Author's Note- This wasn't supposed to be anything spectacular, but then I put pen to paper – or fingers to keyboard, if we're going for accuracy – and started going off on a tangent. Rewatching Jaime's trial at Winterfell, and the subsequent aftermath, I felt there was something missing, something I could add. And so I did :) Considering I've never written for this fandom before, I wanted to try getting my hands wet just a little, to see how I liked it.

Please enjoy and if you like it enough, please review. I like to know how I did

Where the Demons Hide
written by Celtic Pixie

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"Don't be pushed around by the fears in your mind. Be led by the dreams in your heart." -Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart

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Silence cut through the Great Hall like a butter knife; the kind of silence where every last breath could be heard and every last creek in the floorboards made a sound louder than it should have, as if the sound echoed in the hall itself. There were four of them seated at the table—Sansa, her brother Bran, the dragon queen, and to her right was Jon Snow; Grey Worm stood there also, he neither moved nor blinked, something that set Tyrion on edge; the fury was written in his Queen's eyes, and in the way Sansa's expression melted into hatred.

Standing in the center of the room was Jaime Lannister; his stance was firm, rigid, yet his eyes had betrayed him. His focus on the dragon queen, though his gaze somewhat sullen. Hers burrowed into his soul. Jaime tried not to think about the dozens of eyes watching him, judging him, sizing him up, and of a certain sapphire-blue pair; wide, soft, gentle even. Blood pounded in his veins. Every inch of him was on fire. He tried drowning it out by allowing his mind adrift, for a moment, but the incessant pounding in his chest distracted him. Louder, louder, and louder it got. Jaime took a breath, trying to even out the rapid stamping of his heart before that too betrayed him.

Daenerys adjusted in her chair; "When I was a child," -Tyrion followed his Queen's line of sight; he swallowed again, realizing those green eyes were transfixed on the man standing before her- "my brother would tell me a bedtime story, about the man who murdered our father—who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat, who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood pooled onto the floor. He told me other stories as well—about all the things we would do to that man…"

Kingslayer—a man without honor, sworn sword to his king, Aerys Targaryen, until he drove his sword into that king's back, betraying every vow he ever took. The story was almost as legendary as the act itself. It followed Jaime like a shadow; every step he took, every move he makes—it haunted him like a bad dream he could not wake from. Except, he was awake, and he was living it. But if being awake was like living a lie than he must be living more of a truth when asleep, when he could turn away from being judged. Brienne was able to see through him once, into the man no one knew him as; he told her the hard truth about the Mad King, the story no one in the Seven Kingdoms knew.

Brienne believed him then, as she believed him now. She knew him to be a man of honor, as he had proven to her more than once before. She allowed her sapphire-blue eyes to skip about the room; first, they were looking at Sansa, the lady she was sworn to protect, then to Daenerys, rightful Queen of these kingdoms, and finally to Jon Snow; they shared a look; with that one look, Jon knew.

But the dragon queen hadn't caught the woman's gaze as Jon had, so she didn't know what emotions may be lurking in them; her focus, on Jaime Lannister. "Your sister pledged to send her army north—well, I don't see an army. I see one man, with one hand." Daenerys bitterly sighed, but it was carefully hidden and instead vibrated her bottom lip. "It seems your sister has lied to me."

Jaime exhaled, slowly, then responded, "She lied to me as well." It bothered him very much that he had trusted her word only to be hilariously disappointed; in hindsight, he should have suspected something like this would happen. "She never had any intention of sending her armies north-" A look is exchanged between the dragon queen and Jaime's little brother, but he didn't catch it; had he, he might notice a splitting hatred there just below the cracks. "-She has Euron Greyjoy's fleet, and twenty thousand fresh troops—The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she'll have more than enough to destroy the survivors…"

Now, it was Daenerys's turn to look upon Jaime again; "We?" She had a hard time believing him. This man, this knight, this Kingslayer as he is rudely called, would dare to consider there is a 'we' in this situation was laughable; she didn't, laugh that is, instead keeping those thoughts to herself where only she could think upon them.

Her poignant sharp tongue scrapped his heart. "I promised to fight for the living, and I intend to keep that promise."

Tyrion stepped forwards; "Your grace, I know my brother—"

Daenerys hissed a growl as her focus now turned to him; "Like you knew your sister?!"

The veracity in her words stung him. "-He came here alone knowing full well how he'd be received. Why would he do that if he weren't telling the truth?"

"Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him—right up to the moment he slits my throat."

Sansa spoke up; she'd been silent, up until now; "You're right. We can't trust him." Daenerys, and every other lord or lady sitting in that room now all looked to the Lady of Winterfell. "He attacked my father in the streets, he tried to destroy our house and my family- " she indicated towards Daenerys- "-the same as he did yours."

"You want me to apologize? I won't!" Jaime sucked in a breath; he could probably hang for his words, probably deserved it, among other things, but he continued on; "We were at war. Everything I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again." Swallowing a tiny lump into his belly, he took a step; the Unsullied standing at Jon's side gripped hard his weapon, as a few people inched to move against the Lannister cunt, and Jaime tried not to imagine his head rolling onto the floor as Grey Worm lobbed it off his shoulders. "Your grace, milady—I won't ask for forgiveness because I can't. I can't give you what you seek—because the man you abhor so much no longer exists."

"So why have you abandoned your house and family now?" the Daenerys questioned.

He answered without thinking; "Because—" Jaime spared a glance behind him, to the woman sitting silent, and only shared a look; there was so much her could have said, to them, to her, but he remembered what she last said to him. "—this goes beyond loyalty…" Pulling his lingering gaze away from Brienne, he now looked to the four at the front table again. "…this is about survival…"

Brienne exhaled slowly, releasing the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding; avoiding the gazes and the suspicious looks from the others as she pushed herself to stand, cross the room, and put herself between Jaime and Daenerys's piercing glare; she disputed, "You don't know me well, your Grace, but I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once. But when we were both taken prison and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me—and lost his hand because of it." Her gaze shifted from the dragon queen to Sansa, and she was sure her heart was pounding enough to start singing. "Without him, milady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home… because he had sworn an oath to your mother…"

Bran had remained silent for the better part of this gathering; but he had been watching, and he'd been reading them like a book, and he had been studying the way Jaime and Brienne acted, taking note of the heightened awareness. "The things we do for love." It was emotional, to the fact, and managed to instill a silence unlike the one broken only by the crackle of fire.

And suddenly, every last person in that room had all been looking at the young lord; including Brienne, whose blood had run hot in her veins and whose breathing had sharpened in her chest. His words had pushed a dagger through her heart; her mind called back a moment between them, before this moment, as he informed her of Jaime's lone arrival, though not being too direct. Brienne realized that Bran had known the entire time, and he knew she would stand for Jaime, and vouch for him as she was doing now.

Daenerys took a minute, once she had come back into herself, and then her glare was on Jaime; "The only fact of the matter is that you are standing here because of the small mercies we have granted you." Small mercies—it wasn't something Jaime deserved; Sansa knew this, Daenerys knew this. The dragon queen wanted him dead the moment she learned of him crossing into Winterfell. There was only one reason Jaime Lannister was still breathing—and that reason was standing in front of him.

Sansa had no cause in the world to doubt the woman's courage or loyalty. Watching Brienne speaking on Ser Jaime's behalf had filled her soul with joy. It definitely wasn't a matter of question; she knew how Brienne felt towards the Kingslayer. "Lady Brienne, I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours…then we should let him stay…"

Daenerys was a bit surprised by Sansa's pronouncement; maybe, she half-expected the good lords gathered, and the Lady, to call for Ser Jaime to be shackled, sent back to King's Landing, surrender him to the mercy and grace of his sister-lover. Before she looked towards Jon, Daenerys sat there trying to read into the woman who just stood in front of a room defending someone whom all of them hated; maybe except for Tyrion.

"What does the Warden of the North say about this?"

If he hadn't been paying attention, she might have caught him off his guard. Jon had been listening, but he had been doing more than just listen; he was studying, he was studying the Lady Brienne of Tarth, and the many expressions dancing in his sapphire-blues. Her face had not betrayed any of these, or the thoughts that might be swimming in her head, but if they had been shouting aloud, then Jon had been listening.

Jon took in a breath, fixed this whole time on the only two people standing with enough gall in their souls for a challenge; "We need every man we can get."

Brienne studied then just then, all of them, including Tyrion, who had remained silent as the others spoke. Her eyes skipped over the Unsullied man known as Grey Worm, and she felt a sense of sorrow, yet duty and honor towards his Queen. She admired that. The other lords and ladies, women and men, all those who stood behind her had said nothing. She did not ask it of them. She simply nodded her thanks and took her leave of them; let them talk behind my back, she thought. Let them run away with their jeers and their snickering and their distrust. Their opinions were not her problem.


Tyrion wandered the interior courtyard, passing by blacksmiths, woodworkers, cooks, and Stark soldiers. A few of the Unsullied were assisting to oversee the construction of the gate's defenses. The smell of food turned his stomach; the smell was reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet today, but he wasn't positive he wanted stew for his meal, either. These days, the contents of the stew could be questionable. If it were, say, rabbit or beef with a side of crusted bread, then perhaps. But these were times of war and good, hearty stew was a rare feast. He wasn't really looking out for anyone in particular when Jaime walked up, and Tyrion stopped short, until the brothers stood mere inches away from the other.

He was grateful seeing his brother again; "So, here we are." Strange; the last time the brothers were here together at Winterfell, circumstances were drastically different—he was a drunken whoremonger, and Jaime was fucking their sister. Oh, how the years and times had changed.

"Yes, here we are." Jaime looked straggly; his hair had grown, unkempt, sporting a touch of grey, and his facial hair to match.

"Together again." His eyes wandered, until they noticed three Stark soldiers standing on a bridge landing above them. Though when Jaime followed to where his brother looked, one of the men locked eyes with the Kingslayer and spit. Tyrion commented, "And the masses rejoice…"

Jaime started wandering off. "How do they feel about their new queen?"

"She's your new queen too." Tyrion began walking with Jaime. "They remember the last time a Targaryen brought dragons north. They'll come around once they see Daenerys is different."

"But she is—" Jaime served one mad ruler before; he knew what happened then, and he wasn't keen on the idea of watching it happening again. "—different?"

Tyrion nodded, affirming his brother's inquiry. He was sure about it, even if Jaime pointed out that Daenerys seemed unsure about him. But it was hard to blame her. He made mistakes. He underestimated his opponents, and this resulted in lies, deceit, and mistrust.

"She didn't seem sure about you."

"It's hard to blame her." Tyrion surely didn't; he hardly trusted his own judgement sometimes. Humanity is a condition. "I've made mistakes, I underestimated my opponents." They walked, passing by a smithy hammering away at a breastplate, and young woman, who nursed an infant to her breast; Tyrion noticed how his brother's gaze wandered. "Cersei told me the pregnancy had changed her. A chance for you both to start again and I believed her." Once they reached the staircase, he stopped, and Jaime did as well. Turning, Tyrion addressed his brother head on. "Was she lying about the baby?"

"The truth? I don't know what to believe from her mouth anymore." Jaime sighed. "She's always been good at twisting the truth to tell lies." And he believed her. He was always believing her. Even after everything she'd done, he was still at her heel, like a whipped dog. "I wouldn't be too hard on yourself. She's fought me more than anybody." Tyrion stopped again, shooting the look—that look—the kind that made Jaime ask, "What?"

"She never fooled you," he went on, "You always knew exactly what she was, and you loved her anyway."

She infuriated him beyond comprehension. Jaime was tired of coming up with excuses for her; he knew exactly what she was; unfortunately, he had loved her anyway. Yet another fault of his. Perhaps he gave into her with his love a little too much. It blinded him to the truth; of what kind of person Cersei truly had become. But maybe she had always been that way and he just chose to ignore that.

The youngest Lannister did have a point, however; Jaime had always given himself over to Cersei, mind, body, and soul. It was outlandish for Jaime even thinking of another woman; his love for his sister went far beyond what love one would bear for a sibling; they had been involved in a sexual and romantic affair for many years since their youth – despite the cultural taboo of incest. Their relationship early on had been experimental but eventually culminated into a fierce, chaotic relationship. While Jaime did indeed love his sister deeply, she could only return such affection in a mild manner; Cersei did love him, but moreso considered him her brother first and her lover second. Despite her numerous interests in other men, Jaime always remained faithful to her; never kissed another one, never laid with another woman.

But, just then, however, Jaime's mind slipped into that place again, a place once only reserved for someone else. His heart was beating a little more quickly when Brienne's face came to mind. That face—oh how he had thought about kissing that face for years; before her departure from King's Landing, seeing her again at Riverrun—he definitely gave it some thought, and maybe even rebuked himself for even doing so.

Tyrion marched up the steps, and Jaime followed behind, until they stood on the bridge that overlooked the interior courtyard. "So, we're going to die, at Winterfell," there was a certain bit of humor in that, "not the death I would have chosen. I always imagine myself dying in my own bed, at the age of eighty, with a belly full of wine and a girl's mouth around my cock—"

"—around your cock."

The younger chuckled; he can't remember the last time he and Jaime chuckled at anything, much less had a conversation that lasted longer than a few minutes. "Well, at least Cersei won't get to kill me. I'm sure I'll feel some satisfaction denying her that pleasure while I'm being ripped apart by dead men."

He prattled on, lamenting about marching down to King's Landing after he had arisen a Wight, and ripping his dear sister apart as well. Tyrion hadn't realized until after his proclamation that Jaime wasn't listening. In fact, the older brother wasn't even standing next to him any longer; he wandered off, clearly distracted by something he'd seen outside the gate. Curious, Tyrion followed to where his brother stood. Jaime's wondering attention finally made sense to him when he spotted Brienne of Tarth standing about below them, young swordsmen practicing their techniques as she watched, judging, critiquing their forms.

Tyrion looked over at his brother, smirked, and he was no longer contemplating their intimate death but rather the way Jaime was watching the sapphire-blue eyed woman. "You're still breathing because of her, you know." Jaime had shaken himself from his stupor, looked down at his little brother, "Queen Daenerys would have liked to see you hang for your crimes, and Lady Sansa did not dissuade her."

"Perhaps I should."

"But Lady Brienne—" He paused, thinking about the Lady coming to them, genuflecting before the Queen, and her Lady, once hearing Jaime had been locked up, "—she appealed to your better judgement. I admired her." He saw the softness in Jaime's eyes the more he started talking about it. "Brienne must really care for you, though Seven Hells, I can't see why…"

Jaime choked back a lump in his throat. "She said this?"

"She didn't have to." Tyrion flashed his brother a cheeky smile, then patted his arm and marched off.


He didn't know what he'd find in the front courtyard, other than the young men and women practicing their sword play, and Grey Worm overseeing the construction of their defenses. The man didn't strike Jaime as someone who would be open for conversation, so he didn't even try. He observed Podrick in a dueling dance with another young lad, maybe even someone younger than Joffrey had been, and he judged the young squire's form to be decent enough. To be fair, Jaime never spent much time with the lad, or took the effort to appeal to him. His draw pulled from Podrick to Tarth maiden overseeing the practice; Jaime thought to stop, to turn around, to leave from her sight where he'd retire to the meager guest quarters and not lay eyes on the sapphire-blue eyed woman until the battle.

Jaime couldn't exactly do that though. He was far too in. The closer he got to her, the harder it was to breathe. His lungs might have stopped breathing if he hadn't remembered to will them to continue. Trying to regulate his breathing while his heartbeat thrummed was challenge. Brienne did have that certain way about her that made both of these functions damn near impossible. And when she saw him there, and looked at him, Jaime was for sure that both of which would stop.

She looked at him, and he looked at her, and they acknowledged each other, before he focused again on young Podrick; "He's come a long way."

"He's alright," she agreed, somewhat disagreeing at the same time, "Still has a lot to learn." Knowing that her squire could handle himself and would call upon her should he require her assistant, Brienne started to move off, and Jaime followed.

"I'm sure you'll teach him." He started trailing behind her as she walked off.

"We've been working on it, slowly." Though their relationship has changed for the better over the years, she didn't want much to do with him at first so therefore, he was often ignored and begrudgingly accepted. She realized through their travels that he allowed her to open herself up emotionally, to not shut herself down, to learn when someone was being genuine. That is why she decided to train him; one hour each morning and one hour each night. "…I aim to see him become a knight someday." They had that same desire between them, though it is the one thing Brienne had never shared openly with Podrick.

Jaime admired the lad's passion. When he was just a boy of ten, his father held a tourney to celebrate the birth of Prince Viserys Targaryen, where it was suggested he could squire for the king's eldest son Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone; however, the king refused, and Jaime went to Crakehall at the age of eleven, spending four years squiring for Lord Sumner Crakehall. At the age of fifteen, he participated in a campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood, and during this time saved Lord Sumner Crakehall, earning him a knighthood from Ser Arthur Dayne, a member of King Aerys Targaryen's Kingsguard.

He hadn't joined the Kingsguard until a year later, at the behest of his sister Cersei. There was a regal ceremony at Harrenhal for the occasion. That night, however, Jaime was ordered to return to King's Landing, depriving him of the chance to participate in a tourney held for Lord Walter Whent. He realized almost immediately that the only reason he was chosen for the Kingsguard was as a slight to his Lord father; by becoming a member of the Kingsguard, Jaime could not inherit lands nor hold titles, something that infuriated Tywin. Nevertheless, he continued to serve in the Kingsguard. There was nothing he considered honorable about serving King Aerys, but he did so, and he often advised others to "go away inside" as a coping mechanism for the deplorable acts suffered by the King.

When Prince Rhaegar left the Red Keep to face rebels on the Trident, Jaime had begged for the prince to take him along, signifying another member of the Kingsguard could remain; Rhaegar refused, admitting to the teenager that he was kept close as a hostage against Tywin. When the Sack of King's Landing came, young Jaime tried to appeal to the king's graces in hopes he could negotiate with the attackers. Instead, the king ordered the lad to bring him Tywin's head. King Aerys wanted to "burn them all", and Jaime knew; he slew the Mad King, and slit his throat for good measure, and sat himself on the Iron Throne. He could have run off, let someone else claim responsibility the killing of their King, but there he sat, and that is where he was found.

In the following days, Jaime would end up secretly hunting down two other pyromancers involved in King Aerys's wildfire plot. While Eddard Stark urged Robert to strip Jaime of his title, the new king pardoned the lad; though if he had joined the Night's Watch as originally suggested, he might be spared a lifetime of injustice and dishonor, instead serving a command he did believe in. The title of Kingslayer haunted Jaime throughout his life, and no one ever knew his true motivation for killing King Aerys, except for Brienne, whom he trusted with such a dark secret, and she kept it though questioned why he hadn't told Lord Stark; he judged me guilty the moment he set his eyes on me, Jaime told her, when she asked.

By what right does the wolf judge the lion?

By what right?

Jaime became disillusioned with the Kingsguard long ago, and of being a just, honorable man; he prayed that Podrick Payne could be better. "I foresee him being a great one," -far better than me, he wanted to add. "And what about you, milady?"

Brienne stopped, and Jaime stopped, and then she was looking at him, "What are you doing?!"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do." She tried not to get herself worked up, to get angry, but being around him this long without him insulting her was bothering her; maybe the banter is something she craved, and she hadn't realized it, so not having him counter with something so snide was off-putting. "Why ask me such a query?"

"I assumed being a knight is something you wanted. Was I wrong?"

Brienne chewed on the interior of her cheek before responding. "Well, no, but that can't happen. Women can't be knights. There has never been one in the history of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Well," and Jaime shrugged, "maybe you should be the first."

She had a retort for him, but it tumbled back from her tongue. Instead, she looked towards the left, where she'd be commanding the flank; putting her mind elsewhere seemed easily than focusing on whatever trouble she might be facing in the now. That now being Jaime fucking Lannister. How he made her blood boil, her breath curdle, and exactly which of her buttons to push. Heat rose to flush her cheeks with a rosy pink. Brienne stared, dead stared, straight into him, but those green eyes of his were hard to ignore the way they danced so brilliantly. If she didn't leave, she never would, and so she did.

She hadn't seen Jaime for the rest of the afternoon, and into the early evening, even during meal in the dining hall; there was Jon Snow, and Daenerys Targaryen, and Lady Sansa—but no Jaime Lannister. She could admit she missed him, but she wouldn't, at least not out loud. She hadn't said a word as she ate, and quietly slipped out once she was finished, once Lady Sansa had given her leave to retire for the evening. Pushing open her door, disrobing Oathkeeper from her waist, Brienne considered having a maid draw her a bath. But something caught her eye. One the desk was a piece of parchment, and on that parchment was a piece of writing not in her handwritten or anyone else she recognized. Curiously though, she read it.

Come to the Godswood after dusk

-Jaime Lannister