Jaime had begun spending more and more time by himself. In the beginning, after Winterfell, when he had returned to Kings Landing he had told himself that leaving had been the right thing to do. He forced himself to believe that. He had closed his heart and fought his brain to accept that it was better for all of them. His newfound sense of honor, understood that he had an obligation to Cersei. In his mind, dignity and honor now meant taking responsibility for the babe they created, and the new family they would build. Of course, that had been the consequences of his actions before he had realized how deeply he loved Brienne. It had only been a few months since the night of the most painful choice in his life, but it still burned him like it was yesterday.
It was that memory of his time with Brienne, and the knowledge of badly he had hurt her, that pained him the most. The unbarble ache in his heart overwhelmed him whenever she would cross his mind, which was nearly constant now. The image of her distraught face as she stood in the freezing courtyard at Winterfell and begged him not to go, haunted him. He saw her in his dreams. He saw her when he woke. They were parted, yet she was always with him. In the months that followed Jaime realized that what he had with Cersei was not love. Their bond was one created by biology before they were born, but then forged in life through obsession and mutual treachery. His sister had made it easy for him to succumb to the more baser aspects of his nature, and perhaps that's really all he was now. He had ruined every chance he had ever been given, and usually it had been for Cersei. No, it was better that he were out of Brienne's life, before he poisoned her with his evil.
It was the only peace he could find, knowing that his leaving had protected Brienne. He had tried to hurt her, wanted Brienne to hate him. It was the only way he could ensure her safety. He knew that if he had declared the truth, his undying love for her, that she would follow him. His heart stopped to think of what would have happened to her if she had. Cersei would have had Brienne slaughtered, and she would have made him watch. No. It was the last thing he could do for Brienne. He gave himself up to keep her safe. On those nights that sleep would not comfort him, and there were many, he would crawl from Cersei's bed and watch the bright stars in the sky. He tried to comfort himself, thinking that Brienne was at least under those same stars, but his mind would think of how they paled in comparison to her eyes and his heart would break all over.
Many time he wished that he had given into himself and turned around any of the hundreds of times he had wanted to on his way back to Kings Landing. On his journey, he had laid sleepless night after night on the cold ground, digging his nails into his hands forcing himself not to jump on his horse, spur the animal back to Winterfell, and grovel at Brienne's feet to take him back. Now Jaime wished that he could lay prostrate before her for eternity trying to win her back. He would sacrifice his left hand, if only he could have back the night he left. But he understood that was impossible. As long as Cersei was alive, and he was not by her side, Brienne would never safe. He had made his choice, and now he would have to live with it.
Sometimes he wished the outcome had been different. Upon his return to the city, he had easily killed Euron Greyjoy, found Cersei and managed to hide her out of harms reach, and then somehow lead the Lannister forces to victory over Daenarys Targaryen and her dragons. The Stark army retreated back to the north, and he stood by Cersei's side as she was restored to the throne. Even then, the pride on his face was a facade. All he could think of was Brienne, and how relieved he was that she had not been party to the fighting, and that she was safe at Winterfell.
Jaime then took his place, dutifully, at Cersei's side as she sat upon the Iron Throne. He told her whatever lie she needed to believe to keep Brienne safe, and resigned himself to the fact that the protection afforded by his absence would have to be the greatest act of love he could show to the woman he had left. Then after having been back in Kings Landing perhaps a month, came the day he realized even that it was not enough.
He stood on the podium in the throne room guarding Cersei, listening to her conduct the business of the realm in her usual threatening manner. All the while his mind was a thousand miles away reliving every moment he had ever spent with Brienne. It was becoming more difficult to hide his preoccupation from Cersei. It was also harder to veil his contempt. Suddenly, her words shook him from his melancholy.
"What news have you of the North." Cersei questioned the dark clad figure standing before her, who was obviously a spy. Jaime startled at the mention of the place he had last seen Brienne. His attention riveted upon the conversation and any news the man have to report.
"It appears that Sandor Clegane did not perish in the flames of dragon fire with his brother." The spy relayed. "Apparently he was injured, but made it back to Winterfell." A sly smirk crossed his filthy lined face. "He and Queen Sansa Stark have wed."
Cersei's expression darkened. "Really?" She chuckled morosely. Any news of Sansa Stark's happiness was most definitely unwelcome.
"Well then." She changed the subject. "Is that all?" Her tone seemed a little too knowing. She waited in anticipation.
"There is one more thing." The man announced, taking a long breath.
Cersei sat on the edge of her seat. "Yes." She prodded, eagerly. She turned slightly toward Jaime, as if waiting for his reaction.
"Ser Brienne of Tarth has gone missing." The man reported.
Jaime heart leaped into his throat. He started to step forward, but realized how the action would be viewed by Cersei. He steadied himself on legs that could barely stand. He grabbed the hilt of his sword as if it could bare his weight.
"Oh Dear." Cersei voiced with exaggerated concern. "That's your ...friend, isn't it Jaime?" Her tone came close to mockery.
Cersei returned her questions to the mercenary. "Please tell us how this came about." She inquired, a bit too concerned, Jaime thought.
"Ser Brienne left Winterfell one routine patrol. A fortnight ago it was." The informant continued. "Her horse returned. She did not." He recounted. "The countryside was scoured. There was no sign of her. The Queen in the North..." Cersei bristled at the use of the title, the man cleared his throat and lowered his eyes. "The Starks are beside themselves, and continue to search."
"From what I have heard, Ser Brienne was, is quite a skilled woman." Cersei corrected herself and feigned concern. Jaime's grew sick not only at her false praise of Brienne, but also from his own fear for her. "I do hope nothing dreadful has happened to her." Cersei finished, her voice lingering on the more dire parts of her sentence as she turned to fully regard Jaime's reaction.
Jaime could feel Cersei's eyes burning holes into him, as he forced himself to breathe. His jaw was steel, his fists were knots. All he wanted was to run from the throne room, jump on a horse, and race to the North to find Brienne. He did not dare. He could not allow Cersei any indication that his heart was a terrified slab in his chest. The only way he knew it was still beating was the sound of it pounding in his ears. He was not aware that he was as pale as a ghost.
His mind churned with fear and questions. What had happened? Where was she? Was she laying injured or dead in a a ravine somewhere? How could she have been missing so long with no trace? He wanted to scream. Jaime bit his tongue in order not to yell a tirade to the heavens. Oh Gods! Where was she?
As the weeks went by, when he stared at the sky in the dark of night, Jaime now prayed to the Seven to find her. To keep her safe. To watch over her, and to somehow reunite him with her. He tried to sneak a message to Tyrion, who had taken refuge at Casterly Rock after Daenarys Targaryen's defeat. Many of the Lannister bannermen in the West were highly loyal to him, and even Cersei knew she dare not challenge his lordship of their ancestral home. Jaime had written his note begging Tyrion for word of Brienne a number of times, but Cersei never allowed him to leave her side, so he could find no way to send it. Jaime became a walking ghost, overwhelmed with secret grief over Brienne.
Jaime also notice another curious suspicion as the weeks passed. He noticed that Cersei's belly was not growing round with his child. Her figure was still as flat and lean as it had been the day he returned to her. When he confronted her about the oddity, she cried hysterically and told him that she had miscarried and had not wanted to tell him, because she felt the disappointment would devastate him. It was Jaime himself who reminded her that he had not left her side in weeks, and could not understand how such an event could passed in such mundaneness. Growing more and more suspicious, Jaime pressed the issue. That was when Cersei admitted that she had been so afraid that he would not return to her, that she had lied about her pregnancy. There had never been a child.
It had all been a lie. Jaime had left Brienne because he thought it was his duty to honor the child he had created, and it had never existed. He knew his sister was capable of horrible things, but this? This could never be forgiven. Something in him snapped upon learning the truth. Some tiny thread of connection was cut, and he saw her for what she truly was, a monster. He raged, screamed venom at her for a day and night. He cursed her name to the Gods until no sound would come, and he could taste the blood from his raw throat rising into his mouth. By the time he was through berating her, even her tears flowed like rain. He could barely stand and practically crawled his way to the door.
"Where are you going?" Cersei begged over her sobbing.
"Anywhere I don't have to look at you." Jaime spewed in return.
"But you have nowhere else to go." She cried haughtily. "No one will take you in." She reminded him. "Your friends in the North certainly will not accept you after you allied yourself with me." She declared. "I am all you've got."
Jaime glared at her. He knew she spoke the truth. Queen Sansa would not trust him after he had left to return to Cersei. Even if he did, and even if he found Brienne alive and well there, she surely would not want him, not now after what he had done to her. If she were not there, then what was the point? He knew Cersei was right, there was truly no place for him but here. He was a walking dead man without Brienne anyway, so what would it matter? He breathed a defeated sigh as he turned and slammed the door behind him. Jaime reluctantly stayed. He did his duty in guarding his sister, but he never shared Cersei's chamber again.
The animosity grew between Jaime and Cersei as the long months passed. He barely spoke to her, and her anger seethed poisonously in his direction. He was as a prisoner. Constantly, he watched for an opening to escape. To free himself from Cersei's grasp and leave to find Brienne. He was never left alone. Her henchmen followed him day and night. Finally, he began to wish she would kill him and put him out of his hopeless misery. So the endless days passed for Jaime.
Several months later he stood beside Cersei's Iron Throne, wishing one of endless stream of courtiers and bannermen brought before her would make an attempt on her life. He would not stop them. Growing contemptuous and weary of the proceedings, he began to take his leave. Taking a few steps away from her. Cersei stopped him, looking surprised and hurt.
"Oh Jaime, dear." She protested. "You cannot leave now." Her psuedo-sweetness made him want to vomit. "You will miss your surprise." She cooed.
"What?" Jaime grunted, looking at her sideways, wondering what torture she had in store for him now.
Cersei motioned to a parade of guards who quickly marched out of the throne room to retrieve the object of which Cersei spoke. Jaime rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently. He was in no mood to be toyed with. She waited excitedly, perched on the edge of her throne, drumming her fingers on the iron arm.
After an interminable wait, the door at the opposite end of the room burst open. The first wave of guards rushed in and took their place along the sides of the wide main aisle. Another throng of armored escorts entered the room. In their midst was a prisoner, filthy from the dungeon, barefoot and dressed in dirty rags. The prisoner was tall with blonde hair falling in mats just above the shoulder. The captive writhed and screamed trying to get away. The procession had only traveled a few feet when Jaime's heart stopped, and the color drained from his face with realization.
The hostage in their grips was Brienne, and she was very heavily rounded with child.