Warning: Here be character death. Please don't panic.
Chapter 36: This is How It Ends
Jaime
Jaime opens his eyes to gray fog and Bran, watching him with a puzzled frown.
"Enough, my lord?" Jaime asks with a mocking bow. "Have I paid my debt to you, at least partially?"
Bran's smile is bitter. "Your debt to me can never be repaid, my lord. I have gained much since you pushed me from that tower, true, but I still long for my family and my legs." Then he sighs. "You have shown me my answers, Kingslayer, and for that I thank you." His expression turns thoughtful. "What will you dream of now?"
"If the gods are kind—or if they exist at all—I will dream of my wife and all we might have shared. I will dream her safe and well and happy, home on her Sapphire Isle."
"And if I do not allow it? If I decide instead to make you dream of her death?"
"My life for hers, my Lord Stark. That is the bargain I struck with the Dragon Queen. I will not dream of Brienne's death because I have bought her life. I shall gladly die on the morrow so long as she lives."
*/*/*/*/*
He dreams of Brienne.
He dreams he is whole, his gold hand made flesh, and he duels with her, once more one of the best swordsmen in Westeros. He dreams they dance, crossing blades of flaming Valyrian steel, and it is a clash retold in songs throughout the ages.
Then he dreams them dancing in another way, her body soft and yielding, her touch gently strong, and the love they share is the stuff of legends.
Finally, he dreams of Brienne with a sweat-soaked brow, lying in bed, a fragile bundle held safe against her breast, and her bottomless blue eyes shine with love as she smiles up at him.
He wakes to moisture on his cheeks and a guard's rough shove.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
Brienne opens her eyes to gray fog and the boy who reminds her of Catelyn Stark.
"I did not expect to sleep," she says.
"There is naught you can do now but sleep," the boy says.
"Why have you done this? Why did you need to see all that we have done and all that we mean to each other?"
"All that has happened has always happened," the boy says. "The past and present and future are as one for me now. But I needed to understand...there is a moment I see, a moment with you and the Kingslayer, and I needed to understand why and how it could possibly be."
Brienne scowls in confusion. "What is this moment you see?"
"I cannot say, my lady. I cannot tell you because I have never told you."
"I...I don't understand."
"It is not for you to understand." His smile is kind although his eyes hold a wolf's cunning. "I was promised that time would be as one for me, but I find there is a moment where my vision stops, and there are only fleeting glimpses of what lies beyond it. There's a moment where I feel like fire made flesh, and another, of you and the Kingslayer, and I could not understand." Now his face and smile turn bitterly sad.
"I once dreamed of being a knight," he says, "of doing such great and honorable deeds, songs would be forever sung about me after I was gone. I cannot even see if any will know of what I've become."
Pity twists in Brienne's stomach. "When is the moment your vision stops?"
He gives her another sad smile, and she realizes how young he truly is.
"Now," he says and gently pushes her away.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne jerks awake, scrambling for a sword she cannot find and wonders what woke her.
She listens intently, but all is still and quiet, so quiet, she can hear her guards snoring outside her door.
She relaxes back against her pillows and thinks she will not sleep again, that she needs to sit vigil for Jaime, pray for his soul even if she cannot dare hope any god will grant his survival. Her eyes drift closed even as she thinks it.
*/*/*/*/*
This time when she sleeps, she dreams of Jaime.
She dreams he is whole, his gold hand made flesh, and he duels with her, once more one of the best swordsmen in Westeros. She dreams they dance, crossing blades of flaming Valyrian steel, and it is a clash retold in songs throughout the ages.
Then she dreams them dancing in another way, his body lean and hard, his touch gently strong, and the love they share is the stuff of legends.
Finally, she dreams she has a sweat-soaked brow, lying in bed, a fragile bundle held safe against her breast, and his bright green eyes shine with love as he looks down upon them.
She wakes to moisture on her cheeks and a guard's fist pounding on the door.
*/*/*/*/*
There is no sun when she leaves her tower prison.
Brienne wonders how far away Jon Snow and his rag tag army is, and how far behind them follow the Others. The scent of smoke is strong in the air but she doesn't think it's any worse than when they first arrived back in King's Landing.
She is escorted to the tourney fields outside the city walls and finds the area transformed from when she faced Ser Theodan of the Warrior's Sons. Wooden rows of seats, rising high, have been built surrounding a large, open area. There is a raised dais at one end, a large, ornate chair in the middle with three lesser chairs to the left and one smaller, less ornate chair slightly behind and to the right of it. Brienne is shoved on to a seat several rows up but still at the very edge of the arena on the right of the dais. She and her guards are the first ones there and she watches as servants scurry round, lighting enough torches to push back the black of the sunless day, assisted by the fitful glow of the moon when it's not hidden by clouds. As they work, a slow trickle of smallfolk cautiously make their way into the seats. Brienne shivers and is vaguely grateful for her breeches as she stares blindly at nothing, waiting for Daenerys and her followers to arrive.
The seats are overflowing when the Dragon Queen and her companions finally walk into the tourney grounds and towards the high dais. The snow crunching beneath their feet is loud as the crowd falls into an almost unnatural silence. Brienne realizes the wind is bitterly cold and she feels a spurt of vicious pleasure when she sees Daenerys shiver. For a moment she fervently hopes they all freeze the moment Jaime dies, then she remembers that their only hope now against the approaching Others—mayhaps a few days away; mayhaps only a few hours—are the dragons Brienne still has yet to see.
The Imp climbs to stand before the chair slightly behind Daenerys' right side and Brienne turns her glare on him. Tyrion's eyes flick over her but his face is expressionless and for a moment, Brienne wonders if Cersei and Jaime truly have fled together. She almost hopes they have. At least then Jaime might live just a little while longer, even if he chose Cersei and left her alone to face the wrath of the Dragon Queen.
There's a stir as Cersei walks into the arena flanked by burly Dothraki guards and followed by Tommen and Myrcella. The former Queen's face is as set as marble and just as cold, her head held high as she strides to the chair beside Daenerys. She gracefully sits and the Dragon Queen raises an eyebrow and smirks while the children stop in front of their chairs and wait.
Daenerys glances round, arrogant and proud. She speaks for several minutes but her words barely register on Brienne. She hears Kingslayer and Oathbreaker, Aerys and murder; fire and blood, but she can make now meaning out of any of it. Finally Daenerys' lips stop moving. Her gaze rakes over the crowd and rests briefly on Brienne, then she glances at one of her commanders, gives a slight nod and sits.
Brienne waits, her stomach tightening. She's horrified Daenerys would subject the children to watching Jaime die; she dreads seeing what's about to unfold before them all; she's terrified of the knowledge that the Others are on the march; and she's sorry there is nothing she can do any longer to protect anyone.
She lowers her head and blinks away her tears.
The best she can hope is that Daenerys will allow her to die battling the Others when they arrive...and that they will burn Jaime's body before then, else she may be forced to kill the man she loves after all.
*/*/*/*/*
It's not long before Jaime is shoved into the arena. He's dirty and unarmed and not dressed nearly warm enough for the cold but someone—Tyrion?—has allowed Jaime to wear his gold hand. He slowly walks into the arena as he scans the crowd until he finds her.
She sees him relax and his lips quirk into almost a smile as his gaze lingers on her. She cannot look away and then she frowns as a dark shadow passes over them, blocking the moon that has finally broken free of the clouds. She thinks she must have imagined it until the shadow passes over again and as one, everyone looks up.
"No," Brienne whispers as she finally understands what she's seeing. She stares, numb, as the shadow soars over them one last time and then the beast descends, gracefully landing at the far end of the arena.
The dragon is huge, cream and gold, beautiful and deadly in its beauty. Brienne feels her limbs turn weak as she stares at the thing and knows—knows—she's about to be forced to watch Jaime be burned alive.
Brienne is dimly aware the of the profound silence of the watching crowd and wonders if the smallfolk will break with panic when they truly understand the dragon is now so close it can burn them all just as easily as it can destroy the lone man facing it in the arena.
And then the silence is broken.
With laughter.
Brienne tears her eyes from the dragon to gape at Jaime, now almost doubled over with mirth. Brienne glances fearfully at the dais and sees the growing anger on the Queen's face, the unchanging expression on Cersei's face, the horrified fear on the children's faces as Tommen and Myrcella clutch at each other's hands. But it is the mix of amusement and pride and love and regret and yearning and loss on Tyrion's face that truly catches her attention. With a shock, Brienne realizes Tyrion truly loves his sweet brother, and yet he will do nothing.
Not that there is anything that can be done. The time to stop this madness is long past.
She turns her gaze back to the arena. Jaime's still laughing and the crowd is still silent, unmoving, watching the spectacle with terror writ on their faces.
"You are truly your father's daughter, Princess," Jaime shouts, his eyes glittering, his smile cutting like a knife. "Did you ever hear that story? How your sweet father named fire his champion for a trial by combat? I see now you have done the same, only in a form with more flesh."
He turns to the dragon and spreads his arms, his gold hand glinting in the torchlight.
"Come, sweetling," he calls to the dragon, "let us dance!"
"No," Brienne says, but it is only a croaking sound that no one else seems to hear. "No," she says again and then she's moving, startling her guards and she leaps in to the arena before anyone realizes what she's planning.
She's still rolling in the frozen dirt and snow when she hears Jaime's shout and she's terrified she's too late as she scrambles to her feet.
"No, Brienne," he cries again, and he's there, but now he's no longer amused, he's terrified.
"Get behind me!" she yells.
"Are you mad? It'll kill you!"
"Get behind me," she says again and tries to move in front of him.
"You lumbering great wench!" he roars in frustration even as he darts round her, keeping between her and the dragon. "I am not worth your life!"
"I shall decide that, Jaime!" she snaps even as she takes a closer look at the dragon. She feels her bowels loosen but she refuses to disgrace herself. She is a warrior and a knight, she has fought more undead creatures in the last weeks than she cares to remember, she once stood as champion for a Queen, and she shall die with Jaime rather than allow him to face such a fate alone.
"By the gods, Brienne," Jaime snarls as they continue dancing round each other, "you swore an oath you would do your best to stay alive, even if I were to fall!"
"And you swore an oath that wherever we go, we go together!"
"Not into death! I made a bargain! My life for yours!"
"I won't let you die for me, Jaime!"
He curses then grabs her, pulling her into a quick, searing kiss. "Go, you great, hulking fool! I love you too much to have you die for me!"
"And I love you too much to let you face this alone!"
They glare at each other and then Brienne slowly realizes the very texture of the air has changed. She blinks at Jaime, whose eyes are slowly widening, then they both cautiously turn their heads to find the dragon right next to them, watching them with its head tilted to the side, like a curious cat confused by its prey.
They stare silently into the dragon's eyes and through the gibbering terror that has gripped her, Brienne is mesmerized by the creature's beauty. Cream-coloured with gold markings and huge eyes the color of molten gold, it watches them with bright interest as it carefully extends its snout and sniffs at them.
"Gods, please don't let me disgrace myself in front of all these people," Jaime mutters beneath his breath and Brienne squeezes his arm in agreement but doesn't take her eyes from the huge beast who's now tilting its head to the other side, as if it cannot understand quite what it's seeing.
"Brienne," Jaime says quietly, urgently, "if I step to the side while you back away, it will hopefully follow me. It'll give you time to get away."
"I won't leave you."
"Please, Brienne! Don't die for me. Live for your Sapphire Isle and the smallfolk—and memories of me."
She scowls even though she doesn't take her eyes from the dragon.
Then there's a shout and a thud and she and Jaime jump round to stare at the sword that has landed in the frozen dirt of the arena. It is, unfortunately, too far from their feet to easily reach and Brienne sees Daenerys lift herself in her chair, her expression thunderous.
Then there's another thud and as one, they and the dragon turn their heads to look at this second sword and then the dragon turns its gaze on them and Brienne swears—swears—there's amusement in the animal's eyes.
Then there's another shout and another thud. Then another. And another.
And then it's a storm of swords, falling into the arena. Brienne catches a glimpse of one of the men as he tosses his sword, and registers that he's familiar and has another weapon at his waist. Her gaze flies to the dais to see a livid Daenerys angrily speaking to Tyrion, who is spreading his hands in a helpless shrug.
By the time they stops, there's a score or more swords on the arena floor, and no time to wonder if this was the mood of the moment or if the Imp or Bronn—if that was indeed him she had glimpsed in the stands—had somehow conspired to at least give Jaime the dignity of dying with a sword in his hand.
She turns her gaze back to the dragon, who's still watching them both.
"I'll grab two—"
"You'll never make it," Jaime says, "and we couldn't do much damage even if you could. Now, leave me, Brienne. Let me give the Targaryen what she wants."
She shakes her head—and then she hears it.
"No," she whispers.
"Brienne—'
"No, listen, Jaime!"
He frowns and listens, too, and she hears it again: the crack—crack—crack of the Others and the blood drains from her face.
The dragon lifts its head, turning it this way and that, searching for the source of the sound.
And then the ground begins to shake beneath their feet, and there's a deep, low rumbling that increases in intensity until it culminates in a horrendous splintering coming from behind the city walls. They stare towards the dark mass of the Red Keep, bathed in moonlight where it crouches high on Aegon's Hill, and watch as it breaks apart like some giant egg, the walls falling in great plumes of dust, and rising from the destruction, amidst the dust and falling towers, giant wings unfurling—
"Dragons," somebody in the crowd whimpers.
"Those aren't my dragons," Brienne hears Daenerys cry, and Jaime and Brienne exchange a horrified look.
"There were dragon bones beneath the Red Keep," Jaime says.
Brienne hears the screams of the crowd in the darkness behind the torches and then the Others are upon them. The crowd erupts in screams and panicked scrambling as the white walkers and their ice spiders leap into the arena and onto the back of the dragon almost before Brienne can blink.
In the next blink, Brienne and Jaime are running towards the dragon, scooping up swords and dodging the flames as the creature bucks and turns, roaring, burning those white walkers racing towards it but the three ice spiders on its back cling on while the Others struggle to stab their ice swords into the dragon's body.
Jaime and Brienne scramble up the sides of the dragon and Jaime loses his sword when he drops it to anchor himself as the dragon unfolds its wings and tries to fly. But now there are Others clutching at its legs and it returns to the ground with a bone jarring thud. From the corner of her eye, Brienne sees Daenerys' Dothraki guards rushing into the arena and she turns and finally reaches the dragon's back. She slashes at the nearest ice spider then thrusts her sword into Jaime's hand.
He looks confused only for a moment then he, too, turns his attention to the Other while Brienne leaps from the dragon's back, scoops up another sword from the arena floor and clambers back up, something made easier because, like when they faced Lady Stoneheart's followers, the presence of the dragon seems to blind the white walkers to the living humans. Brienne sees Jaime has used that to his advantage even though his ordinary steel and less skilled left arm has little effect on the creatures.
Together they manage to dislodge one ice spider and its white walker while the dragon's bucking and short, flying jumps finally causes a second to slip off where the Dothraki warriors swarm over it. Brienne and Jaime then turn their attention to the last Other still on the back of the dragon.
Brienne slashes at the ice spider while Jaime attacks the white walker itself and she sees Jaime instinctively use his gold hand to block the Other's ice sword as the dead creature strikes at the dragon's back. Jaime drives his sword into the white walker's stomach and she follows with a sword blow to the head and both spider and walker dissolve into icy pellets of water.
She hears Jaime curse and she turns to see him gaping at his gold hand, now melded to the Other's ice sword.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
Jaime gapes at his hand, caught on the ice sword just above the hilt. He shakes his arm, but the sword doesn't budge. He meets Brienne's confused gaze and they both shrug as they shift their footing while the dragon spins again, flame shooting from its mouth. Above them, a gigantic black dragon drops from the sky to land in front of the dais and swoops away again with Daenerys clinging to its back.
A harsh laugh makes Jaime startle round, both swords at the ready, but he relaxes when he sees Tyrion, climbing up the dragon's side.
Tyrion's grin is almost manic. "I see you weren't lying after all," he says as he joins them.
Jaime rolls his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he says.
Tyrion's eyes flick to the sword in Jaime's right hand. "This is my dragon," he says. "Is that thing made of ice?"
"Your dragon?" Jaime demands, then, "yes."
To Jaime's confusion, Tyrion begins to laugh, almost as hard as Jaime had laughed when he first realized what Daenerys had planned.
"For hands of gold are always cold," Tyrion says, and laughs harder. Then, still chuckling, "You'll have to get off. I'm taking Viserion to face the dragons that have risen from the bowels of the Red Keep and I am the only one who can ride him."
"No," Brienne says. "You need to take us over the walls into King's Landing!"
"Even if Viserion will allow it, what do you think you can possibly do there?"
"We have to get as many smallfolk out of the city as we can," Jaime says. "There's wildfire hidden everywhere beneath King's Landing and we planned on luring the Others inside the walls and setting it off. But not if there are still smallfolk inside!"
Tyrion curses as he runs to the front of the dragon and sits astride the animal's neck. "I can only hope Viserion will allow it but get behind me, and hold tight to my waist."
"No, Tyrion," Jaime says even as he does as his sweet brother asks. "If we fall, we'll take you with us."
Tyrion's smile is blinding. "I won't fall, Jaime. I've finally learned to fly."
*/*/*/*/*
They fly.
Jaime's only solace is that Brienne screams first.
*/*/*/*/*
Viserion lands by the ruins of the Great Sept and Jaime almost falls to the ground, the cursed ice sword still melded to his gold hand.
"What are you planning?" Tyrion asks.
"Where are the undead creatures you found in the black cells?" Brienne asks.
"In the Dragonpit," Tyrion says and they look at the dark hill rising in the distance. In the moonlight, they see a steady stream of Others already making their way through the streets towards it. "Do you want me to let them out?"
"No," Jaime says, and curses the fact his knees still feel like water beneath him. "The longer the Others are distracted by those creatures, the more time we will have to empty the city." He puts his living hand on his brother's knee. "Try to keep the dragon fire away from the city unless it's absolutely necessary. Tell your Dragon Queen we need as much time as you can buy us." He squeezes Tyrion's knee in farewell but Tyrion grabs his hand before Jaime can step away.
"How will you get out?" Tyrion asks, urgent.
Jaime's smile is bitter. "As ashes, if need be."
*/*/*/*/*
Tyrion and Viserion fly to join the giant black dragon dancing in the sky, roaring flame against the ice dragons that emerged from the Red Keep. Jaime watches them go then he and Brienne run down Visenya's Hill into the heart of the city.
*/*/*/*/*
Everything becomes a blur.
They tell everyone they find to get to the gates, to pass the word, and they fight any Other they meet. Jaime discovers that the ice sword in his right hand is almost as effective as Valyrian steel and with a sword in each hand and Brienne by his side, they make short work of their enemies.
They stumble upon Tristan and other Gold Cloaks and send them to corral whoever has enough courage to race through the neighborhoods, to pass the word for the smallfolk to get to whichever gate they can, to get out of the city.
They get to the docks too late and Brienne screams 'no' as they see the ships and boats casting off only to be dragged beneath the waves by pale creatures whose tentacles gleam in the moonlight. There's nothing they can do and they return to King's Landing through the Mud Gate to continue clearing out the city.
They soon realize there are fewer and fewer smallfolk in the streets and Jaime doesn't know if they've made it out or if they're hiding or if they are now swelling the ranks of the Others, who are single-mindedly forcing their way towards the Dragonpit. His attention is caught by a small burst of flame atop Rhaenys' Hill and realizes the Others have finally reached Qyburn's creations.
"We're out of time," he mutters to Brienne.
She looks up at the Dragonpit then turns, her blue eyes even larger than the dragon's had been. She nods, and they run towards the Lion Gate.
*/*/*/*/*
The arriving Others are endless, clogging the gates even as the ice spiders pour over the walls like water. Jaime and Brienne fight their way through the gate, slowly creating a path for the smallfolk brave enough to follow.
He tries not to think of all the smallfolk they're leaving behind, those who are huddled in cellars and other cubbyholes, children hiding beneath beds, those running in circles, changing direction with each new Other they see and ending hopelessly lost in the winding streets. He tries not to think about it; he has no time to think about it, and he blinks the sweat from his eyes to clear his vision as they finally break through the gate.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
The wooden seats Daenerys had had built are now in splinters and the tourney grounds are teeming with running smallfolk, Others heading towards the city, and living soldiers, doing their best to stop them.
She catches a glimpse of Samwell Tarly, Heartsbane flashing against a white walker that from this angle almost looks like Randyll Tarly with glowing blue eyes, and there, in the distance, are the flames of Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail. High above, the dragons birthed from the belly of the Red Keep glisten blue as ice in the moonlight while three living dragons, darker than the night, dance round them.
Smallfolk pour from the gates and she can't allow herself to think of all the ones they've missed, hiding in a corners, crying to the gods for rescue. If she does, she'll break and she refuses to give up the fight until she falls from an Other's sword.
She stands beside Jaime, who still has an ice sword in his gold hand, and he wields it while he also swings a steel sword in his left hand. Giddy with fear and grief and growing exhaustion, she has the sudden hope that she lives long enough to hear the songs that will be sung about this night.
Because it is always summer in the songs, she thinks and struggles against a bizarre urge to laugh until she cries. It's always summer, the knights gallant, the maids beautiful and the sun is always shining.
She's going mad, she thinks, and blinks the sweat from her eyes.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
The smallfolk are still running, still pouring from the gates, and the Others keep coming, bounding past them, scrambling up and over the walls.
They fight the ones they can, and Jaime's vaguely aware that the flaming swords are edging closer until Jaime finally sees that it's Jon Snow and Davos Seaworth wielding the blades.
"Stannis?" Jaime grates out as he stabs an Other with the ice sword and it dissolves into water. Jon and Davos simply shake their heads.
Jaime nods and there's a sudden lull, and they stand, panting, the four of them, waiting for the next wave.
They jump back as a dragon lands with a ground-shaking thud in front of them. This one is a deep green and its bronze colored eyes stare fixedly at Jon Snow, who simply stares back, his own gray eyes wide. The dragon sniffs him once, twice, three times then turns and exposes its neck in invitation. Jon steps forward but Davos grabs his arm.
"What are you doing?" Davos hisses.
"What I'm supposed to do," Jon says, shaking off his grip, and scrambling onto the dragon's back.
The dragon turns and looks at Jaime and Brienne, and Jaime sees a wolfish intelligence gleaming in its eyes—and then the dragon is gone, flying back to join its kin high above the city where another ice dragon disappears as Jaime watches. Suddenly the cracking of the Others gets louder and, as one, a wave of undead creatures charge towards the city, ignoring the living humans still in their paths.
Jaime automatically bends round Brienne while she tries to bend round him, protecting each other from the stampede. They are bumped and shoved but not attacked, as if the creatures simply cannot be bothered with taking the time to kill them in their rush to get inside the walls of King's Landing.
Then the stampede is over as suddenly as it began and they slowly lift their heads. They look towards the city walls in time to see the last of the Others disappear inside, and in the sky, the last of the ice dragons disappears in the bright, combined flame of the living dragons.
Then each dragon rises, silhouetted against the full moon, and then as one, they dive towards the city.
"Tyrion," Jaime breathes, "Tyrion—"
The ice sword in Jaime's gold hand melts and the sword in Davos' hand explodes into dust at the same moment the green fireball erupts within the city walls, its flames reaching for the moon.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
Those who escaped the city ease their way back to stand and watch the city burn. The fire warms them, at least, even as what they see chills them to the core.
King's Landing seems to burn as one, a single ball of fire rising above the walls of that city of hills and lies. The fire dances against the black of the sky, green and white and gold and black, and in the twisting flames, Brienne imagines she sees dragons and their riders, horses and wolves, bright swords crossing blades, and eyes shining like stars. She watches, her hand tight in Jaime's, their arms round Tommen and Myrcella's shoulders—they were brought to Brienne by Bronn with Cersei being pulled behind him, and as Brienne watches the flames, she begins to cautiously hope she will actually have time to learn how they survived.
But she's still not certain if the sun will return or if the burning of King's Landing will be the last light ever seen in the world.
So they stand and watch: she and Jaime, Tommen and Myrcella. Cersei stands a little apart from them under the watchful eyes of Ser Bronn and Lord Willas. The former Queen does not look away from the burning city. Brienne wonders what the woman is thinking as she watches everything she ever wanted burn to ash and Brienne shivers when she realizes there's a smile playing at the corners of Cersei's mouth.
To Brienne's relief, Podrick Payne is there, standing now next to Sam, who is still holding a sword hilt, all that remains of his Valyrian greatsword, Heartsbane. The pouch Sam used to carry the glass candle is hanging at his waist, filled now with dust. Some small distance from Sam stands someone Brienne at first thinks is Josmyn Peckledon but on a second look she sees it is instead a slender, boyish girl clad in breeches and armor. A Wildling, she thinks, and turns her gaze back towards the dying city.
The fire burns and lowers and dims as the sky slowly, reluctantly lightens, and Brienne's hopes rise along with the sun.
With the dawn, what little is left of the city can be seen through the fallen, blackened walls and in the growing light, the watching survivors creep towards Jaime and Brienne and those who stand with them.
It takes a moment before Brienne realizes Davos is gently urging the children away and then Lord Willas Tyrell and Samwell Tarly are in front of them, each with swords in hand.
Her eyes widen.
And then Sam and Lord Willas kneel—Willas with some difficulty—and lay their swords at Jaime and Brienne's feet.
One by one, all the survivors surrounding them do the same.
Brienne's mouth slowly sags open as the wind stirs the remains of King's Landing. Gray ashes float through the air and drift down upon their heads.
And in the breeze, beneath the smoke, is the scent of spring.
*/*/*/*/*