I'm so sorry I'm not as active as I'd like.

I want to thank all of you for your Reviews, don't hesitate to write one whenever you want, it's very inspiring and helpful!

Brienne shivered as she saw Jaime suddenly move his head. He was as pale as ice. His features were exposing his pain although he was asleep. It had been only four days Brienne had arrived in King's Landing with Lady Sansa, and despite her tries to avoid Jaime Lannister, she had found herself going to his tent each time she had the opportunity. And it was not something beautiful to see. Jaime had been mostly delirious because of the fever his cut was giving him. The maesters had judged better to give him enough medicines to reduce his suffering. For this reason, Jaime was incapable to speak or even recognise a familiar face. The only things he did were to wince, whine, or scream in pain. There was nothing else that could be done, and Brienne knew it perfectly, but still, she wanted to see him. Although she was still furious with him, a small part of herself was silently hoping that he would have done the same thing for her if she was the one in this bed.

But he had left her. For Cersei.

Gods, the pain was deep. She thoughtfully looked at the man who had been everything to her. An enemy, a friend, a comrade in arms. A lover. She shivered once again. Why did she have to accept his overtures? She was drunk that night. He was too. They had seen Death and they had defeated it, together, fighting side by side. He had knighted her. She owed him so much, and yet she still wanted to slap him in the face for what he had done. Did he really kill Cersei? She could not believe it.

All of a sudden Jaime moved his head and frowned. He opened his mouth, and she heard a weak and broken voice whispering something unintelligible. She approached her head and focused. After she heard his word, she left the tent, hate blurring her thoughts.

"Cersei" was Jaime's word.

"Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End."

It was so weird to hear! Arya silently observed the scene. Sansa had told her Lord Gendry would arrive to the camp today. He would serve as one of the Council members. Lord Gendry. He was just Gendry to her. The boy she had met on the Kingsroad, who had helped her and protected her from many things. The man she had seen again just a few weeks ago, in Winterfell. The lover she had rejected. For this reason - but also because Arya hated formal things - she had preferred to find the perfect spot to see his arrival. She did not want him to see her. She knew she had hurt him. That she had "broken his heart" as fine ladies would say.

Gendry looked at Sansa, Brienne and Davos, and it was as if he was looking for her too, but he rapidly greeted everyone.

"I'm glad to see you here, my Lord," said Davos. "I hope the trip wasn't to long."

"No… No, it was fine," answered Gendry.

Arya chuckled. He's still not used to be called a "Lord".

"Welcome back," Sansa declared solemnly. "Some tents have been established just for you and you men, as you asked. Be assured that it is still possible in the Red Keep if you want to."

"Thank you, my Lady, but I'd prefer to remain here. I've never enjoyed this city."

Join the club. Arya thought. She wanted to leave, but abandoning her brother and the rest of the pack was out of question. She had seen Jon, the despair in his eyes. He needed her help, and she would gladly give it to him. Therefore she had accepted to join the Council aside with Bran and Sansa. Although she hated negotiations, she also knew this would be the last moment she would spend with her family. She had spoken with Sansa, and she was incapable to tell her her true plans for the future. She wanted to leave. Not only King's Landing, but Westeros. To travel, to be free, with no title, no possession, just free. She knew Sansa would not understand, but this would not stop her. She smiled as she saw Gendry follow her sister and Ser Davos to one of the tents. As he walked, he observed the other soldiers. He seemed to miss the time when he was nothing but one of them, not the official heir of King Robert. He was handsome. His green eyes were shining, perfectly matching with his fine grey coat. She rapidly left her hiding place right behind the stock of provision. She wanted to see Gendry, but not now. Before, she had to think.

The pain. It was unbearable. Jaime clenched his jaw as he tried to sit up in his bed. Where was he? His vision was still blurred, but rapidly, he recognized the inside of a white tent. What happened? Before he could make a move, the events of the past few days stroke his mind in a flash. He could see it now. King's Landing. Tyrion. The bells. The dragon. The fire. His heart missed a beat.

Cersei.

She was still in him. He could still see her face, the stupor in her eyes as he strangled her. She had lied to him. She had threatened him. Silent tears started to roll on his cheeks as he remembered what had happened. He had killed her.

Sororicide. Queenslayer. Kinslayer.

He remained alone for what had seemed to last several hours, still crying in pain and anger. The Gods had punished him for his sins, in every way possible. He had always thought the only person who was like him was his twin, and yet he was even more hateful than her. His feelings were splitted between remorse and relief. Between sadness and humor. His life was definitely a joke.

Jaime Lannister. Golden son of Tywin Lannister. Born to be the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, now a cripple crying like a baby in his bed.

He had chuckled a little, and then he had probably fallen asleep, for when he woke up, someone was in his tent, sitting in a chair several feets in front of the bed. He frowned a little to decipher who it was, but rapidly recognized the Tully red hair.

Lady Sansa.

Someone was standing right next to Sansa, in the dark, as if it was her own shadow. It took Jaime several seconds to recognize the man. Great shoulder span, tall, ruffled hair.

Sandor Clegane.

"Ser Jaime," said Sansa with a placid tone. "I'm glad to see you're still alive."

"No need to lie, my Lady."

His voice was so weak and passive. How many days had he been here?

"Am I your captive?" he asked.

She frowned, and he continued:

"I assume I'm in the Stark camp, and seeing you're still alive as well, I'd say the Targaryen girl won her bloody Iron Throne in the end. How useful it is to have a dragon. Did you celebrate?"

"Daenerys Targaryen is dead."

He paused. Dead? This woman was the most powerful in the Seven Kingdoms. Her beast had destroyed the entire capital. Her father would have been proud of her. How paradoxal it was from a girl who had always called herself different from Aerys II Targaryen.

"My brother killed her."

It took Jaime all the self-control not to burst into laughters. But as he started to chuckle, his ribs started to hurt. Jon Snow? Killing Daenerys Targaryen? Knowing he had bent the knee, and sworn loyalty to her? Gods, this was the best joke ever. Ned Stark's bastard son, the one who looked like him the most, who had always managed to keep his promises, who was admired by everyone thanks to his qualities, killing the Dragon Queen. The King in the North was a Queenslayer as well.

In your face, my dear Eddard Stark.

"There is a justice after all," said Jaime as he tried not to laugh.

Lady Sansa's face darkened. She lifted her head with defiance as the light caressed her beautiful features. For a brief moment, Jaime saw Catelyn Stark's ghost looking at him in the eye. She looked exactly like her mother, but there was this fierceness that marked her manners, constantly proving she was of Lord Eddard Stark's kin. The perfect mix between Tullys and Starks. Their parents would have been proud.

Jaime finally managed to stop his slow giggles and focused on the situation:

"Who's on the Iron Throne, then?"

"Nobody. There's no Iron Throne anymore. Daenerys' last dragon melted it."

"How poetic. The bloody chair that had been made by a dragon's fire, destroyed by the same fire."

Sansa did not answer. She was a Northerner, after all. Always cold and bold.

"Where's my brother?" Jaime asked suddenly.

"Your brother is in jail, for now. Daenerys considered him a traitor for the help he gave you during the siege. This is also the reason why I'm here."

"To execute me?"

"To give a message. Tyrion asked me to do so. He wants you to be strong."

"Strong for?"

Sansa started the interminable explanations about the Council, the need to find who would be the next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and to judge those who needed to receive a trial. She added Jaime was one of them, for the Dragon Queen had considered him a traitor as well. Many people in Westeros did not know what to think about him, knowing he had killed Cersei.

"The Council will analyse your reason and your behaviours. We need to know where your loyalty lies."

"It lies nowhere."

"You'll tell this when the time comes."

"So if I understand correctly, I am not officially your prisoner, but I can't see my brother or ask to leave the Stark camp."

"Correct."

"Oh, you Starks. Always playing on the incertitude. Never bold enough to get your hands dirty."

"Careful."

Sandor's voice broke the air. He approached the bed, his eyes glinting with annoyance.

"I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty if you don't hold your bloody tongue, Kingslayer," he barked.

"How funny this is," said Jaime as he looked at Sansa, completely indifferent. "The last time I was in a Stark camp, it was during the War of the Five Kings. The Young Wolf had threatened me with his direwolf as I was rotting in a cell, my hands tied against a stake. I see you found yourself a wonderful animal, Lady Sansa. Nothing better than a dog to replace a dead wolf. Tell me, Clegane, how's your big brother?"

Sandor made another step but Sansa called his name and he stopped automatically, his eyes betraying his revulsion for Jaime.

"Well, I see Lady Stark trained you wonderfully," declared Jaime with a forced smile.

"A shame my brother did not end your fucking life, Kingslayer."

"I couldn't agree more."

"How did you escape the Mountain? He was Cersei's bodyguard," asked Sansa.

This memory made Jaime shiver. The Mountain had torn him apart as if he was made of paper. His wounds automatically burned him at the memory.

"I don't know," he admitted. "He was about to give me the fatal blow but then he stopped and left."

"You're kiddin'," exclaimed Sandor.

"I'm not."

Sansa frowned. She did not believe Jaime. It sounded too unreal to imagine a man - a thing - as bloody as Ser Gregor to stop from killing an enemy. Yet, she decided she did not have to know every part of the version before the Council meeting. Jaime was having a good time making fun of Sandor. Now that his life was making no sense and had no purpose, anything could amuse him. He had found the exact same spirit he had before he lost his hand. Before he had met Brienne of Tarth.

Brienne.

His smiled disappeared as he suddenly realize she was not here. He felt his spinal column shudder as the thought she had died in the fight grew in his mind. He needed to ask:

"Where's Brienne?"

"She's not available at the moment," declared Lady Stark, her tone full of rebuke.

Good. At least she had understood how rubbish he was. He would never deserve her, and he had broke her heart. The scream she had made as he had left her in Winterfell echoed in his mind. "You're a good man," she had said. And she truly believed it. And yet, he had chosen Cersei.

At what cost?

"Can I see my brother?" he asked.

"Although I know Lord Tyrion really wants to see you, I cannot give you this right. Not without the other members' approval."

"Come on, I know you're very fond of my little brother. He was your husband once."

"Well tried, but my answer remains unchanged."

Bloody Starks.

"This cunt deserves what he got."

Sansa said nothing in return, and Sandor pensively looked at her. How could she feel compassion for such a man? He was a Lannister, a man without honor. And yet she seemed to care about him. Was it because he was her bodyguard's lover? This was another thing he could not explain. Only a man you had been banging his sister could be barmy enough to feel attracted to Brienne of Tarth. As barmy as Tormund Giantbane.

"Why, because he killed a Queen?" Sansa asked.

She felt sad and exhausted. It made Sandor wish to protect her even more. Things would change. She would be able to go back to her beloved North. To spread her wings. That was all she deserved. To be happy.

"Thank you for coming with me, Sandor."

She lifted her eyes and he shivered. The way she was looking at him, as if he was not a scarred at all. It was a strange feeling, and yet, he enjoyed it.

"Where're you going?" he asked.

"To get some rest before seeing the Members."

He wanted to say something nice to her, but nothing came out of his mouth. He left her without a bow.

Gendry filled another cup of wine. It had been his favourite activity since he had left Winterfell for Storm's End. Everyone around him was nothing but deceitful. Only respecting him because he was a Baratheon. He hated this. He had never known his father, and yet because the man had banged a commoner, here he was. At first he had thought Daenerys Targaryen had made him a favour, but now he was starting to thought she perfectly knew the curse she had given him. The curse to follow the rules to the letter. He took three sips and made a face. The wine started to make him feel tipsy, but he did not mind. It was the only way for him to feel good. This and seeing Arya. But he knew it was useless to look for her. If she was not there for his arrival, then he would not see her until the Council meeting.

Gendry left his tent after two other glasses and barked at one of his soldiers who insisted on him staying here. He had been drunk before, he did not need a Ser to wipe his ass off. The night was starting to fall, but he did not give a damn. He managed to avoid the main paths of the camp and to find its exit. Everything surrounding the city was desertic, and it was sad to see, but Gendry could not help but happily whistle as he walked around.

"I'd never think you'd be this happy to be here."

He jumped in surprise and turned around.

Arya.

She was looking at him, visibly amused. Had she followed him along the way? he could not tell if she was undetectable, or if he was too drunk to even hear a footstep. She approached him in silence, her eyes locked on his.

"Arya… I am…"

"Drunk," she cut off.

He giggled and lifted his hands.

"Guilty."

"Is this what you've been doing in Storm's End?"

His smile disappeared. Gods, she was beautiful. Her eyes were as grey as a storm. She was not a lady, but she was the most gorgeous woman he had seen in his life. He felt a heat in his neck as he remembered the night they had shared before the battle against the Dead. He had honoured her body, kissed each scar she had, he had even made her moan her name. He wanted her so bad right now.

Arya felt sadness in his eyes and it broke her. He was an innocent. He was good. He did not deserve to feel this way. And yet, she could not give him what he wanted. She was no lady. She could not tell him how much she cared about him. But she could show him. She knew he wanted her. She could tell, seeing his shaking hands and hearing his spasmodic breath. She approached him slowly, only focusing on his green eyes that were shining in the night.

They kissed passionately. It was right. It was good. Gendry took her by the arm and blocked her against the wall that surrounded the capital. Here, in the shadows, against the stones, they knew they would be free to expose their passion. Gendry felt his manhood hard against his belly. Arya bit his lips vigorously as she clenched her fingers in his hair. It had nothing to do about what they had done until then. It was violent, rough, as if they were nothing but animals. Gendry kissed her neck and sucked on it as his hand went under Arya's pants. She was so wet already. He lowered her trouser and went on his knees. People could see them. He did not care. Alcohol was given him enough courage to do anything he wanted. Arya moaned in surprise as she felt his lips on her sex. She caressed his hair as his tongued tickled her pleasure spot. She closed her eyes and focused on this lovely sensation. Her breast were burning her. She felt wet. So wet. Before she could do anything else, Gendry's face was crushed against hers, his lips stuck with hers. She let out a loud gasp as he entered her vehemently. She was stuck, between the wall and his manhood which was now moving inside her in a lovely rhythm. They rapidly reached their climax and yelled each other's names before she felt Gendry's seeds come inside her. He then gently kissed her neck and shoulder, caressing her hair, as if he started to realize what had just happened. As he looked at her in the eye, Arya internally swore herself that nobody else on this earth would touch her the way Gendry just did.

As she curled in her bed, Sansa started to process the event of the day. This had become her habit, to reconsider each important moment of each day before falling asleep, to remember every detail, notice any loophole. This was one of the reflex she had got after living with Ramsay Bolton. Littlefinger had taught her very well.

Jaime Lannister was awake, and as nasty as usual. The Mountain had spared his life. He did not seem to regret the assassination of his twin. Gendry Baratheon was here. He seemed to be completely lost. Sansa had silently accused him to drunk himself. He was Robert's son after all.

"My lady?"

Brienne's voice made her jump in her bed. There was something going on.

"What is it, Brienne?"

"Ser Davos sends me. Grey Worm just arrived in the camp with other Unsullied. They want to arrest the Hound."

This gave Sansa enough worry to make her get ready in a flash. Brienne helped her put a dark grey gown and a brown coat. They reached Ser Davos' tent and saw two Unsullied were standing guard. They let them pass through.

"What's the meaning of this?" asked Sansa as she found Grey Worm and Ser Davos standing face to face. The Unsullied leader looked at her with an angered look.

"We came for the Hound," was his explanation. "He killed one of us."

Sansa frowned.

"Please explain yourself," she ordered.

"Some people saw him kill a Dothraki during the Great Fire. He needs to pay."

Sandor killed a Dothraki? Sansa managed to hide her stupor. If these allegations were true, it would lead to the breakdown of the truce between the Northerner and the Unsullied.

"Come on, friend," said Davos, "I'm sure we can find a way to -"

"He killed one of us!" yelled Grey Worm, his eyes full of anger. "There's no way to find. He needs to be arrested and judged. Where is he now?"

"I have no idea," Sansa admitted.

"He was with you all day," barked the leader of the Unsullied. "Don't lie."

"Watch your tongue," shouted Brienne as she fiercely stepped in front of Sansa. "You're talking to the Lady of Winterfell, the King in the North's sister."

"The Queenslayer's sister," continued Grey Worm.

Brienne was about to make a move with her sword, but everyone jumped in surprise as Arya appeared right in front of Brienne, brandishing her dagger, her teeth clenched. How did she manage to enter without anyone noticing?

"You make a move, I stab your right in the middle of your forehead," she growled. This gave enough time for Davos to approach all of this mess and separate everyone.

"Please, please," he begged, "there's no need to fight each other."

"The Hound killed your Dothraki," said Arya. "I saw him. He did it to protect me. The man was about to charge me while I was bleeding out on the ground."

Grey Worm frowned, visibly concerned about this statement.

"Would you execute the man who saved the Hero of Winterfell?" Sansa asked with defiance.

Arya's fist was still clenched on her dagger. She had heard Brienne talking to Sansa as she was making her way back to the camp after her time with Gendry. She had seen everything. Heard everything. No one would touch Sandor. Not because he killed a man who would have killed her, or rape her.

Grey Worm silently looked at the other soldiers.

"Jikagon fetch se tolie. Find zyrila se maghagon zyrila kesir," he ordered.

The two Unsullied left the tent.

"What did you tell them?" Arya asked.

"To bring him here."

That was enough. Arya moved her arm so quickly it took Grey Worm by surprise. She managed to wound his cheek before he turned around and grabbed her neck, lifting her in the hair. Arya used her feet to kick him in the ribs, cutting his breath. Grey Worm let go of her and managed to grab his spear. They were about to charge again, but Davos grasped the Unsullied leader as Brienne did the same with Arya. They were only looking at each other, their eyes full of fury, their features distorted by their will to fight.

When Sandor reached the tent, Brienne of Tarth was strongly holding Arya who was yelling at her to let her go, and Ser Davos and two of the Northmen were trying to calm Grey Worm down. Sansa was in the middle of this mess, trying to bring everyone back to reason, and when her blue eyes laid on him, he felt his heart melt. She seemed so fragile, and yet she was still standing, as strong as a wolf. His little bird. Sansa's eyes were still locked with his as everyone realized he had just arrived. It managed to appease the atmosphere somehow.

"You needed me, Unsullied," Sandor stated. "Here I am. No need to send your hirelings. I'm not a coward."

Ser Davos let go of Grey Worm and the latter approached the Hound.

"Did you kill the Dothraki?"

"Aye. I killed a killer. Makes me a killer too."

"Therefore you need to pay."

"Do I? How funny that sounds. I kill one of your bloody men mounting his horse while a dragon blazes an entire city, and yet I'm the one to blame."

"You heard my sister," Sansa said to Grey Worm. "He saved her life by doing so."

Grey Worm did not blink. Sandor knew he had made up his mind.

"You want me to pay, right?" Sandor asked. "Let me tell you this. I would do it again without a wince."

"This man belonged to the Dragon Queen's army. He was on your side. You killed him. You committed treason."

"The problem is, boy," Sandor growled as he approached him. "I don't do sides."

This made Arya smile. Sansa stepped in front of Sandor and looked at Grey Worm, trying to be as soft as possible:

"I know you want justice. I understand. But your man was threatening my sister in the first place. Too many people died this day, most of them were innocents. We need to go forward, not backward."

Sandor could not believe what he was hearing. Was the little red-haired thing defending him? Why would she do this? It was as if her words were appeasing Grey Worm, although his eyebrows still frowned and his jaw was clenched.

"This man's name was Hoqqo. He had a family. His memory needs to be avenged."

Sandor processed this in his mind. He did not care about the man. He had killed so many people he could not count or even remember their faces. This "Hoqqo" was not the only man he had killed that day just to cross the city and reach the Stark troops. Just to save a bloody girl. Sandor hated the conception of Justice, but he knew the Unsullied would make short work of the others. There had been enough fight. Why did this have to come out now? He suddenly realizes this "diplomatic incident" could allow him to achieve his goal.

"You want Justice?" Sandor barked. "Fine. Let's get over with it. I demand a trial by combat."

Sansa felt her heart miss a beat as the Hound said:

"Me against the Mountain."