Fate & Love
Jaime Lannister's final night in Winterfell. My attempt to glimpse inside Jaime's mind and heart before he decided to leave in 8.04.
This is new territory for me, as I've never written a Game of Thrones story before (I usually write about Suits), but as my favourite character in the series and in the books has always been Jaime Lannister and his developing relationship with Brienne has been a huge part of that, the material recently has really spoken to me. Since watching 8.04, I haven't been able to stop thinking about Jaime and Brienne's story and how tragic it all is, even though I never truly believed they'd see a happy ending together. A lot has been talked of this last week about Jaime and his reasons for leaving. Personally, I don't think there's a simple answer to why he makes his choice. He's too complex a character for that. Despite trying to focus on other stories I'm writing, this one just wouldn't leave my mind, so I thought I'd have a go at writing it down and sharing it with you. Stepping in to a new fanfic fandom makes me a little nervous, but I hope you like it. Obviously, the characters, their stories or anything related to Game of Thrones don't belong to me. Do let me know what you think!
…..
Thoughts filled his head that night as he lay in bed. He was warm, something that still surprised him. Perhaps he'd adjusted to the climate over his few short weeks in the North, or perhaps it was simply because of where he was and whom he was with.
Brienne's small room was his place of sanctuary at Winterfell, a place away from the frowns of disapproval and sometimes hatred from those who lived and worked there. The North Remembers and he was still a Lannister after all.
Glancing to his left, he watched her sleeping beside him. She was on her side, facing him, her face relaxed and at rest, her arm against his chest and not for the first time that day, he felt the knot tighten in his stomach, as the two sides of his heart continued to do battle.
He loved Brienne; that wasn't in doubt no matter how unprepared he'd been for it. She was the one good and pure thing he had left; the last having been snatched from him mere moments after he'd been granted it – the love of his daughter.
"I'm glad you're my father."
He could still see Marcella in his mind, her smile and the pure, true look of love in her eyes; one that was gone before he'd had a chance to truly grab hold of it. She'd been the better part of him, of both him and Cersei and looking in to her innocent face, he'd wanted to be the father she could be proud of, that he could perhaps start to redress the balance of mistakes he'd made in his life.
Marcella was gone now and her death had pulled him back in to the depths of hatred and anger for everyone other than his family; emotions that could justify any action no matter the cost.
And yet…there had still been Brienne of Tarth, reminding him that he'd changed. Watching her row away from Riverrun, he'd felt the warmth rekindle in his heart, reminding him that he'd been becoming someone better. That desire to be the man who she saw in him was the driving reason he was even here in the North, away from everything that defined him. He would never have believed had someone told him just what she would come to mean to him, how she would affect the very foundations of his character and that he'd one day find himself here at Winterfell, lying next to her each night.
The fire continued to crackle in the hearth, the logs Brienne had added before they slept warming the cold stone of the room. He thought of that first night, the night, which by rights, neither of them should have seen, how he'd felt the familiar, yet still surreal, pull towards her, one he'd tried to ignore for so long and which that night, he'd surrendered to. They'd fought together, almost died together and sitting across from her, the adrenaline of victory still running through him, with his brother beside him again, he'd felt content, happy even; his mind choosing to shut out the harsh realities of the world beyond the northern castle's hall. He'd wanted to forget, to focus on the here and now and that included the strong, honourable woman whose eyes had met his across the table, the air between them crackling with words never spoken.
Following her had been an impulse, fuelled by attraction, the boldness that only came following a successful battle, good Dornish wine and jealousy at even the idea Tormund Giantsbane would get there first.
He'd never forget that night, one during which he'd almost felt as inexperienced as her. He'd never had to seduce Cersei, to risk rejection; they'd simply always been together. As Bronn had always so bitterly pointed out to him, he could have had his choice of any woman in any room. Yet, he'd needed the Dutch courage of the wine to knock on Brienne's door and once inside, he'd quickly realised he had absolutely no idea what he was doing, opting for the most ridiculous strategy possible. It may have worked, but it had still been something she'd taken pleasure in teasing him about later. At least Tyrion hadn't heard that story. He'd have been unbearable.
Yet, awkwardness aside, it had been a night he'd cherish, the first in his life where he'd allowed himself to be truly vulnerable and to be loved without complication. It was nothing like being with Cersei; no power games, no battle for physical control. Brienne was tender and gentle and loving in a way he'd never known and never felt he deserved. He still didn't.
They'd watched the armies march out of Winterfell together, side-by-side, neither speaking and he'd sensed Brienne had been aware of the emotional confusion the events stirred in him. His brother had glanced back before climbing in to the carriage, offering him one final sad smile of understanding before he'd departed; he more than anyone understood how Jaime was feeling.
Tyrion hadn't spoken of their sister to him after the battle, choosing instead to talk of old memories and what a special woman Brienne was, of how good she was for him. Jaime wasn't a fool. He knew what his brother was doing. He was trying to help him leave the past where it belonged, to try and ensure he stayed out of the conflicts ahead; to draw a line and start again.
He'd tried, he really had. There had been days over the last few weeks when his mind never wandered to thoughts of Kings Landing and all he'd left behind there. They were the days he helped rebuild the damage to a place he'd long hated, largely because of the past shame he'd always connected to it, a shame he couldn't avoid thanks to the unnerving presence of Bran, or whoever he was now. Others, he spent the hours with just Brienne, talking and learning about her life, her family and her home, before they retired to her room and found love and comfort in each other's arms. One such day he'd recalled passing Tarth on the way to Dorne and she'd smiled, admitting she'd like to see her homeland again one day. He'd imagined going with her and of never coming back.
Yet the turmoil in his heart had only grown stronger as the weeks passed, as if he could sense the darkness on the horizon. Perhaps in a way he could. She was his twin after all.
Then came the news of the Dragonstone attack and Sansa's chilling words. Hearing of the success of Euron Greyjoy had opened up the confusion within him, a jealousy that such a repulsive man was clearly now at Cersei's right hand and perhaps in her bed too, as well as a profound sadness at the though of the death and destruction that now seemed to be inevitable. One dragon was still one dragon; he'd seen the destruction possible first hand and as Bronn had coldly said, you'd still bet on the side with such firepower to succeed. It only seemed that now, such success would come at the cost of the lives of everyone in King's Landing…..including Cersei.
As he lay watching Brienne sleep and listened to the fire, the irony wasn't lost on him that the very choices that had cost him his honour, yet saved thousands, had all been in vain and that it was now the woman he'd loved his whole life, who would be the cause of the very action he'd given up so much to prevent. How could he have loved someone so hateful? And yet he knew a part of him always would.
And now? When the world was about to fall in, where was he?
He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. How would he feel if he stayed here and learnt that Daenerys Targaryen, aided by his brother, had taken the capital, that Cersei was dead and his unborn child with her? Or if Cersei somehow managed to destroy all of her enemies? If anyone was capable of that, it was her, the rubble that had once been the Great Sept of Baelor a terrifying example. Were she to win the battle ahead, she would live, as would their child, but what of his brother? Of Brienne? The two conflicted sides of his heart continued to clash; love and hate for the person he'd always loved and yet hated for what she'd turned them both in to.
There was no good outcome for him. He knew that. Whatever the result, if he survived, a side of him would be broken, perhaps irreparably and he couldn't stand on the side-lines and wait to find out which one.
Brienne shifted in her sleep, her arm moving from his chest, as she turned on to her back and he missed her touch immediately. She was his moral heart, anchoring him to a better life and feeling her shift away, even a little, made him ache for what he was about to leave behind. He wanted to wake her, to look in to her eyes and find peace and comfort and the affirmation that someone believed he was a good man. The side of him that was changed by her wanted to fight to stay by her side, but the pull towards King's Landing, to Cersei, was too strong.
….
The cold of the stone floor took him by surprise as he moved to get out of bed, as it had every morning since he'd arrived. Despite the warmth of the fire heating the room, the floor remained like ice. Standing up, he was careful not to disturb his lover's sleep, as he moved to his clothes on the chair. He dressed quietly, every layer he added, acting as another barrier going up between him and the life he knew he could possibly have if he just went back to bed.
Finally dressed, he found himself not quite ready to leave; the side of him that was completely Brienne's making a final plea for him to reconsider. Sitting down on the chair in front of the fire, he gazed in to the flames, allowing his mind and his heart to imagine every possible outcome to what lay ahead and what terrified him was how unsure he was about which one he'd most like to become a reality. He'd always been a mess. He was in love with his sister for God's sake, but the emotional conflict he felt now truly disgusted him.
Glancing behind him, his eyes sought out Brienne, filling with guilt and sadness. He'd never have been good enough for someone as pure and decent as her and had he been honourable at all, he'd have never shared her bed. It had been selfish. Yet, he couldn't regret it, knowing the memories of this incredible woman's love and belief in him would bring him comfort, even if he felt unworthy of it.
It was time.
Before he allowed himself another moment to debate his choice, he stood up and walked to the door, one final glance back at her, before he stepped in to the hall and closed it behind him.
…
He'd never truly know if he'd been louder than he could have been, in the hope that she'd hear and follow him; another selfish wish on his part and one that would only cause more pain for both of them.
Yet, follow she had.
He sensed her presence immediately, but couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, focussing instead on the final adjustments to his horse, all too aware that her gaze was fixed on him as she moved closer.
Jaime Lannister had done many shameful acts in his life, but nothing filled him with more pain and guilt than breaking Brienne's heart. Yet, he saw no other way. He was going back to King's Landing, back to Cersei; to stop her, or to protect her, he honestly wasn't sure, but he couldn't allow Brienne to follow him. No matter what the future held for him, he couldn't risk her life and she wouldn't be safe in the south. She'd be safe here and that was what mattered most.
"You're not like your sister. You're not. You're a good man."
Her words almost broke him. She still believed he was a good man, even now, as he was choosing to leave her. Besides Tyrion, she was the only one who had ever thought that and her steadfast belief in him broke a part of his heart forever.
He'd wanted to say he was sorry, to tell her that no matter what lay ahead for him, he'd always love her, but the words caught in his throat and instead he turned from her pleas and her sobs, hoping the harshness of his words would keep her in the North.
…
He allowed the tears to fall as he rode out of Winterfell; the sound of Brienne's sobs something he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. He truly was hateful now. Knowing he would probably never see her again, his heart ached for how different his life could have been, were it not for the toxic pull calling him south. He prayed that he'd know what he needed to do when he reached his destination; that his path would become clear one way or the other, but more than anything, he prayed to the gods to keep Brienne safe, whatever his fate. Knowing she would survive was all that truly mattered.
Moving to wipe his tears from his eyes, he stopped himself. They were the only proof he had left that the feelings he held for Brienne and everything they'd shared in so short a time together were real. Instead, he let them fall as he rode on, towards whatever fate would choose for him.
…