Ned Stark, along with six other men who decided to go after Jaime following his sudden departure from camp, decide Brienne should be held in her room in the White Sword Tower. Jaime has other ideas.
"I still have my sister to find," he argues, "and, as far as we know, she is being held by two Kingsguard. If Ser Brienne comes with me, I have more chances to persuade them to bring her home."
In truth, he doesn't want these men to ask Brienne about what happened in the throne room. She is a terrible liar, and he fears she might try to 'save' his reputation by revealing she killed Aerys—nevermind nobody has condemned him for that so far.
(Actually, he doubts they will; Jaime is not Kingsguard this time. He broke no oaths—which is another reason to take credit/blame for the Mad King's death.)
"You two fought," Ned Stark points out.
"She was fulfilling her duty to her king," he replies. "What did you expect, for her to help me?"
"She was forced to take her vows." Oh, he had forgotten how pigheaded this man was.
"So would I have been, you know," he says quietly. "And yet, I doubt the realm would take oathbreaking lightly."
Stark, at least, has the decency to look down. "I suppose not," he concedes.
Jaime sighs. "I just need to get a clue on where she is."
"Dorne," a female voice announces. He turns to find Rhaella, bruised but elegant. "My son took her to the Tower of Joy in Dorne. Elia can show you a map and tell you how to get there, if you want."
He blinks; the Queen wasn't in the Red Keep when he was Kingsguard, so it's strange to find her here and now. Perhaps Aerys had no time to send her away. "I—thank you, Your Grace. You're kind to help me, after—"
"My son and my husband were wrong," she cuts him off. "I'm glad someone finally had the will and the means to end this hell, even if I mourn the good men I once knew." She looks at all of the men. "I do hope a Great Council is held after this." Then she leaves, and Jaime sees no other option but to follow.
Princess Elia also has no insults to give him when she shows him and Stark how to get to the Tower of Joy. "It was supposed to be a hiding place for me and my children in case he gathered support to overthrow Aerys," she explains, half-bitterly, but says nothing else. She doesn't really need to.
He corners Brienne to ask her to come with him. "It's the best option for you too," he explains. "These men will judge you either for aiding Aerys or for not aiding him enough."
She regards him with a neutral face, but her wide eyes tell him all he needs to know about her current state of mind. "Will I be dismissed from the Kingsguard?"
"Your father wanted you back home," he says, half-choking. She blinks, and suddenly her beautiful eyes glimmer with unshed tears; she already knows about his death. "And your home needs you. But I'll make sure you get an honorable release, not an unceremonious dismissal that will make people question whether you deserved your knighting or not. Just—please, come with me to Dorne."
She is obviously not eager at all to travel alongside him, but she agrees. Selfishly, he feels a bit of warmth at the prospect of spending some time with her before they depart for good.
Ned Stark asks to go along as well, claiming that his wife is heir to Starfall and awaits him there. "Father and Brandon will receive the invitation to the Great Council anytime now, and they are stationed in the Neck. It won't take long for them to come; there is no need for me to stay and represent them."
They leave the following morning—him, Brienne, Ned and three of the six men who caught him with Brienne's bloodied sword. As his companions look wary of being near the Kingsguard lady knight, Jaime is the one who rides by her side. She doesn't engage in conversation, though, and neither does he—most of what they could say cannot be said near the other men anyway.
One night, though, they are the last to remain by the fire, so Jaime sits next to her and gives her a half-burned piece of bread. "I know I'm not your first choice for conversation," he begins, "but you can talk to me about what you lived through."
She looks at him with her big blue eyes that take his breath away, then glances back at the fire. "Everything you told me about the war… it all happened in one way or another. Even so, I wasn't prepared for it." She shakes her head. "I don't think any amount of stories would prepare anyone for it."
"It wouldn't," he agrees, glad she's at least talking. "I'm… I'm sorry for your father."
"They said he died protecting you."
"A poor way to die, I know," he says quietly. "If there is anything I can do—"
"Nothing will bring him back", she cuts him, though not unkindly, "and you owe me nothing. He chose to join the war, and he chose to defend you, just as you chose to defend Ned Stark, from what I've heard."
He takes a deep breath. "You heard it right."
She takes his chin in her hand, and his heart races at her touch. "Dying protecting another is not a poor death at all. If my father chose to defend you, it's because he saw what I've seen."
With that, she lets go of his chin and hurriedly leaves. He wants to chase her and ask what she meant, but instead he goes to his own tent and falls asleep.
The Tower of Joy is a lone tower in the middle of the desert. It doesn't look joyful at all, to be honest, and he wonders why in the world Rhaegar gave such a name to the place.
They find Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell by the stairs, with swords already drawn. "I'm not here to fight, Sers," he says immediately. "I just came for my sister."
"Our prince asked us to protect her here," Ser Oswell retorts, taking a step in his direction.
"Protect her?" A man—a young lord from the Vale, although Jaime can't recall his name at this very moment—snarls. "Or keep her prisoner?"
Brienne chooses this moment to step in. "Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell," she begins, "we never got to know each other, but I ask you to trust me. None of these men want to fight you. Lord Jaime just wants to see his sister."
"Prince Rhaegar is dead," he adds, "and so is King Aerys. Queen Rhaella was the first to call for a Great Council, so right now you have no monarch to answer to. Please," he looks at Ser Arthur with pleading eyes, "let me see Cersei."
The Sword of the Morning lowers his weapons and looks at his sworn brother. They seem to reach a silent understanding, for he turns back to Jaime and says, "Alright. But you must take Ser Brienne with you upstairs."
He nods and glances at her, who also nods, and the two knights let them through.
There is only one door at the top of the stairs, and Jaime motions to open it. "I'll stay by the door," Brienne says quietly, "and I won't look if you don't want me to."
He briefly turns to her. "I trust you," he says simply, and opens the door.
The first thing he notices is that, unlike Lyanna Stark, his sister is not dead.
The second thing he notices—which maybe should have been the first—is that she is breastfeeding.
"What," she deadpans, "you never saw a woman feeding her child before?"
Of course these are her first words to him.
He lets out a shaky breath. "Out of all scenarios I pictured, you with a child wasn't one of them," he admits, sitting on her bed, next to her. "Although I should have, in hindsight. You did run away with him willingly, didn't you."
She nods, but her tough expression falls. "But I didn't want to stay after I found out about… the repercussions. Our father's death, the entire realm at war… Although I'm flattered you went to war for me, that's not how I wanted my time as the prince's wife to begin."
He wants to roll his eyes and ask what else she expected from her actions, but she doesn't seem to be done. And indeed she isn't. "Rhaegar insisted I remained though, after I found out to be pregnant. Claimed it'd be too dangerous. I wanted to please him so I obeyed." She grimaces. "And I've hated it ever since."
"Then come back home, Cersei," he offers, as gently as he can but she cuts him off.
"And be known as the Dragon's Whore, or whatever other vile moniker they come up with? No." She stands up, taking her baby—a boy—out of her breast without bothering to cover it up. He can't even recall the last time the sight of it aroused him; it's too big, and not freckled enough. "I'm glad you came to me, Jaime, but I'm not staying in a realm that is bound to scorn me for making my own choices."
"Choices that led to a war," he reminds her.
"Regardless," she says dismissively, "this is no place for me and my Joffrey. He is no heir to anything; either his brother or his uncle will take the throne, and I doubt I'll be welcome in court, or in Dragonstone." She finally covers her breast. "I'd ask you one more favor: take me to the nearest port, brother, and give me enough money for a voyage to Pentos."
Her request—demand, for Cersei always demands—should not startle him after her speech, but it does. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes, and I want you to tell everyone I died giving birth to Rhaegar's son. You'll say you found both of our recently dead bodies and had us burned to honor Targaryen customs."
"I'm not alone here, you know," he says, pointing at Brienne with his chin.
Cersei glances at her and shrugs. "I'm sure you can convince them to lie. You seem to have convinced over half of the realm to fight your war anyway."
Your war, he wants to spat. I fought this damn war for you, you ungrateful whore. But he keeps quiet and just nods.
As his twin predicted, it isn't hard to convince the small party down the tower to tell everyone his sister died; they are all aware of the scorn she will face if she stays alive and in Westeros. In fact, he can already see said scorn in some of the men's faces, which is why he decides to part ways with her right there and send her with Ned Stark, who holds his judgement well and promises to keep her identity hidden and find a ship in Starfall.
Cersei doesn't look pleased, but relents after he gives her some coins. "Write to me when you arrive safely," he asks. "I can send money to you."
She shakes her head. "Not if I want my disguise kept, no. It's better if we don't get in touch. It seems you had the right of it in Harrenhal."
It's the first time ever she agrees with him on anything, so he's stunned when she turns around to follow Stark.
The journey back to King's Landing is as silent as the first time, except for one night when he and Brienne are, again, left alone. "I'm sorry you had to say goodbye to your sister," she says quietly, sounding like she means it.
"Don't be," he replies as kindly as possible. "I'm not. I'm relieved, to be honest, and my only concern is to not be able to fake grief."
She arches her eyebrows. "Why? I thought you—"
"She's far away from that damn throne," he cuts her off, not at all wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. "Unable to harm herself or anyone else for power. We parted in better terms than I ever thought possible, and I don't need to feel guilt over it because, she didn't really die, unlike Lyanna—"
It suddenly dawns on him: Rhaegar must have taken Lyanna to that same cursed tower in his first life, assuming they eloped as he and Cersei did—which is likely the case, all things considered. Knowing this life's Lyanna, she must ot have taken her father and brother's death well, and the prince must have persuaded her to stay under the same safety argument. She must have gotten pregnant, and she must have died, and—
"Jaime?" Brienne's voice calls.
He turns his whole body to her. "Brienne," he whispers. "Jon Snow must have been the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna."
She throws head back slightly. "What? Where did this even come from?"
"Listen," he replies. "Jon Snow rode a dragon. Since when a non-Targaryen rides a dragon? Someone who, supposedly, does not have Valyrian blood at all? Gendry should have been the one riding it. Hells, even you would be a better candidate, and yet it was Jon Snow."
He remembers, from one of their many talks post-lovemaking, that Brienne is descendant of Ser Duncan the Tall and Princess Daella Targaryen, all through an overcomplicated plot involving secret weddings and using Tarth as a hiding place for… something, he can't remember now. He was too distracted falling even deeper for her after finding out her ancestor is Duncan the Tall, the knight he admired the most after Arthur Dayne—and lover of Rohanne Webber, his own ancestor. His romantic little heart busted at the thought they were the happy ending of their forbidden love story.
Well, until he destroyed it all by leaving her.
Brienne's voice once again takes him out of his reverie. "So?"
"Look at what we found here," he goes on. "Cersei got pregnant while hidden away. Who's to say Lyanna didn't in our time? Who's to say that, unlike my sister, she did not survive, and Ned Stark disguised her son as his own?" He scratches his chin. "You didn't know him, but I did. Passing off his nephew as his bastard son to protect him from Robert makes way more sense than him actually fathering a bastard."
"But why would he lie? The two of them were close friends, were they not?"
Oh, yes, she never knew Robert Baratheon either. "The closest," he concedes, "but Robert hated Rhaegar for supposedly kidnapping his betrothed. He was pleased when he saw Aegon and Rhaenys dead, and he chased Viserys and Daenerys until his last day. He'd never allow Rhaegar's son to live, even if his mother was Lyanna. Especially if his mother was Lyanna."
Her eyes go wide, and they look even blue under the moonlight. "Oh," she lets out. "It… makes sense."
"Of course, perhaps Lyanna also faked her death, but decided letting Jon with her brother was better. But I doubt it, and we'll never find out anyway."
In Winterfell, such words would have drawn a quiet laugh from her mouth. Now, though, he's rewarded with a noncommittal hum. He sighs and bids her good night, going to his tent. There, he lets tears fall; he cries for Brienne, for Cersei, for his father, for his own future and his doomed broken heart.