It was dawn when the raven came.

Brienne was lingering abed, head brimming with the night's ghosts. She'd learned not to pay them heed. They were drowning, shapeless things; voices that vied for purchase over the rush and roar of memory.

She rolled over, disentangling herself from the blanket wedged at her thighs. The raven beat ferocious and insistent at the window.

"I hear you."

Brienne stood and lifted the latch; the bird arrowed past her and landed in a cache of shadows that spilled across the chamber.

She stared hard at it before lumbering to the table to retrieve the remains of a plate of fish. Shredding the leftover morsels into her palm, she returned to where the raven was watching and fed it by hand. Its eyes glinted at her, as if habit was all that kept it from making ribbons out of her flesh. Not that she could afford to lose anymore.

When it was done, Brienne removed the scroll of parchment that had been tethered to its leg. Catching sight of the wax seal gave her pause. She knew it well. The open maw of the lion was unmistakable.

Jaime.

Her body flushed. She closed her eyes to a warm pulse of darkness.

Opening them again she drew breath. Her lungs obeyed, but with a force of will, as if she'd been kicked by a horse.Her knees trembled. Fool, she thought. Sit down before you fall.

It had been a year. Nearly a year since they'd parted. Nearly a year since the Dragon Queen and Jon Snow had taken the Iron Throne. Nearly a year since the Great War; since Sansa Stark and Stoneheartand theOthers and—

He had written.

Somewhere in the room the raven squawked, reminding of its presence. Brienne ignored it.

She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the letter against her lap. Jaime had told her he would write; that she wasn't to forget the debt he owed her. A Lannister always pays his debts, he'd said. Then with a smile: and collects on his investments.

But that had been a life and a world away.

As she unrolled the parchment, a spidery scrawl revealed itself. It occurred to Brienne that she'd never seen Jaime's hand before. But she didn't need to know him to see that he had struggled. She felt a dull pang thinking of him sitting in front of the fire while spitting curses, hanging himself at having to relearn yet another such simple task.

My Lady of Tarth,

It seems I am once more to be a lion without a rock. I confess my thoughts have been of visiting yours. Give me leave, and I won't keep either of us waiting. I should think there's been enough of that.

Jaime

Brienne almost dropped the letter.

It seems I am once more to be a lion without a rock.

He was no longer in the Queen's service.

And he wished to visit her.

Be still. You cannot take his meaning. They will have need of him—they are rebuilding…

Tales were still rampant across the Seven Kingdoms of how the Dragon Queen, Jon Snow, and Tyrion had put an end to the Dark Winter. But wasn't it Jaime who had told her that life was not a song, though songs made sweet bedfellows? It was power that was ever sought; the only mistress all men risked death to lie beside.

Before Brienne had returned to Tarth, Jaime had declared his intent to stay and help refortify King's Landing while his brother brooded over possible strategy to crush the resistance to the reunification of Westeros.

They cannot spare him. Brienne picked up the letter and searched it once more, as if reading again would uncover some hidden truth.

Yet it was undeniable. Jaime had written that he would to come to her; to Tarth.

I confess my thoughts have been of visiting yours.

I won't keep either of us waiting.

The last time she was alone with him had been after the final battle. Brienne had found him hours later in the Sept of the Red Keep.

He was kneeling beside a woman with sun in her hair like his own. There was a sword wound through her heart. Around it blood had flowered, spilling across milk-pale breasts that rose against her gown.

Jaime had heard her approach, but didn't say a word; red horror staining his golden hand...

The raven was getting restless. Brienne could hear the clacking of its talons against the hearth's flagstones.

No, I will not keep you.

Outside the window blue light mingled with the gray of Tarth's sea clouds.

Brienne reached over and wrested out parchment and quill from the chest of drawers beside the bed. She waited for a moment, listening as gull cries pierced the silence of the morning.

And remembering the press of Jaime Lannister's beard against her lips, she began to write.