*Thanks again for the views and reviews, I really appreciate it. This is my first GoT fic so I do apologise if there are any incorrect statements etc. I am still currently reading the books so there is definitely room for error. I'm trying my best lol but mostly I just thoroughly enjoying writing this. Please, enjoy!*

She was hateful. He knew this. It wasn't news to his ears but that didn't stop him from laying awake in the dank room for most of the night thinking a thousand terrifying thoughts. Their evening had definitely soured after that conversation. Despite his upset, he was relieved when she'd finally succumbed to the stew. She looked green with illness after finishing it but at least she was fed. Now she lay next to him, snoozing softly. They were cramped in the miniature, straw-stuffed bed but it was comfier than a woodland floor, both could agree on that much. She was right. There was no plan, just pure panic and blind running. If Tyrion was unable to help them with whatever magical news he had, they were right back to square one. As the lands know, a Lannister always pays his debts and so in exchange for sparing himself and Jaime, Tyrion had kept his promise and Highgarden was now home to Ser Bronn and whatever other misfits he would host. Mostly whores, Jaime imagined. Highgarden was their only shot. He was firing in the dark and it had absolutely no guarantee of safety, but where else where they supposed to go? The longer they wandered Westeros, the more danger he was putting them in and clearly he couldn't protect her. Even from one man. He'd let her down, despite his best efforts. His jaw clenched, the horrible scene fighting it's way back into his mind. Stealing a glance at her, she looked oddly peaceful in spite of the circumstances. She had her back curled into his side, facing away from him. She hadn't uttered a word about the baby or made any sort of hint that she was even still pregnant after the trauma she'd endured. When she was behaving the way she was tonight, he knew there was nothing to be gained from questioning her. So he let her dine and sleep, hoping she'd be more reasonable when the sun came up.

He must have dozed off shortly after his midnight monologue for he woke with a start, sweat beading on his forehead. The room was lit up with the early morning sun peeking over the hills beyond their dainty Inn window.

"Why didn't you wake me?" He asked, his voice rough with morning fatigue. "We should have left already." She was stood looking out of the window, toying with Myrcella's lion pendant. Thinking deeply.

"You looked tired, I didn't want to disturb you." She sounded genuine, a good sign so far. Turning to look at him, she put the pendant back into her under clothes. She was still wearing the thief's attire, only now she'd tied it in a way that helped it to fit better. Starting to sit up, he slid his legs off the side of the bed and exhaled shakily.

"I slept like the dead-"

"Why must you always lie?" She asked curtly, it was as though she'd gone from sunshine to thunderstorm in less than a second. "You never slept well, even when we were young you were always restless and unsettled. I would feel you tossing and turning all night, the same as last night." Walking towards him, she knelt down to look him in the eye, face to face. Her gaze was concerned . "You have a fever." She brushed the back of her hand up against his glistening forehead, pushing his hair back as she did so. He shut his eyes slowly, relishing in her loving touch before she pulled away and peeled the blanket from his torso. He was silent. The wound on his side was positively ghastly. The bed linens were stained heavily where it had oozed and wept all night. "You should have let me burn it in the Kingswood. Now it's festering."

"It's nothing, I'll be fine-" He tried to conceal it from her view.

"And if you're not? What will happen to us then?" Her free hand landed gently on her midsection, causing his throat to constrict with emotion. His eyes drying at the unsightly blackened, purple bruising that had formed on her wrists. Travelling his gaze up towards her face, he saw more of the same bruising on her delicate neck. All at the hands of a Dothraki. All because of him. He was salty and sullen, as much from his own self-pitying as he was from her behaviour towards him before they'd slept.

"I can't protect you, you even said as much yourself last night-"

"Last night I was speaking out of anger, sleep deprived and starved." She interrupted in a subdued manner, swallowing hard with regret. "You came back for me, you've always come back for me." Her statement received no acknowledgement. "Do you remember when I was sold off to Robert Baratheon? You did all you could to stay in Kings Landing. We could never be apart. Every war you fought, you always came back for me. When the Starks held you captive like a caged lion, you came back for me. When the Red Keep fell, you came back for me." She paused emotionally, continuing her passionate recital of his love and loyalty. "And last night, you came back for me." Moving her right palm to the side of his face, she stroked at his bearded cheek dotingly. "I don't doubt you. Only those around us." The stirring speech she'd just given had thrown him into a silence, his brows framing his glassy eyes tearfully before he cupped the back of her head with his left hand in one swift movement. Fervently pulling her into him, their lips meeting roughly. The embrace heating with each passing moment. She was on her knees, between his parted legs whilst the kiss deepened. Her left hand ran down his side and over his injured flesh, unintentionally hurting him in her desperation to be even closer to him. He stopped the lip-lock reluctantly with a hiss. Both were breathless but he was too pained to go on. "We need to get you to a maester." She whispered through swollen lips before nuzzling into his forehead with hers. His skin was tacky to the touch. Her hands smoothed over his jawline whilst he nodded in response, utterly defeated. If he died from infection caused by Euron Greyjoy's sword, he prayed he'd see him once more in another life just to kill him all over again.

Although probably not ideal for his festering wound, she helped him to wrap the same cloth he'd had on since they'd set off before cautiously making their way out of the room. It's large oak door latching shut behind them. She'd hidden herself beneath the cloak once more whilst Jaime's filthy appearance heavily masked his identity. She couldn't understand how he'd worsened so quickly, unless he'd been shielding it so well all this time and now he was finally at a point where he could no longer do so. Often she'd find herself thinking about him and all of the things he endured and survived trying to get back to her. Sometimes she was guilty of seeing past his suffering and only recognising her own pain at his absence. He lost a hand for her. His good hand.

People were gathered downstairs, eating and drinking. Breaking their fast for the day. They would try to do the same, praying not to be seen or garner any unwanted attention. Settling on a table in the far corner of the room, outside of everyone's view and earshot, Jaime slumped down with a pained grunt. His glove-covered golden hand coming up to rest pointlessly over his concealed wound. He was feeling slightly delirious with fever. Cersei sat opposite him, her hood still raised and her back to the small crowd. She was feeling incredibly vulnerable right now, anybody could see them or recognise them and they had no means of protection. Not with Jaime in this condition.

"I 'ope the room was up to your standards?" The old Innkeeper waddled past their table with an innocent question.

"Yes." Jaime managed to utter through a pained expression. "The stew was especially delightful. Tell me," He continued, knowing Cersei would have no chance at conversing with common folk, at a market town Inn no less. "What's cooking this morning? We have a long ride ahead of us and need to fill our bellies."

"Well that'd be the badger stew again." His smile was almost endearing but the pain Jaime was in, partnered with the fact that he now had to force more of that awful stew down his throat was enough to make him want to strangle the man death. Unless his sister beat him to it which, at this point seemed to be more likely. There was no way in seven hells Cersei was going to allow that slop to pass her lips again.

"And you have nothing else?" Her voice chimed as politely as possible, her gaze remaining low and out of his view.

"You'd like something else, m'lady?" He blinked. "Not a fan of our homemade stew then I take it?" The look on his face was total puzzlement, it really must have been a popular dish. "Well, we've got the badger stew or the beef and barley stew," He paused. "That's it I'm afraid." Looking between them, he noted their was a strangeness to their behaviour. "We're famous for our stews here, you must be from somewhere high and fancy with all your gold coins and your distaste for our good, home-cooked meals-"

"Beef and barley sound delicious," Jaime interjected as energetically as he could, deadening any potential questions from arising. "We'll have two bowls and a very large ale for me." The Innkeeper nodded, seemingly satisfied with the reception his stew had received before he turned and left them.

"Is that wise?" Cersei questioned with a bite.

"I need something to take the edge off." His jaw clenched through the pain, his nostrils flaring for a brief moment as he steadied his breath. He looked pale and clammy, only further igniting his sister's concerns. Despite this, they ate as quickly as they could once their food hit the table. And he drank. Not one but two large ales, the effect of alcohol kicking in to numb his pain. He was downing the last mouthful when the Inn doors burst open loudly, silencing the many seated inside. Cersei could do nothing but silently study Jaime's expression to try and understand who had just entered behind her. The moment her twin lowered his head, she knew it wasn't good news.

"Don't turn around, just keep your head down." He whispered sternly. "This is all the gold I have left." Emptying it out on to the surface of the table to cover their meals, intending for a quick getaway before he finally made eye contact with her.

"Keep it." She urged. "We owe nothing. You paid him enough last night."

"A Lannister-"

"We're not Lannisters anymore. We have no debts." Her lip curled. "The door behind you, it leads outside?" His head bowed with a nod, wondering when it was that she had taken charge. "Tell me when." The instruction found him quickly, his focus now laying on the two Dothraki men that had burst through the doors. They looked as though they were here for a leisurely visit. If Dothraki even indulged in this sort activity. Either way, they had their backs to them and this was their moment.

"Go, now." As soon as he uttered the words, Cersei was on her feet and at the door with Jaime cautiously following behind her. They'd exited to the side of the building undetected and now had to double back around the bricked structure in order to retrieve their adopted mount.

"Stop." Jaime grabbed her arm roughly at the corner of the Inn. Voices could be heard in the same direction they were headed. A tongue they could not translate though. More Dothraki. Carefully peeking around the wall edge, he saw three more of the savages gathered between them and the stallion they'd taken.

"What is it?" Cersei finally whispered, not one to enjoy a suffering silence.

"We're on foot the rest of the way." He announced, his jaw tensing before he turned back to face her. "We have to leave, now."


Their trek had resumed in total silence, only the heavy sounds of Jaime's laboured breathing to fill in the gaps of quietness. There was another river to cross but with how terribly their last crossing went, both agreed to lengthen their journey by an hour to avoid doing so. She'd never experienced the world like this before, from being a girl she went from place to place in a wheel house. Comfortable, dry and warm. Or cool, depending on the weather. It was so big and wide out here and the air was fresh. Almost piercing. She'd been in King's Landing for so many years that she'd forgotten what it was like to breathe in the untainted air. She wondered how liberating it must have been for Jaime, the freedom to move around as he had done when they were growing up. He could have left and never come back, could have just kept running until he wanted to stop. But he always returned. And always for her. His devotion was more than that of anyone she'd even known before and she'd never know it again. He was her male counterpart, without him she could never truly be whole and that stung her deeply for more than one reason.

They were heading West, in the direction of Summerhall, though they wouldn't head that far. Only up until the river thinned and they could cross safely. Then they would instantly begin East again on the preferred side of the gushing water, all the way to Highgarden. There was a gap between them as she lagged behind. Her steps unable to match his, partly due to size difference and partly due to the rocky terrain they'd just tackled. He in his boots and she in her fabric covered feet. Her soles burnt, blistered and bleeding. As she walked behind, she could see his posture angling to the side, his infected wound bothering him greatly. From all of her childhood lessons in maps, lands and houses she guessed by their surroundings they must have been on the outskirts of the Dornish Marches. As her stare travelled across the landscape her hand was immediately pulled to her midsection. Her breath caught in her throat as she came to an abrupt standstill, overcome with emotion.

"Cersei?" His sweat coated forehead glistened under the sun as he turned to face her. Her sharp intake of air had caught his attention instantly. "Cersei, what is it?" The pounding in his ribcage intensified, a sickening worry kicking in before he started towards her at speed. She was holding her middle gingerly. "No, no, no." Whispering to himself with each step he finally reached her, demanding an answer with his eyes as he feared the worst for their unborn child. "Tell me, what is it?"

"I felt her." She eventually uttered breathlessly as Jaime's hands gripped her upper arms to support her weight. She looked as though she was about to collapse. His mind was racing until he realised these were not cries of heartbreak but of pure relief. "The smallest quickening, but I felt her." Their eyes met, an understanding shared between them. "Our baby is alright." Cersei rested into him, emotionally drained after three days of wondering and worrying, she finally felt reassured. It had been more than four moons since she'd last bled, in past experience these developments usually started occurring at this stage. Without question he embraced her too, putting aside his pain and feverous state. Slowly blinking, he hugged her close, his chin resting on top of her hooded head.

"She?" The one-worded question only just escaped his lips, he was exhausted through illness but hadn't missed the phrase she'd uttered.

"I don't know," She murmured into his chest. "I just feel it."


The emotional revelation was exactly what they'd needed, a flame beneath them, spurring them on towards their desired destination. They'd moved side-by-side ever since, their pace faster and more motivated as they turned down towards the small valley where the river thinned out into no more than a stream and eventually, further West it became nothing but a small pond. Still panting with bodily exertion, Jaime was pushing his limits. He moved down the small hill first, turning to reach for her hand and helping her down behind him. It was slippery, the ground coated with mud the closer to the stream edge they got. Until eventually, their feet hit the pebbled bedding of the water. It felt like heaven on her feet, cold and soothing. Every step was becoming more and more agonising.

"Drink here where the water is still running." Jaime wheezed before falling to his knees to scoop water into his mouth. She followed suit and did the same, thankful to quench her thirst. All the while, keeping her attention on her brother. He'd slumped back against a rock after drinking, trying his hardest to catch his breath. But the very moment he fell back, she knew he wasn't going to be rising again. He was slowly succumbing to the fever.

"Jaime?"

"Just...give me a moment...I won't be long." Each of his words was exhaled with great effort. The closer she got to him, the worse he looked. His eyes were closed and his face was as grey as she remembered Pycelle's beard being. The sweat dripping down his face.

"Jaime, please, you need to get up." Knelt by his side, she looked over him not knowing what to do. The blood and oozing fluids were seeping through the wrapping underneath and now starting to stain his outer layers. Without a moment's hesitation, she began pulling at his clothes to remove them, her knees digging into every little rock beneath her. Finally she managed to free his front and started undoing the soaked rags of her dress from his waist. As grim as it felt to admit, the smell was not good. It was sweet but offensive. Rotting flesh. The same scent as when he'd lost his hand before Qyburn worked his magic on him. If only she still had him here to help. Doing her best to tear a strip from the bottom of the hooded cloak she wore, she managed to get an adequately sized piece to re-dress his wound and another to use as a dampening rag. She wasn't overly sure how much cleaning the infected area would help now, but it couldn't harm. Soaking the small handful of fabric in the stream, she moved back to his side and started wiping at it as delicately as she could. Her face was grimaced, from both the smell and also the general appearance of the blade injury. It was deep, dark and angry. The flesh around it starting to blacken with rot. Every so often, her whole body would heave in response to the vicious attack on her senses. With her previous pregnancies she'd experienced other strange afflictions. With Tommen she was barely able to look at a mushroom, never mind eat one. The sight alone would make her sick. Jaime was extremely aware of the pain, his jawline pulsating as he tensed with each wipe. Breathing hard and fast, his brow furrowed deeply.

"That's enough." He growled, no longer able to take anymore. The hair framing his face was now wet and sticking to the skin on his forehead. "I'll be fine, stop worrying so much." He pushed a smile through his pained face. "At least it's not my other hand. Then we'd really be fucked."

She managed to get the wound re-dressed, pulling him to his feet again before they crossed to the other side. The grass was plush and comfy underfoot, something she could appreciate for the short while it lasted. It soon turned rough again, much to her dismay. Staying close to him, she served as a crutch. The farther they went, the slower and weaker her got. It was only when the sun started to lower in the sky that she looked up to see the silhouette of Highgarden in all it's glory. The hill upon which it sat was high and mighty, pushing the castle up into the sky. It's appearance was intimidating in this light. The flowers and greenery could no longer be seen in the dusk hour.

"We made it." She breathed a solaced breath.


Up in the high towers of the castle, Tyrion stared out across the lands. A glass of wine in hand as he sipped at it thoughtfully. Bronn hadn't been all that happy to see him but regardless, he'd been welcomed in to stay the night. Ordinarily a room would have been made up in such an established home but this was Bronn's residence now, a gathering place for swordsmen and whores. Once upon a time, this would have been Tyrion's ideal living situation but now he'd seen too much of the world to go back to such simple measures. He made could make a difference. He had purpose of more than just drinking and fucking his way across Westeros. His pensive thoughts were rippled away by Ser Bronn's broad accent.

"If you're going to sit here in my castle, drinking my wine, fucking my whores you can at least be straight with me." He slinked up behind him, looking across the surroundings, the sky reddening as the sun said it's goodbyes.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Tyrion sipped some more wine before turning to face the cut-throat. "What's so wrong about me wanting to visit an old friend? Hm? We've been through so much together, you and I." He smirked at the lack of amusement on his friend's face. "What, I can't stop by unannounced every now and then?"

"I'm not stupid, you little fucker. I know you're up to something." He scolded abruptly. Part of the reason Tyrion feels they had bonded so well was their clashing personalities. That, and the Lannister wealth that Bronn was so very fond of. "And I'd stake my life on it having something to do with those twin-siblings of yours." Scowling irately he awaited a response.

"And what if it did?" He questioned. "Would that be an issue?"

"Maybe it would." He contemplated the thought. "But I don't have much time to think it over, do I?"

"Why is that? You've got too many whores to work through this evening?" He smiled at his own comment, gulping down the rest of his wine. The sweet, summery notes warmed his mouth and belly respectively.

"No, because the bloody fuckers have just arrived." He nodded down below to the castle entrance with a large hint of anger, Tyrion's gaze immediately followed as he moved to the edge of the overlooking balcony. A rush in his step and a longing in his chest. Surely enough, approaching the entryway were two figures in the setting sun. The larger of the two collapsed on to the wide stone walkway before the second one dropped to her knees beside him with utter exhaustion.

"They survived." Tyrion whispered.