Inspired by the songs 13 Beaches and Get Free, by Lana del Rey
Thirteen Beaches
It hurts to love you
But I still love you
It's just the way I feel
And I'd be lying
If I kept hiding
The fact that I can't deal
And that I've been dying
For something real
It was the first time Jaime felt this cold so close to the shores of Westeros. His breath was visible in front of him, swirling up to the skies in a white mist. The horse galloped fast and without rest for what felt in his bones like a thousand miles, taking them far from the Kingsroad and into a relative safety he could no longer give for granted. He was as undesirable for the Queen of Westeros as Daenerys Targaryen herself and somehow, knowing it lifted an invisible burden from his shoulders.
Maybe it was the clean air of the open fields, maybe it was the bone biting cold that surrounded him, but he felt lighter. Like a leaf, or a feather... He was small, unimportant, inconsequential… another body for Jon Snow's army.
Weirdly, it felt good.
He was just a man riding to war, a cripple wanting one last chance for glory. No Kings to protect, no oaths to break and keep, no white cloaks, no golden armors, no sigils… nothing. Just him and his horse, the freezing air around them and the sharp pain the golden hand caused on the skin of his stump now that it was very close to get a layer of frost around it. The farther away he rode from King's Landing, the sharper the pain became.
Was it that the hand somehow knew he was getting away from the one he loved? Was it that the hand knew Cersei was calling for him?
Maybe the golden hand was holding the unseeable link between him and Cersei together, and now that he was gone, but gone for good, the strings were snapping and falling apart as he rode to Winterfell. And that hurt. A lot more than he expected. Apart from the stings of pain his stump got, it felt like breaking a rib, a dull and constant pain that kept his heart almost racing and almost faltering, a pain on the lower left of his chest, a pain that refused to go away…
Jaime stared at the pitch black sky above him for a few hours on the first night of rest, thinking about Cersei, thinking about their children both dead and unborn… he often thought about Myrcella and Tommen, poor and innocent children, such kind souls in a world of ruthlessness and vengeance. He should've been able to protect them, he should have saved them. From their enemies, from the people, from their fates...from their mother…
Cersei, his sweet Cersei.
What had happened to her? Was she ever real? A part of him refused to believe that the other half of him, his sister, his lover, had always been the monster that had threatened to murder him….
Had her eyes always been so empty? Had her soul always been so void?
The longer he thought about the last months they spent together, the more he realized how blind he had been.
It was the same thing every night, he stared at the sky, sometimes with snow, sometimes with cold relentless wind, and thought about Cersei. He replayed in his head every moment he could remember. Their childhood before the death of Joanna Lannister, their childhood after seeking comfort in each other's arms, the constant fretting with Tyrion, the sweetness of her kisses, the smoothness of her thighs, the softness of her words... And as the days passed and King's Landing was nothing but a shadow creeping at his back, he started remembering little details about every encounter, about every word spoken between them…
How didn't he notice those little details before? The way she looked away from him when she said she loved him, the way something always got in between Cersei and fulfilling her promises, the way she always kept things, the important things, to herself…
Cersei had played him. Every time. Every single fucking time. She bent him at her will for years and years, showing no remorse or repentance.
He was a bloody fool. A blind, stupid fool.
The night reality finally sank in, he screamed at the top of his lungs towards an open field for what seemed like hours, he cried (more like wailed) and fell to his knees trembling from the cold, whispering apologies to every person he had harmed to make his sister happy… For love, he had said.
But what she felt wasn't love, was it? No, he realized, it couldn't be. He had seen it once or twice in his life and by the gods, whatever Cersei had felt for him had not been love. That thought alone made him feel like he was bleeding inwardly, making him a dead weight over the exhausted horse. How hadn't he realized that the promise of being elevated by love was working the other way around for him? Had he ever done something, anything, that was actually in the name of love?
Jaime removed the golden hand on the tenth dawn after his departure and rubbed his stump mindlessly, watching the reddened skin around the scars that had formed over time on the space where his hand should start. The ice forming overnight was clearly starting to affect his skin, and it would not take long for the healthier parts of his wrist to start bleeding and forming ulcers. Maybe it was time to leave it for good. The hand felt like an anchor. The last standing piece of loyalty to his house. Or whatever was left of it.
The fingers of his good hand traced the intricate ridges on the surface of the golden one and he stared at it long enough before putting it away into his bag. He would try to save his bruised skin, but he was not ready to abandon the hand just yet. Maybe if it wasn't on, the stump would hurt less, and it did. As he rode through the traitorous terrain of the frozen swamps in The Neck, Jaime felt compelled to check on his stump quite often, and somehow, a horribly freezing night he guarded himself in the ruins near Moat Cailin, he dreamed of Harrenhal. He dreamed of Brienne.
Brienne of Tarth, with her massive shoulders and amazing eyes. Brienne with her endless oaths. Fuck loyalty, she had said. But there she was, glued to the skirts of the Stark girl. Leaving everything behind for an oath. Leaving her lands, her family, her title, risking her life for a promise she made to a woman that probably hated her and that had been dead for years. Fuck loyalty indeed. He smiled. Only Brienne of fucking Tarth could do such things… And yet, wasn't he doing the exact same thing? Leaving everything for an oath to a woman that would probably sentence him to death as soon as she knew who he was. Jaime couldn't exactly tell why, but he had felt compelled to honor that oath. Aside from Cersei's betrayal, there had been something else, like a hum inside of him, that had convinced him to leave. Something low, whispering to him in between the constant drumming of his heart… Fuck loyalty. He couldn't help but smile, for the first time since he had left King's Landing, he smiled.
No matter what he did or what he thought, he always ended up circling back to Brienne of Tarth. The Bloody Mummers, Harrenhal, bears, sapphires, his bleeding stump, the constant bickering, her impossibly blue eyes, her kindness, her honesty, her...just her. And Jaime smiled for entire afternoons thinking about the way she knew exactly how to shut him up, or how she had been the only person to look at him with respect even after he had lost his hand…
Brienne was that humming inside his veins, the reason he wanted to be better, to be deserving of her kindness; because he had never done anything to actually earn it. He felt a low pain on his chest when he thought about how much he had wrongfully done for Cersei, and how little he had done for Brienne, the only person on the face of earth worthy of being called a Knight. He hated her back then, during the ride along the Riverlands, he had insulted her and tried to kill her more than once. And then, he had spilled his guts to her with the truths of his life, he had jumped in front of a bear for her, he had given her the valyrian steel that was meant for him, he had ensured she left Riverrun safely, he had kept her away from the danger that was Cersei back in the Dragonpit…
It didn't feel like it was enough though. Jaime could do so much more. He wished to do so much more for her. He wanted to follow her to the Wall and be right there besides her, protecting her from harm. He wanted to be a better man, to make Brienne proud; his heart started racing and Jaime rained the horse to go faster…
He needed to get to Winterfell, a sort of desperation suddenly awoke inside his soul, he needed to see her, to beg for her forgiveness, he wanted to put a knee on the ground and offer her his sword, his hand, his life, his soul, his heart…
The realization made him feel like he was struck by lightning. Jaime felt the burning heat of his tears against his freezing cheeks and, slowly, he made the horse stop. His heart pounded loudly against his chest, finally alive after mourning his sister; and Jaime cried with joy. He wanted Brienne, he wanted her so badly it made him want to scream and tear his skin open so she could see that his heart was beating for her, that his soul was hers. He had given it to her a long time ago, masking it along with a sword, and armor and a squire; it was hers…
He had left King's Landing for her, he realized it now. He wanted to be with her. She was the only real thing he had. His heart knew that her eyes wouldn't lie; that whatever she felt for him, even if it was hatred, was real; he needed that. He wanted to be a whole man again, a good man. For her. Jaime wanted to wake up by her side every morning and feel once again the warmth that spread in his chest every time he watched her wave a sword, he wanted to smile smugly to every man and woman that crossed their paths and say: she's mine, and i'm hers.
He spurred the horse to go faster and faster, watching as the ghost of Winterfell started to appear in the white horizon.
He arrived one very early morning, the white pale sun barely rising, and got to the ground in one swift jump down from his exhausted horse, his heart was racing and his palm was sweating, even in the relentless cold. He watched the guards get into an offensive position, but he didn't care, and as tired as he was, he pushed them to the ground and stepped into the courtyard, where he saw Brienne, always the early riser, with a sparring sword in hand, looking at him in disbelief.
Jaime couldn't help but smile and whispered her name as he strutted across the yard and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, feeling as she tensed under his embrace. He heard the surprised exclamations and the angry words the northerners started to speak against him.
"S-Ser Jaime, what are..?"
"Shut up wench, let me have this" he leaned against her shoulder and closed his eyes for only a second before letting her go.
"Will you explain…?"
He took Widow's Wail out of its case and dropped to his knees in front of her, the entire yard falling into an absolute silence.
"I am yours, my Lady Brienne" he looked up at her shocked blue eyes "I will shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new, if you will take me"
He lowered his head and listened to the multitude of steps gathering around them. Brienne stayed silent for a few seconds before finally speaking what he had longed to hear for so many nights and days...
"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new" her voice was shaky as she spoke "Arise"
He got up on his feet and smiled at her, face red and eyes filled with tears. She just nodded, but Jaime was sure he had never felt this much joy in his entire life. Brienne knew what he was promising.
Even with his pledge, he had never felt this free.
Was this how actual love felt like? Yes, he decided, it had to be.
It took thirteen beaches to find one empty
But finally I'm fine