The Warrior, the Maiden and the Crone

The Warrior

Tarth stood in front of him, different than he remembered. Everything seemed different than he remembered; the air, the sea, even the sky and the stars. The last time he saw the island, its green forests were cloaked in mist, its sandy shores wrapped with sapphire sea smelled of salt, fish and palms. But the last time he saw the island, winter wasn't there, snow wasn't falling and war, though it was at the door, still didnt touch one of the last oases of peace in Westeros. But it was almost two years ago and now everything seemed different just because everything was different. The winter did come, like those damn Starks always said it will, war came as well and Tarth became just another place of misery, hunger and death.

As the ship came to shore, he put his hooded cloak over his head, said goodby to the captain – fat, stinky Myrish drunk who had spend the whole journey in his quarters; drinking,whoring and not giving a single damn about the ship, the crew or the storm that lasted a fortnight and almost sunk them. He knew he was in danger and he knew he was putting her in danger as well. He had to come back, even if the price for returning was his life. There were things he loved more than his life, and this island contained some of them.

He was exiled from Westeros and although his brother was Hand of the Queen Daenerys and King Aegon, he still couldn't persuade them that no danger came to the throne from side of the so famous and so well known Kingslayer.

Kingslayer.

He became the name and the name became him.

He could barely remember his real name. Name his mother gave him, name his father loved, name his sister called him since the day they said their first words together, name his children never spoke, name that was long forgotten by everyone.

His mother died long ago, he forgot her face and her voice and perhaps a bit of him was gone with her, wherever she went. His father was dead as well, though losing him didnt even put tears in his eyes. He was always a disappointment to Tywin, he knew that ever since he took that damn white cloak from Aerys. Disappointment Tywin never accepted, disappointment Tywin always tried to deny, disappointment of the house Lannister, house he was no longer part of. His sister was dead too, the one he loved more than anything, the one he gave all of himself, the one who took everything from him, even his own name.

Yet, his brother lived, and when anger washed off from his heart, the love Tyrion felt for him was still there. His brother saved his life, his brother and the Lady he left behind. The Lady in blue, the Lady with the sword, the Lady knight. Brienne.

He thought of her often in these past two years. More often than he wanted, too often for his own good. Is she alive? Is she well? Is her father still alive? Is the boy he left with her fine? He should be almost 12 by now. Was he still the little scarred kitten? The boy king, the crownless king, the bastard, his son.

He found Tarth somber and dark, exhausted with war and hunger. The icy rain was showering the mountains and valleys and there wasn't a living soul on his way; all the peasants were either dead or hiding cause the war was long from over. Dragons were sitting on the throne again but there wasn't much love between the queen and the king. What kept them together was Stannis who still held the north, Stannis who was tougher than a Flea Bottom cockroach; King Stannis and his Queen Asha Greyjoy and their army of wildlings, Ironborns and dead monsters.

The Wall had fallen not so long ago and the words even came to the Free Cities. He knew then he had to come back because Westeros was only a small step from a wasteland. Dragons and Others, blood and magic...the Song of Ice and Fire which began with Joffrey and Ned Stark´s head could end in only one possible way.

He had to see his son and his brother before that. He had to see her. And then...well, then do what he was born to do. Die in battle.

Soaked and frozen he saw the Evenfall Hall lying in the darkness, its tall walls still resisting months of war and winter. Gates were closed and kept under guard. He banged twice with his gold hand, while rain was pouring down his face soaking even his smallclothes. There was no response. He banged again, three times now. Small hatch opened and a rash voice said – "Get lost bastard, no beggars are welcomed here! Your kind is filthier than rats, though rats look and smell better than you!"

"I´m here to see the Lady Brienne" - he answered with the most polite voice he could.

Two years in the Free Cities, hiding and dealing with little money his brother managed to send him, made him quite humble and patient. Little was left of his Lannister arrogance and vanity but much was left of his Lannister pride and manners. He was a high-born knight, and as that he had been thought courtesy, even with the lowest of all people. At least that he learned from Brienne.

"She is Lady of Tarth for you, rat. And what business do you have with her? Perhaps you are her suitor as well?"

Loud laugh came from the other side of the door, louder even than the thunders that rip the black sky.

"Suitor?" – he repeated with disbelief – "Lady is getting married?"

"Is that business of yours? Everyone knows she has to, ever since her father died almost a year ago. Every bloody knight in Seven Kingdoms, or however many kingdoms are left by now, wants to wed her. She may not be rich as those damn Lions, or pretty either but she holds a title, castle and lands, much more than many have these days. No one wants to bed her alright, but hell with it, for a title of a lord, I would fuck a bloody pig!"

He felt his anger rising. He wanted to jump over the gates and rip that bastards throat. Before he could say anything, he heard a horse behind him and then a voice of a young boy screamed - "Open the gates!"

This was his chance and he had to react quickly. He jumped in front of a horse which reared and the boy ended in the puddle of mud in front of the gates. Creaking, the gates opened and two guards grabbed him by his cloak. The boy rose to his feet, dirty and scratched; he wasn´t very tall but he was skinny and pale.

"Ser, what do we do with this rat?" – one of the guards asked – "He doesn´t want to go away and he demands to see the Lady."

Boy came closer and looked at him carefully. His eyes were brown as his hair, he was around six and ten.

"Bring him in!" – he said shortly.

"But Ser, he´s the beggar" – protested the guard – "he shouldn´t be allowed in the castle. If we take just one in, hundreds of them will follow and demand the same."

"I said, bring him in!" – the boy ordered, grabbing reins of his horse.

Guards pushed him in like a sack of potatoes and he barely managed to stay on his feet. He wanted to thank the boy, but even before he could open his mouth, that skinny kid pushed him aside covering him with his cloak.

"What are you doing here, Ser? Are you insane? You are exiled by the Queen and King themselves! My Lady could lose her head for this!" – the boy was furious but still, there was some relief in his voice.

"I had to come, I had to see...them." – his voice trembled for a second – "Thank you for helping me in, boy."

"Pod. My name is Pod, Ser. You are risking your life and hers as well, not to mention the life of your, of your..." – the boy got confused and embarrassed.

"Of my son, just say it. Everyone knows it by now."

"Well yes, but no one knows he is here, not even my Lord Tyr...I mean not even your brother."

"Then the boy is safe" – he felt big burden falling off his shoulders. His son was well. – "Can I stay here by the morning? I want to talk to Brienne before I leave."

"No Ser, you cannot stay here, one of the servants may see you, you must hurry! Follow me, I will take you somewhere safe."

They walked over dark halls, from one chamber to another, never stopping, not for a moment. Pod seemed to know the castle well cause he didnt need a torch, a candle or anything to light his way. After a while, they entered a small but comfortable bedchamber. It was cold and empty; it seemed no one slept in here for years. It was full of dust and silver cobweb hanged in the corners. The bed was made though, with blue silk, the same one curtains, which rounded two big windows, were made of too.

"Wait here." – the boy said vanishing through the door that closed behind his back.

He looked around. The room was in complete dark but he could sense the space well. There was a small fireplace opposite of bed, with two chairs in front of it; there was a small dresser between the windows and a big, heavy chest by the door. Strangely, he felt peaceful in this simple place, more peaceful than he ever felt at home, at Castelry Rock.

Hearing the wooden door slamming somewhere behind him, he turned around and then he saw her standing on the doorstep, silent and motionless like a statue carved out of pale marble. Maiden or Warrior, he couldnt tell which one she resembled more. Perhaps she was still both. She seemed taller than he remembered, or maybe just the shadow towering her face made her like that. Wearing only simple white night gown and old blue bathrobe that was too big even for her, she slowly stepped towards him. He felt his heart stopped for a second and all his memory, all his pain and all those days far away from home were lost in that one skipped beat. Her hair was still ugly straw dancing around her shoulders, her lips still too plumped, her hands still too big. He wanted to say something, anything, but his voice got stuck in his throat cutting off his every thought, leaving him silent. As she came closer, he felt his knees trembling and his palm sweating. He even stopped breathing cause he felt that every breath he takes will end this magic he was somehow part of.

She came so close he could feel her breath on his face, sweet, soft and warm, just like it felt in all those silent nights when all he wanted was to feel her near him again.

Gently, she took his hands in hers, and he felt their warmth, their touch, their life. Even his golden hand, that damn thing he hated so much, felt alive, felt like part of him.

"Is it really you?" - she asked quietly, her voice cracked with heavy breathing that was raising her breasts beneath the night gown.

He raised his view from their still tightly clenched hands. Blue and large, her eyes seemed to soak all the pain of the existing world but still, they were shining with strength that was unknown to him. He recognized her then, and himself as well.

Slowly, her hands slipped behind his back, her head fell on his shoulder and with loud groan she whispered –" Jaime, Jaime, you are alive."

His eyes, after almost a lifetime, filled with tears and embracing her, he thought – Yes, Jaime. I am Jaime.