Warnings: Threats of rape. I told people that Prince Jaime gets worse before he gets better. And, of course, canon-compliant coarse language.
Seven
*/*/*/*/*
Tyrion plies Jaime and the cab driver—Jorah, Jaime thinks his name is—with the finest Northern whiskey and listens to Jaime's story. It's not until they're on their fifth drink that Jaime says with drunken suspicion, "You're not surprised. You knew?"
Tyrion sighs and gives him a steady look. "I suspected."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"Would you have believed me? Taena has kept you blinded your entire time together. I somehow doubt my suspicions—and no proof—was going to change that."
Jaime shakes his head. "S'pose not," he slurs and has another drink.
*/*/*/*/*
At some point, Jorah and Tyrion start sharing stories of the women they've loved and lost, and Jaime's last memory of the night is listening to Jorah explain how and why he went to prison. Jaime's last thought is a that he really needs to ask more questions of his cab drivers before inviting them to go drinking with him.
*/*/*/*/*
The next morning, with Tyrion and Jorah's drunken snores piercing his ears, Jaime peers at his phone through barely functional eyes and texts Brienne that he's going to the Summer Isles for a couple of days, then falls back in his seat on the Lannister private jet and prays they land before he has to puke.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne is not surprised that Jaime promptly disappears with Taena to the Summer Isles for several days. To be honest, it's a bit of a relief. She uses the time to reassure Pod—a small dog of uncertain pedigree who had followed her home one day—that she's back and will stay that way for a while. She also continues analyzing the data they'd gathered, refining their new equations, and e-mailing all the colleagues she knows who might have time booked on the Wall, trying to call in some favors and doing some old-fashioned horse-trading to get them more time at the Wall sooner rather than later.
In the evenings, she thinks with wistful envy of Jaime and Taena lazing on the beaches of the Summer Isles. Each night she allows herself a moment to wish she was the one with Jaime, and another to wish she was as beautiful as Taena, before shaking off her melancholy. Being jealous of Taena is like being jealous of the moon, and wishing for Jaime is even more useless. She sighs, absently gives Pod a pat, and starts crafting her next e-mail.
*/*/*/*/*
"You summoned me, oh, master," Brienne says sarcastically as she walks into Jaime's office a couple of days later.
He glances up at her and she blinks a little at the complete lack of humor in his eyes. She looks more closely and sees that while he's tanned, he looks tired and tense.
"I've been doing the math," Jaime says, taking off his reading glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We can jump from universe to universe by changing all of the necessary strings' frequencies at once, rather than having to rev them up, so to speak. If we do that, we can get to each universe immediately. It may also result in a longer connection to that universe if we can maintain the combination of frequencies."
Brienne raises an eyebrow as she unslings her purse then drops into the chair in front of Jaime's desk. "How much longer?"
"At least five seconds."
Her eyes widen. "That's pushing the limits of the Wall and its EM barrier to the extreme," she says.
He gestures for her to join him behind his desk. He perches his glasses back on his nose as she leans over his shoulder, peering at the equations on his computer screen.
"Maintaining the frequencies for five seconds is pushing the Wall's capabilities, I agree, but we can connect to several universes—or the same universe several times—in a single night."
"We'll blow the generators! Or the EM barrier!"
"Not if we allow at least a half-hour of down time between...pulses, I suppose we can call it."
She scowls as she peers at the equations, her lips moving a little in her concentration. She shakes her head as she straightens, her hand resting on the back of his office chair. "It's dangerous," she says.
"No more dangerous than the original round of experiments, and now that we know we can connect to other universes—now that we know we can see them—we have to push the limits to learn all we can."
She shakes her head. "It's dangerous," she says stubbornly, "and possibly reckless."
"Reckless," he snorts. "I've triple-checked the equations and have already run two simulations. The Wall and the EM barrier are still standing after both simulations. There's nothing reckless about it."
"Well, I'm going to quadruple-check the formulas and run my own simulations, thank you very much."
He rolls his eyes. "Of course," he says drily.
"Not that we can do anything about running new tests any time soon," she says, and now her mouth turns down almost into a pout. "I've begged and bargained and threatened everyone I know. Nobody's willing to budge. We won't be getting time on the Wall for months."
"Ah, that."
Her eyes narrow. "Don't tell me you've jumped the line again."
His smile is thin. "Don't worry, Junior—you can still sleep soundly at night. We have not jumped the line again. However, there are a few days next month where the facility has no experiments scheduled in the evenings and overnight. We can use it then."
She scowls. "The generators—"
"Will already be at partial or almost full power before the end of the day's experiments. Even if they're only at half-power at six in the evening, that means we can still start running our experiments by midnight. With half an hour between pulses, we could visit all five universes every night we're there. Unless that's too reckless for you, of course."
Brienne considers him with a suspicious scowl. "I'm going to check the equations and run my own simulations," she says again.
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
"And I want to talk to the Wall's Director myself."
Jaime heaves a mock-sigh and shakes his head. "We really need to work through your trust issues—"
"Shut up," she snaps and flushes a dark red even as she smacks his shoulder.
*/*/*/*/*
They easily settle back into their usual routine: meeting most mornings to work out before going to their offices or their lab to continue analyzing the data, bickering over their theories and equations, and arguing over the best way to identify the exact combinations of string frequencies for each universe they've found.
"I know we thought of it as the combination to a safe," Jaime says late one evening, "but mayhaps we should call it the address, instead."
"Well," Brienne says absently, frowning at her laptop, "if we get the frequencies right, then I suppose it really is an address."
"And if we get the frequencies wrong?"
She glances up and gives him a half-smile, "Then I guess we'll see if we find a different universe."
He chuckles a little at that and turns back to his own laptop. He's acutely aware that Brienne's lovely eyes have a worried gleam as she watches him. He's caught puzzled confusion in her face ever since he returned from the Summer Isles. He knows he should tell her about Taena before she learns about it from somebody else—most likely Tyrion, because his brother usually keeps a secret exactly as long as it takes him to dial a phone. The fact Tyrion hasn't told Brienne anything yet is a minor miracle, as far as Jaime is concerned.
He heaves a silent sigh. He knows why he doesn't want to tell Brienne: because what happened with Taena follows too closely to what happened to the Jaime in the one universe Brienne hasn't seen yet. The end of his relationship with Taena, here in the Prime universe, makes him...uneasy, although exactly how and why isn't something he understands yet. Or wants to put into words.
He glances at Brienne, once more scowling at her laptop.
The sooner they can get back to the Wall and continue their experiments, the better.
*/*/*/*/*
Three weeks after they left Castle Black, they meet on the Lannister private plane to return to the Wall. Brienne feels guilty for putting Pod back in the kennel so soon, even though she knows he's well cared for there. Still, the sad-eyed look on his furry face this morning lingers until Jaime finally says, "You should bring him next time."
She starts and blinks at him. "What?"
"That ratty little mutt of yours. Bring him next time. We're flying on a private plane, and we can give him the run of the Wall while we're working."
Brienne frowns. "He's not ratty, and that would throw off the experiments."
Jaime grins, the first real grin she thinks she's seen since they returned to King's Landing almost a month ago.
"Always the scientist," he murmurs. "Okay, then he can have the run of my hotel suite while we're working."
She rolls her eyes. "He's fine," she mutters, feeling a little ridiculous that he can tell she's pining for her dog and not, say, a boyfriend. She really needs to try dating again.
Maybe.
"Well," Jaime says, "the option's there."
"Well...thanks," she says, then gives him an almost bashful smile. "Seriously. Thank you. If we're going to be going back and forth more often, then I may take you up on that. But until then, Pod's fine in the kennel."
"But are you fine with him in the kennel? I don't want your worry for your ratty little mutt to get in the way of our work."
She rolls her eyes. "He's not ratty, and stop being an arse."
Jaime laughs and winks. "Got you out of your funk, didn't it?"
She rolls her eyes again, but she's secretly pleased that he finally seems happier than he's been the last couple of weeks, even if it is at her expense. "Can we work, please?"
"Of course, my lady," he says, mocking, and opens his laptop.
*/*/*/*/*
The other physicists give them considering looks as they leave the Wall's control room. Jaime simply smirks at them, then checks all the security feeds to ensure he and Brienne are truly alone in the facility. Neither of them are willing to expose an unsuspecting person to the experiments—and they don't want to inadvertently stumble onto another universe. Not yet, anyway.
The generators are almost at full power when they arrive, so the generators are ready by the time they've finished uploading their program into the Wall's computers.
They scan the facility and the grounds one more time, then Jaime pulls up a chair beside Brienne and gives her a wicked smile.
"Ready, Junior?" he says.
She rolls her eyes.
"Ready," she says, and hits enter.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne shifts uncomfortably, this dress fitting even worse than her so-called wedding gown the day before. She immediately stills when she catches sight of her father's warning frown, although she feels even more awkward and ungainly as she stands beside her beautiful good-sister, facing her—gods—equally beautiful husband, Prince Jaime, as they bear witness to Princess Cersei's marriage to King Eddard Stark of the North. As King Ned swings his cloak over Cersei's shoulders, the last element of the truce the Kings had negotiated is complete.
Brienne takes Prince Jaime's arm and follows the newly-married couple out of the Great Sept and tries not to think of where her new husband had been the night before—and she tries not to notice the grief and rage that's fighting for dominance in his eyes as he looks at his sweet sister.
*/*/*/*/*
The wedding feast is pleasant enough, Brienne thinks, sipping delicately at her wine. She struggles not to hunch her shoulders, remembering Septa Roelle's edict to sit up straight, even if she is an unsightly child. But it's her years as Lord Commander on the battlefield that straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin despite her scarred face and how ridiculous she looks in this gods-bedamned gown. She had to earn her field command, she reminds herself, against those who held no love for her then or now. But she is now used to command, used to holding men's lives in her hands, used to being looked to for orders and leadership, and this, she staunchly tells herself is no different.
No one speaks to her. Prince Jaime is on her right, and to his right is his sweet sister, who is seated next to her new husband. There is no one on Brienne's left, and her father, King Selwyn, is to King Tywin's right while King Eddard is to King Tywin's left. There is a lovely young woman to King Selwyn's right, and Brienne knows that if the young woman is willing, her father will have no time for anyone else the next few days.
She amuses herself with watching the high-born families in the Great Hall, reminding herself of their allegiances and the extent of the armies they can still put into the field of battle, even after all these years of war. She's vaguely aware of Prince Jaime whispering with his sister, the tone of the whispers growing steadily more animated. She glances towards them and notices Cersei pouting as she turns to King Eddard while Jaime turns to glare at Brienne. Brienne scowls, wondering what she could possibly have done to cause him to glare at her so.
Jaime seems about to speak to her for the first time since they sat at the table, but King Tywin forestalls him.
"King Eddard," King Tywin says, waving away the young messenger who had been whispering in his ear, "I have just received news that a late winter storm has begun raging outside. While I know you are no stranger to such weather, my sweet daughter is made of more delicate stuff. I ask that you and your new bride linger in King's Landing until the storm clears."
Brienne hears Jaime's sharply indrawn breath as she feels the blood leave her own face.
King Eddard stands and bows. "I accept your invitation, Your Grace," he says, his grey eyes solemn. "'Tis just as well; I'm suddenly feeling ill, and would beg your leave to retire to our apartments with my new bride."
The watching crowd hoots at the words, but Brienne sees the greenish cast to King Eddard's skin. She realizes he's speaking naught but the truth and is not simply hastening his and his wife's arrival at the marriage bed. Mayhaps he's as pleased to be married to Princess Cersei as she, Brienne, is pleased to be married to Prince Jaime.
And Cersei is to remain in King's Landing for several more days.
Brienne grabs her wine goblet and takes a deep drink.
"What are you doing?"
She starts, spilling wine down her chin and splashing some on the sleeve of her dress. "I-I-I-I'm having some wine," she stammers and immediately feels like a fool.
He grabs the goblet from her hand. "How much have you had?"
"I am not drunk, Your Grace, and I resent that you would think I am," she hisses, glancing round to see if anyone is paying attention, but everyone is focused on King Eddard and the now-Queen Cersei as they make their way from the Great Hall. She turns back to Jaime and sways, suddenly dizzy.
Jaime's smile is cruel as he calls for serving girls. "Help me with the Princess," he orders.
"I don't need—" Brienne says, and the world goes black.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne tries to move and finds her arms and legs are caught. She panics, remembering a slash to her face, of the horse falling beneath and above her, of the weight of the beast on top of her, trapping her so she is unable to move. There's no pain, so she can't have broken anything but to be unable to stand, to lift her arms to defend herself in the field of battle—
Her eyes fly open with a cry and she's confused to see a ceiling made of stone above her. She's cold, she thinks, and unable to move and for a heart-stopping moment, she wonders if the horse has broken her spine. She cries out again and tries to sit up and only then realizes she's not paralyzed but tied to a bed, naked and spread-eagled.
She spins her panicked gaze round the room until it alights upon Jaime, sitting on a chair at a table, a goblet of wine at his elbow, his green eyes cold as he watches her without expression.
It takes a long moment for her to understand what is happening and then she groans and lowers her head back to the bed and closes her eyes. She has another moment of sheer terror that Jaime has simply taken what he needs from her body, but she forces herself to calm enough to do an assessment of her body. There's no sharp pain between her legs, the pain Septa Roelle assured her is the worst pain outside childbirth for an unnatural woman like her. The realization Jaime has not yet forced himself upon her makes her limbs liquid with relief.
She swallows and only then realizes she's thirsty.
She again opens her eyes and looks as calmly as she can at the man sitting and watching her with an impossible-to-read expression.
She swallows again and says, "Wine?"
He stands without a word and dribbles some wine into her mouth. She swallows and coughs on it, then licks it from her lips and he turns abruptly away, cloak swirling, to put the goblet on the table beside him. He gracefully retakes his seat and Brienne has the childish wish that the chair would break beneath his arse and tumble him unceremoniously to the ground. But the chair holds and after a moment, he lifts his gaze to hers.
"The wedding feast?" she croaks out. "You drugged the wine?"
His shrug is nonchalant.
They stare at each other for another long, silent moment and Brienne realizes with surprise that she's not even angry. She wounded his pride, threatened to cuckold him and place another man's children on the Southron Throne. No man could hear such threats, do nothing, and still call himself a man. Let alone the Prince of the Realm, heir to the Throne. What he's doing with his sister may be an abomination in the eyes of the gods, but he's still going to be King someday, with all the pride and arrogance such a future breeds in a man.
"Why haven't you raped me yet?" she asks.
He lifts an eyebrow. "Who says I haven't?" he purrs.
Her eyes widen and fear spikes through her—but no. There's still none of the never-ending pain her septa had described to her.
"But...it doesn't hurt," she blurts and now it's his eyes that go wide.
"Well," he says slowly, "the pain is fleeting, so I'm told. Not that it matters. You are correct, Your Grace: I have not raped you while you slept. This—" he waves one graceful hand indicating her naked body sprawled lewdly on the bed and she flushes "—is a mere demonstration of exactly how much power you have in this marriage."
Brienne glares as the last of the drug clears from her mind. "You may have a small measure of physical power over me, Your Grace, but that is not the only power that is in this marriage."
"If you try to pass another man's child as mine, I will have your head," Jaime says softly, which only makes the threat more terrifying.
"If you continue to fuck your sister, I will have your head—and I do not mean the one on your shoulders."
That takes him aback and his lips twitch towards a smile before he catches himself. "So you know something about male anatomy," he purrs.
"I was a Lord Commander leading an army," she growls in return. "Of course I know something about male anatomy."
"But apparently nothing about the female one," he says thoughtfully, and his eyes gleam.
He stands and strolls towards her and she forces herself not to cringe away from him. She does flinch when he reaches out but he simply frees one of her hands and steps away from the bed. He returns to his chair while she quickly unties herself and wraps the blanket round her naked body.
He says, "I have no desire to fuck an unconscious woman, whether she's threatened to cuckold and geld me or not. But I do want us to come to some kind of truce."
"Truce?" she practically spits. "You drugged me, stripped me naked, tied me to my bed, threatened me with rape!"
"And you have threatened to erase my family line from existence!" He leans forward, green eyes gleaming. "And one thing you should have learned from facing me in the field of battle, Your Grace: I will do whatever it takes to win."
Brienne rolls from the bed, cocooned in the blanket. She walks to the table and glares down at the infuriating, gorgeous man.
"So will I," she growls and points at the wine. "Is that drugged, too? Or is it something I can use to quench my thirst?"
He smirks as he pours some wine and drinks it. "Satisfied?"
"For now," she says and pours her own small measure and drinks it quickly, then pours herself another, slightly larger measure, as she thoughtfully considers him. "A truce," she says.
"Like it or not, we are now husband and wife, and in due time, we shall be King and Queen of Westeros. Our fathers arranged this marriage so the realm can have peace. Do you truly wish to tear it apart any further?"
"If I wished to continue the war, I would have refused the marriage," Brienne says.
Jaime nods. "I would have done the same. I agreed because the smallfolk need peace. They need a King and a Queen who will at least work together, if nothing else."
Brienne takes an almost delicate sip of her wine. "Truce," she says again, thoughtfully. "Mayhaps I am willing to strike a bargain."
He raises an eyebrow as he, too, pours himself another glass of wine and sips it. "A bargain."
"I will give you the heirs you need, Your Grace, for the sake of the realm. Two sons."
He smirks. "And you will not stop trying until you give me two sons, is that the bargain?"
Her own smirk is almost as cynical as his. "It depends on how long you wish to uphold your end of the bargain."
"And what is to be my end of the bargain?"
She leans over him, knowing her size and the scars on her face are enough to intimidate even Prince Jaime—although to his credit, he doesn't move.
"So long as you are fucking me, you will not fuck your sister or any other woman. You will not stand for being a cuckold; why would you think I would stand for it, either?"
Jaime snorts a little. "I've seen you naked now, Princess. You are no man. You cannot be cuckolded."
"I will not pretend to turn a blind eye to your affairs, Your Grace," she snaps. "You want heirs of your blood? That is my bargain. Do your duty, and remain faithful until such time as there are enough heirs to the Southron Throne, and you can be assured the children will be yours."
"You ask me to forsake my sister for you?" Jaime sneers.
"I ask you to delay satisfying your own selfish desires for the sake of the realm," she growls. "With luck, I shall fall pregnant quickly and give you two sons within two years. And then, Your Grace, we shall both be free to pursue our own happiness."
Jaime thoughtfully considers her. "I agree," he says slowly.
She straightens. "Do you give me your word?"
"I swear that from this moment until you give me two sons, I will honour our wedding vows and remain faithful to you."
She nods. "I accept your oath. It will be easier for you to keep it, of course, once your sweet sister is in the North."
"The storm is already waning," he says lightly. "She and her new husband will likely be on their way in the morning."
Brienne nods again. "Good."
Jaime smirks and raises an eyebrow, his eyes slowly travelling down the length of her body then back up again to meet her gaze. "Should we do our duty now?"
She glares, her cheeks glowing hot. "Get out."
He laughs as he leaves.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne is burning with rage and humiliation. She turns to Jaime, who's staring at her with wide eyes.
"You bloody bastard," Brienne hisses.
Jaime blinks and raises his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't do anything," he says.
"You drugged me! Stripped me naked! Tied me to the bed!" She's screeching by the time she's finished and Jaime winces and shifts uncomfortably.
"Yes, well, in case you've forgotten: that wasn't you just like it wasn't me. You need to remember which universe you're in, Brienne."
She stops, blinking owlishly. She forces herself to accept the truth of what he's saying.
"I...yes. You're right." She breathes deeply, trying to calm herself.
They subside into awkward silence and then Jaime says, "So...do you have that lion-shaped cluster of freckles on your right hip?"
*/*/*/*/*
