Warnings: Um…non-graphic descriptions of the aftermath of a fight, so mentions of blood and bruises. That's about it, I think, except for a random 'fuck' or two.
A/N1: Happy New Year! May 2017 be nothing but good things for you and yours.
A/N2: Updates are going to take a little longer from here on out, I think, because I've hit major gaps in every storyline so it'll take more time to finish each chapter.
Eight
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime expected Brienne's yelp of outrage and her storming from the control room. But it at least allows him time and privacy so he can adjust himself in his suddenly too-tight jeans.
They're not his memories, he knows, and what Prince Jaime did to Princess Brienne is—on the surface—reprehensible. But he can't quite shake the sight of all that creamy skin out of his mind. Freckled, yes, but the freckles are like dark stars against a pale sky and—
He abruptly stops and groans, resting his head in his hands.
Those are Prince Jaime's memories, he tells himself, Prince Jaime's thoughts, Prince Jaime's reactions, not his. He had Taena and he loves her, and her dark beauty is miles away from Brienne's broad shoulders and pale skin and all those damned freckles.
He rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.
Mayhaps continuing these experiments isn't the great idea it seemed in King's Landing.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne returns, still angry and embarrassed, but more composed.
She sits down in her chair and glances at the clock. "It's been half an hour," she says, not quite meeting his gaze.
He nods, avoiding direct eye contact as well, and clears his throat. "Do you want to connect to the same universe again, or try one of the others?"
She flushes. "I think we should make sure we've got the 'addresses' correct for all of them," she mutters, blinking down at her hands where they're resting on the keyboard. "We can talk about which ones we want to reconnect with tomorrow. We still have two more nights."
"Right," Jaime says, relieved. "Right." He, too, glances at the clock. "Ready?"
She looks at him from the corners of her eyes. "Ready," she says, and hits enter.
*/*/*/*/*
They sit on the swing in companionable silence, and to Brienne, for these peaceful moments, it feels like time has been turned back and suspended. It feels as if Jaime never left and mayhaps, if she looks long enough towards the horizon, she'll see her father coming home for supper.
She blinks the wistful thought away as the girls run on to the porch, carrying their garden treasures for their inspection. There are some tiny new potatoes and onions and radishes, and enough lettuce to fill even Jaime's endless stomach even if Brienne can find nothing else to serve him.
Jaime grins at the girls. "You did good, ladies," he says and Alysanne blushes. Brienne bites back a smile and a sigh. Alysanne is fourteen, as pretty as their mother but as shy as Brienne, and Brienne hopes with all her heart she'll be able to guide her sisters through the perils of boys and love, and that they'll be much luckier than she has been.
The girls take the vegetables into the kitchen and Brienne idly thinks she needs to go and see what kind of a meal she can create that won't raise Jaime's suspicions. There's still some meat in the freezer from when they butchered last fall; that, along with the vegetables—
"Come to the wedding with me," Jaime says abruptly, startling her.
She gapes then laughs. "You're mad. If you want to make some kind of statement to your father about how well you're doing, you should take some gorgeous starlet to the wedding. You must have met some in your travels the last few years."
Jaime groans. "I could, but then it would have to be a photo-op—that's how those 'dates' work, you know."
"Well, you know I avoid cameras," Brienne says drily.
"I remember. Come on. I won't pretend it'll be fun but we can get drunk together and maybe even dance a bit."
Brienne flushes. The last time she'd been to a dance, she'd been the belle of the ball until she discovered all the men begging for a dance and plying her with drinks had all laid down money to see who would be the one to convince her to go out to their car and let them have their way with her. She's barely been into town since, and she's definitely never gone to another dance.
"I—I don't want to dance," she mutters.
"Ah, so you'll come with me?" Jaime's grin is far too self-assured.
"No—"
"Come on! You can't want me to suffer by myself!"
"I have nothing to wear!" And that, at least, is the unvarnished truth. She hasn't been able to buy new clothes since her father died and while she's reasonably skilled with a needle, all of her efforts have gone to keep her sisters in pretty dresses and to keep her own trousers and shirts mended.
"Look," Jaime says, "because I'm asking you to do this as a favour to me, I would be honoured if you'd let me buy you a dress." He lifts a hand as she opens her mouth in outraged protest. "You can give it away to charity the day after the wedding, or make it into cushion covers or curtains or something. I don't care. I'm not offering out of charity; it's purely selfish. I don't want to watch Cersei marry that buffoon without a friend by my side and..." He sighs. "Let's face it: a random gorgeous starlet just wouldn't understand."
And she would, Brienne thinks, resigned. After all, she grew up with Jaime and Cersei, the Golden Lannister Twins, and she knows all of Jaime's secrets. She knows his relationship with his sister is close yet strained and extremely competitive. Twins, yes, and they love each other, but Jaime is so unlike Cersei, Brienne can't understand how they shared a womb. Then there's their father...
Brienne hides a sigh.
She's going to lose this argument with Jaime, just like she's lost every argument she's ever had with the blasted man since the moment Jaime had taken one look at her their first day of school and promptly declared her his best friend. Best friends, and it had been glorious and annoying, and she was twenty before he actually—just once—realized she was a girl. Unfortunately, it was also the day he discovered she was pining for Renly Baratheon and he'd burst her daydreams by hooting over her complete blindness when it came to Renly's sexuality. They had exchanged angry words, and she'd stomped away, tears in her eyes, but it was really no worse than some of the other arguments they'd had over the years...only this time, a week later, he had left without speaking to her again.
And six months after that, she'd lost her father, and any half-baked ideas she might have had of following Jaime to King's Landing and demanding an explanation were lost with him.
She blinks the memories away and looks at Jaime. "We'll be lucky to find a dress that fits," she says. "The wedding's this weekend, isn't it?"
Jaime smirks as he sips his iced tea, his green eyes sparkling. "Don't ask too many questions, Stretch, and leave it all to me."
For a moment she glares, irritated at his devil-may-care attitude and feeling like there's suddenly a chasm the width of the Narrow Sea between them. No matter if it feels like she only saw him yesterday, he did leave without saying good-bye and it's been five years, and he's now a rising star while she's trying to hold things together with the tips of her fingernails, and she spends too many sleepless nights worrying the girls will be taken away from her if things get much worse.
She shakes her thoughts away. Jaime's watching her with a bright-eyed, expectant expression, and she thinks that whatever he buys, wherever he buys it, she'll be able to re-use it somehow for the girls.
She sighs and nods and scowls at his triumphant grin.
*/*/*/*/*
"Well," Jaime says with relief, "that wasn't so bad."
Brienne shakes her head. "You still have a crazy sister."
"Hey, now!" He grins and laughs. "Besides, she's not my sister! Thank the gods," he mutters, rifling through Southron Singer Jaime's memories and grimacing at what he finds.
Brienne groans. "I really do need to remember which universe I'm in."
"I think we'll get used to it. Eventually."
Brienne nods, frowning thoughtfully. "Have you noticed something strange?"
"Besides all these different memories in my head?"
She rolls her eyes. "I'm serious. Have you noticed that in both universes, we've picked up where we left off?"
Jaime frowns. "Now that you mention it..."
"Are those universes only progressing when we connect with them?"
"I doubt that," Jaime says slowly.
"Observation determines outcome—"
Jaime raises his hands and stops her. "We've only seen two universes out of five. Let's wait and see what the others show us before we start hypothesizing. Mayhaps time simply moves differently in each universe."
"So even though three weeks have passed here, no time at all has passed in those universes?" Brienne's voice is skeptical in the extreme.
Jaime shrugs. "Possibly." He glances at the clock and stands. "I'm going to go for a walk. Do you want a coffee or something?"
"Oh. Sure," she says, distracted. She's already scratching on her notepad before he leaves the room.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime returns with two coffees and settles beside her. He lifts an eyebrow at the pages of equations and theorems.
"Don't solve the problems of the universes without me," he says with a teasing grin. "I want a piece of that Samwell Prize, you know."
"I'll be sure to thank you in my acceptance speech," Brienne says, still writing furiously.
"I'd appreciate that," he says with a laugh, "especially since it's been half an hour."
She looks up at that, blinking owlishly at the clock. "Oh," she says.
"Have a sip of coffee first," Jaime says.
She gives him a grateful smile, sips her coffee then sets it aside. She gives him an expectant look, eyebrows raised. He sips his own coffee, then sets it down, and nods.
She hits enter.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne pauses outside the cell door and says a short prayer to the Mother, begging for strength.
Three men yesterday, she thinks, despairing, another three already today. For the first time in her years at the prison, there are only four men awaiting execution. Three of those will be hanged tomorrow, and the day after, it will be the perplexing man who awaits her on the other side of this door, and then there will be no men left in these black cells.
She would be grateful for the respite except she knows it won't last long. She's been told Judge Randyll Tarly has suspended court on orders from the King; she's mildly surprised the Hanging Judge has bothered to obey for even a day.
But that is not her concern. Her concern now is the man on the other side of the door and what comfort she can provide in his last two days of life.
*/*/*/*/*
"Do you believe in any god, Mr. Lannister?"
His smile is like a knife.
"I believe in many gods, septa, and none. I have seen too much, done too much to believe there is any god who watches over us, guiding our actions, protecting us from harm. If that were true, would I be in this prison cell?"
"You murdered a man, Mr. Lannister. If you wish to save your immortal soul, you need to admit your guilt and beg forgiveness from whichever god you follow."
"Which would you like me to claim, septa? The Faith of the Seven? Or mayhaps you would prefer I tell you I follow the Many-Faced God; would that be better? I don't think the Many-Faced God will judge me quite as harshly as the Hanging Judge. Or mayhaps I should claim allegiance to the Drowned God, if that river out there was salt water rather than fresh, and pray that I, too, will rise from the dead, harder and stronger. Or mayhaps I should convert to Snowianity, ask you to baptize me in that very same river, if only so I can go to the gallows with the filth of this cell washed from my skin."
Brienne doesn't allow herself to react to his words. She's heard worse in her years here, supporting the condemned men in their days or hours before they are led to the gallows.
She realizes Mr. Lannister is watching her with brightly curious green eyes.
"You've heard worse?" he asks and she blinks. He grins. "Never play poker, septa, you'll lose your septa's gown in two hands." His grin fades. "No more prayers. No more talk of gods and their non-existent mercy. Talk to me instead. You've heard worse?"
He wants to talk, she thinks, feeling heavy from the weight of the six men who have already died this week. She can do that, and mayhaps in the talking, guide him to a salvation that works for him.
"Yes, Mr. Lannister, I've heard worse."
"And experienced worse?" She frowns and he nods his head. "Your nose. I assume you broke it here?"
She flushes as her hand flies to cover her crooked nose from his gaze. "It wasn't the first time," she says grudgingly.
He raises an eyebrow. "Tell me more," he purrs.
She fights the urge to bolt from the cell, to leave the wretched man to burn in the seven hells, but she is no coward. She's made a vow to provide him succor and to escort him to the gallows when the time comes, and she needs must guide him towards divine forgiveness as much as his sorry life and soul allows.
"If I share the story, will you answer me honestly about which god you follow?"
He considers her thoughtfully then shrugs, his chains clanking. "Yes, septa, I will answer you honestly. But I want all the stories of how you've come by such a lovely shape to your nose."
She grits her teeth then reminds herself she's a woman of the Seven and the judgement of men has no meaning to her, and she forces herself to relax.
"The stories are not very interesting," she says, "but I'll tell them." She shifts in her chair, trying to get more comfortable. "My brother Galladon broke my nose when we were children. We were wrestling and forgot that we were only playing. We both got angry, and he broke my nose with a too-hard blow."
Mr. Lannister smiles a little. "And what did you break of his?"
She lowers her gaze to the cell floor. "I broke one of his fingers...we were both very angry."
"Did you ever wrestle with him again?"
"Oh, yes," she says with a fond smile. "He is the only boy of four, and I am almost as tall and broad as he is and therefore strong enough to properly battle him. Our sisters take after our mother—pretty and delicate, their strength hidden inside."
"Unlike you? Where your strength is all on the outside for the world to see?"
Brienne gives him a calm look. "The gods create us as we are for a reason," she says. "I suppose one of my reasons is so my brother would not grow so over-confident, he would forever act like an arse."
That causes the grimy-yet-gorgeous man to gape then bark a laugh. "Ah, septa! You're human after all!"
Her smile is slight.
"How many times has your nose been broken?" he asks.
"Three," she says.
"Ah. So, the second time?"
"Here, in this prison," she says. "The first man I escorted to the gallows did not wish to go. He thought he could take me as a hostage."
Mr. Lannister raises an eyebrow. "You? He must have been a giant!"
"He was—and brutal. I have no doubt my end would have been...unpleasant."
"The other guards rescued you?"
"I rescued myself," Brienne says with a faint smile. "Keeping a headstrong brother in line has led to some...interesting tricks when you're being attacked. He broke my nose, but I broke his leg. He was hanged the next day."
There's a newfound respect in Mr. Lannister's eyes. "And the third time?"
She touches her nose, then brushes her fingers across the twisted flesh of her cheek. "Another prisoner, one who was more animal than man. I was ill, weak with fever and yet determined to do my duty. I pitied him and did not wish him to face the walk to the gallows alone." She shudders. "It was...horrific."
His eyes are narrowed. "Your cheek. His teeth?"
She nods. "His last meal was my flesh." She shudders. "A young guard, Gendry Waters, killed him. Shot him in the head while he had me on the ground and—" She stops abruptly, shaking the memories from her head.
They sit in silence for a long moment, then Mr. Lannister says, "I follow no god."
She blinks and frowns.
"I have never followed any god. I have never been baptized into a faith, nor received any god's blessing." His smile is bleak. "You'll have to pray more fervently than you've ever prayed before, septa, if you hope to gain mercy for my soul."
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne's eyes are filled with tears as she looks at Jaime.
"I don't think I can go back to that universe," she says.
Jaime raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"
She flushes. "I don't want to see Prisoner Jaime hang."
Jaime's hand trembles as he takes a sip of coffee. "I don't want to see Prisoner Jaime hang either," he says, "especially since I'm afraid to know what would happen if my counterpart dies while we're connected."
Brienne's eyes widen. "Oh, gods," she breathes, "I hadn't thought of that."
"I don't think I would physically die, since I doubt we can physically affect our counterparts—"
"But what if we can affect their minds?"
He pauses and blinks. "What?"
"When I was connected to Mad Jon Brienne, when she saw her Jaime for the first time, she felt a flash of recognition. What if that's because I was there with her?"
Jaime leans back in his chair, cradling his coffee. "Are you suggesting we should try to influence our counterparts? See if we can plant some thoughts in their minds?"
Brienne frowns. "I...no. That's unethical."
"Well, I'm not sure what we're doing right now is ethical, either."
She restlessly drums her fingers on the desk top. "But we have to do our best to not influence them."
"I agree," Jaime says, "which is why I'm not going to tell you what's going through Prisoner Jaime's mind right now."
She blinks, then her eyes narrow. "What's he planning?" she asks ominously.
Jaime laughs. "Don't try to influence Septa Brienne!"
"I won't...but what's he planning?"
He grins and takes another sip of coffee.
*/*/*/*/*
They leave to stretch their legs, to use the bathrooms, to just get out of the control room for a few minutes.
"Where now?" Jaime asks as they return and settle into their chairs.
"Megastar Jaime?" Brienne says. She bites her lip. "The longer we can avoid the Mad Jon universe, the better."
Jaime considers her thoughtfully. "Okay," he says, his voice gentle. "Ready?"
She nods, and hits enter.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne glares at Nymeria Sand, who's looking the worse for wear after being rousted from where she was sleeping between two incredibly attractive men Brienne is sure have more plastic in their faces than a Sansa doll. No way they could look that perfect without help.
"I was working," Nymeria groans out, scrubbing her hands over her face.
"Uh-huh. Not sure what kind of business you think I'm running here—"
"Look, I was doing what you asked. I threw a party, got all the people there we needed to see together and let nature take its course. It just...got a little out of hand."
"Did you at least get the pictures we needed?"
"I set up cameras everywhere, Brienne. I'm sure we got something."
Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose. "You know, normally we just follow the subjects around until we catch them with their pants down for the money shot. We don't usually invite them to an orgy!"
Nymeria shrugs. "Look, we've been following them around for weeks and nothing. They knew something was up—and I'm not making any puns there! If they finally dropped their pants here, then we have the money shot we've been waiting for. If they didn't, well..." Nymeria's grin is wickedly satisfied. "It was still a really great time."
Brienne fights the urge to scream and then burst into tears. "And this is why we never get cases other than these slimy, dirty pictures ones!" she says instead, and winces at the whine in her voice.
Nymeria shrugs. "Hey, I can't help it if you don't want to have any fun with these things. I mean, let's face it, Brienne: you're not that great a detective. These are the only kinds of cases you're ever going to get, so you may as well get some fun out of it."
Brienne grinds her teeth wanting nothing more than to tell Nymeria she's fired but she can't. As much as she hates to admit it, she's is right: she's still trying to get her detective agency off the ground and these are the only cases she can get right now…but she still can't stomach following people around waiting to catch them with their pants down...or their skirts up.
"But orgies, Nym," Brienne groans, "and just when the owner of house comes home?"
Nymeria perks up. "Jaime Lannister's here?"
Brienne groans and covers her eyes. "Can you at least let him wake up before you fuck him?"
*/*/*/*/*
That evening, Brienne watches Jaime deflect Nymeria's determined flirting with practiced ease and reluctantly admits she's impressed. Then again, he is Jaime Lannister; he probably deflects the advances of twenty people a day.
She takes another look at him, and remembers how he looked in nothing but a towel.
Make that thirty a day.
She's at least grateful that Nymeria is keeping with their cover story of being caterers—which she actually is, at least until her detective agency gets off the ground, but she doesn't know if both her businesses will do better or worse once stories of the orgy get around.
She realizes Jaime has asked her something.
"I'm sorry," she says, flushing, "I was distracted. What did you say?"
"I said, you do have another place to live, right?" Jaime says.
"Of course," Brienne snaps a little too quickly and Jaime' eyes narrow.
"You're a bad liar," he says and sighs, rubbing his temple. "Look, like I said before, I'm really not that bad of a guy once you get to know me, and I know what it's like to be in desperate straits. And Nan really was a lifesaver earlier today. This house is huge, and it's not like I have twenty-seven kids who need beds. I mean, I might have twenty-seven kids, but none of them have shown up yet demanding a paternity test. So you guys can stay until you find a place to live."
Brienne's eyes narrow. "Why?" she growls then glances at her business partner and tightens her lips. "Oh, gods, I was only out of the room for ten minutes! Don't tell me you—"
Nymeria glares back. "I put out for the sheer joy of it, Brienne, not because I'm trying to get something in return." She gives Jaime a considering look. "Other than pleasure, of course," she purrs.
He raises an eyebrow. "Do I need to lock my door?" he asks and Nymeria shrugs.
"I don't go where I'm not wanted," she says.
"You're living in my house right now without permission," Jaime says drily. "I'd say your statement is not exactly accurate."
"Thank you," Brienne says quickly, grabbing Nymeria's arm and dragging her towards the door. "We appreciate the kindness and we'll start looking for a place to live right away."
She hears him chuckle as she slams the living room door behind them.
*/*/*/*/*
"It was just getting interesting!" Nym protests as Brienne drags her back to the rooms they were using.
"For the gods' sake, Nymeria! We're lucky he didn't call the cops on us! Just...behave yourself until we find another place to live!"
"I'm not bunking with you anymore, Brienne. You always put a damper on the fun."
"I wasn't inviting you to live with me, Nymeria! Once has been far, far, far more than enough!"
Nym sniffs. "Lucky thing I love you."
Brienne rolls her eyes. "Have you managed to recover all the cameras?"
"Work, work, work," Nym says, "and yes. They're in your room."
Brienne grimaces. "Thanks," she mutters. "I'll need to take a shower after I look through the footage."
"Don't erase anything," Nym says as Brienne walks to the door. "If nothing else, we might have some blackmail material on there. There were some pretty big names at the party last night; you really should have been here."
"Gods," Brienne mutters and prays for strength.
*/*/*/*/*
The next morning, Jaime is thankfully feeling more human although he's still just as fucked as he was before he went on his bender. Addam and Tyrion are on their way over with more bad news, he's sure, but the police get there first.
He sighs as the two men walk into his living room and give him the cold, gimlet glare of seasoned cops not easily star-struck.
"Is this about the penthouse suite?" Jaime says. "I thought the hotel agreed not to press charges." It was the one piece of good news Tyrion had texted him last night.
The cops raise their eyebrows and exchange a glance. "No, Mr. Lannister," the older one says. His voice is a deep, soothing baritone and Jaime idly wonders if the man does narrations for wildlife documentaries in his spare time. "This is about Pia Peckledon. Better known as Jazz."
Jaime frowns then shrugs. "The name's not ringing any bells," he says slowly. "What's she look like?"
"It's odd you don't remember her, Mr. Lannister, considering you were holed up with her for almost four days in that penthouse suite you trashed."
Realization dawns. "Is she about twenty—twenty-five years old? Big brown eyes, long blonde hair? Stacked like a brick shithouse?" The cops stare impassively. "Her name is Jazz? Huh. You'd think I would have remembered that." A slight chill goes down his spine as the two police officers continue to watch him in silence. "Oh, gods," he says, "she is at least twenty, right? Please tell me she's legal!" Gods, how much time was he looking at?
"Her age is the least of your worries," says the younger of the two, tall with cold hazel eyes. "We're homicide detectives. Pia Peckledon was found dead yesterday afternoon."
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime meets Brienne's accusing eyes.
"What?" he says.
"You never told me what kind of party Megastar Jaime walked into!"
He smirks. "Are your ladylike sensibilities offended, Junior?"
She blushes and covers her face with her hands. "Gods," she groans. "This is getting worse and worse all the time."
"You think it's bad for you—I've just become a suspect in a murder case!"
She glares at him over her fingertips. "See what I mean?"
He laughs. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Still...Nymeria Sand seems like a fun time."
She groans and covers her face again.
*/*/*/*/*
They spend the next thirty minutes writing their notes and studiously avoiding each other's eyes.
Finally, Jaime puts his pen down and pushes his notepad away and sighs. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to need a drink when we're finished here."
"You and me both," Brienne mutters, putting her own pen down. She puts her hand on the keyboard and hesitates.
"We don't have to do this," Jaime says, putting his hand over hers. "If you don't want to reconnect to this universe, we can just let this one go."
She swallows heavily. "No," she says. "I don't want to skew the data." She gives him a tense smile. "Or go looking for another universe that might end up being even worse than this one."
His grip tightens on her fingers. "Are you sure? I can do this alone, too. You can go back to Castle Black—"
She furiously shakes her head. "No. I'm fine." She takes a deep breath. "It's not really me. I just have to remember that."
He peers intently into her eyes then nods. "All right."
Brienne gives him a slight smile, and moves her hand so she can squeeze his fingers in gratitude, and hits enter.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne stares at Jaime, eyes wide even as blood continues streaming from her broken nose.
"You're that Jaime Lannister?" she says faintly, then finally puts her hand to her face to staunch the bleeding.
His smile is thin. "I used to be," he says. "Gods only knows what I am now." He scowls. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here for the books," she says, then hawks and spits out a mouthful of blood.
Jaime glances behind her to what used to be the Rookery of the Red Keep. "Books?"
"Specifically the Grand Maester's books." Her voice is nasal and thick, her face swelling and bruising from the beating she endured at the hands of the three men now lying dead at her feet. "Especially any books that have to do with building things."
Jaime stares in disbelief. "Building things? You think you can rebuild anything in this godsforsaken world with any chance of success?"
She spits again. The bleeding is finally slowing. "What are our choices?" she asks. She turns to look at the blocked path of the Rookery then turns to look at him through bruised and swollen eyes. "Are you going to help or not?"
*/*/*/*/*
The woman is mad, Jaime thinks as he helps her clear a path into the Rookery then follows her inside. Mad, but determined. He decides it's safer to help her than to try and stand in her way.
Besides...it's not like he has anything else to do.
*/*/*/*/*
Hyle Hunt and his three friends are about as trustworthy as he is, and Jaime doesn't know what Brienne—he'd managed to pry her name out of her while they were rifling through the Grand Maester's library—is thinking when she tells him later that she's taking the men back to her compound in the forest on the outskirts of the city.
He decides that he'll leave her to her fate in the morning. He saved her from rape once; if she's stupid enough to go anywhere with these men, well...he's amazed she's survived this long if this is an example of her brilliant decisions.
He watches her barricade herself into a small nook, gun at hand, then spreads his bedroll in front of it. He wraps himself into his threadbare blanket and turns his back to his companions, his own gun at the ready, and listens to the four men speaking in low voices.
"She says she's the only adult," he hears one say. "We don't need to be saddled with a bunch of fucking children!"
"Yeah, but she said there are about twenty of them. There have to be girls there—and kids grow up."
Kids? Jaime thinks. Twenty of them? Gods, the woman is as stupid as she is ugly. He makes a note to leave before sunup and relaxes into a light doze that isn't quite sleep.
*/*/*/*/*
They leave the city the next day, Hunt and his friends pulling sleds filled with whatever they were able to scavenge, including the books Jaime helped Brienne carry out of the Red Keep. They lead the way, Brienne and Jaime bringing up the rear, with Brienne barking out directions when necessary.
Jaime glances at her and raises an eyebrow.
"Do you really think I'd turn my back on this lot?" she mutters and for the first time since the Event, Jaime laughs.
*/*/*/*/*
The compound is in a surprisingly well-hidden considering it's in a large clearing and includes a number of shacks and a large garden plot. But it's virtually impossible to see while tramping through the thick forest not far from King's Landing, and since there hasn't been any air traffic since the Event, it's more secure than Jaime had dared hope.
They had also been met about half a mile from the entrance to the compound by four teenagers: Robb and Jon, Dany and Margaery, who held guns on them until Brienne convinced them she was not a prisoner and was indeed leading five grown men to their safe haven.
He turns round, inspecting the small settlement while Jon lets out a piercing whistle. He hears the rustling as children cautiously creep out of hiding and make their way towards them. He turns back to see the children, both boys and girls ranging in age from teenagers to almost-toddlers, some of whom are obviously siblings and—
His heart stutters to a halt as he stares at the three golden-haired children who are staring at him with puzzled frowns.
"Gods," he breathes. "Joff? Myrcella? Tommen?"
"Dad?" Myrcella says. "Dad!"
And then he's on his knees in front of them, pulling them against him, holding them as tight as he can, unable to believe they're in his arms.
And for the first time since the Event, Jaime Lannister cries.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime leaves his children sleeping peacefully in their shack and goes to find Brienne. She's sitting by a small campfire, alone. Hyle and the others had been given their own shack, and the older children were given the task of watching them.
"You shouldn't have brought them here," he murmurs as he settles himself on the other side of the fire.
"How many survivors have you found, Jaime? We're not stupid. We're cautious; we've been betrayed before and we've learned from it." She sighs. "I would prefer to have left them to rot in King's Landing, but there are not so many people left in Westeros that we can abandon each other."
"Is that how you ended up here? One grown woman and twenty children, hiding in the forest?"
She shifts a little beneath his cold gaze but she doesn't look away. "What choices do we have if we want to survive?" She gives a small shake of her head. "Anyway, I fancy Robb, Margaery, Jon, Dany and Jeyne Westerling would not appreciate still being called children, especially after the last two years."
"Mayhaps not," he says. He glances round the clearing. "You've done better than I would have expected," he grudgingly admits, "but you're still vulnerable."
"Look at the cities," she says flatly. "They ended up still vulnerable, too."
His grim mouth relaxes almost into a smile. "True," he concedes. "And now you have five grown men as well, some of whom have not seen a woman or girl in two years."
Her gaze doesn't waver. "Aye," she says, "and I'll geld the first man who lays a hand on any of the children."
"But not on you?"
Her smile is cold. "If I do not consent to it, then yes."
"Ah," he breathes and his smile is cruel. "Hoping you might have a chance with one of them, now that you're one of the few adult women left in Westeros?"
She surges to her feet, her face burning as bright as the fire. "Fuck you," she snarls. "You should just be grateful we haven't murdered you for your weapons."
His soft chuckle follows her as she stomps her way to her shack.
*/*/*/*/*
He doesn't know why he's needling her so much, except she's going to die, Jaime thinks grimly after Brienne disappears into her shack.
He walks away from the fire to pace the perimeter of the clearing. She's going to die, and she's going to take all these children with her. She's too trusting, and that's fatal in this new Westeros. Oh, Before the Event, Hyle Hunt and his cronies were probably decent enough people, but that was more than two years ago. Two years of struggling to survive after the Event, two years of coming to terms with the fact that all the people you love are gone and you're alone.
He stops in his tracks and closes his eyes, struggling to breathe beneath the weight of grief that never seems to ease.
His father and mother. Tyrion.
Cersei.
Sweet Cersei, vulnerable and fragile. Life with her had never been easy, but he had loved her anyway. His double cousin, they grew up as close as siblings and he had always known what she was like. They never should have fallen in love; never should have married; never should have had children, but it wasn't until after Tommen was born that he realized just how mentally ill and fragile she truly was. He's sure she never fully understood what she'd tried to do to the children.
But gods—a part of him had still loved her, even after their divorce. And while she was on her meds, she was...fine. Not his excitingly volatile Cersei, no, but a safer Cersei—safer for her and him and their children.
And then the Event took her away from him, and—he'd thought—took away their children, too.
He'd been in Meereen when the Event happened, fighting in a conflict caused by reasons he can't even remember. The children had been in King's Landing with his parents, going to private school, while Cersei...well, Cersei had once again been in Maegor's Sanitarium after going off her meds while he was deployed. Tyrion had been in the Summer Isles, and Jaime has always hoped he'd been in some open-air whorehouse, worshipping the god of tits and wine, when the Event happened.
He prays they all died quickly, especially Cersei. The thought of her wandering this devastated world, fragile and beautiful...
He shudders away from the thought.
It took him two years, but he finally made his way from Meereen to King's Landing. Not because he had any hope of finding anyone alive, let alone his family, but because he had nowhere else to go. Past sins cast a long shadow, even after the end of the world.
Jaime had made his way back to King's Landing with some vague idea of finding his father's house and mayhaps killing himself there, on its broken foundation. But in the end, he couldn't do it. Mayhaps a part of him felt like he didn't deserve to be given such a quick end when he didn't know how Cersei died, or his children, or the rest of his family.
Yet here he is: in a hidden settlement controlled by a lumbering, great wench, a hidden settlement filled with children...including his own.
He sighs as he returns to the shacks and the fire.
He doesn't know what he's done to be so lucky as to be reunited with his children, but he's here now, with them, and wherever they are, he'll be there, too.
And somebody has to help that far-too-trusting woman protect all these children against those vipers she's just let in the door.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime blinks at Brienne and realizes he's still gripping her hand.
"Gods," he groans.
She's pale, her freckles standing out on her pale face. "I told you it was brutal," she says.
He shakes his head and leans back in his chair. "Gods," he says again and runs a hand through his hair. "Let's start shutting down the generators and the EM barrier," he says, his voice grim. "I've had more than enough for one night."
Brienne only nods.
*/*/*/*/*
