"I am the Imp and I demand to know!"

"I knew you were fuckin' her."

The familiar voice sends chills down Jaime's spine as he turns from his brother to see Bronn walking straight to them with a sway on his hips and a crossbow on his hands. "Pair of tall blonde toffs," he goes on. "Must be like lookin' in a mirror."

"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater," Tyrion greets the man. "Where is your drink? What… what are you doing up North?"

"What are you doing with that?" Jaime hisses, anxious to get to the matter at hand—he has his suspicions already, but he'd rather get confirmation first.

Bronn doesn't miss a beat. "Oh, this? This is for you." He gestures to Jaime as he grabs a chair and sits down across the table, in front of them. "For both of you," he adds as he positions the crossbow on his lap, ready to aim at either of them whenever he wishes.

"You're supposed to be south," Tyrion cleverly counters. Jaime swallows a snort.

"You boys are a pair of gold-plated cunts," Bronn retorts, "do you know that?"

"Now that's a bit rude—"

Bronn cuts him off. "Year after year, I've shoveled Lannister shit, and what do I have to show?"

Jaime really, really hopes the man did not come all the way here just to complain about not getting his thrice-damned castle. "You're a knight," Tyrioun counters, "thanks to me."

"Thanks to me," Bronn scoffs. "And that title's worth as much as a blond hair from your brother's ballsack."

For you, cunt, it must be. But to some people, it still carries value. He wishes his mind could just wander back to the night he granted that title to Brienne, but he has to focus. His and Tyrion's lives are at stake. His brother, however, does not seem to be as keen to find out what is happening as he is to keep bickering. "Power resides where men believe—"

"Shut your mouth," Bronn snarls, and for once Tyrion obeys.

Or not. "I'm just trying—"

"I've never hit a dwarf before, but say another word and I will belt you."

"See, I don't believe you'd do that—"

Bronn doesn't cut him off with words this time; instead, he bends over the table and punches his brother on the face. Before he can think twice, Jaime stands up, but Bronn is quick to his feet as well. "You couldn't do it on your best day, you one-handed fuck," he reminds him. "And your best days are long gone."

Beside him, Tyrion groans. "You... broke my nose!"

"I did not break your nose," Bronn retorts, sitting back down.

"How do you know?"

"Because I've been breaking noses since I was your size, and I know what it sounds like. Now listen." Jaime sits down as he realizes Bronn doesn't want to hit either of them at this very moment. If he wants to talk, he'll listen. He still has suspicions to confirm, after all. The sellsword does not disappoint. "Your sister offered me Riverrun," he begins.

He doesn't need to hear anything else, but he goes on, listing all advantages of the place until the former Golden Lion (nowadays half-grey) can't take it anymore. "And you trust Cersei—"

Bronn is as impatient as he is, it seems. "I knew your sister was dead the second I saw those dragons," he retorts. "Now, your army may be torn to shit, but I'd still bet on your Dragon Queen to win. And it just so happens I'm a betting man. If Cersei's dead, she can't pay up." He grabs the ale and takes a couple sips. "Mmm, that's good", he comments as he returns it to the table. "Of course, the odds change if the Dragon Queen's Hand turns up dead. Maybe a few of her top generals get picked off one by one. All of a sudden—"

Tyrion groans again, rubbing his bloody nose. "May I speak?"

Bronn snorts and rolls his eyes. "Why not? Only death will shut you up."

He sniffs. "We made a deal long ago. Do you remember?"

"If anyone offered me money to kill you, you'd pay me double," Bronn replies. "What's double Riverrun?"

A beat. "Highgarden," his brother offers. "You could be Lord of the Reach."

Okay, that's enough. He turns his head to Tyrion. "Highgarden? Are you mad?"

"It's better than being dead!"

He turns back to Bronn, an idea suddenly coming to him. "You don't want Highgarden."

Bronn snorts. "And you know me this well, Lannister," he retorts, "to tell me what I want or what I don't want."

"You once said you wanted your death to be boring," he replies, raising an eyebrow. "You won't get that with Highgarden. You know what you will get with that castle?" Bronn doesn't answer. "A war at your door. You may not care about bloodlines and succession issues, and neither do I, but those fancy, plump lords in the Reach do. They won't accept someone with no Tyrell blood at all as Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach."

"Then give the damn second title to some other cunt," the sellsword says dismissively.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," he retorts. "Families come and go, but the castles remain. The West was ruled by the Casterlys, then the Lannisters, but always from the Rock. Same for the Reach. No matter who ends up sitting on that throne, Highgarden will remain the most important seat there. So, war. None of them will let you keep that castle without a fight."

"Half of the Reach Houses hated the Tyrells," Tyrion points out.

Jaime shrugs. "So? Half of the West can't stand the Lannisters either, but they'd still never accept a random sellsword as their substitute overlord. If Bronn wants power, alright, give him Highgarden. But I know this isn't what he wants."

"Then what would your offer be, Kingslayer?" Bronn asks, clicking his tongue and shifting the crossbow from one hand to another.

"The Twins," he says easily. "No one wants the Twins nowadays, not after the Frey massacre. You won't face competition, you'll earn a lot of coin controlling the river, and you have no bannermen to bother you with petty fights. And, unlike with Riverrun and Highgarden, no one will care whose ass sits at dead Walder Frey's chair. You'll even get a lady easily, because the Frey massacre spared the women."

Bronn looks upon him up and down, as if he could measure Jaime's offer by assessing his body. He swallows a scoff—the only person he wants evaluating his body is Brienne. "Alright," the man says eventually. "But I'll hold on to your word."

"You're one of the few people who'd say that and mean it."

"Well, I'm countin' on that old sayin' about Lannister cunts and their fuckin' debts."

Then he just gets up and leaves, carrying his crossbow on his back and whistling. Only when he can't hear the sound anymore does he relax.

"You know," his brother says, taking a sip of his ale. "That was very clever of you."

He blinks, surprised. "You think so?"

"Of course. You used his own words against him and made a deal that benefits everyone involved." Another sip. "I don't think Edmure or Daenerys will oppose handing the Twins to Bronn, which is not something I'd easily say about Highgarden."

"It would be a mess for all involved," he points out. "No need to be clever to figure that one out."

"Perhaps not, but few would have convinced Bronn that a lesser castle was a better offer."

He looks down to his half-empty mug. It's odd to hear Tyrion calling him clever when his last fight with Cersei—the one that finally drove him away from her—began when she called him 'the stupidest Lannister' and featured her taunting him about his lack of interest in Father's economy lessons.

Then it finally dawns on him: Cersei hired Bronn to kill him. He had dismissed the almost order to the Mountain as a heat-of-the-moment thing; he was leaving, she was angry because 'no ones leaves her', she wanted to make sure those words remained true. But she had over a month to cool her head and think over what they said and did to each other, and still wanted him dead.

This is not something one would do to someone they claim to love. It's not even something one would do to a sibling. Suddenly, everything is clear to him. "Tyrion," he begins, voice hoarse. "I'd like to take part in your queen's next war council meeting."

His brother startles. "Why?"

"As someone who knows Cersei's forces from inside out, I think I can bring valuable information to her commanders."

Tyrion blinks twice. "I'm sorry, Jaime, are you saying you want to give Daenerys Targaryen information on how to defeat our sister?"

"She hired Bronn to kill both of us, in case you've forgotten," he deadpans. "She's taken a side; so must I."

"Jaime, as much as I appreciate your offer to help, I can't let you join out of impetuous revenge."

"This isn't revenge," he argues. "This is about doing what's right. I'm not overly fond of your queen, of course, but I'd rather try her out than keeping Cersei on the throne." He glances ahead, to nothing in particular. "I didn't really want to be by her side when she was crowned, you know. She'll never admit it, of course, not even to me, but I knew from the beginning she was the one behind the explosion of the Sept."

"Then why did you stay?" His brother sounds earnest and genuinely curious.

He sighs. "I thought I could tame her. Tone down her worst impulses, prevent her from doing something similar. But…" He shakes his head. "I'll spare you the details. It didn't work, and when she revealed to have lied about sending her armies North… I had already ran out of excuses to stay. If I wanted to do the right thing—if I wanted to be the man Brienne saw when she looked at me—leaving was the only option. So I left."

"So it all boils down to Ser Brienne, then."

"Did you not hear anything I just said?"

"I did, every word. But, with all due respect, Jaime, I don't think you'd have realized any of this if it were not for her. The man who believed himself to be Cersei's mirror image would never have knighted her—actually, if I try to list all the things old you would never have done, this war would be done before I could finish."

Tyrion chuckles at his own jape, but Jaime remains silent. His brother is right; his acquaintance with—and his feelings for—Brienne changed him, seemingly for the better. She showed him it was never too late to aim for honor and goodness, and she believed him. She trusted him. She vouched for him, defying her liege lady and risking Daenerys' wrath in the process.

And last night she let him into her bed. He smiles to himself as he remembers their lovemaking. Their slight drunkenness cut their time together short, as they fell tired sooner than he wanted, but the experience itself was a wonder. Jaime woke up even more in love with Brienne than he was when he stormed inside her chambers.

"By the gods," he hears Tyrion exclaim. "You don't even have to be near her to be sappy about her."

He chuckles, but all mirth dies as another realization dawns on him. "Bronn knows about Brienne and I," he says, looking at his brother with wide eyes. "He greeted us revealing he overheard our talk. If he tells Cersei—"

Tyrion's grin falls and he finishes his mug. "We must warn Lady Sansa," he says. "If our sister finds out about you two… I'd wager Ser Brienne would be in more danger than anyone else." Jaime gulps; he's right. "But if Bronn tells her about it, it'll take a moon turn at least."

"If? You still think that cutthroat won't give the information away?"

"If she doesn't pay him, no." He stands up. "And, since he gave us time to talk and make a better offer instead of killing us straight away, he may walk around his cutthroat ways by not saying he has new intel to sell to her."

"I won't rely on that," he retorts dryly. "We must warn Brienne and Lady Sansa. And I ask you to consider allowing me in the meeting."

"I've already considered," Tyrion replies with a grin. "I'll speak to Daenerys during supper. She may not trust you, but I think she will be inclined to give you a chance to talk after I tell her what happened."

"Don't mention Brienne to her," he pleads.

Tyrion raises a questioning brow, but nods anyway. "We should check if Bronn is out in the streets."

"We definitely should."

Bronn wasn't out in the streets, nor hidden in the short road between Wintertown and Winterfell. Jaime and Tyrion go back to the castle without trouble, but Jaime stops his brother before they actually enter it. "I have another request," he says, bending down so no one else will hear them. "Cersei's life should be spared if she is still pregnant."

To be perfectly honest, Jaime questions whether his sister was truly pregnant to begin with. The timing was too perfect, precisely what she needed to keep him at her side. Besides, neither of them are young as they were when Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were conceived; he'd not be surprised if Cersei's childbearing days are, in fact, long gone. Even if she indeed got pregnant, she could have easily lost it after he left. (Not to mention the high chances that the child is half-Greyjoy instead of completely Lannister.) Still, it isn't impossible, and Jaime would rather spare an innocent life, regardless of who fathered it.

Tyrion nods. "I don't know how possible it will be, though. It all depends on which strategies are picked." He nods in return. For all they know, Cersei will kill herself before allowing her enemies to lay a hand on her. For all they know, the city will burn under dragon or wildfire before she can be seized.

They walk inside the castle, and Tyrion asks a guard for Lady Sansa and Ser Brienne. The maid who overhears his requests offers to lead them to the room the two women are meant to be in. They quietly follow her.

She opens the door to reveal both women sharing supper with Bran Stark and Podrick Payne. The two brothers exchange glances, silently agreeing that both young men can be privy to the information they are about to share, and walk in the room.

"Lord Tyrion," Sansa Stark greets them. "Ser Jaime. What brings you here at this time of the evening?"

"No good news, I'm afraid," his brother replies as the two of them take seats. Of course, Jaime picks the one closest to Brienne. "We were tracked in Wintertown by Ser Bronn of the Blackwater."

All of them, except Bran, flinch at the mention. "What did he want?" The Lady of Winterfell asks.

"Cersei ordered him to kill us both," Jaime replies. He feels Brienne's hand on his and clears his throat to continue. "He gave us a chance to up her offer, but… well, he's not the most trustworthy man in the realm."

"He isn't," Brienne agrees, squeezing his hand. "How did it go, then?"

"Our sister offered him Riverrun in exchange for our lives," Tyrion answers for him. "I nearly offered Highgarden to keep us alive—"

Lady Sansa gapes at her former husband. "What?"

"I know, I know. Bad offer. I was dizzy from the punch he gave me, in case you haven't noticed the bleeding nose yet. Anyway, the offer did not stand for long, as my brother convinced him the Twins suited his needs better."

"The Twins?"

"It's a long story," Jaime replies dismissively. "Suffice to say I know what he wants. Still, whether he's thinking of Highgarden or the Twins, Bronn is not to be trusted. He knows where Tyrion and I are, he might have caught a glimpse of Daenerys' forces, and…" He looks at Brienne and squeezes her hand. Then he turns back to the Starks. "He overheard us talking about Brienne."

His lover—oh, he hopes he can call them lovers, really—takes a sharp breath. Lady Sansa's face hardens. "You fear he may sell this information to Cersei," she states. He nods. "We must be even more careful then. Brienne," she turns to her sworn sword. "I won't release you from your vows just yet, because they can grant you protection as much as it grants me. But you won't be scheduled for guard duty any longer."

"My lady, I hardly think this is necessary—"

"I know you can defend yourself," her liege lady replies, going a bit softer, "but you should be your own last stand, not your first. I'll assign a few guards for you, one at a time."

He caresses her knuckles, and she nods. "May I have a word with your sworn sword, my lady?" He asks Sansa.

"If she wants to." Brienne nods. "Then you are both free to go."

He doesn't let go of her hand as he guides her to the room he knighted her a couple nights ago, only doing so in order to grab a chair to sit down. He positions himself so their knees are touching. He always wants to touch her, one way or another, especially after what they shared; he hopes she wants the same, which is why he is here, doing what he is about to do.

"I'm glad Sansa gave you a reprieve from your duties," he begins. "I worry for your safety, and, selfishly, I'm glad you'll have more time for me to steal for myself."

She inhales deeply and reaches for his hand again. He gladly offers it. "Are you alright? I know it can't be easy to hear your sister wants you dead."

He sighs, grabbing her hand tightly. "It's not her first attempt," he replies. Her eyes go wide. "When I told her I'd leave, she ordered the Mountain to kill me, but aborted it at the last minute. I… I dismissed it as something she'd do in ire, but—she had enough time to think things through and she still…" He shakes his head. "If I wanted any more confirmation she's no longer the girl I was once in love with, I got it tonight."

She frowns. "You don't love her anymore?"

He brings her palm to his lips and gives it a feather kiss. "Brienne," he breathes out. "I thought I had made it clear last night where my affections lie."

Her breath intake is sharp this time. "You didn't say a word," she replies quietly.

"And I apologize for my silence," he says evenly. "Had I known my actions would not be enough for you…" He kisses her palm again. "It is you who holds my heart now, Brienne. I brought you here to ask you to marry me."

Her hand trembles under his hold, and so does her lips. He really, really wants to kiss her shock away, but he doesn't think the gesture would help her answer him. "Really?" She asks timidly. Disbelievingly—and fuck everyone who ever made her feel unwanted, including himself.

"I love you," he says simply. Getting the words out is easier than he thought, probably because he's eager to destroy all possible doubts in her head. "Last night was the best of my entire life, and I don't say this lightly. I've loved you for years, and there is absolutely nothing I'd want more in this world than to be yours in the eyes of gods and men." He drops her hand carefully. "Of course, I only want this if you are on board too. I know I'm not much of a prospect—"

"Oh, piss off," she exclaims, but her eyes are shining, and a smile slowly creeps its way to her lips. He can barely breathe. "I gave you my maidenhead willingly last night, for one reason only: I love you, Jaime Lannister. Yes, I'd very much like to marry you."

He surges forward to capture her lips with his own, smiling wide as he does so.