They wait until morning to make sure none of the other men are really coming back. As they brought no maesters abroad, Brienne tasks herself with looking after Ser Jaime. "I'm used to it," she explains when she offers herself.
She really is; Evenfall's master-at-arms taught her not only to fight, but to tend to injuries, and her septa shared some lessons on the matter as well. None ever prepared her for a maiming, but surely she can at least prevent his death.
Ser Jaime is in and out of consciousness for the first three days, feverish and groaning in pain. She takes him to cold baths and wipes out his vomit, urine and shit, as he is completely unable to do it himself. She feeds him and opens his mouth to pour water inside, and doesn't leave his side for a single moment.
As faster speeds make him throw up more, the ship goes slower than usual. The occasional storms don't help either, although, thankfully, none are strong enough to be a threat.
On the fourth day, his fever is gone, and he opens his eyes. "Gal," he breathes out. She's startled, but then she remembers she never gave him her real name. It's better this way, she reminds herself. "How are you feeling, Ser Jaime?"
"Like a castle fell on me," he groans. "What happened?"
"What do you remember?"
He shudders a bit. "One of the enemy soldiers pinned you down and—he looked about to tear off your armour and rape you." She nods. "How did he—"
"He kicked between my legs," she replies. "I suppose I couldn't pass off an eunuch."
He tries to laugh, but coughs instead. "I jumped in to stop it," he says, almost in a questioning tone. "I… I remember pain, but not much beyond that."
She grabs his right arm and raises it. "He cut off your hand in the fight," she informs. His eyes go wide. "I couldn't get to him in time to prevent it. I'm sorry—"
"There is nothing to apologize for," he cuts her off, still staring at his bandaged stump. "We're all at risk of something like this in a war." He sighs as she places his arm back on the bed. "Where are we now?" His voice is weaker; he's probably already getting tired.
"On the ship back to Storm's End," she replies. "You've been out for three days."
He nods slowly and closes his eyes. "Thank you," he whispers, falling asleep soon after.
His fever doesn't come back, and although he still sleeps a lot, he gets longer awake periods each day. She keeps talking to him as she tends to his injuries, and her heart skips beats every time he addresses her with a degree of tenderness—which happens often, as this is seemingly how he treats someone who is taking care of him.
She asks for stories about his brother and his twin sister, and his voice is smooth and soothing as he tells her about the lions that used to live in Casterly Rock's underground. "Cersei petted one when we were six," he tells her. "I had to drag her back all the way up to stop her from doing it."
He also reveals how they almost became what the rumours accuse them of being. "Once we saw two dogs doing… weird things. Cersei got curious and wanted us to try to do the same, but I found it too disgusting and too difficult, so she let it slide. Only years later we realized we had caught them… mating. Imagine her embarrassment." They laugh a bit. "Sometimes she still thanks me for refusing her request that day. We were… what, five? I think we were five."
One night, after she changes his bandages, he starts talking about Elia and their brief time together. "I was the greenest boy to walk on this realm," he says, "or, at least, I felt like it. She was so patient… She taught me how to please her, and I could be pleased, and showed me what we could do in bed outside sex. You know, snuggling and such."
He describes their secret courting: how he gave her several types of flowers until he figured out her favorite—sunflowers, the same as Brienne's—the small notes that took whole hours to be written because he's always been shit at writing, the small trinkets he gave her under the guise of toys for Aegon and Rhaenys. "I loved the kids too," he confesses. "I offered to raise them after Rhaegar died. We thought Robert would send her to Dorne after he took the throne, and I wanted to ask to be released."
His handsome face contorts in pain. She takes his remaining hand in hers. "And now you'd rather stay in the Kingsguard forever," she says quietly.
He fixes his gaze on hers in an odd way. "Yes," he replies just as quietly. Then he turns away. "I'd only ever leave it for love. And… I'm not sure I can find one like that again."
You could find it with me, she finds herself thinking. At that thought, she quietly excuses herself to go to her own cabin, where she sheds tears for her predicament. She fell in love with Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the realm's hero and the last man she could ever have.
When Dale announces they are to arrive at Storm's End before sunset, Ser Jaime asks for stories about herself. "You've made me talk all the time, and yet you shared nothing new."
"I've told you all the important things already," she defends herself, "back in the camps."
He grins, and she melts inside. "I doubt it. You've never told me a single thing about your love life, for starters. You know all about mine. I can tell you're not betrothed. Have you ever had a failed one, like I did with Lysa Tully?"
Maybe it's his softness, maybe it's his disarming grin, but she finds herself listing all three of her failed engagements: the boy who died before he could reject her, Ronnet Connington's rose, Humfrey Wastgaff's broken bones. By the time she finishes, he looks like he's going to run his sword through all of them.
"They are not real men," he says fiercely. "They are cowards, stupid cunts who can't see your worth." He softens once again. "I'm sure you'll find love eventually, my lady, or at least genuine friendship in your marriage. Don't settle for anything less. I'll make sure you are remembered as a hero when this is all over."
Gods, he's not making it any easier on her. How can she do anything but fall deeper and deeper for him, when he says things like that and looks at her so tenderly, so softly, like she is someone of great value? He seeks my friendship, she reminds herself, not my love. The woman whose love he wanted is long gone.
Their return is celebrated in Storm's End, not just by their comrades-in-arms, but by soldiers from the Reach, who apparently arrived while they were fighting Aegon's army. "The West followed King Robert to the crownlands," Stannis informs them. "And Dorne is due to arrive within the next week."
Ser Jaime thanks him for the update and asks 'Galladon' to follow him to his chambers. "Ser Galladon watched over me after my hand was cut off in combat," he explains to the local maester. "He can help you with whatever needed to speed up my recovery."
The maester examines Ser Jaime's stump, which is half-closed already, praises her for her care, applies an ointment, gives her additional instructions and excuses himself to tend to other soldiers—Stannis also mentioned a garrison of the Golden Company attacked them while they were away.
When they are alone again, she asks, "Are you going to stay here?"
"Of course," he replies instantly. "I'm the commander here. I may not be able to wield a sword, but I can strategize and organize the troops." He takes a good look at his bandaged stump. "I can train more with the scorpions, use the stump to aid the left hand." He sighs. "I'll grieve for this, sooner or later, but now I must be focused on this war. Then I'll worry about what this loss means for my future."
She nods in understanding. "Well," she says, "if you want to… unload any emotions you may have about it… I can lend an ear, or a shoulder."
He smiles at her. It's like the sun—he's like the sun, golden and warm. "I appreciate the offer, my lady, but… I can't let myself dwell on this just now." He lays down on his bed. "Mind tell me a story so I can fall asleep without giving my mind a chance to think about it?"
Startled by the request, she merely nods and sits beside him. After a deep breath, she begins Tarth's traditional tale of Ser Galladon of Morne and his sword Just Maid. He falls asleep before the end, and she quietly leaves for her own assigned chambers.
Another fortnight goes by. The Dornish forces arrive, and together the three armies defeat the enemy garrisons occasionally sent. "I bet they are doing this to weaken us for when the dragons do arrive," Renly suggests one day.
Ser Jaime comes out of his room on their third day in Storm's End and resumes his duties as if nothing had happened. Still, she's the main responsible to look after him alongside the maester, and she helps him adjust to his loss—mainly, she helps him train his aim with a scorpion with his left hand.
They receive surprising news of Aegon's death along with his dragon. "They attacked the Vale," Ser Loras Tyrell—who joined her group of comrades thanks to Renly—explains. "Ser Balon led the forces in Gulltown, and Bronze Royce stood guard in the Eyrie. Aegon tried to repeat Queen Visenya's conquest, but… They had wildfire with them."
Ser Jaime, who is by her side, flinches. "How? I thought the pyromancers' guild had been extinct after the rebellion."
"Apparently, some moved to the Vale," the Knight of Flowers replies. "They don't get into detail in the letter. Point is, they had arrows and scorpions embedded with the substance, and the dragon caught fire. Many soldiers died when the dragon fired at the castle in retaliation, but eventually they—dragon and dragon rider—fell. Their broken bodies were found and burned in the morning."
Lord Stannis has another letter with him, from his brother. "Robert said they found out Lord Varys was working with the Targaryens. He was imprisoned by his wife and taken to questioning." He sighs. "As we once discussed in King's Landing, Ser Jaime, Aegon wasn't their only claimant, only the first in the 'succession' line. Now that he is dead, they'll rally for Viserys. If he dies, then it falls on Daenerys. To win, we must defeat—kill—all three of them."
The knight nods. "Well, at least one is gone. The other two have yet to appear, but if we took down Aegon, we can defeat Viserys and Daenerys."
They throw a feast to celebrate their first major victory two nights later. Ser Jaime walks through the entire hall, and she can't help but steal glances at him whenever he's within her sight. Two of his sworn brothers are in the castle, but he doesn't seem eager to spend time with Ser Meryn and Ser Arys. Instead, halfway through the feast, he joins her group, which seats near the main table thanks to Renly being one of them.
He talks to them all, asking Ser Loras to tell a bit about himself, and shares a few ideas for their next course of action. As per her instructions, given when she noticed his approach to their table, none of them ask about his hand.
Ten nights after the feast, she is once again helping him with the scorpions. He had practiced with it prior to his maiming, but all standard moves are made with both hands, so they have to adapt in order for him to use the weapon without help when the time comes. They are under the full moon, which enables for better sights.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this, wouldn't you agree, Lady Galladon?" He asks with a grin. He's taken to calling her Lady Galladon whenever they're alone recently; it all began when he was sleepy and fumbled over how to address her. When he mixed her real title with her fake name, she laughed, and he laughed along; ever since then, he's called her that on purpose.
Had it been another man, or had she been another woman, she'd dare think he's doing it because he enjoys making her laugh. However, that assessment borders on romantic, and she can't get her hopes up. Not even a pretty face would make Ser Jaime move on from Princess Elia; she cannot let herself think she could do it.
"You are, Ser," she replies sincerely. She didn't expect that either of them would figure out how to handle a scorpion with only one hand, but, after some days of trial and error, he is managing it better than many two-handed soldiers in the stormlands camp.
She is about to collect the huge arrow he fired a few moments ago when they hear a loud screech. And another. And another. "Dragon," Ser Jaime says, nearly a whisper. Then, louder, "Galladon, raise the alarm! I'll handle it here!"
"Are you sure—"
"I'm already on the scorpion, you can run faster, go!"
A new screech convinces her to obey him, and she runs to the nearest fire atop the castle walls. After the attacks on Tarth and Estermont, Stannis placed a system of fireworks to signal soldiers of a dragon's impending arrival, both to prepare those responsible for firing scorpions and to give a chance to the others to escape the dragon fire.
She grabs the firework tube and unseals it before throwing at the small fireplace. She covers her ears as the explosions begin. Another screech is heard over the fireworks.
And the fire begins.
From a distance, she can make out the port is the dragon's first target. Several boats and ships are on fire, as well as buildings—commercial and residential. Her heart squeezes at the thought of families burned to death in their sleep, and sailors who sleep inside the ship because they are not at home and can't afford even the cheapest inn.
How can the Targaryens promote themselves as the rightful rulers when this is what they do? No blood heritage justifies murder of innocents. It was based on this principle that Ser Jaime killed the Mad King, and it's this same principle that drives her to run to the next available scorpion.
She hears a shooting coming from the Kingslayer's direction, but there is no agonizing cry to indicate it hit its intended target. Faintly, she hears people shouting and running underneath her, but she focuses on finding the best position to shoot her own scorpion. When the dragon fires again—this time a bit closer to the castle—she adjusts the weapon's position and shoots.
After waiting a while, she concludes it didn't hit the dragon and prepares for a new shooting. As she grabs a new arrow, she hears another shooting from Ser Jaime's direction, shortly followed by a loud cry. And another.
Suddenly the dragon's silhouette is wavering as it comes closer. It fires to the sky, completely uncontrolled. She smiles and turns to run to Ser Jaime to celebrate, but, as she takes her first step, she feels the floor crumbling under her feet, a pressure on her side—then nothing.