I know a lot of you are probably not going to want to carry on reading this now we've got to certain Events (which I completely understand haha), but just so you know I'll still be including happy flashbacks during the angsty chapters and I'll be doing an alternative (much happier) ending once I've finished the show-canon story!
The chapters following the events of Episode 4 will really be an epilogue to tie up Brienne's story, just so we can get closure on their relationship and what happens next for Brienne etc, along with flashbacks of some of my favourite scenes/missing moments that I've saved until last. So if you want, you can always skip through these angsty chapters and just read the flashbacks if you like until I've written and posted the alternative ending 😊
Thanks for those of you who are bearing through the angst with me and carrying on reading it, it really means so much!
Based on events during Episode 4 of GoT Season 8
(Also includes flashback from Episode 5 of GoT Season 3)
A few days later found the courtyard particularly busier than usual, filled with people diligently carrying on with the clear-up of the remains and rubble left over from the battle last month. Jaime stepped outside, keen to find Brienne and for them to start the morning's work together, but slowly came to a halt as he caught sight of Lady Sansa and Brienne stood over in the far corner of the yard, conversing with anxious expressions on their faces. Sansa had a scroll in her hands.
Jaime's heart sank.
He watched as the two women exchanged an uneasy glance and walked away under an archway with the scroll, to continue their conversation in private. Jaime swallowed nervously.
I shouldn't follow. It's best if I don't know. I don't want to know.
But it was no use.
He crossed the courtyard and walked through the archway; he found them both stood in an empty clearing, far away from the rest of the workers. Sansa was finishing reading aloud the contents of the scroll to Brienne.
'-as are the rest of her advisors,' Sansa was saying, frowning worriedly down at the parchment, but then she broke off as she heard Jaime approach.
She looked up at him, only there was a strange coldness in her eyes that Jaime wasn't used to seeing. It disheartened him; he'd thought that he and Lady Sansa had bonded somewhat, particularly over the last couple of weeks. There was only one reason why that bond would be instantly shattered – Cersei.
Brienne followed Sansa's gaze and looked up to see Jaime. Her face fell slightly. She'd hoped to put this off. She'd hoped the events down in the south would be kept away from them, just so they could continue to try and forget, just for a little longer. But she knew from Jaime's expression that he already knew that the raven wouldn't have come here with news unrelated to the sister he had abandoned.
'What happened?' Jaime asked tentatively, stepping towards them.
Brienne looked at Sansa uneasily; she couldn't reveal the contents of the scroll without her permission. Sansa glanced uncomfortably at Jaime and then to the ground. There was no point in keeping it from him, not when she knew Brienne would most likely be unable to keep it secret when the two of them shared a bedchamber and were practically living together as a betrothed couple. She gave Brienne a reluctant nod.
Trying to remain calm and professional, Brienne turned to Jaime and spoke to him formally, as if to merely a fellow knight; it was the only way. 'Euron Greyjoy ambushed Queen Daenerys and her fleet,' she revealed, watching Jaime's face carefully as he felt his insides drop to the pit of his stomach. 'One of the dragons was killed, several ships destroyed, Missandei captured.'
Jaime tried to keep his expression under control, but Brienne saw the way he glanced to Sansa in disbelief, the horrified rise of his eyebrows, the desperate 'no' screaming out from his eyes as his thoughts turned fearfully to Tyrion's safety. He didn't want this. He didn't want any of this. It was terrible, what he was hearing, and they all knew who was behind it. And yet none of them could speak her name. It felt like a fist was tightening around Brienne's throat as she watched him struggle to maintain his composure.
Jaime's eyes fell once more to meet Sansa's. He thought he saw disdain in her gaze, similar to the way Daenerys Targaryen had looked at him during his trial on his first day here. Perhaps she'd changed her mind about him. Perhaps she wished she'd kept him as a prisoner rather than a guest after all. It certainly seemed that way, from the frosty expression on her face. Finally, she spoke.
'I always wanted to be there when they execute your sister,' Sansa said coldly, and there was a strange cruelty to the smug look on her face as she stared at him. 'Seems like I won't get the chance.'
Jaime felt the light inside him break as Sansa snapped at him, and in that moment he saw the loathing she still had for him…even after the battle, their conversations about Brienne, their time over the past month spent drinking and laughing and playing games with each other in a group…she still didn't trust him. He realised then that, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be truly free of the Lannister name.
Before he had chance to think of anything to say, Sansa had already turned her back on Jaime and walked away, with the briefest of disapproving glances in Brienne's direction. Brienne felt a lump rise in her throat as she watched her depart, knowing that she ought to follow…but she found herself unable to move. She turned back to face Jaime and saw the slight quiver of his bottom lip, the light fading from his eyes, the lowering of his gaze as he felt Brienne's eyes on him.
Brienne exhaled deeply; she dearly wished Sansa hadn't said those spiteful words to him, but then again, they all knew them to be true – after Cersei had had one of Daenerys' dragons killed and her most beloved advisor and friend captured, why would Daenerys wait before executing her? Everyone knew that Cersei was in more danger now than she'd ever been before – everyone except, Jaime suspected, Cersei herself. She was too arrogant to ever think she would lose. She practically thought she was immortal, that everyone was too scared to dare to touch her. And perhaps that was true…for everyone apart from the Mother of Dragons.
Beginning to feel a swell of panic, Brienne walked over to Jaime, her boots crunching against the layer of frost that covered the yard. 'Ignore Sansa, don't take it personally,' she said urgently, trying to reassure him.
She reached for his hand; Jaime's fingers hung limply in hers as he stared at her fur cloak, seeing nothing.
'She doesn't mean to take it out on you like that,' Brienne insisted. 'She's just angry with your sister.'
'Who the hell isn't?' Jaime muttered, still unable to meet her gaze.
No one more than himself, he was certain of that.
He didn't blame Sansa for her anger and hatred towards Cersei, but the awful truth was, Jaime had been complicit in all the crimes and actions Sansa loathed her for. How could he let Cersei face retribution for them alone, after the part he had played?
'Jaime, are you all right?' Brienne asked quietly, and she sighed sympathetically when he gave no response. 'We knew this day was going to come sooner or later…'
He looked up at her then, his eyes meeting hers for the first time since she'd announced the news that the raven had brought. There was a sorrowful desperation in both their gazes. They were so close. So very close to surviving this, to living through it, to moving on to a new life that they would share together in perfect harmony. He could almost still believe that he wasn't pretending. Almost.
Jaime forced a small smile. 'I'm fine. Really,' he murmured.
But he had never been less fine, and Brienne knew it.
Her lips parted as if to say something – though she knew there were no words that could comfort him today – but then he gave her hand a squeeze and let go. She watched as he walked away, his head bent low, and the moment he'd disappeared back through the archway, she exhaled shakily.
Dizzy and nauseous, Jaime walked back through the main courtyard, taking in the sights of the grounds and people that had become his home and friends as he went, as if in a trance, while he dwelled on the message from the scroll.
Another dragon gone. Missandei, sweet and innocent, most likely already gone. And for what? What had poor Missandei ever done to Cersei? Why was Cersei doing any of this, when she should be clever enough to know that she'd already lost and that she should surrender? Why hadn't he stopped her rise to power sooner? Why had he encouraged and supported her through it all, why had he enabled her all her life to act in such a monstrous way and lead to this mess that could destroy the lives of so many in King's Landing? Jaime suddenly felt overwhelmed with the need to punish himself. After all, he was just as responsible for this as Cersei was. But, unlike Cersei, he'd been given a second chance at life. A chance of being happy. And he was happy with Brienne, so very happy. But his heart was losing the battle ensuing in his mind.
What am I supposed to do now?
There were too many voices ringing through his mind – how was he supposed to know which one he was meant to heed?
Jaime didn't regret leaving Cersei when he had. In fact, he'd even wanted to leave her earlier: the moment he'd returned to the capital last year, still reeling from his reunion with Brienne at Riverrun, to see that his sister had crowned herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms after burning the Sept to the ground with wildfire and thus driving their son to suicide. But even then, he still hadn't been able to stick to what he'd felt was right. He hadn't been able to set one foot out of the Red Keep's gates. Only Brienne's presence in the dragon pit a few months later had awoken him from his trance-like slumber, like an antidote to the poison that had corrupted him. But he could feel the poison slowly starting to seep back into his system even now, as he dwelled on the fate of his sister and their unborn child. He was so afraid of what would happen to Cersei and their baby if Daenerys did indeed capture her…an outcome Lady Sansa seemed so unnervingly certain of.
'I knew your sister was dead the second I saw those dragons…'
As Bronn's words from a few weeks ago rang through his ears once more, Jaime felt himself stumble and retch slightly. Pod emerged around the corner just in time to see Jaime throw up into one of the wooden buckets in the far corner of the courtyard.
'Ser Jaime!' Pod yelped, alarmed, and he grabbed Jaime by the shoulders and guided him away from any onlookers.
He sat Jaime down on one of the stone steps leading up to what remained of the battlements, and peered down at him in concern as Jaime tried to control his uneven breathing. He had gone pale white, and looked as if he might faint at any moment.
'Shall I fetch the maester?' Pod asked urgently.
Jaime looked up at Pod, but Pod seemed to be spinning before his very eyes. 'No,' he said, exhaling deeply. 'No, Pod, I'm fine. Not a word of this to Brienne, you understand?'
'But-'
'Do you understand, Pod?' Jaime asked firmly, as if he were a stern father speaking to his son.
Pod blinked rapidly, his brow creased in concern. 'Yes, milord,' he said in a small voice.
Jaime nodded heavily. He wished Pod wouldn't call him that. It only made him feel even more distant from the people he thought he'd been developing a close bond with over these past few weeks. But now that illusion was shattering.
Rising to his feet, he then clapped a hand on Pod's shoulder and trudged on back into the castle. He needed to get away from all these people. He needed to lie down. It was only when he'd nearly reached the door to his and Brienne's bedchambers that he realised he couldn't go in there, not anymore, and he collapsed against the corridor wall before sliding down to the floor, his hands clammy, his legs shaking, his breathing coming out in quick, panicked gasps as the walls seemed to close in around him.
The vivid memory of Cersei with her hand pressed gently against her stomach was all that filled his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push the image away.
She was in trouble. He'd always known that she would be in trouble, but he had been determined to escape it for as long as possible. He had been trying to forget his care for her, his vows made to her, his feeling of responsibility towards her and their unborn child…but everything he had repressed the moment he'd ridden away from King's Landing suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks now as he felt the nausea wash over him once more. He had experienced inner conflict many times during his troubled life, but never like this.
He had gone back to Cersei so many times before, unable to control the way he had always been drawn back into that deep, toxic bond with her, and he found himself feeling honour-bound to do the same now. And he hated her for it. He loved her, he always would – she was his sister, after all, his constant companion since the day of their birth – but he had never hated her more than he did in this moment.
Something always brought him back to her. Always. No matter how long it took, no matter what he said or what he did or how much he tried to escape from her shadow. Her presence followed him, even when she was hundreds of miles away. Her voice, her smell, her smirk, her hair, her cruel cutting words, everything about her. She held him down without even needing to touch him, as if she were keeping him in chains.
Just leave me alone, he wanted to scream at her. Set me free.
But she couldn't hear him, no one could. His mind was screaming hopelessly at an empty void. She reigned over him, just as she still reigned over the Seven Kingdoms…the Seven Kingdoms that she was going to destroy, unless they destroyed her first.
'You always knew exactly what she was. And you loved her anyway.'
Jaime had learnt to accommodate living with the self-loathing that had taken hold within him for many years ago now, but how could he live with the added guilt for letting Cersei die in the name of crimes he himself had played a part in, while he simply got to live on in blissful happiness with the most honourable, wonderful woman in all of Westeros? It was a fate he did not deserve.
A fate he couldn't accept.
Brienne was on the ground. The trickle of the river beside her and gentle breeze as the leaves fluttered by did nothing to make her feel at peace; being tied up with ropes often did that to you. She struggled with her knees and elbows, and roared against her gag, but it did no good. No one was walking past this secluded area of the woods. There was only her and Locke. She watched with wide fearful eyes as he stood over her and began to unbuckle his breeches, making sure to kick her as she fought to break free.
'I've been looking forward to this,' Locke said, leering down at her as she struggled against her bounds. 'The biggest bitch I'll ever have.'
'Over my dead body,' came a voice.
The sword came clashing down from out of nowhere, and Locke stumbled away in shock as he drew out his own weapon to defend himself. Jaime Lannister stood tall, fierce and proud behind him, wearing a majestic suit of armour and with both hands intact, and proceeded to swing his sword against Locke's. He fought the rotten soldier valiantly, much more impressively than he had done against Brienne on the bridge – which was saying something – and before Brienne knew what had happened, he had struck Locke's head clean off his neck. Blinking away Locke's blood that had come spurting out in the direction of her face, Brienne looked up as his headless body collapsed with a loud splash into the river beside them, and gazed in wonder up at the Kingslayer. He was different somehow, and not just by still having two hands or by the impressive armour he wore…he held himself more strongly, his head was held high, his hair was luscious and wavy, his beard finely cropped, his face clean and handsome. And suddenly Brienne knew why all the women in Westeros desired him.
Jaime bent down to the ground and gently untied her from the ropes that Locke had bound her in. His fingers lingered against her skin as he removed the gag from around her mouth, but strangely she didn't mind. Straightening up, he then held out his hand; Brienne gladly took it, and as his fingers clasped hers she felt as if she never wanted to let go. Jaime pulled her up to her feet, a tender gaze of concern in his eyes quite unlike the expression of repulsion that he'd normally greet her with, and then, to her astonishment, he picked her up in his arms, carrying her as a husband would carry a bride.
Brienne yelped out in shock, mortified – she was far too big for him, after all – and yet when she looked down into the gentle ripples of the river beside them, she was met with a surprising sight. The woman reflected in the waters had hair that fell in gentle waves to her shoulders, her face was daintier somewhat, the features more feminine, her armour was shapely and complimented her slim curvaceous figure…which somehow suddenly matched the height and size of Jaime's own. She looked magnificent, held there in his arms, just as he did. Together, they looked glorious. They looked unbeatable. Perhaps they were.
'Ser Brienne, my dear lady, are you all right?' Jaime asked as he gazed down at her.
'I'm fine,' Brienne replied breathlessly, but then she frowned. 'Wait, 'Ser'?'
Jaime gave her a confused look, an expression she found almost adorable on him, even though it shouldn't suit him.
And then she woke up.
Blinking rapidly, her cheeks colouring, Brienne sat and reached up instantly to feel her hair and clothes – her hair was still short and greasy, her clothes nothing but her baggy tunic and breeches. She didn't want to check her reflection in the river close to them; what was the point?
Brienne sighed. She should have known. In most of her dreams, she was a knight.
She looked around at her surroundings. The trees and river nearby were the same as in her dream, but there was no Locke towering above her; he was at the far end of the camp, asleep along with his entourage of soldiers, aside from those who were keeping watch. Jaime lay on the ground close beside her, but she didn't realise that he had stirred awake.
'Bad dreams, my lady?' Jaime grumbled, as he propped himself up against the log he'd been sleeping against to face her.
Flustered, Brienne looked up at him; his hair was lank and greasy and caked in mud and dirt, his beard just the same, his face bruised and bloody, his skin pale and haggard, his clothing mere dirty rags. He couldn't look more different from the man who had come to her rescue in her dream, and yet somehow she could still see that man.
'Oh, leave me alone,' Brienne muttered, infuriated.
Jaime looked exasperated. 'What have I done now?!'
She cursed under her breath but then noticed the pus leaking out from under the bandage wrapped around his stump.
'Sit up,' Brienne said, frowning. 'I need to take a look at that.'
Jaime obliged, through groaned as he sat up and leant against the log. Brienne moved over towards him. Close to, he looked particularly pale and clammy, and more exhausted than even she probably did. As she reached out grudgingly and took his stump in her hands to examine the dressing, Jaime tilted his head at her.
'Out of interest, are you practiced in nursing, Lady Brienne?' he asked.
'No.'
The faintest of smiles appeared on his lips. 'Do you know what you're doing?'
'Not in the slightest,' Brienne muttered, as she re-dressed his stump.
Jaime scoffed. 'Do you care?'
Her face faltered and her lips moved but no words came out, because she had none.
The weak smirk on Jaime's face disappeared. 'Oh. You hesitated. Does this mean you're beginning to…warm towards me a little?' he said bemusedly, surprised. 'Because I couldn't help but get the feeling that you resented me somewhat when we first met. Not sure, I could be wrong, it was just a little hunch…'
Brienne gave him a dry look. 'Can you blame me?' she muttered, and his lips twitched.
'No, not really.'
She eyed him anxiously; she didn't like the way his head was lolling slightly, or how he was slouched so unsteadily against the log. He looked like he might faint at any moment. Reaching a tentative hand out, Brienne felt his forehead.
Jaime recoiled at once. 'Your hands are sweaty,' he protested in disgust.
'And you're boiling up,' Brienne snapped. 'How are you feeling?'
'Like I've just won a grand tourney for my King and I'm being showered with roses and cheers of praise from all the great lords and ladies of Westeros,' Jaime said sarcastically, and he raised his eyebrows at her. 'What do you think?'
Brienne rolled her eyes. 'I meant your head,' she said irritably. 'You're very pale.'
Jaime sighed heavily. 'I'm guessing it's the infection finally doing its work. The loss of blood doesn't really help, does it?'
'Are you dizzy?' Brienne asked.
'Yes,' Jaime admitted after a slight hesitation.
He realised that he didn't need to pretend in front of her, nor did he want to. He looked up and saw that her concern had softened her expression somewhat. He found it astonishing just how much less homely she looked when she didn't appear to be in such a foul mood.
Brienne's eyes were almost full of pity. 'You won't last long with it like this.'
'We've both known that for a number of days now,' Jaime murmured, looking down at his lap as he breathed deeply, trying to concentrate on remaining conscious.
A short silence fell between them. Brienne found herself feeling inexplicably guilty as she watched him.
'You should have just let them take me,' she muttered irritably, avoiding his eye contact as she gathered up his old bandage to dispose of.
Jaime looked almost insulted by her words. 'What, in the bush? Just let them beat you to a pulp and push their cocks in and out of you relentlessly for the entire night?' he demanded sharply.
'Yes,' Brienne growled, just as roughly, as she turned to face him.
Jaime glared furiously back at her. 'And if it had been me, in your position. Would you have let them do it?'
Brienne's lips parted slightly, stunned, as their eyes burned into each other's. In the silence that followed as they continued to glare at each other, their faces inches from touching, Brienne realised that she couldn't say yes.
'Right, that's enough!'
Jaime and Brienne quickly leaned away from each other at the sound of Locke's voice; they hadn't even noticed that he and his men had also arisen at the other side of the camp.
'We need to get going, save your lover's quarrel for another fucking day,' Locke snarled over at them, and his men laughed.
Infuriated, Brienne got up to her feet and went over to saddle her horse. It became quickly apparent that Jaime was too weak to get up onto his own; she reluctantly went over to help him. Jaime clutched onto his reigns with his one hand desperately, afraid he might fall, and as they all set off to ride through the woods, he felt the shame and bitterness wash over him once more.
He couldn't even get on a horse now without help, and from a woman as well. The loss of his hand had robbed him of even the simplest things like that, let alone the skills he was most renowned for, the one talent he was proud of. He had accepted long ago that he would have no wife, no children, no heir. His sword was all he'd had. But without a hand to wield it…
I should just let myself fall from the horse now and be done with it, Jaime thought tiredly.
But then, to his utmost frustration, he heard Brienne's words ringing through his ears…'You can't give up. You need to live.'
And so on he rode, diligently following Locke's directions as they made their way towards Harrenhal, where he so dearly hoped a maester would be waiting for him. As the dizziness threatened to overcome Jaime, and his posture became weaker, his words slurred and faint, Locke began to question his men about whether they had gotten him drunk for a prank. But Brienne knew better. She wasn't highly knowledgeable about such matters, but she knew this was the result of his stump's infection, and without treatment soon, Jaime wouldn't have long to live.
As she trotted alongside Jaime on her horse, keeping a close eye on him, she found herself wondering if perhaps she did care after all, as much as she would continue to pretend otherwise. There had been something in his gaze earlier this morning when he'd looked at her while she'd redressed the bandage on his stump. She'd seen it clearly then in those sad eyes of his, eyes that had seen things she could never quite imagine…she'd seen just how much he was hiding, how afraid he was to come out of the dark. It was then when she realised that she was now willing to help guide him out herself, no matter how hard it would be. He may be the Kingslayer, but he had also lost his sword hand in defending her honour and saved her from a brutal rape, and for some reason…he mattered to her. And she suspected that she mattered to him as well, even if just a little bit. After all, the two of them had silently allied; there was no denying that anymore, as much as they both wanted to. Despite them still chipping away at each other, they had built something between them that seemed almost like friendship…only neither of them had ever really had a friend, so how were they to know?
Later that day when they finally arrived at the looming, dreary fortress of Harrenhal and the gates opened, Brienne felt herself fill with both relief and trepidation. She rode through into the courtyard after Locke with an air of confidence, but quickly glanced back the moment they had entered the castle's courtyard to check on Jaime; he was lagging behind on his own horse, and his head was drooping. He looked to be on the brink of collapse.
Jaime barely even noticed as he and Brienne were forced roughly down to the ground from their horses, still tightly bound in ropes.
'Lord Bolton,' Locke said smugly, as a tall, formidable man approached them, and Locke gave Jaime a rough kick. 'I give you the Kingslayer.'
Jaime's face hit the ground. He let out a groan, but couldn't seem to find the strength to straighten up. He would simply have to lie here on the muddy wet ground until someone took pity on him. He wondered if Brienne would help.
To his surprise, it was Lord Bolton who first spoke up. 'Pick him up, Locke,' he ordered.
Locke and his men reluctantly grabbed Jaime and hoisted him up. Brienne watched their new host carefully, her brow furrowed in suspicion, as Roose Bolton looked Jaime up and down.
'You've lost a hand,' he noted.
'No, my lord,' Locke said with a chuckle, and he held out Jaime's severed rotting hand hung around his neck. 'He has it here.'
Brienne looked around at Locke; the triumphant grin on his face disgusted her. Her glare turned to Jaime, and her eyes softened somewhat as she took in his drooping eyes, his deep breathing, the mud dripping from his dirty face and hair. He had never looked more broken.
Bolton stepped forward and yanked the hand from Jaime's neck; he shoved it at Locke. 'Take this away,' he ordered, repulsed.
'Send it to his father!' Locke suggested gleefully.
'You'll hold your tongue unless you want to lose it!' Bolton snapped, and Locke fell silent as Bolton turned to Brienne. 'Cut her free. Apologies, my lady. You're under my protection now.'
Jaime felt a strange wave of relief wash over him at Bolton's words as Locke's men cut Brienne free from her ropes.
'Thank you, my lord,' she said curtly, rising to her feet.
Bolton nodded at her and turned back to face Jaime. He gave the pitiful man a long, hard look before speaking again.
'Find suitable rooms for our guests. We'll speak later,' he said, casting Jaime another look as he turned to leave.
But then, to both Brienne and Roose Bolton's surprise, Jaime spoke up. 'Lord Bolton,' he murmured weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper, and Bolton halted in his tracks. 'Is there word from the capital?'
Bolton raised his eyebrows at him. 'You haven't heard?'
Brienne looked from Jaime to Lord Bolton in horror. She didn't like the tone in his voice. She could practically feel the terror racing through Jaime right now as they both waited anxiously for Bolton to elaborate.
'Stannis Baratheon laid siege to King's Landing…sailed into Blackwater Bay…stormed the gates with thousands of men,' Bolton replied, and Jaime felt his eyes widen fearfully. 'And your sister…'
His voice broke on the last word, as if filled with dread, and Brienne almost knew for sure then – this wasn't going to be good news. She glanced warily to the side to see how Jaime was coping, but it was hard to tell with all that hair and mud covering his face.
Bolton took a few steps towards Jaime. 'How can I put this?' he said, his gaze pitiful as Jaime looked at him, terrified, his heart racing in panic. 'Your sister…-'
Whether he deserved such pain or not, Brienne felt awful for him in this moment; as if Jaime hadn't been through enough with his hand. She watched as Jaime's lips quivered and he waited with baited breath and tear-filled eyes for Bolton to relay the news.
'-is alive and well,' Bolton then finished, and Brienne blinked rapidly, astonished, as Jaime let out a few shaky breaths, hardly daring to believe it. 'Your father's forces prevailed.'
Knees buckling, Jaime then collapsed to the ground with relief, his breathing still shaky as he clutched hold of Bolton. Brienne's lips parted as she watched him in shock. She had never seen, nor ever expected to see, this side of Jaime before. She knew the truth about Jaime and his sister's incestuous relationship – he hadn't even tried to hide it when speaking about Cersei to Brienne on their travels – but she hadn't realised the extent of how much Cersei meant to him until this moment, as she watched him sink to his knees, overcome with emotion. He truly was utterly devoted to her. It was then when Brienne knew that Jaime had truly meant what he'd said to her by the campfire last night.
'I'd do anything to get back to Cersei. It's the longest I've been without her. It's like a part of me is missing.'
'Ser Jaime isn't well,' Bolton said, glaring at Locke, and Brienne rolled her eyes at the understatement. 'Take him to Qyburn.'
Brienne glared menacingly at Bolton as he turned and began to walk away. He had been taunting Jaime, he had enjoyed putting him through that pain and torture of waiting to hear of his sister's fate. She knew then that this was a cruel man, and one who was not to be crossed. Perhaps they were not as well protected now that they were here as Lord Bolton would make them believe.
The new soldiers of Bolton's from Harrenhal weren't as rough as Jaime and Brienne had been used to as they guided them through the courtyard and into the castle, though Jaime hardly noticed. However, when he realised that they were guiding Brienne away down a corridor in the opposite direction to him, he felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him. He was still weak, but the panic searing through him suddenly gave him the ability to stand and speak. He looked around anxiously and saw that Roose Bolton was walking not too far ahead of him.
'Wait, Lord Bolton, please,' Jaime murmured faintly, forcing himself up to his feet and shrugging the men's hold off him. 'Where are you taking her?'
Roose Bolton turned and frowned at his new guest, confused. He'd thought it had only been his sister Cersei that Jaime cared for, and perhaps his father and brother. But his captor? That was a turn of events that Bolton had certainly not been expecting.
'She will be fine,' Bolton said simply.
'She will not be fine while Locke and his gang of rapists are prowling the halls,' Jaime insisted, though his knees buckled slightly as he tried to remain upright. 'We stay together.'
'You do as I bid you,' Bolton said sternly, glaring down at the feeble, dirty, broken remains of the man before him. 'Lady Brienne will be safe, Ser Jaime, I guarantee it.'
Jaime swallowed uncomfortably as he looked around and exchanged a glance with Brienne, stood over at the far end of the corridor with the other soldiers. She nodded at him; he needed that stump seeing to immediately. She watched as Jaime let himself be taken away, his feet struggling to maintain a firm grip on the castle floor, before she turned away and was escorted to her own chambers.
Once the soldiers had left, Brienne bolted the door and collapsed onto the bed, allowing herself to fall asleep. It had been the first time that she had slept properly for weeks. Locked away in this room, away from Locke and his men, she felt almost safe. She wasn't sure how long she had been resting – possibly an hour, maybe two or three – when the knock at the door came. She reluctantly got out of bed and opened it to reveal an older man dressed in dark frayed robes.
'Forgive the intrusion, Lady Brienne,' he said politely, 'the Kingslayer – pardon, Ser Jaime – sent me to check over your wounds.'
'I don't have wounds worth any attention. Who are you?' Brienne asked suspiciously, her hand firmly on the door in case she'd need to slam it shut.
'I'm Qyburn, my lady.'
'Oh, I see,' Brienne said, opening the door for him, and her brow creased in concern. 'How is he?'
Qyburn sighed heavily. 'He will live. I've removed most of the infected flesh, although I'm afraid it has weakened him further,' he said anxiously. 'He is in severe pain. Why do you ask?'
'He's under my protection,' Brienne replied, almost defensively.
'It must be hard…to be sworn to protect someone you despise,' Qyburn said, shaking his head at her sympathetically.
Brienne frowned. 'I don't despise him.'
'No?' Qyburn said, surprised. 'Most people do.'
'I'm not 'most people'.'
'So I can tell,' Qyburn said, and he smiled. 'I would like to examine your injuries, my lady. Or rather, Ser Jaime would like me to – he seems to be under the impression that you are under his protection just as much as he is under yours, so it seems.'
Brienne scoffed; what a ridiculous notion. 'That won't be necessary, but thank you. I can manage.'
'Very well. May you at least take my advice to clean your wounds in the bathhouse? Unless you'd like to risk infection similar to your captive's?' Qyburn asked, and Brienne managed a hint of a dry smile.
Not long after he'd left, Brienne found herself walking through the dreary remains of Harrenhal's castle as if in a trance down towards the communal bathhouse, her thoughts plagued by the infected flesh on the end of Jaime's stump. She wondered why she was so concerned for the man she had been so determined to hate. Perhaps it was because she'd seen true evidence that Jaime Lannister had a heart, after all. The way he had reacted when Roose Bolton had teased him about his sister's fate earlier still stunned her…Jaime was clearly full of love for Cersei. He had the ability to care. And yet she wasn't sure why she was so surprised by this, when he had demonstrated this himself to Brienne when he'd protected her from Locke and his men…not to mention what he had told her by the campfire only last night…
'Mark my words, if you had a brother or sister you'd put them before anything else, and your life would be ruined because of it.'
Brienne found herself hoping that those words wouldn't become true for him.
~ Present Day ~
Brienne had never been one best suited for comforting others – her talents had always laid elsewhere – and yet today, right now, she would have gladly disposed of those skills just so that she could find the right words to say, the right things to do, anything just so that Jaime could no longer be troubled. Pod had found him sat alone in one of the castle corridors a couple of hours ago, and brought him out to the courtyard to start his patrols of winter town with Brienne, but he might as well have brought out a brick wall for all the conversation she got out of him as they went about their duties.
She wasn't an idiot; she knew what – or rather, who – was pressing on his mind. She knew that he was plagued with guilt and conflicted regarding his questionable actions. And she knew that he didn't think himself good enough for anyone…but she also knew that to be very far from the truth. Jaime's mind and heart were both broken from pain of all the bad deeds he had done and his abandonment of his sister, but Brienne loved him with all these scars. She would stay beside him, no matter what he thought of himself. But something strange had happened to him this morning since she and Lady Sansa had spoken to him about the raven that had arrived. A strange sort of empty fog seemed to have enveloped around him, leaving him emotionless and distant, nothing more than a fragile echo of his usual safe. He kept his head inclined away from Brienne as they rode, as if afraid to let her see his face.
This only made Brienne more infuriated, rather than sad, as she thought of how far the two of them had come…and how a simple raven could threaten to tear it all to pieces. Love had always seemed like a cruel joke to Brienne, an impossibility, while Jaime had taken his ability to love so seriously that he'd placed it above everything else, even his own sense of morality, and had led him to do awful things. It therefore seemed ironic for them to have been pitted against one another when they had met years ago, and yet somehow, inexplicably, the connection that had formed between them had worked, and their capacity to believe once again in the goodness of love had grown into something magnificent, something magical.
And now Jaime was going to have to break the spell.
'Don't you wish you and I could just run away sometimes?' Jaime asked Brienne after a while, his tone wistful, as they rode back to Winterfell together following their patrol of the town.
Brienne merely chuckled at him sceptically. 'Run away? From what?' she said airily, trying to lighten the mood even though she knew full well what he meant.
Jaime forced a smile back. From whom.
They could run away for a million miles. Leave everything behind, simply lose themselves in each other and have faith that everything would be all right. They might feel free at last, if they did that. Free from the scandalised gossip and cruel remarks and looks. Free from the war. Free from Cersei. Free from it all. Just he and Brienne, alone and together. What could be more right, more perfect?
But she would never abandon Lady Sansa. And Jaime would never ask her to. They were both so very similar in that regard; they could never forsake their solemn vows.
It was then when Jaime was reminded of the oath he had made to Cersei merely days after he had returned Myrcella's body to her, to try and comfort her…'I swear I will never leave you…I swear to it by the old gods and the new…I will always protect you. No harm will come to you, I promise.'
Jaime swallowed uncomfortably as he glanced sideways at Brienne riding beside him, her silhouette proud and fierce and magnificent against the midday sun, her shining blonde hair flickering in the crisp cold breeze. He wondered if she knew the full extent of how his mind had been in a constant state of tug-of-war for the entire past month. He had always had a great capacity to love, more so than most; he wondered if perhaps that was why he found it so very painful. Love took and took and took from him. With Cersei it had made him cry and break and sin and make mistake after mistake. But with Brienne it had made him laugh and soar and care and try to be good. With Brienne, it had made him happy. And now he had to throw it all away.
He looked down at the reigns in his hand the moment Brienne turned to look at him, and her face fell as he avoided her attentive gaze. She wondered if part of him had been serious, suggesting running away together. If it weren't for her oath to Lady Catelyn and her pledge to Sansa, she would have taken him up on the offer gladly. She would risk it all just to be with him, for whatever life it was they would choose together. She would run away anywhere with him, just as long as he never let go. But she couldn't be sure that he would. Even after their conversation in the Godswood the other day…she couldn't be sure anymore. His expression wore nothing but doubt and worry and fear now. And it was all thanks to that stupid raven that had flown into Winterfell this morning.
Sighing heavily, Brienne then slowed her horse down and trotted over to Jaime's side; she placed her hand over his, forcing him to pull on the reigns and bring his horse to a stop as well. He glanced up at her from under his lashes, afraid of what he might see in her eyes, but saw only sympathy and love.
'Jaime…I know you're going through something,' she murmured, and Jaime closed his eyes as he gripped her gloved hand back tightly. 'The news from the raven that came this morning…it's opened a wound that was in the process of healing, and I understand. Truly, I do.'
Jaime very much doubted it, but said nothing. He doubted anyone could possibly understand. He barely did himself.
Brienne swallowed. 'But if you won't let me in, if you won't talk to me about it, then…can we just be you and me? Just for today?' she asked hopefully, and Jaime felt his heart both swell and break at the same time as he gazed at her. 'We can face the rest tomorrow, but…just for today. Just a moment for us.'
Looking at her now, he realised he had been such a fool to take her for granted for this long. He would never understand why she had done all she had done for him, or what he had done to deserve her, or how he could be the man he wanted to be for her. She was too good. Too precious. Too innocent. And he loved her all the more for it.
Why had he wasted so much time? Why hadn't he made his move and told her how he felt sooner? They could have had months, possibly even years, together. But it would always have had the same outcome. As much as he had tried to deny it to himself, Jaime had known deep down that it would end up coming to this. If he weren't so practiced at keeping up a pretence, he would have crumbled to the ground in pieces there and then, but he stayed strong. He had to. For Brienne's sake.
Jaime smiled at her as he squeezed her hand. 'I'd love nothing more,' he murmured, and he meant it.
He leaned over his horse to kiss her, and as their lips touched and Brienne smiled at him and blinked rapidly, as if fighting away tears, it felt almost as if all was right with the world again, as if they were back in the Godswood, just the two of them, with the dreams and promises of their future still ahead of them.
Perhaps he would indeed be able to treasure this day with Brienne, as she wished…for it would be the last day he would spend with her. He knew that now.
In the immediate aftermath of the battle last month, Jaime had made the decision to stay behind with Brienne here in Winterfell wholeheartedly, with every sincere intention of seeing it through. He had been trying his ultimate best; after all, he truly loved her, more than anything, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her. But it was this pure, respectful love with Brienne, more so than anything, that had opened his eyes to what he had become for Cersei. Not only did he have to face Bran every day in Winterfell, a constant reminder of the worst thing he had ever done for Cersei, but his blissfully happy relationship with Brienne only made him see that his and Cersei's relationship had had not one scrap of truth to it; it had been twisted, toxic and unhealthy. She'd made him do such monstrous things, she'd allowed him to ruin himself for her. She had eaten away at him for too long, and even the acceptance and hospitality of the Starks, the family he had wronged the most, couldn't save Jaime from his own self-destruction. He'd thought that Cersei had fooled him but Tyrion was right; Jaime was the one who had been fooling himself all this time…he'd believed that Cersei had truly cared for him, he had believed that everything he had done for her was good and right…and now he had to pay the price for it.
If only that wretched raven had never come.
He was loyal to his family, that was something Jaime had always prided himself on; the sense of honour he had always clung onto throughout his life of turmoil and pain and heartache. And this was a matter of life and death, and his sister was right in the middle of it. He had to try and save her. Despite all her flaws, despite sending an assassin to kill him and his brother, despite everything she had cost him, and despite the way her control over him had led him to do things that he would spend the rest of what little remained of his life trying to forget. Even after all that, he still couldn't leave her to her death.
He could see it so clearly now, after having experienced the complete opposite with Brienne, that his relationship with Cersei had been abusive and torturous, driven solely by her ability to manipulate him into being the selfish, arrogant, driven golden lion, whose part he had always so hated playing. But their so-called love was what he had accepted…because it was the only love he had always deserved. He didn't want to go back to it. He never did. It filled his nightmares, and he certainly did not want it to return to his waking days. He had hoped to never set foot in King's Landing again. And yet he must.
Jaime didn't know what he could do. He didn't know if he could stop Cersei from retaliating in the oncoming slaughter when King's Landing would undoubtedly be sacked by the dragon queen and her brutal forces. He didn't know if he could save her and their unborn child from execution, either by the hands of Daenerys Targaryen or in the midst of battle. He didn't know what was going to happen, or where his mind would take him, or whether he would survive through it. But he had to try. For the sake of his family, for the sake of the unborn baby lying in Cersei's womb, for the sake of his honour and the vow he'd pledged to his sister, for the sake of all the innocent people of King's Landing who would soon be caught up in the chaos he had helped create…and for the sake of Brienne, whose life would always be in danger for as long as Cersei was in power. He had to try.