JAIME IV
The war changed Jaime's opinion about the North, his life as Army Commander suited him.
No more tedious meetings with boring fat kings, brief councils with his brother - the real holder of power - long hours of work, stolen moments with Cersei and quick glances at his secret children.
All those responsibilities his father tried to force on him were a distant memory and the sensation of being owner of his own destiny – no more a soldier for the king, a missed heir for his father or a stud for Cersei – of being evaluated for the good things he did in battles, gave him a new impulse in his steps.
Like the new spring that was slowly bringing Winterfell town and the north toward a better future, with Sansa's decision to make a tour of the kingdom to visit her lords in their manors. Arya had to plan for her in advance, mapping her itinerary with Jaime as her escort.
They took leave early in the morning, on Arya's jeep and Tyrion stood to see the departure under the entrance porch with a smile that was more a smirk, while Sandor put their bags on the back seats; Nymeria had felt the imminent separation and after licking Arya's face had run away to the orchard.
"They set a trap for us." Arya muttered through clenched teeth, Jaime agreed with a brief nod.
Tyrion wished them a safe journey and remembered both to call for updates; he smiled, like a cat who ate the proverbial canary.
When the engine started, Jaime looked at his brother for a last glance, then turned to Arya.
"He hopes for updates of a certain kind. The one I'd never want to share details with him."
She murmured what seemed a forced approval of his words.
"Does he hope we do the deal on the road? That I came back already pregnant?"
"I don't care about his wishes, let's leave, we've been scrutinized enough. While I was away with Bronn the change felt good, trust me. Besides, you got a good chance to ride your jeep." He lifted his fake hand, no way to help her do the driving; he read in a magazine about a new automatic gearbox, a prototype, without it he'd never drive again.
Arya loved her car a lot, she had found the abandoned jeep rusty and with flat tyres in an old warehouse under a pile of rugs and logs years before and spent a lot of money to put it on the road again. Never she guessed why or how it ended up there, only that no one claimed it so it was all hers.
The jeep was cold, the flaps were worn out and with small holes near one of the straps tying them on the passenger side and Jaime felt the chilled rush of air whenever Arya turned on the road leading up to the hills.
Traces of melted snow, the beginning of a long thaw.
Sheep and cow herds were leaving the farms to reach the high pastures, tractors – made of new shining metal with roaring engines, no more horse trained - were plowing the fields, a big change since animals were the only power source to saw the soil.
The hills North exposed were bare with trees but full of blooming heather, a carpet of nuances from white to purple.
Arya was concentrated on the wheel, Jaime admired the landscape from the plastic window full of scratches; it was breathtaking, but he could not care less.
The silence between Jaime and Arya was heavy, she let out half words, half grunts, he imagined she was cursing her sister and all the crazy situation they were into.
He kept the map ion his knees, Tyrion prepared the itinerary on a block notes Jaime had in his pocket.
Jame offered his help when Arya stopped at a crossroad, the pole with road signs was so twisted it was hard to decide if going straight or turn left; she was determined to find alone the right way and Jaime remained silent when after a few miles they ended up in a farm and had to turn back.
They stopped at a inn for the first night and Arya ate keeping her eyes low, not acknowledging Jaime's presence and his attempts at conversation, then she retired in her room. Jaime observed the people at the pub annexed to the inn, he felt lost in the middle of northern customers and only the innkeeper and the vicar took enough pity of him to start a conversation with a pint of dark stout, that Jaime politely accepted and drank half only; the men clearly wanted to talk, Jaime had been recognised, not many the occasions to host a national war hero and the Princess.
When the vicar left, Jaime warmed his hand in front of the huge fire and took a book about the local fauna with a worn out cover from one of the shelves, before reaching his room on the first floor, beside Arya's.
The book suited him, full of drawings and pictures – his dyslexia always a burden at school - but soon it was heavy in his hands and he closed his eyes, the bed was double, the mattress soft, the room warm.
The pit, not a dark crypt.
People shouting and cheering, not the silence of the dead burned for centuries under the vaults.
The big beast, on its back legs, mouth open, teeth bared, near the mad king and his gunsmith holding carefully the bomb.
A wooden sword, not the ancient spear he took from the wall to pierce the torso of both men in a single, powerful, desperate throw.
No defence for himself, he was bare, without the old rusted shield he used to defuse the bomb. He touched the wires, time was running fast. He could save them, all of them., the children on the streets, the families sat around the table, the people inside the hospital…
He was close, so close, just a wire still connected to the timer then…
The huge bear clawed at his hand, tearing it from his body while the bomb exploded…
Jaime awoke with a huge scream, drenched in his sweet, shaking until the door opened and Arya was beside his bed, hair messed up, wearing a blue flannel pyjamas and fuzzy slippers.
"Are you well?" She asked, showing concern and forcing Jaime to lean back onto the pillows. He could offer a nod only, his heart was thumping and he grabbed the stump, covered by the sleeve.
"Want to talk about it?"
"It's not necessary. It will pass."
Arya was not convinced, but she wasn't going to put up a fight in the middle of the night with a very stubborn man.
"You were waking up the whole inn with your cries. The owner was outside and I told him it's a recurrent war nightmare you have."
Jaime nodded, unable to speak.
Arya took the armchair from under the desk and sat near jaime, grabbing from the bed a blanket to wrap it over her legs.
"I'll stay there until you sleep again."
"And if I can't?"
Arya took a pillow from his bed and put it behind her neck.
"I don't care if I wake up with a stiff back tomorrow morning."
BRIENNE II
Brienne and Tyrion's impressive height difference did not prevent them from being close, a friendship that helped Tyrion to navigate every attempt by his mother-in-law to destroy his Marriage.
Catelyn Stark's trust in dr. Tarth was complete: the two women spent long hours discussing about Sansa' past experience with men, how her first husband abused her and the presumed family friend, whose name Catelyn refused to ever speak again, basically sold him Sansa's maidenhead for money. Brienne supported Tyrion's good heart, until she convinced Catelyn of a truce.
Brienne offered support and camaraderie, never a professional help; she declared it was unethical between friends and proposed Tyrion in case of need doctor Luwyin, who taught her at university; the younger Lannister felt time spent with the tall doctor refreshing and stimulating.
"Salsa is determined this time."
"She has got her reasons, Tyrion."
"But she is messing up all our lives. four of us. I am nervous and worried."
Brienne smiled, her friend was so in love with Sansa, caring and attentive, that she sometimes envied in the Queen.
"You are all grown up people. you can rely on Sansa's judgement."
"And if she doesn't love me anymore? We are not sharing intimacy since her last miscarriage."
Brienne was sad, Tyrion's distress was written on his face, his features were contorted.
She wanted to comfort and reassure him, but matters of the heart were complicated.
Her science couldn't reach every aspect of people's life, sometimes a hug and a declaration of love was more helpful than a therapy session. She understood his frailty, who else would love me, was Tyrion's constant fear. The same Brienne had experimented after her betrothed Renly – an engagement that lasted a few weeks only when she was nineteen - died during a pre war riot that escalated to a bomb exploding in a crowded market.
Since his death she refused any commitment and concentrated on her studies only.
"I think Sansa needs time, Tyrion, more than you can imagine. Its hard for you but you simply have to accept it for now."
ARYA V
"I am sorry. It wasn't my intention to disturb everyone at the inn."
"Forget it. Do you dream often?"
"Too often. A variation of the same dream."
"Would you like to tell me about it?"
Jamie's face showed surprise, the first time ever someone asked about his difficult nights, or the first time he was close to another human being beside Cersei.
They were driving late in the afternoon, the sun was setting under the moors in one of the most secluded valleys of the North, belonging to a House betrayed by the Frey clan during the mourning of the last Lord's wife, with the silent approval of Jamie's father and the deep shame of Jaime himself.
The ruined and half burned castle stood on a small lake at their left and Jamie asked Arya to stop along the panoramic route, he wanted to talk.
The situation was confused for both, it was difficult to find two people so negative regarding marriage and so positive regarding duty and honour.
If they were in the Middle Age, alternative to a forced union would be a convent for her and a war in a foreign land for him, but in modern times both were too aware of the implications of their wedding; going away was not an option, escape a defeat.
Jaime has faced the mad king alone and Ned Stark, the first to enter the throne room, forcing the door open, had never asked Jamie's version of the facts.
Arya thanked Jaime for his honesty after he concluded his tale.
"I've hoped for a very long time that your father changed his opinion about me. And now it is too late. What would he think of us now."
"Sansa and Brandon trust you."
"I wish things were for different for you. I respect you too much to see you as an incubator for the heir only.
"I'm not a mare!"
"And I'm not a stud."
"They've cornered us."
"Clever move by them."
"So now?" She briefly stared at him, before turning her focus again on the landscape.
Jaime's impulse was to hug protectively Arya and tell her she'd be free to do whatever she please, but their situation had already chained them and he knew their duties.
"It's time to take a decision. If you are interested in someone you consider worth of you, I'll congratulate with him. On the contrary, if you aren't, I'll be honoured to be the father of your child. Rest assured, I'll never put pressure on you, not disrespect you ever." The decision was Arya and only hers.
Arya turned to the window, then by impulse left the car and walked fast to the shore to sat on a flat stone. Jaime switched off the engine, tucked up his coat and took Arya's from the back seats, the weather was humid and cold.
Looking at Arya's back, he had the desire to read her thoughts, to know how her brain was working and if she needed time, the only thing they lacked.