A Dream
Brienne of Tarth has the strangest dream
Warnings: series finale spoilers. Blatant AU. Fixing things my fractured fangirl heart needs fixed.
Pairing: Braime (Brienne of Tarth x Jaime Lannister)
Associated episode: s8e6
She woke up with a start, the strange, blurred edges of the dream fading into nothingness in the darkness of their bedchamber. Her skin was clammy, her breath coming hard though it hadn't been a nightmare, not really. Just a terribly strange dream…
"What is it? What's wrong?" His voice was rough as broken glass, and thick with sleep. As well it should be; a glance at the faint light seeping through the shuttered window told her it was still well and truly night, likely hours before dawn.
"It was a dream," she breathed, settling back into the hollow space of the feather bed. He drew her close to him as she settled in, and her body tensed. It was a reflex, ingrained in her as deeply as the desire to duck her head or avert her eyes when attention was turned on her. But this was a habit she would kick eventually, she told herself. She was already getting better. So she made a conscious effort to relax into him, into his heat, his embrace, and only a few heartbeats later, the warm, soft feeling in her chest told her that yes, relaxing was a good thing. "It was just… just the strangest dream."
"Hmm?" He hummed, his breath warming her bare skin as he tugged the covers up around their shoulders. "What about?"
His voice was so tired, so quiet, she was sure he'd be asleep before she got it out. But she wanted to. The details of it were fading fast, and she wanted to try and remember them.
"I dreamed of the war. The end of it, I mean," she amended hastily. Dreaming of the war was nothing special; they each had their nightmares about the battles, about the blood and the death and the White Walkers. "It was… well, it was… oh, never mind-"
"No, I want to hear it," he said, and set his scruffy chin on her shoulder. His eyes were nothing but glinting slits in the darkness.
So few people had ever truly wanted to hear what she had to say, and for the first time in her life, she lay beside someone she believed truly wanted to.
"I dreamed that Queen Daenerys… she burned the city. King's Landing. Burned it from Flea Bottom to the Red Keep. She'd lost her dragons, except the one, and she burned the city and everyone in it. She'd… she'd gone well and truly mad. Just like her father. Cersei… she died. But not in the fire. She died as the castle collapsed. And you…" She stopped then, but swallowed, a bulled on. "And you had gone back to her."
"I did." He said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "I did go back to her, but you know why I had to."
Brienne didn't look at him, only watched the darkness overhead, choosing not to acknowledge his words. "But you died with her, in her arms, beneath the stone. I think… I think your brother found you. Found you both, dead there, beneath the rubble."
"A castle fell on us and Tyrion found us? Tyrion? You've met my brother, haven't you? A small man. Not one for moving much rubble."
"He didn't have to more much, but that isn't the point." She narrowed her eyes, fishing through the soupy murkiness the dream had left in her head, through the fast-evaporating memories. "Then… and this is the strangest thing of all… Queen Daenerys wasn't even sorry. Didn't care that she'd killed a million innocents. So Jon Snow killed her, and-"
"Snow? Killed the Queen?"
"Yes," she said hastily and quietly, wanting to finish the trail of thought she'd found, but she daren't speak too loudly, even here in their bedchamber. "And then they called a… what would you call it? A meeting, a… a congress, I suppose. I was there, and all the members of the great old houses, all those that were left. And we decided to call Brandon Stark king of the Seven Kingdoms. Six kingdoms. The North… they did not bend the knee. But no one took issue with that."
She glanced sideways to see the glint of teeth in the darkness. "That's some dream," he said, and she felt more than heard him chuckle. "Just don't speak of it too loudly. Our Queen is a great many things, but being open to discussion of her possible madness isn't one of them."
"It isn't that I think she'd actually do such a thing… I can't imagine. All her life she's fought to save innocent lives, to make herself a good, just ruler. I couldn't imagine her taking innocent lives so callously." Still something about the dream lingered, and kept her from sleep well after Jaime began snoring quietly at her shoulder. She lay her head against him, and tried to coax herself back to sleep, but it was no use, and the hours dragged on toward morning.
It dawned too bright and too soon, and she felt her mostly sleepless night in the gentle ache of her muscles as she rose from bed into the cool morning air. Spring was coming, or so the maesters said, but you wouldn't know it from the frosted mornings, even here in the south. Nothing compared to those mornings in Winterfell, of course, but the stone beneath her feet was still unpleasantly cold, and her skin goosepimpled as she dressed.
Jaime woke not long after, and commenced with his preliminary burrowings, stretchings, and groanings about meeting yet another morning. "Come back to bed," he implored her at least twice, "I can think of better ways to spend the day than catching a chill out there."
"I am Captain of the Queensguard," she reminded him, but couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face. "The best thing I have to do is protect my Queen."
"I beg to differ, but we know how well I've guarded my monarchs."
He threw off the covers and began dressing as she donned her armor. They broke their fast on oatbread and as they dressed, as the day spread out before them. "You'll be expected this evening," she said as he settled in a chair beside the window to work on his boots and golden hand.
"We're feasting again? Seven Hells, not even Robert feasted this much."
"We have much to celebrate."
"It's been six months since we crowned her, what are we celebrating now?"
"It's the anniversary of her freeing the Unsullied in Slaver's Bay."
"And I'll be expected why?"
"Because you are a member of the court," she said, marching over to stand toe-to-toe with him. He looked up and smiled in the weak, watery morning light, but that smile was bright as a summer sun, at least to her. She leaned down and kissed his mouth, her hand settling on the cool skin of his neck.
"Well, I suppose I don't have a choice then, do I? Though I'd rather be dining in the small hall with you and Tyrion. And with what's his name, the new Baratheon?"
"Gendry," she sighed, for what felt like the thousandth time. She ran a brush through her hair, combing out the night's tangles.
"That's it. Thought he was a bit thick to begin with, but he's not bad. Besides, he's leaving for Storm's End soon enough, and I keep meaning to ask if he has any thoughts on improving this," he motioned to the golden hand. "And of course, the Queen isn't over-fond of dining with me, even in the most festive of times…"
"That-" she began, but couldn't finish. That isn't true, she had started to say, and it must have been written on her face, because he gave her a flash of a grin.
"Yes it is true. Nor do blame her. I killed her father. I killed my own sister. Two regents, dead at my hands… well, hand." He took a moment to use his teeth to tighten the leather band, securing his golden hand to his arm. "She's given me more freedom than many would, given the amount of regicide House Lannister has committed in the past few years. But no one much enjoyed dining with a Kingslayer, and when you add the title of Queenslayer…"
"Stop that. She's perfectly fine dining with you, and besides, there will be a hundred others there," she told him, lips quirked into a smile in the looking glass, still trying to tame her hair into something respectable for a Captain of the Queensguard, but that word - Queenslayer - had brought her dream to the forefront of her mind. It had been so strange, but seemed so real…
The next thing she knew, he was at her side, taking the now-immobile brush from her hand. "Darling? What is it? You look about a thousand leagues away."
"Only…" she shook her head. "It's nothing. Only that dream…"
"Put it from your mind. I mean, really. Brandon Stark, King of the Seven Kingdoms? There's a frightening prospect. One wants a little passion in one's regent. Or at least a little interest in the living. Or at least, one wants a regent who can appear to be alive himself…"
"All right," she nudged his arm on her way by, but he caught her wrist and smiled up at her, no longer mocking.
"It was only a dream," he told her softly.
"I know that. I'm not a child."
But he didn't relinquish hold of her wrist. He seemed to struggle with the words for a moment, then managed, "You know I wouldn't leave you. Not… permanently. You have my heart, Brienne of Tarth, Captain of the Queensguard." His smile was soft and it did her heart so much good to see it. Then it turned into a thoughtful sort of smirk. "And my sword. You have my sword, too. That is, you have my heart, but that sword-"
She kissed him to shut him up. She'd never kissed a man in all her life, and here, now, in this past half-year, she'd kissed this one at least once for each hour that had passed. At least she was trying to.
They walked down the hall, Brienne's destination the Queen's quarters to relieve Pod of his watch, Jaime to harangue the Queen's Hand into eating between carrying out their Queen's edicts, some of which included overseeing the removal of the final scorpions from the city walls, and the ever-important management and procurement of food for a city of a million. Not to mention coordinating tonight's feast.
"You know what I've just realized?" His voice brought her back to the here-and-now. His breath crystallized on the air in front of him as he rubbed his stubbled jaw, "Brandon Stark was the king in your dream, but if he had died when I'd pushed him out that window, I'd have the death of yet another king beneath my belt-"
"I don't know why I talk to you, I honestly don't."
"But Bran Stark? Really, darling, how much wine did you drink last night?"
"Oh, be quiet, will you?"
"Just as soon as you give me something better to do with my lips," he grabbed her wrist again, and kissed her soundly on the mouth. A pair of guards passed them in the hall a few moments later, and Brienne pulled away, feeling her cheeks flaming. "I'll see you tonight," he said in a deep timbre that sent shivers up her spine, beneath her layers of ceremonial armor. Then, as he was walking away, she heard him chuckle to himself, "Seven Hells, Bran Stark…"
A/N: I've never written ASOIAF or GOT fanfic before, but I couldn't not. I could write a dissertation on the ways the last few episodes broke my heart, but the biggest fracture was the way Braime ended. So I fixed it in this quick one-shot, because Jaime and Brienne deserved better. They deserved each other, and a soft epilogue, as the saying goes. And don't get me started on Dany... - C