"Why in the Bloody Hells did The King in all his wisdom call this damned meeting so early?" Ser Bronn, rubbed his aching head and attempted to shield his sore red eyes from the harsh morning light as he plopped down unceremoniously in his chair at the Small Council table.

"Rough night?" Brienne rolled her eyes and asked, the tilt of her head adding an even more disgusted air to her tone.

"Aren't they all!" Bronn threw his arms wide, grinned lasciviously, and gave an exaggerated bow in answer.

Jaime stood unseen just behind the Lord Commander, and snickered at the exchange. The change in Bronn's station had not affected his disposition. The Lord of Highgarden was his usual bawdy and boastful self. Jaime supposed it was good to see that some things never changed.

Ser Davos Seaworth, glared at the still slightly inebriated Master of Coin. "As members of the Small Council, it is not our duty to question The King, but to see that his will is done." He expounded to Ser Bonn, who had slumped backward in his seat, head reclined as if he were asleep.

"Quite Right, Ser Davos." Tyrion agreed as he swept breathlessly into the Council Chamber, already hurried with his day's business. "I am sure you can spare a few moments from your quest for drink and debauchery to attend to the business of the Realm, Ser Bronn." The Hand of the King scolded.

"Looks who's talking!" Bronn harrumphed, prying open one eye long enough to stare threateningly at Tyrion. Lord Lannister ignored the invitation to engage.

Brienne overlooked the bickering around her, and gave a composed and refined sigh. "You hold one of the highest titles in the land." She reminded Bronn sternly. "I do not fathom why these meetings must always either begin or end with a summary of your latest conquests of wine and unfortunate woman." Brienne scoffed.

The Lord Comander shook her head at Highgarden's master, while silently granting Jaime's brother leeway for doing the same on numerous occasion. Her seeming favoritism escaped Ser Bronn's notice, but not Jaime's. He smiled affectionately at his lady, and rested a supportive arm over the back of her chair. Even as she grimaced in Bronn's direction, a warm radiance washed over Brienne as Jaime neared. She was as certain of his presence as she had been the previous night when his kiss had inexplicably rested upon her lips. Her breath shuddered for a moment. Only Bronn seemed to notice. He wasted no time in seizing his worthy opponent's apparent weakness.

"It's not my conquests that were unfortunate." Bronn mumbled, as he turned his head far too intentionally to the side, cocking his chin in the air to seem coy.

Brienne could not completely discern the phrase that left Bronn's mouth though she heard enough to know that an insult had been hurled at her.. "What was that, Ser?" She tensed, demanding he explain himself. Jaime, however, had understood each hateful word. Every muscle he had once flexed in battle wanted to spring across the table at Bronn for this offense and all of the others for which the man was guilty. If Jaime were living still, Bronn would not have been once he were finished with him.

The Master of Coin must have realized the line he crossed brought him to within inches of a fine Valyrian steel blade. He thought better of continuing his end of the conversation any further. "Why nothing, Lord Commaner." He smiled in feigned innocence. "Nothing at all." Bronn nodded gallantly. Brienne exhaled in annoyance and tried to ignore Ser Bronn altogether.

Tyrion busied himself arranging parchments for King Bran, and seeing to the trays of fruits and cheeses that were being delivered from the kitchen by scurrying serving maids. "I should think that as one not born to his station, you would be a bit more protective of it, Lord Highgarden." Tyrion offered reproachfully over his shoulder at Bronn.

"Watch it, Lord Hand." Ser Davos, whose title had been awarded to him by his one time King, Stannis Baratheon, warned defensively. "Inheritance does not make one worthy of a seat here, experience does." The Onion Knight narrowed his gaze at Tyrion.

Ser Bronn immediately straightened to his full height on the edge of his ornate polished chair. "And by what rights do you hold your grand western palace of Casterly Rock? Did that priviledge not belong to your brother? Second Son?" He seethed at The King's Hand.

A mere disturbance in the dust particles that floated in the air, Jaime whirled on Bronn, ready to protect his little brother as he always had. Deep within the darkest corners of his mind he and Tyrion were once again seated in that decrepit tavern in the North. His anger surged at the memory of Bronn striking Tyrion, and how he wanted to take the scoundrel's head. Better men had lost much more to his blade for far less. Once more Jaime's heart fell to the churning pit of his stomach, at the not so veiled threat which Cersei's mercenary had made against Brienne. Jaime and Tyrion had sat at the point of Bronn's arrow listening to the man describing his opportunistic plans for the inevitability of Daenarys Targaryen's victory and how he planned to profit, though Cersei's promise of riches would die with her.

Bronn's words on that bitter night echoed cruely in Jaime's ears. 'The odds change if the Dragon Queen's Hand turns up dead. Maybe a few of her top generals get picked off one by one.' Jaime could hear it still, and how Bronn's stare had bore a hole into Jaime's soul, almost daring him to act. The man all but outright declared Brienne in danger. Jaime should have killed Bronn then. Jaime gritted his teeth and lunged at the Master of Coin only to remember, when no eyes turned to his wrath. Sadly, Jaime recalled that he was not really there.

Unaware of his undetected champion Tyrion raised his chin, suddenly proud of the name which had usually brought him only problems and peril and pain. He turned slowly to face Bronn, his fingers fast closing into fists. "I am the only member of my noble house who yet lives." He corrected, his tone emphasizing the power to which he was born.

Bronn chuckled ruefully. "Yes." His eyes sparkled, enjoying an imagined upper hand. "Should've been your brother, The Kingslayer holding that title." He laughed fully in satisfaction. "But the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock, the Great Ser Jaime Lannister died under this very Keep with your Whore Queen sister." He hissed. In truth his anger was more a result of the disappointment in Jaime for what he saw as the great knight's pathetic lapse in judgement, than in any resentment held against Tyrion or his family name. Bronn had never held much deference for family names.

Tyrion's eyes narrowed at Bronn, recalling their tense conversation in the North, when the threat toward Brienne had been unmistakably clear. Jaime had known exactly what Bronn had meant when he hinted at killing Queen Daenarys's top military advisors. The very woman that Jaime loved had been one of those generals. She led Northern troops on that long night, and had offered strategy to them before they marched southward to meet a new foe. Surely, the idea of harm befalling his love was more than Jaime had been able to bear, not when he could stop it. Tyrion nearly winced at the thought of the turmoil and desperation that must have raged in Jaime's soul. It was the only thing that could have ripped his brother from Brienne's side.

"We both know why he did what he did." Tyrion assured Bronn, his venomous stare easing only for a moment to glance almost unconsciously at Brienne. Bronn followed Tyrion's sight line to where it ended upon the Lord Commander.

Brienne sat gravely silent, understanding all too well the meaning behind the men's heated exchange. She felt their eyes burning into her. Brienne sensed everyone suddenly staring at her as if she were some curiosity on display. She was more than accustomed to such stares, having received the like all of her life. This scrutiny was not about her physique or her skills on the battlefield. This attention was about the thing she held most dear, Jaime. It was more than she could bear.

In reaction Brienne slammed her fists upon the table, wanting to bolt from the room. "Gentlemen!" She admonished. "Perhaps we should change the subject." She offered authoritatively, her tone leaving no question that she would accept no more of the conversation.

Standing guard imperceptibly over Brienne, Jaime's heart broke yet again at the pain he saw in her expression. Still, he managed somehow to hurt her. It seemed his actions would be cast upon her to shoulder. He wanted to embrace Tryion for his protectiveness of Brienne. He wanted to gut Bronn not only for the menace he had posed to Brienne, but also for the nerve of his glibness sitting only inches from her now. However, most of all he simply wanted to take Brienne's hand, give her a smile, and make all her pain disappear. It was a wish that now mocked him.

As if to lighten the mood at that moment Samwell Tarly the Realm's new Grand Maester stumbled hurriedly into the chamber, gasping from the run which had brought him there. "Apologies for my tardiness, My Lords." He begged breathlessly, nearly knocking over his chair with his momentum as he sat. With a boyish smile, he crossed his hands on the the table before him. "What did I miss?" He questioned, blissfully unaware.

"Nothing of consequence, I hope." King Bran's voice sounded from the doorway, his eyes unusually clear and focused knowingly upon Tryion and Bronn.

"Not at all. Your Grace." Ser Davos stood to address The King, throwing Tyrion and Bronn an ominous glare. The Small Council echoed his greeting and rose in response.

"Very well, then." Bran seemed pleased if not suspicious as his chair was wheeled to the head of the table by an incredulous Ser Podrick Payne, who examined the Council with a disbelieving air.

"If we might begin, there is an important matter I wish to discuss." Bran nodded.

The King then raised his hand and motioned toward a tall confidant stranger whom none of the Small Council had ever before seen. The man was clothed in armor the color of a storm swept sky, the plates had clearly known their share of combat. The ridged angles of his face were hardened, lacking the luxury of youthful beauty. Yet, what had been lost to time and experience saw its replacement with the strong chiseled silhouette which only a warrior possessed. By estimate he had celebrated close to fifty Name Days. The lines around his mouth told of struggles and hardships, though his body stood straight, unfettered by defect or injury. He was a man who had seen much, yet in his deep blue eyes there was a kindness. It softened him somehow, and made him seem jovial, friendly. He was in his own singular way quite handsome, and extremely intriguing.

Jaime knew their new acquaintance immediately. From the Heavens he had searched the whole of Westeros for one such as he. In all the Realm this was the only man he had deemed worthy, the only one righteous and selfless enough for the task Jaime had chosen. He was the one whom Jaime would entrust with Brienne's heart.

"My Lords." The King began. "Allow me to introduce Ser Eyan Ripleigh, of Dawnmoore Hall." He announced cordially. "Our new Master of War." He declared.

At once, the room gave a collective gasp which lapsed into stunned silence. Tyrion nearly choked on his own breath. The Hand of The King came within a hairs breadth of standing to protest The Three-Eyed Raven's proclamation. Davos, ever vigilant, examined Ser Eyan with a cautious eye. He was always a bit leery of those he did not know, and this newcomer had done nothing to prove himself worthy of such a lofty position. Grand Maester Tarly welcomed the newest member of the Council with a broad innocent smile. Ser Bronn simply sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled so heartily that he had to stop himself short of laughing out loud.

Lord Commander, Ser Brienne of Tarth simply stared at Ser Eyan Ripleigh, unable to form either an aspect of surprise or disdain. Her mind reeled with thoughts she had not wished to contemplate. All the weeks she had assembled with the others in these chambers a chair remained empty beside her. She knew as well as all of them who would have filled that void, had times been different, had sacrifices not been made. At times she almost imagined Jaime at her right arm. Since she had felt him come to her only the previous night, Brienne began to think that perhaps it had been more than her yearning that had conjured his spirit to her side. She would have been pleased if that particular chair had never been filled. Now, it belonged to another, someone she did not know.

Brienne studied the newcomer with quiet intensity. She found nothing wrong in his stance. He stood rigid, his spine straight as the blade of her own Oathkeeper. His strength appeared well able to protect the King and the Realm. He spoke intelligently, with the air and attitude of a high born station. His eyes, as they surveyed the room held not a hint of falseness or deception. His gaze carried the warmth of a natural smile. Brienne watched the man carefully, she noticed how he moved deftly, spoke with a dry deep rasp, and stood at King Bran's side as if already his greatest honor would be to lay down his life for the young ruler. Yet, there was something about him which made her uneasy. Wildly, Brienne's thoughts sifted in her mind for the purpose of her uneasiness.

It was as she envisioned a hundred possible offenses for which he might be blamed that Brienne's eyes fell upon his jaw line. The scruff of a moon's worth of beard sprouted from his cheeks and chin. Amidst the soft brown that matched the thickness of his hair were twinges of gray which added a wise debonair impression to his countenance. Brienne's breath caught in her lungs as her memories hit her full force. It was as Jaime's had been. At once she was certain Jaime was with her, standing so near that had he been alive, she would feel the warmth of his body. Suddenly, Brienne had no wish to become acquainted with Ser Eyan Ripleigh of Dawnmoore Hall.

"My Lords." Eyan bowed his head respectfully. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance." He asserted, eager to forge his position and alliance within the Small Council.

"Dawnmoore?" Tyrion rolled some unseen thought within his mind, his eyes squinting, trying to place a reference to this man he had never once met before. He ignored what he knew in his heart to be true, that he fully and completely resented the knight who would now sit in the chair which he was certain was meant for Jaime. "That is in The Reach, is it not?" He scowled acrimoniously for no reason other than sullen hostility.

Eyan brightened as he answered in the affirmative. "Yes, it is, My Lord." He nodded in appreciation. "My brother's house sits on the loveliest open prairie you could ever lay your eyes upon." He acknowledged nostalgically.

"Your Brother's House?" Tyrion asked. "A second son?" He inquired, begrudgingly feeling an inkling of kinship with Ser Eyan, though not for long.

"Yes." Eyan offered. "Upon my father's death, my older brother inherited our family's lands and title." He recalled without bitterness.

"And you became a sellsword." Bronn interrupted. "I thought I recognized the name." He chortled, congratulating himself on his powers of deduction, and his memory.

Ser Eyan lowered his eyes, not because of embarrassment, but from the acceptance he had developed since the days when his living had been supplied by his own steel and other men's whims. He could not claim pride from those times, but he was not ashamed either. Eyan knew the shadows of his action would call upon him again. However, the leather-skinned sly-tongued man across the table was not the only cunning person in the room.

It was Eyan's turn to chuckle. "It has been quite a number of years since I was called sellsword, Ser Bronn." The Master of War smiled cleverly as Bronn's brow creased in confusion. It was clear The Lord of Highgarden had not a clue how he was known to this man who had made no hero's name for himself in Westeros.

"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, famed in deed and reputation." Eyan lowered his head in mock reverance.

"Grand Maester Tarly." Eyan moved from the King's side to greet his peers. "Genius heeler of the Citadel." He praised, as he reached for Samwell's hand.

Sam grinned widely, flattered at his own acclaim. "Ser Eyan." He returned happily, pumping the man's palm.

"Ser Davos Seawoth." Eyan moved on. "A legend on land and sea." He clapped The Master of Ships on the back, shaking his hand vigorously. Davos greeted Ser Eyan in turn, himself uncharacteristically pleased to hear of his own reputation.

As he moved to the opposite side of the table from King Bran, Ser Eyan's expression and his demeanor became respectfully awed. "Lord Hand." He reached forward in greeting as he approached Tyrion. "It is an honor to meet you. Many consider your mind sharper than any sword in Westeros." Eyan paid the tribute sincerely, his tone earnest.

Tyrion stood, and for a moment studied their new acquaintance. He accepted Eyans gesture, and allowed himself to enjoy the accolade. There seemed no deceit nor hidden intent in Ser Eyan's statement. "I have knowledge of your house, as well as the good names of your father and brother." He acknowledged. "However, I fear you have me at a disadvantage, Ser." Tyrion finished, with a polite but quizzical smile.

Ser Eyan bowed his chin in recognition of the mysterious history which followed him. "I have been far too long gone from these shores." He nodded. "It is my hope that I shall bring honor to my father's name." Eyan hoped. "And to The King." Eyan gave a gracious and obedient glance in Bran Stark's direction. Despite his best efforts to resent the man he saw as taking his own brother's place on the Small Council, Tyrion could admit no ill will toward Ser Eyan Ripleigh, he was beginning to appreciate the man.

In that moment, as he acknowledged Ser Eyan's pledge, Bran's gaze floated from the Master of War toward Brienne. In one imperceptible motion, The King looked Jaime directly in the eye as the dead man stood at the side of the woman he loved. It was then that Jaime knew The Three-Eyed Raven saw him. He realized Bran Stark had seen him there ever since the Gods sent him to be a specter in this world. It soon became clear that knowledge was to be shared only between them.

"Ser." The King called to Eyan and motioned toward the tall glorious warrior of Jaime's dreams. For her measure, Brienne stood proudly noble, unconcerned if the long lost son of House Ripleigh was even aware she was in the room. "Our Lord Commander." Bran continued. "Ser Brienne of Tarth." He announced.

Eyan strode around the corner of the table, and stopped dead in his tracks. He surveyed the imposing woman who stood nearly as tall as he, taking in the whole of her magnificent presence. Eyan stood before her, mesmerized, his chest barely able to rise, his stare soft and astonished. A nervous lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard at it, convinced everyone in the room heard. Eyan's tongue sat in his mouth, dry and useless. He had seen queens and princesses in Sothoryos that put the beautiful ladies of Westeros to shame. He had once claimed the loveliest maiden in the Reach as his own. Those days were long ago ended, and now inexplicably, in an instant he felt his heart possessed by this warrior woman clad in armor, weaponed with steel, who wanted nothing to do with him. He beheld Brienne as if he had never seen any other woman in his lifetime.

Brienne stared back at him in awkward silence, telling herself that his wonder was solely a product of her physical uniqueness. It was a reaction to which she had grown accustomed. Most had reacted similarly to making her acquaintance. Desperately she convinced herself that this man was no different. Only one, had wished to peer beneath her facade, and he was gone. Or was he? Brienne's lips tingled at the thought of the kiss she had felt from Jaime only a night before. She could not stand anyone's eyes on her but his.

Urgently, Eyan recovered his composure. "My Lady." He inadvertently blurted, understanding only that Brienne of Tarth was the most alluring sight he had ever laid his hungry eyes upon.

Brienne raised her chin defiantly. "Lord Commander." She corrected coolly, annoyed.

His eyes gleaming, Ser Eyan again found his cavalier disposition. He accepted Brienne's admonition with a charming smile. "Lord Commander." He amended as he reached for her hand. Hypnotized by her shocked stare, Eyan raised her fist to him. Elegantly he brushed his lip over Brienne's knuckles, before she could protest. Then, he softly let her hand fall back to her side. Eyan gazed enamored at Brienne's reddening cheeks, and grinned warmly. In that moment, something from a place deep within him long hidden and ignored, was certain this formidable lady would one day be his wife.

Brienne sat seething at the Small Council table, unsure if the heat that crawled up her face was from embarrassment or anger. Only Jaime himself would have taken such coarse advantage and mocked her so. It was how they prodded each other. Their own secret love oath. When even they could not admit their truest emotions to each other, there was always a rhythm between them. Brienne hid her reminiscent smile, and pretended to fume all the more. Thoughts of the man she loved, and the memories of the insulting banter they had shared, calming and settling her mind. Brienne knew Jaime was near, she could feel him. It made her want to sigh with serenity. However, she was not about to give Ser Eyan Ripleigh a opportunity to assume the her fury had abated. Her pride had been wounded far too greatly for that. So she listened to as much as there was to keep her aware of any important turns in the conversation, and tried to imagine that it was Jaime who sat beside her and not a perfect stranger whose acquaintance she had no use for.

Bronn cleared his throat haughtily. "The Reach, ey?" He puffed, ready to accept his accolades as Lord of the ruling house of the region. When it showed no appearance of being given, he continued, with a vengence. "Downmall, you said?" Bronn scoffed arrogantly.

"Aye. My family's house is in The Reach." Ser Eyan answered proudly. "Dawnmoore." He corrected, giving no outward sign of offense. "It is a simple keep near Tumbleton." He described with an almost melancholy smile. "Modest, but extraordinarily beautiful." With that declaration, Ser Eyan rested his gaze almost involuntarily upon Brienne. Although she did not meet his eyes, Brienne could feel the weight of his stare. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.

"Never heard of it." Bronn sneered.

Ser Eyan's eyes went wide with interest. "Forgive me, Ser." He begged kindly. "You are from The Reach?" He asked giving the appearance of innocent confusion.

Bronn squared his shoulders and leaned forward threateningly. "I am Lord Bronn of the Blackwater, Master of Highgarden." He boasted, raising his tone for emphasis, and his brow as a threat.

Ser Eyan was not deterred by the bravado of King Bran's Master of Coin. "Apologies, My Lord." He said coldly. "The last time I saw the fertile plains of my home, Luther Tyrell was Lord of Highgarden." He replied, his disdainful stare at Bronn sent straight down the brim of his nose.

"Just when was the last time you ventured into The Reach?" Bronn squinted, his unspoken contempt unmistakable.

Eyan bent forward to meet Bronn's posturing. "When was the last time you traveled there?" He repeated cooly. "My Lord?" His eyes narrowed in judgement, as both men tensed.

Ser Davos Seaworth cleared his throat nervously and interrupted before punches were thrown. "You will have to forgive us, Ser Eyan." He smiled stiffly, looking around the table at his compatriots. "We did not expect that seat to filled so soon." He smiled cordially. Both Tyrion and Brienne bristled at the remark, picturing Jaime there. "I do not believe any of us were aware that King Bran already had a candidate in mind." He looked dutifully at The King.

Brienne turned a serious eye to the head of the table. "I would not question your wishes, Your Grace." She prefaced. "But if I might ask? What are Ser Eyan's qualifications for such an important role? None of us have any knowledge of his accomplishments in warefare." She inquired respectfully as she gestured toward the man.

Unable to keep from catching Ser Eyan's gaze, Brienne noticed that his eyes were fairly twinkling at her as she spoke. Once again her cheeks blazed with a rush of blood, and she quickly looked away. At her side, a mere observer, Jaime remembered how she had blushed on the night they first shared their passions. The sheath over what once were his bones, which had been his own flesh, warmed at the memory of her body next to his. It was Jaime's turn to remove his longing stare from Brienne for fear he would be overcome. Moving his eyes away, Jaime again met King Bran's steely distant scrutiny. In an instant, he was aware that Bran knew exactly why he was there. The King was part of the divine plan that was drawing Brienne and Ser Ripleigh together.

Bran addressed his Council, a tone of assurance in his voice. It was clear there was no hesitancy surrounding his choice of who would fill the empty seat. "Ser Eyan's wars have been fought in Sothoryos." He explained.

"You did not fight in Robert's Rebellion as a young man?" Ser Davos questioned suspiciously.

Bronn exhaled in disgust. "You saw none of the War of the Five Kings?" He jeered.

"You did not fight the dead at Winterfell." Brienne's quiet voice indicted. She stared gravely ahead of her unable to look at Ser Eyan, remembering the one who had ridden North to lend his sword to the battle simply because she was there.

Eyan bowed his chin respectfully to the heros of those legendary campaigns. "It is a regret I shall always carry that I was not able to defend Westeros from it's foes." He conceded. "But I shall never be ashamed of the blood I have shed for the causes of our southern sister." He stiffened his posture and raised his head high. In his eyes Brienne saw the shadows only a fellow warrior would know, the souls of all he had lost.

"That continent is wild and untamed." Samwell noted with admiration. "The tales say it is nothing but impenetrable jungle, filled with horrid beasts, oppressive heat, and savages." He recalled what he had read in one of his growing collection of volumes.

"Quite a number of those savages are among the finest people I have ever known." Ser Eyan declared proudly.

Samwell grew red with embarrassment. His gaping mouth searched for the proper words of apology. "Forgive me Ser." He begged. "I meant no offense." He stuttered in conciliation.

Realizing the young man's true inexperience, and Tarly's lack of understanding of the native cultures in the land he had considered home for so long, Eyan relaxed the pensive muscles of his brow. His understanding smile lightened the mood. "None taken, Grand Maester." He assured Sam. "Perhaps sometime we could speak of the wonders I experienced there." He offered.

Always eager to learn more of the world, Samwell grinned uncontrollably. "I would like that very much, Ser." He gushed.

Tryion was the next to voice his concern. "Ser Eyan." He directed. "You have not touched Westerosi soil in…" He trailed off, unsure of the man's chronology.

"Decades." Eyan provided.

Tyrion nodded a wary appreciation for the assistance. "Decades." He continued. "You have apparently fought bravely in the wild lands of the continent to our south. Yet when did you come to carry the title of Knight of the Realm?" The King's Hand wondered openly, more than a bit hurt that he was not consulted on the matter.

Eyan's eyes became wistful, recalling his past. Apparently there was far more about this man to discover. "I squired for Lord Cartwell Crane of Red Lake when I was a boy." He told them proudly. "My master knighted me upon my twentieth Name Day." He detailed.

"Surely it was not long after that you bid farewell to these shores." Ser Davos ciphered.

Brienne watched as Ser Eyan's jaw steeled. The sharp angle of the apple of his throat slid up and down, and she heard him swallow his heart back into his throat. His glassy stare held the solemn sadness of one whose heart had been as damaged as hers. For a moment, she could empathize. Something had torn this man apart.

"Personal events made it impossible for me to stay." He whispered, a thousand sadnesses echoing in his voice.

Bronn studied Ser Eyan, sympathy never his strength. "You were disowned." He conjectured, confident of his appraisal.

Eyan tried valiantly to hide the pain which the words brought to him. Brienne noticed the way he held his fist so tightly clenched she feared he might draw his own blood. "I have made my own way in the world." He answered, neither confirming nor denying the others' speculation.

"Then you have no lands, no title save for Ser." Tyrion questioned, somewhat shocked.

"I have my sword." Eyan declared. "That is enough." He vowed, turning to regard Brienne so intently that she blushed under his scrutiny. After a moment when she could no longer bear his attentions, he smiled at her with a warmth which made her wonder if he was aware of all her own pain.

"It is clear that Ser Eyan has led a hero's life in Sothoryos." Ser Davos accepted graciously with a nod to his new acquaintance. "Though, I cannot help but wonder if there might be other reasons his presence here is required." Davos inferred.

"Thankfully my Lords, we have settled disputes within The Realm." Bran replied, his recounting of history almost too understated. "Westeros will know peace within its borders for a thousand years." The Three-Eyed Raven promised.

Tyrion's eye narrowed, interpreting King Bran's meaning. "Does that mean foreign lands will pose a threat to our safety? Sothoryos?" He questioned,

Bran tilted his head as he addressed his Lord Hand across the table, an unconcerned serenity on his face. "It is always best to be prepared." He stated plainly. "For anything." It was all the answer he gave. The members of the Council received Bran's ominous prophecy with worried looks around the table at each other.

"My Lords." The King summoned. "I am sure you will all find Ser Eyan more than capable of the position in which I have seen fit to install him." He nodded with a reassuring tone. "I have every confidence in his abilities." Bran asserted, his gaze lifting once more to behold Jaime. The King's eyes turned clear and sharp, telling the spirit who himself had once been the greatest knight in The Realm, that he knew exactly what interest Jaime Lannister had in this unknown soldier from so far away.

With no need for discussing the matter further Bran settled in, his eyes almost gleaming with interest. "Now onto the matters at hand, shall we?" He began the first Small Council meeting of Ser Eyan Ripleigh, Master of War.

The meeting continued for the better part of an hour. Each member presented their reports and brought to light the issues found within the posts that were there charge, there were few. Although new to his duty, Ser Eyan spoke his course with insight, and the confidence and clarity which is developed from a lifetime of command. Even Brienne could not help but be impressed, although she was careful not to show any evidence of being at all affected by the charismatic newcomer seated next to her.

At last The King brought the eventful meeting to a close. "I believe that will be all for now." He adjourned in his usual cryptic way. "Ser Podrick, leave me here for a while." He ordered. His comment brought all in attendance to a halt, trading quizzical looks with each other. Bran calmed their concern with a calm dip of his chin.

"Be not troubled." He affirmed. "All is well." Bran told them, and motioned for his Small Council to clear the room and go about their work. His eyes never left Jaime.

Pod stared at The King, his expression a mixture of shock and apprehension. "Certainly…Your Grace." He stuttered, stepping away uncertainly to join the others.

Brienne rose stiffly, gave the king an obedient nod, and attempted to exit quickly and inconspicuously. Much to her dismay, she found the way hindered by the slender smiling form of Ser Eyan Ripleigh. "Lord Commander." He ventured, eager to spend a few moments in her company. "I thought perhaps we might discuss troop strength and training." He suggested, his tone as well as his eyes clearly hopeful. Behind them, Bronn chuckled with pure glee at the scene unfolding before him. .

With only the slightest glance to him Brienne recoiled. "Some other time, perhaps, Ser Eyan." She brushed him off hurriedly. "My schedule is quite full today." She answered as she deftly maneuvered around him and hurried away.

Eyan stood in Brienne's wake, his face a mixture of appreciation, intrigue, and respect. He had never known a woman such as her. He imagined The Lord Commander could most effortlessly run him through with that fine ornate longsword that hung at her side. He had not seen the blade, but was certain its steel was Valyrian. Something about the way she had
rebuffed him made Eyan quite sure the Lady Brienne of Tarth might like nothing better than to use him as a sparring mannequin. He was mesmerized, standing there watching her retreat, struck suddenly lame and dumbfounded.

Before he could even catch his breath, Eyan was struck sharply on the shoulder by the hard hand of Ser Bronn of The Blackwater. The Master of Coin was laughing so hard he could barely stand to his full height. "Don't waste your time…Ser." He guffawed. "There's only one man for that one." Bronn chided. "And he's dead." Shaking his head Bronn walked off, still laughing at the irony.

Somehow Eyan found enough momentum to slowly step from the chamber into the passageway. His ears rang with Bronn's warning, yet his mind was filled with thoughts of the woman by whom he had just been enchanted. He could scarcely breath. Was his heart racing? As he leaned against the wall, a gleaming smile spread across his face. 'We shall see.' He said to himself. Perhaps he would prove Ser Bronn's warning completely wrong. Ser Eyan Ripleigh did enjoy a challenge.

Jaime stood in the shadows as the Council departed. He had seen Bronn's taunting of Ser Eyan. It saddened his spirit that because of him, Brienne had been made the target of another's cruel joke, yet his soul could not help but warm at the description of her love for him. For one brief moment Jaime's heart followed Brienne along her path. He could almost see the flustered determination in her step. He grinned at the image that his eyes had known many times. In his concentration, Jaime almost forgot Brandon Stark was in the room, until when all the others had gone, The Three-Eyed raven spoke.

"Ser Jaime." Bran addressed him as ordinarily as if the dead man were one of his advisors.

Jaime stared for a moment his face more stricken then when, at Winterfell, he again came face to face with the boy he had once tried to kill. Miraculously, somehow Bran had been returned from what all had assumed an early death. Was Jaime's own presence now in the Red Keep any less of some kind of miracle? "You can see me?" Jaime questioned rhetorically.

Bran nodded graciously. "I have known you were here for quite some time." He revealed unsurprised.

"Then you also know why am here." Jaime stated rigidly.

"I do." Bran replied, his voice emotionless.

Jaime stared at the young King, a thousand questions filling his brain. "Do you speak with the gods?" He asked, almost certain he already knew the answer.

"I am the Three-Eyed Raven." The corners of Brans lips curved upward in a enigmatic smile. "I know all things." He assured the man once known as The Kingslayer. "I know that you have revealed your presence to Ser Brienne." He acknowledged accusingly.

Jaime felt like a boy being admonished by a stern Maester. "She did not see me." He moved closer to defend himself.

Bran conceded at least that much with a dip of his chin, but continued on his course. "She knew it was you that kissed her in the darkness." He described.

Jaime shuttered at what else The Three-Eyed Raven knew of his life, and his death. He understood that he should not have succumbed to his longing for Brienne, for her sake. "I could not help it." Jaime said sadly.

The King regarded him sympathetically. "I know how much you love her and I realize this must be very difficult, for you both." He acquiesced. "But you must not allow such contact again." He warned, as Jaime's heart broke. "Ser Brienne must wed Eyan Ripleigh." Bran declared.

Jaime read the warning in the King's eyes. Suddenly he understood the reason. "It is true then, that Sothoryos will be a threat to the Realm, to Brienne?" His voice trembled at the heart wrenching possibility. Jaime searched Bran's face praying he was wrong.

The King sighed. It appeared the weight of knowing the future weighed heavily up him. Jaime understood that much of the journey of Brandon Stark's life, and the young man's ascension to the role of the all knowing king, had been the result of his own actions. Jaime Lannister also knew that grievous day, when he had pushed an innocent child from a window, had set his own feet upon the path that led him to his precious Brienne. Would he change it if he knew he would never meet his maid of Tarth? If it had not been so they would never have loved, never meant everything to each other, never changed the other in so many perfect ways. Had that day not come Jaime would not have given his life for Brienne. In such a world he would have remained with Cersei. The very idea sickened him. Jaime had made his peace with Brandon Stark. He could not attest that he would have done anything differently, because Brienne was alive and she was safe for now. The thought that Brienne could be again in danger terrified Jaime to his very core.

"Will Brienne be called to battle." Jaime questioned, his tone hallow and foreboding.

"No." Bran eased Jaime's worry. "Lady Brienne and Ser Eyan will live a long and happy life free from worries. She shall become Evenstar, and he will guard her as you would have, all of his days. Their children, and their children's children will know peace and prosperity." He vowed. "

"Can that peace last forever?" Jaime wondered, his brow lined with the truth of human nature which he knew all too well.

Bran gazed over Jaime's shoulder, as if some terrible event was occurring just behind him. "There will come a time when our borders will be threatened and it is Ser Brienne's descendants who will defend and secure The Realm." The King spoke of times to come almost as if they were the past instead of the world's future. "This cannot happen if her love for you prevents her from opening her mind and heart to the life that shall see those children born, and her legacy of strength and honor persevere." The King warned. "It will not happen if she cannot move on from you." He told Jaime

"You must keep your distance from her." Bran said. "Only then will her heart allow itself to be lead to Ser Eyan." He foretold.

Bran's veiled, all seeing gaze washed over Jaime. His tone held a sad note of care. The King saw the pain in which the dead knight now lived, his existence set apart from the one he loved. "You shall be in Ser Brienne's heart, always." Bran eyed Jaime knowingly. "The Gods have promised that your time with her shall come. It shall." Bran swore.

Jaime tired to take comfort in that at least. He recalled what the Gods had promised. He saw again the wonderous faces of her children, the ones who might have been his, so ready for their lives to begin. The Gods had charged him with finding the man worthy to take his place. He was certain he had not been wrong in his assumption. Jaime knew Ser Eyan Ripleigh was the only man in the Realm deserving of his Brienne. He knew what had to be done.

"You must be patient, Ser Jaime." Bran encouraged. "You gave your own life so that she would always be safe." The Three-Eyes Raven declared, revealing his knowledge that Jaime had seen to Cersei's demise so the Queen could never harm his true love. "Ser Brienne deserves the life you meant for her to live." Jaime could not deny that The King was correct.

Brienne was troubled. She had been so all day, since the Small Council meeting. His eyes would not leave her mind. The way he had stared bore into her very soul. They had been there, on the edge of her awareness as she went about her duties, so deep and soft and green. They had been the only eyes she ever wished to look at her, the ones in which she had gotten lost, those she thought she would stare into for the rest of her life.

Brienne never wanted any man to look at her again, not the way Jaime had. He made her feel loved, wanted, almost beautiful. His eyes had feasted upon her secrets, kept her confidence, and warmed her soul. The last she had seen of them, they seemed already dead, staring at her trying so desperately to appear distanced but losing that battle with each second that passed in Winterfell's frozen courtyard. Then they turned and left her there, and she wanted none other upon her, prying into her solitary tortured pain. She could not bear Podrick's worried sympathy. Even Queen Sansa's empathetic understanding was too much. She most certainly could not abide Tormund Giantsbane's hopeful leering stares. After Jaime was gone Brienne had turned her own gaze to the needs of those she served, and hoped to find fulfillment there. Her plan was to spend her days and energies in the service of others. It was the best way she could honor all that Jaime had been. Her life would be so simple.

Ser Eyan Ripleigh had looked at her, though. It was his eye that she felt upon her as he sat by her side in the Council chamber, where Jaime should have been. Ser Eyan was kind, she could admit that. Truthfully, she harbored no reason to dislike the man. Save that he had looked at her. Eyan Ripleigh beheld her the way Jaime had when he knighted her, not as though she were a conquest but as if she were a rare treasure from the Heavens and he wished only to worship at her feet. Never, had she thought anyone would regard her in such a manner. With Jaime, it had been so natural, the culmination of all of their yearning for each other. She could have reveled in his attentions forever. So much was her love for him. Now, Brienne did not want to be worshipped. She wanted to be useful.

At day's end Brienne walked silently back to her quarters, lost in her own thoughts. She had grown weary of dreading Ser Ripleigh. Her mind, instead turned to the hope of Jaime. He had come to her. She had felt his kiss upon her lips. She could not question what she knew so well. In the light of day, Brienne had held the hope that he would come to her again. The anticipation had sustained her, and nearly made her feel as silly as a lovesick girl, even after her unknowingly fateful meeting with the man Jaime himself had chosen for her. Jaime followed her, understanding the longing that quickened her step. He knew the night could not end as she hoped.

Within the solitude of her chambers Brienne made barely a sound as she stripped away her armor and secured the plates carefully to the frame where it rested when it did not shield her body. She bathed, and took only as much of a light supper as would sit upon her anxious stomach. Her movements she lit by only a small blaze from the hearth, fearful any greater flame might keep Jaime's essence from her. Brienne mocked herself for such thoughts even as hope burned viciously in her breast. It was not like her to give credence to such mythical ideas, or to believe in specters. A tiny smile passed over her features recalling all she had known. She had seen the dead rise, watched dragons fly, and cheered a girl who had killed the Night King. Who was to say anything now was beyond the realm of possibility. Brienne did not know that Jaime was already there. She could not be aware of the battle that raged within him. Desperately, he fought the need to rush to her and taste her precious lips once more.

And so, Brienne waited. For hours she sat staring into the fire, Oathkeeper clutched tightly across her lap. It felt as though Jaime were there with her. She did not know how true the notion was. He stayed at her side through the long hours, so close that he could almost feel her heart beating. He listened as her long calm breaths turned ragged choking on tears as the time passed. Jaime watched as Brienne's faithful expression fell to despair when she could discern no sign of him. His own tears fell unseen with hers and he nearly lost the determination to remain obscured from her as King Bran had warned.

Just when he could control is own actions no longer and leaned toward her, hungry for another kiss, Brienne sighed and pulled herself from hearth. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she sadly hung Oathkeeper over the post of her bed. Moving as if every motion pained her, Brienne sat mournfully upon the mattress. Jaime stood over her, aching for the feeling of her body in his arms. With her voice barely a whisper, Brienne lifted her tear laden glare to the ceiling unaware that her gaze did not reach the stones above, but instead settled onto Jaime's own agonized eyes.

"I did not dream it." Brienne tried to convince herself. "You were here. I know you were." Brienne searched what she perceived as the darkened corners above her. "Please My Love." She gasped with grief. "I need you. I need to feel you." She sobbed. "Please." Her voice failed her. She hung her head, lost and alone in her grief.

Jaime stood helplessly before her, broken and mired in the same torturous suffering. He could not comfort her. He dared not draw nearer. Brienne's plaintiff cry echoed though the chamber and tore Jaime's heart
apart. 'Please!' It was not the first time she had beseeched him so. His mind traveled once more to where she had found him packing his saddle to leave her in that freezing old castle. Brienne had begged him then, as she did now. It was the last word she spoke to him. Its echo had crashed within his skull as he took his last breath. 'Please!' That small word filled with so much pain had been their final moment before he climbed onto that damned horse and rode away from her, before he destroyed everything.