They are given two tents, one for Jon and Ser Jaime and another for the three women. When Jon leaves his tent after tending to the Kingslayer—after all, being a waterbender means he has healing abilities—Lord Beric introduces them to the other men in the camp: Thoros of Myr, a red priest (the one who called them 'Team Avatar'), a few sellswords who hang around the group while waiting for a better offer, a couple men who escaped Harrenhal before her arrival, a few hedge knights, some camp followers and others who don't fall under any of these categories.
"We've all banded together after Thoros revived me with powers granted by his Lord of Light", Lord Beric tells them. "He's had visions of the Avatar reborn, and of a great battle beyond the Wall. We've gathered men these past months while we wait to meet the Avatar and pledge ourselves to their command. Now, which of you is the Avatar?" He briefly glances at the tent. "Unlike some, we have a hard time believing Jaime Lannister is the one we're looking for."
At her side, Jon Frost laughs. "No, he truly isn't", he replies. "We've been laughing about these rumours for over a month. I am the Avatar reborn, my lord." To prove it, he conjures a fireball with one hand and, shortly after, a snowball with the other. "As for this great battle beyond the Wall… Have you ever heard of the Others?"
When most of the men shake their heads in denial, he proceeds to tell them all (Brienne included) everything he knows about the undead creatures from the Lands of Always Winter, the Long Night and the War for the Dawn, and the little he's learned about the previous Avatars so far.
"After Ser Jaime and I had the first encounter with a wight", he says in the end, "the Night's Watch began to prepare. Abandoned forts are being reinstated, and now they are accepting temporary members, who don't have to say the vows. They are taking women too, although they stay in the Gift with the Free Folk—and yes, the wildling have crossed the Wall. Not all of them, because not everyone wanted to, but most did. Ygritte is one of them."
One of the sellswords, Bronn, lays back against a tree stump. "So, you sayin' we should just go to the Wall then?"
"That's where the fight will be", Jon agrees. "If you truly want to serve me—the Avatar—the best option is to contribute with the war effort there. Already they've lost many people on ranges, according to what I've heard in the Vale." He turns to Lady Jonquil, who's been listening to him with wide eyes. "Although you could help Lady Whent conquer her home back, too, if you feel it to be right."
The young woman lets out a mirthless laugh. "Oh, no, I'm not eager to go back there at all", she tells them. "It never felt like home, even if I grew up there, and now it holds too many bad memories. I'd rather go North with you. I'm a non bender, but I can learn how to fight with a weapon, I think."
Ygritte nods eagerly. "The Free Folk will love to teach you how to wield any weapon—well, maybe not the morningstar. We never had those. But the rest… sword, bow and arrow, spear, pick your own."
Lady Jonquil smiles. "Good to know. If I survive this battle, I'll worry about where to go next. But not before."
Thoros nods slowly, and he and Lord Beric exchange glances. "We will discuss the matter among our men", he announces, "but, as we had intended to find the Avatar to follow their command, I believe they will agree with this course of action. For now, though, I believe all five of you should get proper rest."
"Yes", Ygritte says. "Sist—Jaime was the one injured the most, but we were all beaten up. And he, Jon and I went through a shitty time right before our capture."
"Well then", Lord Beric says, "feel free to rest as you please."
At Jon's request, she goes to the men's tent. "You are strong enough to hold him down", he explains right before they enter.
"And why would that be useful?", she asks, slightly worried.
"His hand is broken in several points", he replies, raising the tent's curtain to reveal Ser Jaime lying down on a pallet. "I can heal it, but not all at once, and it's a painful procedure. I've seen Aunt Cat heal broken bones. It's not pretty."
Brienne has never seen the Tarth healers caring for broken bones, but she remembers how it hurt for Galladon in the first months after his near-fatal accident, so she figures the Kingslayer is in for quite some pain.
He is awake, though sleepy, when they approach him. "I'd say your presence is welcome, my lady", he mumbles, "but I know what it implies."
She raises her eyebrows, then realizes he's unable to see it. "I'm… sorry?"
He chuckles. "Don't be, it's not your fault. I should thank you in advance, probably."
"You're… welcome, I suppose."
It's strange. He's been nothing but courteous to her since they met. Addressing her by 'my lady', something she should be used to hear—after all, all lords and knights from the investigation party called her that—but isn't at all, not after her former septa told her she hasn't 'earned' the title. Ladies are beautiful, graceful, elegant and proper, she'd say. You are none of those things. I should have known from the moment I saw you metalbending; you'll never be a real lady. Father's dismissal of Roelle was a remedy to an already bleeding injury, which has yet to be fully mended.
Following Jon's instructions, she sits behind Ser Jaime's head and places her hands on his shoulders. The Avatar grabs his right hand, condenses water from thin air and, closing his eyes, twirls it around the hand. Soon, the Kingslayer begins to shake under her, and she puts pressure against his shoulders to pin him down as he groans in pain. He curses a lot, at first in whispers, but it progressively gets louder until he's all but shouting.
Before she can think better of it, she inclines herself so her face is above his. "Look at me", she commands. He doesn't follow, eyes dancing around everywhere. "Look at me", she repeats more forcefully, and then he obeys. "Focus on me, not on what he's doing." She knows she's nothing to look on, but that is sort of what she hopes will help—he will be so distracted by her ugliness that he won't notice his pain as much.
It works; for the next moments, he groans, but he no longer shakes so badly—she eases the pressure on him a bit—and seems to calm down a little. She takes her own time looking at him, even though it makes her feel like she's taking advantage of the situation.
He is as handsome as the stories say. His eyes are bright green, and his golden hair curls at the base of his neck. His beard is also golden, though a bit darkened around the edges. His entire face is perfectly symmetrical, and his skin is slightly tanned—certainly, a reflection of spending days under the sun in Casterly Rock and King's Landing.
She has no idea how much time passes before Jon announces he'd done for the day. "His shoulder was easy to heal", he says, "but the hand… it got smashed a lot. Too many broken bones. It will take days, and I'm not sure how properly it will heal."
Even as she moves away, she can see the Kingslayer's eyes go wide. "This is my sword hand, Jon", he says, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I need it to fight."
"I know, I know. I'll do all I can, but I'm no Aunt Cat."
Why does he keep calling Lady Stark Aunt Cat? She's his father's wife—isn't the correct term stepmother? And why does he speak fondly of her? Wives don't usually get along with their husbands' bastards.
The Kingslayer seems to be thinking the same thing, for he calls Jon's name with a warning tone. Jon frowns, then looks at her and his eyes widen. "Oh, my lady", he exclaims. "I'm sorry. I should have told you before." He clears his throat and lowers his voice. "I'm—the rumours that the Avatar is a Targaryen are true. I don't know how they found out—"
"Littlefinger, I'm sure", the other man huffs.
"—but it's true. Lord Stark has posed me as a bastard to save me from the king's wrath." He clears his throat again. "I'm—my father is Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother is Lyanna Stark."
She takes her hands off Ser Jaime's shoulders. "Oh. That—I suppose it makes sense."
"You must not tell anyone this", the Kingslayer warns. "We almost got killed in the Eyrie because Lysa Arryn figured him out. I mean, it was probably Lord Baelish who figured it out and then told her, but… Anyway. Whatever happened, Jon's got a price on his head now, and so do we all. So… please."
He sounds and looks desperate, and Jon tenses up. There is a reply strangled in her throat—I know it will be dangerous for you, I was there, remember? I heard them taunting you all—but another thing comes to her mind, and instead she looks at Jon and says, "I will keep your secret. And, if it's your wish, I can be your sworn sword."
It's obviously a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it feels right when she voices it. Jon startles at that. "My… sworn sword? But I'm no lord."
"You are the freaking Avatar", the Kingslayer replies, half-groaning. "You outrank lords and kings. Why should you not have a sworn sword? The bloody Night's Watch is all but sworn to you."
Jon raises an eyebrow at him. "You are of the Night's Watch."
"And look what I'm doing. I got thrown off the bloody Eyrie for you!"
Jon groans. "Are you going to bring that up at every opportunity?"
"Of damn course!"
Someone calls for the Avatar, and he excuses himself, leaving the two alone. The Kingslayer looks up at her and asks, "Well, my lady, do you have anything to say?"
For a moment, she thinks of leaving—but suddenly she remembers something she heard in Duskendale. "Ser", she calls him, "have you heard any… news of your family, while in the Vale?"
He frowns and shakes his head. She sighs; such news should not be delivered by her, a near stranger, but now that she started the subject she must carry it through. "Ser… when I was in Duskendale, a few days before my capture, I heard of an Ironborn raid in Ironman Bay. Your… son, Joffrey Stone, is reported as killed in action."
She watches as her words dawn on him. He closes his eyes and takes several slow, deep breaths. When he opens his eyes again, they are glassy with unshed tears. "Thank you for telling me", he whispers.
"I'm sorry", she says in return. "I don't know if you were close, but still… I can't imagine how it is to lose a child."
He runs a hand through his beard. "Joff and I did not get along, if I'm being honest", he admits. "His behavior… it would bring me unpleasant memories, sometimes. And Cersei never let me near any of them, afraid people would notice." He huffs. "All for naught, as you can see. We just postponed it—though I have to admit, we got lucky to have been discovered when Jon was there to intercede in our favor. Any other time, any other place, the king would've had us executed."
A shiver runs down her spine. As grave as his and his sister's crime was, it's hard to picture them being executed… Would my path have crossed with the Avatar's? Would my life have been saved? It unnerves her to realize she owes her life to him, in a way.
"If you wish to leave, my lady", he calls her, "you can. No need to nurse me if you have other places to be."
She shakes her head. "I'm not sure it's wise to leave you alone. We don't know if anyone in this Brotherhood holds any grudges against you. I'd rather wait for Jon to come back."
He gives her a half-smile. "Then I apologize in advance, for I'm about to fall asleep."
She nods, and he closes his eyes. Soon his breath deepens down. It's late when Jon enters back in the tent, and she takes her leave to join Ygritte and Lady Jonquil.
In the morning, Thoros and Lord Beric announce they will make way to the Wall. "Are any of you five coming with us?", the red priest asks.
Lady Jonquil promptly volunteers, especially after finding out there are other women in the Brotherhood. Jon looks expectantly at Brienne—though what exactly he expects, she can't tell.
All she knows is that… she has little prospects in her life. If the gods are good, she won't inherit Tarth—Gal is meant to wed one of Lord Buckler's daughters as soon as she turns sixteen, meaning soon he will have children that will precede her in the succession line. Marriage would be an option, but one that hasn't worked so far. Her time with Septa Roelle turned her mind away from any work in the Faith.
Being a knight—although not in name, only in lifestyle—is the best she can hope for. She will never be like her ancestor, but she has contemplated swearing herself to her brother or becoming master-at-arms when Ser Goodwin eventually passes away.
Becoming the Avatar's sworn sword feels right in a way few things have before. She can serve an undoubtedly right cause, for one; serving a noble House always comes with the questioning of whether her service would be honorable. She can also prove her worth by defending the one person meant to bring peace and balance to the world. Isn't it all she ever wanted?
(Alright, maybe not all. But, in the realm of possibilities, it's all she can hope for.)
Her mind set, she kneels before Jon and places her sword before her. "Lord Avatar", she begins solemnly, "I offer you my services. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."
She raises her head to look at him. His lips are set in a thin line, and Lannister inclines his head to whisper in his ear—it occurs to her that Jon would not know how to respond to her oath. Finally, he declares, slowly, "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise."
She stands up to hear applause from the crowd. Ygritte beams at her, Lady Jonquil smiles wide, and the Kingslayer looks proud—of him, of her, of both, she can't tell.
The next hours are busied with preparations for departure. It is midday when the four of them bid farewell to the Brotherhood. "So", Ygritte begins, "we're off to Saltpans, right?"
The Kingslayer nods. "I don't see why we don't keep our original route."
"We still need healing sessions for your hand", Jon reminds the man.
"I'd rather have them at night. If I'm to pass out every damn time…"
All packed up, they start to march. Without horses, they don't cover that much ground, and there is little change in scenery when night comes.
They all make efforts to bring her to conversation. Ygritte asks about her homeland, while Jon asks about her metalbending training and Ser Jaime asks about her family.
"You had to extract marble?", Jon asks at some point.
"No surprises", the Kingslayer comments. "All metalbenders in Casterly Rock and Lannisport train mining."
She proceeds to explain the process involved in extracting marble, while Lannister contributes with his own experiences. "Not that I cared much about it", he comments. "I spent most of my training in the yards. Tyrion and Cersei were the ones who pushed me to train in mining to get my master title."
"Do you have one of those?", Ygritte asks her.
She shakes her head. "I'm too young, for on—"
"Sisterfucker got his at fifteen, didn't he?"
"I was an exception, Ygritte. Let the lady speak, that's not how I raised you."
"You raised me to fuckin' nothin', idiot."
"What do you call all these months under my tutelage?"
"You bein' a pain in my ass, that's what!"
"Guys", Jon calls with a grin. "Poor Lady Brienne doesn't need to be subjected to your bickering. What were you saying, my lady? You have yet to get your master title because of your age?"
After making sure that neither the Kingslayer/Sisterfucker and Ygritte would speak again, she nods. "Although it is likely that I'll never get it, regardless of age and skill", she admits. "Female earth and metalbenders rarely achieve mastery of their craft."
Jon instantly glances at Ser Jaime, who sighs. "Cersei barely got trained, despite her eagerness", he says. "It was poorly done on Father's part. She resorted to self-teaching and scraps of what I could teach her in secret. I do believe she could have gotten a master title, had she been properly trained." He then looks up and down at her, as if measuring her up. "You, my lady, on the other hand, have been trained. It's not far-fetched to think you can rise to master. All you need is to get a master trial when the time comes."
She frowns. "No maesters have come to Tarth since my brother narrowly escaped death and the one we had at the time was dismissed in favor of waterbender healers." She wrinkles her nose in distaste—the memory of the old hag who called himself a skilled healer still fresh on her mind, over a decade later. "I doubt any maester from the Citadel would go there just for a woman's master trial."
Ygritte grimaces. "Are they this craven?"
Before she can reply, Ser Jaime says, "One day, this will all be over, and the realm will know you as the Avatar's sworn sword. If that alone won't grant you a master title, your skills will be clear as day for anyone to see. If you still face trouble, reach out to my brother in Casterly Rock. No maester will deny him a request to evaluate you."
She blinks, unsure of how to reply to such words. "I—thank you."
He grins. "I saw you in Harrenhal. I may have lost my master title, but, as our beloved Avatar eloquently put it out once, it was purely out of dishonor, not out of loss of skill. I can recognize talent when I see it, and you have it plenty."
Before she can thank him again, Ygritte laughs. "I can't believe you said that, Jon!"
Jon rolls his eyes. "Look, I wanted to check if he was as good as rumours claimed."
"Dishonor is not a small deal in this realm, you know", the man replies, although there is something in his voice she can't make out.
"Oh, look at this dishonor", Ygritte retorts, full of sarcasm. "This man killed a cunt who raped his wife and burned everyone he didn't like! How evil!"
Lannister flinches, throwing a glance at her as he does. Ygritte notices, her mouth thining up in a line. He didn't want me hearing that, she realizes. Why?
Like everyone else in Westeros, Brienne has heard stories of the Mad King. He was a paranoid man, seeing enemies everywhere and subjecting his people to misery. Rumours of harassment and rape are common, but… burning people?
The Kingslayer got his nickname and reputation not just because he killed Aerys, but because he did so as his Kingsguard—breaking his vows to protect the king. Of course, this implies he was around him, likely being privy to his madness. Is it possible that he shared his time there with Jon and Ygritte? If so, why wouldn't he want to tell her these tales?
It certainly doesn't justify his wrongdoings, she thinks. And he probably has no way to prove his words. He can tell whatever he wants to two people who have never been south of Winterfell before, but how long will his lies keep up around someone like me, who knows all of the stories surrounding him?
Then again, Jon saw, first-hand, the moment he was imprisoned for fornicating with his twin and fathering her children—who were passed as King Robert's. It's arguably as grave as a crime as kingslaying, and the Avatar himself overlooked it all and accepted him as teacher and friend. And look at his action since you met him, she reminds herself. He does not seem to be the vile man he's known as. Give it time.
Ygritte draws her out of her reverie with questions about her mother. "I didn't know her well", she admits. "She died of a… mysterious disease when I was a child. Father told me she showed signs of sickness shortly after my twin sisters' deaths, and her health declined rapidly. He claims it was of broken heart."
The woman looks sad. "I lost my mother very young, too", she offers. "I was three years old. She was a spearwife, just like I am." Brienne makes a mental note to ask what a 'spearwife' is. "I've been told she died when our group was attacked in the middle of the night. They said the enemy party screeched when attacked, but otherwise was silent. We were caught by surprise." She sighs. "Mother was a bender, you know. The last firebender of the Free Folk."
"Wait, what?", the Kingslayer exclaims. "You never told me you were the daughter of a firebender!"
"It's usually not important", she replies, the usual mirth of her voice gone. "It only matters when I tell the story of how she died. I don't remember her firebending." She shakes her head. "Anyway, they said she died while killing an earthbender. We all found it odd, because earthbenders were even rarer than firebenders back in the day." She looks at Jon. "Only after I told the story to Jon and Maester Aemon that we guessed that maybe Mother was killed by wights instead of an enemy tribe."
She raises her eyebrows at that. "But wights are dead people, aren't they? How do they bend?"
Ygritte shrugs. "Who knows how they work? But wights retain the skills they had in life, be it weapon mastery or bending. Jon and Sisterfucker were lucky to have fought a non bender wight."
"He was good with a sword, though", Jon adds. "Jaime got an injury on his right shoulder."
"And now I have another to match on my left one", Ser Jaime says in a mockingly cheerful tone.
They make camp in the woods, and Jon makes a fire. "I've never met my mother", he says, seemingly continuing the subject they were on. "She died giving birth to me. Uncle tried to heal her, but… he says the Dornish air is too dry, and he wasn't experienced enough to drag water from air and turn into ice in order to heal her—she couldn't heal herself either." He stands from his place by the fire to sit beside Ygritte. She sits on her other side, while the Kingslayer sits on the Avatar's left. "My uncles say she was a good icebender and a skilled horserider—last year Uncle Benjen told me she was the infamous Knight of the Laughing Tree. That was how she and Father met."
Jon keeps on telling stories of his mother—all repetitions of what his uncles told him, of course. Finally, Ser Jaime tells them of his own mother, who died in childbirth as well. "Father always blamed Tyrion for 'killing' her, and so did Cersei", he says, sadness in his voice. "Aside from me, the only other family member who cared for him was Aunt Genna."
"This is fucked up", Ygritte comments, and Jon hums in agreement. Brienne is busy giving them their pieces of bread to reply. The wildling girl raises her food and says, "Well, I say we honor our dinners to our mothers, may the gods have mercy of their souls."
"To Lyanna Stark", Jon proclaims.
"To Korra", Ygritte adds.
"To Joanna Lannister."
"To Alyssa Tarth."
"Aye", they all exclaim and begin to eat.
When they finish eating, Jon proceeds to the Kingslayer's hand. Brienne dutifully positions herself at his head as he lays down. "Hey, Sisterfucker", Ygritte calls. "Why don't you sing while Jon tends to your hand? That way you'll distract yourself."
He hums. "That might just work, you know." He takes a deep breath and begins to sing.
Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you
Jon drags water from air and places it on the other man's injured hand, as usual. Ser Jaime lets out a groan, but keeps singing.
Shall I stay? Would it be a sin
If I can't help falling in love with you?
She pins his shoulders down as she grows restless. His eyes dance around, as if searching for something. She lowers her hand and inclines it to look at him. His eyes find hers and calm a bit.
Like a river flows surely to the sea
Darling, so it goes
Some things are meant to be
He lets out another groan, and his healthy hand closes in a fist. Before she can think twice, she takes her hand off his shoulder and reaches for his wrist. He grabs it and squeezes it against her own.
Take my hand, take my whole life too
For I can't help falling in love with you
He closes his eyes, and she reclines back to her original position. Jon grabs more water and moves a bit more, earning a couple groans—but Ser Jaime is set on finishing the song.
For I can't help
Falling in love with you
Jon finishes the session. "It's already better than yesterday", he declares. "With rest, you may get in full health again before we reach Sunspear."
The man thanks both of them and falls asleep almost immediately.
As soon as they reach Saltpans, they look for an inn. For safety precautions, Jon and Ygritte are the ones to get the rooms and pay in advance, while she and Ser Jaime take care of the horses. "Perhaps we should dye our hair", he muses to her. "Jon and Ygritte are not easily recognizable, but anyone who looks for them just needs to look for two tall blond knights."
She nods. They've told her about how often Jaime was recognized on the road, and how much trouble it caused them—after all, they were captured near Harrenhal because Jaime was rumoured to be the Avatar. As for her, she has no doubts stories about the warrior woman of Tarth would be circulating by now, and she's not an easy person to miss with her body build. Jon doesn't look Targaryen at all—meaning no one will guess he's the firebender Avatar—and Ygritte's hair color is not that hard to find in the riverlands.
Only after the couple comes back saying they got two small rooms they get inside. "One for you and I", Jaime says to Jon, and "and one for the women, right?" His eyebrows are raised, as if daring the boy to question him.
"Of course", Jon replies, and Brienne thinks she should be used to seeing the Avatar obeying the Kingslayer, but she still isn't. Jon is not even fifteen, she reminds herself, and Lannister is his metalbending teacher. Of course he defers to him and treats him with respect.
They gather in a more secluded corner to eat supper. Jon and Ygritte finish first and excuse themselves for the stables. Ser Jaime rolls his eyes. "They think they are so subtle", he mumbles. She can't help but chuckle, and he chuckles along.
Ygritte is not in their room when she enters, but she doesn't mind—she even prefers it, since the girl won't be around when she changes out of her armor. No matter what the other woman says about her body, she's still not brave enough to expose herself in front of others. She's managed to keep her modesty so far.
A knock is heard, and she frowns; why would Ygritte knock? Only, it's the Kingslayer. He looks slightly annoyed, and she doesn't know how to react.
"Hello?", he greets her slowly, as if she was mentally handicapped.
Perhaps she is. "...I was expecting Ygritte", she stutters.
He sighs. "And I was expecting to be able to get in my room, but it seems that those two lovebirds can't keep their hands off each other." Her eyes go wide at the implications—the couple has not retreated to the stables, clearly. Ser Jaime seems to read her reaction wrongly, for he quickly adds, "Look, I… I can sleep on the floor, or even outside—"
"Nonsense", she retorts, interrupting him as she opens the door enough for him to enter. "From what I've gathered, you've gotten in trouble more than once because someone recognized you and conveniently forgot you are from the Night's Watch now. I won't let you sleep out in the open."
He steps inside, noticeably taken aback. "I'm… thank you." He looks around nervously—probably thinking she'll change her mind and kick him out. I'm not heartless, Kingslayer, she wants to say, especially not to someone who's been nothing but courteous to me. His next words surprise her by their randomness: "Is there a water basin in this room?"
It takes a moment, but she nods, pointing him in the direction of the mirror she just used to change herself. "Yes, right in the corner."
"Is it full?"
"Yes, I haven't used it yet."
"Great", he exclaims and makes his way to it. He grabs the chair nearby and, upon sitting on it, grabs a small blade out of his pockets, incling his body in the direction of the water basin. She sits on the bed, waiting for him to finish whatever he wants to do before discussing sleep arrangements.
He begins to touch his forehead with the blade, but his groans indicate that he's not succeeding at his intentions. After a while, she gives up waiting for him and asks, "What are you trying to do?"
He lets his left hand—the one holding the blade—fall to his side and turns to her. "Shaving my head. You just said it, we can't have anyone else recognizing me, especially if we're going to get on a ship. If I get rid of my hair, I can go by unnoticed."
Although his vanity is not a subject she's dedicated any real thoughts on, Brienne is surprised by his decision. "And you are… okay? With losing your hair?"
He shrugs. "Well, it can't be comfortable under the sun, but I don't think it's an actual problem."
"That's not what I was talking about—nevermind"
He smirks, almost ironically. "Oh, I get it. You thought the Lion of Lannister would never give up his golden mane, huh?" He glances at the mirror and adds, more gently, "But I'm no lion anymore, I'm just a crow."
She sighs. An apology is halfway through her tongue, but what comes out is, "Do you… need help?"
He huffs. "I was supposed to be able to do this."
She suppresses a chuckle. "Not with only one hand, no."
"Hey, I still have two hands."
She raises her eyebrows. "But only one is functional, and I'm half sure the one you broke is your dominant one. I can help you, if you want."
He sighs, but hands her the blade. "If you're offering… I want your help, yes."
She stands up and goes around the bed to grab the blade. Silently, she positions herself behind him, grabs his head and lifts it as gently as possible. Then, she begins her work, careful to not cut him. Golden lock by golden lock, his hair falls down, revealing a lighter skin on the top of his head—his skin really is tanned, then.
After a whole hour, she finishes it, placing the blade on the study near the chair and looking at him to see the result of her work. He does look very different now—almost a whole new man, as if trying to reflect the contradictions he has sparked in her mind since they met.
His voice brings her back to reality. "What are you looking at? Am I that hideous now?"
She lets out a strangled laugh. "I don't think I'm the right of calling anyone hideous, Ser. It's just… neverm—"
"Oh, no, not that word again. C'mon, tell me."
She looks away. "It may sound offensive."
A warm hand touches her arm. It's his, obviously. "I've been called Kingslayer for fifteen years, and Sisterfucker for half one. I'm used to offense."
She sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. "It's just… it's hard to reconcile what I know about you with what I've seen." A head shake. "For all my life, I've heard about a man who broke his vows, a man without honor, who cared only about glory. And then, I find out you were finally discharged from the Kingsguard because you once again broke your vows by sleeping with your sister, the queen. And rumour has it that you pushed a kid out of a window to keep that secret. I'm sure you can see I didn't have the best picture of you in mind."
He grins, and she can see and hear his sarcasm. "And what did you see that made you question whether I'm this monster everyone believes me to be?"
She gulps and looks at her lap. "I—You treat Jon and Ygritte with kindness. Yes, you all bicker and jape, but it's obvious you care about them, and they about you. You are their friend. You never made fun of me, or laughed at my expense. On the contrary; you've been nothing but polite. And you made sure Jonquil Whent was safe, even when it nearly cost you your hand—"
"What?"
She looks up; he seems confused, which makes her confused. "You broke your hand fighting Clegane, no?"
He blinks. "Oh. Yeah, that too, but it was already broken when I beat up those men who wanted to rape you and Ygritte. It wasn't even necessary for the escape plan, come to think of it, but I saw them and couldn't hold myself."
Now she's taken aback. " I—what—it's— … thank you. Again."
His grin is back, though softer. "So that's what made you rethink all of your life choices?"
She rolls her eyes. "Not my life choices, just my opinion of you. Our time on the road also helped…" A sigh. "You are not what people think at all, Ser. Jon said you never had any obligation to train him, yet you did. You didn't have to accompany him on this trip, but you did simply because he asked. He claims you are one of the most diligent members of the Night's Watch he knows, and he's spent his whole life there. If your stories are true, you seem to get along fine with the Starks, despite what you did to one of them. You seem to have genuinely loved your sister, and to love your brother just as much, even if it's a different love. It's… it's hard to reconcile the man I've seen these past days with the image they paint of you."
His voice is almost a whisper when he replies, "I didn't actively push Bran out of the window. He scared me, and I couldn't control my bending in time to stop a spike from erupting. The Starks have always known it was an accident. That's why I got the chance of going to the Wall instead of… being beheaded. No one has ever held it against me there, not even Bran himself. I was never forgiven so... easily before."
She blinks. "That's… good to know." Then, feeling brave all of a sudden, "Er… May I ask you something?"
He nods. "Sure. I won't promise an answer, though."
She almost tells him to forget it, but then—when else she might get that chance? "Why… why did you kill the Mad King?"
He almost jumps out of the chair, eyes wide. She quickly stammers an apology. "I'm sorry, I—"
"No one has ever asked", he says, voice so low she nearly misses it.
"Really?"
"No one. Not Lord Stark, not King Robert, not Ser Barristan, not my father, not even Cersei and Tyrion. They all just assumed I was playing a part in Father's plans, and he assumed I did it to assure him I was on his side."
His tone and body language imply otherwise, so she asks, "But they were wrong… weren't they?"
He fixes his gaze on hers, but it takes a while for him to reply. "Have you ever heard about Aerys? About his behavior?"
Of course she has. "He thought everyone was conspiring against him, and the rebellion started, in part, because he executed Rickard and Brandon Stark without any good reason."
He glances away from her. "You've never heard about his preferred execution method?" She shakes her head, then mumbles a 'no' when realizes he can't see her. "Wildfire", he replies, turning back to her eyes. "He has always resented the fact he wasn't born a firebender, and used wildfire to pretend he was. That's what happened to the Starks. He had Brandon tied and forced to watch his father's death and then burned him too."
His tale is too detailed for it to be merely something he heard. "Wait—you saw it?"
He nods, but decides to talk about another matter. "He raped his wife often, and her screams could be heard outside. I wasn't allowed to rescue her, because my vows didn't allow me to protect her from the king, because he was my priority. Never mind that, before being a member of the Kingsguard, I was a knight, who vowed to protect the innocent." He raises his chin defiantly. "Tell me, my lady, which vow should I have put first? Is it in chronological order, or by status?"
He must have asked that question yourself a thousand times, she realizes. "I—I don't know, Ser."
He presses his back on the chair, and lowers his chin. "Yeah, neither did I. Not until…" He inhales deeply. "He got worse when he heard about Rhaegar's death. He thought his son was invincible because of his firebending—nevermind that his wife was a firebender too but never managed to fight him—and lost what little was left of his mind afterwards. He… told the pyromancers to ignite the caches around the city—"
"Wait", she says, raising a hand to stop him. "What did you just say?"
He glances at his broken hand. His reply is quiet. "Aerys had ordered wildfire caches to be spread all around King's Landing. Under Baelor's Sept, under all city gates, under the Dragonpit, under the Red Keep—"
She has to interrupt him again. "Under the Red Keep?", she all but shouts. "But that would kill him too! And his family!"
He grunts and rises from his seat. "He damn knew. 'The traitors want my city, but I'll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat.' That's what he told them. What he told me, right before ordering me to kill my father." He starts pacing, growing more restless at each word. "Tell me, my lady, what would you have done? Because what I did… I slew Rossart first, before he could deliver the message to the other pyromancers. Then I marched to Aerys… I couldn't let him summon the others. I bended the throne so it could slain him, just like it did to Maegor the Cruel. It seemed… fitting. I fixed it after making sure he was dead, and that's how Lord Stark found me. He didn't waste time asking me why, he figured out all by himself. Clever man, huh?"
Oh. Without thinking twice, she rises to meet him, placing a hand on the shoulder that got pierced by the Mountain. "He should have asked. They all should have. Or… Jon, at least."
He softens at the mention of Jon, and he raises his healthy hand to touch hers. "I think he wants to. He has asked me about Aerys, and even without the whole story he seems to think I did good by killing him. I'm not sure he's ready for the whole truth, though." He sighs and takes her hand off, heading back to the chair. "Well, now you know. Do what you… want with that." Then he sits, looking even more tired than when he arrived at her room.
"Ser", she calls him, "you should take the bed tonight. You are clearly exhausted."
He stares at her as if she's asked him to climb on a dragon. "Jaime, my name is Jaime", he replies, more courteously than she expected by his facial expression. "And I can't take that offer. I won't let you sleep on the floor."
Under any other circumstances, she'd be touched by his chivalrousness. Now, though, she just wants both of them to rest. "Ser Jaime, if that's the only thing stopping you, the bed fits both of us. I believe we are grown up enough to share a bed without any impropriety." We are not Jon and Ygritte.
He smiles at that. "I agree, Lady Brienne. And… thank you."
She frowns, making her way to what is to be her side of the bed. "For what? I only made you relive the worst moment of your life." Because that's what she just did, isn't it? She could see in his eyes that he did not tell her a single lie.
He rises from the chair and takes his jacket off. "You asked. You cared. That's more than anyone else ever did, and for that I'm grateful." He takes his boots off and throws himself on his side of the bed. "Even if you still despise me, at least you have all the facts to properly judge me."
How can he think she still thinks badly of him after pouring out his secret? His greatest deed—slaying the monster in order to save thousands? And his heroism will never be acknowledged. He will die a villain, because that's what others made him. "I don't despise you", she finally says. "You followed your knightly vows. Protect the innocent. Women and children. Be brave, be just. You followed all of them. It wasn't your fault that it required… killing the king you were supposed to guard. But I guess evil men are not to be protected, are they?"
He turns his head to face her. "Even if they are the king?"
She bites her lip, and she swears, for a moment, his gaze flickers on them—but it's probably a trick of candlelight. "Maegor the Cruel was killed by the Iron Throne", she recites what is most likely legend, but it is what prevailed in history recordings. "You just did the job that damn chair should have done long ago."
He smiles again, and she has to admit, at least to herself, that it illuminates the room more than any candle. "Good night, my lady", he whispers before turning away.
Despite the emotions of moments ago, and the supposed tension of sharing a bed with a man, it's remarkably easy to fall asleep.
During breakfast, Jon and Ygritte confess to have overheard their conversation. "I'm sorry", Jon says in the end, "but when I heard Lady Brienne asking you about my grandfather, I could not resist."
Ser Jaime looks tense for a moment. "Is there any chance anyone else overheard us?"
It's a legitimate concern, and Brienne tenses up too, until Ygritte shakes her head. "It was just us in the corridor. I kept checking."
She feels herself relax, and notices he does as well. "Well then, good to know I'm spared of the trouble of repeating that whole tale again."
They all hum in agreement. Had it been her, she'd be relieved as well. "I knew you had a good reason to kill him", Jon comments.
"I tried to imagine what could've driven you to the edge", Ygritte adds. "You told us of his cruelty, so I wondered why you waited two whole years to end him. I know you kneeled and vowed and whatever, but… well. Figured it must've been somethin' damn big."
The knight merely waves it off, a clear sign that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore—which is reinforced by his change of subject. "So, we are all going to Dorne, right?" They nod. "We should make our way to the docks after this. Maybe we won't be able to get on a ship today, but it's better to guarantee something for tomorrow."
"What are our possible safe stops?", Jon asks.
Ser Jaime hums. "Driftmark", he begins. "It's still in the crownlands, but there is a bigger chance to find ships to Sunspear from there. Duskendale, maybe—"
"I wouldn't be so sure", she interrupts. "I've been there recently. If anyone recognizes me, they will pay attention to you three."
"Oh, okay then. Duskendale is out. Storm's End is also out…"
"Tarth", she suggests. "We can stop by Tarth. My father and brother will keep our stay a secret if I ask."
Ser Jaime looks at her intensely—or at least, she thinks his gaze intense. He's been looking at her strangely since they woke up, as if trying to figure her out. Then, he finally says, "That might be the best idea to come up this morning."
She straightens herself, taken aback by his words. It isn't often that her ideas are praised—she rarely voices them to anyone but Father and Galladon, and although they agree with her sometimes, it's never with that much praise.
"All we've got to do", he continues, "is find a ship to Tarth. It'll be easier than finding one straight to Sunspear, and we get an island vacation."
At that, she can't help but laugh, especially when Jon and Ygritte are already laughing. "Tarth it is, then", Jon agrees.
