Warnings: A little bit of violence and blood, but nothing graphic. Rape mention. Standard reminder that this is a dark universe with grim elements; please read responsibly.
A/N: This chapter was more difficult to pull together than I expected. But here it is: the end of the Prince/Princess universe. :)
Twenty-Eight
Brienne blinks and the control room returns into focus. She turns her head and looks at Jaime, who gives her a half-smile and squeezes her hand.
*/*/*/*/*
In silent agreement they don't speak about anything that's happened in the other universe. They simply start recharging the generators and when the computers chime, indicating full power has been reached, they carefully lock hands and hit enter.
*/*/*/*/*
Time passes for Brienne in a blur of brutal memories and pain and milk of the poppy, of septas and maesters and Jaime, until finally she opens her eyes, her mind and body aching, to see two septas leaning over her: a smiling blue-eyed young woman, and Septa Roelle, with her bitter eyes and pinched mouth.
Brienne blinks, frowns and mumbles through still-swollen lips, "What day is it?"
Septa Roelle tells her and adds, "You've been abed four days now, Brienne."
Brienne frowns.
"The King ordered you be kept as free of pain as possible," the young septa hurries to say, "and for you to rest."
"And to keep you out of sight until the swelling went down," Septa Roelle mutters, fussing with the blanket covering Brienne to her shoulders.
The young septa shoots the old one an indecipherable look before she turns back to Brienne with a comforting smile. "What do you remember?" she asks, her voice kind.
"Enough," Brienne mumbles through lips that don't seem to want to work for more reasons than simply the drugs she's been fed. She closes her eyes and immediately tumbles back into sleep.
*/*/*/*/*
The next time she wakes, the room is dim, lit only by the fires in the hearths. Jaime is curled round her; not closely enough to cause discomfort but sufficient for her to draw strength and comfort from his heat and bulk.
She slowly, painfully, shifts on to her side to face him and he immediately wakes.
They gaze deep into each other's eyes before he carefully brushes the hair from her forehead and gathers her close.
*/*/*/*/*
When did it change, she wonders as she listens to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. When did this man change from her enemy to the one she trusts most?
In the stillness of their bedchamber, with his arms round her, his hands soothing, she tells him what she remembers of the attack.
"If you had had a sword," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against her cheek, "I have no doubt you would have prevailed."
"He still would have won, Jaime."
"You would have managed to escape him long enough to seek help."
She wants to laugh, but her face is still swollen and sore.
He says, "There's something else you need to know before you hear it elsewhere."
Her heart freezes in her chest, and faint memories surface. She swallows heavily and says, "There really was a child, wasn't there?"
Jaime's fingers smooth gently against her shoulder. "Yes."
Brienne lets it sink in, lets it settle. A babe, she thinks, a babe with their father's beauty and both parents' skill with the sword.
A babe she will never see.
She sniffs back the tears that fill her still-sore eyes.
"There's more," Jaime says, slowly, his voice tight. "Grand Maester Pycelle does not know if you will be able to bear children after this."
Now Brienne can't stop the tears from seeping from her eyes.
All you ever wanted was the strength in my belly, she thinks and allows herself to weep.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne is helped from her bed the next day by Septa Roelle and the sweet-faced young septa whose name, Brienne learns, is Tyene. Brienne's legs feel shaky and weak and she leans on both septas as she carefully paces the Royal apartment.
"I've put sheets over all the mirrors, Lady Brienne," Septa Roelle says as they approach the sitting room.
Brienne wants to laugh at her old septa's concern.
"I have been injured before," she says mildly, "and far worse than this." She glances at Tyene. "At least he only cracked my cheek and my nose. Better than a broken leg."
"You've had your leg broken, Your Majesty?" Tyene asks and she sounds honestly curious.
"Aye, when my destrier fell atop me in a battle. I was lucky he did not break my spine."
Roelle sniffs. "You still have no understanding of what a lady should speak on, Brienne. You are queen now; you needs must watch your tongue."
"This is her first day out of her sickbed," Tyene says, her gentle voice calm and soothing. "Let her speak on her injuries, old and new. There is no one to hear but us."
Septa Roelle glares at the younger septa.
"I shall mind my tongue tomorrow, Septa Roelle," Brienne says with a weary sigh. "For today, just let me make it back to my bed under my own power."
*/*/*/*/*
She naps then walks the apartment again and this time it's easier. Despite Septa Roelle's protests, she pulls the sheet from the mirrors and considers her injuries. Her face is still swollen, the bruises dark and livid.
She turns away from the sight then sends Roelle on an errand to the kitchens, and asks Tyene for assistance. With the young septa's help, Brienne struggles out of her nightclothes so she can see all that was done to her.
She considers her injuries, then she slowly places her hands over the bruises on her belly. She bows her head and says a quick prayer to the Mother and the Stranger. There are tears in her eyes when she again lifts her head.
"'Tis a pity about the babe," Tyene says as she helps Brienne back into her nightclothes.
"Yes," Brienne sighs, "and 'tis even more a pity about all the future ones I've lost as well."
"You haven't lost them yet, Your Majesty, and not even Grand Maesters are skilled enough to know such things for certain. For now, you need to worry only about healing from this cowardly attack upon your person, and let the future be what it is."
*/*/*/*/*
That night, she tells Jaime she feels better and snuggles as close against him as her still tender body can bear. She closes her eyes and drifts towards sleep and wonders why, despite everything, despite her lingering questions and fears, she feels...safe.
*/*/*/*/*
As the days pass, Brienne begins to chafe at the restrictions of her healing body and Jaime's request she rest as much as possible.
Brienne paces the apartment while Septa Roelle watches her with her mouth pinched even tighter and Septa Tyene watches with an amused expression.
"I don't believe this is what the King meant by 'rest'," Tyene finally says as Brienne finishes her third circuit of her rooms.
Brienne snorts then winces at the small stab of pain that lances through her nose at the act.
Roelle sniffs. "Still so careless even after all these years. 'Tis no wonder the small council has been urging the King to set you aside."
The words hit Brienne harder than even the Mountain's boot.
"Septa!" Tyene says, her voice sharp. "The Queen is still not well enough to be bothered with the machinations of a few stupid men."
"No," Brienne says, just as sharply. "Tell me what you mean."
Septa Roelle peers uncertainly at Brienne before an odd, almost triumphant, expression crosses her face. "The King has not shared that with you?"
"What the King and I share is of no import to you. Tell me what you mean or stay silent in my presence. I have no more patience for petty games."
Septa Roelle's eyes narrow. "Since you ask so prettily," she says, her voice as acidic as her expression, "the small council has been begging the King to make plans for when he sets you aside. 'Tis well-known yours is not a love match, and with King Selwyn dead and Jaime crowned as King of the Stormlands, there is no further need to maintain your farce of a marriage especially since you are unlikely to be able to bear a child. It was the only reason for the marriage after all, although how they thought one such as you could be a mother in the first place...well, your sweet father never did want to see the truth of you. No matter. Some also believe Ser Gregor stole your honor and that, coupled with the fact you are almost certainly barren, has the small council advocating for the King to set you aside and choose a new bride."
Rage blossoms red in Brienne's vision.
"By the gods," she grits out from between clenched teeth, "it's only been ten days!"
Roelle spreads her hands wide and shrugs. "You asked, Your Majesty."
"And my royal husband? What says he to these arguments?"
"King Jaime says only that his sweet sister's child will be his heir as well as King Eddard's and there is therefore no haste to determine your future now. In fact, Queen Cersei and her husband are even now being asked to travel to King's Landing so King Jaime may be one of the first to see the new babe's face when it's born. I've heard Lord Sandor Clegane has been tasked with the honor of escorting them to King's Landing as a reward for his bravery in saving you from his brother."
The red mist in front of her eyes darkens and Brienne clenches her hands into fists.
"Thank you, Septa Roelle," she manages to say with a reasonable amount of control. "Leave me now."
Septa Roelle bows her head and both septas stand and start towards the door.
"Septa Tyene, I wish you to stay," Brienne calls.
Tyene glances at Roelle, who is shooting suspicious glares at both of them.
Roelle says, "Brienne…"
"I am no longer a child in a nursery, Septa Roelle. I am the Queen. Please. Leave. Now."
Brienne can see Roelle grit her teeth but the older woman once again bows her head and gently closes the door behind her.
Brienne looks to Tyene and rises. She latches the door then says, "Follow me," and leads the septa into the dressing room that separates the King's bedchamber from the Queen's.
Brienne turns to Tyene and says, "I have no doubt there are ears in the walls even here, but at least we can pretend to have privacy."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"How much of what Septa Roelle said is true?"
Tyene pauses, her pretty face creasing with a frown. "'Tis true people believe Ser Gregor raped you. You were found in only your smallclothes, your skirts torn away, and your loins were bloodied."
"I ripped off my own skirts," Brienne says flatly, "they were slowing me down."
Tyene raises an eyebrow. "Not many women would make such a choice," she murmurs.
"Not many women have led men into battle, septa."
"Still, such a decision has led to speculation. Everyone suspects you have been dishonored."
"That doesn't make it true."
"It does make it more difficult to maintain the respect of the small council."
"The small council should worry more about retaining my respect."
Tyene tries to suppress a smile and fails.
Brienne takes a deep calming breath. "And the King? What does the King say in response to these innuendos and demands?"
"More or less as Septa Roelle described. He points out he will have another heir once Queen Cersei gives birth. Where Septa Roelle's description is faulty is that the King has made it clear he believes you have not been dishonored and he has no intention of setting you aside, barren or no." She leans forward, eyes intent on Brienne. "This is all idle gossip, Your Majesty. Once you are again about your duties, these whispers shall die away. It is unfortunate you are no longer—" She stops and bites her lip.
"Pregnant? Do you think the whispers would die away or would they simply become louder as people wonder who fathered my child?"
Tyene sighs and leans back in her chair. "You are right to question it, Your Majesty: these whisperings are not natural. They are being fuelled by more than just the normal gossip after such a thing as this."
"Who, then, is still working against me? And through me, against the King?"
"That, I do not know."
The bright red band constricting Brienne's chest eases ever so slightly then she frowns. "How do you know all this?"
Tyene's smile is beatific. "Words are wind, Your Majesty, and are therefore in the air. You can hear every word ever spoken if you only know how to listen."
Brienne scowls as much as she can through her still swollen face, then says, "Since you know how to listen…I have a task for you."
Tyene raises an eyebrow.
"Ser Gregor managed to remain hidden in this city—in this castle—until he saw an opportunity to strike. Someone was helping him. If words are indeed wind and therefore in the air, then I wish to know who it was and how many of them."
"You know who is most likely," Tyene says.
"Aye. Qyburn is the Master of Whisperers and he is not so incompetent that the Mountain that Rides would have escaped his notice. But are there others?"
Tyene bows her head. "I shall see what I can discover, Your Majesty." She calmly meets Brienne's gaze.
Brienne gives her a half-smile. "Do not think me foolish, septa, trusting you with such a task. I am neither naive nor gullible, and it may be to your benefit to remember that I will never forgive anyone who helped the Mountain take our heir away from us, or helps hide the guilty parties from my vengeance. I will not forgive anyone who lies to me about them either."
Tyene's eyes widen. "I will not lie to you, Your Majesty."
Brienne nods and rises. "Help me dress. Breeches and gambeson and sword."
Tyene rises as well, alarm writ large on her face. "Where do you wish to go?"
"Why, to the King's meeting with the small council, of course."
*/*/*/*/*
It takes her longer than she likes to make ready and to walk to the small council room. She had hoped to be there when the men arrived but instead she is outside, the door cracked slightly open, listening to Jaime argue with his advisors.
"I am sick of this debate, my lords," Jaime growls. "The Queen is only recently out of her sick bed, a sick bed we feared she would never leave! Enough of this talk of setting her aside!"
"Everyone knows 'tis not a love match," Lord Randyll Tarly replies, "and no one will be surprised if you return her to Tarth and marry a more proper daughter of a great House."
"Where is this animosity coming from, Lord Tarly?" Jaime snaps. "You seemed to like her well enough before this incident."
"She is a decent Queen, I'll admit," Lord Randyll says. "My daughter is surprisingly fond of her and says it is the first time she's enjoyed being a lady-in-waiting—no offense, Your Majesty, to your sweet sister. But the only reason for your marriage was to unite the Stormlands with the rest of Westeros and to establish a new dynasty. She's brought you the Stormlands but without the possibility of a child then she is of no more use to you."
"You are a short-sighted fool. Do you think the Stormlands would sit and do nothing if I set aside their Queen? They loved their Evenstar; they love his daughter. They followed her in the field of battle as she held their armies steady against us for three years. Your lack of foresight is a surprise, as my sweet father did not suffer fools gladly, or are you simply all he had available at the time?"
"Just because you dislike what we have to say does not make us fools," Lord Mace Tyrell snaps.
"My sweet sister is with child," Jaime says, "and that child will be my heir as well as King Eddard's. Mayhaps that is enough. If that child inherits both the North and the South, then Westeros will be united as it once was, when the Targaryen kings sat the Iron Throne."
"And that child would be a Stark, not a Lannister," Lord Kevan Lannister says. "What would your sweet father think of that? You needs must remember the importance of your House."
Brienne pushes open the door. "Yes," she says, more calmly than she feels as she strides inside, "the King must think of his House, just as I must think of mine."
Jaime scrambles to his feet. "Brienne! You should be resting!"
She paces to his side, her hand resting comfortably on the hilt of her sword, taking almost perverse pleasure in the shocked looks on the councillors' faces as they take in her injuries.
"I am not a wilting flower, Your Majesty," she says, stopping beside him and turning to the watching men. "I am the Lord Commander of the Evenstar's army, and I am the Queen." She turns her glare on each man in turn. "You seem to believe that if Jaime set me aside that I would have no choice but to go quietly. I made a promise to my sweet father and to the people who followed him."
"If you're barren—" Lord Randyll begins, but Brienne lifts her hand to stop his words.
"If! You all seem unduly anxious to leap to that conclusion although it's only been ten days since I lost the babe I was carrying. Ser Gregor made a point of attacking my belly when he could have simply killed me outright. He intended us to know he killed our babe, and now here you sit, trying to oust your Queen." She hopes her smile is grotesque when seen through her bruises and swollen flesh. "You are all so anxious to remove me, I am beginning to wonder who else may have aided the Mountain in his attempt on my life."
She's pleased to see the men before her flush and squirm. She paces slowly in front of them, her hand tightening on her sword. "I will learn of all who was behind this attack on my person and I would like to remind you: I am a kind woman, but an unforgiving enemy."
She turns to Jaime and raises an eyebrow. "Mayhaps we need to reconsider the membership of the small council."
Jaime smirks. "My thoughts exactly, Your Majesty." He glances at the men from the corner of his eyes then says, "Come, Brienne, let me take you to find some less rank air."
She daintily accepts his arm and doesn't look back as they sweep from the room.
*/*/*/*/*
"You're mad," he says with a half-laugh, half-sigh once they're outside.
"Mayhaps," she says, "but at least it gave me reason to leave our apartments."
"You should go back and rest."
"I'm sick of those walls," she mutters and Jaime chuckles.
"Then far be it from me to force you back into such dull surroundings. If you are sure you're up to it, I'll order a carriage. Let us go for a ride through King's Landing and let the smallfolk see their Queen still lives."
*/*/*/*/*
They are escorted by the Kingsguard through the streets of the city. The knights keep careful watch but are far enough away that Jaime and Brienne can speak privately even as they smile and answer the waves of the smallfolk.
Brienne realizes the air is already cooler than she remembers from the day she was attacked. Even through the stench of the city she can smell that summer is fading and the taste of autumn is in the air.
Brienne lifts a hand in greeting to a group of gaping smallfolk then she sighs.
"As much as I hate to admit it, those buffoons are right about one thing, Jaime. If I am barren—"
"You told them yourself it is too soon to know that," he says, tilting his handsome head to two pretty young girls who blush and beam in response. "Besides, we struck a bargain, you and I. Two, in fact. We promised our fathers we would unite the realm into one Southron kingdom, and then we struck our own bargain: two sons. Are you so craven you would break your word at the first suggestion of defeat?"
She glares. "I may not be able to keep my word."
"Does that mean you are not willing to try?"
She sighs. "Of course not." She lifts her hand again to greet a smallfolk then turns to him. "There is someone working against us, here in King's Landing."
"Aye, I know. Why do you think I've brought all seven Kingsguard with us? I've also ordered six food tasters, three for each of us."
"What? Why? Cersei would not harm you!"
"Cersei desires power and control. She is also my heir. If I die before her, she inherits the Southron Throne in her own right."
Brienne's jaw slowly drops.
Jaime's smile is thin and humorless. "You should be flattered. I suspect she tried to kill you first so she would not have to battle you for the Throne."
"But her child—"
"If a boy, it will outrank her, true. If a girl, Cersei would then take precedence. If she's even pregnant at all."
"If—she cannot be the monster you make her out to be!"
Jaime's sudden bark of laughter is harsh and cold and utterly humorless.
He says, "The truth of Cersei is as easy to grasp as smoke in your hands. How much is real? How much are lies? What are actions actually taken and what are simply opportunities grasped? The only thing I know for certain is that everything Cersei does is done to feed her own ambition."
Brienne sits in silence as the carriage rumbles through the streets, chewing on his words and wondering what it all means. It is too much for her at the moment so she sighs and turns her thoughts to something simpler.
"Lord Sandor?" she says.
Jaime gives her a slight smirk. "I see you have your own Master of Whisperers. I gave him a lordship, although he did not wish it. He doesn't like the title but it was intended as a reward for saving your life."
She huffs a chuckle. "You've sent him to Winterfell?"
"Aye, along with his brother's bones, a letter to the King, and half our army."
"So you are not inviting Cersei and King Eddard to King's Landing as your honored guests?"
"Gods, no! She is to be brought here as my prisoner even if we have to tear down Winterfell's walls to achieve it."
*/*/*/*/*
The days pass in relative peace. Brienne returns to her duties as Queen and she is both surprised and touched by the warm concern expressed by her ladies-in-waiting. Whether the concern is sincere is a question she decides she does not need to consider.
Septa Roelle continues to whisper cruel rumors in her ear, rumors Brienne then turns to Tyene to confirm. Brienne finds there is always something twisted ever so slightly in Roelle's gossip and she wonders what is driving such venom towards her from her childhood septa.
Tyene is working carefully, teasing out bits and pieces of information, all of which point in the direction of Qyburn. The Master of Whisperers and the rest of the small council have returned to treating her with remote courtesy although they still glare resentfully at her as she sits at Jaime's side during their meetings.
While Tyene's questing has so far not revealed any other conspirators, Brienne is still suspicious of every high born she sees, including the members of the small council. Of one thing she is certain, however: Jaime did not assist Cersei with the assault against her, and he will not set her aside any time soon.
Mayhaps she's naive, she thinks as he slides into the bed beside her, and he is only waiting for Cersei to arrive with his babe in her belly before he sets Brienne aside.
But her doubts disappear as he stretches out beside her and gathers her in his arms. She sighs with content as she slides her leg between his and presses closer.
Just like all the nights since she woke from her attack, they speak in soft tones of the events of the day, their plans for the following day, of who they might place on the small council when the time is right, of the things that concern them as monarchs. They then speak of gossip and worries, of things that might amuse the other, or share gentle memories of their pasts, and there's something about this quiet intimacy that, to Brienne, feels like water falling in the desert. Something is blooming inside her with every word, and every night she allows herself to simply let it all be.
On this night, they finally lapse into comfortable, relaxed silence. With his body, long and lean and warm and solid beside hers, Brienne finds herself longing for something more.
She presses closer and strokes her hand down his back and over his flank.
"You're still too sore, Brienne," Jaime groans even as she feels his cock stir.
"We can be careful," she says and he gives a pained chuckle.
"Mayhaps you can be careful! I have been yearning to take you since you first opened your eyes. I may not have enough control to be mindful of your injuries."
"It's been a full turn of the moon," Brienne says, lifting herself so she can look down at him, "and do you truly think I will not stop you if you hurt me?"
He reaches up and cups her cheek. "Brienne," he whispers, and guides her mouth to his.
*/*/*/*/*
The raven arrives two days later.
"The King in the North is on his way to King's Landing," Jaime tells Brienne and the small council. "We needs must make him and my sweet sister welcome."
*/*/*/*/*
"What are you going to do?" Brienne asks that night in the quiet, dark peace of their bed.
Jaime closes his eyes. "I don't know. Mayhaps the more important question is what are you going to do?"
*/*/*/*/*
They still have no answers even three weeks on, as Eddard Stark's royal coach sweeps into the courtyard of the Red Keep. They watch from the ramparts of Maegor's Holdfast as Sandor Clegane, as courtly as any lord born to the station, assists the Queen in the North from the carriage. Even from this distance, Cersei's golden beauty is blinding.
Brienne turns her head and looks at Jaime.
His face is expressionless as he stares at her then he abruptly turns, his cloak a swirl of red and gold, and hurries down the steps to greet his sister.
*/*/*/*/*
Cersei is as beautiful as always, and like a trained dog, Jaime's cock stirs at the sight of her. Then he remembers Brienne's bruised and bloodied body and any desire for the woman in front of him disappears as quickly as the morning dew.
Cersei's smirk is arrogant and cold.
"You needs must be careful, sweet brother. The King in the North keeps close watch over what he considers his. Your presence in my apartment so quickly after our arrival will have the tongues of the Northmen wagging before they've even unsaddled their horses."
Jaime's response is just as cold. "Let their tongues wag."
Cersei's expression turns triumphant. "I knew you called us here to claim me as your own," she purrs and steps into his arms and lifts her face for his kiss.
He holds her close for a moment, taking note of the gentle swell of her belly pressing against him before he carefully sets her away.
"I have done no such thing," he says.
She abruptly turns her shoulder to him. "Then why have you risked my life and the life of my babe to drag me all this way?"
Jaime's smile is cruel. "You know why. Lord Sandor Clegane returned his brother's bones to your gentle care and told you the circumstances of his death."
Cersei shrugs one elegantly graceful shoulder. "What care I for the Mountain's end? He was a monster anyway."
"Considering he died attempting to fulfill your orders, I think you care a great deal. He succeeded in causing my wife to lose the child she was carrying even if he didn't succeed in killing her."
Cersei's smile is brief and brittle. "I heard. Pity."
"No more games, Cersei," Jaime says, suddenly tired. "I know you sent the Mountain to kill Brienne, just like you killed Melara and Lysa and Margaery. I suppose you think I should just be grateful you allowed me to marry at all!"
Cersei sniffs. "You know how jealous I am of you, Jaime."
"Jealous. Yes. But not because you lust for my body nor love me so much you cannot stand to see another woman have me. You lust only for the Southron Throne."
She glares. "You're mad," she says, her voice flat. "I have the Northern Throne—"
"Because your sweet husband calls you Queen, which he only does because he hopes the whelp you're carrying is his. Is it?"
"You know whose babe it is."
"We will know soon enough. If it is mine, you should be in the child-bed within days. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't have the babe on the way here."
Cersei's face twists with anger. "That bitch you married has turned you cruel! The babe will arrive when it arrives; mayhaps I will convince King Eddard to leave again within the next few days."
"You are not so stupid, Cersei. You tried to kill the Southron Queen. You will not be returning to the North. You will never again be allowed out of these rooms."
Cersei's expression doesn't change as she stares at him. "You're mad. Ned may bear no love for me, but he will not allow his Queen to be held captive on a whim!"
"It is not a whim. Ser Gregor Clegane was caught in the act of attempting to beat my wife to death. He was obeying your orders, and 'tis not the first time you have murdered a woman who was in your way."
Cersei's lip curls into a sneer. "You have no courage, sweet brother. If I hadn't intervened, you would have gone to your fate like the little lamb you are. None of those girls were good enough for you."
"And Elia? Was Elia for me, too, sweet sister? And what of our father?"
"I had nothing to do with our father's death," she snaps. "I am no kinslayer!"
"King Selwyn, then."
She shrugs. "The sooner we had the Stormlands, the sooner you could rid yourself of that ugly cow you were forced to marry. Tell me, sweet brother, do you dream of me while you fuck her?"
"I do not dream of you at all," he says, his voice flat and cold. "The only reason you still live is because of the babe in your belly. If there's any babe at all."
Her palm slams against his cheek.
He smirks. "Touched a nerve, sweet sister?" He strides to the door and opens it. King Eddard and Brienne step inside, followed by Septa Tyene and several novices.
Jaime glances at Ned and Brienne and, judging from their faces, they've heard all that was needed. He turns to Tyene and says, "Examine her and let me know what you find."
He leaves the room without looking back.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne finds him on the ramparts of Maegor's Holdfast, staring down at the courtyard. She quietly takes her place by his side and they stand in surprisingly companionable silence for several moments.
"The septas have finished their examination," Brienne finally says, her voice quiet.
Jaime's hands tighten on the stone wall he's leaning on.
"She is with child, but they estimate she has several months—mayhaps as many as five—before the child will be born."
Jaime's mind whirls then he slowly relaxes. "Then it isn't mine."
"No."
He lets out a pent-up breath and bows his head.
"I'm sorry," Brienne says and he frowns.
"Why would you be sorry?"
She looks away. "Your natural child, even if bastard born. Easy enough to legitimize once born. Easier than setting me aside and taking a new bride."
Jaime doesn't know if he should laugh or shout at her.
"I have no desire for a child from Cersei," he says flatly. "Remember: her child is my heir regardless of the father. If King Eddard decides to deny the child, then, again, I can legitimize them and raise them as my legitimate nephew or niece, alongside any children we may have."
"Jaime—"
"You're young, Brienne, and we may not know for years if we will ever have children together. Under the circumstances, Cersei's babe is heir enough." His shoulders slump as he turns back to staring out at the courtyard of the Red Keep. "Mayhaps it would be best if we allow this Lannister line die out."
"What? Why?"
He shakes his head, his lips tight. Brienne stands, silent and stolid beside him, and he draws greater strength from her presence than he cares to admit.
Finally, he says, "I've prayed for years that she is not the monster she claims to be, that her claims of murder and betrayal were lies, like all else about her. A child from one such as her, on any Throne at all, worries me. The best thing will be if King Eddard claims the child and raises them in the North, far from King's Landing and any Lannister. Mayhaps then they will have a chance."
Brienne puts a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Jaime, please."
He bows his head and says, "Cersei claims to have murdered every one of my betrothed. She murdered Elia Martell; that I know for certain. She swears the children she bore Rhaegar died natural deaths...but what is truth? What is lie?" He slams a fist down on top of the stone rampart and rejoices in the sharp pain of it. "How could I have so blindly loved a woman like that for so long?"
*/*/*/*/*
King Eddard worries on the problem for several days then decides to claim the child as his.
His long, thin face is wry as he says, "I, too, need an heir, King Jaime, and there are few Northern marriage-aged women at the moment…unless you want to consider the Freys."
Jaime allows a brief smile to cross his face at that. "True," he says. "There are some Martells, I understand."
"Only those who are bastard born, now that Princess Arianne is betrothed to some Essos nobleman." Ned grimaces. "If only Prince Oberyn had bothered to marry at least one of the mothers!"
Jaime chuckles.
Ned sighs. "In the North, there's only House Mormont with one daughter unspoken for. Lady Lyanna is only ten and I would need to wait until she's of age. Still, if she is as fierce as her mother and older sisters, she would make a fine Queen in the North."
"Or marry her to your son, if Cersei births a boy."
Ned's smile is bittersweet. "You know how risky it is to put all your dynastic hopes into one frail babe."
Jaime's smile is just as bittersweet. "I may have no more choice than you, Your Majesty."
*/*/*/*/*
Septa Tyene gracefully sits on the chair in Brienne's dressing room, and not for the first time, Brienne wonders why such a beautiful girl would choose the life of a septa.
The thought flits away as Tyene leans closer and says, "I have listened to the gossip of the smallfolk, Your Majesty, and no one knows the truth of what is happening with Queen Cersei. The only gossip I've heard is filled with worries that she is in confinement because her pregnancy is taking a heavy toll upon her. No one has speculated her confinement is because she has committed a crime."
Brienne's not certain if she's relieved or angry. She and Jaime and Ned agreed to attempt to hide the true reason for Cersei's disappearance from public life so there would no taint on the child once born. There are days she still struggles with the decision, when she wants to walk the streets of King's Landing screaming out the truth of Cersei's crimes.
But they needs must protect the child, innocent of all their mother has done, for as long as possible.
Besides, they are still undecided as to what to do with Cersei.
"I have more troubling news," Tyene says and Brienne snaps back to the present.
"Oh?"
"Qyburn has been seen in Queen Cersei's apartment."
Brienne raises an eyebrow. "Any hint as to what they have been speaking on?"
Tyene shrugs. "Treason, of course." She lowers her voice. "His agents are everywhere in the Red Keep, waiting only for his command to strike. This time, 'tis not just you. I've heard that King Jaime is also a target."
To Brienne's shame, she welcomes this new threat. While not easily thwarted, it at least gives them something they can do.
"Is there anyone else working with Qyburn?" she asks.
"No other high-borns, Your Majesty, although he does have an extensive network of spies."
Brienne nods. "Good." She gives Tyene a thoughtful look. "You are very good at this, septa."
Tyene's smile is almost horrifying in its innocence, but she says nothing.
Brienne stands and says, "We will soon need a new Master of Whisperers."
"I am only effective because everyone trusts a septa," Tyene says, looking alarmed for the first time since Brienne met her.
Brienne's smile is slow. "Who says anyone else will know?"
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne speaks to Jaime and two days later, Qyburn's body is discovered floating in the waters of Blackwater Bay.
They tell the rest of the small council they have decided the new Master of Whisperers has no need to be on the small council and refuse to tell them who it is.
Brienne takes almost sadistic pleasure in watching the men squirm.
*/*/*/*/*
The days drift by and turn into weeks and then months.
Jaime and Brienne go about their duties and to Brienne's relief, they seem more alike than different in their decisions and goals. At night, in the dark cocoon of their bedchamber, they talk and love and talk again. It's on one such night when Jaime cups her breast and she lets out a sharp hiss and bats his hand away.
He lifts his head and frowns. "What is it?"
She scowls up at him, protectively covering her still-stinging breast. "That hurt!"
He blinks at her and her own eyes widen, and then they're scrambling to light the lanterns. They carefully inspect her body, Jaime gently gliding his palms over every curve and line of her body, carefully weighing her small breasts in his hands, and paying special attention to the small curve of her belly.
"By the gods," he whispers, his eyes wide and shining.
"Don't…" she says, tears standing in her eyes. "This may be wishful thinking, and even if true—there may not be a healthy babe at the end of it."
His smile is wide and open and as happy as any child's as he pulls her close. "Mayhaps," he says, "but for tonight, just for tonight, let us simply be happy."
She sniffles and nods, and he smooths his hands down her back and kisses her.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne steps into Cersei's apartment and stops on the threshold.
The former Queen in the North, the last Queen of a Targaryen King, turns to face her.
Cersei is as beautiful as always, her body heavy with child. Her eyes are cold as she arches one elegant eyebrow and she sneers as she recognizes who has come to visit her.
They stare at each other in silence, and Brienne wonders why she allowed this woman to ever intimidate her. Cersei's monstrous, yes, but not a monster, delicately built and more fragile than Brienne will ever be.
The silence stretches until Brienne finally says, "I'm only here so you can see your failure with your own eyes. Not only am I still alive, I am also with child."
Cersei's beautiful face twists and becomes something ugly. "You lie."
Brienne turns slightly and smooths her hand over her dress so Cersei can see the gentle swell of her belly.
"You've failed, Cersei," Brienne says, her voice coolly calm. "I'm alive, and I will give Jaime the children he desires. You, sadly, will end up with nothing."
Cersei sneers. "Jaime's mine, you besotted cow. I may be a prisoner now in these apartments, but do not deceive yourself. When he has his heirs, he'll seek my bed again." Her sneer turns to a mocking smile. "Enjoy the Southron Throne while you can, because in the end, that will be mine as well. It has always been mine."
Brienne stares at Cersei in disbelief and, to her surprise, with pity. She's mad, she thinks, and finds she cannot bring herself to hate the other woman.
"I'm sorry," she says, and means it. "You will never have either of those ever again."
Cersei glides to her, and Brienne catches her hand as she tries to slap her.
"Truly?" Brienne says in mocking disbelief and laughs.
Cersei growls and tries to land a punch in Brienne's belly, but Brienne dances away and reacts, remembering only at the last moment to pull her punch.
Cersei cries out as blood spurts from her nose and she staggers back, almost falling. Brienne quickly catches her and sets her back on her feet.
She lets go of Cersei's shoulders and says, very calmly, "Next time I'll kill you," before she turns and leaves the room.
*/*/*/*/*
Cersei goes into labour that afternoon, and the following morning, she is delivered of a dark-haired boy.
Jaime catches only a glimpse of his sweet sister lying on the bed. Septa Tyene leans over her while a novice steps out of the bedroom and places the swaddled child in King Eddard's arms.
When word arrives the next day that Cersei died in her child-bed, Jaime looks at Brienne and wonders if she took her vengeance.
He doesn't blame her if she did.
*/*/*/*/*
They bury Cersei with all the ceremony befitting a Queen, but her bones are to be sent to Casterly Rock to be laid to rest beside her mother. Word is also quietly spreading through King's Landing that any mention of Queen Cersei in the city is to be removed and she is to be allowed to fade into history.
Brienne stands beside Jaime as the funeral procession leave the Red Keep and wonders if Jaime had rendered his own justice on Cersei as punishment for his sweet sister's crimes.
She turns and sees his face, cold and expressionless as he watches the funeral carriage disappear through the gates.
She doesn't blame him if he did.
*/*/*/*/*
King Eddard departs for the North with the little prince and a wet nurse by his side. Jaime and Brienne replace their small council and turn their attention to the business of governing a kingdom still damaged from war.
Both of them anxiously await the birth of their child.
But there's still one monster Brienne needs to slay: she has not been back to the training yard where Ser Gregor attacked her. She returned to sparring as soon as her injuries permitted it, but she and Sandor met in their isolated courtyard until he departed the Red Keep to take up his new duties as Lord Clegane at Castermere.
Now she asks Jaime to escort her and he walks silently beside her as she paces the yard, reliving every moment, each thought, every action. She stops beside the wall next to the armoury door.
"I was so close," she whispers.
Jaime quietly watches her.
Brienne takes a deep breath and turns to face him. "I will return here to spar once I have recovered from birthing your babe."
Jaime's smile is slow and proud. "I know," he says, then leans closer. "Our storeroom is still open as well."
She blushes and gives him a shy grin.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne sometimes thinks on Cersei's fate and while she has her suspicions, she sometimes wonders if the former Queen had truly died a natural death. The child bed is notoriously dangerous for women—Brienne's own mother died birthing her—and as her time draws near, she can't help but wonder if she will fare any better.
Septa Roelle is of little comfort, although her jibes that Brienne is large enough to birth a litter of lion cubs actually makes her feel a little more confident about the birth.
After one particularly acidic exchange, Brienne sends Septa Roelle from her presence and paces restlessly, wearily rubbing her aching back.
"Forgive her, Your Majesty," Septa Tyene says, "she's been consumed with envy and hate for so long, she knows nothing else."
Brienne scowls at her as Brienne sits then gets again to her feet, unable to get comfortable. "Envy and hate?"
"She loved your father, you know. Loved him even before he married your mother. She says you look so much like her that she has never been able to get past it."
Brienne's jaw slowly drops and for a moment she forgets her aching back. "What?"
Tyene spreads her hands in a shrug. "If your mother had lived, mayhaps Septa Roelle would have taken her jealousy out on her instead of a defenseless, motherless child. But we are all women, even if we wear the robes of a septa, and we are all human. We love, we hate, we fear, and we make mistakes."
Brienne blinks, then winces as her back muscles spasm.
"Mayhaps I need to send her back to Tarth," she says.
Tyene's eyes are watchful. "Mayhaps," she says.
Brienne cries out in surprise as there's a sudden gush of liquid from between her legs.
She gapes down at the pool of water on the floor and Tyene chuckles.
"The question of what to do about Septa Roelle definitely needs to wait for later."
*/*/*/*/*
The sun has set and risen and set again by the time the door to the bedchamber finally opens and Septa Tyene walks out to greet Jaime.
"Twins, Your Majesty," she says with a smile as she lays first one bundle and then the other in Jaime's arms. "Boys." She lays a gentle finger on the one in his right arm. "The eldest, by several minutes. We've tied a gold ribbon round his arm to mark him."
Jaime nods, feeling overwhelmed with the weight of the babies in his arms. He swallows. "Brienne?" he says, his voice husky. He clears his throat and says, "The Queen? How fares the Queen?"
"She has done well, Your Majesty," says Septa Roelle. "She should pull through, great lumbering woman that she is."
Jaime slowly tears his gaze away from his sons to look at the old septa. Her eyes are cold and cruel and, he thinks with a chill, disappointed.
"The labor took a long time," he says, his eyes on Septa Roelle's face.
"Twins, Your Majesty," Tyene says with a warm smile and she, at least, seems pleased with the children and Brienne and him. "Twins often take longer, plus the first birthing tends to be the longest as well. The next child should go more quickly. The Queen is young and strong and healthy, although naturally exhausted at the moment. The novices are cleaning her and the bed now."
"We shall take them to the wet nurse," Roelle says briskly, reaching for the baby in his right arm.
"Has the Queen fed the babes already?" he asks, making no move to allow his children to be taken from him.
Roelle grimaces. "Her teats are not large enough to feed one babe let alone two!"
"Has she been allowed to try?" he asks drily. He looks at Tyene as he stands and says, "Open the door so I can take our sons to be fed by their mother."
"Your Majesty—" Septa Roelle sputters as Tyene hastens to do as he asked.
He turns to her and raises an eyebrow.
"She's still being cleaned," the old septa says weakly, wilting beneath his glare.
His smile is thin. "I have been on the battlefield, septa, and I have seen Brienne before, bruised and battered. Blood does not frighten me."
*/*/*/*/*
It's not the same, of course. Blood on the battlefield is to be expected and endured, and the men injured or dying or dead were not Brienne. She looks exhausted and Jaime knows she must be since she is allowing the novices to cater to her without protest.
She lifts those startling blue eyes, even larger and more beautiful in her pale and tired face, to look at him as he steps into the room.
As two novices finish removing the birthing mats and stained sheets from the bed, he watches as two others finish washing Brienne then help her to her feet so they can lower a nursing tunic over her head. Jaime notices the stretch marks on her belly—wounds from another kind of battle, he thinks, a battle neither of them can influence with words or actions.
The novices finish making the bed and help her back on to the mattress. They then leave them while shooting curious looks over their shoulders.
Jaime walks to the bed and gives her one child then carefully joins her on the bed. He smiles as he sees the babe in her arms nuzzle against her breast, already seeking.
Brienne looks uncertainly at him and he gives her a nod.
She swallows, and he sees tears in her eyes even as she bares her breast and, after a fumbling moment, the baby begins to feed.
"What if...what if I'm not enough?" she whispers and she sounds so tired and sad that for a moment, Jaime sees Lannister red behind his eyes as he wonders what that old bitch of a septa has been whispering in Brienne's ears even as she struggled to bring their children into the light.
"You'll be enough," Jaime tells her. "You'll be more than enough."
"But there's a wet nurse?"
"Of course," he says, and gives her a wicked smile. "In case you need rest, and, of course, for those nights when I don't want to share your breasts with anyone, not even my sons."
She blushes and looks down at the nuzzling babe. He already seems to be nuzzling for comfort rather than from hunger and his eyes, as blue as his mother's, slowly close in sleep.
Jaime and Brienne carefully exchange children so she can feed their second son, then Jaime positions himself so they can put their heads together as they admire their babes.
Brienne smiles down at their children and says, "You have your sons, Jaime. The legitimate heirs the realm needs."
"Aye," he says absently, smiling at their sleeping faces.
"Two sons and done," she whispers.
He gives her a surprised look. "If you wish it," he says. "We can certainly keep you supplied with moon tea if you prefer, although I hope you will someday give me a little girl who looks like you."
She swallows and a tear slip down her cheek.
"You're tired," he says, alarmed, "and I have been thoughtless" He sits up and starts to scramble from the bed, trying not to wake the sleeping children. "I'll send for the septas—well, Tyene, at least—to care for the babes while you sleep. The wet nurse will be nearby if you are too exhausted to feed them."
She blinks startled and confused eyes at him.
"You're leaving?" she asks plaintively, and he can see she cringes at the tone of her voice.
He hesitates then smiles. "No," he says softly, "I'm not leaving."
It takes a little maneuvering but they at last position themselves so Jaime has Brienne resting against his chest with the babes sleeping peacefully on her chest, one against each breast. Jaime's arms are around all the three of them.
Brienne's almost instantly asleep, her head lolling heavily against him. He presses his lips against her brow then closes his eyes and allows himself to simply be.
*/*/*/*/*
