A/N: I can't believe D&D messed up season eight so badly. I have to laugh so I don't cry.

Anyways, here's another chapter. I'm glad that this fic diverges after the end of season seven because the end of season eight is such a trainwreck I'm going to pretend it doesn't exist. Character development who? D&D don't know her.

ARYA

The queen was dripping wet as she slipped on her bathrobe and Jon wrapped his arms around her, asking her again and again if she was sure she was all right. But Arya could not tear her eyes away from the man in front of her, his dark eyes boring into hers, and she realized she was shaking as she picked her dropped dagger off of the floor.

"Arya," She heard Jon's voice say to her. "I'm going to get a guard and Lord Tully. Can you hold him until I get back?"

Arya could only nod in response, her throat feeling so dry she could barely speak, and she heard Jon shuffle Daenerys from the bed chamber, their footfalls gradually fading away.

It was Jaqen who broke the silence. "So we meet again, girl."

At his words, Arya's shock faded away into anger and she pressed the point of her blade against his throat, her arm on his chest pressing harder against it. "What are you doing here? Who sent you?"

"A man cannot reveal his clients."

"Was it Cersei?" Jaqen's silence told her all she needed to know, and she let out a bitter laugh. "Last I heard she was in debt. How did she even afford you?"

"That is none of my concern. All a man knows is that she paid in full, so our contract stands – and the price for such prominent and potentially dangerous kills was high. How she afforded it is no matter to me, but she did."

"Kills?" Arya repeated. "As in, more than just Daenerys?" She racked her mind, trying to figure out who else at this castle Cersei Lannister would want dead. "…Jon?"

Jaqen said nothing, which told Arya she was right. It only made sense. If Cersei wanted to eliminate all threats to her throne, Jon and Daenerys would need to go. As long as they lived, her reign was not secure, because their claim to the Seven Kingdoms would always be better than hers.

"Is that all, or is there more?"

Jaqen did not answer her at first, his dark eyes flicking from her head to her toes, to the dagger she was holding against his neck. "…I hear that a girl has gotten married."

"What does that have to do with – " Arya cut herself off as the realization hit her. She suddenly hurt more than she had when she took the Waif's stabs to the gut. "No. No, you can't – "

"A man was given the names. A man must honor his pledge to the Many-Faced God."

"Fuck the Many-Faced God!" Tears rushed to Arya's eyes before she could stop them. No, She thought desperately. Oh gods, please no…She thought of Gendry and how they'd parted at the Crossroads, how he'd kissed her and promised they would be together again soon. She felt like she might start weeping. She did not want to live in a world that didn't have Gendry in it. We promised to spend our lives together. It's not his time yet. "Is he dead? Is Gendry dead?"

Jaqen only frowned at her. "A man cannot say. Another servant was sent to give his name to the Many-Faced God…"

Arya took in a deep breath and blinked away the tears in her eyes. He's not dead. She told herself silently. He can't be dead. We said from this day until the end of our days, he can't be dead, I would feel it if he were… "You need to call it off."

"A man can do no such thing. Their names have been given to – "

"The Many-Faced God, I know! How many times do I have to tell you I don't give a shit about the Many-Faced God?" The god of death could go to the seven hells for all she cared, the only things that mattered to Arya were Gendry and her family. There had to be a way to save them. She would do anything. "Back in Braavos, you promised my name to the Many-Faced God. Except when the Waif chased me down and tried to kill me, I killed her, and gave the god of death her face. Why can't we do the same thing? I'll give your god his three names, just please, please leave my family alone. They don't deserve this."

Jaqen was trying to keep his expression neutral, even with a dagger at his throat, but Arya saw a trace of what she swore was pity in his expression. "Death does not come only for the wicked, girl. It comes for good men, who are just trying to make this world a better place. It comes for women pregnant with their babes. It comes for fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. The Many-Faced God always wins. Valar morghulis."

She could not force herself to speak the customary reply. Arya's whole body was quivering now, and she did not know if it was from pure grief, or blind rage. She dug her dagger deeper into Jaqen's neck, just enough to draw blood. "I could kill you." She found herself saying. "I could slit your throat right now and give the Many-Faced God one of his three lives. I would just have to kill two more people and the debt would be paid. Can you give me a single reason why I shouldn't?"

Even now, Jaqen would not beg for his life. "A man is not afraid to die."

"So why can't you look me in the eyes right now?" The Faceless Man had his eyes downcast, and he said nothing. She'd saved his life from that burning wagon years ago – he could tell her he wasn't scared to die all he wanted, but Arya knew that deep down he wanted to die as much as she wanted Gendry to. Tears pooled in Arya's eyes again. She was sad, angry, desperate. There was a time when she'd been foolish enough to consider Jaqen a friend, one of the only friends she had in this world, but in this moment she was resolute in her purpose. She hadn't given up on the people she loved yet, and she was not going to give up on them now. She would do anything to keep them alive, even slit the throat of a man she once admired. "Please, Jaqen. You helped me once before. If I ever meant anything to you at all, give me this one chance."

Jaqen was silent for a long moment, and then he nodded for Arya to lower the dagger. She did so. "One turn of the moon." He promised. "You must deliver three lives to the Many-Faced God – if you do not, he shall come to claim those who were promised to him, with or without my help."

Tentatively, Arya smiled. "Thank you." Already in her mind, she was thinking of their names. Cersei Lannister. The Mountain. Qyburn. She would kill them all.

Except Jaqen was not done. "But," He said. "It may be too late for your husband. A servant of the Many-Faced God was sent to give his face to the hall. For all a man knows, he may be dead already…"

Arya refused to accept that for an answer. She had suffered many losses in her eighteen years of life, but in this moment she could not even consider the thought that Gendry might be gone. That stubborn bull had already tried to die on her so many times. She would not lose him now. "Then I'll go to Storm's End."

"A man wishes a girl luck. Hopefully she will not be too late."

Arya could hear the sounds of boots storming up the staircase. When she turned around, she saw Jon return, this time accompanied by Edmure Tully, Ser Jorah, the Hound, and members of the Riverrun guard. Jon froze in the doorway, a look of bewilderment appearing on his face. "Where is he?"

When she turned back, Jaqen had vanished from the spot where he'd been standing a moment earlier. The window was open and Arya stuck her head out. It was a large drop and she thought to herself that surely no man could jump from there without at least breaking both his legs, but there was no sign of the assassin anywhere…

Regardless, she did not have time to wonder how Jaqen had accomplished his disappearing act. "I need a horse saddled." She told her uncle. "Now."

Lord Edmure looked at her with confusion. "It is nearly midnight. Wherever you must go, surely it can wait until the morning – "

Arya cut him off. "I'm telling you, uncle, it cannot." She looked to Jon. "Cersei sent the Faceless Men after you and Daenerys, and there's another one headed to Storm's End to kill Gendry. I need to go."

Jon frowned. "Arya, Storm's End is at least a sennight's ride from here. I care about Gendry too, but if there's really someone after him, how are you going to make it in time?"

"I don't know and I don't care." Arya told him. She knew it may be a lost cause, but she had to try. This was Gendry, and she would not give up on him so easily. She never had before and she was not going to start now. "I'll ride through the night every night if that's what it takes."

Cersei Lannister. The Mountain. Qyburn.

Reluctantly, Jon nodded. "All right. Promise me you'll be safe. And at least take some men with you – "

The Hound stepped forward. "I'll go with the little wolf bitch, Your Grace."

Arya looked at him. "I don't need a grumpy old man looking after me. I'm not going to stop until I get to Storm's End, I'm not going to slow down for you – "

The Hound snorted. "As if I'd want you to. I'm trying to help you here, wolf bitch. So, do you want to save your smith or what?"

Arya could not help but smile slightly at his words. Cersei Lannister. She thought to herself. The Mountain. Qyburn. She turned to Jon determinedly. "That settles it then. I am going to Storm's End. I am going to save my husband."

Arya just hoped that Gendry would still be alive when she got there.

SAMWELL

When he awoke the next morning, Gilly's side of the bed was cold. Little Sam had climbed into bed with them last night after the feast, and Sam sat up carefully, so as not to wake him. The boy was still sleeping peacefully, smack in the middle of their bed, hogging most of the blankets so that half of Sam's body was uncovered.

He got up and found the door to the privy closed. "Gilly?" He called softly. When there was no answer at first, he rapped lightly on the door. "Are you in there?"

He could hear the faint noises of shuffling, and then the door opened just enough that he could see Gilly's face. Her hair was tangled and her face was pale and drawn. She glanced to make sure that Little Sam was still asleep on the bed. "You can come in."

Sam joined her in the small privy adjoining their guest chamber, and Gilly closed the door behind him. "What's the matter?" Sam asked her. "You look worried."

Gilly paused, and bit her lip. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

At her words, Sam frowned. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about too."

"Maybe you should go first…"

Gilly sat down on the floor, her back pressed up against the wall, next to the chamber pot. She looked so pale that Sam thought she might faint if she stayed standing for much longer. He wet his lips, trying to think of how best to broach this subject, and then silently decided to just get on with it. "…I'm sending you back to Horn Hill."

Gilly only stared at him for a long moment after he spoke, her brown eyes blinking slowly. "You what?"

Sam gulped, and tried to sound firmer as he repeated the words. "I'm sending you back to Horn Hill. You and Little Sam. You'll be safer there."

His wife opened her mouth, but no words came out at first. "But why?" She said. "The king and queen are headed to King's Landing. You said after they take the throne back, we were going to Highgarden together. And now you want to send me away? What happened to us sticking together, all of us?"

Where you go, I go too. Sam remembered he had told her once. Gilly hadn't reacted well the first time he'd tried to send her away either. "Trust me, I don't like it either. But this is war, and it's dangerous. Cersei Lannister sent an assassin after Jon and the queen – the man tried to kill her last night, Gilly, and now he's on the loose. I would sleep easier knowing that you and Little Sam were at Horn Hill with my mother and Talla, away from all of this."

"Fine, but then you should come to Horn Hill with us."

Oh, Sam wanted to – but he knew he could not. "Daenerys named me Warden of the South. As much as I wish I could go with you, I need to be here with her and Jon. They're my king and queen Gilly, and I'm their lord. They need me."

He expected Gilly to protest further, but she surprised him when her eyes suddenly welled up. "You think I don't need you too?" She asked, her voice thick from oncoming tears. "I'm your wife, Sam. You made promises to me too you know…you said we'd always be together, for the rest of our lives…"

Sam suddenly felt like the most awful person in the world, realizing he'd made her upset. He knelt down on the floor in front of her as Gilly began to cry and he placed his hands on her knees. "Look at me," He said gently, trying to calm her down. "I love you. You know I love you. And we are going to be together for the rest of our lives. Once this war is over, we'll go to Highgarden just like we said, and we'll start a new life…"

Gilly sniffled and looked up at him, her eyes now rimmed by tears. "I don't want you to go. I need you. I'm…I'm…"

"You're wha – " He started to ask, but Gilly gave him a look, and Sam cut himself off as he put the pieces together in his mind. She had been tired lately, and more emotional…she'd been getting sick in the privy this morning before he woke up…and she'd said she had something to tell him…Oh. "Gilly," He said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you…are you pregnant?"

She could only nod in response and then she collapsed into his arms, sobbing.

Sam lifted up his arms to hug her, running a hand through her hair as he tried to overcome his shock. Pregnant? He thought she'd been taking her tea. Not to say that he didn't want a child – he did, of course he did – but he thought they'd agreed to wait with the war and all…and oh gods how did she feel about this… "Are…are you sure? How long have you known?"

"I've had my suspicions for about a month, but…but I was only certain about a week or two ago…" She sat up again and looked at Sam, her crying having stopped, but tears still running down her cheeks. "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad?" Sam repeated. "Why on earth would I be mad?" He kissed the tears away from one of her cheeks, and her skin tasted salty. "I…I think it's wonderful."

The corners of her lips turned up in a tentative smile. "You do?" Based on the softening of her eyes and the uptick in her voice, she seemed generally surprised at Sam's response.

"Of course." How could he be mad about having a baby with her? Gilly was already a wonderful mother to Little Sam, and Sam loved his wife and son more than anything else in this world, so adding a new member to their family could only add to his happiness. Maybe a girl with her eyes and her smile, though a baby brother for Little Sam would not be bad either…But, Sam realized, this news only made him more certain his initial decision was the right one. As much as he wanted her by his side, especially now, an army camp marching towards battle was no place for a pregnant woman with no military experience and a four-year-old little boy. "I don't want you to go either." He told Gilly. "But I think this is the right thing to do. I know you don't like it, but please, go to Horn Hill. If not for yourself, then for Little Sam and the new baby. I don't want anything to happen to any of you, and my mother and Talla will look after you."

Finally, Gilly nodded. "All right." She conceded. "I'll go. But promise me you'll be safe. I worry about you, Sam."

He kissed her lightly on the lips in response. "I promise." He smiled, his hand falling to rest gently on her stomach. "After all, I'm going to have to meet this one in about seven months, aren't I? Maybe it will be a girl like you."

He suspected the tears in Gilly's eyes were for a different reason this time. "I don't know – I think it might be a boy. But I'd be happy either way."

"Me too."

Gilly smiled, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I love you, Sam. And I wouldn't want to do any of this without you."

Sam silently hoped she would never have to.

TYRION

Riverrun was quiet the morning after the feast. Some of the men were just too drunk and kept to their beds, as they attempted to sleep off their throbbing headaches, but Tyrion was up since the crack of dawn. He'd been stirred from his sleep by the sound of a knocking at his door, and there had been Ser Jorah, Lord Commander of the Crownsguard, to tell him that an assassin had been sent after the king and queen. Needless to say, Tyrion did not get any more sleep that night.

The queen had assured him that she was quite all right, just a bit shaken up. Jon Snow, Lord Tully, Ser Jorah, Jaime, and some other men searched the entire premises, looking for any signs of the assassin, but he was without a doubt gone, as if he'd disappeared into thin air. They could not even find any footprints in the snow to indicate in which direction he might've gone. It was as if he had never been there at all.

They needed to march on King's Landing now more than ever. Tyrion hoped that they would hear from Lord Baratheon or Ser Davos soon – the king's sister had apparently taken off for Storm's End with the Hound in the night, in hopes of thwarting Cersei's plots. As for the Westerlands, he'd had a few minor houses respond to his request for military aid – House Hetherspoon, House Yarwyck, House Algood, House Drox – and the Paynes were so far their biggest get by a landslide. The Crakehalls might give them a few men now, after Jaime managed to convince Ser Merlon to write to his brother. The other principal bannerman of House Lannister had not even bothered to respond to his ravens, though Tyrion was not surprised by that. Perhaps a few minor lords or landed knights would switch to their side now that the Paynes were publicly declared against Cersei, but that was all he felt he could hope for now.

Tyrion was walking down the halls, headed towards the queen's chambers, when he saw two women slip from one of the bedrooms. They were two servants he recognized from the feast last night, and both of them were wearing the same frocks they'd had on the night before. One had her hair mussed, the laces on her bodice untied, while the other was missing her stockings and she blushed when she saw Tyrion looking at them. "M'lord." The serving girls mumbled shyly, before they brushed past him and rushed back downstairs to the servants' quarters.

Tyrion looked at the door they'd come out of and recognized whose room it was. Before he could even stop to think about what he was doing, he burst inside. "Ser Harrold?"

The knight was lying face down in bed, the blankets covering his lower half, while his naked chest was exposed. At the sound of Tyrion's voice, Ser Harrold jumped up, looking startled. "My lord Hand," He gasped. "Is…is something the matter?"

"Yes, in fact. Someone attempted to murder the queen last night. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Harry the Heir looked at him with wide eyes. "Not at all, my lord. Do you know who did it? Should I start a search for the man?"

"The king and Lord Tully have already done that." Tyrion informed him. "You would've known that I suppose, if you weren't so busy with your…" He paused. "Friends."

He expected Harry to have some sort of shame, but instead he only got out of bed, tying the blankets around his waist to cover his nudity. "I don't see how any of that is your business, Lord Tyrion. I've heard that you enjoyed the company of women in your youth as well. It's not a crime."

"Does your betrothed know that you enjoy the company of women so?"

Harrold Hardyng barked out a laugh. "If it is Lady Stark you are concerned for, my lord, she is not my betrothed yet. Though I made her a generous offer – if I do say so myself – and I'm expecting it will not be long now before she accepts me. Don't worry, I'm usually more discreet, but the wine got to my head last night. I do not want to bring any shame to Lady Stark. I care for her, Lord Tyrion – as you do, I suspect?"

Tyrion stared at the floor, unable to answer him.

"Yes," Ser Harrold said. "That's what I thought. If you really do love Lady Stark, my lord, I hope you will accept her decision. It would be a shame for her to lose your friendship, I know she cherishes it."

He gulped. The thought of Sansa marrying Ser Harrold made his stomach churn, but it was not his business to tell her who she could or could not be with. If the betrothal was practically a done deal as Harry said, then he would have to live with it, and wish her well. But there was another part of him that thought he needed to talk to her, to tell her he'd made a mistake…

"I want Sansa to be happy." He told Ser Harrold. "More than anything."

The other man nodded and puttered about his chamber, pulling an undershirt over his head. "That's good to hear. Once we are betrothed, I may need to call upon you to testify in front of a Council of Faith…"

Now Tyrion was confused. "A Council of Faith? What for?"

Ser Harrold was in the middle of pulling a blue velvet doublet on, but he paused from fastening the buttons, looking at Tyrion. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Does she know?"

Tyrion repeated himself. "Again, know what?"

The young knight stared at him for a second, then laughed. "My lord…you are legally still Sansa Stark's husband."

Tyrion did not know what he'd been expecting Harrold Hardyng to say, but it wasn't that. His knees buckled and he grabbed onto a nearby end table to steady himself, fearing he might keel over. "…What?"

"Your marriage was never annulled."

"Of course it was! She…she married Bolton…" Tyrion's head was spinning. Legally Sansa's husband. He did not know what to feel.

Hardyng sighed and finished putting on his doublet. "When Lord Baelish decided to marry Lady Stark to the late Bolton bastard, he petitioned the High Septon to have your marriage to Lady Stark set aside, on the grounds that it was never consummated. Except, given what was going on with the Sparrows at that time, the petition was never processed. In the eyes of gods and men, you are still her husband – at least, for now."

Tyrion shook his head and snapped out of his daze. He needed to speak with Sansa, now more than ever. "I need some time to think." He told Ser Harrold. "I'd hold off on making any wedding preparations until I can speak to my…" He trailed off. He'd almost called her "my wife". "Until I can speak with Lady Stark."

"Now wishing to claim your marital rights, my lord Hand?" Harrold said. "I suppose that is within your legal rights…but Sansa's chosen me. Do you really wish to entrap her in a marriage she doesn't want to be in? If you have any love for her at all, let her go."

I do love her. The thought came so easily to him. He was sure of it now. "I told you I want Sansa to be happy more than anything, and I meant that. But she doesn't even know that we are technically still married. She should have all the facts before she makes her decision, and whatever choice she makes, I will respect that." Even if she chooses not to be with me. "Sansa deserves a husband who will cherish her. She is an one-of-a-kind woman. She's…" He sighed. "She's the most amazing woman I've ever met."

He left the room, closing the door behind him, and his heart was beating so fast he feared it may burst from his chest. He needed to see Sansa. Tyrion turned to head towards her rooms, but then he paused.

Standing there in the hallway was Sansa, and there were tears in her eyes.

Tyrion's heart dropped. "…How much of that did you hear?" He asked. Sansa said nothing in reply, just wiping the tears from her eyes, and that told Tyrion she'd heard every word of it. He crossed the hall and impulsively took one of her hands in his own, wanting to comfort her somehow. "I am sorry, my lady."

She sniffled. "Don't be, it's not your fault. You did not know either…" She wiped her eyes and laughed humorlessly. "So I was never really married to Ramsay then. I do not know if that makes it better, or worse. On one hand, he was never my husband, but on the other hand, that means I let him defile me for no reason…"

Tyrion cut her off. "Don't say that. You didn't let him do anything to you. It wasn't your fault, none of it."

She nodded and looked down at him. There were no more tears in her eyes, but her blue eyes were rimmed with red, and her lashes were wet. "Did you mean what you said? Do you…do you really think so highly of me?"

"Even more so." Tyrion had always considered himself a smart man, a quick-witted man, but right now he did not know if he had the words to properly convey to her the depth of his emotions. This love he had for her was so strong, stronger than any he'd ever felt before, so complicated and so confusing, but also so right. "I understand if you want to marry Harry. But before you make up your mind, I just have to tell you…that I don't simply think highly of you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, not since the day I saw you again at Winterfell months ago. I've been trying to deny my feelings, and I know you deserve better, but I can't deny it anymore. I'm in love with you, and I'd…I'd like to give our marriage another try, for real this time. But if you don't feel the same way, then I understand, and I wholeheartedly wish you the best. More than anything I just want you to be happy, even if it's not with me. That is how much I love you."

For a long moment, Sansa said nothing, but she did not drop his hand, rubbing circles with her thumb. "…Care to walk me back to my chambers?"

Tyrion nodded. "Of course."

They walked in silence back down the hall for several moments, but Sansa was still holding onto his hand, squeezing it gently. "This is a lot for me to take in." She finally said as they came to a stop in front of her closed door. "I never thought this was even a possibility. I thought…well, it doesn't matter what I thought. I was wrong." Her blue eyes met his green ones. "I've had quite a shock today, and I need some time to think about where I want to go from here. But I must tell you…I must tell you, Lord Tyrion, that I care for you so very deeply. I respect you, and I'm fond of you, and I think we could have a good life together. We'd need to work out the details but…I think we could make each other happy. It's just a lot to consider."

Tyrion could feel hope rising in his chest, but he suppressed it. She still had not said yes. "I'm willing to try again if you are." He kissed the back of her hand. "Take all the time you need to think it over. I'll be waiting for as long as you need. Good day, my lady."

"Thank you, Tyrion." She dropped his hand, but before Sansa could turn to enter her chambers, she surprised him by bending down to kiss him quickly on the lips. It was chaste, sweet, and over all too soon. "Good day, my lord." She said, before fleeing into her rooms and shutting the door behind her.

BRIENNE

A few days later, when the assassin could still not be found, it was decided that they would proceed forward with the march, the king and the queen to be kept under constant guard. "We are going to march our armies down towards Harrenhal," King Jon said, pointing at the map laid across the table in Lord Tully's study. The queen was standing next to her husband, the Lord of Riverrun on his other side, while his wife was next to him. On the other side of Queen Daenerys were Lord Tyrion, Ser Jorah, and Lord Jaime. "There we'll wait for reinforcements, and once they've arrived, we'll lay siege to King's Landing."

Brienne looked at Lady Sansa. The younger woman had been awfully quiet these past few days, always looking like she was deep in silent contemplation. Though her eyes were currently trained on the map, she did not look like she was really seeing it, just staring off into space. Brienne leaned over to her. "Are you all right?"

Lady Sansa's head snapped up. "Quite." She whispered back. "I just…got lost in my thoughts for a moment…"

Meanwhile, the king was continuing to talk through their strategy. "We'll come down from the north, while the Martells will march in from the south. The Greyjoys will sail their ships from Saltpans, through the Bay of Crabs, and then to King's Landing. Queen Daenerys and I will ride Drogon and Rhaegal. We'll assault the city on all sides."

"Our target is the Red Keep." The queen added. "We are going to liberate the city, not destroy it."

Lord Tully nodded. "I've called my banners. We will help you destroy Cersei Lannister and her armies. I only ask that you allow some of my guard to hold Riverrun, and keep Roslin and Axel safe." Lady Roslin smiled up at her husband, and he touched her cheek.

"Of course," The king agreed. "We will need Lady Tully to safely hold the Riverlands until our victory is secure."

"I will write to Lord Payne and tell him to lead the forces from the Westerlands to Harrenhal." Jaime said. "Hopefully we will hear from Ser Davos or Lord Baratheon soon about the Stormlands."

"Are we sure about the Sand Snakes?" Tyrion asked. "We haven't heard from them since Queen Yara and Prince Theon visited them at Sunspear."

"The Queen of the Iron Islands has assured me that their help will come." Daenerys replied. "I trust her. And even if Dorne does not come to our aid, we will still have to proceed with the attack anyway. We can't waste time."

They were interrupted when the door opened, and a messenger stepped inside. "A letter for you, my lord."

Lord Tully accepted the raven scroll from his outstretched hand and unfurled it, reading silently. As they stared at him, Brienne saw a shadow cross Edmure Tully's face. Whatever the scroll said, it was not good news. "Uncle?" Sansa said. "What news?"

Lord Tully glanced at – of all people – Jaime. "I'm so sorry."

Now, they were all just more confused. "What does it say?" Sansa repeated, and Lord Tully only shook his head, handing the scroll to her. Brienne leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse, while Sansa read aloud. "On the orders of Queen Cersei of House Lannister, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, all ruling lords and ladies of Westeros are hereby summoned to King's Landing, to reaffirm their loyalty and swear fealty to the rightful queen, as well as to her son – "

Sansa cut herself off mid-breath, and Brienne immediately looked to Jaime. He was staring at Sansa and all the color had drained from his face. Brienne opened her mouth, wanting to say something to comfort him, but no words came out.

Sansa gulped, and continued. "As well as to her son, Prince Tywin of House Lannister, Prince of Dragonstone, and rightful heir to the Iron Throne. All those who fail to do so are in open rebellion, and will be punished with the full force of the Iron Throne's power. In the name of Her Grace Queen Cersei, long may she reign."

After Sansa finished reading, none of them said anything for a moment, shock etched all over their pale faces. Tyrion moved first, reaching out for his brother's arm. "Jaime – "

Jaime wrenched away. "Leave me alone." He said darkly, before brushing past them and out of the room, storming off down the corridor.

The king cleared his throat. "This is clearly a strategy on Cersei's part. If lords and ladies will be coming into the city with their families, that increases the civilian population of King's Landing by a significant margin, effectively creating a wall of protection for herself – "

But Brienne did not stay to hear him finish his sentence. "Excuse me." She mumbled to Sansa, turning on her heel to follow Jaime out of the room before she could respond.

She chased him up the stairs to his guest chamber, and when she got there, he was pulling out drawers and furiously throwing a seemingly random collection of items into a bag.

"Jaime!"

"I have to go." He barked, not looking at her. "You can't talk me out of it this time, Brienne. I'm going to King's Landing, and I am going to kill her, or die trying – "

"Jaime." She repeated, firmer this time. "If you go to King's Landing on your own, you will die. It's a suicide mission, I won't let you – "

Jaime spun around to face her, his jaw set. "She has my son, Brienne!" He snapped, his voice as sharp as a slap to the face. "I was a horrible father to my first three children, I will not make those mistakes again! So get out of my way and let me go, because if you don't, I swear I will – "

Brienne crossed the room to reach him and grabbed his arms, causing Jaime to drop the bag he was holding onto the floor. Brienne would not back down, looking him in the eyes. "Just listen to me. You can't be a good father if you're dead. If you go to King's Landing on your own, you don't stand a chance. You will die Jaime, and what good will that do your child? Your son needs you alive. I need you alive."

At her words, the spark of anger in his eyes faded away into shame. He looked down, unable to meet her gaze.

With a sigh, Brienne cupped his cheeks, so close to him now that their foreheads were touching. "You know I'm with you. I'm always with you. But I won't let you go and get yourself killed. We are going to get your son back, Jaime. Please, just trust me."

"I do trust you." Jaime glanced up at her. "I'm sorry. You're right, I just…I just don't know…"

She shushed him gently. "It's all right. You don't have to apologize. I'm sorry too…"

Her hands were still on his face and as he looked up at her, their noses brushed, and their lips were now only mere inches apart. Slowly, Jaime moved to touch her waist and she brought his face closer, their lips meeting. They kissed slowly at first, and then with more fervor. Brienne's hands fell from his face and she wrapped her arms around his neck, their bodies pressed against each other's.

Reluctantly, Brienne pulled back just slightly, so she could speak. "Jaime?"

"Yes wench?"

"…Dishonor me."

She opened her eyes and found Jaime staring at her, a look on his face that was something akin to desire. "Wench, your maidenhead…"

She cut him off. "I don't care about my maidenhead. I just want you."

In response his lips surged forward to kiss her again, and one of her hands cupped the back of his head, her fingers running through his hair. Jaime untucked her shirt and then removed her belt, and she fumbled with the buttons on his pants, pulling them down. He kicked off his boots and then stepped out of them, then broke away from the kiss to help her take her shirt off. They pulled it over her head and Brienne threw it on the floor.

Jaime stepped back to remove his jerkin. He smirked and nodded at her. "You have too many clothes on, wench. I want them off. Now."

She could feel her cheeks flush. "Yes, ser." She watched as he shed his layers, revealing his bare chest, still thin and toned even in his middle age. She suddenly felt self-conscious as she removed her smallclothes, exposing her small breasts. She knew she didn't have a very nice chest – it was almost as flat as a man's, covered in freckles and a few scars she'd taken over the years.

As Brienne discarded her pants, she noticed that Jaime had paused from undressing, his hands frozen on his smallclothes. He was just staring at her, lips slightly parted, eyes dreamy. "What?" She breathed. Was she really that ugly? She felt a sudden urge to cross her arms over her breasts, to cover herself, to spare herself from embarrassment.

But Jaime only shook his head and pulled her in for a kiss again, his thumb rubbing across her cheek in a way that could only be described as loving. His lips moved from her mouth to behind her ear, and then onto her neck. "You're beautiful." He mumbled against her. "Gods, you're so beautiful…"

And the way he said it, she really, truly believed it.