowing how much he'd been in her thoughts whilst they’d been apart, even when those memories must have been tempered with anger and disappointment, meant the world to him,

“I’ve done much the same. Harrenhal though - that's remained with me more than most.” She dropped the soap onto the bath side and ducked her head under the water for a few moments – when she resurfaced he couldn’t help but be captivated by the droplets running from her hair and falling into the water, catching the glint of the lamps. Her hair was longer and thicker now than he’d ever seen it – he longed to run his fingers through it the way the water did. She regarded him again, this time dipping her eyes away shyly a couple of times. When she spoke, her voice was soft once more,

“It’s stayed with me too. I had my first glimpse of who you really are that day. I think it’s when I fell in love with you, or at least started to.” He mirrored her in submerging his own head – it gave him a few seconds to compose himself. He’d wanted the conversation he believed was to come, and all he hoped would follow, ever since he’d taken his first new breath, but in the face of it he was suddenly afraid.

She was right about his teasing - things had always been light and flippant between them, and that was just the way their relationship was. But although he knew that playful sparring would always continue, the time had come to be serious; time for him to step up and become the man he should always have been. A man of honour, who would never again run from his responsibilities, or his feelings. When he broke the surface of the water, she was still looking at him, waiting. Despite his nerves he did not shy away,

“You’re different. Something’s changed since you left a few days ago. You said you had things to tell me?” She nodded, eyes still on his, pausing for a moment as she phrased her reply,

“It makes a lot of sense that we’re here for this - in this place, remembering where it all started. I’ve been struggling so hard to get past the pain I feel every time I look at you. I kept hoping, wishing it away, but nothing seemed to work. Forgiving you, coming to an understanding of what brought you to leave – those things are important steps forward, but they've done nothing to stop it hurting.”

“I’m sorry. I never meant…”

“You’ve apologised, many times, and I don’t need you to do that any more. I know you’re sorry – I also know you’ll be determined to convince the world of that, but you don’t have to prove yourself to me. Right back to when we sat in a bath house an awful lot like this one and you bore your heart to me for the first time, I’ve known exactly who you are, and I fell in love with you because of that person you hid from the world, not in spite of him.”

She shifted now, around the side of the bath towards him. He remained still, watching her move slowly - so slowly it was almost torture. He wanted to help her, to move himself closer so it was easier for her to reach him. But he could sense that she needed him to stay quiet and still so she could come to him; to bear her heart the way she’d allowed him to do all those years ago. She reached his side, drawing a hand to his shoulder, and he opened his arm to the side so she could move in against him. The contact of her skin was like wildfire and he bit down on his lip, eyes closed, fighting to keep control. He knew all she wanted was comfort, and that focussed his mind as she continued,

“I’ve been fighting against myself and I’m finished with that now. I just have to accept that the pain may never fully go away, but I've realised that’s all right. If it’s the price of loving you, then I’m prepared to pay it, in fact I’d be selfish if I wasn’t. I’ve forgiven you for far worse things than breaking my heart.” He could feel his breathing growing shallow, heart racing in his chest,

“Are you saying you want… that we…?” Words failed him. Was this real? Was she really, finally prepared to take him back after everything?

“Yes Jaime.” She lifted her chin, lips parted, inviting him to kiss her. He did, but he kept it light and chaste, knowing he couldn’t allow things to get heated between them with her still so fragile. She broke away, still looking at him as she reached up a hand to stroke his face, “What if something had happened to me, or to the baby? Life in this world is far too brutal and short for me to waste any more time. The prospect of losing our child has made me realise how much I want it. How much I want you. I only resisted us being together because I deserve to be angry with you.”

“You do, of course you do – I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being angry with myself. I know you said no more apologies, but if there was one single thing I could go back and change in my life, I would take you into my arms in that courtyard and never let go.”

“I know you would.” Those few words told him she'd found the courage in her heart to trust him again, and he finally believed it was possible to rebuild all that he'd rent asunder. Her hand, still resting on his cheek, slid around to the nape of his neck and she tangled her fingers into his hair. “You were dead, and that could so easily have been the end of our story. When you were lying there, cold on that stone slab, I would have given anything for you to be here like this. Then I was given exactly what I prayed for and I was prepared to just throw it all away. How is that any better than what you did?”

“It’s very different. You shouldn’t lambast yourself for having those doubts. I gave you ample reason.”

“I don’t have any doubts any more. We love each other, and that’s all that matters now.” He could muster no reply other than to kiss her again, despite his better judgement, and her lips parted willingly beneath his. It took every ounce of self control he possessed to keep from pressing against her. He would have to find some very cold water to dunk his head into after this. When the delicious torture became too much and he broke away, her eyes were closed, and she smiled. He savoured her happy, contented expression - she showed it to so few, and he’d feared he would never see it again. He felt truly blessed.

“Jaime I… I don’t know if I’m going crazy, but there’s a part of me that can’t shake the feeling this is all meant to be. That we’re supposed to be together.”

“You’re not crazy. I don’t really know what to believe any more, but something gave us a second chance we should never have had. Whatever, or whoever that was, I want to hang on to it with everything I have.” She allowed her head to drop onto his shoulder,

“Life can be good for us now, but you’re not the only one who wishes they could go back and make changes. I wish I could take away some of the terrible things you’ve been through in your life. I hope it’s enough that they’re over.” He hadn’t expected this – they’d barely spoken of his past, his family, aside from when he’d broken down several weeks ago. He didn’t know she’d harboured these thoughts – that she’d felt sorrow for him. It made him want to speak of things he’d kept to himself for years, but instinct born of a lifetime of judgement made him hesitate. He forced himself to voice his feelings – if she was to be his wife, and he dearly hoped she would say yes when he asked her for a second time, they must be free to speak of anything,

“Cersei and I... it had been like that for so long, I didn’t know there was any other way. You’ve shown me that there is.” For the first thirty seven years of his life, he’d never imagined there could be another woman but Cersei, and yet here she was. A miracle, beyond what he could ever possibly deserve. “I cant… I won't ever deny my past, what I've done to you, any of it. I can’t vouch for the state of my heart, but it's yours if you’re certain you want it.”

“Of course I’m certain. Bruises and all.” She pressed herself against him now, the whole length of her body against his, moaning softly. He wished he could give in to her, but he knew he couldn’t – he tilted his hips backwards to try and hide his growing erection.

“Brienne, we can’t – gods know I want to take you right here, but we have to wait until you’re stronger.” Her moan turned into a whimper that did obscene things to his insides, but she eased back,

“I know, I’m sorry. Could you wash my back then?” It was such a causal question after the heat of their embrace that it couldn’t fail to completely lighten the mood. He smiled, picking up his soap bar from the bath side as she turned her back to him. Just being here with her was more than enough, and although he found it hard to keep his mind from a hundred more intimate scenarios, he knew they would come in time - and be all the better for waiting. Years of them together stretched out before him, and for the first time since he was a young boy he could see a bright future for himself. He could imagine no greater gift than that.

Chapter 31: Only Us

Chapter Text

Jaime dropped the last of his clothes onto Brienne's bed – he corrected himself, their bed. Nearly two weeks had passed since her dramatic return to King's Landing, and in that time they'd somehow managed to hold back from intimacy. It had been incredibly difficult, and he’d only had sufficient willpower to keep himself in check due to his concerns for her and for their baby. There had been many moments where things could easily have gone further, and Jaime was certain he hadn't needed to retreat and deal with himself so much since he was a teenager; even when Cersei had been in the sort of mood where she took delight in teasing and then denying him purely out of spite.

He'd slept beside Brienne most nights – the torture of being beside her and having to maintain their distance was preferable to the torture of being apart, although both were close to unbearable. Today, she'd finally suggested that he move his things into the Lord Commander’s quarters, and sleep here permanently. In a way he'd been surprised – in Winterfell she'd been coy about revealing the true nature of their relationship, but she no long appeared to care about them being seen as lovers.

He'd wondered if she’d want to wait to take this step until they were at least betrothed, but he supposed the now undeniable curve of her stomach, and the common knowledge that he was responsible, meant they had little left to conceal. It felt odd, to be so free about his affairs, but it also felt incredibly good. They were in love and damn the world – she clearly thought it and, consequently, so did he. Abstaining would be all the more difficult, now neither of them had private space of their own, but it would be worth it just to know he would come home to her at the end of every day.

He glanced at the rack on the wall where his sword now hung beside hers. Two halves of the same whole reunited, exactly as they were supposed to be. He shuddered at the juxtaposition, the hairs raising on the back of his neck – he'd tried to forget he'd been dead and that, within these very walls, forces he couldn't explain had changed that in spite of how much he tried to deny their existence. Even through the years of war and dirty politics, life had been simpler before dragons flew the skies and the dead walked. He supposed he had to count himself amongst the latter, as strange as it seemed – but whatever he now was, whatever the reason for his return, he was just glad to be here.

Brienne had been in council most of the day – Bran's official coronation was fast approaching and there were many preparations to be made. Jaime had attended some of the meetings – those he could assist with, but left most of the details to Brienne, Davos and Tyrion who all seemed to relish preparing for a party far more than he. Again, in this, she had surprised him, but he supposed with her usual duties denied to her she was glad to have something else to occupy her time.

She’d seemed content, thus far keeping her promise to take things more sedately whilst pouring over menus and guest lists, but as the day approached he sensed her growing increasingly unsettled. At first he kept his observation to himself, mulling over the possible reasons for her disquiet – was it the occasion, the prospect of intimacy with him again, or the impending birth of their child, which grew ever closer? Then one evening after dinner, when she sat at her desk, and he'd attempted to rub the knots from her shoulders, he’d asked her.

^^^^^^^^

“Something’s bothering you lately isn’t it? Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Brienne glanced up at Jaime’s question, turning over her shoulder to meet his eyes, then back again without saying anything. At first he thought she wasn’t going to respond, until she picked up a crumpled paper from a pile at the back of the desk and handed it up to him, eyes still fixed firmly forward.

"It's this." He smoothed out the page, holding it against her back with his right arm. He only needed to see the words 'Dearest Father' followed by a series of crossed and scribbled out words to realise exactly what the issue was.

"You haven't told him – about us, or about the baby?”

"Either..." He discarded the paper and dropped his hand back to her shoulder in an attempt to ease away the tension that had reasserted itself there, “I... couldn't find the right words." He knew she had a good relationship with Lord Selwyn, but he couldn’t imagine how to put such huge news into a letter either.

"Well I’m not exactly an expert on fathers, but I’ll do what I can to help you finish it... if you like." She shifted in the chair now, shrugging off his hand, then meeting his gaze again, brow furrowed.

"There’s no point.” She reached out and took a far less crumpled page from the desk drawer, rolling it in her hands before passing it to Jaime, "He'll be here in three days. He wanted to surprise me as it's so long since we've seen each other. I should have thought, I mean... I knew he'd be coming for the coronation but I didn't think he'd be leaving for another couple of weeks. I thought there'd still be time..."

As hard as writing a letter would be, face to face would be even harder, especially when her condition was now plain for all to see. He shuddered when he thought back to difficult conversations with Tywin over the years, the swish of a cane still fresh in his memory.

"We’ll figure it out. I’m here to support you through it, whatever you need." She sighed heavily, her back impacting his chest with a thud as she leaned back against him and looked up.

“What do I say? Hello father, lovely to see you after seven and a half years, by the way I'm pregnant, and no I’m not married. That is assuming he doesn't take one look at me and drop dead with the shock.” Jaime wrapped his arms around her shoulders and leaned down to drop a kiss against her neck.

"If you want I can tell him - I am half responsible. Besides, I’m used to people disapproving of me, what’s one more to add to the list?" She leaned into his kiss with a soft moan, before turning to meet his lips with hers. He allowed himself a few moments of indulgence before he broke away,

"You’re very sweet, but I couldn’t ask that of you and I do want to tell him myself. Part of me feels guilty that I’m not more excited to see him – we used to be so close, but it's been such a long time.” He moved around her now, crouching beside the chair and taking her hand in his,

"From what you've told me he loves you very much – I’m sure that hasn’t changed and that he'll be happy, even if things aren’t picture perfect.” Her eyes were on the floor, her fingers nervously playing with his,

"I hope you're right – in fact I'm sure you are. It’s just… it won’t be the reunion I'd imagined after all these years, or what he'll be expecting either. I’m afraid it’s going to be an unsettled few days until I see him.” She looked at him now, dropping his hand to brush hers through his hair, "I’m glad I have you here. I'm not sure how I'd have the guts face him otherwise."

“You’d be fine. You have more guts than anyone I know.”

^^^^^^

The sound of the door opening pulled Jaime back to the present – Brienne paused with a hand on the doorframe before entering, catching her breath after climbing the stairs. He'd had some concerns about continuing to use these apartments, given they could easily switch to rooms on the ground floor. But although she hadn't said as much, he knew having quarters befitting her station would be important to her, and consequently it was important to him. Besides, the privacy afforded by being up here was its own reward.

As to what they'd do when their child was older, and they required more space, remained to be determined. But for now he hadn't pressed her on the matter and he was already beginning to feel quite settled in their new home. Sufficiently recovered, she moved into the room, smiling at him as he closed the drawer he'd filled with the last of his things.

"All moved in?" He nodded, pressing up from his crouched position and moving over to embrace her,

"No getting rid of me now." She laughed lightly, dropping her face against his hair and exhaling, breath warm against his scalp. He was sure many men would feel emasculated by her being just those couple of inches taller, but he loved it; loved how safe and sheltered he felt in her arms.

"We should celebrate." She whispered it against his skin, voice low and full of promise, and he felt a delicious shock of excitement run down his body. He checked himself as had become habit. She was much recovered, less stiff and now walking without pain, but he was still sufficiently worried about her to hold himself back, as much as he wanted her.

"What did you have in mind?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, but he instantly knew it had come over more suggestive than intended. He felt her smile against him before she dropped the embrace, and moved over to the table to shrug off her surcoat and drop it onto a chair.

"I’ve just come from the maester – you'll be pleased to hear he's given me a clean bill of health."

"I’m more than pleased. I'm ecstatic." It was such a relief, after all the worry, to know that neither she nor the baby would suffer lasting injury from her fall. But what she said next completely blindsided him,

"I asked if we could… you know." It took a moment or two to take in what she’d said – he thought he’d misheard at first, but the deep colouring of her cheeks confirmed it,

"You... asked Grand Maester Samwell if we could have sex!?" He couldn’t help but laugh, imagining the man’s horror and discomfort at the question,

“Well, not in so many words, but... yes." He waited for her fill him in on the man's response, but she didn’t, so he was forced to ask,

"So, what did he say?" Her shyness and embarrassment were endearing, even more so when he knew full well that all her inhibitions would desert her when he had her spread open before him and moaning his name. The prospect of that shortly becoming a reality sent more delicious shivers the length of his spine.

"In between stuttering, frowning and wringing his hands, he said there was no reason why not.” Jaime moved over to her now, slowly, trying his best to hold back. He unbuckled his golden hand from his arm, dropping it on to the table, a ritual which had become an important part of their lovemaking in the few weeks they’d spent together. He wanted tonight to be special, despite how strong the urge was to just push her down against the bed and take her. They’d both waited long months for this moment – he felt almost as nervous at the prospect as he had their first time – and now there was no skinful of wine to give him courage.

"Did he now?" She simply nodded, glancing down briefly, before meeting his eyes again with pure desire, in spite of the nerves he knew she must be feeling as keenly as him. The long moments before they met in the centre of the room were deliciously torturous. They stopped, a fraction of an inch short of touching, looking into one another's eyes. Jaime felt as if he'd never truly looked at another person until that moment, like his eyes had been clouded for his entire life and now he could suddenly see. How could he ever have chosen to walk away from this? He was so far removed from that decision months ago it was as though he'd seen it in a dream; like it was someone else's memory, not his own.

Time seemed to pause. The room was warm and a fly buzzed somewhere, otherwise, all was silent. It seemed neither of them wanted to break the strange magic of being frozen here, the anticipation of that first touch so intoxicating. After what seemed like forever, but was likely only seconds, Jaime closed his eyes; cowed by the sharp intensity of the moment. It would have felt like losing, but there were no losers in this game. Then, he closed the gulf between them.

His lips met hers softly – so softly he wondered if he’d imagined it at first. The urge to kiss her properly, to thrust his tongue into her mouth and claim its wet heat was overwhelming, but he continued to hold back. He brushed his tongue over her lips as he snaked an arm around her back, running his good hand up her other side. She was only wearing a thin tunic, but his need to feel her skin was so great that the single layer of material was like a solid palisade between them.

She tasted sweet – he slowly traced her lips, trying to discern the flavour, whilst she relaxed into his arms with a soft sigh; the firm curve of her stomach pressing against him. After a few moments he realised it was apple juice he could taste and he smiled, knowing she could feel it, wondering if she would know what had amused him. He knew Tyrion must have given it to her – she'd told him how his brother had offered her the drink when they'd first arrived in King's Landing and she'd accepted despite not caring for it. Now it seemed he'd decided to serve it to her at every meeting and she was far too polite to refuse. He must remember to inform Tyrion discreetly.

As he continued to smile against her, he felt her patience start to grow thin, and she began to press her lips into his. He mirrored her movements, easing his own lips apart, inviting her to deepen the kiss – she did, slipping her tongue below his and drawing it into her mouth, sucking gently. It felt incredible; and that feeling swept down the full length of his body to his groin. He couldn’t help wondering how it would feel if her mouth was wrapped around his co*ck instead – that was a pleasure he had yet to experience, and he began to stiffen at the thought.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him to her, but she kept the kiss soft and slow, tantalising. He needed to feel her skin now, so he pushed his hand beneath the hem of her tunic, easing it up over the swell of her belly as she ran one of her hands down to help him. She broke the kiss and he relaxed his embrace, allowing her to ease away and pull the garment over her head. He closed his eyes again quickly, afraid to look at her for fear of what it would do to him, but the press of her body as he drew her back in was already too much – his growing erection beginning to feel confined in his breeches. He wanted to push himself hard against her, to get some relief, but her shape made it difficult and he still so wanted to take his time. Whether or not his body would allow that remained to be seen.

He ran his hand the length of her back, trying to breathe slowly, trying to rein himself in again. She rested her forehead against his, also breathing heavily – he could feel the heat coming off her skin in waves, and that was when he realised she was struggling to slow down as much as he was. She dropped soft kisses on his face, her lips tickling as she nuzzled against his beard.

"Mmmm… I like that you're growing this back in." He couldn't help but smile again – he'd had every length of facial hair since they'd known each other, from grizzled hermit to none, but they'd never talked about what she preferred.

"You do? It's a bit rough these days. And grey." Age had never been something that worried him – he wasn't sure he'd ever expected to live long enough to be old, but having her in his life now, and their child to come, made him give room to such thoughts.

"I like that too. It makes you look distinguished." He laughed a little – he didn't know if she really meant it or was just humouring him, but he would take it either way.

"You are too good to me. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve it.” She raised her hand to trace over the line she'd just kissed along his jaw.

“You do." That seemed to be her entire response – no ‘but’ or ‘although’. The words of Edmure Tully from a lone tent on a dark, wet night ambushed him unexpectedly,

"How do you tell yourself that you’re decent?”

The truth was, he hadn't, at least not since he was very young – long before his first kiss with Cersei, before Aerys, and... all of it. He'd shown a hard front to the world, but inside he'd berated himself daily for every immoral choice despite knowing why he'd made them. But Brienne was right, he did know he'd done good things too, even after years of refusing to acknowledge them, or letting them in any way mitigate the rest. He’d come to trust her judgement in all things, so perhaps it was time to start accepting there could be some part of himself that deserved her.

"Thank you." There were a thousand thoughts and feelings he could have tried to put into words, but he knew just those two would be enough, knew she would understand. She drew away a short distance, smiling, taking a moment to do nothing but look at him. Then she said,

"Listen, I know what you're thinking – that you have some admirable white knight fantasy of being all soft, gentle and chivalrous with me, but I won't break I promise. I’ve been waiting for this, you, for months and I… I’m done waiting." He couldn't contain his grin - she'd stopped short of 'can we just get on with it' but her meaning was clear. Knowing she felt confident enough to be this bold about what she wanted made his chest swell with happiness. He stepped back a pace, sweeping his arm in a low arc towards the bed as he bowed his head. She would not rob him of his courtly rituals entirely,

"Whatever my Lady Ser desires." She coloured a shade, but made no attempt to cover her exposed chest, eyes flicking downward to the tent in his trousers before meeting his gaze again with a shy smile. He tried to keep from staring as she moved over and settled herself on the bed – he wasn't entirely successful, but did not allow the distraction to prevent him stretching out beside her. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, her fingertips burning his skin as they grazed upwards – he allowed himself to be fully swept up in how eager she was, as she pulled the garment over his head and discarded it to the floor. He shifted back toward her on the bed and reached out his hand as he met her lips with his again.

Her perky little breasts, which he'd been so easily able to palm before, were now softer and fuller, overspilling his hand. She hissed at the contact, clearly sensitive, and he eased the pressure, exploring her new shape as gently as he could. She moaned deeply as he brushed her nipples with the barest touch, then trailed his hand down to caress the firm swell of her belly.

Cersei had hardly allowed him near her when she was pregnant, let alone into her bed. It was almost as if, by keeping him at arms length, she could pretend the babies were really Robert's and forget the horrifying truth of what they'd done. He found being with Brienne like this, big with his child, intensely arousing; but it also moved him deeply. She didn't belong to him - she was a strong, free spirit who could never belong to anyone, but knowing he'd put this child inside her, feeling how that strengthened the bond between them; it meant more to him than he would ever be able to put into words.

He returned his attention to the feel of her body - contrary to what most surely believed, she'd always had a woman's curves concealed beneath the layers of armour, but now even more so – every part of her was soft and sensual beneath his touch. His co*ck, now painfully hard, throbbed relentlessly to the pounding of his heart. He had no idea how he was going to last long enough for her.

He broke away, taking a deep breath as he stilled himself. He let it out slowly – the blazing heat of the moment abating, just a touch. He only realised he had his eyes closed when he felt her fingers on his chest and stomach – he tensed as she passed over his heavy scars from the fight with Euron. They had never healed normally and felt strangely numb as she traced them with her fingers. The sensation quickly became overwhelming and his eyes snapped open. Her brow creased with concern and she withdrew her hand,

"Do you want me to stop? I won't touch you there if..." He cut her off,

"No, it's all right. It's just, new... odd. I’ll get used to it." She didn’t seem immediately convinced, but after a few moments of hesitation she resumed her exploration and he his - their lips coming together once again. He could tell from her reaction that they would talk of it later and he welcomed it – he was no longer afraid of the closeness that came from mutual sharing. A few blemishes would never come between them – in the end those on their souls hadn't, so why should the physical ones?

They both had their fair share, and she now had stretch marks to go with the scars that mapped out the story of her life across her body. He loved them all, ran his fingers over each one as he poured that love into his touch. It was the first time he'd mourned for his lost hand in a long time – what it would mean to have both now instead of just one...

The remainder of their clothing was discarded piece by piece as they became lost in the bliss of their reunion – Jaime groaning with relief as his rigid co*ck sprang free of its confinement. His fingers continued their journey south, but he’d only stroked along her slit a couple of times, astonished by how wet she already was before Brienne was pulling him on top of her,

"Please Jaime, don't make me wait any longer." She breathed it rather then said it – her skin was flushed pink and he could feel her heart racing at a pace to rival his. He rolled carefully over her, pushing up on his arms to find the right angle before pressing forward. He stilled once he was fully sheathed inside her, staring into her eyes, relishing in the sensation of them united again after all this time.

He knew with the full certainty of his heart that he was where he belonged, and he could accept it now without guilt or shame. Everything that had happened in the past six months was done – they were together now and all the pain, the heartache, faded away. He was devoted to her and he intended to prove that every day for the rest of his days. A part of him ached to ask for her hand again right then, but he stopped himself - he already had a plan to prepare the perfect setting, the perfect moment. For now it was more than enough to just enjoy being with her.

^^^^^^^^

Brienne watched Jaime's face as he entered her, gasping as he slid easily inside. She was so ready; ready for the waiting to be over – these long months had felt like years and she'd dreamed of this moment so many times. Now it was here she almost couldn’t believe it was real, him so very much alive, and hers, and hard inside her. The way he looked at her with those gods damned soulful eyes – she'd never seen a look like it, as if his only purpose in existing was to gaze at her. How could she have resisted falling for him when he exposed his whole fragile self like that, naked and vulnerable?

There was a strange innocence to him, in spite of all he'd done and witnessed – a frightened child that was desperate for unconditional love. The only person who’d given him anything close since his mother’s death was Tyrion, and Cersei had made it her mission to drive a wedge between them. Getting to be the one to love him, to know him intimately, felt like such a privilege; he who had so little trust to spare for anyone felt safe to give it all to her.

He'd touched her with such tenderness; the reverence with which he'd brushed his fingers, feather-light, over her belly had conveyed all the love and wonder he felt toward their unborn child. She hoped it could sense now, after all the anguish, how happy she was to be back in its father's arms. For all she wanted to be treated equally to any man, esteemed and praised for her skills and knowledge, she had to admit there was a part of her that wanted to be cared for and cherished. A part that needed his gentleness the same way he needed hers. She could cradle him from a world that had been little but cruel to him, and feel all the respect and love she’d craved her entire life. But knowing he could do the same for her when she needed it, and she not lose that essence of what made her different from other women; that was beyond precious.

As he moved inside her, pace quickening, breaths coming in snatches between their moans of pleasure, she wondered how she could ever have questioned that this was where she was supposed to be. She reached her peak to a haze of white stars across her vision, and he a few short strokes later. Everything was so much more intense than she remembered, she wasn't sure if it was the pregnancy, or him, or the interminable waiting, but the release that washed over her was so strong she couldn't hold back the tears. He was at her side and kissing them off her face in seconds – she opened her mouth to try and explain, but he silenced her with his own.

There was no need for words now, only him.

Chapter 32: You’re All That I’m Asking For

Chapter Text

Brienne lay awake watching the grey light of dawn slowly strengthen, picking out every beautiful crease on Jaime's face. He looked so peaceful that it was hard not to be drawn back to painful memories from weeks ago, but now his chest rose and fell, and his warm breath caressed her cheek where she lay with her face less than an inch from his.

Sleep had eluded her these past few nights, but hours of restless waiting for the new day to come were eased by having her love beside her, as envious as she was of his oblivious slumber. Today was the day she would finally have to face her father. He’d travelled over land from Storm’s End, making several visits on his journey, but a raven had come last evening from an inn just half a day’s ride away confirming his imminent arrival.

Her anxiety had settled into a tight knot just above her stomach making breathing even harder than it had already been; the child she was carrying seemed to love pressing its feet up into her ribs. It shifted now, forcing her to change position with reluctance – she would cheerfully have lain there and gazed at Jaime until he woke up.

She still had no idea what she was going to tell her father; what explanation she could give for her folly. Not one of the hundred scenarios she'd envisioned during the long reaches of the night had brought her the answer. In most of them she'd stood in silence whilst he stared at her, wide-eyed with shock. The waiting was beginning to drive her to madness – she almost welcomed his arrival now, as even an angry reaction would be better than this gut-wrenching anticipation.

She turned over again, still uncomfortable in both body and mind. She was well aware of the one thing that would successfully distract her, but it was still early and she didn't want to wake Jaime, despite how wonderful it would be to kiss him and then surrender herself to all that came after. She allowed herself to ease in closer, needing to feel the press of his body against hers.

He loved her to spoon him, and she loved feeling him relax completely into her arms, but that was more difficult now with her belly so large between them. In the few days since they'd begun having sex again, she'd been preoccupied with worries about her changed body. She was still amazed that Jaime found her attractive at all, let alone swollen and graceless as she was now, but whatever his thoughts were they didn't seem to have lessened his enthusiasm for their lovemaking. For her part, she found herself wanting him even more, and thankfully her concerns and self doubts melted away once she was in his arms.

She turned over once again, shuffling her back flush against him – she smiled to herself when she realised he was hard, and she couldn't resist adjusting position until his erection was resting between her buttocks. As well as the twinges of pleasure she felt from the contact she also found it oddly comforting. It reminded her of that first ‘morning after’ when he'd disarmed her with his teasing – she'd felt embarrassed, but thrilled by his attention.

And just like that first time, he was secretly awake – giving himself away with a soft contented sigh into her ear, followed by the press of his lips against her neck. She pushed her hips backwards against his length and he moaned, bringing his arms around her to hold her there as his mouth grew firmer against her skin. She’d been right – this was exactly the distraction she needed.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne hovered behind the chair, hands gripping its high back as if it was some kind of shield – which, in the context of this situation, she supposed it was. Tyrion had offered up his audience chamber for her to meet with her father – a little formal perhaps, but it offered a greater degree of privacy than most anywhere else in the keep. It also represented neutral ground unlike his assigned quarters, or hers, should either of them wish to leave.

Brienne shook her head and breathed out heavily – it was a sorry state of affairs that she was thinking of this meeting like some sort of hostile negotiation. He was only her father after all, her doting father who had always indulged her and given her enough love for two parents. It had been a long time, for certain, but why was she so afraid to face him? He was a fair and just man, but of all the failings he would ever have expected her to come to him with, this was surely the last. She honestly didn't know how he was going to react, and that was somehow far worse than knowing he would be angry.

When the door finally opened it startled her – she'd been staring, unfocussed, into the middle distance, lost in her thoughts. Her father entered the room accompanied by Podrick – the boy shot her a sympathetic glance before taking his leave. Selwyn, on the other hand, smiled broadly. He looked noticeably older, the lines on his face had deepened and his hair was threaded with silver, but otherwise he was unchanged. A large part of her just wanted to run into his arms – she hadn't realised how much she'd missed his comfort until he was before her. The remaining part – her fear – kept her rooted to the spot. He moved into the room – she could see that he was a little confused by her standoffishness, but he didn’t pass comment on it.

"You look well, Brienne.” His words were almost nonchalant, in complete contrast to how she was feeling. He poured himself a glass of wine from one of the carafes on the table – she had to admit Tyrion was an excellent host, and she was surprised and pleased to see the second bottle contained water instead of the sweeter beverages he'd habitually been giving her. Selwyn raised the flask with a questioning eyebrow, and she shook her head – he smiled slightly in response and said, "Well you always did prefer softer drinks – that doesn't seem to have changed.”

Brienne’s overactive mind immediately set itself to second guessing exactly what he thought had changed, and whether his comment on her health contained any deeper meaning, but if he had any inkling of the comet-strike to come he betrayed nothing. He placed the wine down and poured her some water, then moved towards her carrying both glasses. Her heart started to race – she was filled with the impulse to recoil from him and she hated that feeling. She could only stay concealed behind her chair for so long; as afraid as she was it was finally time for her big secret to come out into the open.

“I... I have some news father. I meant to tell you sooner, but…” She trailed off, unable to find a good enough excuse, so all she could do was apologise. “I’m sorry I haven't written in so long.” He placed the glasses down, his warm smile returning,

"Yes, I heard, you're a knight now, and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard no less – the first woman to be either! I always knew you’d do great things – I couldn’t be prouder of you." She’d been so worried about his reaction to her condition that she’d abandoned all thought of celebrating her achievements with him. As strange and nerve-wracking as this situation was, his pride meant everything to her and she smiled for the first time since he'd entered the room.

He'd been holding back – she could tell he’d sensed her nerves even though he didn’t yet know the reason for them, but now she'd relaxed a little he took that as his cue to move in and embrace her; stepping around the chair with his arms open. She'd really wanted to tell him before he worked it out for himself, but his embrace was so welcome she couldn't help herself but let it be. Her thoughts returned to the pile of half-written letters on her desk – she'd tried, but perhaps it was better this way. Better she look him in the eye than have him read it from a page when she was hundreds of miles away.

He pulled her in close – at six months pregnant there was no way she could disguise her belly even if she'd wanted to continue hiding it from him. She felt it – the moment he realised – he stiffened and pulled back, although he kept his hands firmly on her upper arms as he looked down at her stomach, astonished.

"Oh Brienne..." was all he said. She couldn't tell what he thought from his tone or expression – he just looked and sounded shocked with no other hint of emotion. She couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, she had to know,

“Are you angry?” His eyes snapped up from her waistline to her face and he shook his head, brow creased,

“No!” That single word was so vehement that she knew it came straight from his heart. His next words were softer, “…no, I'm not angry." He embraced her again, and the way he held her, so gently, gave her all the reassurance she needed. But he couldn't be entirely happy with her situation, surely?

“…Just disappointed?” He sighed, drawing away to look at her again.

“Perhaps a little – I'd rather you'd been married, of course, but I'd long abandoned hope of you bringing home a husband or giving me grandchildren. I'm mighty glad of the latter at least. I could never be angry or disappointed about that, regardless of the circ*mstances." She finally let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. He'd always allowed her to make her own choices, and mistakes, but she'd been so afraid this was a step too far. He pulled out a chair for her, then one for himself, gesturing for her to sit,

"Come, let's take a drink. You must be tired standing around so much – take the weight off your feet.” He stopped short of adding ‘a woman in your condition’, but she heard it in his tone. She gritted her teeth a touch, hating the fuss, but remembered her promise to Jaime and Pod. She sat down. Selwyn took up the chair beside her, then dropped a hand over hers where it rested on the table,

"Oh my contrary daughter, what am I to do with you? At least now I know why you’ve been acting like a startled rabbit since I came in here.” She smiled, tension and wariness beginning to fade, albeit slowly. She took a sip of water – it was deliciously cool in her parched throat and she realised she’d neglected to eat or drink anything since breakfast. She could picture Jaime’s concerned face if he knew and she felt a wave of self-reproach. Her father continued, “Were you really that afraid to tell me? I love you Brienne, no matter what.” She placed her water down and put her other hand on top of his,

“I love you too. It's... just been so long and so much has happened. I was excited to see you but I didn't want this to change things between us.” She rested a hand on her stomach, glancing down. He held his own hand out – brows raised in question – and she took it, placing it on her belly with her own on top. He sighed, happily,

“I can hardly believe it – a new member of our family at long last. You’ll be a wonderful mother Brienne.” They sat in contented silence for a while, the last of her nerves melting away. He finished his wine, draining the goblet before withdrawing his hand to refill it. When he turned back to her his expression had changed – it wasn’t harder, exactly, but there were definitely some other thoughts clouding his features. He cleared his throat,

“…And the king is happy with all this, with your position given… everything?” It was easy to see how he’d wonder – she’d wondered herself, even after Bran had given her every assurance.

“Yes father. His Grace has been extremely generous and kind about my circ*mstances. He said he particularly wanted me for the role and that he would make all necessary allowances.”

“I’m looking forward to speaking with this King Brandon. He sounds like a man of excellent judgement.” He smiled at her, genuinely, then took another a long sip of his wine before dropping the goblet back to the table, turning it around in his hands several times before fixing his eyes on her again,

“I apologise if you find this next question indelicate, but may I ask... who the father is?” She swallowed, thickly – of course she’d known this question was coming and, in truth, she was surprised it had taken him so long to ask. Her relief had been short lived – maybe he could handle her being pregnant and unmarried, but she wasn't sure if he could handle this. Regardless of what his reaction was going to be, she had no choice but to face it head on,

"It's... Ser Jaime Lannister." Whatever name he'd expected her to pluck from the ether, that clearly wasn't it. He sat up straighter in his chair, brows raised again,

“Jaime Lannister!? The Kingslayer!?” She couldn't help but flinch at the moniker – her mind flashed back through a hundred memories of it being thrown at Jaime in anger, spite and scorn – including, shamefully, by her.

“He hates it when people call him that. And so do I.” Selwyn seemed more than a little surprised by her vehemence,

“He's lucky to have you to come to his defence then.” She could tell by his tone that he was fairly sure Jaime didn't deserve it, but she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t use it again, “I know the two of you spent a lot of time together during the early part of the war, and that he was with you at the Battle of Winterfell, but I had no idea you had those kind of feelings for him. And I heard he had... other proclivities.” She closed her eyes, pained to have to have this conversation with her father of all people, but there was no point denying any of it, and she didn't wish to lie to him in any case.

“Many people have pasts they aren’t proud of. But Ser Jaime is a good man – not a perfect man but a good one nonetheless.” Selwyn nodded his head a few times with his lips pressed tightly together,

“And has this ‘good man’ not offered to marry you?” What in seven heavens must he think of Jaime? He knew precious little of him beyond his dreadful reputation, and now he was responsible for Selwyn’s only daughter getting pregnant out of wedlock. She could hardly blame her father for his scepticism really, despite how unfair she knew it was.

“He has father, but… I refused him.” Selwyn's eyebrows raised sharply, but he remained silent, giving her the chance to explain herself. "Things have been... complicated between us."

“Not too complicated for him to take you to his bed, clearly.” She turned away, pushing herself up from the table. Despite their intimacy she was still somewhat embarrassed to talk openly about sex with Jaime – her father bringing it up was frankly mortifying. She took a deep breath – she was an adult now, and soon to be a mother. She had to talk to him on those terms, even though she knew to him she'd always be his little girl. She turned back,

“... No. But that was my choice as much as his. He didn’t trick me or seduce me into it, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” His surprise at her forthrightness was clear once again, and it pleased her. She retook her chair at the table, “I may have said no when he proposed before, but a lot has transpired in the past few months. If he asked again now I would accept." Selwyn's hand covered hers again, squeezing gently,

“For your own sake, or for the child’s?”

“Both. I could never marry purely because I’m with child, you know me well enough to know that. It's selfish I suppose but I couldn’t live a lie. That’s just not who I am." She paused, looking fully into Selwyn's eyes for the first time, "I love him father." His smile deepened now, warm and happy,

“Then I'm very glad for you. I've wanted this for you for a very long time.” His brow creased again, just a shade, and when he continued his tone was soft and gentle, “Do you expect he will ask again?” She hadn’t doubted it until that very moment – surely he was planning it even now – but in the face of the question her surety crumbled.

"I hope so."

^^^^^^^^

Jaime leaned stiffly against the side of the armoury, one leg bent up beneath him, his foot pressed flat against the wall. Two of the young household recruits were sparring in the yard and he was loitering there under the pretence of watching them, throwing out a comment or correction every now and then. But in truth his eyes were fixed on the front door of the Tower of the Hand – at some point, surely soon, Brienne would be leaving after talking with her father, and that was when he intended to catch Lord Selwyn for his own conversation.

After finishing his morning duties, he’d spent the past couple of hours with Tyrion in the gardens near the Kitchen Keep. It was a lovely warm day, breeze blowing in from the bay, and with his rooms occupied, Tyrion had decided to spend some time sitting outside sampling his new wine delivery. With the conversation to come Jaime needed a clear head, so he'd taken just a few sips of the beverages offered – all excellent of course, as expected given his brother’s impeccable taste.

They'd spoken of inconsequential things for the most part, of the latest comings and goings in the Keep, of Jaime’s time in Dorne and Tyrion’s in Essos, of those parts of their shared past that were safe and comfortable. Eventually, the conversation turned to Brienne – Tyrion expressing his heartfelt pleasure that things seemed to be working out for the two of them.

But, as was often the case with Tyrion, there was another motive behind his words. Now Lord Selwyn had arrived in King’s Landing he was clearly expecting Jaime to do the honourable thing sooner rather than later and ask Brienne to marry him. That was, of course, his intention, but he avoided giving Tyrion the satisfaction of admitting it openly despite his brother's knowing smiles. As to the when and the how, assuming Selwyn gave his assent, those he also planned to play close to his chest lest word get back to Brienne.

The door opened and Jaime's head snapped forward from where he'd allowed it to rest back against the stonework. His heart began to quicken as he saw Brienne emerge from the tower followed by Selwyn – it was Jaime's first glimpse of the man he hoped would soon become his father in law. He was tall – not quite as tall as she was, but on a level with Jaime for certain. As difficult as the coming conversation may be, it was probably better for them to look each other in the eye. Jaime had nothing to hide from him and he hoped Selwyn would be able to see that.

Brienne was smiling as she turned to make her farewell, and her father opened his arms for what appeared a very warm embrace. He didn't seem angry with her at least; as to his attitude towards Jaime, that was a different matter. He could have decided to be gentle with his daughter and keep all his rage for the man responsible. Brienne then left, turning towards Jaime and the Serpentine Steps to make her way back toward the main keep. He shrank into the shadow of the armoury doorway as she passed by, keeping his eyes fixed on Selwyn who had turned across the yard toward the Sept.

Once Brienne had passed around the end of the building, Jaime left the room and made a swift pace across the yard to cut Selwyn off before he disappeared into the Sept. The older man saw Jaime just before he entered the building – Jaime was still only about half way across the yard. There was a flicker of a smile from Selwyn, then Jaime saw the spark of recognition pass across his face, and his expression hardened a touch. They both pulled up short. Jaime tried to keep his expression neutral and read Selwyn's at the same time. It seemed as if they were frozen there for hours with neither saying anything until finally, gesturing to the room before him Selwyn said,

"You'd better come in." He didn't wait for Jaime before ducking through the doorway, and the coldness of his manner did nothing to slow Jaime's racing heart. He'd long stopped caring what most people thought of him, but this time it mattered, and not just because he was to decide Jaime's fate. He was important to Brienne, and Jaime’s trust in her judgement made him want to get to know the man in his own right.

When Jaime entered the room Selwyn was offering a prayer before the statue of the Mother, knelt against the stone step with his hands clasped. Jaime gave him the moment, pausing in the doorway with his head bowed – he'd never felt a strong enough connection with the gods to pray of his own volition, but lately... He added his own prayer for Brienne’s continuing health and their child's safe delivery to her father's. Once Selwyn was done he stood and turned – Jaime raised his head slowly meeting the older man’s stern appraising gaze. To his relief, once again, Selwyn spoke first,

"Ser Jaime." He nodded his head, politely. Jaime tried to read if it was forced but he couldn't tell, and he bowed his head again in response. "I hear you're the man responsible for my daughter's condition. I was planning on requesting an audience with you, but it would appear you've come to me first.” The slight rise in pitch at the end of the sentence gave away that it pleased him Jaime had sought him out. Selwyn held out his right hand to shake Jaime’s – the younger man hesitated, gesturing forward slightly with his golden hand before offering his left. Selwyn met his eyes before giving a sharp nod and switching hands to grasp Jaime's left firmly with his own.

“Forgive my forgetting your… injury. You lost your hand protecting my daughter's honour I understand?” Jaime simply nodded and Selwyn gave a shade of a smile for the first time – the older man stopped short of saying 'well that's a good start', but Jaime read it from his manner and was relieved to find him not entirely unreceptive.

"My Lord Selwyn, I thank you for giving me your time and your consideration. I want you to know I haven't come here to make excuses for myself, just to offer my assurances that - as much as it might appear otherwise - my intentions towards your daughter are honourable.”

“You'll forgive me for having my reservations – your reputation precedes you, as I’m sure you’re more than aware. But I understand the two of you have been through a lot together...” Jaime’s surprise at the revelation Brienne had told her father of him clearly showed on his face, “…Yes, Brienne has spoken extensively of you in her letters, although she omitted quite how intimate the two of you clearly are. I am prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt – war, particularly the aftermath of battle, creates heightened emotions and so I’ll assume that's how we're in this less than perfect situation now.” The man was eloquent, for sure – Jaime imagined him an excellent negotiator with his carefully crafted words, softly spoken. Despite his caution he was being far more generous to Jaime than many men would be in his position; more perhaps than even he thought he deserved.

"I thank you my Lord. I hope what I have to say next may go some way towards rectifying this... situation, as you put it. I wish to ask your daughter for her hand in marriage and I humbly request your blessing to do so.” Selwyn took a few moments to take in Jaime's words, lips pressed tightly together. Jaime's nerves intensified - surely he must already know what his answer was going to be, so it was hard not to view his choice to keep Jaime in suspense as a sort of mild punishment. He finally replied with,

“And you love her?” There was a hint of challenge in the question, but it couldn't be an easier one for Jaime to answer,

“With all that I have." Selwyn's expression remained flat for a few seconds, before softening into a smile once again. Jaime had presented only himself and his honesty here, and it seemed to have worked. It appeared Selwyn believed him to be sincere.

“Walk with me.” He gestured toward the doorway again, this time allowing Jaime to go before him out of the room. They walked in companionable silence down the steps and through the archway into the outer yard. Jaime felt himself relaxing somewhat now it seemed he'd appeased Selwyn a little, and escaped from under the older man's demanding gaze.

They rounded the Small Hall and Selwyn turned left toward the Throne Room – at first Jaime thought he intended to go down into the gardens where Tyrion was surely still growing merrily drunker by the minute, but he kept on a straight line toward the door. Jaime’s breath caught in his throat at the threshold – this place was filled with conflicting emotions for him and, given his very public history, he wondered if it was deliberate that the other man had brought him here. He could feel Selwyn’s eyes on him as they entered, surely gauging his reaction, and he kept his head slightly bowed hoping he would interpret it as deference.

“I wanted to see this place for myself – it looks quite different with half the walls missing.” Rebuilding had already begun, but it would be some time yet before the Great Hall was restored to something resembling its former glory; as was the case for the city as a whole. Jaime was continuing to assist practically where and when he could and materially, along with Tyrion, by large contributions of Lannister gold. Coming to see this place seemed a strange diversion, but perhaps Jaime had been too quick to judge and the other man just wanted to lighten the tension by walking as they talked.

“We have a lot of rebuilding to do for certain – and not just the buildings.” Selwyn seemed to like Jaime's interested response, his smile returning once again,

“Ser Jaime, I do believe that you care deeply for my daughter. I would have preferred you to come to me before you put a babe in her belly, but what's done is done. I've been trying to persuade her to marry since she came of age but... I imagine you must know her well enough to sympathise with my lack of success on that score.” Jaime couldn't help but give a half smile, and was pleased when the other man returned it. It was the first time he felt some sense of kinship between them – a feeling he hoped would be often repeated. "I learnt many years ago that Brienne will do what Brienne is going to do, and there’s nothing I, a stampede of wild horses, the old gods or the new can do about it. Despite being stubborn and determined she's always had a level head, but she seems to be absolutely stupid over you. I imagine that's how she ended up with your child in her belly in the first place. I don't know how true everything I've heard about you is, and honestly I don't much care; I trust my daughter's judgement. If you're good enough for her then you're good enough for me. You have my heartfelt blessing to ask for her hand, and if you make her as happy as you both seem to believe then you'll also have my eternal gratitude."

Jaime couldn't stop his mouth from gaping open – he knew he must look a complete slack-jawed idiot, but he was so stunned by the man's benevolence he simply couldn't help himself. He'd been painfully used to the scorn of all around him, whether close or otherwise, such that this level of kindness was mystifying to him. He knew from Brienne’s accounts that Selwyn was a good person, but this was beyond his wildest expectations. To show such open compassion towards the one who had brought dishonour against his daughter, against his house – that could only come from someone who truly saw and understood Jaime’s position. He was beginning to see where Brienne got her uncanny empathy from,

“My Lord I... thank you.”

“Call me father. We're family now after all.” So he wasn't just prepared to forgive Jaime his indiscretion, he was prepared to accept him as his son. Jaime had to breathe deeply to hold back the tears that threatened to escape his eyes, he was so unexpectedly affected by the emotion of the moment.

“She hasn't accepted me yet.” She would, surely, but until that moment came he couldn't allow himself to fall into the seductive hope of new family that would love him, beyond Brienne and Tyrion. Selwyn seemed to sense this too, his hand coming to rest firmly on Jaime's shoulder.

"I think you'll be just fine."

Chapter 33: Perfect

Chapter Text

When Jaime returned to their room in the Tower after his evening guard duty, Brienne was getting ready for bed. She still had her trousers and boots on, but her shirt was unbuttoned and hanging loose from her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and belly clearly visible where she stood at the washstand. Jaime had already been looking forward to shedding his armour after long, boring hours on his feet, but now he couldn't get out of it fast enough.

When she saw him enter she looked up and smiled, walking over to help him unbuckle his pauldrons and breastplate. As she moved around in front of him, he couldn't help but glance down – moistening his lips, which suddenly felt very dry. When he looked up again she was regarding him from under the fringe of hair that now hung over her face. Her eyes were wide and dark, and she drew her bottom lip slightly between her teeth. He shivered – her mind was clearly in tune with his.

Once he was fully out of his armour, he helped Brienne to pull off her boots, a task which was becoming increasingly difficult for her. He had to smile to himself a little – with his single hand and her rapidly expanding waistline it would soon be a wonder if they could dress and undress between the two of them.

Brienne returned to the washstand, dipping a cloth into the bowl and running it over her face and neck. Jaime padded over in his stocking feet and embraced her from behind, threading his right arm beneath her breasts and allowing his good hand to roam across her belly, as he rained kisses against the warm, damp skin of her neck. He nuzzled her with his beard, winning a soft moan as she pressed back against him. He chuckled, still surprised at how much she seemed to like the feel of the stubble against her skin.

She dropped the cloth into the bowl and began to turn, but then froze on the spot halfway around, clutching a hand to her stomach with a soft ‘oh!’ A wave of concern instantly washed over Jaime. He was about to ask what was wrong – ready to run for the maester in his undershirt and socks, when she grabbed his hand and placed it where hers had been, pressing it in place. He was confused, but only for a few seconds, then he felt a couple of faint jabs beneath his splayed hand.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, but he was so awestruck by that first contact with his son or daughter that he couldn't speak. She turned over her shoulder to look at his face – he knew he must look utterly dumbfounded. Her hand came up to his cheek – he wanted to kiss her, but she was unable to turn all the way around unless he removed his hand, and he couldn't bring himself to do that. He dropped his forehead against her temple, lips feathering her ear which was all they could reach.

"Yes..." He finally found his voice, whispering breathily into her ear. The tiny kick came again, and this time he laughed with delight – the wonderful reality that he would soon be a father, soon hold his child in his arms, crystallised in that moment.

He waited, breath held, but after a few minutes with no further movements he relaxed, allowing Brienne to turn so he could claim her mouth, which she surrendered willingly. But this kiss was all about the closeness that came from sharing a special moment, and not the naked lust that had possessed him just minutes before. They had incredible sex, but it was only a part of their relationship – the love and affection between them gave him as much, if not more pleasure. Drawing away so he could look at her, he was met by a gaze that reflected his own profound happiness.

He pressed his fingers into the small of her back, kneading gently but firmly and she gave a deep groan, eyes fluttering closed. He was intimately familiar with the aches and pains a suit of armour brought on after a few hours – he couldn't imagine how her back must ache with the extra weight of a baby, which she was unable to remove at the end of the day.

"Never mind sex, you can do that to me all night long." He smiled - she always seemed to be so in tune with what he was thinking it was almost uncanny. He slid his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers, then led her to the bed.

Once they had laid down, he shuffled down the bed so he could continue to rub her back where she lay on her side. He made big circles with the heel of his hand and his stump against her soft skin, listening to her happy sighs and moans as her tight muscles slowly relaxed beneath his touch. He finished with her back and moved down to her calves, then her feet. Eventually she turned over, moving her hands down to his shoulders and pulling him up for a kiss. He drew her in as much as he could, her stomach pressed firm against his, the desires of earlier beginning to return.

Then, he felt the baby kick against him once more, and he pulled away enough to drop his hand against her belly again, tracing his child's movements. Brienne pressed her hand over his, smiling against his lips. They both knew their attempts towards anything more passionate were being thwarted by their active offspring, but Jaime didn’t mind. They had long years ahead of them to enjoy one another – their baby would be here in just a few short months and these moments were infinitely precious. All he wanted to do was nestle in together, and he knew she felt the same – he didn’t want to miss a single one of its little kicks and turns.

Brienne shifted over again and he curled against her back, hand splayed on her belly. He wondered if he'd ever been this content. It was odd that this, of all nights, saw the first time he felt his child move. Knowing what was to happen the next day - the long awaited coronation - and all Jaime had planned for afterwards, it was hard not to see it as a sign. After all they’d been through, he was still astonished daily at how perfectly things were working out – it brought him back to fate yet again. He could picture the face of their child, smiling, as if to say, "You can do it papa." He believed it in that moment, any self doubts he had evaporating into the air.

^^^^^^^

Brienne sat at the long dining table with Jaime to her right and Bran to her left. Pod and their two northern compatriots, Justan and Bennar, were seated at Bran’s other side. The ceremonial part of the day was done – Bran had been officially crowned before all the leaders of the Great Houses and anyone else who was anyone in the newly renamed Six Kingdoms. There had been long discussion as to the extravagance of such an occasion, given the state of the world in general and the city in particular, but it had been decided that a celebration was not just warranted, but needed to boost morale. Bran had been very clear on the details, ensuring all of King's Landing were involved in the proceedings, not just the privileged. The turn out when he’d been wheeled out to greet the crowds earlier was a testament to his success, and an indication of his growing popularity.

It was hard for Brienne to keep her thoughts from straying to Sansa on such a day. She wondered how they approached such things in the North; how the Northern lords had reacted to such a monumental shift in power, and to her. Her contemplations were accompanied by the pang of being unable to stand beside her Lady, her Queen, during her greatest challenge. All that said she had such deep faith in Sansa - she knew the young woman was more than capable of facing this and whatever else was to come.

She glanced to her left, to the young man beside her. Given his calm, dispassionate intelligence, it was easy to forget he was several years younger than his sister. So much youth, and yet so much wisdom and gentle strength, now ruled the world. She wondered if either of them truly needed her, but as she thought it, Bran turned to her and gave a nod, expressionless. Sansa’s words came back to her,

“His need for you is greater than mine.” Inside there was a little boy locked away, and with him a myriad of hopes and dreams. Despite Bran’s barely penetrable exterior, there was a hint of melancholy about him, an aura of loss. Deep down she knew Sansa was right – he needed her strength mixed with fierce compassion, the same way Jaime did. Maybe, in time, she’d find a way to reach him.

They had now sat down to dinner, the hall crowded with people - more than she'd seen since Winterfell and the war; many faces she didn't recognise, but more names she did. She knew many of them had their own thoughts and opinions on her appointment, given both her sex and her condition. She’d seen the looks and nudges, and heard the whispers. But somehow, as she’d knelt before Bran’s unwavering gaze to be formally sworn to the Kingsguard, with Jaime and Pod beside her, she no longer cared – no longer concerned herself with thoughts of others. Those who mattered gave her all the acknowledgement and validation she would ever need, and she'd carry that with her like armour against the scorn of whoever sought to bring her down.

She glanced to her other side, where Jaime was slowly eating his food. He hated that it had to be cut up for him, but at least he now allowed her to do it without grumbling – admitting he sometimes needed help was a small but significant step on the road to fully accepting his disability. Most people had nearly finished their main courses, but he was barely halfway through - staring off into the distance between each forkful. She continued watching him, and after a while he seemed to sense the weight of her gaze. He turned towards her with a half smile, and put down his fork to drop his hand over hers, but he didn't speak.

She could read him like a book nowadays, so she could tell he was nervous - she could feel it in the subtle movements of his fingers against hers. She couldn't imagine why – the formalities of the day were done, they’d completed their duties earlier and handed off to their younger colleagues, so all they need do now was relax and enjoy the evening’s festivities. She leaned in to ask him about it, but as she did so Bran beckoned Jaime over. He gave her hand a final squeeze and rose from his seat, moving around her to exchange a few words with the King. He then took his leave on some assigned errand. She felt his absence keenly the moment he'd left, the eyes of the room seeming all the more critical without him to shield her.

Tyrion smiled slightly from across the table, clearly noticing how ill at ease she suddenly was without Jaime beside her. They made small talk for a while, Brienne pushing her dessert around her plate whilst glancing over her shoulder every couple of minutes to see if Jaime was returning. Pod also made eye contact with her several times – he appeared almost as unsettled as Jamie, and she got the sense he was keeping an eye on her. That feeling, along with Tyrion’s clear attempts to pull her back to the conversation whenever she looked away, indicated some scheme she was not privy to. She burned to ask Bran where he'd sent Jaime, but she was certain he would not tell her, so she remained silent.

Soon, dessert was finished, and people began leaving to dress for the Coronation Ball. Jaime had still not returned. Brienne glanced over her shoulder for a final time before pushing her chair back from the table. A few tables away her father had also risen from his seat, and she caught his eye, mustering a smile. Perhaps Jaime had already returned to their room to change given dinner had been close to over when he left. Perhaps the nervous excitement she felt in her gut was merely fuelled by her own wild imagination.

^^^^^^^

Brienne returned to the Tower but Jaime was not there, in spite of her hopes. She wasn't sure why but his extended absence, without a reason she was aware of, made her deeply uneasy; a vestige of his leaving, perhaps? She forced herself to breathe the feeling away - she’d always been an emotional person despite her determination to appear outwardly strong, and even more so since becoming pregnant. She couldn’t allow herself to become so needy that she struggled to be apart from him.

There was, however, someone else waiting in her room – the dressmaker who had prepared her attire for the ball, here to help her into her gown and ensure the fit was perfect. Brienne was certain she'd had more new clothes in the past few months than for many years previously, but she was now large enough that she could accept the practical need behind it, rather than just dismissing it as indulgence. She glanced at the dress draped on a form at the woman's side and frowned. She'd been rather vague on the requested details, but the garment that hung there was not at all what she'd had in mind – it was far more elaborate and as to the fabric... She moved over to brush a hand against the shimmering blue,

"This is silk... I hadn't... " She trailed off, concerned she would make the woman think she disliked it, but she couldn't imagine how this dress had been produced from her instructions.

"I’m sorry m'Lady... Ser, but after I spoke with you I had revised requirements from Lord Tyrion. He said he'd conversed with her Grace Queen Sansa of the North on the matter and you weren't to be told." The poor woman looked frankly terrified, and Brienne backed off a few paces, forcing herself to smile despite the churning in her stomach. Jaime's nerves, Pod’s fretting, and now this – she was right, something was going on and everyone else seemed to be in on it. She could only imagine one reason for such fuss, and duplicity, but she couldn’t allow herself to get carried away with the excitement that was beginning to thrum through her veins. She refocused on the task at hand,

“What a wonderful surprise, how thoughtful of them. Shall we...?” She lifted her arms, pulling her shirt over her head and allowing the woman to help her into the dress. It was not the easiest task given the disparity in their heights, but she stooped as much as she was able and they managed well enough between them. The woman laced her in, lightly so as not to be too restrictive, and immediately Brienne could tell that the fit was excellent; the fabric feeling deliciously cool and smooth against her skin. Once she was fully laced up, the woman said,

"Not many adjustments needed – they should only take a few minutes. Would you like to have a look m'Lady?" Brienne was slightly irked that she seemed all too ready to drop the ‘Ser’ now Brienne was in a dress, but the feeling of irritation was a distant memory the second she caught sight of herself in the long glass near the bedroom door.

She let out a gasp – she almost didn't recognise herself. Her hair, now longer than it had been since she was a young child, had been arranged earlier by one of her father’s maidservants – it was piled elaborately on her head, soft curls falling down to frame her face. Her usually pale skin appeared rosy in the lamplight. And the dress... it was tight in the bodice, accentuating her now full breasts, then falling away over her stomach in layer after floaty layer. She brought a hand up to trace over the magnificent beadwork – an intricate pattern of crescent moons and sunbursts in gold and silver over the blue silk, giving way to tumbling silver stars embroidered down the skirt. It was surely the most elegant, and expensive, thing she’d ever worn.

"You look stunning m'Lady... if I do say so myself." Brienne was uncertain how she would describe her appearance, but she was not displeased with what she saw reflected there, and she wasn't sure if she was more delighted or terrified by that revelation.

^^^^^^^

Brienne’s return walk to the ballroom was surprising for two reasons. The first because, given her attire, she would have expected to feel extremely uncomfortable, but she didn't – her new found self-confidence following her down the stairs. The second because she was almost starting to relish the idea of making a grand entrance, but Tyrion cut her off before she had the chance. He was also finely dressed, in a midnight blue doublet edged with gold. His brows raised high when he saw her, and a broad smile broke slowly across his face,

"Oh yes. It's... perfect." A part of her wanted to ask him, about the dress, about… all of it, but some other feeling compelled her to hold her tongue. He offered his arm, which was in large part ridiculous given their relative heights, and she held back, glancing through the doorway to see if she could catch sight of Jaime, but she couldn't. She looked down into Tyrion's expectant face, dropping her hand against his proffered arm, but he didn't lead them into the room as she’d expected. He turned away towards the outer hall, and she followed, now almost certain that her suspicions were correct. Despite her trepidation about what was going to happen next, she was filled with the feeling that her entire life had been leading up to this one moment. The King’s words from weeks before echoed in her head,

“What if you can find it in yourself to trust and believe that everything is as it should be? That you, and he, are exactly where you’re supposed to be at exactly the right time.” She’d doubted it then. She didn’t now.

The walk felt interminably slow, but somehow she knew where they were going long before they entered the arbor walk and approached the bower at its end. She could see lights ahead of her, where normally there would only be the dark shapes of trees silhouetted against the setting sun. Tyrion withdrew his arm, hanging back, and she paused to look at him,

"Go on. He's waiting for you." Her stomach clenched tightly, her hand dropping to trace over its sizeable curve, but she took the deepest breath she had in a long time and continued moving forward. The summerhouse was filled with flickering candles casting a warm soft light in the gloom, and the main table had been moved aside to make way for a scattering of red and white flower petals across the ground. Jaime stood in the centre, waiting for her, just as Tyrion had promised.

She approached him unawares at first as she was still hidden by the shadows. Catching sight of him through the trellis, she watched as he shifted nervously from foot to foot, straightening his doublet compulsively. When he finally saw her, his eyes widened, jaw dropping open. She approached tentatively whilst he remained frozen. When he finally released his breath and reached his hands out towards her, he spoke,

“You look... beautiful.” He faltered on the word – knowing the weight of baggage it held for her, but when she didn’t recoil he smiled warmly, visibly relaxing, his heart laid bare across his face. When he said it a second time, there was no hesitation, “…just beautiful…” And she believed him – in that moment she felt beautiful, for what was surely the first time in her life. He was so earnest, so unguarded, how could she ever doubt him, even in the face of all her greatest insecurities?

She moved forward again, taking his outstretched hands, one warm and one cold. His left squeezed hers in return, as he looked into her eyes with that burning intensity she'd come to know so well. She’d once been afraid of it, but no longer. After a few moments he dropped her grip and moved over to a box on the table. She remained where she was, placing all her trust in whatever he had planned - she welcomed whatever was to happen next like the coming of a new dawn, filled with promise. He took something from the box and turned back to her, eyes dipped in endearing shyness.

"I have something for you." She saw the candlelight glint off the item he held – saw the sparkles of blue and instinct told her what it was. She didn't need him to explain why he'd chosen it – she knew what it symbolised; what it meant to both of them. He leaned forward to put the string of sapphires around her neck and she reached her own hands around to help him fasten the clasp. She felt the cool gemstones settle themselves against the warm skin of her neck; the weight was soothing and calmed her tumbling nerves just a little. Once it was fastened he stepped back and smiled, and she traced a hand to over its shape.

"It's lovely Jaime." She knew she didn't need to tell him what it represented for her, how it carried her back through the years of their story once again. That was exactly what he’d intended in giving it to her. He retook her hand, this time with just his left. She could feel him shaking a little, but he met her eyes firmly,

“Brienne I... I had all these clever words planned, but they’re deserting me now. Once I would have kept that to myself and tried to bluster my way through, but I spent most of my life hiding my feelings, my insecurities from those close to me. Then you came into my life, and somehow you pulled all that pain out of me, let me bare my heart to you, and it was like I could breathe for the first time. It turns out when you find the right person, honesty is so easy. That's just one of many things you've taught me through the years.” He reached out to brush a strand of hair from where it had fallen across her face,

"I will never be anything close to perfect, but I believe I am my best self, my truest self, when I’m with you. I have let you down – I can’t change that – but I intend to spend the rest of my life making it up to you... if you'll let me." She began to speak, to tell him that of course she would, but he gently pressed his hand to her lips before taking hers again and dropping to one knee,

"You knelt before me, and received the honour you long deserved – now it's time for me to kneel before you and ask for an honour in return. All I ever wanted to be was a shining white knight like in the stories. The Golden Lion of Lannister. This world, the people around me... and my own stubborn heart have made it so hard for me to be that. But you've lived in that world, and been around those people, and you held fast through all of it. Lady Catelyn was right – you are a truer knight than I will ever be." His eyes dropped – she felt him shake a little again in her clasped hand, saw him swallow, gathering himself. When he met her eyes again, his were laced with tears,

"I always said I wanted to die in the arms of the woman I love, but I managed to go one better. I came back to life in yours – literally and figuratively. You have saved me in every sense of the word. You are my hero, my heart, my soul and I cannot imagine any kind of life for me without you in it. Ser Brienne of Tarth, will you do me the greatest honour I could ever ask for, and consent to become my wife?"

If he'd ever been earnest, which he had – in spades – he was ten times that right now, every ounce of his being poured into the appeal that played out across his face. She knew she was crying, but she felt disconnected from herself, almost as if she was floating – it all felt so unreal, so perfect. Even if she’d wanted to she couldn’t refuse him, could never say no to such a heartfelt declaration. It made her doubly glad that she’d declined his proposal the first time. She would not have wished to deny either of them the beautiful poetry of this moment.

"Well it looks as though you managed to remember those fancy words after all." She knew she’d rarely smiled, in the long years before she met him, but he’d slowly drawn happiness out of her. When he’d knighted her, her face had ached with smiling and now if it was possible, her smile was broader still, the tears streaming freely down her face and falling to the dust at her feet.

"Is that a yes?" His brow creased as he searched her face, pleading – somehow he doubted it still; was he really so very fragile, so unsure of himself that he couldn't feel her answer screaming out through every fibre of her being?

"You rode fifteen hundred miles north to ask me if I'd have you once before, as your commander in battle. I said yes then. We might be a world away, under a southern sunset rather than a snow-laden sky, but the answer is the same. I will have you. I will marry you Jaime Lannister." He was on his feet, and drawing her into his arms, tears flowing as freely as hers with joy and relief.

“I don't deserve this.” He wasn’t really saying it to her, more to himself, as he whispered over her shoulder into the darkness, but she felt compelled to respond. She pressed him away, hands coming up to his face so he was forced to look at her,

“Promise me that’s the last time you say something like that. I know why you feel that way, but something far beyond us decided you deserve to be here, that I deserve to have you here. Who are we to disagree? You say I saved you – you’ve saved me too, more than once. As far as I’m concerned we’re even. It’s time to leave the past in the past and enjoy what we’ve been given, however we got here.” She slid her hands around to the back of his head, pressing her forehead gently against his. His own hand came up to stroke her hair,

“I bow to your eternal wisdom. I promise.” It was playful, but she could tell he meant it. She pressed her lips to his, gentle at first but quickly growing firmer, their unfinished business of the night before kindling extra fire in her belly. He was the first to break away, breathing hard, then he drew her head onto his shoulder. He began humming softly, she could hear the deep, soothing vibrations where her ear pressed against his neck. He led her slowly around the summerhouse, rocking them from side to side.

“Looks like I got my dance in the end.” She smiled into his shoulder. He really could be a sentimental fool. But, at long last, he was her fool.

Chapter 34: Albatross

Chapter Text

Jaime awoke in darkness. He was hot and his body felt heavy. For a horrible second he feared he was somehow back in the rubble beneath the keep, but after a quick check of his body he realised he could move all his limbs, and breathe easily. He was in bed, covers tangled around him, but something about the air in the room told him it wasn't the bed in the White Sword Tower he now shared with Brienne. He extracted an arm from the muddle of sheets and threw it out across the other side of the bed. There was no one there.

He sat up sharply, searching for any chink of light in the darkness, but there was none. He rose from the bed, wrapping his naked body in the sheet and groping across the room to try and find the door. The first thing his outstretched hand gripped was the door handle. His right hand. That was the moment when he realised this was a dream. He tried to open his eyes and wake up, but as hard as he tried he remained in the pitch black room. He turned the handle.

Light streamed through the open doorway forcing Jaime to scrunch his eyes closed. After a few tentative attempts to open them, they adjusted to the brightness. He could see a round table with a few chairs around it, hanging lamps lighting it from above. There was a cool breeze coming from a balcony to his left, the thin drapes fluttering where they'd been drawn aside. Standing in the space between, face turned to the night air, was Cersei.

Fear gripped his stomach like a fist. He knew this wasn't real, but the weeks since his breakdown had taught him it was so much easier, so much less painful, to love her as a memory. Being confronted with her presence evoked feelings far too old and too painfully familiar to be safe. He froze in the doorway, hoping he could wish this away, but she slowly turned towards him. He braced himself for a sneer, if she was angry, or a manipulative smile otherwise. She did greet him with a smile, but it was a warm, genuine smile. He'd only ever seen her be so open a handful of times before, and never just for him.

"Little brother..." As she held her arms out to him he was struck by her choice of words. She'd only ever addressed Tyrion in such a manner before, but after all that had happened in his last vision of her he began to wonder if this was also more than merely a dream. He looked down at his two whole hands, the ghost of a sensation playing across them; the warm pulsing of her neck as he’d squeezed them around it. He shuddered. Was this going to be as traumatic an encounter as that? So much about it felt the same. He approached cautiously, expecting his hesitation to annoy her, but her face remained warm and happy. He took her hands in his – the warmth and feeling in his right, a faded memory until this moment, made him uneasy.

"Sister..." He mirrored the formality of her phrasing - reinforcing the boundary she'd already set. Siblings. That's all they were now. All they should ever have been.

“I hear you're getting married. Father would be so pleased!” Her tone was effusive – surely there must be some game here, some test? He must tread carefully lest he misstep. He could already feel his self-confidence failing before her, his will submitting in the face of hers. He’d long learnt that fighting against her superior power only lead to pain and heartache. He’d failed to win the upper hand too many times to willingly risk her wrath again.

"I am. Brienne and I will be very happy." She was still smiling, all part of the game he was sure, but usually she'd have cracked by now. Thrown out some quick witted barb or other. She squeezed his hands,

"I’m glad. Really I am. It's about time you made your own life. A wife. Children to call yours. What we had was never truly real. I see that now." He no longer cared if she was playing him – to hear her give her blessing, for it to sound so genuine… If false it was masterful acting, even for Cersei. If true… he couldn’t begin to put into words what that meant to him. He embraced her, and she let him, her body relaxing into his arms. The power struggle that had always loomed in the shadows, even in their moments of intimacy, was gone. It felt like when he held Tyrion, nothing more, nothing less. Once again, she had finally become the sister he’d lost so long ago.

“I’m sorry Jaime. I’m sorry for everything.” He didn't get to look at her face again before she started to fade away from him, and the scene to dissolve. But she sounded deeply sincere – more than he'd ever previously believed her capable of.

^^^^^^^

After Jaime awoke in his real bed in the early hours of the morning, with Brienne snoring softly beside him, he rose, washed and dressed quickly. He didn't want to wake her – she'd grown large enough with the baby now that she was struggling to find a comfortable position to sleep, and as a consequence was often very tired. In the past week, he and Bran had finally persuaded her to step back from all duties until after their child’s arrival.

He stole down the stairs – dawn was just beginning to creep its golden light over the castle wall and across the courtyard, glinting off the dew that coated the lawns. He turned toward Maegor's Holdfast, crossing the drawbridge as quietly as he could, not wanting to break the peace of the morning. Today was his last day as an unmarried man, and he hadn’t expected to be up with the dawn. He hadn't had any real plan if he was honest – he’d assumed Tyrion would have some raucous festivities planned for the evening, but beyond that... he'd found it so hard to envision actually getting to this point. He knew exactly where he was going now though, his feet seemingly carrying him towards a purpose of their own, or more likely one they had been entrusted with by his unknown saviour.

He felt the temperature growing colder as he descended the stairs, felt his heart clench in his chest. The flames which had left him be for weeks now crept back into his vision once more, snatches of blurred memory replaying themselves in his head. Running, breath tearing at his lungs, Cersei's hand gripped tightly in his. Dust raining down from above, an almighty roar, then… darkness. Silence.

It took long minutes for Jaime's heart to slow enough for him to realise he was standing motionless, fist balled into his chest, head bowed and eyes crunched tightly closed. Every taut muscle in his body was screaming for relief when he finally opened his eyes. His surroundings didn’t look as they had that day. The rubble had been cleared away, but the hole in the roof was still partly open, the day’s first shaft of sunlight, weak but warm, illuminating the place where they'd lain. He dropped to his knees, allowing his fingers to trace the floor. This was where it had all ended. And yet, somehow, he was still here. A single tear fell from his eye to the polished stone,

"A part of me wishes you were here for the big day, but I know that wasn't really you last night. It was just who I wish you'd been. How I choose to remember; how I’ve learnt to cope with it all. You'll always be a part of me, but I'm glad to be free of you." It felt important to say these words, to speak them to the pristine ground where no trace of their folly remained, as hard as Jaime looked. But were they true? If he was here having these thoughts, these dreams, still so cowed by the memory of her, was he really as free as he believed?

He pressed to his feet, straightened his tunic, and continued onward – into a passageway now cleared of debris. He would finally complete the journey that had been abruptly halted that fateful day, like some strange sort of pilgrimage. At the end of it he would see if he was truly convinced of his freedom.

And try not to imagine what his life would be now if they'd succeeded.

^^^^^^^

Brienne stood in the doorway of the map room courtyard, her hands braced on either side of the frame. She'd walked the route from the Tower almost without thought, and was now suddenly disorientated; unable to recall what had brought her here. She'd awoken later than usual to find the bed beside her empty. As grateful as she was for the extra sleep, she wondered if she’d ever be able to wake after Jaime had risen without a twinge of fear gripping her chest. As she'd told him, forgiving was not forgetting and it was all too easy to reconnect with that wrenching pain; especially on a day like today which inevitably brought strong emotions to the surface. She pushed her unease away – she was certain Jaime would be as unsettled by anticipation as she was, and had risen early to be alone with his thoughts.

She'd taken time over her morning bath, then dressed in a simple long tunic and trousers, which she was now forced to lace beneath her belly. She glanced in the mirror before leaving the room, turning to the side and smoothing the material over her stomach. Despite Grand Maester Samwell's assurances, it was hard to believe she wasn't due to give birth for another two months. How could there be room for the baby to grow any more?

She snapped back to the present, the bright mid-morning sunlight bleaching the faded map on the ground before her. It had remained largely in tact following Daenerys' attack, and after lengthy discussions Bran had chosen to leave it as it was. She breathed away her hesitation and continued toward the stairs.

A part of her had felt the pull of the Keep's vaults ever since she'd arrived in King’s Landing, but even thoughts of descending the steps and bearing witness to the place that had nearly been Jaime's tomb were so painful that she’d stayed away. She wasn't sure where she'd finally found the strength confront it. Perhaps in some subconscious need to stand beside Jaime tomorrow without any remaining questions in her heart.

She wandered the corridors for a time, quickly realising that it would not be easy to find the exact spot. Had she naively expected there'd be some sort of way-marker in these largely identical passageways, or that she'd somehow just know when she reached it? She was beginning to give up hope of locating the right place, when she turned a corner and saw Tyrion in the distance.

The corridor was wide and straight, broken up by a few sets of three or four steps leading downwards. He stood motionless, staring at the ground with sunlight illuminating him from above. The image gave her chills, prickling the length of her spine.

She wasn't sure whether to announce her presence to avoid startling him, or leave quietly and allow him his private moment. Either way she knew she'd finally found the place, and a sudden overwhelming need to stand there beside him, to see the very spot for herself, made the decision. She walked onward, allowing her feet to fall heavy against the stone. After a few moments, he broke from his reverie and turned, bowing his head when he saw her. He smiled, a strange sort of smile accompanied by a cheerless laugh and a nod, as if he was unsurprised to see her there.

“What a co-incidence.” He said it in a tone that suggested he didn't think it a co-incidence at all. “What made you finally decide to come and see the place?” Between Tyrion’s ability to read people and Bran’s godlike knowledge, she was starting to wonder if her thoughts were ever truly her own nowadays,

“I... really don't know. I suppose I just felt like a walk and I ended up at the stairs to come down here.” He pressed his lips together, almost with a slight hint of disappointment, as if he’d wanted, no... expected, some other answer from her.

"No strange dreams then?" Less than a second after he’d spoken the words, an image flashed through her vision with painful intensity. An image of Jaime on a stony shore clashing steel with a man she barely recognised. She gasped, stumbling, and Tyrion ran to her side, reaching out his arm to steady her. When she'd had a moment or so to recover he peered up into her face, "Did I speak too soon?" She breathed deeply, trying to slow her racing heart,

"I don't know. I think... maybe I did have a dream." The second flash came as strong as the first – now she was Jaime and the other man's sword was plunging beneath her ribs. This time she cried out with pain, grasping her side – she fixed her eyes on Tyrion's panicked face in an attempt to ground herself, gripping his shoulder until her knuckles went white.

"Come, you must sit. I'll go for the maester..." She fought to calm herself enough to speak, to be certain she wasn’t going to fall.

“No... no... honestly I'm fine. It wasn't real.” She said it between gritted teeth – who could even say what was real any more? She allowed him to help her sit on the closest step. He still looked desperately concerned, poised to run for assistance, “I’ll be all right. I promise. I did have a dream. About Jaime. I remember it now.” And she did, the two sharp, searing flashes restoring the rest of the memory – this place, Jaime's final minutes through his eyes, his heart pounding in her chest. It was clearly what had brought her here, unknowingly. After a sufficient length of time for Tyrion to believe she really was recovered, he perched on the step beside her.

“Well I suppose given my question I don't need to tell you I had one too. About... finding them here.” There was a weight to his words – she hadn't known exactly what had brought her here until a few moments ago, but he'd clearly made his way down here consumed with thoughts of that day. She couldn't imagine how it must have been to find his siblings like that, dead or near death, and when she glanced over at him, she could only describe his expression as haunted. She reached out a hand to take his.

“If you want to talk about it, I'm here." She didn't know whether he would or not, but she could almost see the pain pressing him down. He'd helped her and Jaime so much… she wanted to help him too, if she could.

“I’m not sure what good it will do. I've played it over and over in my head all these months... There's no freedom from the guilt.” She couldn't imagine what he thought he had to feel guilty for – as if he could have done something to change Jaime's actions, or Cersei’s. She opened her mouth to offer reassurance, but he cut her off,

"I know you want to say something to try and make me feel better, but please don't. You can't." His eyes dipped and he shifted on the step, angling himself so he could take her hand between both of his. "I have to apologise - and to make a confession. I have lied to you, by omission at least. Tomorrow you will become my sister, and before that happens I owe you the truth." After the frankness of their conversations it surprised her that there was still something he’d concealed, but she was glad he felt able - compelled even - to unburden himself now. Whatever he believed his part in all this to be, she didn't need to hear it to know she would be able to let it go. She was finished with anger and recriminations. She smiled and nodded for him to continue, keeping her face light. He paused for a few moments, considering his words as carefully as he always did,

“When I told you I saw Jaime, here in King's Landing before... I didn't tell you the whole story. He was caught, trying to get through Daenerys' lines. I managed to persuade the guards to let me see him. I thought I could save them both. I let him go." So that was what had been torturing him all this time – she’d never pushed him on his hazy details of that meeting, assuming it too painful – but not for this reason. It didn't matter now. None of it did.

“I forgive you. I understand why you'd want to try and get them both to safety. Besides, I doubt Daenerys would have let him live if you'd left him in her custody so, ironically, you probably saved his life in the end.” His relief was palpable. Had he still been so afraid to come to her with this after all these long months; after all the pain and joy they'd shared? She saw shades of Jaime’s insecurities, his ingrained fears, in Tyrion’s expression. Her husband to be was clearly not the only one left damaged by his father and sister. Tyrion squeezed her hand a little tighter between his,

“Jaime is right. You really are too good and too generous for this world.” He stood then, offering an arm to help her up, not that he could do much more than steady her – there was no chance he could take her weight, even before she was pregnant. She managed to stand without further incident. They took a few quiet moments together, staring at the ground before them, considering how lucky they were. Wondering how it could be that they were the ones standing here now, after everyone that had been lost along the way. She was the one who finally broke the silence,

“Do you think Jaime had some sort of dream... vision, too? He’d already left when I woke. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” Tyrion reached up to take her hand again, looking deeply thoughtful. Then he nodded,

"Knowing how... connected the two of you seem to have become in all this, I'd be more surprised if he hasn't. And yes, I think I might know where he is." He led her onward through the maze of passageways, turning into an entranceway that led further down.

^^^^^^^

It was a long walk downward to get to the stoney shore at the base of the Keep. By the time they got there, Brienne was quite out of breath, her back and hips screaming for her to rest. She hoped Tyrion was right, that Jaime was here, and also that there was a different return route; one which wouldn't involve re-climbing what had felt like a thousand steps. She wasn't sure she was capable of making it back the same way – especially if it was solely with Tyrion's help. She sent a silent prayer that she would find the safe harbour of Jaime's strong arms down here to help her make the return journey.

She glanced around as they stepped down onto the shingle, and quickly saw that her fears were unfounded; a plain wooden rowing boat was pulled up the beach to their right, and in it sat Jaime. He was staring out to sea, chin resting on his left hand, right arm laid across his knees. The sound of their feet moving across the loose stones was far from stealthy, but he didn't react to their approach.

Brienne felt her blood cooling – if Tyrion was right and Jaime had also had another vision, or whatever in seven hells they were, there was no telling what state it had left him in. She walked the last few steps over to the boat tentatively, whilst Tyrion hung back to give her space. Again, she felt a surge of love for him; for how graciously he’d taken a step back in Jaime’s life to make way for her.

She wished Jaime hadn't chosen to face this alone – she was so thankful she'd had his brother's support when her vision had come back to her. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He started, wheeling around to look at her, wide eyed and almost wild looking. His breath came in fearful gasps – it took a few moments before he recognised her, then he looked around himself, gradually seeming to realise where he was. He began to look a little self-conscious. She understood how he must be feeling; ashamed of appearing vulnerable once again. People like the two of them, who had pledged their lives to the defence and protection of others, hated to show their own weaknesses - and they’d both had to do that more in the past half year than ever before.

“I'm... sorry. I was miles away.” Perhaps that was true, but she was certain his merely being caught unawares would not have produced such a reaction, and judging by Tyrion’s sceptical expression, he agreed with her. Jaime had clearly been reliving something difficult,

“You don’t need to apologise – we just wanted to make sure you were all right.” He nodded, showing no sign of rising from his hunched position, arms now wrapped protectively around his knees. He seemed to consider her words, a frown slowly deepening on his face,

"How did you know I was here?" His manner grew a little defensive. A flash of memory from weeks ago in the Sept came to Brienne; of him broken and lost wondering how anyone could have reached him, but this was different. Something had led them all here.

“Did you have a dream, about… this place? Tyrion and I did, that's why we’re here.” She kept a firm but gentle grip on his shoulder, hoping to give reassurance should he have a similarly visceral reaction. He barely acknowledged the question, merely nodded slowly as his gaze drifted back out across the waves in the bay. Brienne wasn't sure what to do or say next – it was clear he’d been deeply affected by his experience, but it seemed to have left him more pensive and absent than distressed. She was just contemplating whether she should embrace him when he stood slowly, turning towards them with a soft smile on his face,

“Who or whatever is behind all this...” he gestured vaguely at himself, “…isn't quite done with us yet then?” He gently shrugged her hand off his shoulder, then strode thirty or so yards across the beach, stopping before a large rocky outcropping and staring down at the ground. Tyrion turned back over his shoulder to share a look of concern with Brienne before they moved over to join him.

Lying against the rocks was a skeleton, covered in what few scraps its of clothing remained. Any indication of who this had been was gone, the bones picked clean by gulls and corvids. A flash of the fight Brienne had seen in her dream came to her again, gentler this time, but no less vivid. Her recognition of the other man was still only vague.

“Who was he?” Jaime's gaze remained cast downward, his brow deeply creased and jaw set hard with disgust.

“Just a nobody who called himself a king. Like half the damn world at some time or another." He pulled up his shirt, fingers grazing over the open scars that cut across his stomach, "But thanks to that nobody I'm even more maimed than I was before.” He made a gesture with his golden hand, but he needn't have – she could read his every breath at this point; his every subtle shift in emotion. She was reminded of something he'd asked her on their first night together,

Does it not disgust you?

Even at the very moment she'd allowed him to become the only man she'd ever loved and trusted enough to permit into her bed, he'd been preoccupied with self-loathing. It was the very same hatred he’d been subjected to for all his life in one form or another; be it his father's disappointment, his sister's cold disregard for his needs and desires, or the contempt of the world for his perceived betrayal. He'd been taught to feel it all towards himself. She reached out and took hold of the cool metal, feathering her fingers across it, trying to show him once again that she loved everything about him, whole or otherwise. There was still a barely perceptible flinch when she touched it – even after all this time, even after all that had passed between them. He was still carrying the burden of that shame and revulsion around with him - letting himself be weighed down by it. Being rendered less in his own mind by the unrelenting belief that without the false hand he is repulsive, and even with it he will never be quite good enough.

“Jaime, I love you just as you are. I'm going to marry you tomorrow – I don't know what more you need me to say or do to prove that you're enough for me.” It was forceful perhaps, but it succeeded in snapping him out of his thoughts. He locked gazes with her, seeming truly present for the first time since she and Tyrion had arrived,

“You're right, of course. You don't need to do anything. It’s just...” He trailed off, glancing down and taking her hand, “…I did have a dream. I… dreamed of Cersei. She was different… Kind. She gave us her blessing. It made me happy but... sad at the same time.” Tyrion moved forward now, and after squeezing Jaime’s hand to reassure him, she stepped back to allow the brothers a private moment together. She marvelled at how Jaime still lacked the ability to put complex feelings into words. Love was something he had no issue describing at length, but most of his other emotions had been denied so often he’d learnt to deny them himself. She hoped unconditional love, safety, and a stable home would change that in time.

She kept these thoughts to herself as Jaime gradually processed all he was feeling, his smile returning. She was beginning to comprehend the true depth of his belief that he was too damaged and too broken to be loved, but it didn’t scare her. However long the journey to help him get through all of this, she would be his anchor as he was hers. They would face their demons together.

Once Jaime was ready to leave, he took her arm and and led her down to the water’s edge. To Brienne’s relief, he indicated there was a route around the shore to the harbour and they began to carefully make their way there, with Tyrion following along behind.

^^^^^^

Jaime picked his way over the rocks on the shore, offering as much assistance to Brienne as he could. He hid his concern about their scrambling in such a way with her heavily pregnant, and he and Tyrion so ill equipped to help her. He knew she would hate the fuss, even though she gritted her teeth and bore it as cheerfully as she could. It certainly beat the long climb back through the dark bowels of the keep in any case – the series of slopes they could take up from the harbour were far gentler and more picturesque.

He felt some measure of guilt that he was at least part of the reason she'd come down here. He wished he could be stronger, be the one she could lean on instead of the reverse. As he’d sat in that boat, staring out at the surface of a sea that his mind had ignited with wildfire, he’d promised himself that somehow he would get past all this self-doubt. He would become the husband she deserved, whatever that took.

They rounded a corner and the wharf came into view. The harbour below the keep was smaller than many may expect, the main ports being further along the city coast. This little jut of hewn stone was purely for use by the royal family and their honoured guests. Coming here always took Jaime back to the early days of he and Brienne's return to King’s Landing after their long journey south. It was where he’d first learnt to wield a sword in his left hand, in seclusion with Bronn, away from the critical eyes that might have been on him if they'd sparred in the main yard. He'd expected it to be deserted, as it had always been back then, but it wasn't.

Bran sat motionless in his chair, staring out into the harbour. Jaime hesitated for a few moments, unsure about whether to approach, then Brienne urged him onward with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. As they grew closer, he could see that Pod was also there, seated on the rocks that lined the hillside. He turned at their approach, jumping up and moving over to help Brienne up the last few steps onto the dock, then lending an arm for Tyrion. They all moved over towards the king, Brienne accepting assistance to sit, before Bran finally turned to face them.

“Good afternoon, your Grace, were you taking in a little sea air?” Tyrion's question was tentative, but clearly intended to be leading – Jaime could tell he was trying to determine whether Bran’s presence here was related to the strange dreams they’d had.

“Well the sea air is pleasant I suppose. But I am here because I was waiting for all of you - I knew you'd come. It looks like a few final things needed to be resolved before we celebrate tomorrow.” Jaime waited for the usual pause before the King began to explain himself, but it didn't come, Bran shifting his gaze almost immediately to address Brienne,

“You needed to come down here and see the place for yourself – to fully picture what happened that day and rid yourself of the nightmares.” His eyes moved to Tyrion,

“You needed to tell her the truth, the guilty secret that's been burning its way through you.” Then he looked at Podrick,

“You still have a truth to tell… Perhaps this is the opportunity you've been waiting for.” Lastly he turned to Jaime,

“And you, Ser Jaime. You carry something heavy that it's finally time to let go of. Something that's weighing you down; preventing you from moving forward.” Bran’s words resonated deeply with Jaime – his hand reflexing to his right hip, fingers wrapping fretfully around the hilt of his sword. When he’d first awoken from death, he’d been entirely incognisant of all that had occurred to bring about his return. But over time, blurred snatches of something akin to memory had gradually come back to him; a bear’s claws ripping into his flesh; endless falling; rising from a bloody pool in the mist; walking beside Brienne bathed in a golden light; a towering weirwood that bore the scars of a pair of crossed swords.

He glanced over at his sword’s twin, where it hung from the waist of the woman he loved. Oathkeeper. The moment she’d told him its name something profound had passed between them. Something which could not be rent asunder in spite of the best attempts of his foolish heart. She’d sworn an oath to him that day and he had, unknowingly, done the same.

As he’d slowly come to comprehend the significance of the legacy they carried, and how it bound them together, he’d thought more and more on the name Joffrey had given his blade – flippant and callous, just the way his eldest son had lived his cruel, short life. Not at all befitting of its noble history. Now it was such an important part of Jaime’s story, he should replace it with something that reflected how he intended to live his life henceforth, just as Brienne had with hers. He looked back at Bran, and the King spoke again,

“It is not your half of my father's sword of which I speak, but I can see why you might think so. You have been contemplating its name. A poor name given by a poor ruler. Have you settled on something better?” Jaime breathed deeply before he spoke,

“I have your Grace. I wish to rename the blade Atonement." A few moments of silence followed, during which the only sound was the lapping of the waves against the shore. Jaime glanced at Brienne and the pride in her eyes filled a void in his heart that he hadn’t even known was empty until this very moment. She approved – she felt all he felt, knew all he knew; understood the oath he’d just sworn to her all over again. He could have kept his gaze locked with hers forever, but he made himself look back at the King, and even he managed to spare a hint of a smile to accompany his nod of assent,

“I could not imagine a more fitting choice. The honour both yourself and Ser Brienne show towards my family by bearing your blades with reverence is deeply gratifying. But although that is an important matter to have resolved, it is not the weight that brought you here. Cersei will always be a part of you, but it is not necessary for you to carry her around any longer." His eyes rested on Jaime's golden hand.

Jaime's gaze followed the King's – lifting his arm and examining the gaudy hunk of metal, almost as if he'd never seen it before. He couldn't deny that it was a weight, but he didn't immediately follow the rest of Bran's thoughts,

“What does my hand have to do with Cersei?” Bran's expression didn’t change, but Jaime saw Brienne and Tyrion exchange a knowing look – he tried not to be drawn back into memories of Cersei and his father having a conspiratorial laugh at his expense. He took a calming breath – this was very different; these were the two people who loved him most in the world, as he did them. Despite Tyrion's clear belief that Jaime should already know, he explained,

“It has everything to do with Cersei. I don't know why you still insist on lugging the stupid thing around with you. She only made you wear it because she couldn't stand to look at you otherwise. Just like everything else she did in her life it was about what she wanted with no regard for you. The only thing it was ever good for was helping me find you in that rubble.” Jaime considered his brother's words. Was he right? Was this just one more thing he couldn't let go of? The king spoke again,

“I think I find myself saying this rather too often, but Tyrion is right. Hiding your loss away hasn't helped you come to terms with it. You were born holding onto Cersei, and you’re still holding onto her now, despite how long the physical means with which you did that has been gone.” Jaime had long known that the moment his hand was severed from his wrist had been the very moment he’d felt a shift in his relationship with Brienne. It had also been, in truth, the exact same moment a fracture had begun to open between he and Cersei.

The very second his hand was gone. And, with Bran’s subtle hinting, like a bolt of lightening striking him he now knew exactly what the significance of that truly was. It had been the hand with which he’d gripped Cersei’s heel as they’d entered this world. The thread which, even if only symbolically, had cleaved him to her from the first. From the second it was no more, perhaps subtly, perhaps unknowingly, but irreversibly, their bond had been forever changed. And now he understood fully why the bandage she had forced him to wear over that wound had to go.

So this was it - the final piece of the puzzle. It made perfect sense when all the layers of abuse and manipulation were peeled away from the tangled mess of his memories. When it became possible to see the unclouded truth for what it really was. As he thought about his future, he was surprised to discover he did not feel even the slightest wrench at the idea of ridding himself of the heavy, awkward thing and all it represented,

“It has been useful for parrying the odd sword, but I'm sure I can talk to the armourer about a buckler commission.” He glanced at Brienne for a split second, long enough for her to give another slight nod of her head – all the additional encouragement he needed.

He unbuckled the fastenings for the last time, then walked to the edge of the quay. He drew his left arm back and hurled the metal hand as hard as he could into the bay. All five of them watched it arc across the shore and out of sight, only revealing its final resting place when a small splash erupted from the calm surface of the sea. Tears pricked at Jaime's eyes – that thing really had been weighing him down, tying him to his past, to shame; to the sister who had dictated his every breath for so very long. Now it was gone there was a new sense of lightness in him, not just in body but in spirit.

"How do you feel?" Tyrion words broke into his reverie and he realised four sets of eyes were staring at him,

"Free. Freer than I've ever felt." It sounded horribly cliché, but it was true. Was this it? Was his escape finally complete? A shade of a smile graced Bran's face,

"Like a caged bird that can finally fly…" At the King’s words, something passed between he and Brienne, a hint of reference some past conversation. He let it be and turned toward the slope up to the keep, offering his arm to Brienne to help her up. Tyrion walked beside them, and Pod followed pushing Bran’s chair. The climb was gentle and pleasant in the early afternoon’s soft breeze. Plans were struck to have some late lunch in the gardens and enjoy the remainder of the day, Jaime revelling in how it felt to walk proudly with his soon-to-be wife on his arm.

They reached the outer wall and he made to turn toward the kitchens, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Pod – their Kingsguard colleague Bennar had been waiting at the top of the slope, and took up position behind Bran’s chair to push him away. Brienne had already set off toward the arbor walk, leaving Jaime and the boy alone,

“A moment of your time Ser Jaime.” He nodded, stepping back into the shadow of the castle wall so they could talk,

“I’ve been meaning to say this for some weeks – I am glad that matters are working out well between the Lord Commander and yourself, because you make her happy. But if you ever do anything to hurt her again - I swear I will kill you. And I can promise there will be no coming back for a second time.” He turned and left before Jaime could fully register what he'd said, striding purposefully across the yard like the man he was fast becoming.

Jaime allowed the words to turn over in his head as he set off to join Tyrion in arranging some food. He'd have laughed them off once, but he'd seen the passionate depths of the anger in Podrick's eyes, and he believed him to be more than sincere. Somewhere along the line, that nervous, awkward boy had grown some serious balls, and the knowledge made Jaime glad to be working with him. It also reaffirmed his gratitude that loyal people had cared for Brienne when he was not there. He could never undo his absence, but he could be thankful for that at least.

He could also feel secure in the knowledge that Pod would never have to follow through on his oath. Jaime could not even conceive of hurting Brienne again - and if by some cruel twist of fate he did – he'd fall on his own sword before the lad ever got the chance.

Chapter 35: When I Found You

Chapter Text

Brienne allowed the curled page fall to the desk before lifting a hand to wipe away the stream of tears from her face. She’d spent so much time over the past months trying to hold back from crying, but she let it come freely now, fuelled by both happiness and sorrow. Late the night before, just as she was preparing to retire, Tyrion had come to the door and handed her this letter.

He reported it had arrived from the North into his charge two days before, with a request from Queen Sansa that she should read it on the morning of the wedding. Brienne had taken it gratefully, glad to have some little contact with her dear friend on her wedding day. She held back her opinion on the revelation that Sansa and Tyrion appeared to be corresponding, persuading herself to put it down to official business despite the sheepish air to Tyrion’s manner that suggested otherwise, and his clear relief when she passed no comment.

Waiting to open it until the morning had been hard, but she'd managed to hold back, washing and dressing in a simple under tunic and slacks before opening the scroll. She was filled with the warmth she'd known Sansa’s kind and happy words would bring, despite the tinge of sadness that her Lady wasn't here to share in she and Jaime’s joy. She smiled through her tears, and for probably the thousandth time in the past five months she let a hand to drop to her stomach.

"Well this is it my love. Today I’m finally marrying your father. I wonder if you'll have any idea of all we've been through when you're born into a happy family." She smoothed the material of her tunic over her belly, contemplating how she would miss having this little life inside her once was born. For the first time she allowed herself to consider that she might do it all again, now a real future with Jaime and more children were things that really seemed possible. She'd missed him keenly the night before. It was astonishing how quickly she'd become accustomed to his warm, solid presence in the bed beside her, his easy smiles and kisses in the morning.

There was a gentle knock at the door and Brienne rose from her chair, moving over to open it. Pod stood at the top of the stairs, looking expectant, with a broad smile on his face. She attempted to keep her own smile light, which was difficult considering the raging nerves that had suddenly taken up residence in her gut. She was sure she'd never felt so nervous in her entire life, even on the eve of battle – that was something she was familiar with; prepared for. As much as she was impatient to marry Jaime, the wedding ceremony itself filled her with fear – a whole occasion that would be focussed solely on the two of them was frankly terrifying.

Pod was already dressed in his Kingsguard armour, and he carried elements of hers along with a long gold tunic in the same regalia. Jaime had played a full, attentive part in the wedding preparations, but he'd had few preferences for the details, leaving most of those choices to her; aside from one, upon which he’d insisted on vehemently.

"What about the clothes..." She braced herself for him to begin describing a vision of the customary doublets and dresses, but he simply turned toward her and took her hand in his, face solemn. Whatever his thoughts were, she knew she'd finally found something about which he had some of his own ideas.

"We should marry in our Kingsguard regalia." He stated it like it was a simple fact that could not be refuted, and did not require any discussion. Her first thought was relief that he wasn't expecting her to wear yet another dress, or be involved in designing the infernal thing. Then, as she pictured his suggestion, she frowned,

“I don't think there's much chance of me fitting into the armour… unless you were thinking of waiting…?” They'd already agreed that they should marry as soon as possible, given her condition, so she couldn't imagine why he'd have changed his mind now.

"No, I wasn't meaning to wait. You can still wear some parts of the armour, and we can work out something to replace the rest. Together." He was so assured about the whole thing, but his last word was an afterthought. It was touching – showing he’d suddenly realised any thoughts she may have had were shut down by his fierce determination.

"You've really thought about this haven't you?" She saw the exact moment his manner shifted, and she knew there was more to this than merely a firm opinion on outfits. His hesitation to explain was clear, so she squeezed his hand where it rested in hers, encouraging him to continue,

"I have. It's important that we enter this as equals. I will not have it any other way. I was the weaker in an unequal relationship for such a long time. I will not, even symbolically, put you in that position." A tear came to her eye at his words, for him to have thought about this so deeply, for him to have such respect for her… it reaffirmed all the belief she had in him. If she’d had any doubts left, not even a shadow of them now remained.

She stood in silent contemplation for long moments, before Pod grew tired of waiting for her invitation and stepped into the room. It was unconventional perhaps, that she'd asked him to be here, but he'd helped her don her armour for years – who else could she possibly want to help her dress for this most special of occasions? Besides, all pretence at convention had been abandoned early in the preparations, so why uphold it here?

He didn’t say anything, just lifted the gold tunic above her head so she could pull it on easily, then began the methodical process of buckling her into her remaining armour. It was a little different, with those parts she was unable to wear left out, but in spite of that the familiarity of the ritual was calming. It made the day feel almost normal despite its momentous nature.

Once he was done, Pod stepped back to look at her, and she glanced at herself in the glass. The replacement tunic looked good with the rest of the armour and the white cloak hanging from her shoulders. She’d been skeptical, but was now pleased with Jaime’s choice, both in how it looked and what it represented. Equality. From Pod’s expression she could tell he agreed, his smile broadening as he looked her up and down appraisingly. Then he finally spoke,

“Are you happy?” At first she thought he was just asking about her clothing, which he was, but she could tell there was also another, deeper meaning behind the question. She recalled him asking her the exact same thing once before, on the boat from White Harbour when she'd told him she was pregnant. She'd had to consider her answer then but she didn't now,

“I’ve never been happier in my life.” She’d come close, when she’d first seen Jaime alive and breathing again, but that had been tempered with so many other feelings. In spite of her nerves, joy filled her heart almost entirely now, leaving space for just the merest trace of something else. It felt more wistful than she’d expected, this last breath before she walked into the future with Jaime, together; these few moments to savour the pause between who she used to be and who she was about to become. She was leaving behind an old self, the person she thought she’d always be – Brienne the Beauty, a towering beast of a woman who so many saw as a poor pretence of a man. A view of herself she’d carried for so long she’d let it define her. Unloveable. Alone.

Now she was to be a wife, and a mother, a new journey she looked upon with relish, but it meant reframing her whole life and that would not happen overnight. She wished she could reach out to the woman she’d been before she came to Renly’s service; before the start of this landslide that had ripped up her narrative and written it anew – to tell her all would be well in the end despite the immeasurable pain she’d have to endure along the way. It wasn’t just Jaime who had a lot of healing to do. Lost in thought, she was suddenly reminded of Pod’s presence when he spoke again,

“I’m so glad for you. You deserve all of it.” He was smiling, genuinely, but she could detect something else in his manner; a slight disquiet betrayed by the way he shifted from foot to foot. She wondered if he was nervous about own his part in the coming ceremony, but then he continued,

“I won’t let Jaime hurt you ever again.” The resolution was surely intended to be reassuring, but the slight darkness in his expression made her stomach churn,

“Thank you Pod, I… what exactly do you mean?” His unsettled body language intensified, and he looked down at his feet before he replied,

“I told him if he ever did, hurt you again I mean, then I’d kill him.” A part of her wanted to laugh, to hug him, but in the main she was horrified despite how gratifying it was to know how prepared he was to fight for her honour. Having seen Jaime dead once, and how close it had come to destroying her, she couldn’t bring herself to believe Pod would actually do as he’d apparently promised under any circ*mstances. Nor could she picture a scenario where he’d be compelled to.

“You did what!?” He recoiled a little – he’d clearly been unsure of how she’d react, or he wouldn’t have been so hesitant,

“I only wanted to protect you. I never want to see him put you through anything like that again.” She wondered if he’d ever come to trust Jaime like she did. Her former squire was clearly not so ready to forgive as she was, and it would take time for him to believe that Jaime had really changed. She hoped one day they could be friends, but until then she would continue to vouch for the man she loved,

“He won't.” She said it with such strong conviction that there was no argument to be made – Pod simply nodded his head in respectful agreement before offering his arm,

“Well then, I believe we have a wedding to get to." She looped her arm through his and allowed him to lead her to the door, her body humming with more emotions than should could count, let alone name.

^^^^^^^

Jaime ducked beneath the honour guard of his White Cloak brothers and members of the City Watch, their swords reached out above his head. This added touch had been Podrick’s idea, and the lad now stood at the head of the two lines, giving Jaime a nod and a slight smile as he passed. Jaime returned the gesture, an understanding seeming to pass between them after the young man’s earlier threat. Since that unexpected exchange he’d had to accept that, to Pod, he was little more than a traitor - the lad’s sense of betrayal untempered by the love that had allowed Brienne to forgive him. He would prove himself in time.

Standing at the top of the Great Hall dais, the nerves he’d battled away earlier began to return. He glanced at Tyrion who stood close beside him, and his brother reached out an arm to squeeze Jaime’s hand reassuringly. Tyrion had helped him dress that morning – he’d slept in his old room on the ground floor of the White Sword Tower, hating every moment of being apart from Brienne, but they’d relented on that element of marital tradition despite forgoing many others. He’d knelt on the floor, fidgeting impatiently as Tyrion’s ill practiced hands buckled him into his armour.

"Brother, I love you dearly, but if you don't at least attempt to hold still we'll still be here at dinner time and your wife-to-be will have my guts for garters. Assuming she’d entertain the idea of wearing garters of course.” Jaime did his best to comply, but the stone floor grew painful against his knees,

“You could have given me a cushion to kneel on.” His protests were met with deaf ears, as Tyrion finally managed to secure the last few fastenings and indicated that Jaime could rise. His eyes followed, surveying his brother from head to toe, before a tear welled in his eye. Jaime leant down to wipe it away,

“I assume that means I look acceptable.” Tyrion caught his wrist before he had chance to draw it away,

“More than acceptable. Far more. I’m really proud of you, you know. Who you’ve become. When you died… that was exactly where I’d always feared you ending up, buried far too young with her beside you.” The word ‘her’ was spat with a forceful venom. “Some days I can scarcely believe things have worked out so well – I have this ever present gnawing fear that it’s a wonderful dream I’m going to wake up from.” Jaime sank back to his knees so he could throw his arms around his brother,

“It’s not a dream. We really are this damn lucky. And today I get to marry the woman I love.” Jaime’s own words solidified in his gut as a tight knot of emotion. He really was about to marry Brienne. They’d been through so much, from the early days when he’d driven her crazy with his attempts to get to know her, via the biggest mistake of his life to this very moment. He’d thought he knew what love was, who he was, before he met her but in truth he hadn’t had a clue. Drawing away from the embrace, Tyrion dropped his forehead against Jaime’s, eyes closed. Jaime could never have anticipated the next words out of his mouth,

“I offered to marry her you know. I knew you’d want her and the baby taken care of.” A part of Jaime was surprised, but he knew his brother well enough for it to make perfect sense. Trust Tyrion to both know exactly what he would want, and to use that knowledge to do the right thing.

“Of course I would. And I more than appreciate you choosing to make that sacrifice for me, for all of us. That you’d give up your own life to prevent her disgrace, to prevent my child growing up a bastard…” He couldn’t say any more, the emotion of the day and of the revelation proving too much.

“It’s the least I could do. But I’m glad I didn’t have to – not because of her, but because I vastly prefer that all three of you get to be together, and happy. You’re going to be a wonderful father.” Now Jaime’s own tears came as he leaned in to embrace his brother again rather than making any further attempt to speak.

Jaime glanced around the room, taking a last moment before the ceremony began to breathe deeply and try to calm himself. The rebuilding of the Great Hall was almost complete, but the new stone would always look different, a lasting reminder of all that had happened. As he turned to watch Brienne enter the room with her father, the juxtaposition was clear – their rebuilding was also almost complete. The next few minutes would seal it.

^^^^^^^

The short distance from the door of the Great Hall to where Jaime stood waiting seemed like at least a mile to Brienne, time seeming to slow almost to a standstill. She tried not to grip too tightly onto her father’s arm, but seeing the reality of everyone gathered here renewed her sense of apprehension tenfold. Her heart began to race. Every eye in the room was fixed on her, but their soft smiles gave her the confidence to move forward, as much as she hated the attention. The eyes that turned her insides to wildfire, however, were those of the impossibly beautiful man standing on the dais before the King, fair hair golden in the sunlight. She loved that his gaze alone could evoke such strong emotion in her, and she hoped that it always would.

Some part of her had known he would always be a part of her life, even from their first meeting, his beauty and his fragility hidden beneath layers of sh*t and bravado, his big wide eyes challenging her very existence. Perhaps she’d sensed there was something wounded about him; that his attempts at tormenting her were both a carefully crafted shield and a cry for help in the only way he knew how. His manner had dared her to hate him the way everyone else did. But she hadn’t. Not once she’d seen through his façade. After that moment he’d imprinted himself firmly in her mind and refused to leave.

For a moment she found herself wishing they'd married when she'd been less pregnant, when she'd been able to stand without pain or fatigue, and wear all of her armour. But she knew neither of them had been ready, that if they'd done this sooner she'd still have been burning with anger and his spirit would still be crushed under his past burdens. As it was, they were going into this with their hearts bared and their eyes wide open.

She ducked under the arch of crossed swords, making eye contact with each of her White Cloaks as she did, exchanging a warm smile with Pod. Her White Cloaks. She could still barely believe that was true. She glanced over at her father's beaming face. In the end it had been so easy to give him everything he’d ever wanted from a daughter, and somehow she'd managed it whilst exceeding all the wildest dreams she'd had for herself at the same time. Selwyn let go of her arm as they reached the top of the steps, and allowed her take her place beside Jaime as he stepped away. She glanced at Tyrion, who nodded solemnly, before setting her eyes on the King,

“We are gathered here today to witness the joining of these two people, who have dedicated their lives in service to the realm. In service to myself. Under previous Kings they would have been denied leave to marry, but many things have changed over the past few years and after due consideration I have given them my permission. Ser Brienne, our new Lord Commander, has served my family well from the earliest days of the wars we have endured, and I hope her happiness will be a just reward. Ser Jaime is living proof to all of us that it is never too late to choose a different path for yourself. I wish them both the very best.” Pod stepped forward to push Bran’s chair aside and make space for the septon to come before Jaime and Brienne. The old man was solemn as he spoke,

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Jaime flashed a smile at Brienne, then turned to Tyrion who produced a red and gold cloak, quite possibly the most ostentatious thing she had ever seen, and passed it to his brother. Jaime leaned over to whisper into her ear,

“It was my mother’s.” Brienne was touched by the honour, but she almost laughed given what was to come next. The septon looked expectantly at Jaime, but Brienne ignored him as she turned towards her father on the other side of the dais, and he also passed her a cloak, a blue one adorned with moons and sunbursts. Jaime grinned, almost seeming to anticipate what she was about to say before she opened her mouth,

“This was my mother’s too.” He nodded,

“It’s beautiful. Just like you.” The septon frowned – they’d warned him that this would not be an entirely traditional ceremony, but had not embellished on the details. It was clear he didn’t entirely approve, but he did nothing to intervene as Brienne swung the cloak over Jaime’s shoulders, and he returned the gesture.

“I will be your sword and shield.”

“And I yours.” They’d chosen these additional words, ones that were personally significant to them. They each dropped a hand to the Valyrian steel sword that hung at their hip, before sparing a glance for the King. Bran nodded approvingly in acknowledgement of the Stark family legacy they carried. The septon’s frown lightened, so perhaps somewhere in his rigidly traditional soul he liked this variation. He indicated that they turn to face one another, and they clasped their left hands together, raising them so he could begin the traditional part of the ceremony. Brienne looked down, breathing slowly to settle herself, then glanced up at Jaime to see tears glinting in his eyes. He mouthed ‘I love you’, squeezing her hand gently as the septon drew a soft ribbon from his robe and began to bind their hands together.

“Let it be known that Ser Jaime of House Lannister, and Ser Brienne of House Tarth are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be any who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another any say the words.” Brienne still wasn’t sure what, if any, gods she believed in, but she knew Bran had been right. It was belief itself that was important, and she believed in the two of them standing there together after all that had passed, already united by the child she carried, more than she’d ever believed in anything. She took a deep breath and spoke the words in time with Jaime,

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days.” Jaime did not care to wait for the septon to say anything else, the second the words were spoken he brought his stump to Brienne’s hip and pulled her to him for a kiss. For just a moment, she hesitated, conscious of how public this was, but as soon as her new husband’s lips met hers she forgot everything but the taste of him, his firm touch on her hip and the feel of their still bound hands as he dropped them to her belly.

^^^^^^^

The light was low, the only illumination coming from the glowing embers of a fire in the grate and a few carefully placed candles. Other than that, the bedroom was exactly as it always looked – Jaime had considered preparing something more elaborate, but after his proposal he'd decided on keeping tonight simple. A glance at Brienne made him glad of his choice – she looked tense, jittery, in spite of all the times they'd been together, and he couldn't deny he felt a significant amount of apprehension himself, given the weight of expectation on the evening. He hoped the familiar surroundings would soon melt all those nerves away.

They shed their armour and boots, and he moved in to embrace her, slightly from the side to make it easier to press in close. She turned her head to bring her lips to his as he let his hand roam across the expanse of her belly. It was something he did often, but it felt a little different now, knowing they were married at last, knowing the world would see this child as legitimately his. A little lion to finally call his own – the thought kindled a new fierceness in his chest, and he let out something akin to a growl as he gently rolled Brienne’s bottom lip between his teeth. Her breath was warm and rapid on his face.

He released her mouth, not wanting to be too eager, and leaned back a little to look at her face in the fire’s glow. He moved around in front of her, bringing his stump up to her cheek. It felt natural, but it was not a gesture he would have felt comfortable making before yesterday. She knew it, he could see the hint of pride in her eyes as she brought up her hand over it, her fingers soft and feather-light on his skin. She turned her head to press soft kisses against what had been his wrist and, for the very first time, instead of disgust he felt a wave of arousal at the contact, his head falling back with the pleasure of the sensation, breath coming in short gasps.

Her tongue followed her lips, working over the puckered skin, searching for the spots that gave him most pleasure. He marvelled at how much it aroused him – he was already half hard. He wasn't sure if it was brought on by her touch alone, or by her love and care – the way she’d recognised this was a significant moment for him and given it the attention she thought it deserved. He felt the urge to ease back, to do something for her rather than taking this selfish pleasure, but a part of him never wanted her to stop – the feelings both physical and emotional were so intense that he was sure she could bring him to climax right there if he let her, their eyes locked together. He shivered.

As it was, she continued her light kisses and nips up his arm, lingering for a few moments at his inner elbow, his knees beginning to grow weak and buckle beneath him, before continuing upward across his shoulder and neck until her lips found his again. As aroused as he now was, and as much as it made him want her, he felt no real urgency – he wanted, needed, to savour this moment. He was suddenly filled with a wistful longing for this night to have been something more. He broke the kiss again, his hand sliding down to take hers.

"I’m sorry what should have been our wedding night was a bit… previous. I'm sorry if you thought I took advantage. I wouldn't have... if I'd ever thought I'd leave... " He didn’t want to do anything to dampen the mood, but he needed to say these things – to express how he was feeling and apologise for what he taken from her. She just smiled, the back of her fingers brushing his cheek,

“I know. It's all right. You didn’t take advantage at all – I wanted it just as much as you. Even after you left, even when I found out about the baby... I never regretted it for a second. If I'd had to spend the rest of my life in disgrace, had to raise our child alone, I never would have wished it hadn’t happened.”

“I could never regret it either, but in a way I wish we'd waited. I wish tonight could have been the first time.”

"It can be. For some things at least. Unless you've exhausted your imagination already?" She looked at him from beneath lidded eyes, the lip he'd nipped on just a few moments before now drawn between her own teeth. He felt another strong wave of arousal – no matter how well he knew her, how intimate they became, she still never stopped surprising him, and he loved it.

"W…what did you have in mind?" He stumbled on the words, his throat feeling dry. A part of him panicked at the loss of control, but he breathed his way through it. With her gentle, patient love he would conquer these ingrained fears. She didn't answer, just walked him back towards the bed, hand on his chest, until he was forced to sit down. Her eyes travelled to the tent in his trousers, followed by her hands, and she deftly released the lacing to give him some relief from the pressure that had become almost overwhelming.

She drew a cushion from the easy chair at the side of the bed and let it fall it to the floor before dropping to her knees upon it. A shock of surprise and excitement coursed through him when he realised what she was about to do. His co*ck twitched in anticipation as she eased his breeches off his hips and downward until they also fell to the ground. She met his eyes, smiled, and ran her tongue over her lips before placing a hand on each of his thighs and leaning forward.

^^^^^^^

Brienne wasn't entirely sure how she'd come to be kneeling on a pillow at the end of the bed with Jaime's rapidly stiffening co*ck just inches from her face. She’d thought about what she was about to do often, but she’d always felt too nervous to truly consider it, until now. This man was her husband, and she wanted to do for him what he'd done for her on numerous occasions – now she was quite literally faced with it she found herself thrilled by the idea, delicious twinges travelling the length of her body.

He lay back a little on the bed, resting his weight on his good arm, his eyes locking with hers, dark and filled with lust. She inhaled – his scent was musky but not unpleasant, still very much that undefinable Jaime smell she knew and loved, but stronger, almost demanding. She plucked up the courage to reach out her tongue and taste him – his skin was hot, but largely without flavour. She heard him take a sharp breath – that sound, how intense a single graze of her tongue had clearly felt, gave her all the encouragement she needed. She took a deep breath then sank her mouth onto his co*ck.

The deep groan he gave out almost startled her enough to make her stop, but then she glanced up at his face again. His gaze was still fixed on her, his eyes wide and breath catching in his throat. She knew how good it felt when he used his mouth on her, if it felt half as good for him…

She began to move, sucking gently, running her tongue over the spot she knew was most sensitive as he’d taught her when she took him in her hand. The noises he was making were primal, and he shifted back and forth on the bed forcing her to keep a firm grip on his thighs. She lingered around the head, swirling her tongue, tasting him, before plunging her mouth down on his length again. She looked up once more, and watched as a flush spread up over his stomach, his skin beading with sweat. She’d have wanted to reach her tongue out to taste it if her mouth wasn't already full. Then, he found his voice,

“Dear sweet gods Brienne. That feels so f*cking good.” The words were broken and raspy between his ragged breaths, and they brought on a throb between her legs, making her want to drop a hand down and press it against herself. She resisted, enjoying the ache, gradually increasing her pace until he was gasping and she knew he had to be close.

Then his hand came down on her shoulder urging her to stop and move up onto the bed. A part of her was disappointed – she’d wanted, despite the fear it gave her, to know what it was like to have him spill himself into her mouth. She moaned in protest, hoping he would understand, but as he shifted backwards and she brought one knee either side of him, he pulled her face down to his, his mouth coming to her ear and making her shiver as he whispered,

“Let me finish inside you. That was… spectacular, but I need to make love to my wife for the first time.” He kissed her, deep but slow, his hands running down her sides with just the right amount of pressure, making her shiver. She knew he needed a few moments, if he was to last, and so she allowed him to take control until he was ready. He brought his mouth back to her ear again, nibbling and licking gently, then he said,

“Where in seven heavens did you learn to do that?” She couldn’t help but smile against his neck – there was the barest hint of jealousy, as if he now half-believed there had been another before him, even though he knew full well there hadn’t,

“I’ve spent enough time around soldiers to know what men like. They quickly forget there’s a woman present when they’re in their cups with the echo of battle still ringing in their ears.” She sat up, keeping her considerable weight in her own knees, watching the light playing off the sharp planes of his face. She marvelled for at least the thousandth time that somehow she’d married the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

His hand reached up to palm her breast, and she let out a noise almost as unholy as those he’d made moments before, the sensation of his touch travelling like lightening to her core. She felt the wetness brought by her desire pooling beneath her on his stomach, but it only spurred her on. He'd brought it out of her, all this passion, this fire. When she was alone with him all her old fears and insecurities just melted away.

He moved his hand down to grip one hip and pressed his stump firmly against the other, lifting her just a shade so she could angle herself down on his shaft. She sank down tentatively, but he pressed her harder onto him as she took every inch of his length, uniting them for the first time as husband and wife.

“I don’t want to crush you.” She gasped it out, caught between the heady pleasure of him filling her and fear of causing him harm,

“Don’t worry, I’m strong enough.” It was quite deliberate, his choice of words, echoing those he had used so many years ago, the soft smirk on his face confirming it if she hadn’t already known. As deep and real as their feelings were for each other, there would always be something of a game about their relationship, a mutual enjoyment of playful exchanges and she loved it, loved him, all the more for that.

He held onto her hips, controlling the speed and the angle, but despite how ready he had already been it was she who was at the edge in seconds as he hit the perfect spot inside her over and over. She could feel her muscles starting to tense with every stroke as she rode the wave closer and closer, countless memories of his face through the years playing out across her vision as she lost control. Her legs shook with the effort of holding herself up, pulses of pleasure travelling up her body and down her legs. He thrust through her org*sm, spilling into her as she fell forward, his hand coming protectively to her swollen belly as he guided her bulk onto the bed beside him.

She finally opened her eyes, wondering when she’d closed them, and turned her head towards him. His beautiful blue-green eyes, burning with love for her, were all she saw before his trembling lips met hers again.

I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.

Chapter 36: I'll Do Better

Chapter Text

Fighting against the haze of a pain-induced delirium, Brienne cried out as her already exhausted body burned with effort, another merciless wave of agonising tension gripping her. She was finally birthing their child, and not one of the tales and warnings of women throughout her life had even come close to preparing her for the reality of it.

The pain was deep and intense, the most intense pain she'd ever experienced. In many ways it was all consuming, but she found it so much easier to bear than the emotional turmoil that had dominated the first half of her pregnancy.

It had purpose and direction - and despite how it seared like wildfire, unrelenting, through every fibre of her being, there was something about it that felt good. It cleansed her, burning away all remaining trace of resentment and betrayal, leaving behind only the purest of love for the man who had seeded this child within her. The man whose hand, whose willing embrace, she clung to as she laboured.

The wave of pain abated, and she looked up into his eyes to find them damp with tears of pride. He whispered soft words of encouragement as his hand reached down to feather gentle fingers against her cheek. She thought the same thing every time she looked at him - gods damn it he was so f*cking beautiful. How in all the ages of the realm had he come to be hers?

The babe she would soon be delivered of was the physical manifestation of their love, a love so strong it had almost frightened itself out of existence before it truly began. There was no more fear now. Their child would be born into the arms of that love, affirming it, despite the careless nature of its creation.

It would be here within minutes, she could feel it, low and hard in her pelvis, tearing its way out of her, threatening to rend her asunder. The urge to push it from her body, despite the burning pain, grew ever stronger. She welcomed it, at last she'd regained the control she'd been forced to surrender to nature these long hours, and there was something she could actively do to bring this trial of endurance to its conclusion.

When she could finally hold Ser Jaime Lannister's beautiful baby in her arms, it would be worth it. All of it, the months, indeed the years that they'd fought through to get here, not solely a night and day of childbirth.

The pain came again, taking her breath, and she bore down with everything she had, praying this was it, knowing she was close to the last of her strength. It felt like there was a fire raging between her legs. She was vaguely aware of Grand Maester Samwell at the foot of the bed - she'd been mortified at even allowing him into the room at first, but many hours later she couldn't care less about his proximity to parts of her no one but Jaime had seen since she was a babe herself. If he could hasten the end of this, she loved him almost as much as she did her husband.

Then, all at once, with a wet rush of blood and fluid, it was over. Maester Samwell's smiling face appeared in her vision, holding up the child for them to see, declaring it to be a girl. So, it was to be a second daughter for Jaime to love and cherish, but Brienne would never be so naïve as to think she'd replace the one he'd lost. The depth of his pain in that regard was still to be fully explored, but she hoped their child would go some way towards easing it.

Sam cleaned the baby off and moved around the bed to present it to her, but Brienne stopped him,

"I want Ser Jaime to hold her first." As long as she'd known him, Jaime had worn his emotions on his face, but the look of pure love she received in that moment was the most intense expression she'd ever seen, even from him; more than sufficient reward for the long hours of pain. His mouth formed fruitlessly around words that his mind never managed to find - she reached out and squeezed his hand. They both knew, and didn't need to explain. He took the baby from Sam's outstretched arms.

^^^^^^^

Jaime lay on his back with one arm around Brienne who had just fallen asleep. Her lips were softly parted and the day’s exhaustion smoothed from her face, her head resting on his shoulder and body angled slightly away. Between them their newborn daughter was almost asleep as well, nestled into the crook of Brienne’s arm. Occasional suckles at her mother's breast were the only thing that gave away her fruitless resistance to slumber. Jaime’s other arm was curled over his son, who slept soundly on his chest, face turned to the side.

The twins had been a surprise to everyone – Brienne had not been overly big, her tall stature and broad frame clearly disguising the extra weight well, and Grand Maester Samwell suspected little Robb had been tucked up behind his sister Catelyn, close to Brienne's spine where it hadn't been easy to feel his kicks. But they'd been more than a surprise to Jaime, his wide eyed astonishment at the news silencing the room - all those gathered watching his face, knowing the range of emotions he must be feeling.

^^^^^^^

Jaime didn't want to tear himself from his wife's side, or hand back the beautiful daughter who’d been placed into his arms mere seconds before, but he knew there was a whole host of people gathered in the Round Room below, waiting impatiently for news. As much as he yearned to stay, he also wanted to be the one to bring it to them. He glanced down at their baby girl, the pang in his chest searingly painful and wonderful at the same time. He placed a kiss on her impossibly soft forehead and, somehow, found the strength to let her go.

He carefully passed her back to Brienne, sparing a moment to take up a washcloth and wipe the sweat away from his wife brow. She smiled at him – she looked more tired than he’d ever seen her. Exhausted. She'd tackled childbirth the same way she tackled everything; like a warrior. He couldn't be prouder of her and her seemingly endless strength. He tore himself away to go downstairs.

He was familiar with every step of the spiral tower, but even at speed the walk downwards seemed longer than it ever had before. Finally he stood at the door of the Round Room, pushing it open to see expectant faces hungry for news. He paused, nervous in the face of so many eyes turned towards him. Had all business of the keep ceased so they could be waiting here? Even the king was present – Jaime had not expected his Grace to deem the birth of their child so worthy of attention.

"It's a girl." Tyrion was the first to step forward and embrace him, Jaime stooping to make it easier for his brother, but not before he caught a glimpse of many happy faces – Brienne’s father naturally beaming at the news of a granddaughter. Even the king seemed to show something akin to emotion. Were they really all so pleased for he and Brienne? Was this really a place where he could finally feel truly safe, surrounded by people he could trust?

The sense of real family was so foreign, so longed for – he could now share in this joy; be a real part of things. It was all he'd ever really wanted. He would love to stay here and celebrate this happiness with them, but his desire to be back upstairs with his wife and child was greater. Something his perceptive little brother sensed just as he always did,

"Go on, get back to them. You can tell me all about how wonderful and perfect my new niece is later." Tyrion patted him on the back before drawing away, and Jaime smiled at him gratefully,

“Tell everyone thank you for being here, and we’ll bring her to meet them all in a day or two.” He made to leave, but before he reached the door, Maester Samwell came bursting through it, red faced.

“Ser Jaime... it's twins.” He couldn't process the words at first, as if Sam had spoken in Old Valyrian or some other foreign tongue. They were just sounds that meant nothing to him. He was aware of the various conversations dying down behind him, and he turned to see every face fixed on him. Then, comprehension finally dawning, he was spurred into action - sprinting up the stairs with Sam in his wake.

Twins. What were the chances? He was overcome with the strongest feeling that the second baby would be a boy, a son – he couldn’t say how, he just knew it down to his very core. History was repeating itself – the last missing piece of his second chance. If he'd had any remaining doubt that something mystical was responsible for all that had happened, it was burned away by this new purpose that began to build in his heart. He’d been brought back to make things right. To give the life that had been cruelly stolen from him back to his own children.

^^^^^^^

Jaime, and the maester for that matter, had barely made it back in time for their tiny son to arrive – in spite of Sam's protestations that he remain to deliver the second child, Brienne had insisted he go and fetch Jaime. As soon as she had recovered enough, she’d looked at him in an identical manner to all those in the room below. Her expression was softer, however – he could tell she believed, as he did, that this was no accident, no strange quirk of fate. This was as deliberate and intentional as everything else they'd been gifted.

Seeing Brienne with the babies in her arms brought him close to tears – his family, something he thought for so long he’d never have. Once she'd fallen asleep he'd stood over their crib, captivated by their soft, fair curls and twenty tiny toes. It felt like looking into his own past in so many different ways – such innocence that he burned with the need to protect, his lion's instinct rising in his chest. His beautiful babies. His, with no other man to make way for. He could be their father, and show them off with pride, not hide in shame and resentment as he watched them raised by another. They were perfect – he hadn’t known perfection existed in this world or how he, of all people, could have it bestowed upon him after everything that he’d done.

He was exhausted, of course, and that would continue through the coming years, but he wouldn’t begrudge a single second of the sleepless nights to come. Brienne was likely even more tired, but had already begun pestering the maester as to when she could begin sparring again. Jaime couldn't help but chuckle – the poor man was terrified of his own shadow most days, and Brienne was an imposing woman. He imagined it wouldn’t be long before he gave in to whatever she demanded. Jaime had fully expected her keenness to resume her training – when she was ready he was more than happy to support her however he could. It was important to both of them that she resume her position as soon as she was able. They knew there were more than enough people willing to help them as they raised their children and fulfilled their responsibilities to the crown.

He glanced between the sleeping babes again – Cat was fully asleep now, her mouth gaping open, and Robb still as blissfully peaceful as he'd been an hour ago. The last thing he'd expected way back when all this began was that one day he'd have children named for Starks, but those names couldn't be more fitting. Robb, the boy who'd captured him at Whispering Wood, bringing his path to cross with Brienne, and Catelyn, the woman who'd forced those paths to become one when she'd sent them to King's Landing together. Neither of them could have imagined their actions would lead to this, and Jaime wondered what they would think if they were here now. There was at least some healing to be found in the knowledge that, despite all the lives lost through years of war, here were two lives that existed because of it. It made Jaime believe there was hope to be found in this world more than he ever had before.

He’d had a private audience with the King not long after the babes had arrived, at his Grace’s request. Jaime hadn’t sought his approval for their choices, but Bran expressed pleasure that they’d named the babes for his mother and brother. He’d had a knowing look in his eye during their meeting and, when Jaime thought back, also in the Round Room after Sam had come bursting in with his momentous news. Jaime had been unable to hold in his curiosity.

“Did you know it was twins?” Bran nodded solemnly,

“I had a good idea.” Was there anything he didn’t know? It was difficult not to find it unsettling. Some days Jaime wanted to ask him to tell him of the future. On others he thought of Cersei and how the witch Maggy’s words had haunted her. Then he avoided looking at the boy’s face for fear of accidently discovering something he didn’t want to know.

“Why didn’t you say anything?’

“And ruin the surprise?” It didn’t come with anything that could be called a smile, but the tone betrayed the barest hint of playfulness. It warmed Jaime's heart to know there was still some shred of humanity left in him, as hard as it was to find.

He suspected neither of his children would now wake until they were hungry again, so he gently eased Brienne’s head from his shoulder onto the pillow. He sat up, wrapping his right arm firmly around Robb, and leaning over to pick up Cat with his left. He rose from the bed, clasping the twins to his chest and making his way to the next room before seating himself in big armchair by the window.

He lay them down on each knee so he could look at their faces – as he'd hoped, they barely stirred. He would never tire of looking at them – he was intensely happy, but it was tempered by a thread of pain. He saw in them so much of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen as babes. It was hard not to see Cersei too, as much as he saw Brienne; and it was just as hard not to feel multiple layers of guilt. He breathed it all in – the shame at thinking of her, of his old life at what should be such a happy time, and the remorse at how he'd failed to protect all of them. Why was it he who got to have a new life, a real chance at happiness when they were all gone? Cersei had once told him that he never made anything better, and those words had haunted him in the days after his return from Dorne and Myrcella’s death. He intended to do all he could to prove her wrong.

"We can't go back. Only forwards." He whispered the words into the empty room. He'd been told that so many times over the past year, and he could do nothing but embrace it in spite of all his regrets. He leaned down to drop a kiss on each of their foreheads, sensing the thread that linked them far into his past. Had this truly been he and Cersei once, so free of sin, so innocent? Somehow, it must have been. He would not allow them to be robbed of their childhoods the way he had been.

"It will be better for you. I promise. I’ll be better for you." And this was a vow he was glad to swear, despite all the frustration he'd shown for oaths at one time or another. He would do everything in his power to give them a good life. And he would make sure they learned from his mistakes so they didn’t have to make so many of their own.

^^^^^^^^

Brienne leaned back against the pillows, cradling her newborn daughter in her arms. She felt so drained she wondered if she’d ever have the strength to move again, but she didn’t care. The tiny person she held had just transformed her entire view of life, and she knew she would never be quite the same person again. She’d loved this little girl long before she’d even begun to quicken in her womb, but she hadn’t known a love this profound was even possible until she looked into her face for the first time. With everything she felt for Jaime, she’d believed her heart to be full, but its capacity had surely just expanded tenfold.

“Hello my darling girl. I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you. You have no idea of the trouble you’ve caused. But your father and I love you so very, very much.” She smiled through the tears that fell from her eyes, tensing against a new pain that radiated out from her stomach. She’d had little practical experience of children entering the world, but she knew the afterbirth still had to come away, and assumed these were the final spasms that would make that happen. But she’d hoped they would hurt less than this.

The pain grew stronger, and she was forced to begin controlling her breath again. She locked eyes with Samwell, pleading with him to take the child before she risked injuring her, her body gripped with tension once more. Fortunately, he realised immediately, and took the babe from her, placing her down in the crib at the side of the bed. When he returned to Brienne, he had an expression of deep concern on his face, and a wave of fear washed through her. This much pain after the babe had arrived was not usual, surely? Was something wrong?

He pressed his hands to her stomach, moving them firmly over her skin, trying to determine why this was happening. Then, he froze in place, and she watched the colour drain from his face. Her heart pounded with terror. Was her new, beautiful life about to ripped from her grasp after all she’d endured? Sam stumbled over his words,

“There… there’s another baby…” She was hit by a choking wave of emotion – firstly confusion, then shock, fear and joy, but most of all relief, despite the crushing realisation that she was going to have to give birth for a second time. Did she have enough strength left? Only one thought possessed her,

“Fetch Ser Jaime. I need him… please…” She’d surely never made such a desperate plea in all her days, even over Jaime’s cold body, her throat parched and her voice rasping. Sam hesitated,

“But… I need to… the second babe will come quickly. There’s isn’t time.” She didn’t care. If she ended up delivering the child alone, in pain and desperately afraid, she had to have him try and get Jaime here before it happened. She wasn’t sure she could do this without him. She fixed Sam with a burning stare – she knew she was wasting energy she would shortly need, but she didn’t care, pressing forward and raising her voice as much as she was able,

“GET. JAIME.” She collapsed against the pillows again, panting from the effort, but she had made her message clear. He did not protest again but merely turned on his heel, and his departure was shortly followed by the sound of his breathless rush down the stairs. Brienne would probably have been amused at the unholy racket if she wasn’t in so much pain. She shifted, bringing her knees up, preparing for further exertion she wasn’t sure she was capable of. It meant she could now feel the baby’s head pressing between her legs. She reached down her hand, pushing her fingers inside herself despite how badly it burned, and they brushed against damp hair – seven hells, Sam had been right, just one or two pushes and it would be here.

Another, stronger pain came, and she bellowed all she was feeling to the empty room, startling her daughter who began to cry. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, trying to breathe deeply, to gain control of her gasping sobs. The urge to bear down was almost impossible to fight against, but somehow she managed to hold back. After all the enemies she’d vanquished, she could not allow her own body to defeat her now. She would keep this baby inside her until Jaime arrived if it killed her.

Then, he was here – rushing into the room, frantic, and with his strength to draw from she knew she could allow the shaky dam of her composure to breach completely. She broke down,

“I can't do it again. I can't.” She sounded truly pathetic, but as he climbed onto the bed beside her and she pressed herself into his arms, she couldn’t bring herself to care,

“Oh my love, if I could do it for you, you know I would. But you can do this. I know you can.” His surety bolstered her a little, but as her stomach tightened once again, the pain rising into her chest and threatening to crush the life from her, she was quickly overwhelmed,

“I can't Jaime. I don’t have enough strength left.” He raised his hand to brush her sweat-soaked hair from her cheek, then turned her face towards him so their eyes could meet,

“You can. You do. You're the strongest person I've ever known. Now push – I’m right here with you. Our son will be here in just a few moments.”

She had almost no time to process his final words, the strange conviction of them, before he gripped the back of her left thigh, leaning forward with her as she brought her head towards her knees. His lips brushed against her ear as he continued his stream of reassuring whispers; she couldn’t process what he was saying, but she could feel him willing his strength into her. Despite her doubts, she steeled herself to work as hard to birth their wholly unexpected second child as their first, but with Jaime's gentle, albeit fierce, encouragement their tiny son came shooting into the world with just that one long, agonising push, and Brienne collapsed back to the pillows relieved but utterly spent. If Grand Maester Samwell declared there to be any more babies inside her now he would have to cut them out.

^^^^^^^

Brienne woke to silence, stretching contentedly before starting to wonder why it was so quiet. She opened her eyes, sitting up slowly, gritting her teeth at the pain and stiffness she felt. She breathed through her discomfort and the frustration it brought. She’d just given birth, and she knew she should give herself time - she was impatient to start regaining her fitness, but she had to accept that she wouldn't be winning any tourneys just yet.

She’d naively expected to be back in her armour in a few days, but now she’d realised it would be months before she was sufficiently recovered from the physical trauma of pushing two babies from her body to even consider it. She’d required a significant number of stitches, and had been enlightened by Sam’s wife Gilly that the heavy bleeding that followed childbirth was likely to last for several weeks. She'd had very little emotional connection to that part of her body before she became intimate with Jaime, but since then she'd grown to rather like it, and the pleasure it could bring her. A part of her was worried that after the amount of pain she'd experienced down there, how badly she'd torn, she'd never want to have sex again, but she knew she'd feel differently once she'd had enough time to heal, mentally as well as physically.

Pausing until the pain of shifting on the bed abated, she ran a hand across her stomach. It still had a significant curve, but it was much softer now and the movements she’d become so accustomed to were conspicuously absent. She knew she would soon be glad to be free of the physical limitations of pregnancy, but at this moment she missed having her children inside her keenly.

Glancing through the doorway into the next room she could see the outline of Jaime's back. He was sitting near the balcony window – he'd clearly taken the babies so she could sleep and she felt her love for him burn strong in her chest. She stood, gingerly, and made her way over to where he sat with their son and daughter cradled in his lap. Seeing him with them brought back the image that had played across the flames on the night before his return – she'd thought then it was little more than a wishful dream, but now here they were. He looked up at her as she approached,

“They're settled. You should get some more rest.”

“And miss seeing them all nestled up with their papa?” The way he beamed at her words filled her heart with joy. Tyrion had told her, as Jaime lay cold, what it would have meant to him to be a father, and now she was blessed to get to see it. She sat down beside him, putting an arm around him and dropping her head onto his shoulder. He turned his face to kiss her temple,

“Well they're finally here. I can’t believe I’m saying ‘they’. It still hasn't quite sunk in that there’s two of them yet." He was right, it hadn't – she'd never once suspected there was more than one, all the time she'd carried them. But her feelings must be nothing to his,

"It’s the strangest feeling isn't it – we were imagining just one for so long. It must be especially odd for you though...” He nodded, and she looked up at his face to see a wistful expression,

"It's a second chance, in so many ways. I don't want to overthink it, just make the most of what we've been given." She knew there was a lot to untangle for him in their arrival, a whole mass of thoughts and feelings, to add to everything he was already dealing with. Working through all of it fully was likely to take years and she didn't want to press him on any of it right now. There would be a lot of healing in watching them grow, and growing with them. There had to come a time when they stopped questioning how they'd ended up here and just enjoyed it. Now seemed like that time – new life, a fresh start, a clean page.

“A son to inherit the Rock and a daughter for Tarth. Our fathers will be thrilled.” His was gone, of course, but she knew enough of Tywin Lannister to know that they may well have provided him with the heir he'd always wanted. Perhaps the Lannister family looked very different now, but the dynasty would live on regardless of whether or not Jaime’s father approved of its direction.

“Your father was thrilled.” Mention of Selwyn’s happiness filled her with warmth. She couldn’t wait to see her father and have him meet his grandchildren.

“We must have him come up later, and your brother.” She looked down at their beautiful children – somewhere inside her there must be fear; fear that there were now these two tiny people in the world who depended on her for everything. That much responsibility could be suffocating, especially when it was such a change of direction in her life. But it wasn't – her love for them, and her acceptance of that responsibility without question, had been instant and fierce. She'd held them and felt filled with purpose, the same way she had when she'd sworn her oaths. She'd never imagined a babe in her arms would feel as natural as a sword in her hand. She just had to hope she'd be as skilled at everything else that came with being a mother,

"Do you think we'll be good parents?" She pressed her head back into his shoulder again.

“I do. I don't think there's any great magic to it – we do what we think is best and we just love them. I think that’s all we really can do.” His confidence was reassuring; she supposed all new parents had feelings and questions like these. She brought her hand up and ran it through his hair.

"Love has worked for us so far."

Chapter 37: Epilogue: Still Falling For You

Chapter Text

Three years later...

Jaime leaned his arms on the balcony rail above Winterfell’s training yard. Below, his son and daughter were play fighting with wooden practice swords – he stopped short of calling it sparring despite his pride at their skill. They were a long way from any formal training, but he never ceased to be surprised at how much they absorbed from watching him, their mother, and their Uncle Pod.

They'd arrived here a few days before, the latest stop on King Bran's royal tour. The North was independent these days, of course, but maintained good relations with the Six Kingdoms, and the Northerners eyed Southern visitors with less suspicion now that Starks ruled Westeros. They'd been on the road for months, stopping first at Storm's End under the hospitality of Lord Gendry before taking a boat to Tarth.

It had been wonderful to finally visit his wife's homeland, to see its fabled beauty and eat at his father-in-law's table. It was just as peaceful and idyllic as he'd imagined; he lapped up Brienne's pleasure in showing him her favourite places, and Selwyn's joy at spending time with his grandchildren. A part of Jaime lamented how their duties kept them in King’s Landing and ruled out the possibility of settling here – it would be a different pace of life that he thought he could get used to in time.

He wasn't sure if it would suit Brienne though – she'd expressed her pleasure to be back out on the road indulging her adventurous spirit almost daily, and if he was honest he felt the same. It was a lovely dream though, at least for a little while, and they'd enjoyed taking time for themselves whilst at Evenfall. They'd found a secluded bay and made love on the sand, crystal blue water lapping at their toes.

From there they’d sailed back to the mainland and taken the Kingsroad to Harrenhal – that visit was the moment Jaime began to wonder if this tour was truthfully more for the benefit of his Grace's guards and advisors than for himself. A minor Lord had been installed to oversee the place and bring it back to some semblance of order, but Jaime was unsure that warranted a royal visit. He was glad to reacquaint himself with the bathhouse though, with his wife's company. Before leaving they'd stood in silence above the old bear pit, arm in arm, each knowing what was in the other’s thoughts.

After that they'd taken a few days with the King's cousin Robin Arryn at the Eyrie before pressing on to the North for a longer stay, and a host of planned activities including a tourney which Jaime was particularly looking forward to. It had been a long time since he'd swung a sword in competition and he was ready to test himself. Once they left here, they'd return to the south via Bran’s Uncle Edmure at Riverrun, then visit with the warden he and Tyrion had appointed at Casterley Rock until Robb came of age. Their final stop would be at Highgarden where Bronn would meet them before they returned to King’s Landing through the Reach. Jaime wondered if a trip to Sunspear would follow, but he would be happy never to see Dorne again.

With such a journey, retracing so many steps trodden years before, it was impossible not to be drawn back down a corridor of memory. That had once been a dark place for Jaime, but he looked on his past rather differently these days. The faces of his children were all it took to remind him of where he'd ended up, and that long road was what had lead him here despite its rocky nature and many twists along the way. He looked down into the yard again now and watched them playing happily. To them he had never been the disgraced Jaime Lannister; Kingslayer; man without honour. He was just their papa, and that was the greatest new beginning anyone could ever wish for.

“Why do your children have to be so f*cking tall!?” Jaime had been so deep in his own thoughts he hadn't heard his brother approach.

“I'm not sure what you think I can do about it. Besides, everyone's tall to you.” Tyrion smirked – he was almost always cheerful these days, but there was an extra spring on his step since their arrival in Winterfell,

“You could have married someone shorter and given me half a chance, but you had to fall in love with the tallest woman in Westeros. They're three and they're almost up to my shoulder. I'd have hoped they'd be looking up at their Uncle Tyrion for at least another five or six years. I’ll be lucky if I get two.” Jaime clapped him gently on the shoulder,

“They'll always look up to their Uncle Tyrion, no matter how tall they get.” Tyrion placed his hand over Jaime's and smiled up at him,

“It's strange to be back here isn't it? Last time we left I’m not sure either of us thought we'd be coming back again.” Wasn’t that the truth… Jaime sighed heavily and glanced away towards the Wolfswood beyond the western wall. Returning through the same arch he'd left by was a poignant moment for him – he’d ridden it side by side with Brienne and reached out to take her hand as they entered the yard. She'd squeezed it tightly and hadn’t let go until it was time to dismount. Revisiting this place had stirred up a whole pit of emotion for both of them, but they were getting through it together.

“I still wonder about how different it would all have been if I hadn’t left that night. If I'd spared Brienne those months of pain. But I don't let it haunt me any more." He looked down at his little brother again, but Tyrion's eyes were fixed forward across the yard. Turning to follow his gaze Jaime saw Queen Sansa, who was making her way in their direction but had paused to watch the children playing, a soft smile on her face. His eyes flicked back to observe Tyrion’s wistful expression as he watched her, and he felt a deep pang of empathy,

“Do me a favour little brother. Tell her how you feel.” He felt Tyrion tense where his hand still rested on his shoulder,

"But we can't..."

“I was dead. Don't talk to me about what is and isn't possible.” For once Tyrion remained silent, and Jaime continued, “Listen, it doesn't matter if you think there's a future in it or not. If you don't tell her you'll spend the rest of your life wondering.” He squeezed Tyrion on the shoulder once more, firmer this time, before walking down the steps towards the children.

^^^^^^^

Brienne walked through the archway into the training yard glancing about herself. Since the day they'd left King’s Landing life had felt a little surreal, returning to so many places that were filled with emotion for her. But being back here, the epicentre of her greatest joy and deepest sorrow was the most jarring. When she’d left to travel south in the immediate aftermath of the war, pregnant with the twins and burning with the pain of Jaime’s betrayal, she’d never imagined it would be nearly four years until she returned. She'd travelled to this place in her mind so often, it was hard to believe that she was now actually here, and that dreamlike feeling was only compounded by the piece of news she'd just received.

Jaime was in the middle of the yard play-fighting with their son and daughter. On any other day she'd have paused to watch them, enjoying his sweaty, smiling face and their giggles as they ran rings around him. But right now she had no time for such indulgence. Pod was also present, watching from his position by the stairs, and she moved in his direction. He glanced up and straightened when he saw her,

“Could you watch the children? I need to talk to my husband.” He nodded smartly,

“Of course Lord Commander.” She touched his shoulder gratefully, an affectionate gesture that she would normally reserve for when they were both off duty. He regarded her quizzically, and a part of her wanted to explain right away, but she would talk to him later,

“Will you take a drink with us tonight Pod?” This time his nod was softer, and accompanied with a smile.

“My Lady.” She wouldn't have accepted such an address from anyone else, but there remained an understanding between them that was theirs alone. It told her that he’d sensed she was engaged in a matter of personal, not official business. She smiled and nodded back before walking over to Jaime. The twins spotted her first and ran over to embrace her, their little arms wrapping around each of her thighs,

“Mamma, mamma...” She dropped her hands to their heads, stroking each thumb across soft, fair curls,

“You play with Uncle Pod for a while. Your father and I need to talk.” She glanced up at Jaime, to be met with a frown,

“Oh dear. Sounds ominous…” She couldn't tell if he was genuinely a little worried or just being his usual playful self,

“Not at all. Shall we take a walk?” She offered her arm and he hooked his stump through it, his hand stroking over her upper arm. She could tell then that he was a little nervous, but then so was she and perhaps he was picking up on that. She steered him towards the godswood – she wanted peace and privacy for what she was about to tell him and she knew she would find them there.

They walked beneath the trees for a few minutes in companionable silence whilst she worked out exactly what she was going to say. She felt him relaxing, but his hand still kept up its gentle, reassuring dance across her arm. Then, she finally spoke,

“We've never really talked about this, but... do you want more children?” He stopped, pulling them up short. He looked at her for a few moments, the question clearly having caught him unawares, before a broad smile slowly grew on his face,

“I'd love ten children with you – a whole pride of lions.” She laughed, incredulously,

“Ten!? And do you plan to carry them?”

“I don’t know about that. I'd enjoy making them though...” His flirtation twisted her gut deliciously, but now was not the time for that,

“Come on Jaime. I’m serious.” He returned to his thoughts for a few more moments, then continued their walk,

“Is that what you brought me out here to ask? I guess the past few years have been so busy that I haven't really thought about it, but I'd love us to have another baby.” She breathed out, relief flooding her – she didn't know why she'd been so nervous, what she'd expected him to say, but there was so much emotion tied up in this moment. She so desperately wanted him to be happy – for this to be everything that it should have been the first time around.

“Well that's good, because we are. Having another baby I mean…” It was clumsy, but watching his face as realisation sunk in was everything she'd dreamed of and more. His mouth dropped open – eyes moving from her face to where her free hand had come to rest on her belly, and back to her face,

“You're...” She waited interminable seconds before finishing his sentence for him,

“ ...pregnant. Yes – I just came from the maester." He moved in to embrace her so quickly he almost startled her, his lips meeting hers fiercely. His right arm pulled her to him, whilst the other snaked between them, hand coming to rest over hers on her stomach, despite the awkward angle. She lost herself in him for long minutes until he was the one who finally broke away,

“I love you so much.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the Keep, where the twins were surely still waving their practice swords at one another, watched over by their Uncle Pod, then back down at their clasped hands, “All of you. And this time I’m not going to miss a single second.”

They walked onward, she now clinging to his arm with her head on his shoulder, just savouring their happy, private moment together. Eventually, he broke the silence again,

“So you aren't going to be fighting in the tourney then?” There was a hint of trepidation in his tone, as if he wasn't sure whether she'd still insist on taking part. An echo of her behaviour when she'd been carrying the twins perhaps? A part of her wanted to say something reassuring, but it was always far more fun to tease, and it would mask her own small pang of sadness at the realisation she would have to miss out,

“I suppose not, but at least it means you'll have a chance of winning.” He smirked, bumping her gently with his hip,

“I thought we'd resolved that little argument a while back.” The reminder of their play fight in the snow made her shiver, but not as much as the kiss that followed, firm but slow and filled with promise. She began to wonder if somehow they could sneak away together, but their circuit of the godswood was almost complete, and she was beginning to feel a little tired and light-headed – feelings she’d doubtless be reacquainting herself with in the coming months. He broke away to look at her,

“I'm sure you're desperate to let Sansa know our big news. I'd like to go and tell Tyrion. I'll see you later.” The way he said later was suggestive, and she couldn't help but smile knowing his thoughts had strayed in the same direction as hers. She allowed herself to enjoy the indulgence of watching him walk away, the fitted breeches and short leather tunic he was wearing doing him a world of favours.

She smiled to herself as she set off in search of Sansa – no wonder they were expecting another baby. In many ways it was a surprise it hadn't happened sooner – she'd been religious about her regular moon tea when they’d started having sex again after the twins, but things were hectic and over the past year she hadn’t always remembered. It hadn't, therefore, been any more planned than the first time, but then nothing about their lives had been planned or prepared for. Why should they start worrying about such things now?

She enjoyed the walk around Winterfell as she looked for Sansa. There were many memories in this place, naturally not all happy ones, but being back here with Jaime by her side made reliving them so much easier. Waking in the same bed where he'd left her, to find his warm body snuggled close had healed every remaining trace of that crippling pain. She knew he loved her, and trust had rebuilt between them – sometimes she even thought it was deeper than it had been before. Breaking down then starting anew, as one, meant they were truly strong now.

Raising two children whilst carrying out their duties was by no means plain sailing – there were plenty of tough days, and a new baby would only add to those challenges, but they would continue to get through them together with the support of those around them.

Jaime still drove her crazy with his playful teasing, but he was so patient and loving with the children, and so attentive to her. And he was so damn beautiful – even after three years of marriage she glanced over at him some days and marvelled at the fact that he was hers. He took her breath away. She’d come so close losing him, and knowing that made her count her blessings every day.

She smiled at Pod as she passed the training yard – he was so absorbed with the children she wasn't sure if he saw her. Jaime was a little further away with Tyrion and, momentarily shy at being the focus of attention, she looked away before making eye contact. Roy, her newest White Cloak, stood on duty at the door to the main keep. They were now at a full complement of seven, the remaining three - Justan, Bennar and a woman named Myla, who Brienne had recruited a year earlier - had remained in King’s Landing with the rest of the Small Council to oversee the court in their absence.

She stepped inside, taking a slightly nervous breath – at least she'd be the one to tell Sansa she was with child this time, rather than the other way around. Glancing up she stopped dead. Sansa was sitting at the long table with Bran, Jon Snow who had travelled from Castle Black to visit with his cousin, and Arya who had returned to Winterfell from her quest to the east a few months earlier, brimming with stories of adventure. Bran of course rarely showed any emotion, but Sansa was beaming with happiness to have her family around her. Brienne began to back away, not wishing to intrude, but the King beckoned her forward,

“Lord Commander, you wish to speak with my sister the Queen. We are finished here for the time being.” She felt her face flush - embarrassed that Bran, as always, already knew her business there. Perhaps honour demanded she should have told him first, but there was of course no tradition dictating any of this. He seemed unconcerned, and motioned for Jon to push his chair, so she resolved to speak with him later. Arya followed leaving Brienne and Sansa alone,

“Ser Brienne, I have so been wanting to make time for us to talk. There has just been such a great deal to discuss with all my family here.”

“Of course, your Grace. I have looked forward to speaking with you too, very much. And I have some news of my own I wanted to share...”

^^^^^^^^

That night, moon lancing in through the high window, Jaime stared down at Brienne’s face as she slumbered, all thought of his own sleep sacrificed for these precious moments. It was no accident, he was certain, that her Grace Queen Sansa had assigned them the same room in which they'd made love for the first time, nor that she'd arranged for the children to have a nurse and sleep in a smaller chamber several rooms away.

They had both been delighted to relive that night of almost four years ago, more than once, his beautiful wife never ceasing to astonish him with her boundless passion. Lying together afterwards, she’d asked him if he still hated the f*cking North and they’d laughed and laughed until they fell into one another’s embrace again. Knowing that they would, before long, have a third little one to add to their life of joyful chaos made such time alone all the more special.

Jaime's thoughts wandered once again to the long series of events that had brought them here; knowing he'd come so close to being forever entombed with his sister, that she had almost owned his entire life, was terrifying to him. The fact that, by some extraordinary miracle, he'd escaped was his greatest blessing.

It was only the strong, deep connection with the woman who lay beside him, the true love of his life, and what she'd seen in him that had been his salvation. She had given him the chance to start all over again. He snuggled in closer to her, his hand sliding down to rest on her belly where the new tiny life they'd created was safely nestled. He was the luckiest man alive.

“I love you my darling.” He whispered it softly, but with conviction – he loved her so much he could sometimes barely breathe. “You never need to worry about the future again. I'm all yours. Always.”