The days passed quickly, evening into morning, midday into night, until a fortnight came and went and was barely noticed. The Small Council busied itself with matters made slightly less urgent by the defeat of those who had sought to conquer Westeros. There was no Night King to vanquish. There were no long lost children of despot kings seeking to restore the throne to long dead houses. No evil queen manipulated her path to power. No legendary hero sacrificed himself to safeguard the life of the women he loved. Those events had passed to history. It had all been done, and now a young King with an all seeing vision would lead The Realm into the future. After all they had seen, everything they had done, all they had lost, those who sat around the Council table felt it strange to be settled into such calm. The momentum of life had become almost routine.
Brienne was astounded that somehow she should be satisfied with the habitual pattern of her life in Kings Landing. After a lifetime spent proving herself on the battlefield and in the training yard, at last she had achieved the respect and position of which she always dreamed. She served The King himself as the highest ranking knight in the land, and found purpose in his safety, pride in her abilities and achievements. Brienne busied herself with the daily responsibilities of her duties, and barely noticed that her time filled itself as the days raced by. It was the dark still nights which she dreaded, almost as much as the unwanted attentions of Ser Eyan Ripleigh who, much to Brienne's dismay, had seemed to take some inexplicable liking to her.
It took a moon before she could stop waiting for Jaime to come to her as he had done the night his kiss was laid unseen upon her lips, another still before Brienne could truly sleep again. She lost count of the times she begged him for a simple touch, until finally she stopped pleading altogether. Brienne fought herself not to believe that it had all been a dream, all of it. At first she revisited in her thoughts every moment which had been theirs, to prove that Jaime had in fact been real and not some figment of a love starved heart. No, Brienne knew within the deepest part of herself that all they shared while Jaime was alive had been so very real, and the loss of him had nearly destroyed her. She could not help that he still filled her thoughts, and fed every beat of her heart. It was not Brienne's fault that she wanted nothing to do with Eyan Ripleigh. He was personable enough, one might even say charming. Ser Eyan more than satisfactorily filled the Master of War seat on the Small Council. He was, in fact, quite skilled and knowledgeable in his position. Brienne could find no fault with him there. The man's only sin was that he was not Jaime Lannister, and for that, Brienne could not forgive him.
Jaime was witness to each moment of pain he had brought to Brienne. He sat next to her undetected in the darkness as her hope turned to despair. He found a new heartbreak for each of her tears. Brienne allowed only the stars and flames which lit the darkness of her chambers to view her struggle, unaware of her secret audience of one. He waged his own valiant war to keep himself concealed from her. After a time, Jaime saw an empty sadness far too deep for expression creep into her heart and settle there. She hid her wounds well in the light of day, burying them deep beneath her armor and herself in her duties. As he watched Brienne hide herself away from the life for which she was destined, Jaime could not deny truth in The King's reasoning or the warning he had imparted to him, that he not interfere with the closeness that would surely grow between Brienne and Ser Eyan. The Gods had decreed it. He had abided in their decision for her sake. He had seen Brienne rebuke Ser Eyan's advances, but he knew the time was near. Now the only action he could take was to wait and observe as his love fell in love with someone else.
Over the weeks that passed, Ser Eyan Ripleigh slipped almost effortlessly into his role of Master of War. He worked tirelessly to build and train King Bran's troops. His endeavors to ensure the Realm was strongly protected soon resulted in alliances and unities between all of the kingdoms in Westeros. Under his leadership, resources were quickly stockpiled to meet the needs of his soldiers, and to ensure their readiness should the unthinkable occur. Houses long mired in feuding swore truces along with their fealty to the Three-Eyed Raven when met with Ser Eyan's artful diplomacy. Factions opposed to the young king's ascension to the throne
soon claimed pride at being subject to his rule. Save for a few notable exceptions, most of his fellow members of the Small Council were soon singing the praises of this stranger from across the sea. It seemed the words which fell from Eyan's mouth were golden and all his actions charmed. The one deed he could not manage was the one he labored the hardest to achieve, to secure the good opinion of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
Nearly all of the hours which remained in Ser Eyan's Ripleigh's days were spent attempting to get closer to Brienne any way he could. His efforts were spent trying to win the Lord Commander's good favor. He knew she would not fall head over heels in love with him, at least not in short order. However, Eyan was drawn to Brienne and wished nothing more than to pass an few hours in her presence discussing the experiences of lives well lived.
"Forgive me for the interruption, Lord Hand." Eyan announced himself as he entered Tyrion's solar, several crisp sheets of new parchment clutched in his hand.
The frustrated exhale which left Tyrion's lungs was almost palpable. "Yes?" He looked up, annoyed. "What is it?" Tyrion grunted. It was clear The Hand of the King had few moments to spare for the Master of War. So far he had avoided becoming overly friendly with the newcomer. Tyrion told himself that after his own experiences abroad, he distrusted Ser Eyan's motivations in venturing to Kings Landing. It was a comfortable self-deception. The truth was far too painful. Each time he viewed across the Council table the seat Jaime would surely have occupied, a sad lump formed in his throat. As he watched the bold newcomer's trial at gaining Ser Brienne's Attentions, a jealous ire on his brother's behalf burned in his breast. He knew Brienne deserved all the love and affection which Jaime would have showered over her. She had every right to a happy life. Jaime would have wanted that for her. However, Tyrion could not reconcile that understanding with how desperately he missed his brother.
Eyan stopped a few paces from Lord Lannister's desk, mindful of his intrusion and Tyrion's response. He cleared his throat respectfully, and showed no signed of recoiling from Then Hand's obvious contempt. His intentions in seeking Tyrion's counsel were simply to discuss matters of business, but the opportunity to confront the man for his clear indignation had presented itself.
"Do you have a problem with me, My Lord?" Eyan asked, his stare squarely upon Tryion, his stance a solid challenge.
Tyrion's raised his eyes from the words he had been so intent upon forming only moments before. His brow furrowed with his thoughts. The silence between the two men seemed ominous for a long moment. Most would have thought Tyrion ready to hand Eyan Ripleigh his head. Then, The Hand of The King gave a long, defeated sigh, and lowered the quill between his fingers slowly until it laid forgotten atop the documents over which he poured.
"No." Tyrion answered at last. "No. I do not." He shook his head sadly. "It is my brother's actions at which my ire is focused." He admitted mournfully.
Eyan replied with an expression of confusion. "Forgive me." He shook his head. "I do not understand." Eyan told Tyrion, his countenance softening a bit.
Tyrion rose from his chair and trodded to face Eyan. "I am afraid it is I who must extend my apologies to you, Ser." He affirmed. Eyan remained silent at the earnestness in Tyrion's tone.
"I have made no secret of my belief that the Master of War seat would have been filled by my brother." Tyrion paused, his eyes grave with sadness at the thought of Jaime and all he had sacrificed.
Eyan lowered his head considerately. He had heard the rumors of Ser Jaime Lannister which had swirled behind his back almost from the moment of his arrival. Eyan had known the man only as The Kingslayer. He had come to understand that in the end perhaps the golden-handed knight had been more of hero than at first he had thought. "I have come to understand that Ser Jaime's legend has most assuredly outlived him." Eyan complimented.
"Legend." Tyrion snuffed, his eyes at once amused and melancholy. He stared somewhere off in a corner, as if he saw something there, "Surely the singers of songs shall remember him heroically." Tyrion agreed. If his grip had been filled with a much needed goblet he would have offered a toast to Jaime. "I believe you will find, My Good Man, that most of those fabled warriors revered in the storybooks were in truth, all too human." Tyrion's voice was hallow and dry.
Drawing himself back from his painful memories, Tyrion straightened his spine until it nearly cracked. He raised his chin to the Master of War and cleared his throat. He had behaved abominably toward Ser Eyan. The man had never wronged him, nor had the long lost second son of House Ripleigh obtained his position through falsehood. The only offense Tyrion could level against Eyan Ripleigh was that he yet lived, while Jaime was dead.
"The anger which burns within my chest is not truly directed toward you, Ser. My own bitterness I have held against you." Tyrion conceded humbly. "It is my brother and the choices he made that cost his life which affect me so." He grieved. "Had not he picked that moment for the most honorable decision of his life, Jaime would live still." Tyrion explained, his heart sitting like a rock in his chest. "He would fill your seat beside Ser Brienne." Tyrion almost smiled at the image. "If only he could have remained at Winterfell, Jaime would be happy with the woman he loved." He lamented. Tyrion had not meant to divulge so much to one he had known for such a short time, however he felt a strange force almost pulling the tale from his lips.
As he studied Tyrion, Eyan silently contemplated all he had heard of Jaime Lannister during his still short time in the Capital. Much, he had to admit, disgusted him. Apparently, Ser Jaime's lustful relationship with his own sister had been the worst kept secret in Westeros. In some of the rumors, Eyan found cause for alarm. The latter made the reasons for Ser Bronn's laughter each time Eyan looked at Lady Brienne abundantly clear. It seemed that for quite some time as Ser Jaime kept his sister distracted with his cock, his heart belonged to the Maid of Tarth. When it seemed as though Queen Cersei's hold upon the Iron Throne was tenouous and her very life threatened, The Lion of Lannisters had at last foresaken her in favor of his true love. At Winterfell it was told, by those who voice such matters in the open, that Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne has succumbed to their long held passions. Inexplicably, when their fates seemed happily intertwined Ser Jaime had abandoned his lady fair in the cruelest of fashions once the tides of luck turned in Kings Landing and were promising a victory to The Queen. Eyan could discern sense from none of it. He could only imagine the devastation Brienne must have felt when Ser Jaime left The North. The condition of The Lord Commander's maidenhead concerned Ser Eyan not in the least. It was the state of her heart which worried him. He hoped the rumors were no more than the idle chatter of aimless tongues.
Eyan eyed Tyrion uncertainly. He had no wish to pry into Lord Lannister's private family matters. He knew all too well the importance of keeping the indiscretions of one's house from the public eye. However, Brienne of Tarth had filled his mind and his hopes since the moment he set foot in the Small Council chamber and found himself swept away by her magnificence. As the weeks went by he found himself drawn to the Lord Commander, even more than he had imagined possible. Eyan had buried all hope of a life shared with another when he laid in the ground the sweet girl who first claimed his heart. He could not have dreamed that so many years later one would stand before him that caused his heart to beat again, and brought those long dead dreams to life. If the rumors were true, if Ser Brienne's heart belonged to the ghost of Jaime Lannister, could Eyan ever stand a chance of claiming its broken pieces as his own?
"My Lord." Eyan interrupted Tyrion's sad reminiscence. "It is none of my business, and you may think me bold." He foreshadowed. "But I must ask." He trudged ahead of himself resolutely. "I have heard whispers of…" Eyan paused for a moment to swallow either the distaste of the images painted by strangers, or the dread that there may be no hope of for him at all.
Tyrion nodded and lowered his gaze in thought, already aware of Ser Eyan's inquiry. He did not know why he felt the need to divulge such secrets to someone he barely knew, but he had seen the way the Master of War looked at Brienne. He had only ever seen such hope, such enchantment in one gaze. The same enraptured fascination washed over Jaime's own expression each time Lady Brienne entered his thoughts. Just as with his brother, Tyrion realized Ser Eyan was in love with Brienne of Tarth perhaps before the man had even entertained those notions. His heart grieved that the true love of Jaime's heart, the woman who could have saved him, might perhaps find love with another. In the same moment that remorse clawed at Tyrion's chest, he deplored the injustice that Brienne would face a life of lonely isolation. He knew Jaime would not want that for her. His brother had given his life so that she would live hers to the fullest. The King had decreed the old oaths of the Kingsguard abandoned. Brienne could marry and know a life filled with love, even without Jaime. Tyrion determined to assist that cause, if he could.
After a moment The Hand of King spoke low, and complacent. "You have heard whispers of my brother and my sister." He affirmed. "That they were more than such to each other." Tyrion reviled his own words, but there was no denying the truth, even if it had not been so in the end.
"Aye." Eyan confirmed softly, almost reluctantly, too polite to level his gossip as an accusation. "It is said that they were…" He began, and then thought himself crass. "That Ser Jaime loved Queen Cersei as much more than a sister. That King Robert did not father her children. That it was your brother's seed planted thrice in her belly." Eyan hated to speak such vile ugliness, but his hope for Brienne was so overpowering, that even decorum would not thwart him.
A long deep exhale enunciated an even more lengthy pause on Tyrion's part. He stood stroking his beard and studying the floor, wondering where to begin and how much he had any right to reveal. Of Cersei's regard he cared nothing. For his honor in this matter, Tyrion knew Jaime would be troubled little. It was Brienne's esteem that Tyrion wished to protect as Jaime had done, with his life. And so the only Lannister left alive to tell the tale began, unsure where his story would wind.
With a swallow of the bad taste in his mouth, Tyrion began his brother's explanation. "I wish I could emphatically dispute these allegations. Alas I cannot." He replied, earnestly. "I do believe my brother and sister were the only people in the Seven Kingdoms then who thought their lifelong tryst unknown." He almost chuckled at the absurdity of lengths Jaime had gone to avoid their detection. "It is true that Jaime's lustful fixations focused upon Cersei since they were children." Tyrion said, sadly. "She told him it was love, demanded it of him, and Jaime believed her." He shook his head ruefully. "In reality, it was control and manipulation." Tyrion's thoughts filled with the memories of how Cersei would toy with Jaime, only to abuse him later like an ill-treated lap dog. "For many years Jaime lived for Cersei. Cersei lived for what his sword hand could get her." He nodded at his own assertion. "When that was gone she had no use for him." Tyrion's jaw steeled resentfully remembering the price Cersei had put on both his head, and Jaime's.
Eyan watched Tyrion's lament with some bewilderment. "So then your brother did not, in fact, love your sister?" He questioned, fearful of the answer and what it might mean to his hopes of courting Lady Brienne.
Tyrion turned and crossed the room to his wine service. As he arranged two shining goblets, and poured a thick Dornish vintage into both, he continued. This time, his voice held a note of relief and gratitude. "My brother did not know real true love until his heart was won by perhaps the only woman in The Realm pure and honorable enough to see the real Jaime Lannister, and strong and skilled enough to handle him on or off the battlefield." Tyrion smiled, as he handed a goblet to the crestfallen knight who stood before him.
"Ser Brienne." Eyan spoke hollowly, his voice almost a whisper as he stared at his vessel of wine, unable to take a sip. "Then it is true, she did love him." He tried to hide the defeat which seeped into his chest.
"Yes." Tyrion confirmed. "And he loved her, more than his own life." He declared. Jaime was only truly himself, only truly happy when he was with Lady Brienne." Tyrion nodded. He gulped from his goblet, wishing the warmth of the liquid could bring him comfort.
After a long pause in which Eyan's mind whirled with questions, he settled upon the most confusing. "Then why did he leave her? Why did he return to your sister?" Eyan pressed.
A hundred answers lodged in Tyrion's throat. He could at last reveal the truth in Jaime's last honorable act. He could proclaim his brother a hero who had kept Lady Brienne safe by ensuring Cersei's death. Instead, he chose to chase those ideas back from whence they came with another mouthful of wine. If he were to begin the confession, Tyrion knew he would have been woe to cease until all of the secrets he protected had been spewed upon the stones. He would not defile Jaime's memory that way. Instead he merely shook his head, unwilling to continue.
"I cannot say anymore." Tyrion digressed. "It is not my place." He breathed. The story was Brienne's to tell, if ever she saw fit. "Suffice it to say that my brother would have never left Ser Brienne, if he had not felt it more harmful were he to stay." His stare bore through Eyan, willing him to understand all that remained unspoken.
Eyan contemplated his wine while he pondered Tyrion's words the latter having taken his leave to refill the empty goblet in his hand. Although Lord Tyrion had not finished his woeful tale, it was clear that Ser Jaime had given his life to protect Brienne. A sacrifice beyond the comprehension of most. He could never fault any man for so selfless a deed. Eyan thought of the pain Brienne must have suffered at the death of the man she loved. It called to his mind how he had once grieved his own maiden fair. His heart broke for the stoic Lord Commander, her outer facade never giving hint to the tragedy of her loss. Of course that was the reason for her gentle rebuke of even his mildest attempts to gain her favor. He sighed with hope and fear. Could she ever find room in her heart to allow him in?
Before Eyan could despair any longer Tyrion returned. The Hand of King wore an air of sadness and seemed less animated than usual. "Forgive my melancholy." Tyrion bid. "It seems thoughts of my brother shall always reduce me to sadness." He regretted. "I shall endeavor not to compare your position with what might have been." Tyrion promised with a forced smile, and lifted his goblet in a half-hearted pledge.
Ser Eyan looked upon Tyrion compassionately. "Not at all, My Lord." He absolved. "It is most understandable." He smiled kindly, as his thoughts returned to Brienne. He imagined what the future might have held for her, had not Ser Jaime been her champion and sealed his own fate to guarantee hers. Perhaps Brienne's destiny had been meant as a lifetime with Ser Jaime. Eyan wondered if his own was the life he had never lived with one he had first loved. Neither had come to pass, yet he and Brienne remained. Could it be possible that they might still find some bit of happiness in this life, with each other? Eyan decided that if he had any say in the matter, that was exactly what would come to pass.
Holding out his goblet with a renewed sense of hope, Eyan offered a toast to The King's Hand. "I give you my word, Lord Tyrion, I will do my best to live up to Ser Jaime's place." He vowed, his eyes sparkling as he thought of Brienne.
A brave and stalwart knight, never one to shy from any challenge, Ser Eyan Ripleigh spent the next week baffled and perplexed unable to determine any circumstance that would turn the fair heart of Ser Brienne of Tarth to his favor. Each day, he awoke with renewed assurance that at least she might grace him with a word, and every night would end in defeat as Eyan collapsed onto his cot despairing the missed opportunities of the day. The only comfort to be found was in his dreams where Brienne would grace him with the smile she guarded so jealously, and the kisses he was certain were sweeter than any wine. It was folly, for he knew that if she would not at least speak to him, it could never happen. By now, Eyan Ripleigh held no doubts, there was no question, he was deeply in love with Brienne of Tarth.
As the fates, or divine intervention would have it, Eyan did not have long to wait before the occasion arose that would bring him closer to Brienne. He had spent the majority of the afternoon in conference with The King. The sun had long since set upon the day by the time their discourse was concluded. With The Realm at peace, Ser Eyan detailed his plans to The Three-Eyed Raven for keeping it so. King Bran seemed pleased, and was eager for The Master of War to begin his agenda for the unity and strength of Westeros.
"Very well." Bran lowered his chin approvingly. "It seems Westeros shall be more than adequately protected." He complimented, handing the pile of scrolls Eyan had brought for his perusal to Ser Podrick Payne, who stood at attention by his side. The young man appeared equally pleased.
"I believe it will be, Your Grace." Eyan answered, confidently.
"I would ask that you also detail your plans to The Lord Commander." Bran remarked, his eyes almost smiling.
"To Ser Brienne?" Eyan asked, as timid as a young boy.
Bran found the man's sudden uneasiness amusing. "These arrangements involve The Lord Commander and her Guard as well." The King assured him. "If all is to go as planned she will need to be consulted." Bran's gaze grew clouded and distant, as if he were peering into the future.
"Of course, Your Grace." Eyan answered bowing, realizing the King spoke of much more than the protection of The Realm.
As he rose, Eyan took the parchments from Podrick's grasp. He could not mistake the glare in which the young knight had him captured. Brienne had been Podrick's mentor, he her squire. There was a bond between them. Brienne's heart had already once been broken. As he stared at Podrick, Eyan heard the young man's unspoken promise. 'If you hurt her, I will kill you.' The words rang between them louder than any vow either had ever sworn. Eyan bowed his head in reverence to Podrick's warning. His deference told the King's Sworn Sword that there would never be a need. Releasing the scrolls into Eyan's hand, Podrick seemed to understand.
His feet felt like heavy boulders the floor like mud as Eyan made his way from The King's solar to the White Sword Tower. Never had he been at such a loss to determine how he would begin. On all the times before when he had tried to elicit a conversation from Brienne, he had felt so sure of himself, cocky. Now, when he at least had a point of business behind which to pursue his true purpose, no words to begin his mission came to his mind. His usual reckless confidence was failing him. It was a dilemma in which he rarely found himself, and one that made his mouth dry and his limbs quiver. He had so little experience with such an emotion, save for a memory felt for such a short time so long ago. This was love.
Eyan found Brienne hard at work in The Round Room, her brow furrowed over her own extensive collection of parchments. Of course, he did not see the other presence in the room who sat just inches from her, facing her, perched upon the Weirwood Table. Brienne had left the door open, but did not hear as Eyan approached. A moment's reprieve for which The Master of War was grateful. He used the time to calm his breathing and swallow the nervousness in his throat. The vision before him, steadied his courage. He could not appear as a lovesick fool before such a woman. With a hopeful breath he wrapped his knuckles upon the door.
"Yes?" Brienne questioned although she did not look up. Jaime's gaze dashed toward the door, ever watchful. His countenance fell, understanding that the time had come for Ser Eyan to begin his quest for Brienne's heart.
"Forgive the intrusion, Lord Commander." Eyan stepped forward, somehow finding the confidence he did not feel. "The King has asked me to deliver these to you." He searched for his opening.
"Lay them there." Brienne's tone carried the slight air of busy annoyance as she motioned to the table in front of her. "I shall study them when I get a moment." She expressed, hoping it would appease Ser Eyan and he would go away. Within moments, it was clear that her wish would not be granted.
Seeing his chance slipping from his grasp, Eyan thought quickly, perhaps embellishing The King's wishes somewhat. "I believe his desire is that you would review them directly." Eyan gave her a most innocent yet serious look.
Brienne tried her best to ignore the impulse to roll her eye. The King was apparently requesting her attention to the matter. She did, however, let go long aggravated sigh through her nostrils as her jaws were clenched at the intrusion. "Very well." She replied cooly, reaching for the scrolls.
Eyan handed the papers eagerly across the table, reaching over Oathkeeper which lay like a sentinel upon the table, almost as an obstacle between them. The Lord Commander sat back from her rosters and drill formations to unroll the documents that King Bran had deemed urgent. As she did so, Brienne wondered that perhaps the peace which The Six Kingdoms and The North now enjoyed was more tenuous than she realized. What else could possibly be the cause of such haste? At the same time, Jaime stood and peered over Brienne's shoulder, squinting to follow the scribbled lines. Neither Brienne nor Eyan noticed the flicker of the candle flame where he passed it as he rose.
Brienne quicky perused the first scroll. When she reached the bottom she gave a small satisfied nod, and laid it aside. Eyan, who had been standing breathless before her as she read, found at least a moment's pause for a tiny relieved gulp of air. His heart raced within his chest, hoping for Ser Brienne's positive critique of his plans. Never a fast reader, Jaime reflexively stepped back as Brienne rolled the document and set it aside. Whatever the final few lines had described he would have to guess.
The second scroll was received in much the same nonchalant accord as the first. It was as she read the third and final parchment that Brienne stood. This one, she studied much closer than the others, moving to the hearth where the light of the fire would give a better view of the words Ser Eyan had printed. Jaime followed hard on her heals, his interest piqued by what Eyan had written. The tracking of Brienne's eyes slowed as she read carefully, for which Jaime was grateful. Her intensified scrutiny would at least give him time to complete this one.
With a pausing breath, Brienne looked up from the final scroll and studied Ser Eyan. "I can tell you have studied the Essosi military style at length." She expressed.
"I learned it as a boy on my father's knee." Eyan smiled. Jaime could not help but feel a tug of jealousy at those lessons being shared between a son and his father. The only times Tywin Lannister had ever instructed him in his childhood were long tedious reading practices in which he had seldom earned his father's favor, and generally prayed a good battle or a threat to the realm would require Tywin's leave.
Brienne continued, unaware of Jaime's waxing nostalgic at her side. She was fascinated by the other aspects of Eyan details. "It is your description of the combat tactics used by the Sothoryosi which is remarkable." She admitted. "Are they truly that advanced?" She asked, her eyes wide with wonder.
Eyan took the opportunity of Brienne dropping her guard to step a little closer. "There are vast civilizations down there that few here in Westeros know anything about.' He reported.
"Save for you, and The King." Brienne conjectured.
"Perhaps." Eyan acknowledged with a kind smile.
"Do they pose a threat?" Brienne questioned, alarmed.
"At present, not at all." Eyan assured her. "The resources required to make the ocean voyage would tax them beyond anything of which they are currently capable." He hypothesized. "In the generations to come, and with growing contact from the known world, who's to say." Eyan's eyes grew distant with his word. Jaime wondered if perhaps the man had heard his conversation with The King, although he knew it was impossible.
Brienne read the reticence in Eyan's voice. Suddenly, her heart grew heavy for him. "You have friends there." She said, already knowing the answer.
"Aye." Eyan nodded, unconsciously moving closer to her. "Some of the best I have ever known." He told her.
"And if you should someday be called to face them on the battlefield?" Brienne asked, her voice more caring, more understanding.
Eyan brought his gaze to meet hers, his breath taken for a moment by the blue depths he found there. Standing apart from them, Jaime understood. "I have no wish to face across the blade men I would have died with on some other day, but my duty is to King Bran, and to The Realm." He spoke proudly. "If that day should come, I shall not waver." Eyan vowed.
Brienne's expression was compassionate as she looked upon Eyan, her thoughts waning far away to a dark tent, on a battlefield and the siege that promised to follow. "I once faced that prospect." She said, uncertain why she felt the need to tell him the tale, her voice nearly a whisper. "There was a moment when I feared I would need to face upon the field of battle someone I had grown to…" She trailed off as her hand went instinctively for Oathkeeper's hilt. Missing the object she sought to grasp, Brienne looked longingly over to the The Weirwood Table upon which her great weapon lay. "… one who held my fondness." She could barely finish over the memory of Jaime's promise.
'It's your. It will always be yours.' His words sounded like a wedding vow in her mind. Brienne fought the tears that tore at her eyes. Jaime, too, felt the unspoken bond that had pulled at them not only that day at Riverrun, but since the first moment they met. Still, their love connected them, as it always would.
Unaccustomed to gentle words with a high born woman, and desperate to keep their conversation alive, Eyan spoke before his judgement begged more caution from him. "The Kingslayer." He nodded, eager to prove himself more worthy than the ghost of Jaime Lannister. "I am sure there are more than a few who would have liked to face him, or his sister over a sword." He knew his sentiment was callous the moment it left his lips.
Brienne stiffened in defense. Her face flushed hot with anger. "You did not know him." She seethed at Eyan. "You have no right to say such things about him." Brienne defended Jaime as she had to Queen Daenarys at Winterfell, this time her rage threatened to overcome her self control.
Eyan at once stepped back from Brienne, bowing his head remorsefully. He mentally kicked himself for his flippant disregard of her feelings. "You are right." He acquiesced. "Forgive me. I did not mean to offend, or to dishonor Ser Jaime's memory." He begged Brienne gravely. "I regret that my words have distressed you, My Lady." He longed to take her hand. "I simply cannot imagine anyone forsaking the gift of your heart." He held her in a gaze so strong and enamored that Brienne was struck speechless. Only one man had ever looked at her that way, Jaime.
Riddled with shame, Jaime clenched his fists angrily at his own mistakes. Ser Eyan had every right to criticize his deeds. Leaving Brienne had been the worse thing he had ever done, even more hateful and terrible by far than killing his own king. He should have torn Westeros apart to see her protected, rather than riding off into the night toward his uncertain fate, with nary a word of his remorse or his undying love for her. Not even the knowledge that his actions were done for the right reasons could ease his pain.
Brienne could not look at Ser Eyan. How she wanted it to be Jaime standing with her, but it was not. Eyan Ripleigh was trying his best to be kind, still she could not bear for him to see the tears in her eyes. Jaime stood with Brienne, merely the hint of a shadow, lost within the same pain through which she suffered. He wondered if she could ever remember him without losing herself in sorrow. Brienne turned to the hearth, finding solace in the entrancing glow of the embers. She did not think to wish Eyan gone.
"You loved him." Eyan's voice was calm and gentle, a tiny light in her darkness. Brienne did not understand why, but it comforted her. She reached for it.
Sniffingly her weeping away for the moment, Brienne returned her attentions to Eyan, bringing the conversation around to him. "What of you Ser?" She inquired. "You brought no wife with you to Kings Landing." She observed. "Has there never been a lady who won your affections?" Brienne asked innocently.
It was Eyan who then grew quiet. The color drained from his face, yet he tried to laugh his melancholy away. "We we're not discussing matters of my heart, My Lady" He tried to joke.
Brienne stammered. "Forgive me." She replied self consciously. "I did not mean to pry." She apologized.
Eyan blushed and granted a small forgiving smile. "Not at all." He told her. "I am the one who brought up the past." He lowered his eyes, suddenly bashful. Brienne followed his gaze to the floor.
"I was married, once, a long time ago." Eyan confided, his own eyes now distant. "Her name was Aubrey." He smiled. "We were but ten and six." He described as Brienne watched him peering into a place long gone.
"A beautiful name." Brienne complimented. "From what House was her line?" She asked innocently. It was only natural to assume he had married to his station.
Eyan's grin deepened. "She was not high born." He corrected politely. "She was the daughter of a farmer on my father's lands." He sighed. "She was kind and smart." Eyan continued. "Her wit was not to be equaled. She stood for no pretenses." He chuckled at a private memory. "She was the loveliest thing I had ever laid my eyes upon." He held Brienne in his stare for longer than was necessary, with such an intensity that his unspoken 'until now' was almost palpable.
Standing at Brienne's shoulder, Jaime's whisper caused the hair at the divot of her neck to sway as if in a breeze. "She sounds very much like you, My Love." He told her, unheard.
Brienne could only assume that Ser Eyan had lost his dear young wife to a tragic early death. She knew better than anyone how the heart tore itself apart mourning a lover taken too soon. "How long were you wed?" She asked softly.
Still treading his memories, Eyan spoke almost in a dream. "We enjoyed a joyful year of marriage." He answered. "Before the fever took her." His tone filled with pain.
"I'm sorry." Brienne moved closer, wanting to comfort him.
Eyan cleared his throat and looked up, trying to regain his composure. He suspected she would not mind just one more interrogation. "Did you and Ser Jaime ever discuss marriage?" He told himself it was an innocent question, but he desperately wished to know.
Brienne's heart hollowed at all she and Jaime had missed. "We did not have that time." She answered sadly. Eyan nodded, but said nothing.
Jaime hung his head in regret. "If I had had but one more day, I would have climbed atop one of those fucking dragons and shouted to the whole of Westeros that I loved you." He said mournfully to Brienne, although his words could not reach her ears.
Her attention remained fixed upon Ser Eyan. "Is that when you left your House?" For some reason Brienne felt she needed to know about Eyan's life.
The laughter with which Eyan returned her inquiry was almost bitter. "Not quite." He cocked his head at the irony. "I was disowned." He wondered if that might change her opinion of him.
"Your father did not look kindly upon your marriage?" Brienne asked compassionately. He would not be first nobleman to lose his station over a woman.
Eyan sighed whimsically, remembering the closeness his family had once shared. "Oh no." He assured her. "My father was a kind and generous man." He grinned. "A bit of a romantic, I think. He loved Aubrey." Eyan said proudly. Brienne looked on, confused. "It was not another year before my beloved father took his last breath. My brother renounced me after his death." Eyan spoke with an acceptance born of years spent burying his gnawing bitterness. "My brother took our House, our lands, and our titles. As the second son, I could only accept his treachery." He stated plainly as if he took no offense in the matter.
"You could have challenged him, fought for what was yous." Brienne offered. Luckily, her sentiment was not voiced as harshly as she thought it sounded. Jaime smiled at Brienne's keen sense of Justice.
Eyan merely shook his head. "I loved my father too much for that." His expression was whimsical. "I would be bring dishonor to his name, or his memory." He explained.
Brienne marveled at his selfless reply. "You are not bitter?" She wondered how she might fair if she had been so treated when her own father had learned of her history with Jaime. Fortunately, Lord Selwyn was a far kinder person than Ser Eyan's brother. She thought perhaps The Evenstar and Lord Ripleigh would have gotten along well.
"Bitter?" Eyan acted as if the idea had not occurred to him. "I have no use for castles, and titles. I had no oaths to hold me." He explained. Brienne drew a shallow almost inaudible gasp. She recalled Jaime's lament of oaths in the bath at Harrenhal, and how his struggle had pained her to hear. It was then that she began to fall in love with him. Jaime saw the flash of memory behind her eyes, and knew that she was with him once more, if only for a moment.
Thankfully Eyan did not notice the quick change in Brienne's breathing and went on. "Besides." He gazed serenely at her. "If I had not been turned out to make my way I would not have seen the places I have seen. I would have made the friends I hold dear, or learned such thing as will help The King." He told Brienne almost happily. "And I would not be standing here now, with you." He finish earnestly, fighting the urge to touch her face, a heavy awkwardness hanging between them.
His words called to mind her own path in life, although hers had been by choice, and she had known the benefit of her father's connections. "How did you survive? You had no inheritance." She questioned, awed by his courage.
"I had enough, all I needed." Eyan declared. "I was rewarded with my Father's sword." Eyan drew the longsword from his belt for inspection and lifted his chin with all the glory of a celebrated gentleman. "A fair exchange." He beamed.
Brienne's eyes traveled up the shining blade. It was not made of Valyrian steel, but it was as imposing a sight as either Oathkeeper or Widows Wail. Although her heart sank to think of Jaime's fine blade lost, Brienne hid her grief and studied Eyan's sword even closer.
"A magnificent weapon." She proclaimed. "Does it have a name?" She smiled. "All the best swords have names." Brienne repeated the words Jaime had spoken to her as she had left Kings Landing on the quest she had not realized then had been delegated by Jaime to take her far from The Capital and Cersei's spies. Jaime recalled every moment of that day, and how he had stared into Brienne's astonishing eyes. He remembered the pain of watching her leave, and how his heart yearned to go with her. What a misery it was that even at Winterfell they could not hide from Cersei's agents.
Eyan drew in a breath as he lowered his blade, the shadow of shock crossing his face that she would know such an intimate detail. Brienne smiled to herself and took a moment to retrieve her own weapon from the Weirwood Table across the room. She buckled the scabbard around her waist and returned to stand imposingly before him. With an air of majesty she drew her sword and spoke the words she told Jaime on that day so long ago. "Oathkeeper." She declared with pride.
Ser Eyan Ripleigh held out his sword, the weapon that had hung from his father's waist, and announced the identity of his own blade. "Destiny Maker." He introduced the steel to the woman he hoped it would now protect. Brienne nodded her acceptance and sheathed Oathkeeper. Then taking her usual stance, Brienne rested her fist around the lion's hilt.
"Ser Jaime gave you that sword." Eyan smiled tenderly.
It was Brienne this time who seemed shocked. "How did you know that?" She asked amazed, her mind recalling the moment Jaime gifted her with the symbol of his very heart.
Eyan regarded her with wonder, wishing he could take her hand and declare himself to her. Their silent witness tensed, almost sensing the same notion for which he himself longed. "Well." He smirked. "For one thing, it is adorned with lions and rubies." Eyan laughed. "It is clearly Lannister steal." Brienne could not help smiling in response. Eyan's conclusion turned soft and serious. "And, you hold onto that sword as if it were a living being." He said, his indictment loving and kind.
Brienne did not blush. She did not turn away. She simply regarded Ser Eyan in a strange new light. Perhaps she had been harsh, practically running from him each time he tried to address her. Brienne thought it possible that she was allowing her heartbreak over Jaime to cloud her judgment where other men were concerned, even ones whom she was certain could never be anything more than a friend. She acknowledged to herself that she was being silly. She had precious few friends in The Capital, and surely it could not hurt to count Ser Eyan among their scant ranks. It would not dishonor Jaime's memory to at least converse with the man. Relaxing into a more casual demeanor, Brienne motioned toward one of the chairs set by the hearth.
"If you have a moment, Ser Eyan, I would enjoy the opportunity to discuss Sothoryosi battle strategies with you." She smiled graciously.
Eyan bowed, and answered Brienne's invitation with a charming smile. "It would be my pleasure, Lord Commander." He beamed.
Almost unaware, Jaime shrunk back into the shadows. He watched Brienne's fascination at Ser Eyan's exotic descriptions of his time on the southern continent. She was mesmerized, picturing each detail. It was good to see her smile again, even if it was not him who put the glee in her eyes. He supposed this would be his life until the day they would be reunited, watching her happiness with another man as life continued without him. Though Jaime would always feel the painful sting of his yearning for her, he would at least be comforted that he had done the right thing. Keeping her safe was worth any price The Gods deemed fit that he should pay. This night Jaime kept his presence undetected and listened to the beginnings of what would be Brienne's new life without him. He had at least been able to give her that much. Unaware of their silent audience, Brienne and Eyan talked by the fire long into the night, their voices and laughter echoing through the corridors of The White Sword Tower.
