They are laying in their bed surrounded by soft furs, exhausted and sated, when he suddenly whispers her name. He doesn't do it often, usually, it is just wench or any other ridiculous nickname he chooses to tease her with. But not this time.
Tonight, there is something different in his voice. Hesitation and uncertainty. And something that makes her heart tremble with anticipation when she turns to face him.
"Brienne," he repeats, the softness in his voice can only be matched with the one she sees in his eyes.
"Jaime?" Her own voice is no more than a whisper. A silent question in it she is afraid to ask out loud. But he must hear it. He must see the wordless plea in her eyes because his hand appears on her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.
"Brienne…" he says again and she is sure it must be this moment. The moment when he will tell her. And she will say the same in return.
But instead of saying anything, Jaime leans in and kisses her, his lips so passionate and hot. Her heart skips a beat, trying to mask a pang under awakening passion and desire. It is alright. They don't need words to say things that they so eagerly express with their bodies, lingering kisses, gentle touches, and heated looks.
No, words are not needed between them.
It is enough what it is.
Yet…
There is that greedy part of her that wants to hear it despite the constant reminding that words are wind. They do not matter, do they?
They do not, Brienne tries to convince herself every night. Jaime is here, she is listening to his even breathing and she can feel the steady beating of his heart under her palm. He chose to stay with her instead of going back. That what matters. Not the words he doesn't say.
Sometimes, when Brienne is sure he is deeply asleep, she leans closer towards him.
I love you, Jaime. Her lips move like they are saying those words but no sound comes. She is too afraid to break the silence. To expose herself more than she already has but her heart feels too small to contain those feelings alone for any longer.
With every passing day, it becomes so much harder to bear it and stay silent. Does she have to? What if she told him? What if she confessed what he already has to know?
I love you, Jaime. She could say it when they wake up together in the morning and he snuggles closer to her, convincing her to stay longer there with him. She could tell him, when they are outside the castle walls, holding hands and walking among high trees far away from suspicious looks coming from the northerners. Or she could whisper it in the evening, when they sit together in front of the fire with Jaime's head on her lap as she is stroking his soft hair, marvelling at the content sounds such a simple touch elicits from him.
She could tell him that night filled with desperate passion.
The last night.
Because then he is gone.
She could tell him when she had his head in her hands begging him to stay.
I love you, Jaime. Stay with me. Please. Stay…
She doesn't.
And then he dies.
Buried under the rocks with his beloved sister.
He dies and Brienne is not able to tell him anything anymore. Would it make any difference if she told him?
Surely, he must have known. Even if she kept the words unsaid. He must have known. There is no other way. He must have known and yet, her love didn't matter to him in the end. It was not enough for him to stay. She was not enough for him.
Never enough. As an heir, protector, sworn sword, or lover.
Lord Tyrion's words when she tentatively approaches him after one of the councils leave no further doubts.
"My brother didn't mention you, nor have I any messages from him for you. I'm sorry, Ser Brienne."
"Thank you, my lord. Accept my deepest condolences for your loss."
The last tiny flame of hope, saying that their time together has meant something to him, dies hidden behind her stoic mask. But inside, every piece of her broken heart crumbles into dust. She was nothing to him. Not even worth the last word. He would have gone without saying anything, had she not caught in the courtyard.
Days pass on training and duties.
Duty. That is what she was always meant for.
It is a duty that brings her to the White Book after days of avoiding it.
She slowly skims over the pages. Great knights and their great deeds. Her name will also appear there one day. But what great deeds does she have to fill the pages except for her failures? Brienne doesn't want to dwell on it, there is something else she needs to do.
His entry seems scant in comparison to the full pages of other knights. With a trembling hand, she traces the letters composing his name.
Jaime, his name was Jaime.
Brienne feels the tears gathering in her eyes. It was years since she last said it out loud or even allowed it to appear in her thoughts.
Jaime.
She starts to read.
Ser Jaime of House Lannister. Firstborn son of Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna of Casterly Rock. Served against the Kingswood Brotherhood as squire to Lord Summer Crakehall. Knighted in his 15th year by Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard, for valor in the field. Chosen for the Kingsguard in his 15th year by King Aerys II Targaryen.
During the Sack of King's Landing, slew King Aerys II at the foot of the Iron Throne. Thereafter known as the "Kingslayer." Pardoned for his crime by King Robert I Baratheon. Served in the honor guard that brought his sister the Lady Cersei Lannister to King's Landing to wed King Robert. Champion in the tourney held at King's Landing on the occasion of their wedding.
Defeated in the Whispering Wood by the Young Wolf Robb Stark during the War of the Five Kings. Held captive at Riverrun and ransomed for a promise unfulfilled. Captured again by the Brave Companions, and maimed at the word of Vargo Hoat their captain, losing his sword hand to the blade of Zollo the Fat. Returned safely to King's Landing by Brienne, the Maid of Tarth.
A single tear falls down on the page.
Her name is already in the White Book, written by his hand in clumsy letters.
Maybe she was someone to him after all. Someone worth enough to put her name in the Book of Brother alongside with his.
It is not what she wanted. It pales in comparison to being loved by him. The dream she quietly let herself entertain while being wrapped in his strong arms. The dream that never came true. Her love, that was not enough for him to stay. Her love, not worth living for.
In the end, he chose to die with his sister instead of living with Brienne.
In the end, it didn't matter what they went through together. It was never enough to earn his love. His heart and his love were meant for someone else.
For Brienne, there was a brief bliss of experiencing the closeness of his body and the passing acknowledgement of her presence in his life.
Brienne of Tarth is not made for love.
That is all she should expect.
That should be enough.