They walked back to the Palace in silence, her entourage and Khalasar behind them at a respectable distance. She had insisted on seeing the damage the wars with the Others had reeked upon the commons for herself, flying atop her dragons to take her across the Seven Kingdoms. Today's inspection lay closer to home, visiting the people around the Red Keep. It was a dismal site, hunger and poverty prevailed and the Queen was sullen and quiet.
He's side by side with her as he often is these days, and the tip of his little finger brushes her hand. It's only for a second, the pinky of his left hand sliding the length of her palm, but Daenerys knows it's deliberate. She knows Jaime wants to touch her. She's giddy and exhausted; the day has been long and emotional. She isn't used to letting go; it's been years since she hasn't held her emotions in check the cool hard mask of the Dragon firmly in place. She's so young, she doesn't naturally look like a leader, like a Queen for a beaten and bruised people so she works on looking hard, like the warrior she knows she is. But not today, today she lets them see that she is human, that she too knows loss and suffering, and that they can trust her with theirs. It had been Jaime's suggestion that she let the people see what she was thinking, what she was feeling and he had been right. The small folk drew around her, comforted by the fact that their Queen understood and felt their pain. The experience was rewarding, securing their loyalty but it had cost her, she felt drained, and now that the day was over she wanted some comfort of her own.
She wants nothing more than to take Jaime's hand in hers, squeeze it and hold onto it, have him hold her up but she's afraid. Afraid that to do so would be admitting that her pardoning of his crimes was not a simple gesture of goodwill for what his brother Tyrion had done to help her gain back the Iron Throne. She's afraid she may have truly forgiven the Kingslayer for all that had befallen her family at his hands, for the murder of her father, his sworn King. Most of all, Daenerys is afraid that maybe she is being a silly girl, a fool, that maybe Jaime brushed her by accident, or that he merely wanted to comfort the Queen he now bent his knee to, afraid that perhaps he doesn't reciprocate the feelings she has growing inside her, afraid the long dark shadow of his sister still claims his heart from beyond the grave.
"Are you well, Your Grace?" Jaime's voice cuts through her thoughts.
"Yes Ser Jaime, I am quite well," she replies and lets a deep breath out she had not realized she had been keeping in.
He smiles at her, looking at her with softened green eyes, he knows she's lying, for Jaime Lannister has a keen ability at discerning truth from falsehood, but he also knows when to pry and when not to and he decides to leave it be.
They fall back into silence and when they finally reach the inner hall, the weary camp separates with little more than a goodnight to one another. Daenerys lingers before turning to head to her chambers, waiting to see if Jaime will say anything more. He does not, instead he hangs his head low and runs his fingers through the golden locks of his hair, resting his palm on the back of the nape of his neck. The Queen finds herself imagining sucking the skin there, inhaling his scent and a shiver runs through her. She isn't supposed to feel these things, not for this man of all men, yet she couldn't resist him, not from the very first moment he was made to kneel at her feet to await her judgment. Something in his emerald eyes spoke to her. This was not the man Tyrion had described when they first met, when he was full of anger, resentment and his lust for vengeance high. She saw a sad yet proud man, a warrior who fought bravely, a man who knew he was not without fault but a man who knew he was not without qualities. Tyrion had seen it too and his stance on his brother softened.
"Your Grace," Ser Barristan's voice brought Daenerys out of her reverie.
"Yes?"
"Shall I escort you back to your chambers so you can take some rest now?" the loyal Knight enquired.
"Of course, lead on Lord Commander."
Jaime notices her on the balcony of her rooms when he looks up from taking the night air, he never did sleep much, less since the war had come to an end. Too many, he had thought, too many ghosts haunting his dreams. He notices the Queen has dark circles under her eyes and her brow if furrowed in contemplation as she stares up at the stars peppering the sky. She is beautiful, more beautiful than Cersei he wonders? Of that he could never decide. At the thought of his sister, gone form this world, his soul gives a lurch before his heart sinks a little. He hears her calling to him, reaching out for him to join her in the beyond and his body feels heavy, so very heavy but when the young Queen looks down and her violet eyes, made dark like amethysts in the moonlight, meet his, the weight is lifted. She motions and he reenters the palace and takes the steps to her chambers two at a time.
Her guards allow him entry without a word, their expressions stony and he wonders what they think every time he comes to her. Do they wonder how the golden lion, maimed and worn by death and battle has managed to turn the head of the young and lovely Khaleesi? Do they think it mad that the Queen lay down with the Kingslayer? Their faces betray nothing and he decides it matters not. What was it his father used to tell him? A lion does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep?
Daenerys looks at Jaime in the darkness; she has only the moon and stars for light, the breeze from the open window, blowing strands of hair loose from her braids. Jaime takes a step forward, his golden hand reaches up to tuck her hair back but he hesitates and lets his arm fall back to his side. Who is he to touch something so exquisite with his fake hand? With the arm he raised to slash the throat of this girl's father and begin what could never be undone? She asked him once from outside his dungeon cell, if he regretted it and he replied, only that he hadn't done it sooner. If he had the courage to do what he and others knew must have been done, perhaps Rhaegar would have been alive to take up her father's place, perhaps things would have been different today, if it had gone differently then.
"Better?" she asked further, "Would my brother have been a better king than my father had been?" Jaime shrugged, "Only the Gods, if they exist, know the answer, and they did not see fit to let it come to pass."
"You appear tired, Your Grace," he tells her as she offers him a goblet of Dornish red. He takes it but does not drink.
"Yes tired, and you?" she asks.
He nods, "Yes."
"We should probably get some sleep then," she responds flatly.
"Sleep sounds good," he states but makes no move to leave her. Instead he places the goblet down on a nearby table and stares at the three headed banner hanging over her bed. It is still strange to see it on the walls of the Red Keep again. Sometimes it brings a feeling of dread that climbs up from the pit of his stomach and lodges in his throat. The wings of the dragons cast dark shadows over the land as they fly overhead and Jaime finds himself shutting his eyes and praying to gods he doesn't believe in that it's all just a bad dream. It's at these moments when he hears his sister's voice ringing in his ears to come to her, to return to his other half where he belongs. Other times he stares at the sigil and a wave of relief washes over him. This is his chance to get it right, to serve his Targaryen Queen dutifully, loyally and to try and bring honour back to the Lannister name, back to his name and banish the Kingslayer once and for all. Those are the times he hears Brienne's voice in his head telling him he is a better man than he was, that the sword hanging at his side belongs there, that he has a right to wield Oathkeeper as she once did. Jaime sighs at her memory; she too was taken from him before her time. He feels so alone in this world, so very lonely.
"You are hurt Ser," Daenerys discovers as a cloud passes and the moon shines more brightly, lighting his face.
"It is nothing," he says lifting his finger to the cut above his eye, "A mere scrape. I wasn't paying attention in the practice yard tonight, and Pod got the better of me."
"I should clean it all the same. Come, sit," she says and motions to the bed as she lights a candle, "It will only take a minute."
He relents and allows her to play nurse maid. He's keenly aware that he's in her intimate space, touching the furs that cover her body in sleep. He's been here before but it still feels awkward, as if the world here and beyond would not approve. His father's words come to him again and he sits up straighter trying to be the bold, arrogant lion he once was. The Queen fills a bowl with water and dips a clean towel into it.
"It will sting," she warns.
"Life always does," he tells her. He smirks before doing what he wanted to earlier, he entwines a strand of her silver hair around his finger before pushing it off her face. She swallows to compose herself.
"Ready?" she asks in a whisper.
He nods his assent but he isn't. He isn't ready for the feel of her skin on his, her fingers under his chin, holding him steady. He isn't ready for the feel of her hot breath caressing his face as she dabs gently at his wound. His eyes close and immediately he is taken back to the touch of her lips on his these months past.
"Why did you kiss me?"
"Pardon Ser?" she asks taken aback by the sudden question.
His eyes flutter open to look directly into hers, to search for the truth. She believes Jaime Lannister is the only man who truly desires the truth no matter how bitter it might be to hear. He's staring at her and there is no where for her to hide from him or from herself.
"That first time, why did you kiss me, was it because you pitied me?"
Brienne of Tarth had just died after a slow and painful battle against a festering wound that would not heal. She had fought so bravely alongside him and the bastard Jon Snow against the Creatures. But her time had now come and her loss, after so many, had been too much and Jaime broke down in tears beside her corpse. He was friendless once more in a cruel cold world. And then suddenly Daenerys was there, lifting his face, wiping his tears and kissing them away.
Daenerys shook her head, "No," she told him.
"Then why? Because of Tyrion?" he asked.
"Tyrion?" she repeated, "I don't understand your meaning."
"Was it because your Hand told you it would make strategic sense to forgive the Kingslayer, to keep the people's hero close to your side?"
Jaime had saved many a commoner in those dark days of the long winter and the small folk were the first to forgive him his past crimes, many hailing him a hero and calling for his immediate release when Daenerys had arrested and imprisoned him.
"I didn't do it because of anything Tyrion did or did not say," Daenerys said putting the bowl and rag away. She turned to face him again, looking at Jaime intently waiting to see what next he might accuse her of. Did he think so coldly of her that she would so easily give herself simply because it was a politically sound move? She supposed it was a fair enough question. Jaime Lannister had watched the game being played close up and first hand since he was a boy of fifteen; he himself a player at times, a pawn at others.
"I should go," he said sadly when she didn't answer him and made to get up when Daenerys' hand came to rest at the back of his neck. Her mind went to kissing the skin there again as her finger drew little circles, stroking him gently.
"Not yet," she whispered her mouth above his.
Their love making was gentle, slow and soft but there was still a desperate need behind it. She clung to him tightly as he entered her. He felt so different from Drogo or Daario. Jaime took his time, explored her with great attention and marvel. She wondered if it was because he had never been with another woman other than his sister. She questioned whether he was assessing all the differences and similarities between them. She felt a sudden fear that she might not measure up to the memory of his twin but then he gave a satisfied groan as she flipped him onto his back. As she began to ride him in the manner she was taught, she felt Jaime surrender to her. His good hand roamed up her torso to clasp her breast as his golden hand held her in place. It felt cool against the fevered skin of her back.
"Dany," he sighed as he spilled inside her. She fell upon his chest, resting as they both came down from their peaks.
"I kissed you because you looked so beautiful in your sadness. Because I was the Queen from across the sea, the girl who came out of nowhere, sweeping down on her dragons to take a throne and a kingdom she had no memory of, who her people did not know. I kissed you because you looked so alone. I kissed you because, maybe, we could be alone together."
Jaime said nothing at first and she feared he would give his derisive laugh and leave her but he leaned over and blew out the candle before holding her tight to his chest.
"Yes," he finally whispered in the dark, "Alone together."