A/N: Gosh. I wanted to make this chapter ready for my birthday, as I almost always publish something that day, and so I had to hurry up with editing. Therefore, I cannot guarantee the usual quality, as I'm immensely tired and grammar is the enemy now. But hey, I managed to do it on time!
Not one of my finest chapters (I feel like it's the worst one so far), but I can tell you it somewhat indicates the end of the first part of the story. With the next chapter, we will start the next part, which was more enjoyable to write and I hope will be more enjoyable to read.
You can call this one some kind of a filler chapter, most like chapter four. A lot of walking and talking (like the biggest majority of GoT episodes ;)). Of course, I expected it to turn out differently than it did; I've especially rewritten the first scene, I think it's now much more believable than the original draft. I promise this chapter is the last with scenes that don't feature either Jaime or Brienne. At least for now. I just can't help it when I see a scene in my head, I have to write it and then I want to share it with you.
Enjoy!
VII
Broken, Beat and Scarred
Jaime didn't dare to move for quite some time as he was subconsciously waiting for Drogon to come back and change his mind. But the seconds passed and nothing like that happened; they were still alive, and the dragon did not return.
The world suddenly seemed a much brighter and warmer place, and it wasn't only for the fact the clearing was the first area without snow he had seen in ages, or rather something that felt like ages.
"We're alive," he said loudly, both to Bronn and to himself, hoping that once he would hear those words spoken aloud he will finally believe their meaning. He realized it was the second time in the last twenty-four hours or so he had used that phrase to his companion. Will it become their habit now? Living from day to day, surprised by every new dawn, unsure of any future? "We're alive," he repeated joyfully, the chuckle of relief escaping his mouth. His ribs protested immediately; it seemed he had been holding his breath for quite some time during the confrontation and apparently his bones liked that state far more than the current one.
Well, they didn't have a say in the matter of breathing. He was alive and he was going to remain to be this way, at least in the nearest formidable future.
"We are?" Bronn lifted his head to hazily look around all too abruptly. "Fuck."
In the next moment, he turned sharply to his left, his body convulsing, and vomited in the dried bushes. As he was emptying the contest of his already empty stomach, Jaime felt anxiety growing inside him. Turning his head, he noticed the second dragon, maybe for the first time that day. The creature was lying on the other edge of the glade, his tail curled around his body. He looked like he was just awakening and the sight of the intruders made him curious. Even though Rhaegal looked much less terrifying than Drogon, Jaime had no intention of facing yet another dragon that day or any other day as a matter of fact.
Bronn spewed out whatever he had left in his intestines, coughed and then muttered through clenched teeth: "I'm going to kill this fucking maester."
"Hold your horses for a while," Jaime murmured, his eyes fastened on the other dragon. "Up."
He stood up slightly wobbly and moved to help Bronn, but the ex-sellsword quickly pushed his hand away.
"I'm fine," Bronn barked and tried to get up on his own only to fail immediately. He would fall to the ground if Jaime didn't manage to catch him in the last moment. As his weight collided with Jaime's bruised body, the knight couldn't stifle a gasp of pain; it was too much. Too much for his bones and muscles, too much for his tired mind, too much for this freakishly long and exhausting day that was still far from over. "I'll fucking kill him, I swear," Bronn continued undauntedly, not even noticing Jaime's struggle to keep them both upright.
"You wouldn't kill a squirrel right now. You need to sleep it off. And lose some weight while you're at it." Jaime grunted from the tremendous effort, threw Bronn's shoulder around his neck and pulled his companion towards the hillside path. The adrenaline that had been pumping in his veins all the way towards Drogon was now quickly diminishing and both the desperate need to get out of the clearing as quickly as possible combined with the fact Bronn was partially walking on his own weren't enough to make the road easier. He knew his strength will soon fail him, he just hoped they will manage to get out of the dragon's reach before it would happen. "Maybe you'll feel like a newborn after a good sleep. Newborns usually do not kill people."
"I'll be a newborn sociopath with an intense wish to kill." Bronn grunted as his foot hit a stone. He cursed under his breath, his eyes unintentionally stumbling upon Rhaegal. He stopped his movements so abruptly Jaime almost collided with the ground. "You've got to be kidding me."
"If you don't move your sociopathic ass no one will be kidding you," Jaime snarled, his tiredness and mild anger growing. Bronn gazed at him darkly, but without further comments cooperated until they reached Ser Jorah, who was still standing near the trees. Here, they were probably safe, with "probably" being the key word, as they could still feel the dragon's eyes boring into their backs.
They both leaned against the trees, calming their breathing and wiping sweat from their foreheads. The winter was completely absent here; the exertion and constant threat of death made them feel like they had just emerged from the greatest battle taking place in the midst of one of the warmest summers.
Jaime gazed at the older knight and, trying to sound calm and indifferent, spoke up: "You can tell the Queen we passed the test."
"It wasn't a test," Mormont quickly answered.
"What was it then? Execution in a way and place where no one could hear our screams?"
"No." Ser Jorah was completely unmoved. "It was an opportunity you didn't deserve."
Bronn chuckled humorlessly.
"You can tell your Queen…"
"…that we are grateful for granting us this chance," Jaime cut him off quickly, sending him a keep your mouth shut stare. "Our Queen."
Mormont nodded.
"I trust you will find your way back," he said in a tone which suggested he wasn't especially willing to grant them a helping hand.
"We will." And Jaime wasn't willing to ask for any help, even though he had serious doubts concerning their way back to the castle. He was too weak to haul Bronn through the freezing snow yet again; he was probably too weak to haul even himself. If he could save whatever was left of his pride though, he was going to take his chances. He won't beg anyone for help, the likes of the Mormont knight specifically.
Ser Jorah nodded once again, turned around and walked away quite quickly. The knights followed him with their eyes until he disappeared from their sight, then Bronn huffed.
"I was just going to pound some truths into this narrow Targaryen-loving head of his when you blatantly interrupted me!"
"I know, that's exactly why I interrupted you," Jaime muttered, trying his best not to gaze behind his back at the dragon, who was probably still staring at them. "We don't need any new enemies here."
"Everyone here is our enemy. Everyone everywhere is our enemy." Bronn gazed briefly at Jaime, assessing him carefully, then shrugged. "Maybe soon you'll be my enemy as well."
Jaime gazed tiredly at Bronn and sighed. "I'm telling you once again, I did not force you to come here with me. I might be a fool for wishing we could be forgiven, but I do not regret coming here. And you are always free to go."
"Go where?" Bronn looked around to indicate there was literally nowhere to go and his eyes stumbled upon Rhaegal once again. The dragon was slowly standing up, shaking off the remnants of sleep. "Winterfell, for example?"
"This is quite a good idea, my soon-to-be-enemy," Jaime snickered and offered Bronn his shoulder. One look at the rising dragon was enough for the ex-sellsword to not protest anymore and receive the help.
They didn't speak until they reached the kingdom of eternal winter. They walked as quickly as they could through the pain and tiredness, fighting their weaknesses with every single step. After a few treads into the deep snow, far away from the clearing, they parted once again, Jaime realizing he had been holding his breath for gods knew how long because it became too painful to breathe. Bronn stumbled backward trying to hold his balance on his own, panting. Jaime for the longest moment in his life couldn't breathe; everything hurt, everything burnt and there was no air, air which from pleasant turned into icy, attacking his tired lungs. He thought he would suffocate, his whole chest on fire, fire that Drogon had spared them; black spots started dancing before his eyes and his ears filled with a low hum. He didn't hear or see Bronn as breathing became the most important thing, the only one he desired, the only one he had no idea how to achieve.
He fell to the ground and the impact of the collision somehow activated his breathing centers. He gasped and took the deepest breath he was able to, which resulted in a violent cough. Everything hurt and burnt even more, but at least he could breathe; he felt even bigger relief than when he had realized Drogon had flown away and left them be.
Bronn stared at him, breathing almost as heavily.
"If you need the miracle poison, I think I can get you some." He tried to chuckle but his face was too frosted to succeed in doing so.
"Fuck off," Jaime muttered, getting back onto his feet. The ground was unsteady; it seemed like the soil underneath him developed an ability to move and was running away from him. Looking at the non-existent path in front of them, as the snow had already managed to cover everything with a white, thick cloak, he couldn't stifle a groan. "We'll never get there."
Bronn gazed in the same direction and nodded solemnly.
"Aye. If you're going to stay here and complain we won't get anywhere."
This time it was him who extended his arm to Jaime. The knight chuckled humorlessly but nonetheless accepted the help.
They resumed their journey, moving forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, step by step, hauling one another. Bronn seemed to be getting stronger with time, while Jaime, on the contrary, was losing whatever force that had been left in him. Snow was falling heavily, soon turning them into creatures of white; their feet were slumping deep into the heaps, making them stumble every few steps. From time to time they had to stop so Jaime could focus on his breathing, as there were moments when doing two things at once was just too difficult. The road this time seemed endless, much longer and more difficult than before. Oh, how much they would give for Podrick's assistance right now...
After what felt like an eternity of limping, with growing terror they realized they just reached the Unsullied camp, which meant they had covered approximately half of the road.
"You were right. We won't get there," Bronn muttered. He was getting stronger, but not strong enough to be able to basically carry Jaime's weight on him, as the Lannister knight seemed now drained of all kinds of energy. Bronn experienced a morbid sense of déjà vu; once again, the two of them were alone on the fields of winter, almost dying, with no one to help them. Well, there were soldiers around them this time, but chances the eunuch warriors would ever help them were slim to none.
Finally, Bronn loosened his hold of Jaime; this sudden lack of support made the knight stumble and fall into the snow. The white mass wasn't even cold anymore, it just seemed so pleasant to have a steady ground underneath. Bronn sat heavily next to Jaime, the dense snow coming apart under his weight.
"You know..." he spoke after a moment of silence, staring at the Unsullied in front of them. "It's been a hell of a journey. Sure, I would very much prefer to fuck some gorgeous dornish beauty on the beach burnt by the sun, near my equally gorgeous castle, but at least I still know my life's better than these ones here."
Jaime looked at him in a complete indifference, but before he could reply Bronn's expression suddenly changed.
"Do you see the same thing I do?" he basically whispered, his eyes wide, his brows furrowed. To Jaime's biggest surprise, he discovered something in Bronn's voice he had never heard from his companion before - hope. Apparently, there was a crack in a usually carefree and money-oriented attitude Bronn had always exhibited.
When Bronn stood up using Jaime's shoulder as a support all of his musings disappeared, making way for the sudden wave of pain. He needed some time to recover before he turned his head in the direction Bronn was staring at and narrowed his eyes like it could help him see something through the falling snow. There, some distance from the Unsullied Camp, was a rider with two additional horses. Or rather seemed to be. As this cold-induced hallucination grew closer - because it couldn't be anything else, or... could it? - Jaime recognized the small posture, the black hair and a timid smile of the rider.
"Two times in a row," Bronn commented when Podrick got close enough to hear him. "They should give you a knighthood for that."
Pod grinned at him, visibly happy he found them in one piece, still breathing.
"My lady thought you might need some assistance."
Bronn chuckled and gazed at Jaime, who only grimaced weakly in response. He wasn't going to engage in a conversation with a hallucination.
"Your lady thought well. Now give me that horse." Bronn reached for one of the harnesses Pod was holding in his hands. The squire immediately obeyed, passing it to the knight. It didn't stay in Bronn's hand, though, as his fingers refused to cooperate some time ago. It only made Jaime more convinced their minds were playing games with them.
Pod dismounted his horse and, accompanied by more than a few "fucks" from Bronn, assisted him in getting up on the animal. Jaime watched them with curiosity, marveling at how real the mirage felt. It wasn't until he let Pod help him stand up that he believed it was really happening. Once again, they were rescued from the cold. Once again, they could safely reach Winterfell walls. Once again, they could survive.
The rest of the road back, with the horses led by Podrick, seemed like a dream. It was still too cold to think, and the sweet oblivion was slowly taking hold of them, but they no longer had to haul each other or force their legs to tread through the snow. It was a bliss. Soon, it really became a dream.
When they reached Winterfell, Pod realized both his companions were already snoozing in their saddles. He didn't wake them up until they were well behind the gates, near the stables. Once there, he gently brought them back to reality.
They were tired, so immensely tired it felt almost surreal. Even though they were still on the open ground, they were now sheltered by Winterfell walls and it seemed like spring, like the winter had just ended and let them be. Jaime felt heat rising to his cheeks as the rest of his body started stinging, reminding him of the fact he was still in the possession of it. The only thing he dreamed of right now was, once more, a warm bed. This time, though, he had a concrete bed in mind.
Pod made Jaime wait by the fire in the stable while he escorted Bronn to their shared chamber. It seemed like he was gone forever, as Jaime hovered near the flames, his exhausted mind showing him all kinds of images he didn't wish to see. Fortunately for him, the majority of them didn't last long and vanished from his memory as soon as they appeared. This peculiar state between the reality and the dream lasted until Pod reappeared and hauled him to Brienne's chamber.
The long stony corridors seemed much longer and colder than usual, but finally, they reached the room. Brienne wasn't there; the chamber stood empty, begging for someone's presence and a little bit of warmth. While Pod busied himself with reigniting the fire in the hearth, Jaime basically threw himself onto the bed. Before the squire managed to truly set the wood aflame, he was already fast asleep.
Sansa received declarations of readiness from every lord or lady of every house present at Winterfell; they were all prepared to fight for their lives, for the North. She hadn't told them any details of the last meeting, suspecting there will be some bigger gathering the same day and not wishing to make them frightened before it. The concept of an undead dragon burning icy fire might raise some fears.
Brienne had been following her lady like a shadow, basically being of no bigger use, so her thoughts flowed freely, only in one direction. She wished she had something more concrete to do to keep them at bay, but sadly there was really nothing to do now as they didn't even know how the morning's meeting had ended. The only constructive thing she had done was sending Pod with horses to aid Jaime and Bronn with the journey back from the dragons. If they were still alive, of course. She didn't dare to think otherwise.
Treading the castle for what seemed like a millionth time, Sansa suddenly stopped, making Brienne almost collide with her. Luckily for them both, Brienne managed to find her balance just in time to prevent them from crashing. Sansa, completely unaware of the transient threat, turned and took a few steps in the direction they were coming from until she came to a halt before a small chamber adjacent to the kitchen that was bursting open. Then she sighed heavily and looked at Brienne.
"Stay here," she said and walked inside. Brienne moved towards the door and took a position just next to it, only briefly glancing into the room to discover Jon Snow sitting at the table with his head hanging low, two cups of wine standing in front of him. For a moment she wondered whether she should close the door, but decided not to; if Sansa needed that much privacy, she would do it herself. Instead, Brienne just leaned more comfortably against the wall and listened to the voices from inside the chamber while partially letting her thoughts run freely.
Before long she heard footsteps coming from the adjacent corridor and turned her head to look in that direction.
Tyrion was vigorously coming back from tending to his physical needs to his shared with Jon pit of misery. He quite merrily emerged from the corner and spot a sight of Brienne of Tarth standing near the door, fully straightened, with her usual stern expression and his steps faltered. She noticed him almost immediately, casting him a polite, yet disinterested glance. He felt a silly need to run away, but had to continue his march nonetheless; it would look rather stupid if he turned around now. The woman scared him in the most peculiar of ways, making him uncomfortable; her gigantic posture looming over him the way towers did, her unwavering resolution, her blue gaze that seemed to touch his soul directly. He swallowed and approached her uneasily.
"Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked, trying his best for his voice to come out casual. If she was standing here, that meant Sansa was inside and had some important conversation with her so-called brother which he had no intention to interrupt.
"No, I wouldn't," lady Brienne replied as he took his position next to her along the wall.
He gazed at her askance, feeling her shadow swallowing him whole. His eyes slid down onto her sword; he really wished to ask her about it, to inquire about her relations with Jaime, but found himself in a lack of words. It had been easier to talk to the dragons, he noticed absently. Maybe one day he will converse with lady Stark's personal knight and his brother's... whoever she was for Jaime, but such a day was yet to come.
And so they were standing there in silence, listening to the quiet voices coming from the chamber, Brienne's eyes fastened on the wall in front of them, Tyrion's being all over the place. As his thoughts wandered to Jaime, he suddenly reckoned whether she was thinking about his brother's fate as well; he cast her yet another look and noticed something he hadn't seen before - a worry that in a way radiated from her features, seemingly hidden yet so obvious if one knew what to look for. He felt strangely comforted: she had some human emotions after all, and even mirroring his own. He smiled to himself, leaning against the wall more relaxed, now able to calmly overhear the conversation between the wolves.
When Sansa entered the chamber Jon lifted his head and gazed at her, first detachedly, like he hadn't fully recognized her, then with sorrow and pain in his dark eyes.
"What happened?" she asked, sitting down next to him at the table.
He stared at her sadly for a while before speaking up: "I failed," he said, then took a big sip from his cup, his eyes now fastened on the wall in front of him. "I failed and we are going to lose."
She didn't answer, just looking at him and fighting the urge to say they were probably going to lose either way. They lacked trained men, dragons, weapons, food, clothing, living quarters. They basically lacked everything.
"I don't know how to get to her. And I need to do something." She wasn't sure if he was really talking to her or rather just loudly to himself. There was something in his eyes, face and whole posture that finally made her realize the basic truth she should have seen from the very start.
"Do you love her?" she asked him straightforwardly. He gazed up at her with surprise in his eyes. He didn't really have to reply; she already found her answer in his grey irises, somewhere behind the shock her question evoked.
"What does it matter?" He turned his gaze away, his voice resigned and reluctant. "She won't listen to me. She thinks I just want to kill her dragon, that I don't understand. He's a part of their army now, we have to kill him."
Sansa was silent for a moment, analyzing the situation. When she started speaking her voice was calm, comforting and cautious: "Imagine it was me."
Jon frowned and looked at her, surprised and not understanding what she was getting at.
"Imagine I was turned into a wight," she continued. "Would you find it easy to kill me?"
He was silent for a moment, simply staring at her.
"No," he finally admitted.
"Would you be able to do that, even knowing there was no hope for me?"
"No." He couldn't imagine being forced to do that.
"So go and talk to her like that, tell her you understand and do understand. She knows for sure there is no hope, but it's a new situation for her. You're in it a lot longer than any of us and still, it's not something you consider normal, isn't it? Show her you'll be there for her. Show her you understand."
Jon stared at her wide-eyedly for a long moment, letting her words settle in, letting their truth embrace him.
"Thank you," he said suddenly like she had just opened the gates to some profound mystery before him, jumped to his feet, kissed her on the forehead and exited the chamber, leaving her alone to stare at the small window, the main source of light in the room.
She wasn't alone for long, though. Tyrion's and Brienne's eyes followed Jon until he disappeared behind the nearest corner, casting them a quick, apologetic smile as he passed them. Tyrion looked at Brienne and took a step forward.
"I'll... just..." He gestured awkwardly to indicate he was going inside. Brienne just nodded her head and watched him disappear into the chamber. What a peculiar little lion he was, she thought, so different from his brother, yet in a way also really similar. Both had hearts of gold the world refused to see - with Tyrion because it didn't care, simply labeling him as a dwarf and treating that fact like the only information it needed to possess about him; with Jaime because he himself suppressed it, succumbing to the Kingslayer nickname.
She changed her position, feeling slightly numb from the hardness of the wall, and continued her partial listening to what was happening inside the chamber, and partial wondering about the Lannister brothers, both of them this time.
Sansa lifted her head and looked at Tyrion wordlessly as he slowly approached the table.
"Those were some wise words of a wise person," he said solemnly, realizing that it will be their first real conversation since Joffrey's wedding, which seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was a lifetime ago, even a few lifetimes for both of them.
"I've learned a lot," she replied, remembering her words to Petyr during his execution. She was a slow learner, but she did learn eventually.
"I don't doubt it." Tyrion smiled and lowered his eyes, feeling unsure. He didn't know how to behave around her; he had planned to talk to her since his arrival to Winterfell, but, though he didn't know why, they had greeted like two people who knew almost nothing about one another and since then he hadn't known how to resume their acquaintanceship. He still didn't. "I've missed you," he murmured, grabbing the back of the nearest chair and squeezing it in a desperate need to have something in his hands.
"No, you haven't."
He looked up at her; she was watching him calmly and expressionlessly, her seeming indifference digging a hole in his stomach.
"Fine," he muttered, finally sitting in the chair and gazing at her with sincerity. "But I did think about you from time to time."
"It is enough." She finally smiled at him, although it was a restrained, carefully-balanced smile. She could tell him she had thought about him from time to time as well; every time Ramsey had hurt her, she had remembered Tyrion's kindness and his strong resolution to never touch her against her own wishes. She had remembered how they had laughed at the people who had offended them. She had remembered he had been one of the few people who had always been kind to her and had never meant her any harm.
"Sansa, I..." he started, but she quickly cut him off.
"Don't." She didn't want him to explain anything; besides, what was there to explain? Why hadn't he come to her sooner? Why hadn't he supported her when she had been trying to make them listen? No, she didn't need explanations for that. "I don't need that."
She really didn't. She couldn't care less about anything else than protecting her homeland from being destroyed and erased from this realm. It was the sole important thing.
"I just wanted to say I wish all of it happened differently." He had heard about her times with Ramsay Bolton; if even a small portion of what he knew was true, he shuddered to think about the things that weren't the common knowledge.
She didn't answer and just looked at him with an unreadable expression.
"You've changed, my lady," he said silently, suddenly feeling he owed her the title. She wasn't the Sansa he had come to know. She wasn't his Sansa anymore, he caught himself thinking.
"Haven't we all?" she noticed and gazed into Jon's cup, then experimentally took a sip out of it.
"We indeed have." There was a radiance of respect and power around her that created an impenetrable wall. The little sweet cub grew up and became a mighty she-wolf.
There was still some boyish need in him to protect her from any harm, even though he had failed at that immensely in the past. Clearing his throat, he decided to switch to some lighter subjects, if there were any, but before that he needed to drink. He refilled the cups and said sincerely: "Thank you for what you did for Jaime."
Definitely not a lighter subject, but it was something he had to say. He had to thank her for doing what should have been his task.
"I don't think it helped him in any way," she noticed, embracing the cup like it could give her any warmth or shelter, like it could give her anything besides a sweet oblivion.
"But you at least tried. I did nothing." She looked up at him and saw guilt in his eyes. He did blame himself for what had ensued.
"You aren't in fault for his bad choices," she said calmly. "Now it all depends on Drogon."
He chuckled bitterly; suddenly the eternal love he had always felt for dragons started to seem surrealistic and completely unjustified. Truth be told, a lot of things had seemed surrealistic for quite some time already.
"For Drogon!" He lifted his cup with feigned merry. Sansa smiled and raised her own vessel.
"For Drogon."
The alcohol felt bitter on Tyrion's tongue, as bitter as he felt inside. There will be no joy until he would find out what happened between Jaime and Drogon, and it could take some time. He thought he could have gone with his brother; he was accustomed to dragons already, maybe he would be of some help. Maybe...
Maybe then he wouldn't feel as useless as he did now.
Brienne, hearing their conversation, felt her breath halting in her throat. It all depended on Drogon... Suddenly the hope she hadn't even known she had been leaning on dissipated and she felt cold dread flooding her. For a moment she thought she would prefer Jaime dead on the road to Winterfell than now, barely a moment after... after she got him back. The last memory she would have had of him then would be his harsh behavior at Dragonpit; she wouldn't let her mind wander into some hidden, never uncovered terrain. Her heart wouldn't get reminded of the things that should have remained subconscious. She wouldn't think that she just got him back to lose him all over again. And she'll lose him before...
Before what, Brienne? A voice inside her head asked mockingly. Before fully recommencing their friendship was the right answer. That was all she wanted. Or rather that was all she convinced herself she wanted.
Feeling resignation growing within her she sighed and looked disinterestedly into the corridor; her heart skipped a beat as she saw Podrick rushing towards her.
"How was the dragon?"
The words awoke Jaime from the slumber. For a moment he couldn't distinguish his surroundings or connect the events of the last few hours so they would make some logical whole. He wondered whether all of it wasn't just a dream; maybe now he was waking up for the first time after the cannibals? Maybe he still had those highly humiliating and uncomfortable discussions ahead of him?
He leaned on his elbows and sat up feeling sore, his mouth dry and numb. He was still tired, but not as much as before. He felt like he was freed of some worries that had stormed his mind making it impossible to truly rest. Looking up he saw Brienne, who was gazing at him with a soft smile, relief obvious in her eyes, although she wasn't going to say how happy she was to see him well; once a day was definitely enough. What she could tell him, though, was that she didn't need to worry about him so many times during such a short amount of time.
However, she didn't say it, just waiting for his answer. The question about the dragon and the sight of her made him realize the rest of this day wasn't a dream. Everything had really happened – the dragons, Targaryen Queen, winter in the North. It was his new reality. He was glad Brienne could be a part of it because otherwise, it would all look rather gloomy and depressing.
"In quite a gracious mood," he answered, trying to erase the image of that fire-breathing muzzle and sparkling eyes, although he suspected it will become the main subject of his nightmares for days to come. Seconds later he decided it wasn't that bad; his dreams had been nightmares for way too long, consisting of blazing battlefields, screams as his men were burning alive, the dragons and Cersei, who was always somewhere there, lurking in the darkness to deliver a final blow, her green eyes flaring just the same, staring at him with hatred and contempt, despising him. If Drogon was to become the only element that would remain, it could be a vast improvement.
"They are beautiful though, aren't they?" The soft smile on her lips and the dreamy haze to the blueness of her irises indicated that for a brief, fleeting moment she traveled to a completely different location in time and space, some long forgotten past when the young fair-haired girl wished to be a Targaryen warrior on a dragon. She sounded like she was talking more to herself than him, yet he suspected she wouldn't let herself get so drifted away in someone else's present. He gave her some time, just watching her and realizing in the last few hours he had witnessed a lot of different shades of her, maybe even more than in the last few years. Never before had he seen her caught in a dream; what a shame, he thought, as she seemed to glow with the sheer force of a memory.
"I don't really know, everything I ever get to see is their teeth," he finally retorted, waking her up from the dream. He hated dragons with a burning passion, but he understood that for some people their beauty was as undeniable as for him their fire was deadly.
Brienne looked at him startled, like she couldn't believe she let anyone see her like that, vulnerable and exposed. Her guards were down when she was around him, dreadfully so; it was getting worse with every single encounter. It scared her. The concept of what could happen if her guards would be finally destroyed scared her even more, for all variety of reasons.
She cleared her throat uneasily and decided to come back to the more solid ground. War, for example, was a perfect topic.
"There is a meeting everyone is to attend," she said firmly and straightened up, like it would help her shield herself against him, or rather against her own feelings, unwelcomed thoughts and desires his sight evoked.
Jaime moaned with exasperation and fell back onto the bed.
"You don't have any time to rest here."
"It's not usually like that." She looked at him wearily. "Tormund brought some important information after you and Ser Bronn went to see the dragon."
"Who's Tormund?" he asked, frowning. He hadn't heard that name before.
"Jon Snow's Wildling." She tried to remain casual, talking about Tormund the way she would do about any other Northern soldier; she had to fail, though, as Jaime sat back up and looked at her scrutinizingly like he wanted to search for the answers in the depths of her soul. She felt her mouth go dry under his gaze.
"You have something against Wildlings? Lady Brienne, I would never suspect you of lack of tolerance!" He made his voice sound indignant, having decided to first try a japing approach and then, if needed, let his concern show.
"I don't have anything against Wildlings," she denied, sighing. "I just..." She looked at him, remembering all those moments when Tormund had performed his tricks on her and all she could have thought about had been how different he was from Jaime and how much she had wanted to have her lion around. She had him here now. Although he wasn't her lion, she had to remember that. She could lie to him, tell him it was nothing; but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wasn't fond of lying in general and she definitely wouldn't lie to him of all people. "I have something against him."
Jaime turned serious now, feeling anxiety and worry growing inside him.
"Has he ever done anything against your will?" he asked and the tone of his voice made Brienne's cheeks turn redder for what seemed like a millionth time that day.
"Do you really think he would still be well if he tried?" she answered with a question of her own. He chuckled.
"Do forgive me, I had to forget who I was speaking to."
"I don't need protection..." she started slowly, letting the words sink in.
"I know you don't."
"...but thank you for your concern," she finished, retaining their eye contact. He smiled.
"Anytime."
There was a momentary silence that threatened to engulf them whole as they stared into each other, so Brienne quickly looked away.
"I brought you some fresh clothes," she said, putting a stack of clothing next to him on the bed, being careful as not to do as much as to look at him in such a proximity; it might have some disastrous consequences she didn't dare to think of as the thoughts might as well betray her. "I'll wait outside."
Jaime smirked, raising his brow.
"We'll go together? Won't your Wildling be jealous?"
She cast him a weary look, but smiled.
"We'll see," she answered and then left the room.
The silence that embraced the chamber enabled Jaime to gather his thoughts. His blood boiled at the thought of some bothering her barbarian. Did he devour her with his eyes? Did he strip her bare in his mind? Did he fuck her in his deranged fantasies? Even Jaime didn't have such fantasies and no one should have; she was way too pure to be treated like some sheer sexual object. No, she needed to be respected and loved, she needed so much more than anyone, especially a Wildling, could give her.
He suddenly wanted to laugh at himself. He wasn't in any way better or purer than any other man, even a Wildling one – he might not have fantasized about fucking her, but there were thoughts, there were images, vivid in his mind. Touching her in ways no one before had ever touched her, pleasuring her the way she would like to be pleasured, bringing her to the edge all over again. He was guilty of these charges and so much more.
Enough, he thought and stood up. She was waiting for him and he couldn't let her wait for too long. He discarded the old, ragged and bloodied clothes and put on the one she brought him, whole, clean, warm. Then he hesitated slightly before taking the fur. It was her fur, all in all, and maybe considering the not-so-warm reception he had been granted it wouldn't be wise to put it on. What would they think if they connected it with her? What would they say if they caught him parading in Brienne of Tarth's cloak?
He slowly picked it up and buried his face in it, feeling for her, seeking her in it. Through the smell of leather and fur, he found her tone, the breath of her, one of a kind. It was mesmerizing, threatening to intoxicate him.
But he had to go. Repressing the paranoid sensations, he put the fur on and decided to leave the chamber. First, it was only fur. He knew it was hers, she knew it, Pod knew it, maybe Sansa; but furs looked similar and no one will analyze whether they saw it before on someone else. It was truly paranoid. Second, he had already parade in it the whole day. Third, what would he tell her if she asked him why he didn't wear it? That he wanted to prevent her good name from tarnishing? He imagined the look she would give him and chuckled internally, finally leaving the room.
He was sure the North awaited them with more less-than-pleasant surprises.
