**Season 8 Episode 5 Spoilers**

Valonqar

We carry on through the storm
Tired soldiers in this war
Remember what we're fighting for
(SVRCINA – Meet Me on the Battlefield)

Jaime kept one eye on the sky, scanning for the dragon, and the other on the road in front of him. He forced himself to keep looking ahead, knowing full well that should his gaze falter, and he looks back to the North, his resolve would weaken, and he would be hightailing it straight back to Winterfell.

The Kingslayer only had one thing on his mind. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. Naturally, however, on the long, long road from the North to King's Landing, the only thing to keep you occupied, other than focusing on the rhythm of the horse's hooves drumming against the ground, was a man's own thoughts. Jaime found his mind often drifting from the current objective to what he had to give up to achieve it, completely against his own will.

After a man has fought in as many battles as Jaime had, he gains a sixth sense of whether or not his current complement would achieve victory. Currently, all Jaime's senses were pointing towards the Dragon Queen's army, or what was left of it, being crushed under Cersei's weight. For he wasn't sure how a half-beaten army, fighting more out of debt and duty than loyalty and love, was supposed to defeat an army of men ready to sacrifice everything for their city, just as they had once before. Sure, their side might have a dragon, but at the end of the day was one beast really going to make them a match for a full-strength Iron Fleet and Golden Company?

Something he was sure about, though, was that he just did not give a fuck anymore. He didn't care about this 'Game of Thrones' and who was going live and who was going to die, innocent or otherwise. He was done playing, done watching people sacrifice themselves over and over for the sake of which person got to sit on a goddamn chair, which, incidentally looked about as comfortable as sitting on a knife's edge. It needed to end, and Jaime could only think of one way it could.

"You do care for one innocent."

Yes.

"I know you do."

Well, you probably should, considering your little game was partly the reason we ended up as we did.

"…And so does Cersei."

Ah.

Tyrion was mistaken. His emotions and divided loyalties were clouding his judgement. Yes, Jaime cared for one innocent, but it wasn't innocence in the same way a newborn babe looked at the world. He cared for someone innocent in the way she regarded him; someone who hadn't been tainted by the way he hated himself. Though the word was not altogether entirely accurate, especially after he had so gladly taken her innocence a few weeks back.

It was not appropriate to smirk at his own thoughts while Tyrion was pouring his heart out. Those bug eyes of his were pleading, and Jaime thought he was on the verge of tears.

Why on earth did he want to save her anyway? To say that Cersei had tortured him their entire childhood would have been an understatement. He had definitively chosen his side in this war when he had accepted his position as Daenerys' Hand, serving a Queen who would do her very best to make sure that Cersei did not live past tomorrow.

Jaime responded to Tyrion's plans with half-arsed sarcastic remarks. Just enough to make Tyrion keep talking, for what his little brother did not realise was that he was just giving him a way to get to Cersei and that was precisely what he wanted.

"Do it!" Tyrion implored, "if you don't, you never see Cersei again… Swear to me."

"I give you my word."

If Jaime's only good hand were not in handcuffs at that moment, he would have crossed his fingers.

He was a bad person, who always had and always would be a bad person. He had lied to someone who prided herself on her oaths and her word, and now he was lying to his brother, a man who was trying desperately to do something for their family, for him. And it was looking more and more likely that they would never see each other again.

King's Landing was burning, the fire spreading faster than Jaime had been expecting. The city was getting battered. Those who weren't scorched to death were getting stampeded by the crowds. If you were weak, if you stumbled, you were dead, and that was that.

It was just as Tyrion said. Jaime had pushed his way out of the city and made his way around to the beaches, the Iron Fleet collapsing like little toy boats behind him. There was a dinghy, waiting for a daring escape that would more than likely never happen, and the dark caves that would lead him directly to Cersei.

In the air was the smell of battle: ash, death, salt and urine. The latter of which was coming directly from the piss bucket that had decided to stand in front of him and declare himself a king. Well, if you became King by commanding a few soldiers and sticking your cock in Cersei Lannister, then Jaime had been crowned several times over.

Euron Greyjoy was just baiting him, but the insults washed straight over. He wasn't even listening, other than to fight for his life against the drowned little rat in front of him. There was a job to do, and he would be damned if this stupid fisherman in front of him was going to stop him from getting to Cersei's side. Getting where he needed to be.

Gods, if Greyjoy was worth anything to anybody the words 'we need to get the Queen out of King's Landing' would have surely been enough to broker a temporary truce between the two men. But instead, they were whacking swords at each other and waving fists and one step away from getting their dicks out to measure them.

He did not have the time for this, and his rush and desperation to wipe Greyjoy from the face of the earth was causing him to get sloppy with his technique, allowing the sorry excuse of a man to get hits in. Greyjoy's jabs were painful, but Jaime had lost a hand before, and in comparison with that, the combination of stress and adrenaline currently coursing through his veins dulled the pain somewhat.

Jaime swung his fist, then Greyjoy swung his, and it was blow after blow until they ended up tussling in the shallows of the sea. One sharp punch had him taking a mouthful of saltwater and choking and coughing on a mixture of that and his own blood. With his face throbbing, he mustered his own determination and resolve. If by some slim miracle he survived this then he could go home, and if home had to be in Winterfell, then so fucking be it. Sure, he would have to beg a thousand times over for forgiveness, but it would be worth it.

That push was all he needed to get the upper hand, and Jaime sat on Greyjoy's back, using every ounce of strength he had to keep the man's head under the water. Greyjoy flapped and floundered, futilely splashing at the water like a fish trapped in a fisherman's net. When he finally stopped, and his body went limp, Jaime allowed himself ten seconds of satisfaction before dragging himself back onto the beach. Singing songs about him murdering that pathetic mess as if that made him a Kingslayer twice over would be a waste of breath.

There were a lot of stairs to the Red Keep, and each step echoed with the risk of the building crumbling around him. The beating of the dragon's wings and the roar of its fire dulled the sounds of the bells that should have signalled the City's surrender and the screams of those trapped and dying.

As he climbed the staircase, one foot in front of the other and trying to ignore the scenes outside, he wondered why he was so calm. He had thought that he would not be able to hear anything over the sound of his heart beating, like it was when they fought back to back against the White Walkers and her grunts and shouted commands were the only things he was able to hear over the thud, thud, thud of his own heart beating.

Jaime had been joined unexpectedly by the Hound at this point. He hadn't even been aware that the other man was there, and they had not said anything to each other as they walked. There was no need for a discussion, they just understood that each of them had a story they needed to finish. Step after step each man took towards their fate, towards whatever monster awaited each of them at the top of the tower.

There were barely any guards left; some had abandoned, others had joined the fighting down below, and many were dead. The ones who were there took one look at Jaime's golden hand and stepped aside. Others ran in fear when the Hound simply growled at them.

The doors to the room near the top of the tower, the one in which Cersei had been stood to watch the battle, were flung open just as Jaime and the Hound were nearing the top. The great figure of the Mountain, Cersei's faithful guard dog, dominated the doorway. His small mutilated eyes peering out at them through the gaps in the helmet.

"I'm here for Cersei," Jaime declared loudly, but there was no reaction from the man who was looking straight past him.

"Hello big brother," Clegane breathed, one hand on his sword. Jaime ducked to the side of the stairwell as a few of Cersei's guards came towards them and were quickly run through, blood spattering on the floors and the walls, giving a whole new meaning to the name 'Red Keep.'

They didn't touch Jaime; he was allowed to pass following Cersei's quiet command. She was stood behind the Mountain, her eyes slightly bloodshot and clasping her hands together to stop them trembling. He walked straight up to her and grabbed her by the wrist, determinedly ignoring Qyburn's mules of protests and dragged her back into the chambers, slamming the door shut again behind them.

"Jaime, we have to go," Cersei said, her voice faltering but whether that was from the surprise of seeing him again or the shock of losing a battle that had been so heavily stacked in her favour, Jaime wasn't sure.

"In a minute," he replied simply, noticing that he hadn't dropped hold of her wrist just yet, nor had she pulled away from his grip, "if we go now we will get caught up in the fight outside and then we will be as good as dead anyway."

"The tower is unstable," she protested feebly, "I don't want to go either, but it could fall at any moment."

"In a minute," Jaime repeated, meeting her eyes. He never thought he would see Cersei again, so sure that when he chose to leave, he had chosen to die in the North by her side. Surviving had been a miracle, making the decision to return had been necessary. The guilt of his decisions turned in his stomach as Cersei touched his face gently, her fingers burning against his skin.

"You came back for me," she whispered, some of the shock apparently wearing off as she moved further into his arms. She grasped at the back of his neck and clutched at his shirt, her actions leaving a sour taste in Jaime's mouth.

Once upon a time, he would have done anything for the woman in front of him. She was all he had been able to see for years. His life had been hers to do with what she would. But now, she didn't fit properly in his arms. He was uncomfortable, where she used to be a missing piece to his puzzle, there was now this schism between them, but he was unsure which one of them had changed.

That was a lie.

She had changed him, with her unwavering strength and resolve. Jaime was not the person he was once where he had pushed Brandon Stark from a tower in Cersei's name. He was a bad person, but she had taught him how to take the more honourable road, make the choice that would benefit the many. She thought he was a good man and he had wanted to be good, for her.

It was a realisation that had struck him like Greyjoy's knife, something that he could never have ignored however much he had tried. He and Cersei had come into this world together, and they were a part of each other. But she was a poison that he was addicted to for so long, the very worst parts of him. Parts he wished he was able to forget, but couldn't bring himself to regret because without her he would be nothing. Without Cersei, he would never have met her. Their paths just would never have crossed, and he would have been stuck in a toxic loop, unaware that there was something better for him out there.

"I came back because I had to," he said quietly, brushing Cersei's hair gently from her forehead. The short hair had never quite suited her, but it was a symbol of what she had been through and overcome. He admired her for that, which made what he had to do all the more bittersweet.

Jaime could see the fear in her eyes, at this moment she was human. Not the untouchable Queen she had been the last time he had seen her.

"We need to go," she said again, "We can run, regroup and plan on how to retaliate."

He shook his head, gently biting his lip as he slowly backed Cersei towards the window she had been stood at this entire time. The kingdom crumbling outside, raining fire and ash.

"This has to end," he said quietly.

"It will end when I win," Cersei said, with such conviction that Jaime was close to believing her. The use of the word 'I' struck a chord, for she was only thinking of herself. Even in this situation, he had come back for her and yet she was still able to treat him as a pawn in her games. Once she had it all, but it had all been taken from her now. There was just one thing left.

"I'm sorry," Jaime said, his voice barely more than a whisper and his fingers trembling as they brushed her cheeks and moved to her neck. "There will be no peace for either of us otherwise."

"What are you doing?"

Jaime watched as Cersei's eyes changed from fear to anger as she realised. Her hands dropped to her sides, and he looked away, not wanting to see the life fall from her eyes as he began to squeeze her neck.

He was gentle at first, and Cersei almost smiled. Signing herself to this fate, her hands crossing her stomach.

"Three children… gold their shrouds," she coughed out. Jaime frowned and paused, unsure of what she was referring to. "I always thought this child, your child, was too good to be true." She coughed again, Jaime took a step, digging his feet into the ground and gritting his teeth. "Valonqar... my Jaime… I never thought that it would be you. That woman wasn't beautiful enough to take everything."

"She is beautiful. She is good and noble and brave. She has… everything that you do not."

"Including your heart."

Jaime nodded. Gone was the time for lies, he owed Cersei the truth, completely and utterly, however brutal. Especially considering what he was about to do to her. He started squeezing Cersei's neck, tighter and tighter, until her face began to turn red.

"Look at me," she choked, "look me in the eyes as you end this."

He had to force himself to meet her gaze, but he did so. His own eyes filled with tears as he watched the life drain slowly from her and eventually, though it felt like a lifetime, they closed for good. Jaime's legs could not support him any longer, and he fell to his knees, cradling Cersei's now lifeless body in his arms. A mixture of emotions flooded through him, heartbreak and pain at the forefront but also, more shamefully, a feeling of relief and of freedom.

The Red Keep fell moments later, the tower collapsed into the fire, and Jaime Lannister was destroyed right along with it, holding the body of the dead Queen in his arms. He should've known from the moment he had turned away from the North that he would not return, and in his last moments, he prayed for forgiveness. Not from the Gods, he couldn't give a fuck about them, but from her.

Jaime pressed his lips to Cersei's pale forehead and looked out to the sky, murmuring softly to himself before he fell.

"Ah, the things we do for love."

A/N: Thank you for reading :) Follows, Favourites and Reviews are always massively appreciated!