Brienne doesn't divulge details of the strategy Daenerys came up with, only says she found it lacking. "I may be biased," she says, running a delicate finger up and down his chest, "but you raised the standards in that room. When you left, those men were too busy looking for holes in your plans to actually say something useful. Lady Sansa—I could see in her eyes that she wanted me to fetch you back, but I knew it was hopeless. And I refused to give my input. I serve Daenerys as much as you do."
She sounds irresistibly passionate, so he pulls her up to kiss her slowly and hungrily. "I love you," he whispers. "Are you in any hurry to leave this room?"
Her downcast eyes give her answer already, but still she replies verbally. "I wish I could stay," she says, "but Lady Sansa asked for me to be with her when Gendry finds her sister, and he's supposed to come back today."
"But there hasn't been any news, right?"
"Not yet, no."
"Then there is no rush."
Her cheeks go red, but she smiles and kisses him in agreement. He probably should ask why her presence is requested for such a thing, since she was given reprieve from her duties as Sansa's sworn shield, but he's too distracted by her body and her love to care.
Later, when Brienne is finally summoned, Jaime goes to the snowy gardens. He nods to Raven Bran, who seems to spend his whole time by the weirwood tree nowadays, and wanders until he finds a small frozen lake, by which two little girls play.
He had heard about the youngest casualties in the battle against the dead. First, he found out about Lyanna Mormont, who was younger than Myrcella when she was handed Bear Island and led her men in Winterfell, only to fall after slaying a giant. Then, Tyrion told him about the children who were caught by the dead Stark lords and kings who crawled out of their graves midfight.
Upon hearing his tale, Jaime remembered when it was announced those who couldn't fight would stay in the crypts. He had foolishly thought the Starks had already emptied it, but he clearly overestimated Jon Snow. Not for the first time, he wonders if he should have tried to give his input, but now he has the memory of the war council meeting yesterday to prove his attempts would have been in vain. Let their pride kill them, he finds himself thinking.
(He doesn't really want them to die, though. Daenerys' death will leave them without a ruler to back up, which means a victory for Cersei. Without Targaryen blood, it will be hard to rally another potential monarch.)
The girls stop when they catch sight of him. He motions to leave—he doesn't want their fun interrupted—but they walk in his direction. "Are you the Kingslayer?" One of them asks. "They say the Kingslayer has a hand made of gold now."
She doesn't say his moniker with disgust, only with childish curiosity. "Yeah, I am," he replies carefully. "And yes, I wear a golden hand nowadays. It's fake, though."
"Can we touch it?" The other girl asks, sounding slightly excited.
He removes the golden hand and gives it to the second girl, who touches it with awe in her eyes before passing it to her friend (or sister; they look similar enough), who complains about it being cold and heavy. He chuckles. "It is," he agrees, "but it's useful."
"For what?" She asks. "You can't move the fingers to grab a cup or a spoon. You can't hold someone's hand with it, you can't—"
"He can play drums!" The second girl suggests excitedly. "And he can punch people! Right?"
He chuckles once more, crouching down to look them in the eye. "I've slapped a few guys with it," he admits, remembering that idiot Frey man.
"Cool," she says, smiling.
The first girl frowns, though. "I don't see how it's worth it. Look at the stump, it's as red as a tomato!"
He glances at the top of his stump and gets confirmation of the girl's description. The concern in her tone reminds him of Brienne and warms up his heart. "What are your names?" He asks.
The girl holding his hand calls herself Sara, while the excited child introduces herself as Melissa—Mel for short, if he prefers.
"Why don't you get a hook?" Sara asks, giving his hand back. "It'd be just as cool, and lighter."
Such an idea never crossed his mind before. "You know, it's a great suggestion, Sara. You're really smart." He smiles.
She smiles back, although she isn't nearly as open as Melissa. Again, it reminds him of Brienne. She thanks him for the compliment and calls him a nice man. Melissa excitedly agrees, and the two of them go back to their fun.
Instead of going back to the castle, he goes to the nearest forge. There, he finds the new Lord of Storm's End. "I didn't think I'd find you here," he comments as he approaches the young man, who's working on something he can't make out.
He raises his eyes at him. "Wasn't looking forward to hearing their discussion about how to infiltrate the Red Keep and kill your sister." He makes a disgusted face. "I don't know how any of you can talk about those things lightly."
"And yet, you've fallen for a woman who trained under the Faceless Men."
He sighs. "That obvious, huh?"
Jaime shrugs. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. And, from what I've been told, I've been just as obvious."
"You have," Gendry replies, chuckling. "But I think you had a bit more luck than I did. Arya doesn't want to be a lady, so she turned me down."
"Then why don't you turn the lordship down as well?" He asks. It startles the former bastard. "It's not like you have the whole support of the stormlands. For all we know, you'll be rejected as soon as you set foot in Storm's End. Unless it was your life dream, or something, I don't see why not renounce."
"Do you think Queen Daenerys would accept?"
"She should. I saw when she named you lord and, frankly, it didn't look like you two discussed this beforehand."
He looks down at his work. "We didn't," he confirms. "It should go to Ser Davos. He has experience, and a daughter back home who can inherit when he dies. I mean, having children to pass down your castles is important right?" Jaime nods. "I can't see myself marrying anyone but Arya, and I'd be a disastrous husband if it came to those arranged marriages you highborns are so fond of."
He laughs at that. "Then get the fuck out of this mess before it's too late, lad," he insists. "Go tell your queen to give Storm's End to someone else and go after your lady love again."
Gendry blinks. "Would you do it for your lady love, if it came down to it?"
"Absolutely," he replies instantly. "If Daenerys doesn't strip me of my titles, I'll renounce them myself. Brienne is heir to Tarth, and that's where I plan to go after this war is over."
He had thought of it enough times to be sure of this decision. Casterly Rock hasn't been home for him in a long time, and he doesn't feel entitled to it, especially after he let it be taken by Daenerys' forces. Most Lannisters died out over the years, but there are enough left to inherit it if Tyrion also refuses it. He'd rather begin a new life with Brienne in her ancestral home instead, having trueborn children carrying the Tarth name.
Once, he dreamed of trueborn Lannisters to call his. Now, though, after all his House has done and gone through, he'd rather not pass his surname to any kid. Being able to hold his son or daughter and hear them call him 'father' is way more important than having them bearing his family name.
He has yet to talk to Brienne about children, although it is a must for her as the future Evenstar. As Gendry pointed out, heirs are important, and she needs her own to secure her hold on Evenfall. Jaime will gladly give her as many children as she wants and will gladly care for them while she's busy with her duties on the island.
Gendry's voice brings him back to reality. "But you didn't come here to talk to me, did you?"
He blinks, realizing he has yet to make his request. "No, I didn't. I came to ask if the gold in this hand would be enough to pay for one or two hooks." He gives the golden hand to him.
The former bastard examines the fake hand upside down, frowning, until he raises his eyes back to him. "It's worth three hooks of good quality and seven mediocre ones. I guess you want the first option."
"Obviously," he confirms. "I wouldn't even know what to do with seven hooks anyway."
Gendry nods in approval. "I can get you one in two days, and the other two within the fortnight. Are you going to march with them?" Jaime shakes his head. "Good; you can wait, then."
"I don't think I'm leaving anytime soon," he says, shrugging. "Take your time."
Later that day, he hears a knock on his chambers. He goes to open it with a frown; Brienne never knocks, of course, and any servants announce their presence verbally. When he opens the door, Arya Stark stands in front of him, looking determined yet still hesitant. "They told me you had information that would help me kill your sister," she says without preamble. "I want to know."
He raises an eyebrow. "Why should I tell you, little lady? Your family was ready to imprison me a couple days ago on mere speculation I was a spy."
"But I didn't," she replies smoothly, "and I'd rather take the chance with you."
He sighs and lets her in. She's right, after all, and he'd be a hypocrite if he refused to help her based on someone else's actions. "You already know Cersei is guarded by the Mountain at all times," he begins. She nods. "What you may not know is that he is stronger than he was. Long story short, he died, and Qyburn—Cersei's Grand Maester who isn't really a maester—found a way to revive him, although I don't see much of a difference between him and a wight."
Lady Arya flinches at that. He ignores it and continues. "Speaking of Qyburn, he must be watched out for. I have no proof, but I truly believe he is behind the explosion at the sept alongside my sister. If he can bring people back to life, making wildfire shouldn't be hard, and he is completely amoral. If my fears are not unfounded, Cersei must have given him orders to burn the city in case she loses or is about to—orders that probably must be carried regardless of whether she lives or not. That means he should be your first target, not my twin. Cersei's death probably won't stop the caches from being ignited, but his certainly will."
She nods slowly. "Do you remember him enough to describe him to me?"
He gives her the best description he can. "You can ask Brienne too," he adds. "Cersei met him because he came with us from Harrenhal. He took care of our injuries while on the road, although neither of us really trusted him."
"With reason, apparently. Anything else?"
"Has Tyrion given you any maps of the castle's secret passages?" She nods. "Then… Well, you might have to face Euron Greyjoy if he isn't on his ship, but I don't think he'll be a challenge. When I left, the Mountain was Cersei's only Queensguard, but that might have changed. Regardless, she has the Lannister Army and the City Watch at her disposal, and gods know how many of them are specifically assigned for her protection."
"Could you not command the Lannister army to back off?"
"I'm a deserter," he states dryly. "Cersei must have branded me a traitor by now, and I did not bid goodbye to my soldiers or generals. Even if I showed up and tried to get my command back, they may not listen to me." He sighs. "And I'm not going anyway, so that's out of the table."
"I understand," she replies. "Well, thank you. I hope we see each other again after this is over."
She sounds sincere, much to his surprise.
By the time Brienne comes back—he's been having his evening meals delivered to him, as he obviously doesn't want to eat in the main dining hall—he's tired, but missing her greatly. When she tucks in their bed, he is quick to kiss her. She reciprocates, but, when his hand goes under her nightgown to cup her breast, she breaks the kiss and recoils slightly. "Jaime… I'm exhausted, I have no energy for—"
Immediately, his eyes roam around her, searching for signs. A subtle smirk, a small arch of her chest, a—Wait. This is Brienne, he reminds himself; she won't say things she doesn't mean. "Oh, okay," he says, trying not to sound awkward. "Can I still hold you?"
She blinks. "Of course," she replies, smiling. "I'd love it if you did."
Suppressing a relieved sigh, he lays down and pats the space in front of him. She lies with her back turned to him, and he slips his maimed arm around her waist. He inhales her scent and tugs her close, smiling as he nuzzles her neck. No, he isn't going to spend the night inside her, but this is just as wonderful.
He hears her ask, "Are you smiling?" Why, her tone implies.
Humming in pleasure, he replies, "I have the woman I love—my wife—in my arms, without fear of being caught, without having to worry about slipping out of bed unnoticed before the sun is up, without wondering whether she wants me here. I am nothing but happy, deliriously so. Why do you ask?"
She hears her sniff. Did he say something wrong, or something right? "I thought—I feared you'd be angry, or resentful, that I refused you tonight."
He tightens his hold on her. "Brienne, I—no. I'd never be angry at you for it. I'd be hurt if you had not, if I had ended up laying with you without you wanting to. I don't want to do anything you're not willing to do, or to take anything you're not willing to give."
She turns under his arm, and suddenly they are facing each other. Her eyes are shining. "I… I believe you," she says quietly, then shakes her head a bit. "It's just—I've always heard men would demand their husbandly rights, and wives should just let it happen."
He takes a deep breath, looking for words to express the thoughts her words bring to his mind. He is not eager to talk about his sister, but it's necessary for her to understand what is going on between them at this moment. "When I was with Cersei… She liked to play games. Sansa Stark caught on to that, and even insinuated her sending Bronn to kill me could be one of them, but… that's not the kind of game she played with me. She… She liked to make me guess what she wanted. Her 'no' would sometimes mean 'yes', and I had to guess whether she meant her refusal or not."
Memories of their time together come to surface, and he grimaces. She frowns. "Could you just… not do it, when she said no?"
He shakes his head. "It's what I did at first, but… She'd punish me when I didn't understand her 'no' wasn't serious. She—no, you don't want to know details. All you need to know is that I had to learn to read her signs, what her body said that contradicted her words."
He wonders if she noticed him trying to do the same earlier, then takes another deep breath as he notices her still confused face. This… this is something he must tell her. He doesn't want his beloved wife to be in the dark about a damn thing in his life, even the moments he hates the most. "There was this one time; one of our last, actually," he says, almost a whisper. "It was Joffrey's funeral, and we were alone in the Sept. I can't even remember what we were talking about, but I began to touch her. She kept saying 'it isn't right, it isn't right', but… Her voice tone, her body language…" He swallows hard. "If you saw it from a distance, you'd think I was raping her, but—she wanted it. She cared even less than I did about our son's corpse next to us, but you wouldn't know if you weren't looking closely, and I had to learn so I wouldn't get punished later."
He closes his eyes, afraid of her reaction. When he feels her hand caressing his cheek, he relaxes and opens them to find her staring intently at him. "Why are you telling me this? It sounds painful to remember."
Once again, he's reminded of the many reasons he fell in love with this woman. "Because being with you is a relief," he replies with a small smile. "You don't mess around, you don't play games. When you refused me tonight, my first instinct was to look for signs, until I remembered you are not Cersei. Your 'no' means 'no'. It's simple, it's honest. I didn't know I wanted simplicity and honesty until you gave them to me."
Her mouth opens in a perfect 'O'. "Jaime—"
"I was never able to hold Cersei," he adds. "Most of the time because I had to slip away quickly, but, even when we could have held each other, she refused. It was—she only wanted my body. It took me far too long to realize that, and even when I did, I found it hard to leave. I guess that's what happens when your lover is your own sister—it's so much harder to leave." He goes forward and kisses her lightly. "Which is why I thank whatever gods are up above for throwing you in my path. You saved my soul, my heart, my mind. You showed me I could be a better person and live a better life. You truly love me, with flaws and sins and all. It's—I don't know if you understand how great of a gift you are to me. So, you see… I have no reasons to not be happy, and all reasons to rejoice."
There are tears in her eyes, but she's smiling, so he isn't worried. "Now, I believe I have tired your mind as well as your body," he teases. "Sleep, my lady wife. I'll be here holding you and chasing any nightmares away."
She kisses him and rests her head against his shoulder. Her breath calms down not much later, and he soon follows her. In the morning, Brienne wakes him up with deep kisses that soon evolve to lovemaking. All is well.
Three weeks after Arya's departure with Sandor and other few soldiers, Daenerys and her army march. Against Jaime's wishes, Tyrion follows, and the brothers share a tight goodbye embrace.
For another month, things proceed as normal. Lady Sansa warms up to him as she consults him for trivial stuff about rebuilding, and he spars with Brienne and Pod. Gendry and Samwell Tarly stayed behind as well, and Jaime went back to the dining hall as they are the only ones there, along with Bran Stark.
True to his word, the Three-Eyed Raven doesn't talk about the war in the south, no matter how often Sansa asks. Jaime has a feeling he isn't even checking on it, instead focusing on bringing Bran Stark to surface more often. His sister notices this after a fortnight, and her joy eclipses her worries about Jon and the battles.
Until a raven arrives five weeks after the massive departure. He is coming back from the backyard when he catches sight of Brienne and Sansa talking, both wearing sad expressions. When he approaches them, his wife points to the letter in her liege lady's hand. "The Iron Fleet was decimated," she says, "but not without attacking back. One of Daenerys' dragons, the one Lord Jon rode, was hit with a scorpion embedded in wildfire. Both fell." He inhales sharply. Jon Snow and his dragon are dead; no wonder Sansa looks so broken. Brienne goes on. "The Golden Company caught the carriage Daenerys' advisors were in. Your brother clearly escaped—this letter was written by him, after all—but Missandei was held prisoner. No one knows what Cersei intends to do with her."
"Nothing good, I'm sure," Sansa mumbles.
Jaime has to nod. "I'm sorry about your brother," he says quietly.
Sansa sniffs. "He wasn't my brother," she says. "He was—apparently, his parents were Prince Rhaegar and Aunt Lyanna. Father hid him as his bastard to avoid Robert's wrath."
He blinks as the news sets in. "You know," he says slowly, "this isn't surprising, now that I think about it."
"For you, I suppose not," she agrees. "He was Daenerys' heir, as far as I know. A secret one, yes, but still. Now she truly has none. And—" She shakes her head. "I don't know what happened. I don't know if they followed your suggestions or if they went against them in some way. There is no news on Arya, and—" Tears begin to fall. "If you excuse me—"
"Of course," he and Brienne say at the same time. As she turns to leave, he hears a sob.
For a good while, he and his wife simply stare at each other. Jaime doesn't know what to say about all that unfolded. Eventually, Brienne speaks up. "Do you think they were following your suggestions when this happened?"
He flinches. Is she trying to blame him for what happened? No, it can't be. "I don't know," he replies, managing to sound neutral. "Did Tyrion mention whether the attack happened at day or nighttime?" She shakes her head. "Then they either followed my instructions or did the exact opposite. Either way, for all we know that scorpion was Greyjoy's lucky shot. And… Did Tyrion mention anyone else besides Missandei? I assume Varys and that Unsullied commander are part of her council as well."
She takes her eyes off him and glances at the side, frowning. "Lord Varys was taken," she says slowly. "There's no mention of Grey Worm. He probably wasn't in the carriage."
He grimaces. "So Daenerys places her most vulnerable subjects in a carriage without anyone to defend themselves. What else did they expect?" He shakes his head. "It's pointless to discuss what happened without knowing the full picture. They might have made a hundred mistakes, they might have done the best they could. We have a more urgent and real problem in front of us."
"Which is…?"
"Daenerys is alone," he reminds her. "She only has Tyrion and, possibly, Grey Worm beside her, which isn't enough. She lost her only heir and another dragon. Who knows how many other people perished in these fights. Two of her trusted advisors are held hostage by Cersei, one of which is her commander's lover—or wife, I don't know. With no news of the infiltration party, she is probably lost, and I fear for what she may do."
Brienne lifts her chin. "Should you not be worried about what your sister may do now? She managed to kill a dragon and one of her main enemies, not to mention the double capture. You know her better than me, Jaime. Isn't she someone to worry about?"
Her tone irritates him. "Of course she is," he retorts. "I fear for that city. I fear it will meet the end I prevented twenty years ago. But it's one thing if Cersei destroys it all by herself, and another thing entirely if Daenerys unleashes her dragon on it."
"How is it any different? The city burns all the same, the citizens in there die horribly all the same!"
"But what about after?" He runs his hand through his hair. "If Cersei alone burns the city, Daenerys can use it to her advantage to rise as the peaceful ruler. If her dragon is the one to set fire on King's Landing, who will the realm back up as the new ruler? There is no Targaryen left, no Baratheon left. Who will they pick, me?" The idea of being chosen as King of Westeros makes him want to puke, but this isn't the point. "Westeros will fall in another war out of lack of leadership if we don't have one to promote. Cersei is already doomed—"
"Is she?"
"What do you mean?"
"All she needs to do is leave King's Landing in secret before Daenerys comes with her dragon. That way, the city burns, but Cersei comes out on top because everyone will blame dragonfire instead of wildfire. She'll be favored over Daenerys and get support. Then what?"
He flinches at her words. It never occurred to him that his sister could let King's Landing burn without her inside. In his mind, she'd rather burn along than risk letting it vacant. However, by isolating Daenerys, she might be aiming to make her unstable and prone to harsh decisions—she's betting on the Dragon Queen being mad like her father, and Jaime cannot say for sure whether this is a real possibility or not.
"Then we must leave Winterfell," he announces. "If Cersei wins, she'll come for you and Lady Sansa next. I saw what she did to the women who killed Myrcella, and I know what she wanted me to do to Olenna Tyrell. She won't kill either of you right away, but she will make you wish you were dead." Terror rises within him as he speaks, already picturing how Cersei would torture his wife and her liege lady. "We can't—I can't let you get hurt like this, but I'm only one man, and Sansa's remaining army is too small. Our best course of action is—"
"Sansa won't leave Winterfell without Starks," Brienne replies, sounding irritated, "and she won't leave her brother alone here either." He opens his mouth to say Bran can easily move to north of the Wall as live his days as the Three-Eyed Raven he's meant to be, but she goes on without giving him time to speak. "I won't leave her service if she doesn't release me, and it would be unwise for her to do so when there is such a big threat hanging above all of our heads. And what about you, Jaime? Did you forget she sent Bronn to kill you and Tyrion?"
"I'm aware I'm in danger too," he replies dryly, "which is all the more reason we should all leave. If Cersei comes for us three, she won't spare men to get the job done."
"Then we stand and fight," she replies stubbornly.
He laughs bitterly. "If you think you stand a chance against my sister's viciousness, you are stupider than you look."
He only realizes what he said when she recoils from him, her big blue eyes full of hurt. Without saying a word, she storms away.
I hurt her. I did the exact thing I swore to myself I'd never do.
The moon is high up, but Jaime has yet to return to the castle. His last words to Brienne replay in his mind over and over. He said roughly the same words his sister said to him before he left King's Landing. I'm no better than Cersei.
A huge part of him wants to run and apologize, but he remembers Sansa's words to him when he and Brienne went to get her approval for their marriage. "If you ever hurt her, in any way, consider yourself unwelcome in Winterfell for as long as I draw breath." She did not mention if Brienne's forgiveness mattered; if she knows her sworn sword as well as Jaime does, it doesn't.
And why would Brienne forgive him, anyway? He insulted her, and in a worse manner than he did when they met. It is one thing to call her ugly and boring when he was her enemy and captive; now they are married, and he tells her he loves her everyday—only to insult her at the slightest disagreement. If she now doubts his love for her, she would be completely justified. It is easy to say the words, but his actions now just showed otherwise.
He places a hand over his chest, trying to calm his heart. The moment Sansa sees Brienne upset, she will know he hurt her. If he wants to live long enough to try to earn an apology, he must leave before she finds out.
Yes, that's what he will do. He will leave tonight for Casterly Rock. He has no wish to reclaim it, but doing so will protect his family and Brienne. From there, he can order soldiers to protect the castle and hold his ground against whichever queen wins. If Brienne forgives him, he can sneak her inside, where she will be safer than anywhere else. If she doesn't, she can claim their wedding never happened—not many people would believe the head of House Lannister married the heir to House Tarth, a vassal from the stormlands, especially those who never saw them together to witness how much of a besotted fool Jaime is towards his wife.
His mind settled, he goes back to the castle. It's late enough that Brienne is already asleep when he quietly enters their chamber. Great; he doesn't think he can handle a goodbye, especially if she's so hurt she won't care about his departure. Gathering only the essential stuff, he leaves just as silently and goes to fetch his horse.