Eleven years into King Jon's Reign during The Bloodless War.

On Essos' South Western Shore. (Part three)

….

Tyrion rounds the corner, his stunted legs following the whooshing sound of tents dropping faster than he would have thought possible, until he reaches the perimeter that had been set up around the Maester's tent.

"Sorry sir. No one beyond this point." The Kingsguard drops his sword, blocking the man's path.

"By whose order?" He huffs.

"Maester Tarly, we're to secure the area and burn everything unessential."

"Good thing I'm from the North then. I don't have to obey Samwell Tarly or his King" He presses out, stepping over the blade and continuing on. "I'm married to a queen. I do as I damn well please."

"Jaime?" Tyrion calls, pulling back the flap.

"Oh for seven hells." Sam whines. "What part of quarantine don't you people understand." He glanced up to see Arya, his brother's partner in crime, standing stiffly at the table, smirking back at the Maester. "Who's going to advise the monarchy if both Hands fall to the Plague?"

"This is not a plague." Jaime snaps angrily, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he leans over the cot stroking his wife's face as she thrashes. He grabs her wrist, turning it towards Tyrion. "This is poison" The other man winces, leaning forward to look at it.

"We have no proof-."

"I eat everything she eats. I sleep where she sleeps. I press my tongue into her mouth as often as she'll let me." He raises a frantic eyebrow. "Explain to me how I haven't gotten it!"

"The docks." Tyrion looks up at him. "You said she was at the docks."

"She's eight months pregnant. You really think that any of her men are going to let her touch anything that hasn't been cleaned and cleared?" He rears back and rakes his good hand through his hair, smacking his gloved wooden one against the tent pole. Tyrion winces as it clangs loudly.

"Jaime." Her voice stills him, and he drops back towards her as she reaches for his face. "Be calm.."

"I'm sorry." He whispers.

"Shh.." She rubs at his cheek for a second before blinking hard.

"I knew this wasn't-." He's almost whimpering to her. Tyrion watches his brother's guilt with morbid curiosity. "I should have been more insistent. I should have made them-."

"We need to know the source." Arya told him.

"We need to know the antidote!" He yells at her.

"Shh.. Jaime. Stop." Brienne grasps his chin. "The jars."

"The what?" He whispers, his hand clasping hers and pressing his mouth to her knuckles.

"At the docks. I cut myself on-." She shakes violently and Jaime's face breaks, Tyrion winces and looks away. "Ask Pod. It's the jars."

Tyrion looks at Arya, she's looking at Jaime before she nods and slides out of the tent.

"Okay." His brother coos softly. "Rest now."

"Jaime.." It's a warning.

"I'll calm. I'll calm." He exhales slowly, kissing her hand again before settling onto the stool next to the bed.

"How is she?" Tyrion asks Sam, the Maester swallows hard.

"Not good."

"The baby?"

"No way of knowing." He shakes his bearded face and Tyrion feels the weight of all this in his guts. "We're treating what we can, but-."

The Hand of the Snow Queen nods once before looking back at his brother. Jaime has their joined hands pressed against his forehead as he sniffs. Brienne's thumb slowly trembling as she strokes his temple.

"Keep me apprised" He tells Tarly.

"You shouldn't leave this area." He tells him weakly.

"Did you not hear my brother?" He whispers at him through clenched teeth. Tarly rubs his face.

"You should at least bathe before touching your queen."

"I'll try to refrain from pressing my tongue in her mouth." He hisses.

….

Pod tells her that the jars were for the Gish, she'd considered going through official channels, but she knows that would take precious time negotiating and she doesn't have that. What she has is a bag full of faces, Needle and nimble feet. She's made it past their lines, heading to their staff. The jars are either meant to be for food or for hygiene, so she figures cooks and maids are a solid start.

Cooks make the most sense. So she's standing in their kitchen dressed as a young serving girl, her eyes from someone else's face scanning slowly back and forth until she sees what she thinks Pod has described on a counter.

"What are these?" She asks innocently.

"Spices. A gift from Naath." The man snips.

"Are we to use them?"

"Tomorrow there will be boar." He tells her. "Now on with your work girl."

She acts as if she'll move off as he resumes his stride. Arya carefully plucks the four jars from the counter, wraps them and places them in the padded bag she's carried under her apron.

…

"What of the broken one?" Theomore asks, peering at the jars on the table that had been set up outdoors.

"Podrick said one of the men tossed it near the shore. He sent someone to look."

"And the man that handled it?" The Northern Maester's eyebrow rose. "He's not showing symptoms?"

"Seems fine." Arya nods. "Samwell looked him over."

"So it's because it broke the skin then." The man murmurs to himself.

"Tarly says there are blisters in her nasal passages and down her throat." Arya responds.

"It's possible it smelled nice." He sighs. "I'll need to talk with her."

"Samwell thinks it's best that you stay away. Just in case this is transferable." She tells him.

"It's not." He shakes his head.

"We know." She looks at him gravely. "Ser Jaime has always known. You should stay away."

"He's angry?"

"That is not a strong enough word. Write down your questions. I'll take them to him."

She is still there in the clearing with him when Pod appeared.

"Ser Topham found the remains of the jar." He swallows, his voice rasping. "Everything around it was dead. The moss the grass, the insects.. dead."

"Please tell my cousin I'm sorry I didn't take his concerns into stronger consideration." Maester Theomore asks Arya softly. She lowers her head, gesturing for Pod to follow.

….

"How is she?" Tyrion turns towards his good brother with a wince.

"Not good, Your Grace." He tells him gravely. "Labor started this afternoon. They've put her under as much as they safely can with the baby, trying to slow it."

"She's known for long labors." Jon remembers.

"Yes." Tyrion nods. "Long and hard. They're trying to encourage it to be long, but not as difficult. She'll need strength if she makes it to delivery."

"If?" Jon looks past him at where his brother remains on the stool, his face pressed into his wife's shoulder, his hand brushing her hair as she restlessly sleeps.

"She's not expected to survive, Your Grace." Tyrion tells him blankly. His King swallows hard. "Tarly suspects the inflammation will track into her lungs and kill her. He hasn't much hope for the babe either. It's early yet."

"Your brother?"

"Defiant as always." Tyrion grins sadly. "Says Tarly's yet to be right about anything so far." Jon's lips slip into a grin.

"He's not wrong." He smiles. His good brother looks over his shoulder, Jon turns to find his youngest sister standing there.

"Jon." She looks somewhat worriedly into the tent at Jaime. "The Gish are ready to receive us."

He nods before turning to Tyrion.

"You coming?" The half man's head bobs as he slips off the chair and follows silently.

…

"Jaime.." Her voice sounds foreign in her own ears. His head lifts just enough to let her know he's heard her. "I'm dying."

"You're not." He tells her, faking a smile. "You're sick, but your not dying. The poison is meant to be ingested-." She winces at him, her hand tracing his jaw. "It's-."

"Stop." She whispers. "I have things to say."

"I refuse to hear them." He tells her, catching her hand and pulling it from his face. He looks at her fingers instead of her eyes. "You need to rest. Tell me later."

"Jaime you have to-." Her voice hitches when she feels the familiar pain ripple through her abdomen and he wordlessly releases his hold on her hand and moves his palm across her torso soothingly. She grips at his wrist as her eyes clench shut. "How long-?" She asks in confusion, the strength of the contraction and his immediate reaction to it let her know this was expected.

"A few hours." He tells her softly, stroking as her body peaks and starts to settle. "Sam's kept you sleeping."

"Hours." It's real then, not practice, not stoppable."It's too soon."

"I thought you were dying anyway." He sniffs, his eyes returning to her face.

"Jaime." Her voice is full of irritation and he smiles.

"That's it. Stay angry at me." He pulls his hand back down until her fingers twine again with hers.

"I'm not-. I need to tell you-." Sam appears over his shoulder with a cup and she narrows her eyes at him. "Jaime..no."

"You're too weak for this battle." Her husband tells her. "You need to rest, so you can bring this child into this fucked up world." He moves his stump behind her head, lifting it enough to press the cup to her lips. "We'll talk later."

The world blurs and she feels his lips on her forehead.

She dreams she's being crushed by an Undead Giant like Lyanna Mormont. She's thrashing at it with Oathkeeper and screaming. She can hear Jaime's voice from somewhere soothing her, telling her to hold on. That it's almost over. That he's here with her. That she's going to be okay. But all she can think is that she's going to die. She's going to die. She is going to die.

The world becomes more real, more concrete and she realizes he's holding her tightly to his chest as she surges off the cot. Gilly is between her thighs and the woman's husband paces in the background.

"The baby hasn't come down." The midwife says over what Brienne realizes is her own scream.

"Jaime." Her throat is raw and she can taste the coppery residue of blood in her mouth as she swallows. "What's-? I-." The giant is back, he takes any breath she has for speaking as he comes. Her hands claw at her husband's tunic as her body convulses on it's own. Pushing. She realizes suddenly. She's already pushing.

One hand goes to the back of her thigh without thinking, pulling it into her chest like she has twice before. Jaime's eyes flash with something akin to pride and he drops his forehead to hers.

"There she is." He sighs into her ear. "There's my warrior. You can do this."

She's not sure she can.

…..

Arya is steadfast in the doorway, her eyes on her former guard and his wife. She's stayed close, she knows if the Lord Commander succumbs, it will fall on her or Tyrion to contain Jaime.

When she let Jaime's brother know this, her sister had turned a horrible shade of white and burst into uncharacteristic tears. Tyrion had decided to remain with her, so here she was.

The Gish were confused, enraged, and grateful that the plot had been discovered. Jon had made a point of saying that two women had been instrumental in keeping their entire entourage from feasting upon poisoned boar. They hadn't seemed impressed.

Brienne cries out again, which Arya takes as a good sign. Dead women don't scream. Tarly looks terrified, his tiny wife less so. Arya figures Caster's daughter had seen her fair share of difficult births in her life, and probably her fair share of dead sisters.

"I can't." Brienne collapses sideways into her husband, her body going slack. "I can't do it."

"Just one or two more." He lies. Arya can see the baby's head still appearing and disappearing with each surge. That's not a baby one push away, not even for a strong woman like Brienne, who at the moment, looks weaker than Arya has ever known her.

"Jaime I swear to you, I can't." Her body presses forward automatically with the next contraction but she doesn't aid it in any way. "I can't, I'm sorry. I-."

"Help her." Gilly says softly. "Get behind her. Use your weight." Jaime gives her a quick look of terror, but he complies. Arya's eyes widen as he climbs onto the cot. With the next contraction the two of them practically bend the woman's body in half, Gilly pressing back her thighs as Jaime leans her forward. Gilly grabs his right forearm and positions it at the round apex of her abdomen. "Push with her, down towards my hands. Steady and firm till I say stop."

Brienne doesn't scream anymore, she simply moans her head tucked against Jaime's throat as he and Gilly work in tandem. Tarly has turned away completely. Arya couldn't, no matter how much she wants to.

"There. There." Gilly yelps, her hand coming free of Brienne's thigh and grabbing at the baby's head. She jerks it down far my violently then Arya thinks is necessary and it squeals in protest as she pulls it free. "A boy." She yells.

"Of course." Arya startles as Tyrion is suddenly by her side. "It's always a boy with them."

"Sam." She grabs her husband and pushes him back towards Brienne's open thighs. She's frantically unbuttoning her shirt and the next thing Arya knows she's shoved the smallest baby she's ever seen inside it and between her breasts, turning his head up and out. Sam bustles about, disconnecting the baby from it's mother and as soon as she's able to move to the table slapping a hat on the infant and pressing a blanket on top of herself. She rubs at him vigorously and he whimpers and sputters out a weak little cry. "That's it." She whispers. "That's it."

"Is he?" Jaime sounds farther away then he is.

"Alive." She calls back. "He's alive."

"A name." Jaime pants, leaning against the tent poll, Brienne's head lulls back against his right shoulder and he cradles her neck in his remaining palm. "He needs a name."

"It's your turn." She tells him, her voice like liquid exhaustion.

He wrinkles his eyebrows for a second before he nods.

"Jon." He tells her, and her face slips into a smile. "We'll name him Jon."

Arya gulps softly against the sudden tightness in her throat as Jaime Lannister kisses his wife softly.

"Sleep." He whispers. "You need to sleep."

His flesh fingers slip around to her neck and he slides them around her sweat soaked skin until he finds what he's looking for. Wetting his lips and letting his eyes sink shut against what she realizes is the steady beat of her pulse. His breathing slows as he presses his lips to her forehead. The look like collapsed soldiers after a battle.

Sam has finished with Brienne and he pulls a blanket to her waist before joining his wife.

"Bleeding?" She asks quickly.

"Normal." He tells her. She pulls her shirt back a little and he looks at the babe.

"He's strong." Gilly whispers as his little face bobs against the side of her breast. The two exchange worried glances. "Maybe I'll be able to?" She looks at Sam he winces. "Enough for a newborn."

"It's been seven years since you've put a babe to breast." Sam shakes his head.

"Sansa can."

Tyrion's voice rings out so clearly, but Arya can't understand what he's saying. The twins are five. She can't possibly still be nursing. She isn't their fucking Aunt Lysa. He meets Sams eyes.

"There was a loss." He announces grimly. "Just before we arrived here. She still-. She can.." He reaches out his hand and grips Gilly's arm. "Come."

Arya follows them back to her sisters tent, because she finds she can't not. She stands outside and watches through the flaps as Tyrion approaches her gently, whispering something. She hadn't stopped crying yet, her little sister realizes, but she wails at his words, louder still when Gilly pulls the tiny babe from her shirt and helps her get him settled in Sansa's. Tyrion climbs to sit on the table beside the chair she's in, stroking her hair as she sobs. Gilly pulls the blankets around her as Brienne and Jaime's tiny baby suckles at her sisters breast.

…

"You could have told us." Jaime whispers softly from where they sit on the floor, leaning against Tarly's desk.

"It's not something you send in a raven for." He rubs his face. "Or lean over a treaty table and whisper."

"Brienne said you and she talked about children. It would have been an appropriate moment."

"On the day she finds out she's pregnant?" His eyebrows arched and he looked at his older brother like he was insane. "That's the day I tell her?" His voice picked up in pace the way it did when he was talking about a difficult thing.

"'A baby! How nice, Dear sister! My wife woke from a nap just a few months ago with a shiny thin skinned eel of a thing between her knees. Let me tell you how it twitched when you touched it until it suddenly didn't, or how we had to pry her hands off the thing after three days, and how bits of it stuck to her chest. Oh and Congratulations.'" Jaime was looking at him like he might be ill. "Sansa is strong. She recovers from losses and horrors better than anyone. Your babe will help her heal from this one." He patted Jaime's hand. "And if on the small chance that you need us to be, we will be here for you and the boys." His brother swallowed hard. "You will not be alone, Jaime. We will be here. Do you understand me?"

The older man's chin trembled as he nodded, batting angrily at his eyes.

"He said your baby might die overnight and he lived. He's going to outlive that fat little twit by decades, you'll see."

Jaime snorted out a laugh starting to sob. His face tipping forward and onto Tyrion's shoulder.

"Oh Jaime." He sighed, cupping the back of his head. "I'm so sorry."

….

"You'll take them to Sansa." Brienne tells him.

"Stop."

"Don't let them be motherless, Jaime. You know what that's like. Take them to Sansa." Her breath rattled out of her chest as she spoke and he closed his eyes and pressed his face into the mattress at her neck.

"I won't."

"You could marry." She wheezes. "You and Arya have a kind of love…"

"Fucking Hells Brienne, shut up." He growls, his hand pressing into her hair.

"Don't close yourself off. Don't do that. You'll want to. I wanted to when I thought-. I wanted to end it." Her words are staccatos with her breath and it makes his chest hurt.

"I will." He tells her, his voice like a child. "I'll close myself off if I damn well please. I throw myself out of the windows of the Rock. I'll do it in front of the boys before they're sent off to the fucking North."

"Don't be hateful, Love." She whispers, her fingers resting on his damp cheek.

"I'll be anyway I wish." He snaps. "If your so keen on leaving me you don't get a say." He hisses and she carefully moves to face him so she can press her dry lips to his snot covered face. "You want to die, I can't stop you, but I won't give you my bloody permission!" He sobs. Since he's started with Tyrion he can't seem to stop. "I won't soothe your conscious. You and I both know I'd be destroyed, the boys destroyed. You have to live."

"Darling." She whispers. "I'll try. I'm trying. I am."

"You have to live." He sobs.

….

"He'll die if she does." Arya says softly. They sit together on a log in a clearing outside his tent as Sansa nurses baby Jon. Tyrion looks at her with understanding.

"Probably." He sighs.

"He can't live for himself." She blinks.

"He never has. He wouldn't even know how." Tyrion adds. "He lived for Cersei, and every horrible thing he did was for Cersei. Then he lived for Brienne and every blessedly honorable thing he's done since has been for her. He's never been just Jaime. He wouldn't know what that was."

"He blames himself. For not holding his ground, about it not being a plague." She looks at the dusky sky. "We should have believed him."

"Would it have mattered? If we would have acted we would have acted on the Gish, started a war. And it wasn't even the Gish."

"The Naath are a peaceful people Tyrion." Arya shook her head.

"Not all of them." Came a rumbling voice from behind them as Davos came to sit. "Grey Worm. He ended up there after Danerey's was killed. Apparently he's convinced a few hundred of his closest friends to join him."

"The remaining Unsullied." Tyrion's mouth falls open.

"And a handful of fast multiplying Dothraki." The older man adds.

"Revenge." Arya shakes her head. "We should have known it was about revenge."