*A/N: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, a thousand times I'm sorry. I will never abandon a story. Please just stick with me. I promise to make it worth all the waiting.
Braavos
Five Years After the War of the Five Kings/ The Stabbing of Jon Snow...
JAIME
The stink of Braavos was more or less identical to that of King's Landing. Dirt and sweat and cum all smell the same no matter how far a man travels. And across the Narrow Sea was no exception.
Though in appearance, the two cities were quite different when compared. In Braavos, stone bridges stood over rushing canals and connected hundreds of isles together, forming the bastard daughter of Valyria. Ports were scattered among the city, giving landings for fishermen and ferries. Trees were few and far between, only found in designated courtyards and gardens. Temples, inns, alehouses, and brothels decorated the streets, which were flooded with folk from every corner of the world, all speaking different languages at each other; all trying to start new lives.
And the Titan of Braavos, great and mighty with his sword thrust outward, stood tall above everyone; a bronze and stone guardian watching, judging.
Braavos was a rich city, with the Iron Bank a remaining powerhouse; still the most affluent and prosperous company of Essos - and quite possibly the known world. Tycho Nestoris was a politely vicious man who held his position as a representative of the bank quite seriously. He was not a man to let payments defer for longer than he deemed reasonable. And when debts were not received, a simple snap of his fingers sent an army to collect what was owed. Even with an impasse of funds from Westeros, the Iron Bank went on as if untouched and merely set it's sights farther east.
Winter had crept it's way closer. The sharp snap of wind and the crystal white frost clinging to windowpanes told that something powerful was coming. Ships no longer made the journey to Westeros, the conditions too perilous to travel. Instead, merchants traveled as far into Essos as possible to find trading posts among dispersed cities. Seeking somewhere, anywhere - whether it be Qarth or beyond - to trade their goods for gold, silver and copper.
Westeros was dead, brought those lucky enough to flee the bitter cold and cross the Narrow Sea. And it spread like wildfire throughout Braavos, solidifying decisions to execute plans for traveling to the other half of the world.
Though the South was certainly not spared, winter had seemingly isolated most of it's horrendous torture to the North, making it a frigid and savage hell. The lakes and rivers, ponds and streams were all frozen solid without a chance of thawing. Icicles hung long and sharp from trees, bending and breaking even the strongest from the added weight. Westorosi's spoke of a chill so deep and biting, it froze beasts and men alike in one night. And of a snow that fell in thick clumps, never ending and burying shelters in a matter of days.
The land is empty, the Northmen had said. And death rules over it all.
Since then, a ship had not left Braavos for, nor come from, Westeros.
Good fucking riddance. Jaime Lannister thought bitterly as he practically stumbled his way through the streets of the Secret City. Brienne tailed after him, silent as ever - thank the Gods. He was too irritated to engage in conversation.
By the time Jaime had - once again- returned to King's Landing, Cersei had set the Sept of Baelor ablaze with wildfire and declared herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The war had been raging for years at that point, and his twin was determined to stand atop a mountain of the dead in victory. She'd been maniacal and kept herself locked away in Maegor's Holdfast with her devoted pet Qyburn, paranoid of enemies lurking in the halls of the Red Keep. And turned away all who'd come to call on her.
All but Jaime, for she trusted him - as much as it had cost her in the end.
No. He growled lowly, huffing out a breath and shook his thoughts away. He would not think of his sister. Fucking fool. He scolded himself. Leave the dead alone.
Instead, he swung his thoughts to his current state and situation. Bruised and bloodied from the beating he'd taken from the Bull, Jaime wanted as far away from the bastard as possible. The men had yet to see each other since their fight, both needing to cool their tempers before attempting to speak again. Though it was doubtful that a bit of separation would do anything to douse the raging fire they ignited.
Fucking Baratheon blood...Jaime thought bitterly. His body ached from the wounds he suffered and he was fairly certain at least one rib was reasonably injured. Nothing worthwhile in the matter of mind power. Stupid and angry and muscled like a damn beast.
For years the two had been practically at each other's throat, always arguing, always insulting and irrational with their comments. The disdain between them was undeniable. And yet they were stuck - utterly and entirely, until they were able to return to Westeros.
If. If they were able to return to Westeros.
He rounded a corner to find the Inn of the Green Eel, obviously still open for business, and stopped to wait for Brienne. She smiled tentatively as she neared him and Jaime marveled at how loyal the woman was - she put her trust too easily in others, assuming they were as good and true as she. And despite his countless faults, flaws and immensely overwhelming character, Brienne had found him to be worthy of her dependability.
Surely she was a fool.
Though, years ago, when she'd pulled him into the woods of the Riverlands and hurriedly whispered of a mob wishing him dead - by her sword, nonetheless - he'd not called her a fool, but listened silently. A band of outlaws had gathered round a woman of the living dead, capturing Freys and Lannisters alike and slaughtering them. Brienne had been taken, as well as his brother's squire, Podrick Payne. And would only be spared if Jaime laid lifeless and bloody at the feet of Lady Stoneheart.
If not for her warning, he would not have lived. He would have walked right into a trap, believing the tall, unseemly woman he'd come to trust, and met his death. But Brienne had revealed all and the Lion of Lannister had concocted a faintly reliable plan of escape.
Jaime thought - not for the first time - that Brienne the Beauty was possibly the only person who truly cared what happened to him. Immediately he felt a sting of guilt. His ill temper was not something she should have to endure.
And so he flashed her a grin in return and tilted his head towards the inn. "Hungry?"
-O-O-O-
Upon entering the Green Eel, they were greeted by a rowdy crowd all in want of dinner and shelter. Serving girls floated around on light feet, carrying mugs of ale and platters of food. Their skirts swirled in the orange light of a roaring fire, and they smiled at the flirting taunts given by bawdy men. By the time one finally made her way to Jaime and Brienne, the two were ravished and eager.
"Evenin' all," the girl batted her eyes at Jaime, who'd looked no better than a beggar in his tattered rags. "What'll we be havin'?"
He looked up at her and smiled, his swollen lip splitting open. One of his eyes had been bruised so badly, it'd closed shut completely, making his face look lopsided and ugly. "Well, now," He chuckled at the girl. "You can see I'm in a bit of a need drink, my dear."
"Oh!" she gasped, "Gods man, are you alright?"
His smile widened, "Fine, child. But a drink would help. And one for her as well." He nodded at Brienne, who sat across the table from him.
Their server nodded, eyeing him with concern. "Yes, sir. 'Course. An-and I'll see if my mother has any salve made for your wounds."
Jaime dipped his head in courtesy, "I'd appreciate it."
"Right away." Turning on her heel, the young lady sped off to complete the order.
Jaime turned his look to Brienne, a sly smile on his face. "She was nice."
Brienne rolled her eyes, "They're all nice, it seems."
He shrugged, "They wouldn't be if they knew my true name, my history. Best let them have their made up fantasies about me."
"Fantasies," Brienne scoffed and crossed her arms. She leaned back in her chair and glared at him. "You fancy yourself too much, in my opinion. You know that when…" her voice trailed off and her brow creased suddenly.
"What is it?" Jaime frowned at her.
"Sh!" She waved him off and then nodded her head backwards, referring to whatever was behind her. "Listen."
He switched his gaze passed Brienne to a salty looking pair at the table over. The men, both leathered and rough for wear, sat hunched over mugs of ale and muttering a story of thievery. The first and teller of the tale, looked to be the offspring of a giant, with a height and mass that rivaled the Bull. His head was bare, except for a pair of great bushy black eyebrows and a grey beard that hung to the middle of his torso.
"Small little thing," he'd grumbled. "But fierce. She clocked me in me nose when I noticed her reaching for me coins. Didn't grab 'er fast enough. She snatched away me purse and ran off before I had a chance to collect me bearings. Caught a look though."
"Oh, aye?" his companion, who was of smaller stature, raised a brow while sipping his drink. "One o' them orphans, eh?"
The first had shook his head, "No, but ye'd think so by first look o' 'er. Took me a minute to realize it was a woman! Though still young enough to be me grandbaby. She was feisty, the little devil! With a fearsome set o' thunder eyes."
"Thunder eyes?"
"Oh aye," the bigger man nodded. "Great dark grey clouds, they were! Just like a wicked storm blazing through the night. Beautiful, they were. So beautiful, I nearly forgot she was robbin' me!"
His friend laughed in his cup. "That'd be just like you, man! Lettin' some thievin' wench glide away with your earnings just cuz she batted her lashes at you!"
"I didn't let her steal from me!" The first man glared. "I followed her to Ragman's Harbor. She's quick, yes, but me legs are long and I could see her over the crowds. Only lost her when I turned a wrong corner and came to an empty house on a dead end."
"'Spose she went inside to hide?"
"Oh aye," a nod. "I'd thought o' that and went 'round the place to find it all locked up! And the windows were too high for a person to reach. There weren't a chance for anyone to enter."
"So she got away, eh?" the other chuckled. "Too bad, man."
Beneath the table, Brienne's boot kicked Jaime in the shin, drawing his attention back to her. She was positively beaming with excitement.
"No," He frowned stubbornly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Our drinks haven't even arrived yet!" It didn't matter, Brienne was already rising and heading for the door.
-O-O-O-
Jaime leaned against an unknown establishment of Ragman's Harbor, while Brienne stood eyeing a desolate building across the street. The structure - whatever it was - stood dark and unkempt.
He sighed and lazily raised a brow at Brienne, who stood with unfazed eyes upon the dreary building before them. "You don't find this all a bit ridiculous?"
She shook her head. "It's the first clue we've had in months. We just need to go inside."
"Go inside?" Jaime drawled incredulously. "And why would we do that?"
"To find what we need."
"And what do we need?"
"Evidence."
Jaime narrowed his eyes. "Evidence of what?"
Brienne frowned at him. "You know what. Just because you've decided to deny your duties, doesn't mean I have."
"Duties." Jaime scoffed and rolled his emerald eyes at her. The wench was relentless in her devotion to her promise even still after all these years. A promise that Jaime had long ago abandoned. "We haven't been to Westeros in years and you're worried about what you've shackled yourself to over there."
Brienne answered without looking at him. "I shackled myself to you."
He scowled. "Yes, well. I am terribly sorry about that."
Brienne turned to face him, stern and stubborn. "Are you going to stand there and pout? Or are you going to help me?"
"I've told you a thousand times," Jaime pushed off the wall he'd used to prop himself against. His long legs sauntered the few steps to stand next to Brienne, arms crossed tightly over his chest to shield against the biting wind. "I don't remember what the Stark girl looked like."
"Brown hair; grey colored eyes."
Jaime looked upward with annoyance. "Very helpful," he sneered. "I only saw her once - maybe twice -, years ago. And she was a child then; you're searching for a woman grown now. She could look different from how she had before. Besides the boy knows the look of her better than I. Bring him along on these ineffective quests of yours."
Brienne turned to study him, a look of concern clearly coating her freckled face. "How's your eye? It looks like it hurts."
The purple, green and red bruise covered his face on the left side, throbbing painfully. Jaime shrugged, nonchalantly. "Fine. Though it'll be nice when I can see out of it again."
Brienne pursed her lips together and returned to her surveillance of the abandoned building before them. Nothing happened. No one came or went. No candles were lit in the windows. Nothing but wind howled and Jaime's teeth chattered.
"How much longer do you intend to stand out here, wench?" He shook his legs, trying to regain a bit of feeling back in his aching knees. How the woman next to him could stand so soundly in these conditions was beyond him.
"Until something happens."
"Nothing is going to happen."
"We don't don't know that," Brienne glanced at him. "And be quiet."
Jaime narrowed his eyes at her. "For what? No one's bloody out here! Anyone with sense are indoors."
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Brienne shot him a glare. "Something could happen inside that building," She began walking away from him, towards the object in question. "And I intend to know about it."
"Seven Hells," Jaime grumbled, quickly catching up to Brienne's long strides. "You're not going to get in. And even if you do, what do you expect to find?"
"Arya Stark, of course." She spoke as if the answer were obvious. "Haven't you been listening?"
"Arya Stark is dead," Jaime cut in front of Brienne, effectively halting her. He frowned up into her equally irritated face. "And has been for years."
"We don't know that!" Brienne insisted. "Everyone thought she had died the same day as her father - but Gendry revealed that wasn't true! She could still be alive somewhere. And -"
"Oh for fuck's sake, woman!" he groaned. "Even if the Stark girl hadn't died years ago, she's surely dead now!"
"I'm getting into that building" She gave him a look of determination. "With or without you."
Nothing he could say or do would work, and Jaime knew that. If nothing else, the wretched woman was persistent. "Fine," he sighed exasperatedly and ran his one calloused hand over his bearded face.
Brienne beamed.
Next Chapter: Val II