As promised, Raven Bran comes with his answer shortly before the meeting's time. "She isn't," he says, "and she doesn't seem to have been in recent time."
He wonders how he knows that last bit, but decides against asking and simply thanks him for the information. Now that he knows there is no baby to save, he and Tyrion can be more direct in their approach.
He finds Brienne before the meeting, and this time he is the one against holding hands. "I don't trust Daenerys Targaryen yet," he explains. She frowns, but the door to the room opens before she can reply.
They are not the last ones to arrive, but not the first either. The Dragon Queen is at the center of the table featuring a map of Westeros. His brother and the Unsullied man who commands her armies stand between her. Across her, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark stand side by side. He can spot a few men from the North and the Vale as well.
A couple other men arrive, but only when Varys and Davos Seaworth enter the room does the meeting begin. And Daenerys doesn't waste time. "Some of you may be surprised at the presence of the Kingslayer at this meeting." Silence; no one dares interrupt her. "Until yesterday, I would not have conceived this idea either. However, my Hand, who happens to be his brother, informed me of an assassination attempt against both of them. An attempt ordered by their sister, Cersei Lannister."
A couple gasps are heard. "So he isn't here to spy on us," a Valeman says.
Jaime fights an urge to roll his eyes. "On the contrary, Lord Shett," Tyrion replies. "My brother comes here today to provide us all the information he has on Cersei's numbers, so we can plan accordingly."
"And can we trust his word?" Another man asks.
"We caught a glimpse of her armies in the failed summit," Lord Jon replies. "And, in case, we can send men ahead to confirm his reports when we march south."
Daenerys turns to him. "Does this mean you will bend the knee?" She asks. "Your brother was unable to answer this question."
He takes a deep breath. "I won't lie," he begins. "I'm not eager to swear loyalty to you yet, not after my experiences with your family. I need you to depose Cersei if I want any peace of mind for myself and for Tyrion. You need me to stand a better chance against your main enemy. When this is all over, we can talk about bending the knee."
"And if I demand you do it now?"
"Then I'll just leave this room and not provide any information about Cersei's forces." He shrugs.
The Dragon Queen stares at him for what feels like a whole hour, but cannot have been longer than a few moments. Finally, she says, "Your terms are reasonable. Is there anything else?"
He raises an eyebrow. "If you want actual advice, I'll have to know your numbers as well."
The Unsullied man wrinkles his nose. "He could report us to his sister," he points out.
"I could," Jaime agrees, and he feels Brienne lightly kicking his ankle, "if I had any faith she'd believe a word I said. I already noticed your current numbers are fewer than hers, but she won't believe me if I wrote that. Actually," he shakes his head, "your numbers matter more to you than to her. She fully believes she will win, no matter the odds, because she aims to take you down. Directly."
She startles. Good; his job here can begin. "What do you mean?"
"You saw the scorpions in the Golden Road. Ser Bronn, the one sent here to kill Tyrion and me, used them against you. He failed, of course, but make no mistake: there will be several more awaiting you in King's Landing and by the sea. Euron Greyjoy had plans to equip each ship with at least one scorpion. They know you'll join the battle with your dragons, and they know that your death leaves your faction without a ruler to back up. You have no heirs to speak of, do you?"
She shakes her head, but there is a slight tremor as she does so.
"A queen who leads her men is admirable, but not so much if she is her faction's only hope. My first option to you would be to leave yourself and your dragons out of the battle entirely. The second option would be flying them at night. Scorpions are heavy and slow to be moved; aiming them at night is nearly impossible."
"Then why is this your second option," Lord Jon asks, "instead of the first?"
He bites his lower lip. "Wildfire," he supplies. "Cersei used it to get rid of her enemies once, she may do so again." Under the table, he reaches for Brienne's hand and squeezes it. "Also, as far as I know, there are several caches under the city gates, as well as under several buildings inside—houses, brothels, inns, shops. Possibly under the castle itself, if nobody had it removed in the times I spent away."
Daenerys' eyes go wide, and so do Varys'. Did the Spider not know about it, or is he surprised that I do? "How—Cersei has ordered it spread all over the capital?"
"Not Cersei," Tyrion says. "I've told you once, Your Grace."
She snaps her head at him, and Jaime's jaw clenches. Has Tyrion told her about Aerys? I shouldn't be surprised, he contemplates. It would be very Tyrion-like to try to spare me by sharing the reason I killed Aerys. But, if that's the case, why hasn't Daenerys acknowledged it yet? Did she not care?
Her words answer his questions. "You weren't serious," she says with a heavy voice. "You said that on impulse, to stop me from using my dragons in Meereen."
"I meant every word," his brother insists. Denial it was, then. "Ser Barristan shared stories about why your father was called the Mad King, did he not?"
"He did," she concedes, "but—" She shakes her head and turns to Varys. "Is this true?"
The Spider frowns. "I'm afraid I didn't understand the conversation between you and Lord Tyrion, my Queen," he replies, "but if you are asking about the wildfire, then yes, Ser Jaime speaks the truth, and does Lord Tyrion. There are wildfire caches under the entire King's Landing, placed there in your father's reign. I first heard of them in the first years of Robert Baratheon's rule, but for years I was unaware of its full extension."
"Some of it was found in the recent war," Tyrion continues. "As Hand of King Joffrey, I ordered some made for the Battle of the Blackwater, in which Ser Davos and I fought on opposing sides. Coincidentally, several caches were found under the dragonpit, which we used in the battle. I think it's safe to say the dragonpit has no caches now. As for the rest, I do not know."
Jaime squeezes Brienne's hand again. "Aerys and Rossart—his Hand and leader of the pyromancers' guild at the time—talked about it while I was in the room. If the dragonpit is truly emptied, then we can count out the caches that were there and the ones under the Sept, which Cersei used. However, as Tyrion just pointed out, new caches can be made. I won't put it past my sister to order more. Like Aerys, she'd rather have the city burn than give it away. She'd rather melt with the Iron Throne than let someone else sit on it."
He can see many people are staring at them in confusion. It's clear, by Daenerys' broken expression, that Tyrion indeed told her about why he killed her father, and she had been in denial all along. He briefly wonders if he'd have a similar reaction, should he hear his father tried to burn a whole city just to stop another from taking his crown, but he quickly sets the thought aside. Tywin Lannister did equally horrible things, so he wouldn't have been surprised at all.
"What do you suggest, then," Lady Sansa asks, "to prevent such a massive explosion?"
He huffs. "First, don't bring the dragons near the city. Even if they follow Daenerys' orders, an injury can leave them uncontrollable. Besides, if Cersei ordered more wildfire, she will likely place them right outside the city walls, so any slight attack will ignite them."
"Where could they be used, then?" Lord Jon asks.
"Like I said, I'd rather not use them at all. However, if you cannot part from them, stick to attacking the Iron Fleet at night. Leave your own fleet here and burn Euron's ships. That way, even if they have wildfire, they won't have anywhere to aim at, and it will be turned against them when they face dragonflame."
The Unsullied man's posture changes. He slowly nods, as if pondering the idea. Jaime releases Brienne's hand and rests it on the table. "Cersei has the City Watch, the Lannister army, the Iron Fleet and the Golden Company at her disposal," he continues. "That's around… sixty thousand men on land, along with a thousand ships if we combine the Iron Fleet with the Golden Company—which, according to Cersei herself, would bring war elephants along."
"Elephants?" Ser Davos exclaims.
Jaime shrugs. "I can't see them making any real difference anyway, or even how they'd make the trip across the Narrow Sea. Regardless, this is what you have in the South. And, mind you, all those men are well rested, given they did not face a hundred thousand undead soldiers in the freezing northern winter. How many soldiers do we have here?"
"Fifty thousand," the Unsullied man replied.
"Are these numbers the post-battle ones?"
"Yes. We used to have as many men as the undead, but we lost nearly all the Dothraki."
He shifts his weight from one leg to another. "Yes, I remember. Which reminds me—you cannot repeat that battle formation. It was a disaster here, it will be another disaster in the South."
The meeting drags for two hours. Daenerys is initially adamant that her army marches south right away, but, when Jaime reveals her attack in the Golden Road cut short most of Cersei's food supplies, she seems to relax a bit and concedes to a longer wait.
The problem lies on how to approach the city. Daenerys and her commander, whose name seems to be Grey Worm, agree with Jaime that her ships should remain in White Harbour until the Iron Fleet is decimated; Lord Jon even suggests they should move to Eastwatch, after a random northern knight points out Euron Greyjoy could be sailing north as they spoke.
The attacks on land are the tricky business. Although Tyrion doesn't think Bronn had time to evaluate Daenerys' numbers, Jaime argues he could have spied on Winterfell before approaching them in Wintertown, so it's entirely possible that Cersei already ordered a part of her army to march against them. "If she is listening to the commanders I've left behind, she will do it. If I was there, I'd send half of the Iron Fleet to Dragonstone and half to White Harbour, while I'd send the Golden Company and part of the Lannister Army to march South, carrying as many scorpions as they could."
However, as Bran Stark refused to help, claiming the 'battles of the living' are not his concern, they have no way of knowing whether this is happening or not. Jaime admits it's equally possible Cersei left all of her forces to siege the capital.
Then, Lady Sansa snaps her fingers. "My sister left Winterfell after the feast," she says, "with Sandor Clegane. I know she wants to kill Cersei—"
"And Sandor definitely wants to fight his brother," Jaime finishes, an idea forming in his mind. "Is there anyone who can track them?"
"Why?" Daenerys asks, sounding confused.
"Our best chance is to send a small party to infiltrate the city," he replies. "Lady Arya and the Hound won't be enough, but add four or five good soldiers and we have the ideal number."
"Arya was trained under the Faceless Men," Lady Sansa supplies.
"Even better. From what I know about them, she is one of the very few who can actually get to Cersei… but she needs information to do it properly. Information I can provide, if we find her in time."
"Lord Gendry can do it," Lord Jon offers, without further explanation. Jaime has a feeling he knows why. "But who would go along with them?"
"Tyrion and I know the city tunnels, but it can't be either of us. We don't know what Bronn intends to tell Cersei when he gets back in the capital, so it's too dangerous for us to step foot on it. Pick your best men, and we can draw a map of these tunnels for them."
His brother nods, and the talks go on. The army must march south in its entirety, as they don't know whether they will meet Cersei's halfway through, but some people argue in favor of sending medium-sized parties every five days. "The better rested march first," a knight from the Vale argues. "They can carry ravens and messengers to report on the presence or absence of southern armies. Then, as the rest of the soldiers get enough rest, they begin marching as well."
Not everyone agrees, though, so the discussion drags on. Another disagreement is when Daenerys should show up in the capital, and whether the dragons should stay when not used. Then, a Northernman speaks up. "We are relying too much on the Kingslayer's input! He is an oathbreaker, and the southern queen is his lover. How can we believe anything he says?"
"He's right," another man says. "You are putting yourself at risk by trusting a Lannister, Your Grace! For all we know, he's leading us to a trap."
"Did none of you hear when we said Cersei sent an assassin for us?" Jaime spats. "It doesn't matter that I fathered her children. They are all dead. Cersei lied to us both when she said she was pregnant, lied to the realm when she gave a false pledge to fight for the living, then tried to have her remaining family killed. What reason could I possibly have to still support her in any way?"
"That is assuming you are telling the truth," the Northernman replies. "For all we know, she is indeed pregnant, and you are lying about it now so we don't think you have any ties to her. For all we know, you came here to spy on us, and you fought for the living to play the good guy. For all we know, this assassination attempt was stage between both of you so you can look good to us."
He can sense the shift in the room as soon as the man finishes. Everyone who was listening to him a moment ago now narrows their eyes at him, trying to figure him out, once again unwilling to trust him. At that, Jaime can't help but laugh. It's a bitter laugh, one that startles even Brienne.
"It's impossible to please you, isn't it?" He says. "What could I possibly do to convince you I'm not on Cersei's side? Should I have died in the battle against the White Walkers? Should I have killed the Night King? Should I offer to have my head cut off?" He huffs. "No matter what I do, no matter what I say, you refuse to give me any credit. And not because I made any move against House Stark, no. This may have added salt to the injury, but my brother fought for Joffrey too, and I don't see anyone questioning his presence at Daenerys' side. You distrust me, you despise me, because two decades ago I did the whole realm a favor and killed the Mad King. You judge me because, when Aerys ordered me to kill my own father and stand by his side as he ordered the city to burn, I chose to slay him and all the pyromancers who knew of his plans. You call me honorless and turncloak because I stick to my values, to the vows I swore as a knight, instead of a ruler or another. And you know what? I don't care. I'll continue to live by what I believe in, and if a king or a queen or whatever tries to make me go against it, I will turn my back against them, and my sister is no exception. She crossed the line. I refuse to cross it with her. But believe whatever you want about me. I don't give a fuck."
At that, he turns away and leaves the meeting.
Nobody follows him right away, which means the meeting is not called off immediately after his departure. Good; the only person in that room he'd bear to see is Brienne, and he's glad she didn't out herself by following him out of the room.
He heads to the yards, where Tormund Giantsbane is. He had thought the wildlings would leave Winterfell after the feast, but he doesn't really know anything about them to make any educated guesses about their future. Well, it serves his purpose. "Hey, Giantsbane," he calls. "How up are you for a spar?"
The ginger man looks at him up and down. "Well, I would say I'm up enough to destroy you, but I won't underestimate a man who survived the Long Night with only one hand! Go grab a weapon."
He doesn't need to look for any, as he has Widow's Wail on his hip. Fighting against a battleaxe is not as exhilarating as a sword-against-sword duel, but it serves its purpose—distract Jaime from his anger at the people at the meeting.
Aerys; it all goes back to Aerys. It seems that no matter what he does to prove he can be good, he is branded as unredeemable due to his kingslaying. Jaime is fully aware he has many sins to atone for. Bran Stark forgave him, but Alton is no longer around to do the same. He can never apologize to his children for not being there for them or for not stopping Cersei from corrupting them or using them as pawns in her game. But none of these people judge him for those actions. No, they judge him for saving King's Landing from wildfire, for falling in love with his sister and for defending his family in the war.
That is why the only judgement he accepts is Brienne's. She knows all of his true mistakes and knows why he did his most important deeds, right or wrong. She knows him better than anyone else, even Tyrion—and she chose to love him instead. Not just the feeling, for it is uncontrollable, but the act of loving him. She vouched for him, she trusted him, she made love to him, she accepted his proposal, she let him hold her hand, she showed no problems with being with him openly.
Thinking about her makes him calm down as well, and he is much more relaxed after the duel is over. "Thank you for the fight," he tells Tormund. "I know you are not fond of me—"
"Nonsense," he replies dismissively. "Is it about the big woman? Ha, I can't hold it against you. She's magnificent, isn't she?"
He nods, feeling himself smile. "That she is." I should use that word in the bedroom, see if she likes it.
Tormund grabs his shoulder and shakes it. "If you've earned her, you must be quite good. If anything, you have my respect. All you gotta do now is not screw this up."
Jaime chuckles. "I'll do my best. See you around."
He heads back inside the castle and goes to Brienne's chambers—now his, for all intents and purposes. He asks for a servant to help fill the bath and sits at the bed as he waits for her to leave the bathroom. Just as the girl finishes her task, the door opens, revealing Brienne.
He stands up and smiles, motioning to go to her. However, he aborts his movements and her expression changes from tired to surprised. Her eyes go wide, and suddenly they are wet with unshed tears. Just as he opens his mouth to ask what is wrong, she marches to him, grabs his cheeks and kisses him, open-mouthed and hungry.
All rational thought is gone when he feels her tongue against his own, and he barely hears the servant closing the door. His arms rest on Brienne's waist, pulling her closer. He doesn't know how much time passes until their bodies beg for air, forcing them apart.
"Far from me to complain," he whispers, panting. "But what brought this on?"
Her hand caresses his cheek. "I… You beamed when you saw me. You looked so… happy… and just because I showed up. I couldn't—it was—I never thought anyone would ever look at me like that. Like I was something to be cherished, someone whose presence was enough to light up somebody's day."
He can't resist placing a quick peck on her lips. "You are the light of my life, not just my day," he corrects. "I love you. You bring me joy just by breathing, and I hope I'll be able to convince you of that someday." He reaches for the hand that grabs his hair and pulls it out, squeezing it. "Come with me, there is a bath waiting for us both."
They don't discuss the final outcome of the war meeting. Instead, they help each other bathe and, when they are properly dried, make love until supper.
When he finds out Daenerys' army will only leave in a month from now, he gives up on his initial idea to wait for her departure to wed Brienne. Instead, still fearful for what the Dragon Queen may do if she finds out his lady knight is his wife, he calls for the most important people for them to meet them in Wintertown after everyone is abed.
Tyrion, Podrick and Lady Sansa are the only ones to witness their wedding, done by a tired septon and with no cloaks to be placed around Brienne's shoulders. Instead, Jaime passes his sword to her, vowing to always provide her the means to defend herself. They get married wearing armour, as it was the most elegant attire either of them had.
It's simple, but beautiful, and Brienne smiles wide all the way from the sept to her chambers—now theirs, for they are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.