Jaime blinked and was alert in an instant.
"Oh, gods," he muttered, out of the bed and into last night's discarded clothes and striding from the room before Brienne could even push the covers off. She, too, dressed, and followed him to the front door. He'd flung it open and was engaged in a spirited conversation with the man who stood there.
The man was leathery of skin and receding of hairline, with pale blue eyes that seemed to see everything. Past him, Brienne was able to see a long trail of footsteps leading to the far side of the clearing that stretched between the cabin and the edge of the woods. A helicopter perched there, far enough away that, fast asleep, they'd not heard its arrival.
"That her, then?" the man asked, jutting his chin out over Jaime's shoulder at her.
Jaime turned to her. "Yes," he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Brienne, Bronn. Bronn, Brienne."
She came forward, hand cautiously outstretched. "Hello…?" she ventured.
Bronn gave her hand a brisk wringing, eyeing her up and down in a way that managed to be both lascivious and practical before swiveling his eyes back to Jaime.
"You don't do anything by half measures, do you?" Bronn asked him.
Jaime only pinched the bridge of his nose in clear exasperation.
"There's no need for you to have come," Jaime said with the air of someone repeating himself for the third time. "Nothing is wrong. We have plenty of everything we need."
"What's happening?" Brienne asked, arms wrapped around herself against the chill from the open door. "Shouldn't Bronn come in?"
Jaime scowled, clearly not wanting the intrusion, but stepped back to let the other man in. Bronn made quite a show of stomping the snow from his boots and clapping some warmth back into his hands, though he was bundled up like a pro mountain hiker and looked likely to survive the next coming of the Night King.
"Bronn is my brother's friend," Jaime explained, making his way to the kitchen with a purposeful stride to make coffee. "And a pilot."
"Your friend too, I thought," Bronn said, a nearly convincing expression of hurt outrage on his face before he ruined it by grinning. "Now that it's been a week, and it just keeps snowing, and there was mention of a busted generator, Tyrion thought you might be downplaying how serious things are," Bronn piped up. "Sent me up here to rescue you." He grinned and flicked a flirty glance at her. "Though it looks like you don't want to be rescued."
Brienne went pink, fully aware she looked every bit as compromised as she was: hair a mess from sleeping, and Jaime's raking through it during sex the night before, and she wouldn't be surprised if her lips were still swollen and her cheeks bore whisker-burn. Jaime didn't look much better.
"It was a wasted trip," Jaime said flatly. "So you can go back to King's Landing and tell Tyrion that we're fine and once the roads are clear—"
"That's just it," Bronn interrupted. "The roads aren't going to be clear. Not for a while, at least."
"What?" Jaime paused in the act of shoving the coffee pot into the machine.
"None of the plows and salt and sand are being deployed to this Eyrie Road," said Bronn. "Tyrion tried to get at least one up here, but Baelish is refusing." He cocked his head to one side, seeming like nothing so much as an over-inquisitive bird. "Any idea why that might be?"
Jaime groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose again.
"What does that mean, then?" Brienne asked.
"It means that they're not diverting services from the rest of the Vale because one person decided to live in an inaccessible place." Bronn smirked. "Or so said Baelish. You're either coming with me, love, or you're staying here another week or two, when the plows aren't needed elsewhere, or the snow melts."
The snow wasn't melting any time before April, Brienne knew. There would just be more and more.
"Can you maybe come back… another time?" she asked, reluctant to leave Jaime just yet. She'd taken off two weeks from work. It had been ten days already; she had three more until she absolutely had to be back on Tarth. "In a day or two?"
" 'Fraid not, love. I'm leaving tomorrow for an extended holiday on Lys. Won't be back for a month. It's either today or take your chances with whenever Baelish decides to send the plow up the mountain."
"I'm not leaving," Jaime said flatly, looking to Brienne. "I went down to Bloody Gate two weeks ago, and I don't need to go back for another two weeks."
The gaze he leveled on her was a wild mix of hope and desire and anxiety. She could stay. She wanted to stay; that week with him had been the happiest of her life and she didn't want it to end, ever.
But… it was madness, wasn't it? She couldn't leave behind her life on Tarth, the home she'd grown up in and shared with her family, and her job so she could live on top of a mountain with a man she'd met only a week earlier and who was, effectively, a hermit.
The coffee machine burbled into the silence that fell. Bronn pretended to study his surroundings. Jaime stared at Brienne. Brienne looked anywhere but at Jaime, and licked her suddenly dry lips before speaking at last.
"I'd— I'd better pack up, then," she said at last, meeting Bronn's gaze. "Do you mind waiting a few minutes?"
"Not at all," he said easily, and she fled for the bedroom. "I can drink coffee and catch up with my good pal Jaime."
His good pal Jaime tossed him an unfriendly glance and followed Brienne. He shut the door behind him and immediately said, "You don't have to go. There's no rush."
"Isn't there an old adage?" she asked hesitantly, once the silence became unwieldy and peculiar. "Fish and houseguests stink after three days. It's been far longer than that, by now." She tried to force a smile. "I don't want to stink because I've overstayed my welcome."
"You won't. I like having you here." Jaime pressed close against her so she could feel his warm, strong body against hers from breast to knee. "Stay," he said softly, his lips so close to hers that the words were more a caress than speech. "Stay with me."
He kissed her gently, sweetly, until Brienne thought her heart would burst, until she was on the verge of agreeing. But even if he were the most beautiful man in Westeros and she was halfway in love with him… she wasn't a hermit, and didn't want to be. She liked her job.
And, with the circumspection a week away had granted her, she missed her home. Despite the echoing emptiness, she knew the memories of growing up there with Dad and Galladon would eventually be comforting instead of painful.
A pang of longing to be back there lanced through her. She missed the salty air freshening the house through the palmettos, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the limestone beaches. She missed watching the sun rise over the Narrow Sea from the porch, wrapped in a quilt, hot cup of coffee in her hands.
Blinking, she realized that instead of it being just her alone in her imaginings, Jaime had been there, too— walking with her on those beaches, sitting by her on that porch— and another pang of longing gripped her.
But he wasn't leaving his mountain, and she had no right to ask him to.
Brienne curled her fingers around his arms, kissing him back, relishing it one last time before taking a step back.
"I can't," she said haltingly, and gathered her fortitude to add, "but… you could… come with me? Or at least visit?"
Jaime stared at her, lips parted in surprise and dismay.
"If not now— I know you haven't had any time to prepare— then soon?" she babbled hurriedly. "You could take some time to get used to the idea, maybe just come back to civilization for a weekend at first, ease into it—"
"I can't," he ground out harshly, dropping his arms from around her to put space between them. "You know why I left, and why I won't go back."
She did know; he'd told her the whole sordid tale, of Lannisters in general and his immediate branch of them in particular. Frankly, they all sounded awful, including Tyrion, but he held a spot in his older brother's heart so Brienne tried to reserve judgment where he was concerned.
She sympathized with what Jaime had endured, what he was wary of and determined to avoid… but by the same token, it hadn't happened to her. She had no wish to hide herself away forever. She'd needed time to cope with her first Sevenmas without her father, but that had been a temporary solitude she'd sought, never intended to be lengthy or permanent.
"I could come back to visit," she attempted, though it was a long trip from Tarth to the Vale— either an interminable train ride or drive up the coast, or a costly flight she couldn't really afford. Couldn't afford the train and car ride, either, for that matter. But for Jaime, to be with him, even for only a few days at a time… every few months, after she'd saved her stars and stags…?
He seemed to understand the complications inherent in their situation. His lips compressed and turned down, and he dropped his bright gaze, shoulders slumping.
"It's not going to work," he said slowly, then lifted his eyes. "Is it?"
Brienne felt her chin wobbling, losing the battle she fought to control it. "I don't think so, no."
He swallowed heavily, then nodded. "Let's— let's get you packed up, then."
They made short work of returning her few belongings to the suitcase he'd scavenged from the abandoned rental car. Brienne took a last look at the bed, with its rumpled linens and the pillow with two dents, as they'd slept so closely they'd shared it. The scent of sex was faint in the air, still present from the night before.
She carried the suitcase out of there and into the main room, making for the pegs where the coats and scarves hung while Jaime stopped at his desk and scribbled on a scrap of paper.
Bronn had made himself comfortable on Brienne's side of the couch— no, it wasn't her side, wasn't her couch— and helped himself to her tablet— no, Jaime's tablet— while they'd been packing. He sipped his coffee and looked up at her as she began to pull on her outerwear, and she could have sworn there was a flash of sympathy in his keen eyes before the cynicism returned.
He poured the rest of the coffee straight down his throat in spite of the scalding temperature, surely searing his esophagus, but he seemed none the worse for it as he stood.
"That went faster than I expected," he commented with a smirk. Brienne frowned in confusion, so he helpfully clarified, "Thought a farewell shag would take longer. I guess Jaime's quick on the trigger." He raked a considering gaze down her form. "Though I can't blame him. Those legs—"
"Bronn." It was just one word, but it sounded deadly, and strange, coming from Jaime. Brienne had seen him irritated and exasperated, amused and patient, aroused and tender in the past week, but never had she heard him truly angry or threatening.
"Sorry," said Bronn, but it was clear he was nothing of the sort as he gave Jaime a lazy salute and sauntered from the cabin.
"Sorry," Jaime said also, but him, Brienne believed. He thrust his hand into his hair, shoulders slumped.
"It's fine," she said. "I don't care if he misunderstands." She understood, and Jaime did, and that was all that mattered.
Leo didn't seem to understand, however; he interpreted her putting on her coat and boots as an indication it was time to play outside. When she only hefted her suitcase and stepped onto the porch, no ball or sticks to throw in sight, he gave a confused wufff.
Jaime followed her outside, boots on but no coat. On the other side of the clearing, the helicopter whirred to life. Jaime trudged toward it with Brienne, his expression that of someone on their way to a funeral. Leo ran alongside, but his antics calmed as he realized that it definitely was not playtime. Brienne blinked and pretended the moisture in her eyes was only due to the brightness of the sunlight glinting off the snow.
When they were close enough to the helicopter to be whipped by the snow flung about from the force of the rotating blade, they stopped. Jaime's hair was tossed every which way, a gorgeous leonine tangle of gold and caramel strands gleaming in the sun, and his cheeks bore little pink patches from the cold. He looked positively edible and Brienne thought wistfully of that rumpled bed, barely stifling the urge to just grab him and run back inside and ravish him one last time.
"You should have worn a coat!" Brienne scolded in a shout over the noise, instead.
"I'm fine!" Jaime shouted back. He took her hand and shoved the scrap of paper into it. "Call me when you're home, so I know you got there alright."
Brienne shoved it in her pocket and swallowed heavily against the thick knot in her throat. "O-okay."
They stared at each other a long, tense moment. He looked absolutely miserable, almost as awful as she felt. She crouched and jogged to the helicopter, yanking on the door until it swung open and handing her suitcase in to Bronn, who was waiting none too patiently for her.
She lifted a foot to climb inside, but Jaime grabbed her arm, spun her around and pressed her against the helicopter. His lips were on hers before she realized what was happening, but her instincts— finely attuned to him after over a week— were immediate in responding. Hands in his hair, mouth slanted open over his, tongue sliding against his, she kissed him with everything she had while trying to memorize every single detail.
The heat of his breath as he exhaled through his nose, the satin lining of his cheek, the prickle of his bearded chin… all were fixed in Brienne's mind when she finally drew back. She permitted herself a last observation of his face, an indulgence to think about how dear it had become to her.
I can't do this, she thought, and then I have to do this.
She climbed up into the helicopter and slammed the door shut before she could change her mind and reach for Jaime again. He backed up until he was safely away from the spinning blades. Leo bounded to his side and Jaime dropped a hand on the dog's head. They both watched, unwavering, as Bronn expertly guided his craft vertically into the air.
Then he made it take a sharp turn to the left, abruptly severing Brienne's view of Jaime, Leo, the cabin, all of it— before them stretched an endless expanse of white, disturbed only by snowy tree tops breaking through the colorless mass blanketing it.
A flash of silver caught her eye; there was a big rectangle of it below, and she realized it was her rental car— all that remained visible was the roof.
I'll have to try calling them again, she thought, glad to have something to distract her from the urge she felt to cry. She'd tried contacting the rental agency a few times but without success— they'd likely gotten snowed in and were unable to make it to the office. It was fine. Everything was fine.
Everything was fine.
She'd just keep telling herself that until she believed it.