AN: So this is my first Game of Thrones fic. It's set after the 6th season. I've begun reading the first book but this follows the TV series, not the books. There's different POV's in this. Mostly Jaime and Brienne though. It was going to be a solely Jaime and Brienne fic, but Tormund will play a role too. He sort of insisted. There will be some smut but not a whole lot so I've got the T rating for now. The first chapters are a bit of a prologue with quite a few flashbacks in them.

Queenslayer

Jaime - On the road

Queenslayer was his new name. It wasn't any better than the last. Daenerys Targaryen was the new queen. The Dragon Queen. Jaime Lannister had been banished, not killed. She had wanted his head for the murder of her father. But Tyrion had been at her side as her Hand. He had rescued his brother, pleaded for his life, and the sentence had been commuted. Of course, it had also helped that he'd had killed his first love – his sister – the Mad Queen minutes before their arrival.

Yet Daenerys Targaryen lived up to her name and still had had her revenge. She had marked his good hand with a brand to confirm his banishment. For all the world to see. It was done with Dragon's Breath – a special fire – and so the mark kept burning and would do so until his dying day. Tyrion had thought it better than his head on a plate – Jaime privately wasn't sure if he agreed. He didn't have much to live for these days. His brother served this new Queen, his father and sister were dead as were his children. All Lannister possessions had gone to Tyrion on royal command whereas Jaime was ordered to stay out of the realm.

He was on his way to the North. He had sent out a raven and it had returned with a single worded message. "Yes." The Dragon Queen hadn't conquered the North yet. John Snow was still King of the North. And wherever Jon Snow was, Lady Sansa Stark was present as well. And wherever Lady Sansa was, Brienne of Tarth was too. Jaime had no intention of getting involved in any more battles or politics. Nor did he look forward to see any of the Starks – apparently Bran had vowed to fill him with arrows if he ever happened upon him – but to the North it was. To meet his only living friend.

Brienne - At Winterfell

Three weeks earlier Brienne had heard the first whispers. Queenslayer. Killing his own blood. Some said it was passion: Cersei having other lovers beside him. Some said it was to please the new Dragon Queen. Others simply took him to be mad, quite mad. It was the second time he had killed a monarch. And still he lived. The gods must surely love him. Or have an odd sense of humor. Brienne longed to know the real story rather than the whispers and then she had received a raven about one week later. Ravens hardly ever came for her. She had been worried her father might be taken ill. Tarth so far had been kept out of the war. The isle was hardly the Queen's first priority and Brienne hoped it wouldn't be for a long time to come.

The raven had not been from Tarth. It had come right out of King's Landing. "Meet me," it had said. "Meet me at a two day's ride from Winterfell in a fortnight." He had given a location. An inn in a small town near a forked road, appropriately called "The Forked Tongue." Brienne had replied with a simple yes. But now befell on her the task to leave Winterfell for a few days, say a week, and to not rise suspicions. Brienne hated lying but she could hardly tell Lady Sansa the truth. Nor Lord Snow, the King of the North. She needed a good excuse. So she invented a story about a delegation from Tarth. Tradesmen and a Maester – old friends – who might have news of her father, of her home. She longed to go and meet them. To have a taste of home again. It was a tricky lie but the Starks swallowed it. She deserved a few days to herself and Lady Sansa was happy to grant her permission for the journey. Brienne had thanked them and promised to return within a week, ten days at most. She was ever so grateful.

She wished Podrick hadn't come along though. But no one had wanted to hear of it. Brienne worried over him. In a few hours she'd arrive at the inn and she hadn't told him yet. "A short rest will do us good," she told him. "I need to have your ear on a particular matter." Podrick smiled at that. It was rare for Brienne to ask for his advice. When they had both sat down on the frosty forest ground, she told him bluntly that there were no tradesmen. That it was a secret whom she was meeting and if he ever told a soul she'd have his head. Podrick's face whitened and Brienne scowled at him. "It's the man who gave me my sword," she said. "You remember. You were there."

Podrick nearly gasped. "You are joking!" he exclaimed, before adding in a mumble, "my lady."

"Do I ever joke?" she asked raising her eyebrows.

"No, me lady," he answered.

"I thought not," she said curtly. "You are not to tell anyone. Ever."

"I don't want," Podrick bravely began, and after taking a deep breath, he continued: "I don't wish to be a traitor, my lady. What is his business here? Why are you meeting him? If you don't mind me asking."

"I do mind," Brienne replied, "Yet you do deserve an answer. I do not intend to be a traitor, nor do I wish you to become one. I don't know what he wants. He is on the run, I assume. We'll know once we find him."

"I suppose I do owe him something myself," Podrick mumbled. "Being in your service and all."

"Precisely," Brienne said, "and don't you forget it!"

For the rest of the way Podrick had been silent. Brienne hadn't minded. She had plenty to contemplate.

Jaime - Imprisoned

Tyrion had collected him from his cell echoing the past. "I have never pleaded for something so fervently nor at such length before," he began with a smile on his face. "I saved your life, big brother, like you did mine once." The damp cell was dark and Jaime had to peer to even see his brother.

"For which you repaid me by murdering our father," Jaime remarked wryly, yet relieved. "What will happen to me then?" he asked. He hoped this cell wouldn't be his new home though, granted, it was better than his outdoor prison had been.

"You are to be banished from the realm. You should take a ship or go North, go to whichever country pleases you. You will also – I couldn't stop her on this – be branded. With a Dragon mark."

Jaime shuddered as he looked at Tyrion. "Isn't that…?" he began.

"Yes," Tyrion's replied was curt. "You have seen the dragons she flies with. You are not the only one who will carry this mark," he whispered softly, "she has a whole line of men condemned to the same fate already."

It was then that Jaime noticed some hesitance on his brother's part. "Do you have doubts?" he said, speaking in a low voice, "You are her Hand!" Jaime wondered if he'd ever hear the tale of how that had come about.

"I'm losing the stomach for cruelty," Tyrion said, "especially when it comes to my own family."

"Surely you will not miss Cersei," Jaime's laugh was hollow. "You were the one who hated her."

"Why did you do it?" his imp brother asked. "Why?"

Jaime sighed. "Everything and more," he replied simply. "Perhaps I no longer have a stomach for cruelty either. Cersei's longing for it, however, was on the rise."

Tyrion approached him. "I'm so sorry," he said, laying his hand on Jaime's arm. "It must have cost you a great deal, doing that."

Jaime swallowed hard. "I still can't believe I did," he said softly. "And I truly wish I hadn't." A sob escaped from his throat. "What was I thinking?"

"Better not tell our new Queen that. She's only letting you go because you took care of the Mad Queen for her."

"Cersei was my life," he said. "For so long. Perhaps death would be preferable."

Tyrion wouldn't hear of it. "I did not save you for you to go kill yourself," he said, "all that wasted effort of my rhetorical skills," he said with a dramatic sigh followed by an impish smirk. "You'll find a way; you always have. Surely there must be somewhere you wish to go, or someone you wish to meet."

It was at that moment that Jaime knew who he was going to seek out. "You're right," he said, grateful for his brother's common sense. "There is a certain someone I haven't seen for quite some time. Perhaps she has some ideas."

"Might she be carrying a sword?" Tyrion asked innocently, "and have no sense of humor to speak of?"

Jaime scowled at him with a hint of a smile on his lips. "The very one," he replied. "The very one."