Eleven
The Ruby Tree turns out to be an oddly disturbing yet oddly beautiful tree whose bark and leaves are the colour of the blood.
Brienne stands and gapes at it, peering up at its leaves and branches that soar above everything else around it.
"Well?" Jaime finally says with an amused smirk on that handsome face that haunted her dreams last night.
Brienne shakes her head. "It's...weird. I've never seen anything like it. Why is it called the Ruby Tree? I mean, is there a reason besides the colour?"
Jaime shrugs. "Calling it the Tree of Blood makes the touries uncomfortable." He thoughtfully surveys the tree with a critical eye. "It's really quite beautiful, once you get over the shock of it." His head snaps around and he gives her an oddly startled look before he frowns and glances away. "We're not quite sure what it is. There's literally no other tree like it on the island and we've never found any seedlings from it either."
They stare up at it. Even from this angle, Brienne sees that, besides towering over its surroundings, its colour is almost shocking when juxtaposed against the mass of greens and browns she's been seeing for days, or even the rare, unexpectedly vibrant flowers they stumble across. As she peers at the tree, she notes that its leaves are a red a shade more vibrant than the bark, and they look like the leaves of the trees that line the streets of King's Landing. Everything about the tree screams it was transplanted into this tropical environment, a place against everything in its nature.
Yet it thrives, Brienne thinks, and the heat isn't near as oppressive as yesterday...or the day before.
She shies away from the thought and says, "So, what's the story you tell the touries and how historically wrong is it?"
Jaime turns to look at her and grins. "Since you asked..." He clears his throat and when he speaks again, it's in the same, mesmerizing story-telling tones of the night before.
"Rhaegar, the Prince that was Promised, was gifted five magical rubies by the Red Priestess to guide him on his quest. The stones drew him here, to Piratas, an island empty of humankind in those last years of the Age of Magic, filled only with jungle and snakes and spiders the size of a man's head. No machete could cut fast enough, no fire burn hot enough, to clear the growth that barred the paths of mortal men. Yet, wherever Rhaegar walked, grass parted, the branches rose, and a path became clear in front of him—the very path we're on right now. But the jungle closed in behind him and his men, leaving only the way forward and no way of knowing which way they had come or even where they were. They had no choice but to keep walking, so walk they did until they arrived here, at this clearing in the heart of the jungle.
"The sun set and darkness fell, deeper than any darkness they had ever seen before, and rustling in the jungle growth, waiting to spring, were monsters... unknown...unseen...terrible and terrifying. In the face of monsters, they did what men have always done: they kindled a fire and Rhaegar stared into the flames and prayed.
"He prayed to the Seven, to R'hllor, to the old gods and the new, and when he finished, he took one of the rubies and dropped it into the embers...and behold! In an instant, from those embers sprang this tree, full grown, bright as the sun, and from that moment forth until Rhaegar once more left the island, this tree acted as a beacon and a guide, it's light shining into every corner of the island."
Brienne stares at him, unable to look away as Jaime weaves his tale of fear and magic. It's not the words so much that mesmerize her but the tone of his voice, the rhythm of his words...and the wicked gleam of amusement in his green eyes. She feels a softening in her bones and she has to fight against the urge to whisper a breathless 'oh, my' once the tale is done.
She's suddenly very aware of the muted jungle sounds that are all around them: the dampened sound of the breeze through the leaves of the Ruby Tree, of rustlings in the undergrowth that surrounds them, rustlings she assumes are some form of animal stalking its prey and that thought makes her shiver, breaking the spell.
She clears her throat. "You do know not a single word of that is true, right?"
"Piratas isn't about truth, Brienne. It's about magic and adventure."
She slowly shakes her head. "Adventure is over-rated."
Jaime smiles then looks up at the tree and says, "You'd be surprised how many people want to be married here, in front of this tree." He gives it a fond pat on its bark. "Regardless of the truth of how it came here, it is truly unique and we truly love it. We know it's at least a thousand years old, one of the oldest trees in this part of the world, and that, at least, is true. We consider it an island treasure and we do what we can to protect it when we see squalls out on the gulf stream."
Brienne gives him a puzzled look.
"They're a sign a big storm is coming soon," he says. "Anyway, Sam thinks it's a form of weirwood and he's hoping to find a way to grow another one once this one does fall."
Brienne peers intently at the tree. "Weirwoods had white bark," she says, "plus they all died out after the Age of Magic, likely during the first year of the reign of the first Lannister King and his Queen." She flushes as she suddenly remembers the names of those monarchs...and the name of the man beside her.
Jaime seems to have the same realization.
"o'Tarth," he murmurs. "A distant relative?"
She nods without looking at him. "Through their second son," she mutters.
"So you're in line to inherit the Isle of Tarth?"
She snorts a laugh. "Very far down the line. Unfortunately, I'm descended from his second son and the Tarth family tree doesn't really turn back on itself that often."
"Lucky you," Jaime says. "Wish I could say the same about the Lannister line."
Brienne huffs a chuckle at that. "All Lannisters are related to the King, just like the Tarths," she says. "Where are you in the line of succession?"
He half-snorts, half-laughs. "Completely outside of it, as far as my father is concerned. I've been living on Piratas for ten years now and he's never forgiven me for it."
She frowns. "Why? What does he have against Piratas?"
Jaime's smile is bitter. "It's not the island. He thinks I'm just too craven to return to Westeros." He abruptly turns away. "Come on. Let's take a look around; see if we can find any sign of Lysa and the others."
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime kicks himself as Brienne stands still for a long moment then begins prowling around the tree.
Idiot, he growls to himself. A few dreams you shouldn't be having and you lose all sense. You don't want her to recognize you and then you drop that shit on her? What are you trying to do?
He doesn't know. He does know he seems to be getting addicted to the way she looks at him when he's telling her the touries-only myths of the island. There's something about those innocent albeit skeptical eyes that...he shakes his thoughts away. He's being ridiculous. Her eyes are pretty. That's all. She's really quite attractive once you get used to her...that's normal. She's smart and stoic and doesn't waste time asking stupid questions. That's it. And I need to learn to keep my bloody mouth shut.
He stops as he spies a trail of cut branches and broken leaves.
But not yet.
"I think I've found something!" he calls.
Brienne hurries to his side and together they survey the damage.
"Machete?" she says.
"Looks that way. Not that old."
"How can you tell?"
He glances at her and sees she's genuinely curious. He gestures for her to give him her hand. She frowns, her cheeks turning almost as red as the Ruby Tree as she hesitates then puts her hand in his, as delicately as any highborn lady.
Her fingers are rough, calloused, warm, and the touch of them is feels as ephemeral as a butterfly's feet. She looks like she's ready to snatch her hand away at the first sign of danger and there's something almost bewilderingly heartwrenching about the fragility of her trust.
He realizes he's staring. He gives her a half-smile then turns back to the damaged plants. He rubs his finger along the cut edge of one of the large, thick leaves then touches his finger against the back of Brienne's hand.
She looks startled. "It's sticky!" He grins at her reaction and the red in her cheeks deepens. "Can you tell how long ago these cuts were made?" she says.
"Less than an hour," he says. "Over an hour, the leaves wouldn't be sticky at all."
"So we're very close behind them."
"We're very close behind somebody," Jaime says. "Lysa and the Stark sisters aren't the only people in the jungle."
Brienne blinks her remarkable eyes at that. "Right," she says.
He tilts his head in the direction of the cut foliage. "Still. Want to go see who we find at the end of the trail?"
"It's why we're out here, isn't it?"
They share a half-smile in surprisingly comfortable agreement. Jaime's eyes drop to his hands and he realizes with a start that he's still holding Brienne's hand. She follows his gaze down as well and her smile turns to an almost puzzled frown. Her eyes fly back to his, startled and confused, before she—reluctantly, Jaime hopes...thinks—slides her fingers from his grasp.
He clears his throat and adjusts his backpack before he unsheathes his machete.
"Well, Doc," he says, "at least they're heading in the right direction."
"Really?" she says as she falls in beside him, her own machete at the ready. "What direction is that?"
"The Dragon's Gate. Just wait until you hear the story about that one."
*/*/*/*/*
