"Promises"
A/N: Not Mine.
Of course he would perish in the Riverlands – where she had found him beneath the layers of what he was not, where he had awoken and was forced to confront the man he wanted to be.
"Do not weep for me, woman," he managed. "A warrior should not mourn an oath-breaker, a Kingslayer, a man without honor…"
Brienne of Tarth cradled his head in her lap, brushing fresh snowflakes from his face and wiping warm blood from his mouth. She looked pale, her blue armor hung heavy and tarnished on her broad body. Her radiant eyes, wet with tears, betrayed her steady voice. "You have honor, Ser Jamie. I've seen it."
The formality bit at his chest. "Lady Brienne, you frustrate me."
Moments ago, Jamie had taken an ax to the chest, a fatal wound which denied him a quick death as his punctured lung filled with blood. A reanimated corpse had dealt the blow, its intended target the uncommonly tall woman who had saved his life years ago. After all, a Lannister always pays his debts…
Her Valaryan steel sword had whistled past him as he fell, and the wight was obliterated – broken into thousands of frozen pieces.
"You mustn't speak. Save your strength. Podrick! We must find a maester immediately."
The young squire stood just beyond Brienne's shoulder. Neither the knight nor her attendant was good at lying, Jamie's fate written over his face.
"Don't waste the lad's time."
"You must live." Even now, even if it was futile, she still attempted to save him.
He shivered. The ground he lay on was covered with snow, his red, Lannister blood seeping from him and stealing what warmth he had left. Jamie was tired and his mind wandered – to his brother, to Cercei, to his dead children and dead father… He remembered the little Stark boy whose legs he'd stolen; Ned Stark's judgment when he found him sitting upon the Iron Throne and a dead King at his side; and Lady Catelyn's strength as she demanded he swear to the safe return of her daughters. It was the one oath he had kept, for both daughters were now under the protection of Brienne of Tarth and the sword he had gifted her.
Brienne.
She'd said something he couldn't decipher. And he made a hopeless effort to focus on her voice, her blue eyes, and her thin lips, struggling to claim them as if he could take those memories with him. Brienne was more woman than any he had ever met - fierce and loyal. And beautiful. A beauty that transcended the fictitious sort he had been taught.
He recalled the baths of Harrenhaul and the steam that had enveloped both of them as he confessed his treason to her. Jamie remembered her naked form when she stood, defiantly. How he could have doubted the lady's armor hid softness and curves was beyond him. Even now, with death whispering in his ear, he felt a twinge in his britches. Brienne was – is – a warrior, but she was a woman nonetheless, a woman he wanted then and a woman he was in awe of now.
"Jamie," she pleaded, waking him from his recollection. "If I can get you on a horse, we can ride to the Stark camp."
"By the Gods, Brienne. Don't you see I've been blessed?" He reached for her face with the only hand he had, pushing her matted straw hair from her forehead and stroking her cheek. "Most men are not allotted the luxury to die in the way they wish."
Her forehead wrinkled. "I won't let you die."
"But you must." He laughed. "You would deny my last request? Dying in the arms of the woman I love?"
"Jamie – "
"It's true," he interrupted. "It's always been true. I knew it when I foolishly jumped into that bear pit after you, and I should have declared as much after we climbed out." His fingers twisted in her short, blonde hair. "You are the most magnificent and noble person I have ever met. No man or woman can claim to possess a quarter of your goodness, and no man is worthy to stand in your presence."
Brienne's mouth hung open as she silently fought to say something in return.
"I'm sorry all I can offer you are words and unrequited affection."
Her mouth covered his, a clumsy kiss that tasted of blood and tears. But after a moment or two, if felt as if they had been at practice for years, and he cursed his broken, dying body, wishing he had more time – an hour, a day, a lifetime to love this woman in a way she deserved.
Now it was Jamie choking back tears as the darkness pulled at him, "You do me great honor, my lady."
"Honor me by surviving."
"I refuse to make a promise I will only break." His eyelids grew heavy, and he forced himself to speak. "Let me sleep. Let me sleep…"
And sleep he did.