Title: The Things We Do for Love

Author: PrettyPoppy

Summary: After surviving the collapse of the Red Keep, Jaime Lannister narrowly escapes King's Landing with his life. Months later, he returns to find that Brienne has become Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. When Tyrion appoints Jaime as Master of War, he and Brienne have no choice but to work together, even though Brienne is still heartbroken over Jaime's betrayal.

Author's Notes: This story is very much a work-in-progress, which means updates may be slow. I intend to stay as close to canon as possible while still salvaging Jaime's character. Even now, I refuse to believe that Jaime left Winterfell because he was in love with Cersei. After all, he didn't confess his love or try to kiss her while they stood there waiting to die.

Although Tyrion and Sansa will end up together in this fic, the entire thing will be told from Jaime and Brienne's POVs. So while there will be some Sanrion romance, it will all unfold in the background.

Prologue

Jaime Lannister hovered somewhere between wake and sleep, the sound of distant sobbing clouding his mind like a hazy fog. His vision was dark, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to open his eyes. Every nerve in his body screamed with pain, but he could do nothing to alleviate the agony. He was certain he was dead, stranded somewhere between two of the Seven Hells, though which two, he couldn't quite imagine. An eternity of suffering and pain lay before him, and he knew he had earned every moment of it.

The sobbing grew closer, though it still seemed so distant that Jaime was sure he was imagining it. The sound was joined by a rhythmic clack, clack, clack, like bricks hitting stone, but it barely registered. The last thing Jaime remembered was being crushed beneath the walls of the Red Keep, his arms wrapped around his sister as they'd both fallen beneath the rubble.

The sobs got louder, the clacking sound closer. And then, a great weight was suddenly lifted off Jaime's chest, and he gasped for breath, filling his lungs as quickly as he could, choking on the very air he was so desperate to breathe.

"Oh, gods! You're alive!"

The voice was faint, far away, but Jaime recognized it as he would recognize no other.

Tyrion. It was Tyrion.

Had Tyrion died too?

The acrid sting of tears pricked the backs of Jaime's eyes at the thought that his little brother had died right along with him and Cersei. Tyrion had always been the best of them. If anyone had deserved to live, it was Tyrion. Jaime wished there was something he could do to save his little brother, but he knew it was already too late. There was nothing either of them could do now.

Clackety, clackety, clack. The sound of bricks hitting stone grew faster, more frenzied, more urgent.

Jaime tried to draw in another breath, and thankfully, this time, he didn't choke on it.

"Stay calm." Tyrion's voice sounded closer this time. "I'm going to get you out of there. Stay with me, Jaime. Please."

Jaime had no intention of going anywhere. He would do anything to see his brother again, anything in the world.

Jaime focused all his strength on trying to open his eyes. It was a fierce struggle, one he was sure he was going to lose, but eventually, he managed to crack open one eyelid and then the other.

Everything was dark for a moment, and Jaime thought, perhaps, he hadn't opened his eyes at all. But slowly, his vision came into focus, and he saw color and light and movement. There was definitely someone with him. Someone hovering above him, frantically pulling at the stones that were weighing him down. There was a beard and a scar and a pair of unforgettably soulful eyes focused on tearing the bricks away.

"Ty . . . Tyrion." The word ripped from Jaime's throat, weak and hoarse.

Tyrion tore his eyes from his work and stared at Jaime's face. "Yes, it's me," he said in a mad rush, his breath shallow, his eyes wild with alarm. "I'm going to get you out of here. You're going to be all right."

"Cersei?" Jaime had to know. He had to know what had happened to her.

Tyrion just shook his head, and Jaime closed his eyes, a fresh wave of grief washing over him.

"Don't you dare die on me," Tyrion swore, his voice hard. "Cersei almost took you from me once. I'm not going to let her take you from me again."

Jaime forced his eyes open and looked up at his younger brother. Once Tyrion saw that Jaime's eyes were open, that he hadn't given up on getting out from beneath the rubble, he finally turned away and started working again.

One by one, he lifted the bricks from Jaime's body, tossing them aside as if they weighed nothing at all. All of a sudden, Tyrion had the strength of ten men, quickly plowing through the rubble and finally setting Jaime free.

The instant his work was done, Tyrion repositioned himself atop the pile of bricks and hunkered down close to Jaime so that he could help him sit up. It was difficult for Jaime to move. Every muscle in his body burned with pain, and he wasn't sure if he had the strength to do more than breathe.

But Tyrion slipped both his hands beneath Jaime's back and pushed him upright, helping him rise. Jaime swayed with the movement, closing his eyes against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn't until Tyrion demanded that he open his eyes again that Jaime even tried.

He forced his eyelids open and found himself sitting among the pile of rubble, Cersei's lifeless body lying beside him. For a moment, he couldn't see anything else around him except his sister's battered corpse.

Suddenly, everything came rushing back to him. All of it. Winterfell, the Great War, the Night King.

Brienne.

Jaime had come to King's Landing intent on killing his sister, intent on atoning for his sins, and yet, in their final moments together, he'd been unable to end Cersei's life. It wasn't because he was in love with her, or because he hadn't overcome his feelings for her, but because she was his sister, and in that way, he still loved her. As they'd stood there, waiting to be crushed by the crumbling walls of the Red Keep, Jaime had chosen to show her mercy instead of cruelty. Cersei was the cruel one, but Jaime had risen above such things long ago. He had done what he'd thought was right in those final moments, performing one last act of mercy as he'd prepared to forfeit his life.

"She's gone," Tyrion said as Jaime continued to stare at Cersei's body, her skin already a deadly shade of blue. "I'm sorry."

Jaime shook his head, the movement almost making the world go dark around him. He closed his eyes before turning his head in Tyrion's direction. Only then, did he open them again, afraid that even the slightest movement might make him collapse. "Don't be sorry," Jaime rasped, his throat so dry that it hurt to speak. "She brought this on herself. If it wasn't the Dragon Queen, it would have been me."

Tyrion's eyes narrowed on Jaime. "What do you mean? I thought you and Cersei were going to escape. You swore to me you were going to escape."

"And you swore that you were going to be loyal to your queen. We all tell lies when we have to, don't we?"

"You came here to kill her?"

"I had to. I thought it was the only way, that I was the only one who could get close enough to her to do it. Tell me, Tyrion, am I really alive?"

Tyrion's eyes drifted down the length of Jaime's body, stopping when they reached his injured flank. Jaime had completely forgotten about being stabbed by Euron Greyjoy. He'd been certain that the wound was going to kill him, but obviously, it hadn't been as bad as he'd first thought.

Tyrion inhaled a sharp breath as he examined Jaime's side. "From the look of that wound, I'd say, just barely."

"But I am alive?"

Tyrion nodded. "You are. But I don't know how long that will be true."

A flush of cold dread washed down Jaime's spine, and the blood rushed faster in his veins. A moment earlier, he'd thought himself dead and had feared nothing, but now that he knew he was alive, he was terrified of dying. "Is it that bad?"

Tyrion finally looked up at him again. "What? The wound?"

"Yes."

"No, I don't think so. The bleeding has stopped, and if it hasn't killed you already, I doubt it's going to kill you now. But you will need a good maester to sew you up before infection sets in. Though a good maester is going to be pretty hard to come by now."

"Why?"

"Why? Because Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains, has burned down all of King's Landing and nearly every last man, woman, and child within it."

"What?" Jaime was certain he'd misheard.

"The bells," Tyrion said, dragging his eyes away from Jaime's, seemingly lost in his own disturbing memories. "The bells, they rang for the city's surrender. They rang, and she attacked anyway. Killed innocents. Destroyed the city. Went mad . . . like her father."

Jaime just stared at Tyrion in silent disbelief. After everything Jaime had done to protect the people of King's Landing – killing the mad king, spending a lifetime being called Kingslayer – he couldn't believe it had come to this. "How?"

"I . . . I don't know. I thought she was better than that. I staked my life on it. And now, I'm going to lose my life, and so will you, if you don't escape King's Landing before her men find you."

Jaime shook his head, and a spike of pain pierced his skull, but he did his best to ignore it, determined to get through to Tyrion before it was too late. "I'm not leaving without you," Jaime said, struggling to force some strength into his voice.

Tyrion looked up at his brother again. "I can't leave. I am Daenerys' Hand, and I betrayed her. I knew what I was doing when I set you free, and I will live – or die," he said with a cynical laugh, "with the consequences."

"She will kill you."

"And don't I know it? But I have to do what's right. And you have to get the hell out of here before anyone finds you, before you succumb to your wounds."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

Tyrion was silent for a moment, as if he was struggling to answer. Finally, he said, "The boat . . . the boat I arranged for you and Cersei should still be there. The tunnel might be blocked, but we'll find another way to get you to it. Take the boat. Take it to Pentos. If you don't think you can get that far, take it up the coast. Take it anywhere you can without being found. You need to find a maester before it's too late. You need to get well so you can live your life, so there will be at least one Lannister left in the world when this nightmare is over."

Jaime tried to laugh, but his entire body ached with the effort. "What does it matter if there are any Lannisters left in this world? We're all worthless wretches. Maybe I should just lay down and die right here."

"Don't you fucking dare," Tyrion warned, his voice hard. "I want you to live. I need you to live. Do you understand me? Someone has to make it out of this alive, and you have a chance. Everyone thinks you're already dead. I'm sure of it. This is your chance. Get out now, Jaime. Please," Tyrion said, the word nearly a sob.

"All right, I'll go. But—"

"I can't come with you. Don't even ask."

"If I recover, where am I to even go?"

"Go back to Winterfell. Go back to the woman you love, while you still can."

Jaime just stared at Tyrion, unable to speak. He didn't know how to answer. Finally, he said the only thing he could say, "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because she hates me, and rightfully so."

"I wish I knew Ser Brienne well enough to know whether or not that's true, but I don't. All I can say is, if I was given a second chance to spend the rest of my life with the woman I love, I would take it in a heartbeat. Fuck duty, fuck honor. I would run to her as fast as my stunted legs could carry me, and I would never look back."

Jaime was stunned by Tyrion's words, not because he was surprised that Tyrion was encouraging him to return to Brienne, but because Tyrion sounded like he himself was very much in love, something Jaime had never expected. Was it Daenerys Targaryen, he wondered. Was she the woman who had stolen his brother's heart? Was that why Tyrion felt compelled to stay and suffer her wrath? Because he loved her?

"Who?" Jaime asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Who? I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

"Who is she? The woman you're in love with?"

Tyrion pulled his eyes away from his brother and hunkered down closer to Jaime's side, staring at his open wound. "You know, maybe if I could get something to clean this with, I could tend to it myself."

"Who is she, Tyrion? You've never been a coward. Just tell me."

Tyrion plopped down onto his backside, finally sitting among the rubble. He looked up at Jaime in defeat. "You'll think I'm an idiot."

"I already think you're an idiot. Who is she?"

Tyrion looked away again, but only for a moment. When his eyes met Jaime's once more, he said, "Sansa Stark."

A broad smile spread across Jaime's face. "I should have known."

"Well, can you blame me, really? She's smart, she's clever, she's beautiful."

"She used to be your wife."

"Yes, there is that. I wish she was still my wife. There was a time when I really thought I could make her happy. And then, that night in the crypts—"

Jaime raised a brow in question. "What happened that night in the crypts?"

"Oh, nothing untoward," Tyrion reassured him. "But when I told her that maybe we should have stayed married, she said it wouldn't have worked between us because of my divided loyalties. Not because I'm a dwarf. Not because I'm a Lannister. But because I am Daenerys' Hand. Well, I won't be Daenerys' Hand for much longer."

"No, you'll be dead soon. Tyrion—"

But Tyrion refused to listen to another word. "That's enough. We don't have time for this. We need to do one more thing before we get you out of here."

"And what is that?"

"Take off your hand."

Jaime's eyes narrowed on his brother. "What? Why?"

"Because when Daenerys' men find it, they'll think it's proof that you're dead, buried somewhere deep among the rubble. Give it to me now, and we can go."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I haven't got the strength to take it off."

Tyrion didn't say another word. He simply reached for Jaime's golden hand and began working the straps free. In a few, silent moments, the wretched thing was gone, and Tyrion quickly buried it amongst the rubble, its frozen fingers peeking out just above the surface.

Once he was done, Tyrion pushed himself to his feet, standing atop the mountain of bricks. "I'm sure that if I don't show myself soon, the Unsullied will come looking for me, and I don't want them to find me here with you. Go, Jaime, while you still can. Please, go and live."

"I hate saying goodbye to you, little brother. It's always the hardest thing in the world to do."

"I know. We've each cheated death once now, but I think this goodbye will be the last. I love you, Jaime. Whatever happens, try to have a happy life. Find love, forgive yourself. You're a good man. I believe it, and so does Brienne of Tarth."

Tyrion moved forward, wrapped his arms around Jaime's neck, and hugged him, being careful not to squeeze too hard. "I'm going to miss you," he mumbled against Jaime's shoulder.

"I'm going to miss you too. I love you, Tyrion."

"I love you too, Jaime."

Tyrion let him go then and offered Jaime his hand. "Come. You have to get out of here before anyone finds you."

"I think I can manage on my own."

"No, you can't. Now, let me help."

Jaime took Tyrion's hand, and together, they worked to get Jaime onto his knees. He wobbled a little, and it was difficult for him to climb over the rubble, but somehow, he made it to the ground and finally stood on his own two feet.

He leaned on Tyrion's shoulder as he turned to look back at Cersei, her body lying lifeless among the bricks. "Shouldn't we—?"

"No," Tyrion said, pulling Jaime away. "We shouldn't. There's no time."

Jaime took one last look at his sister, saying a silent goodbye, before finally turning away and following Tyrion, leaving the past behind.