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"What news?"

"Confirmed."

Cersei looked up from her desk. Slowly, she put down her quill, laying it flat on the parchment before her. A droplet of ink fell from it, but she barely noted it. She fixed her eyes on Qyburn, who held a note in his hands. "Is that certain?"

"Yes, your grace." Qyburn nodded, giving her the note. There was a tone of satisfaction in his voice-and yet, he did not seem completely happy. Something was wrong, Cersei could sense it. She read over the note-but it was from her general, not Qyburn's spy.

"What happened to your boy?" she asked. "I am being informed in this note that the bitch was killed by a soldier."

Qyburn swallowed a little. "They hanged him, your grace." he said simply, sadness behind his eyes.

Cersei raised an eyebrow. "Stupid boy…." she tutted-but did not have time to worry about spies. They were so small she could not even see them. It was one less man to pay, she supposed. She felt as if a huge weight was lifting from her shoulders. Again, she read the note, making sure she understood it correctly. "And it is certain that she is dead?"

"No doubt." Qyburn nodded, back to his professionalism-though he still seemed a little off. "Killed by one of your men, your grace. Stefen, I believe, is his name. Promising, by all accounts."

"Yes, it says Stefen here…" Cersei could not recall his face-but it did not matter who he was. It only mattered that the monstrous Tarth bitch had died, and her usurper offspring with her. The air felt a little clearer, the evening a little brighter. This Stefen had done his duty to her, and for that she would keep her word. "Make the arrangements to have him made a lord of his own house. Pay him all I promised-throw in your hanged boy's wages as well. Make sure that the men know that he who serves me well is handsomely rewarded."

"At once, your grace." Qyburn gave a bow.

"Are they travelling the head?" Cersei asked, as an afterthought.

"I believe not, your grace." Qyburn answered. "According to your general, there was no enough of her left to retrieve a recognisable head."

Cersei sniffed. "Pity…I should have liked to see the thing on the battlements…no matter." She picked up her quill again…then put it down. "Any news of my brother?"

"Ser Jaime will arrive at Kings Landing in about a week's time, your grace." Qyburn answered. "He is with your men. I am assured that his escape is impossible-Ser Gregor is ensuring that."

Cersei bit her lip. She turned from Qyburn, looking down to the ground. There was a most perculiar expression on her face. "No…I meant…how is my brother?" she asked. Her voice was almost monotone-but it was suddenly thick. "How is Jaime?"

Qyburn paused. "They did not specify, your grace."

Cersei sighed heavily. She covered her face with her hands, fingers brushing her shorn hair. Jaime's face was scorched onto her mind, painfully burning and filling her head with smoke. It was intoxicating, and unbearably raw. In her darkest moments, she clung to him like a drowning man to a rock, as she always had done. Just the knowledge that he was alive, that she was not entirely alone in the world…he would have learned by now that they were supposed to be together. She, her brother, and no one else. She hoped that now, he understood. Cersei would burn every woman in the Seven Kingdoms if she had to, to keep him by her side, so that he understood that he could not leave her, that he was never supposed to leave her. They had come into the world together, and they would leave it together, no matter what happened in between. He was hers and she was his, from the day they were born to their last day.

"Have a suitable chamber prepared for him." she said, quietly. "Befitting his status as the brother of the queen."

"Of course, your grace."

"Now leave me." Cersei kept her voice strong-but she knew it would break soon, and had no desire to appear weak in front of her Hand.

"At once, your grace." With another bow, Qyburn left.

Cersei stared out of the window, onto the sea. It was rougher than usual, despite the fact that the weather was fine. Not warm, but fine. Automatically, her hand reached out for her wine goblet, her only comfort until Jaime returned to her. The Tarth bitch was dead. She could breathe a little easier for it. The throne was safe…for now. And Jaime…

It did not matter what had happened since. She knew that the moment they were reunited, everything would fall into place. She had been foolish to push him away when she needed him closest. Now, she would never let him go again. He completed her, and she him. He was hers and she was his, in every conceivable way. Cersei took a long drink as she looked out to sea. He was hers, and she was his. And that was not something that could ever be changed, by anyone or anything, man, woman, or god. Nothing could stop her now she was all of the pillars of the kingdom, controlling the crown, the faith…the Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries. She and Jaime had always told themselves that in their moments of doubt-but now there needed be no doubt ever again. Everything was hers to decide now. And Jaime would sit beside her as she ruled.

"Now, dear!" Maggie entered, a steaming bowl in her hands. She set it down in Brienne's lap. It was a beef stew, thin, watery-but it was food and it was hot. It smelled so wonderful…but she did not dare to touch it.

Maggie laughed. "Gods be good, y'have to be the most suspicious person I've ever seen!" But she nodded understandingly. "Don't worry, dear, I swear it ain't poisoned. You are my guest-and I don't fancy the life of a rat-chef." She reached over, patting Brienne's hand. "Drink. Y'need it."

Brienne hesitated…but her famishment got the better of her, and she lifted the bowl to her lips. It felt so amazing to drink something so hot, after freezing for so long. She remembered her last meal, the wedding at Winterfell…it felt like a lifetime ago. Now-nothing had ever tasted better than this. "Saeb used to say that no king could serve a finer stew than mine." Maggie was saying lightly. "Perhaps you can tell me now if he is right, m'lady!"

Brienne swallowed. "Praise well founded," she said, meaning it.

Maggie laughed hard again, that warm, throaty laugh filling the room. "Saeb's cows are good'uns. Loves them, he does-that's why the beef is so delicious. It's a wonder he doesn't have them in bed with us!"

Brienne smiled politely-but she could see that there was something else on her hostess's mind.

"Why would someone want to poison you, anyway?" Maggie asked, her eyes wide-but her voice was gently probing. "Hmm?"

Brienne said nothing. She gently rested the wooden bowl in her lap, atop the scarlet cloak. "Thank you."

Maggie would not be so easily pacified. She was a sharp woman, though her eyes were so doe-like. "What are you running away from, dear?" There was sympathy in her voice. "Can't imagine choosing the snow and ice over y'big castles and halls. It must be something really terrible."

Still-Brienne held her tongue.

"…Your husband?" Maggie asked tentatively.

She tried to stay dumb-but the word alone made Brienne's eyes fill with tears.

"Ah, now, dear, don't be crying!" Maggie sighed sympathetically, putting an arm around her and patting her hair in such a motherly way that it made Brienne's tears fall faster. "I'm sorry I asked. Shouldn't've. Terrible, I am. Never know when to shut up!"

Brienne wiped her cheeks furiously. "I don't know why I'm crying! I never used to…"

Maggie smiled knowingly. "It's mothers' brain. Really muddles you up-I was a mess every time. We all need a good cry sometimes. I remember with Robbert I couldnae look at a calf without bursting into tears. Every mother I cared for has suffered the same. Babies really put your head all out of jolt, it's nothing to be ashamed of." She put her head to one side. "Hasn't anyone told you that?"

Brienne shook her head.

Maggie looked surprised. "Don't they have men who know everything in the world in your castles? What d'you call them, now? Maesters? Who read all the books and know all about the world. Or your own mother? Dinnae she tell you anything?"

Brienne sniffed hard, trying hard to stop crying. "I never knew her." she managed.

"Oh, dear…" Maggie tutted sympathetically. "Well, if it's not too bold to say, it's a comfort to know that life isn't always perfect for highborns too! What about the rest of your family? Surely there must be someone?"

"My father…" Brienne murmured. "And…and my…my husband. It…it is my husband." The word still felt so foreign in her mouth. "He is the reason I am running."

Maggie nodded understandingly, stroking her hair. "No women? You poor thing. Here I am in a house of lads-I'd have loved a daughter who'd lived…but it wasn't to be." She smiled bravely, shaking her head. "Why are you running from your husband?" she asked, gently. "Did he beat you?"

"No! Gods no!" Brienne shook her head, appalled even at the suggestion.

"Oh, sorry! Eh-meaning no offence, m'lady."

Brienne looked at her. "No…" She took a deep breath. "I am not running away from my husband. I am trying to reach him. And that is why I can't stay here. I have to find him."

Maggie looked shocked. "Why? Did he leave you? And in your condition? Shameful-"

"No." Brienne pursed her lips. "He was…forced."

Maggie's sharp eyes narrowed a little. "Forced?"

"I'm sorry," Brienne straightened up. "Every moment I am in your home, you are all in danger. I am…" She took a deep breath. "I mean, someone…is trying to kill me."

She paused, waiting for the reaction-but Maggie did not start. Instead, she nodded. "I guessed."

"How?"

"Dear," Maggie took her hand. Brienne felt odd-she had not been this close to an older woman since Catelyn Stark, never been looked at in such a motherly way. A pang of grief for Lady Stark hit her terribly…but she concentrated on the woman before her. "I could think of no other reason why a woman who is perhaps two months from her time would ride for miles through this godsforsaken weather, if it was not to save the child."

Brienne swallowed hard. "So you understand. I can't stay here." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "The…the person…who wishes me dead thinks that their wish has been fulfilled. If they find that my child and I are alive…they will tear the Seven Kingdoms apart until they find me." She gritted her teeth. "If they found out you sheltered me…you would all die. You, your husband, your sons…all I seem to do now is put people in danger wherever I go. I refuse to risk that. That is why I-"

"-are my guest." Maggie finished firmly. "You are going nowhere."

"But-"

"Not until you are strong enough. And even then, I will not have you ride. Much too dangerous. You could fall, you could be kicked, you could-anything could happen. I can see it in your eyes-" Maggie stroked her hair comfortingly. "You would do anything to protect that child. Any mother would. Let me help you."

Brienne knew she spoke the truth…but it was no use. "How else am I to reach White Harbor?"

Maggie's eyes brightened. "Is that where you're headed, then, dear? To a ship?"

Brienne blushed. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Maggie rolled her eyes, giving a small laugh. "Nearly got it out of you." She whistled. "Must be one hell of a husband if you're going that far for him. Can he protect you? Is he very powerful? Is that why you're going to him?"

Brienne looked down at her lap. The thought of Jaime physically hurt her. "No. I must protect him."

Maggie coughed a little-then gave another smoky chuckle. "Eh? Gods, it gets more complicated by the turn, doesn't it? I don't know, all this business…So terrible for you to go through this, especially now. Look at you-y'can't be more than two months away…but I suppose y'must have y'highborn reasons, hey?"

Brienne felt guilty. She looked straight at her hostess. It was so harrowing that a simple cow farmer's wife, who did not even have doors in her house, could actually be pitying her. "I am sorry I am not being honest with you."

Maggie looked sad for a moment-but she smiled reassuringly. "Why not be, dear? Who am I going to tell, the cows? I'm not one of y'lords and ladies. I'm just me. Oh, dear…" She patted her hand. "Why don't you tell me why you are running, my love? Or even your name?"

Brienne shook her head. It was difficult-but she could not. "I-I trusted someone I hardly knew before. And then I woke up with a knife inches from me." She closed her eyes at the memory. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend. But the less you know, the safer you are. The safer all of us are."

Maggie looked shocked, even pained. Her sharp eyes were beginning to calculate something…but she stopped. "Finish that." she said, tapping the bowl in Brienne's hands. "You need to get your strength up…" But still…she looked strange. "If you are running, whoever from and wherever to…what were you planning on doing when your time comes?"

Brienne blinked. "What do you mean?"

"When you give birth." Maggie looked more serious now. "What then?"

"I…" Brienne stopped. She frowned…as fear crept into her bones. "I…don't know…" she admitted.

Maggie pursed her lips, nodding. "I thought so. You're so concerned about keeping this child alive that the practicalities have gone right out of the window, haven't they, dear? It's not something you can get up and ride after, you know?"

"It…it's a bloody business…" Brienne said…it occurred to her that, apart from the physical aspect, this was all she knew about it. The thought of it…he thought of Jaime not being there…she didn't know if she could cope with such a thing without him…he was supposed to be there…she had to get to him. She had to save him.

"Oh, my dear, you're white as a sheet!" Maggie laughed again, patting her hair. "Most natural thing in the world. But you can't do it alone. I pity any woman who has to-I simply cannot imagine it. There's all sorts can go wrong, you know? Believe me…" She was silent for a moment-before again bravely smiling. "But you know that."

Brienne felt more fear climbing up her spine.

"Drink." Maggie tapped the bowl again. "I can see you need all the help you can get."

Jaime stared straight ahead at the wooden wall before him, as the ship gently rocked him back and forth. He was chained to a post inside a cabin by the waist-but his arms were free now. Only his wrists were bound together. Perhaps they had decided that escape was improbable, or indeed impossible on the sea. He drifted in and out of consciousness, the room becoming periodically blotchy. Perhaps it was hunger, finally beginning to take him…or perhaps his body was shutting down from pure will power-the will not to live.

He knew that outside the window, too high for him to see, the wintery shores of the North would be disappearing. He pictured the landscape of Westeros slowly becoming greener as they sailed past the Vale, the Riverlands…and finally, horribly, the Crownlands. In just days, the skyline of Kings Landing would appear, the peak of the Red Keep, the sept…no. There was no sept now. Just a gaping hole, like a missing tooth, a permanent reminder that he had not saved them that time. Not the Tyrells, not the common people who lived around it, not even Uncle Kevan, cousin Lancel…he had not saved them from the flames. Always…that emerald liquid…those green flames…

He would not see it. He swore he would never see Kings Landing again, never see Cersei again. He had saved no one from her wildfire. He could not even save his wife and child from her blades…

Every time he closed his eyes...all he could see was her face. Her face...the way she was, looking at him the way she did when they were married, her astonishing eyes so blue, so strong, so alive...he could not accept that they were gone...One moment he found himself denying it, denying that it had ever happened...Brienne had to be alive. She always survived...but then the truth would hit, like a thousand blades, and he would lose himself again. A world without her was not a world he could bear to stay in. He had thought he was his right hand, and when he lost it, the world ended. But now he knew...Brienne was his right hand. He was Brienne. He could not be without her. There was no way he could continue to live without her, for everything that made him who he was had died with her. Now...he just was. He did not feel alive. In his heart-he was dead already.

Jaime looked at Ser Gregor, who stood before him like a rock, a mountain. The red eyes stared down at him from beneath the helmet. Jaime wondered if he even slept…he looked down at his belt. He had one sword, one enormous blade, even bigger than Oathkeeper. The Mountain did not seem to feel the need to carry two swords-his fists were usually more than enough…but as Jaime looked closely at his belt...something else glinted. Something small, something sharp…something made of steel.

A dagger.

Jaime looked up again at the Mountain's face, the slit he could see, the grey skin and the red eyes…he wondered what was behind them. Whether there was any awareness, any thought of his own…other than following Cersei's orders.

He had to get that dagger. It shone gloriously. It was his salvation. He had to get it.

Jaime's brain whirred. But how…he decided to try something. It would never work…but he was desperate enough to try anything.

"Ser Gregor?" Jaime looked straight at him, his voice a rasp. The mountain did not react…but he stared down at him. Jaime wasn't sure if he was listening, if he could even hear him…but he had to try. "Ser Gregor…I order you to give me your dagger."

He waited.

Nothing.

"Ser Gregor…as the brother of the queen… I order you to give me your dagger."

Nothing.

Jaime took a deep breath. "These are orders from Cersei, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Do you understand?" He fixed the Mountain with his most regal stare, something he had not used since his days in the Kingsguard. "She has sent you instructions, Ser Gregor. You will give me your dagger or you disobey your queen. Do you understand?"

Ser Gregor stared down at him.

Suddenly-he knelt.

Jaime could not believe it. Before Ser Gregor could move an inch-he shot out his bound wrists, taking the dagger in his hand. Instantly, with difficulty, he hid it in his clothes, ensuring that the sharp blade did not touch his skin. Yet.

He looked at the Mountain, struggling again to keep his voice official, confident, regal. "You have done your duty to your queen. Thank you, Ser Gregor."

Ser Gregor said nothing. But he rose, resuming his position, guarding Jaime, just as he had been instructed. Jaime could feel the coldness of the steel against him. It was good to have a blade again…suddenly-there was a clang of metal on wood. Jaime's eyes widened as he realised that the dagger had crashed against the wooden lion cub.

He thought of the torn dress…the blood…that the only touch his baby had known was a cold, sharp blade...the tears had begun to fall. It was strange to cry-it did not seem like crying was enough, anything like enough grief for his family, murdered by a coward who sailed with him on this ship. He would never hold his son in his arms, never hear him laugh, never watch him learning to walk, to swing a sword, to grow into a man…the anguish was unbearable. Once again, Jaime looked up to the ceiling through his tears, wondering if the Father was watching him, if He even cared. There was no justice. He had not prayed, for there was nothing more to pray for. If there was any justice, Jaime would have been taken instead, and his son spared. And Brienne…

Desperately, Jaime shoved the dagger under his clothes, away from the lion cub. His fingers found the little wooden head, rubbing his fingers across the tiny wooden ears...before falling once again into darkness.

Cersei stood watch, her empty goblet in her hand. It was foolish to stand here, gazing out of the window like a little girl. Jaime was days away…but somehow, she could not help it. Any moment in which she was not doing something else, she stared out of this window, waiting for Jaime. She remembered waiting for him after he had been taken prisoner by Robb Stark, scouring the skies for ravens with news of him, watching the streets and the waters in case, by some miracle, he had returned to her. She had lived in this hope every day…until, finally, she had stopped hoping. He had taken too long.

That beast had returned him then. It had been so insignificant at the time that Cersei had barely bothered to remember its name, its face. But she knew now. She knew exactly…but it did not matter anymore. It was dead. The child that was Jaime's but not Cersei's, the only thing they did not share, was dead. And Jaime was alive, and he was coming. It was not too late. It had never been too late. And he would never leave her again. She was his and he was hers. That was the way it was always supposed to be. From their first day…until their last.