A/N: This chapter has some Jaime/Cersei in it.
Warnings: Canon-compliant coarse language. Ummm…I don't think I need to warn for anything else (other than Jaime/Cersei), but if you're reading ASOIAF fic, be prepared for…well…anything, really. O.O
King's Landing: One
Brienne
She dreads leaving the Quiet Isle more than she expected, and the day for departure arrives all too quickly. The weather has turned mild and the snow is slowly melting so they're cautiously hopeful they will have a quick and uneventful journey to Maidenpool.
Her stomach churns as she straightens the cottage the night before their departure and a part of her wishes they could stay here forever and never again see the world that is beyond this island. The door opens and Jaime strides in on a gust of cold air, a satisfied smile on his lips.
Not that he would be grateful, she thinks ruefully, as she glances at him then continues straightening the cottage. Jaime must needs be anxious to return to his duties as Kingsguard, his King and his sister-lover. The realm is still unsettled, winter has arrived, and there is little food for either nobles or smallfolk. There is much the court in King's Landing must do if the Seven Kingdoms are to survive winter.
But she still has no idea where she will go or what she will do once her presence in King's Landing is no longer needed. She thinks of Tarth and her father and is surprised by how deeply she yearns to see both again. She could go home then, back to the Sapphire Isle. Convince her father to marry again—the mutilated face she has yet to see will surely help in that endeavor-and mayhaps she would have little brothers and sisters she could help protect in to adulthood this time. She mourns for a moment for the mother she barely remembers, for Galladon and the two small sisters she lost, and thinks mayhaps going home to Evenfall will be for the best.
She left Tarth to follow King Renly, and he's dead. She stayed to serve Lady Catelyn, and she's been transformed in to a walking abomination. She dare not swear her sword to Jaime, not that he would ask, and she will not serve the monsters in King's Landing. Even taking the black is barred from her, even if she wanted it, and without a lord to serve, she's no better than a hedge knight, nobly born or no.
She sighs.
"Why so quiet, wench?" Jaime says. "I can almost smell you thinking."
She glances over her shoulder and glares. "I am thinking of home, Ser Jaime," she says with as much haughty dignity as she can muster.
He raises one golden eyebrow. "The Sapphire Isle?"
"It is the only home I've ever known," she says and turns away. She had hoped to find a home with King Renly, but that was not to be. And as for Lady Catelyn, well...the less thought she gives to her fate, the better.
"I wish I could say King's Landing will be your new home, but no one rests easily in that city," Jaime says lightly as he, too, begins collecting his few possessions, setting them to the ready for the morning. He strides to the chest in the corner and lifts the lid. "I doubt any of us will be in King's Landing long enough to consider it home. We still have a dead revenant roaming the Riverlands with a band of outlaws willing to obey her every word, and hanging Freys and Lannisters without thought. She must be stopped."
She spins to look at him. He's standing, staring into the chest with a pensive scowl.
"You cannot mean to ask-she was once Lady Catelyn! I swore an oath to serve her!"
Jaime gives her a pitying look. "Lady Catelyn is dead, Brienne, no matter if her body hasn't realized it. And I have no intention of asking you to break one of your precious oaths! Nor was I finished. We have Lady Stoneheart in the Riverlands, and I fear Ser Robert Strong is a similar creature-and he is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"
Brienne stares, eyes wide. "What do you think it all means?" she asks, suddenly feeling very much like a child begging for reassurance.
He shakes his head. "I'm not Tyrion," he says and there's a note of sadness when he says his brother's name. His smile is both fond and sad. "He would have known all of what it means-or found out!-and would have thought of some jape to ease my cares."
Brienne stands awkwardly, and curses her thick head for being unable to think of something to say.
He blinks and looks up at her with a rueful smile.
"But I'm not Tyrion," he says again, "and without a sword hand, I am less than useless." He reaches in to the chest and pulls out Oathkeeper. He walks to her and holds it out. "I'll need your help, Brienne. Only those of us who have seen Lady Stoneheart for ourselves will believe what's happening, whatever it is. We may be the only ones who can stop it."
She blinks, then drops her gaze to the sword. She has a flash of memory, of begging for, searching for, the magic sword Jaime had given her. She takes in the golden lion's head on the pommel with its ruby eyes, and thinks of the beauty of the Valyrian steel currently hidden by the scabbard.
"And if we can't?" she says.
"We die trying."
*/*/*/*/*
They take their leave of the Elder Brother and the other brothers and make their way through the Riverlands to arrive in Maidenpool ahead of Ser Addam Marbrand. The people of Maidenpool watch them with suspicion as they make their way to Lord Mooton's castle on the hill, and Jaime prudently removes his golden hand and hides it from view. Brienne does the same with Oathkeeper.
Lord Mooton is surprised but cautiously welcoming, and Brienne is relieved to find Lord Randyll Tarly was no longer in residence. Jaime and Brienne are ushered to bedchambers in the castle while Ser Hyle is sent to bed down with Lord Mooton's knights. From his grin, Brienne suspects Hunt is planning on bedding down with more than knights. She only hopes he is discreet about where he's been the last few weeks.
Brienne's room is pleasant enough, large and unused and she hopes the chill will soon be eased by the large, cheerful fire Pod kindles in the hearth. She then sends him to arrange for bathwater. Once alone, she roams round the sparsely furnished room, noting the bed appears comfortable and may almost be long enough for her, but she carefully avoids the large mirror that's above the pitcher and basin not far from the bed.
Still, as basic as the room is, it feels over-large after the cozy cottage on the Quiet Isle-or mayhaps it's because there will be no Jaime tonight to take up space and crowd her on a narrow bed, or to press up close against her for warmth as he did during their journey here. This bed will be far more comfortable than those previous ones, made even more so because she will have it to herself.
Or so she staunchly tells herself.
Pod arrives with several serving girls carrying hot water to fill the tub that's in front of the hearth. Two other serving girls are behind them, one carrying towels and the other, Brienne sees with a sigh, carrying what appears to be a dress. It will be too small, she thinks despondently, and will make eating virtually impossible as she will fear to split the seams with every movement.
With luck, this Ser Addam Marbrand and what's left of Jaime's Riverlands army will arrive in the next day or two, and they can leave for King's Landing. The sooner they arrive there, the sooner she can leave again for...wherever their discoveries about the dead returning to life might lead her.
Mayhaps, she thinks as the servants finish getting her bath ready and troop out of the room, staring at her over their shoulders, mayhaps it would be better if she stayed in the Riverlands and searched for news of Lady Stoneheart. She might be able to learn if the smallfolk have any lore that might explain how that creature came to exist. Or mayhaps she should go to Myr. The Red Priest said it was his dark magics that ultimately spawned the revenant.
She slowly loosens her clothes, wincing as her movements unexpectedly pull at her wounds. The wince pulls at the scar on her cheek and reminds her of that one thing she's been avoiding.
She looks over her shoulder, where the mirror lurks.
She doesn't want to look but she knows she must. She had managed to avoid it while on the Quiet Isle because she was seldom alone and for the first few weeks, far too weak to even think of it. But now...she cannot avoid a looking glass forever. And she needs to know.
She straightens her shoulders and turns and, with a deep breath, walks towards the mirror.
*/*/*/*/*
It is as bad as she imagined, and worse than she expected. Her cheek is sunken, the scars twisted ropes that are a bright, still-angry red, livid against her freckled face. She gently touches it, feeling the unfamiliar bumps and curves against her fingers.
She slowly drops her hand, eyes wide and filling with tears.
She's gone from homely to truly ugly and she thinks that Red Ronnet Connington would not even bother throwing a rose in to the dirt at her feet, as she turns away, weeping.
*/*/*/*/*
She's still weeping when there's a knock on her door. She knows it must be Jaime-who else would come looking for her? Who else would knock in that arrogant way? She tries to wipe the tears from her cheeks but they seem never-ending and she wonders why she weeps so for something she never truly had in the first place.
He knocks again. "Brienne? Open the door, wench, or have you drowned in the tub?"
No, only in her tears, she thinks, and sighs as she opens the door.
His smirk disappears and his eyes widen when he sees her tear-ravaged face. He gently herds her back in to the room and demands, "What has happened? Are you hurt?" He grips her shoulder, hand squeezing so hard she winces, but it stops the tears. "Has someone done something to you?"
She blinks owlishly at him. "No," she says, "no. I-I just-" she waves helplessly at her face then towards the mirror and she knows he doesn't understand because he releases her and glares round the room as if daring the enemy to appear.
"I saw myself for the first time," she says and presses her lips tightly together.
His puzzled frown doesn't change. "For the first-?" He stops as realization dawns and his shoulders relax.
She ducks her head and looks at the ground.
They stand in not-uncomfortable silence. She starts when he carefully puts his gold hand beneath her chin and gently raises it until she has no choice but to look in to his eyes. At least she doesn't see pity there, she thinks, blinking her tears away as she forces herself to hold his gaze.
"I forget how young you truly are," he murmurs after a moment, "and that you are not only a warrior but also a maid." He searches her eyes, his own, for once, serious. "There are too many scars left from these damnable wars, Brienne, and some of them you can't even see."
She stares, wondering what he means, then realizes he must be telling her to stop feeling sorry for herself as she is not the only one with wounds. She nods and steps away, scrubbing the last traces of her tears from her cheeks and grimacing as her fingers brush over her scars.
"My pardons, Ser Jaime," she says, straightening her shoulders. "You did not come here expecting to find a weeping maiden."
He stares at her as if she's run mad, then abruptly shakes his head. "No, I came to see what monstrosity of a gown the good people of this castle are trying to force upon you."
She sighs and waves a hand towards the pile of silk on the bed.
Jaime strides to it and lifts it. "Well," he says at last, "at least it's not Myrish lace and pink satin."
She grimaces. "I should be thankful, I suppose."
Jaime shakes his head. He yanks the door open then looks both ways down the hall before roaring, "Pod!"
"What are you doing?" Brienne hisses as he closes the door. "Pod is hopefully in the kitchens, winkling treats from the cooks."
The door bursts open and Pod skids inside, his cheeks red as he pants for breath. "Yes, Ser Jaime? My lady, ser?"
"Go to the knights and find clean breeches and a shirt for your 'my lady, ser'. She can't be expected to parade about the Great Hall tonight in a gown that's far too small."
"Yes, Ser Jaime," Pod says.
"If the shirt you find is blue, even better."
Pod nods and disappears again.
"I can't go to Great Hall wearing breeches! Lord Mooton will not allow it!"
"You are with me, Brienne," Jaime says, all arrogant lion. "Lord Mooton will have naught to say about it."
She glares and opens her mouth to argue, but before she can say anything more, he says, "Besides, the man has the courage of an earthworm. He would not dare say nay to you alone, if you wished to press the point. But no matter. You don't have much time left in which to bathe before we sup. Get undressed and I'll help you."
She flushes a hot, fiery red. "You can't assist me here, Jaime! This is not the Quiet Isle!"
He rolls his eyes. "And you can't possibly pretend to maidenly modesty after our time there! A maid you still may be, but there's nothing left to hide from me, Brienne."
Her cheeks are so hot she wonders if her face will actually burst into flame. "What if one of the servants-"
He waves away her concerns as he saunters to the tub and tests the water. "Still quite hot. Quickly, so you're ready when Pod returns with fresh clothes."
She grumbles but tells herself there's simply not enough time to argue, and relents.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
Damn those big blue eyes, Jaime thinks as he scrubs the hard bar of soap over Brienne's broad back, and damn them thrice over when they're swimming in tears. They had dried quickly enough, and he thinks he must have said something wrong when he was trying to comfort her. He'd intended to put his arms round her, to draw her head to his shoulder and let her weep, but the maid had been overtaken by the warrior and the moment was lost.
He had not realized she had not seen herself while on the Quiet Isle. He had become so used to the scars on her face and on her body that he sees them now as simply a part of her. Still, he, of all people, should have realized how difficult it would be for Brienne to face the world outside the Quiet Isle, bearing the scars she acquired in her quest. Jaime glances ruefully at his stump, wrapped in a wet cloth he's using to wash her.
"Ser Addam should be here in a few days," Jaime says as he hands her back the soap.
"Are you going to remind me yet again not to tell him that we are wed?" she asks drily as she uses the soap to scrub her legs. He grins at her disgruntled tones.
"No, no, I believe I've finally managed to lodge that point in your stubborn brain, wench."
"Do you think I want anyone to know?" she snaps.
"You could do worse than a Lannister of Casterly Rock!"
"Not one who is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"
"Even if I was released from the Kingsguard at the time?"
She snorts and leans forward with a pained grunt to clean her feet. Jaime nods with satisfaction. The wench is sitting a horse well enough for hours at a time and her limp is easing.
"I think you can begin training once we arrive in King's Landing," he says.
She gives him a frown over her shoulder. "I intend to begin as soon as we leave Maidenpool," she says. "I have been too long without swinging a sword."
"I, as well, but it was your sword arm that was broken, my lady, and the splint was only removed the day we left the Quiet Isle. The bone is still tender. Do you truly wish to risk breaking it again?"
"You think you're strong enough to break it with your left hand, ser?"
He bites back a grin at her arrogance. "Mayhaps I am not, but Ser Addam most definitely is, and he is the one I will charge with training you back in to fighting shape. He will not hesitate to break your arm again if it pleases him."
"Do you spar with him?"
Jaime laughs as he pours water over her head, making her sputter, and begins soaping her hair. "Addam could break my head, if it pleases him. No, I spar with Ser Ilyn Payne. It seems my skills are only fit for fighting a man who, for the last fifteen years, has only swung a sword when it was time to remove a man's head from his shoulders."
"You fared well enough against the Brotherhood without Banners."
"Fear adds strength and skill to the arm," he says, rinsing the soap from her hair, gently using his fingers to work through the tangles. "The Quiet Brothers lurking nearby and joining the battle on our side was what saved us, not any skill or strength in my arm. Finished?"
She nods, and he gains his feet, then helps her stand, water streaming off her.
"I won't be able to do this once we leave Maidenpool," he says.
"I know," she says. "I don't expect you to do this here."
"There are no serving girls strong enough to lift you from the bath. I inspected them all."
She flashes him a look that seems almost amused. "I have no doubt you have," she says.
"You wound me, my lady. I am nothing if not faithful."
The words immediately bring Cersei to his mind, and he realizes it must also bring his sweet sister to Brienne's mind as well, because in an instant, her amusement is gone.
"Yes," is all she says, but she will not look at him as she holds on to his shoulder to steady herself as she carefully steps from the tub.
He scowls as he quickly towels her dry, being careful of her still tender scars and bones. He finds himself looking at her, truly looking at her, in a way he hasn't since the first bath he assisted her with on the Quiet Isle. He sees her teats are small, yes, but still pleasingly plump, covered with freckles like the rest of her, and he can't help but notice they fit perfectly in the palm of his hand as he passes over them with the towel. Her nipples are small and pink, and are currently hard little pebbles from leaving the warm water for the cool air of the room.
He glances up at her face to find her watching him with a puzzled frown.
"Go wrap up in a blanket, wench, before you get cold," he says. "I'm sure one of the serving girls will be here soon to help with your hair."
She snorts but does as he suggests and he sees her shiver as she turns away. His eyes drift down her muscled back, to her thick waist, then lower, and his gaze lingers on the firm globes of her ass as she limps away from him.
He tears his eyes away and thinks that perhaps it is not such a bad thing that they're soon to be separated.
He has, once again, been too long without a woman.
Without Cersei.
That thought sobers him more than any other.
*/*/*/*/*
Ser Addam and his tail arrive in Maidenpool four days later and two days after that, they press on to King's Landing. The weather remains cold, but no further snow falls and they make good time.
Ser Hyle is integrated with the rest of the knights and Jaime gives orders for Brienne's tent to be struck close to his each night. He assigns Ser Ilyn to camp close by her with strict orders to wake Jaime if Ser Ilyn hears her calling in the night. Jaime is pleased to find his squires and Pia are part of Ser Addam's tail, and he assigns Pia to act as lady's maid for Brienne...to the extent that Brienne requires one. From what he can see, the poor girl and Brienne seem to get along well enough. Pod, of course, sleeps in the tent with Brienne and continues to fulfill his duties as squire.
Jaime is satisfied that he has provided her with every comfort he can and he should sleep easy.
Yet he finds it surprisingly difficult to sleep without the big, lumbering wench snoring beside him. Most likely because she's warm, he tells himself, but still he finds himself waking several times in the night, listening for her calling him, or reaching out to stroke her hair only to find he's alone.
Addam seems more bemused by Brienne than anything else, but then, Brienne tends to have that effect on everyone. Jaime's looking forward to watching Addam's first sparring session with the wench once they're settled in King's Landing. He grins as he imagines the look on his friend's face when Brienne proves her skills.
But King's Landing means Cersei, and his reluctance to face her only grows the closer they draw to the city.
*/*/*/*/*
They enter the city through the Dragon Gate and ride too slowly for Jaime's liking through the streets towards the Red Keep. The people of the city watch them with burning eyes but appear peaceful enough even as they whisper "Kingslayer" as they pass.
The last time he arrived in King's Landing with Brienne by his side, no one recognized him. He had locked Brienne in a tower cell to protect her from Loras Tyrell's sword and rage at the death of his lover-king, and then Jaime had found his sister in the sept beside their son's dead body and fucked her on the Mother's altar.
He wonders if Cersei ever told the High Sparrow that particular sin.
That had been the last time they fucked, but then she hadn't really needed him, had she? Especially when he no longer had a sword hand. After all, she'd been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy, for all he knew.
He presses his lips tightly together then says to Addam, "I must needs wash the dirt of travel from me and then find my sweet sister."
Ser Addam nods. "I'll marshall this lot through the city, ser, if you would like to ride ahead."
Jaime gives him a grateful look along with a short nod. He glances at Brienne, riding stoically on the other side of him, then spurs his horse and leaves them all behind.
*/*/*/*/*
He's ushered in to Cersei's chambers to find her standing with her back to the door, shrouded in a dress of muted colour with a hooded mantle pulled up over her head. She is attended by three women he's never seen before.
One murmurs in her ear and she says, "Leave us. I wish to speak with my sweet brother in privacy."
The women hesitate and Cersei says, "Leave. Now."
The women scurry from the room and Cersei slowly turns, lowering the hood of her mantle to reveal her shorn hair.
Jaime's eyes widen, and as angry as he's been with Cersei, he has loved her his entire life, she is his sister and his twin, and there's still something in him that rages at the sight of her short hair, barely an inch long. There's also a sallowness to her skin and her eyes are bright green and glittering with a dark and angry fire.
"When last you were lost in the Riverlands," she says, "you returned with shorn hair and broken pride. This time, I am the one with shorn hair and broken pride." She laughs, a harsh, cracking sound. "We are once more mirror images of each other, true twins as we have always been, sweet brother. You are a knight without a hand, and I, a Queen without power."
"Cersei," he says, choking on his words, his heart breaking.
Cersei smiles. "You're back, and my trial is over, although our little Rose Bitch is still awaiting hers. No matter. Even if found innocent, I will destroy her and the rest of those grubbing, grasping Tyrells. Because now you're back, and with your aid, this city will rue the day they jeered at the naked body of their Queen."
She steps quickly to him, pulls his face down to hers and kisses him, deeply, hungrily, passionately. And, to his shame, he's drawn-tempted-and he wants-
He pushes her away slightly and she blinks lust-glazed eyes in surprise. He's so hard it almost hurts and while part of him wants to rip the dress off her, to take her against the wall, to throw her on the bed and fuck her until she screams his name, he also needs to know.
"Lancel?" he rasps, his voice husky. "Osney Kettleblack and his brothers?"
Tell the truth, he wants to beg. Tell me, beg my forgiveness, confess all, and mayhaps—mayhaps-I'll be able to forgive...
For a moment, he desperately longs-yearns-for the Cersei of his memories, the Cersei he had fled to in his mind while the Mad King raped his wife or murdered his enemies, the Cersei for whom he had given up his birthright for the privilege of staying by her side, the woman he had loved so utterly and completely all his life.
If she tells the truth now...
"Oh, Jaime-it's all lies," she says, stroking his cheek. "The septas wouldn't let me sleep, wouldn't let me go. I lied so the High Septon would release me. I had no choice!" She throws her arms round him, pressing frantic kisses all over his face. "Oh, Jaime, no! No, no, no! It's always only been you! Always!"
Jaime gently disentangles himself and takes a step away.
"Have a care, Cersei," he says. "The septas may be watching you still, and fucking your brother will only give the High Septon reason to arrest you again-and me along with you! His power is still too strong to test."
Her jaw drops, then her expression hardens, green eyes glittering.
"We must needs change that, now that you're back."
Jaime's eyes narrow. "How so?"
"We must needs remove this High Sparrow and all his twittering followers. No one humiliates the Queen!"
Except Kings, apparently, Jaime thinks, but stays silent.
"Well?" she snaps.
"He's popular," Jaime says slowly, thinking this is yet another strange homecoming after being thought lost forever. "The smallfolk will riot if something were to happen to him. They support his warrior brothers-they feel they fight for them and not the nobles, who have left them without food for the winter. This is not something solved by might, sweet sister, but something that must be won through guile."
Cersei sneers. "Guile? I have the wrong brother in front of me if I wanted guile! I want him punished, Jaime-I want them all punished! Now!"
"And if I take his head, the smallfolk will tear Tommen apart along with all who surround him! They're starving, Cersei, they are dying, and not even the sight of your bare teats and hairless cunt will be enough to appease them!"
The crack of her palm against his cheek is loud and seems to echo in the silence that follows.
"Have a care, Jaime," she finally hisses. "I find I no longer have the stomach for insults."
Jaime rubs his stinging cheek.
"Your pardon, Your Grace," he says and bows mockingly, "but my point remains. If you use violence against the Faith, King's Landing will burn."
She leans closer, eyes glittering. "Then let it burn."
*/*/*/*/*