Warnings: There is a battle, so…blood. Not graphic, I don't think, but still mentioned and described. And I suppose it's always good to remind people of canon-compliant coarse language.
Chapter 21: Oldtown/Casterly Rock
Brienne
Brienne blinks the sweat from her eyes as she drives Oathkeeper between the ribs of another Ironborn marauder. She's aware of Jaime, somewhere to her left, his gold hand flashing in the weak rays of the sun as it burns off the mist. The fact he still has no shield is a worry at the back of her mind, but not one she can allow to distract her. If she cannot trust he will fight skillfully and honorably—and survive—then she never should have married him again.
They fall back until they're pressed between the wharves and the buildings that line them, and Oathkeeper flashes and parries and slices almost of its own accord, and its red veins seem to shimmer and waver above the grey steel like the flames of a campfire. The thought almost amuses her as she uses her shield to bash an Ironborn into his fellows behind him then slashes his throat with a flick of Oathkeeper's blade. But it's a passing thought because battle lust is upon her and she becomes a creature of action, her thoughts only about the next man to face her sword and shield and fall, to be replaced by another.
"The ships! The ships! Protect the ships!"
The voice sounds like Lord Willas but Brienne can only spare a glance towards the wharves. She sees Ironborn swarming over the sides of the new ships Ser Garth ordered built, followed by flames erupting on their decks, flames that are fed by a barrage of burning arrows. Brienne realizes this is no raid for plunder, a realization borne out by the blast of a horn and the Ironborn break away and run back to their longships, with the city's defenders hard on their heels.
But the wharves are ablaze as well by now and as quickly as they arrived, the Ironborn are gone, their ships gliding away almost as if they are flying over the waters of the Whispering Sound.
As suddenly as that, the battle's done, and Brienne cautiously lowers her sword and shield to look round her. Time begins to move again as she finally hears the screams of the wounded, the shouts as people fight the flames on the ships and the docks and attempt to stop those flames from spreading to the densely packed buildings that line the wharves. Mixed in with the chaos of the fighting the fire, there's an occasional clash of arms as an Ironborn, left behind, is captured or killed.
"Brienne!"
She turns at Jaime's shout, and her knees go weak with relief at the sight of him, covered in gore but striding purposefully towards her, Widow's Wail clutched in his fist.
"Are you hurt?" he demands as he reaches her.
She shakes her head, then, urgent, "Behind—"
He turns almost without thinking, Widow's Wail flashing red and black and grey as he flicks aside the Ironborn's weapon and drives the blade into the man's stomach, blood gushing when he yanks the sword out again.
Jaime turns back to Brienne, and even covered in gore and sweat, his power and grace are undeniable and for one strange moment, it takes all Brienne's self-control not to fling herself against him and kiss him wildly, blood-covered or no.
"You are sure you're unhurt?" he says, snapping her out of her suddenly lusty thoughts.
"None of this blood is mine," she says as his gaze roves almost desperately over her. "I will have bruises upon bruises soon, however. You?"
"Same," he says and steps beside her. They turn to watch the scurrying city guards, the Hightower soldiers and the citizens as they make a futile attempt to stop the flames from devouring the ships they'd labored so long to build. He suddenly grins, although it doesn't lighten his grim expression. "Well, wench, never let it be said our time together is boring."
She slants him a disbelieving look but before she can say anything, she hears Lord Willas calling for them.
They turn to see Willas and Sam standing in front of a crowd of sobbing smallfolk with red priests, septons, septas, and other religions' holy people moving among them, offering what comfort they can. Jaime and Brienne pick their way through the dead and the wounded towards them, and Willas and Sam watch them with identical expressions of wide-eyed excitement. As they get closer, Brienne sees they, too, are blood-spattered with swords still in hand, although Sam's is shaking so much she's surprised he still has a grip on it.
Before they can say anything, Sam says, eyes wide with awe, "Your swords! Did you see your swords?"
Brienne exchanges a puzzled glance with Jaime before he shrugs and says, "Aye, I saw my sword. It was in my hand and going where it needed to be."
Brienne shakes her head at him but he simply raises his eyebrow in return. She turns to Sam with a tired sigh and says, "What about our swords?"
"They were aflame!" Sam gabbles eagerly, and now Brienne realizes he's shaking from excitement not fear.
"An illusion caused by the mist and the confusion of battle," Jaime says and shows them the blood-covered Widow's Wail. "There are red and black veins in the steel that occurred when Tobho Mott reforged Ice. We don't know what caused them but at least they haven't weakened the Valyrian steel."
"No, Ser Jaime—Sam speaks true," Willas says, almost as excited as the young Tarly. "The blades were aflame! Both of them!"
"Don't you know what this means?" Sam demands. "Don't you know the legend of Lightbringer?"
Brienne sees two red priests turn sharply at the word, eyes watchful as they look from Brienne to Jaime to the swords and back again. She recognizes them as two she had spoken with a day or so ago, but to no avail.
"Why don't you explain it to us on the way to the High Tower," Jaime says tiredly, startling her out of her thoughts. He takes a step away then pauses, glancing at Brienne. "Assuming you're ready, my lady?"
Brienne glances again at the red priests, who have both turned away. She frowns and nods and takes her place by Jaime's side.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
Willas and Sam regale them with the story of Azor Ahai and Lightbringer, and agree to meet again in the training yards later that evening. Then they part ways: Jaime, Brienne and Willas to find their hosts while Sam hurries back to the Citadel.
Lord Leyton and his wife, Lady Rhea, question them closely, as does Ser Garth when he returns with a grim set to his mouth and the even grimmer news that most of the new ships have been destroyed. Finally the Hightowers allow them to leave. Willas hurries away to send a raven to Highgarden and to his brother, Ser Garlan, with orders to attack the Shield Islands immediately, while at least some of the Ironborn fleet is gone.
Jaime and Brienne return to their room where they order bath water, place their bloodied armor, swords, and clothing in the care of Ser Garth's squires. Once alone, they wash away the gore and inspect each other's bruises before Jaime leads her to the bed and lays her down, pulling the blankets warmly over them.
"I don't know if I want to fuck you as hard as I can, Brienne," he says with a yawn as he pulls her close, "or as gently as I can, or if I just want to hold you as you sleep while I give thanks that you are still in one piece."
She hooks her leg over his hip and pulls him close. She runs a hand over his jaw and combs her fingers through his hair, her eyes wide and solemn and brimming with more emotion than he can bear to see.
"You are still in one piece, too, Jaime," she says softly, and suddenly her astonishing eyes are filled with tears.
"Shush," he says, and kisses her carefully, gently. "Why the tears, sweetling?"
"You had no shield," she whispers.
"I had my hand," he whispers in response, rubbing his stump against her back. She shivers and closes her eyes. He presses a kiss against her temple, then tangles his fingers in her hair as he presses her head against his shoulder. "Sleep, Brienne," he says, the warmth of her seeping into his very bones. "Rest. We are both still here."
*/*/*/*/*
Their swords and armor are cleaned and ready by the time they awake, although their clothes are ruined beyond repair. Ser Garth's squires have found them something to wear while seamstresses are set the task of creating new clothing for Lord and Lady Lannister.
"It seems we will be here for another day or two, my lady," Jaime says as they walk to the training yard.
Brienne nods, a distracted frown on her face which disappears once she sees Willas and Sam waiting for them.
They greet each other, and Sam immediately says, "May I inspect your swords?"
Jaime raises an eyebrow then shrugs and draws Widow's Wail from its scabbard while Brienne does the same with Oathkeeper. Sam and Willas peer at the blades.
"I had Widow's Wail in my hand the entire time," Jaime says, amused by their intent inspection of the swords. "It was not on fire."
"We were there, Ser Jaime," Sam says, insistent. "The blades were aflame."
Jaime shakes his head. "Naught but an illusion caused by the confusion of battle. Yes, granted, it appeared even to me that the red veins seemed to float above the grey Valyrian steel, but when you're in the heat of a fight, much of what you see is twisted into shapes that are not true to their form. It's caused by sweat and blood and battle madness."
"How did you feel while you wielded the sword?" Brienne asks slowly. "I've used Oathkeeper before, as you know, but for the first time I felt what Lord Tarly meant when he said Valyrian steel makes the wielder quick. It was as if the sword knew where it needed to be before I did."
"That is naught but skill, Brienne, you know that," Jaime says. "Your sword moves as a part of you, and I knew that feeling well when—" He stops, pressing his lips together into a tight line as he glares at his gold hand. "It is a glorious feeling," he says, his voice low and husky with grief.
"How did it feel, using Widow's Wail?" Brienne asks. "You survived against the Ironborn with naught but a few bruises."
He frowns, considering the question. "I was quick, yes, and much better than I've ever been during our sparring sessions, but that is always what happens when I'm in the grip of battle lust. A fight to the death should make you better, faster and stronger, else you won't live to see another one."
"Ser Jaime," Willas says with a puzzled smile, "you are willing to believe that the dead can be brought back to life, but you are not willing to believe that mayhaps there is something magical about the swords you and your lady wife carry?"
Jaime stares, expressionless, then he swallows heavily, and says, "What do you want us to do?"
Sam says, "Lord Willas, if you would like to swing one of the swords yourself?"
Jaime hands Widow's Wail to Willas, who gives it several experimental swings, judging the weight and balance of it in his hand. He limps towards a jousting dummy and proceeds to cut it to pieces. Jaime sees the man knows how to use a sword and even with his crippled leg, Willas has skill and strength in his arm.
Willas slices the last piece from the jousting dummy and turns to them with an almost blissful expression. "Magnificent blade," he says.
"But no flames," Jaime says.
"No," Sam says, and sighs. "If we can try the other sword? Or both together?" He looks sheepish as the others frown at him. "The Citadel teaches us to experiment."
Jaime shakes his head and smirks. "You have already been there too long," he says as he takes Widow's Wail back from Willas. He turns to Brienne and raises the sword in mocking salute. "Shall we dance, my lady?"
So they do.
As they spar, Jaime forgets they have an audience, because unlike with tourney swords, it takes true effort for Brienne to finally disarm him, even with Oathkeeper's longer reach. When she finally does, they're both sweating and panting, flushed from exertion, and when she lowers her sword, Jaime is on her in an instant, kissing her wildly and is rewarded with her kissing him back, just as wildly.
When they finally part for air, Sam says loudly, almost desperately, "No flames!"
"But plenty of heat, nonetheless," Willas says, and doubles over with laughter.
Brienne blushes and buries her red face against Jaime's shoulder.
"Mayhaps the swords are magical," Jaime says, laughing as he turns her towards their audience. "I have never felt the urge to do that with any of my other opponents."
She tears herself away from him, smacking his shoulder as she does so.
"But no flames," she says with a determined air. "That proves you were mistaken, Sam, Lord Willas."
Sam's face is almost as red as hers as he shrugs. "We must have been," he says, and sighs.
"What does it matter?" Jaime asks, sheathing Widow's Wail once more.
"Because according to legend, it was a hero wielding a flaming sword who stopped the Others and ended the Long Night."
"Well," Jaime says, "it would not surprise me, then, if Oathkeeper caught fire for Brienne. She is one of the truest knights in the Seven Kingdoms even if never formally made one, but I am no hero. I am just a kingslayer and an oathbreaker and a man with shit for honor, so everyone says." His lips twist into a bitter smile. "Such a sword would never light for one such as me."
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
They receive a visitor the next day: a red priest, one who had been in the crowd the previous day.
Jaime raises an eyebrow as the priest introduces himself as Taeno of Myr, but Jaime greets him politely enough.
"We've met before, Lady Brienne," Taeno says, tall and thin and made even more so by the red robes of his calling.
She nods, "I remember."
"You came to us, seeking information about the Last Kiss. As did you, Ser Jaime."
Jaime nods. "With even less success than my wife," he says drily.
Taeno gives them a small nod and says, "We were by the wharves yesterday, when the Ironborn attacked. We saw you and Lady Brienne defending us, defending our city, against the invaders. We saw your swords."
"The flames were an illusion," Jaime says flatly.
Taeno's lips quirk into a faint smile. "As you say. Regardless, you both acted bravely and honorably, and after much debate at the temple, we have decided that I would come to give you as much information as I can about the Last Kiss and those who are raised by it."
Jaime and Brienne exchange a startled glance, then turn back to their guest with expectant looks.
"Not that there is much we can tell you," Taeno says quickly. "There are legends that the Last Kiss brings back those who have died, but that hasn't happened for hundreds of years—mayhaps longer. Those who perform it do so as a last rite, to cleanse the soul of the departed, but it is not intended to reverse death. If it does, well, death must still receive its due. Legends say that death changes those who are from it, that it keeps a piece of the person as payment. Legends also say the dead person's wounds never heal, and those brought back do not eat or breathe or sleep. They are still dead creatures, even if they move and speak and seem much the same as they were in life."
Brienne leans closer. "Can they be killed again?"
"Yes, although not easily. They are supposed to be faster, stronger, and, of course, fearless. You also cannot weaken them with blood loss since their hearts do not beat and their blood does not flow."
"So how can they be killed?" Brienne demands.
"The same as any other person," Taeno says, "only it must be from a blow that would be immediately fatal. Bash their head to pulp or remove it from their body, or stab them directly through the heart, and they will die again just like anyone else."
"Do you know of any other ways to bring people back from the dead?" Jaime asks. "Ways that don't include the Last Kiss?"
Taeno frowns. "The Last Kiss is simply a ritual act and is not, in itself, supposed to be magical. It is the prayers and the sacrifices done in readiness of the Kiss that are truly what the Red God needs. If one were to complete those rites but not the Kiss, the person may still be resurrected." He glances from Brienne to Jaime and back again. "You must understand, however, that life is the only thing that can pay for death. The sacrifices and prayers are not for the faint of heart."
Brienne frowns, thinking back to everything that Thoros of Myr had told her and wonders if he had lost a bit of his own spark of life every time he performed the ritual on Beric Dondarrion.
Taeno stands. "That is all we know," he says apologetically.
Jaime frowns, thinking intently, and says, "Can a body be reanimated without a head?"
Taeno's eyes widen. "I pray not," he says, "because I do not know how you would kill a creature such as that."
*/*/*/*/*
The night before they leave Oldtown, after taking leave of their hosts, Jaime and Brienne have wine with Willas and Sam in a private chamber. Sam shares with them the other legends of raising the dead he's managed to find in the Citadel's library.
"One thing all these legends have in common," Sam says, "is that the creatures who are raised from the dead are all still dead. They have no living functions."
Jaime leans back with his wine goblet balanced in his gold hand. "They don't sleep or eat or breathe or fuck," he says.
"But at least they can be killed," Willas says. "The Others by dragonglass; the wights by fire. According to what Thoros of Myr told you, Lady Brienne, Beric Dondarrion died several times and likely would have stayed dead if Thoros had not repeatedly revived him."
Brienne nods. "But they all seem particularly difficult to kill and freakishly strong."
Jaime sips his wine and shrugs. "At least there's hope," he says.
"I will continue searching through the library and send you anything new I may learn," Sam says then looks nervous. "Although some of the maesters are starting to look at me with suspicion. I fear they will not let me search out this information for much longer."
Brienne frowns. "I thought the maesters were there to help people?"
"They are," Sam says, "but they are enemies to magic." He glances round then leans closer. "I was told by Archmaester Marwyn to keep the Others a secret from the Citadel." He lowers his voice even more. "I was also not to mention the stories of dragons being born in Essos."
Jaime raises an eyebrow. "Even we have heard those stories," he says. "I can't imagine the maesters have not heard them as well."
"Stories are one thing, Ser Jaime, but these are more than that. Marwyn believed them; that's where he's gone: to Essos, to find these dragons for himself and the woman who controls them."
"Daenerys Targaryen," Jaime says and finishes his wine.
"You believe these stories of the return of dragons, Ser Jaime?" Willas says.
Jaime smiles as he places the goblet on the table and carefully untangles it from his hand. "I have seen a dead woman order my death and a dead man guard my King. You and Sam claim to have seen two swords catch fire in battle. I don't know if the tales of dragons are true but given everything else, it wouldn't surprise me if so." He gives Willas a thin smile. "Magic has returned to Westeros, Lord Willas, and the gods alone know what that means for the rest of us."
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
Jaime and Brienne set out for Casterly Rock in the morning, and make steady progress. They bicker comfortably as they journey, and Jaime even manages to coax another laugh or two out of the wench as they go. He's even happier when, after several days of high winds and snow cutting into their faces, Brienne finally agrees to hide away for three days when they arrive at the Rock, but only because he promised her an extra-warm bedchamber.
"Not a day longer, Jaime," she scolds him through chattering teeth as they huddle together close to the fire outside their lean-to, "and certainly not the ten days you've been threatening."
"Aye, wench, not a day longer," he agrees with a grin and kisses her.
She eyes him suspiciously. "You never planned on more than that in the first place, did you?"
He gives her his most innocent look. "I knew you would need to be convinced, my lady," he says.
She half-heartedly smacks his shoulder and he laughs as he kisses her again.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime is relieved to finally catch sight of Casterly Rock, rising high in the distance, even as his stomach tightens with dread and grief. His expression becomes more and more grim the closer they get.
"It will be fine, Jaime," Brienne says quietly as they make their way through Lannisport.
"I know," he says with a sigh. "But my father was..." He grimaces and shakes his head. "There will be ghosts round every corner, Brienne, with my father looming large over it all. With him will be what little I remember of my mother, and Tyrion." He glances at her. "And Cersei."
Brienne's expression is stoic but her eyes show resigned acceptance before she looks away and Jaime frowns.
"I understand," she says staring straight ahead.
"I doubt that very much," Jaime says. "Brienne—"
She turns her head sharply away and Jaime closes his mouth with a snap and a growl. He broods silently on the wilful stubborn blindness of wenches as they reach the Lion's Mouth gate, are recognized, and escorted to Ser Damion Lannister, his castellan.
Ser Damion is thinner and greyer than Jaime remembers but the grin on his face is the same. Damion claps him on the shoulder and, after a moment of appalled surprise, greets Brienne with as much charm as he can muster. He leads them to his own drawing room and sends word to the squires and Pia, who all quickly present themselves. Jaime does his best not to laugh as Brienne deals with Pod and Pia almost tripping over themselves and each other in their attempts to greet her and make themselves useful before he turns to deal with his own squires vying for his attention.
He watches as the squires and Pia bear their armor and swords away then turns to Damion.
"We have been long without news, Ser Damion. How fares the realm?"
Damion shrugs as he pours them all some wine and waves them to chairs drawn close to the crackling fire.
"The Queen Regent is demanding gold, of course. We have provided a thin trickle of it, as you commanded, enough to keep the realm working and fed. More and more people are creeping out of the Riverlands and King's Landing is beginning to bulge at the seams." He frowns as he sips his wine. "I understand there are now thousands of ramshackle huts outside the walls of the city because there is no more room within."
"What of the Targaryen pretender?" Brienne asks. "Has he been routed?"
Damion glances at her. "Storm's End belongs to the pretender," he says and shrugs. "The Golden Company delayed the royal army long enough that the besieged believed there was no help on the way. They threw open the gates for the pretender only to have the royal army arrive several weeks later. Now we, in our turn, are besieging Storm's End."
"Well, unless Tarly can convince someone inside the walls to open the gates, just as they did for the Targaryen pretender..." Jaime shrugs. "So long as the Golden Company is contained in the Stormlands, then those huddling outside the walls of King's Landing should be safe enough."
"At least from that army," Brienne says, "but not from starvation and the cold."
"I know, Brienne," Jaime says with a sigh, "but there is naught we can do about any of that at the moment." He turns back to Damion. "What of my sweet sister and the King?"
Damion's face becomes an expressionless mask. "All is as calm as can be expected," he says. "I have heard there will soon be a new Kingsguard, complete with new armor." His dry tones tell Jaime all he needs to know about Damion's opinion of such a frivolous use of gold when the realm is facing a harsh winter.
Jaime shakes his head and drains his glass. "Whether there are any knights who would accept the white cloak is the true question," he says. "Most of the Houses have been decimated and will not look kindly on losing yet another heir even if they are still alive." He places the goblet on the low table between them and says, "Any messages?"
"Several, all in the Lord's chamber. Unopened and waiting for your arrival."
Jaime grins. "Thank you, Damion." He stands and Damion and Brienne do the same. "Have you prepared the Lord's and Lady's chambers as I asked?"
Damion nods. "Everything that was your father's has been stored until you are ready to deal with it. The Lord's and Lady's chambers have been completely refurnished and are ready for you and your Lady to make them your own."
Jaime turns and gives Brienne an almost feral grin and her eyes widen when she catches sight of his expression.
"Jaime—" she warns.
"You promised me three days, my lady," he says and laughs as she heaves a long-suffering sigh and hangs her head.
Damion glances from one to the other and shakes his head in bemusement. "I will have the servants bring you food and bath water."
Jaime gestures for Brienne to precede him out the door. "Unless something important requires us, we will see you again in three days and not a moment sooner," he says and grins as Brienne turns bright red.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime had worried that walking into the chambers that had once been his father's would stir up old memories and strong emotions, but Damion had been as good as his word. To his relief, everything that had been his father's is gone and as he closes the door on the servants' backs and bars it, he's grateful there's nothing to immediately remind him of his family.
He turns to Brienne, who's scowling uncertainly, and smiles.
"Three days, wench," he says, prowling towards her. "Three days when we will do nothing but eat and sleep and fuck."
"You don't have to—"
He stops her words with a kiss and there is no conversation for a long time afterwards.
*/*/*/*/*
They spend the next three days exactly as Jaime had promised. They sleep and eat and fuck and talk, and when he manages to tease another laugh out of Brienne, Jaime wishes they could simply stay hidden away and let the rest of Westeros take care of itself.
*/*/*/*/*
On their last night, Jaime strokes Brienne's bare shoulder and says, "I shall have a chain mail dress made for you, so you can still be armored and yet we can lift the skirts anytime we like. Much easier than dealing with your breeches."
She blushes, although only the Seven knows how she can still be embarrassed by him after the last few days. She looks at him with a solemn face, slowly blinks those amazing blue eyes and says, "Why?"
Jaime knows she's not asking about the armored dress.
He meets her gaze, searching her expression, then says, simply, "You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen."
She frowns. "They're only eyes," she says and he knows she doesn't understand and he—he needs must face the ghosts that are lurking round every corner of the Rock before he can say more, so he only smiles and kisses her again.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
They step outside in the morning, blinking at the cold sunlight like they have been hidden away for weeks instead of simply several days.
Brienne looks at Jaime and says, sadly, "No more hiding, Jaime."
He glances at her, his handsome face all beautifully sharp lines as he breathes in the cold air. "No more hiding," he says, "no more delays."
He straightens his broad shoulders and says, "'Tis time to become Lord Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, and you to take your place as my Lady." He starts walking and she falls in beside him and he slants her a crooked smile. "But I hope we will also always be just Jaime and Brienne even if we never again need to huddle for warmth in a lean-to during a cold winter's night."
She glances at him and gives him a small smile as she gives him an even smaller nod.
*/*/*/*/*
It is while they are sparring in the training yard that they hear the sound. It drifts in the wind and falls over them like dew: the sound of a thousand souls screaming in torment wrapped within the blast of a horn.
They stop and listen, Brienne's skin prickling.
[In the Riverlands, Lady Stoneheart and the giant direwolf by her side lift their heads and turn towards the source of the sound, drifting from the southeast.]
The horn's blast fades, then returns, louder this time, stronger, and it strikes terror in Brienne's heart. She reaches out and tightly grips Jaime's arm.
[In Slaver's Bay, three dragons take flight and soar over a thousand ships heading towards the Gulf of Grief and from there to the Summer Sea. The ships are filled with Dothraki and the Unsullied. On the lead ship stands Daenerys Targaryen, flanked by her advisors, including a dwarf with a scar where his nose used to be, and a large, burly man wearing a kraken-shaped helm, his hand on a giant dragonbone horn.]
The sound dies away, then returns, so loud they have to clap their hands over their ears as windows rattle and the Rock itself trembles so violently that everyone is knocked to their knees. It seems to last forever, and Jaime struggles to her side and wraps his arms round her. They cling to each other and she wonders if this noise will only stop once it's shaken the world apart.
[In the North, all one hundred leagues of the Wall shakes at once. As the last of the Night's Watch brothers begin to run, the Wall both collapses and dissolves as the magic that holds it gives way. Those who survive its fall later say it was as if the ground itself was tearing it apart. The final brick tumbles and disappears as the last note from the horn fades away.]
*/*/*/*/*