The bed beneath him was soft and the blankets over him a cacoon of warmth that was only breached when he shifted enough to lift the edge away from the bed. In the haze of half-consciousness, he couldn't recall ever being this comfortable, and Jaime burrowed his face deeper into the pillow beneath his cheek, breathing in the smell of clean linen and something familiar that took him a sleepy moment to place.

Brienne.

His eyes opened as he remembered, his breath coming in a sharp inhalation when he found that very woman beside him awash in vivid color.

She was on her side facing him, their feet intertangled while the fingertips of one of her hands rested against the bare skin of his shoulder, and his own against the crook of her elbow.

Though Jaime thought it would fall short of what Tyrion would consider an intimate embrace, he nonetheless found it pleasant and a far cry better than the full-body entanglements he had pried himself out of during his brief experimental phase. The heated points where her skin touched his came into hyperfocus, reminding him that it was her he could thank for the particularly comfortable sleeping conditions in this drafty cabin.

He tipped his head back to better look at her, careful not to let her hand fall from where it rested against him. It was odd, he mused to look at her without her ducking away. His eyes traced the pale yellow of her mussed hair where it fell over her cheeks, the strands fluttering gently with every exhale from her slightly parted mouth. His gaze stayed on her lips, following their contour and noting the variation in the peachy-pink coloring that suggested a few freckles resided there as well. While he once thought her them incongruous with her face, now all he could think about was how soft her lips would be, how hot she might feel if she opened her mouth to him.

His cock, which had already been half hard simply from waking, pressed insistently against his sweatpants, and Jaime closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

I want to fuck her.

His cock made another insistent twitch.

I never want to fuck anyone. Is it because she is the Evenstar? If my mind can't tell the difference in the types of love I should feel, perhaps it can't distinguish infatuation either.

He glimpsed over at Brienne again, trying to understand. No, he thought, recalling her stunt with the tree, this started before I knew who she was.

He swallowed heavily and rolled back to stare at the ceiling. Jaime could admit to wanting companionship, to feeling alone and lonely, but this sexual desire was concerning in its intensity. Objectively he knew she was ugly and awkward, and yet he found himself intrigued by her size and strength, and her face had simply become synonymous with 'Brienne'. Seeing it meant seeing her, which he could admit he quite liked. An infusion of color and warmth, her presence was the lighthouse that cut through the grey fog his life had become.

When the dragon's bones have turned to stone and the Children of the Forest's bodies seep into the Great Hearth, the Goddess of Light will bring forth her child, the Evenstar, to stand between the realms. Armed by her love, a weapon fierce and sharp, her line will protect Westeros from the darkness that will come when magic returns to the world.

He, and most academics, assumed the prophecy meant the Evenstar's greatest strength would be the metaphorical love she held for humanity.

But Brienne's alterations made it much more literal in a way he only just realized while on the phone with Tyrion in the car.

If there ever was a weapon considered fierce and sharp, it was Oathkeeper.

And I armed her with it.

He let out a long low breath.

Is it me?

He did not love her. How could he after such a short time, fascination and inexplicable horniness aside? And as for Brienne, the most emotion he had detected on her side was grudging tolerance and the occasional mild amusement.

Not exactly the start of an epic romance.

But he could not deny there was a shortage of alternative candidates. And the colors... his gut told him it wasn't a coincidence, no matter Brienne's deduction.

His eyes opened to fall to the marks on her neck.

If it is me, I'm going to have to watch that happen over and over again, aren't I? And children...

He was struck with a potent longing and terror that constricted his throat.

The children would have to go through the same. Always in danger, always being hurt, always carrying the burden of the world...

"Jaime?"

Brienne's voice broke through the building panic in his chest that must have shown on his face, for when he looked over, her brows were knitted in concern.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at her and think of how incredibly unfair of a hand she had been dealt. He, at least, had the choice to break away from his father, to walk away from the quagmire that was his relationship with Cersei.

But Brienne's destiny had been literally carved into stone thousands of years ago.

The idea of Fate suddenly felt too restricting, like an invisible cage was around his person and he sat up abruptly, needing to move and distract himself from the direction of his thoughts.

"Would you like to spar? I want to try out the swords."

Brienne blinked at him then glanced out of the window to gauge the daylight. "Alright," she said slowly, still looking at him oddly as she slid out of the bed to toss him the sweatshirt he had foregone the night before.

Thirty minutes later they were outside of the cabin, Brienne rolling her neck in a stretch while Jaime bounced on his toes. He slashed Widow's Wail through the air grinning at how perfect it felt in his grip compared to the first time he held it when his mother carefully placed it over his outstretched palms.

No, he thought, it wasn't meant for me then.

He glanced up to see Brienne likewise admiring her blade and he caught her eye, bringing his sword up parallel to his body and face to indicate the start of a spar.

He stepped left and she did the same, them circling one another, studying and feeling the terrain under their feet, the light flurry dusting their shoulders and hair.

Her stance is balanced and grip proper on a sword of that size, he noted and brought his strike up, intentionally telegraphing, and she met it with a block and then an advance before they sprung apart again.

Textbook perfect. But he misliked the look in her eye, the careful tolerance he saw there, like she knew she was better and just humoring him. Very well then.

Jaime feinted to the side then rocketed forward, Widow slashing in a flurry of quick attacks. Brienne's eyes widened but she met each blow as he drove her backward until she tried to sidestep. Jaime anticipated the move and turned a moment sooner, his blade aimed at her throat before she could raise her sword again.

"Look at that," he murmured with a grin at her narrowed eyes and red face.

"So you weren't boasting."

"Oh, I was definitely boasting. Doesn't mean I'm not as good as I say I am."

She whacked away his sword with her own and he danced back.

She's annoyed. Good.

They circled again and Jaime waited until he saw it, a sharp intake of breath that let him know she was about to attack. Their weapons clashed and clanged, the occasional spark alighting as they drove each other back and forth across the yard.

"Probably a good thing you fight mostly insentient creatures," he teased as he suddenly dropped his sword from the block and her momentum had her stumbling to keep herself upright. "Hopefully they won't pick up on your tells."

Still gloriously red-faced, she glared at him. "What tells?"

"You grimace before you strike, take a breath when you are about to go on the offensive, and always step back with your right foot if you plan to strike overhead. What did that Bravosi master teach you anyway?"

"He was the best! Everyone said so."

"I'm better."

Her face took on an especially mulish grimace before she came at him again.

Brienne was nearly as quick as he was, but Evenstar or no, he had at least a decade more of training on the woman. On the flip side, it also meant he was over a decade older and he was starting to feel the strain in his shoulders while Brienne showed no signs of flagging. He suspected though, that she hadn't yet unleashed her greatest advantage and he was painfully curious.

"Come on," he needled as he blocked another of her attacks and danced out of the way. "You're holding back. Let's see it then."

She blinked at him, her sword point dipping. "What are you talking about?"

"Hit me as hard as you can. I want to see how strong you are."

"No," she said shaking her head. "I'll hurt you."

"Come on," he tried again, 'Straight overhead, I'll know it's coming and block two-handed on my right. If I falter, it'll still be deflected."

She frowned, conflicted.

"Grace, you have my permission to hit me as hard as you can. That's not an offer I make to everyone."

"Because they would all take you up on it," she snapped back and Jaime laughed, delighting in the way his blood sang and feeling unbelievably happy with his ancestor's sword in his hand and this dour demigod for company.

A moment more Brienne muttered under her breath before rolling Oathkeeper in her grip. "Ready?"

He settled his stance and nodded. He swung his sword up as hers came down, hoping to stop its momentum with his own. But there was no give, no cushion, and instead just an instantaneous reverberation from the steel to his hands that made his teeth rattle.

The hit was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, like slamming the flat of his sword against a boulder tumbling down a hill and expecting it to do something. It drove him to his knees, and Widow shook out his hands to fall into the snow.

He looked up from his position, eyes wide. "Was that your full strength?"

And the wench actually smirked. "No."

She was backlit by the sun, and almost as bright as she was at the cave.

Is she my future?

"Brienne?"

Brienne's head jerked to the left though she did not raise her sword.

Jaime followed her gaze to the man standing at the side of the cabin with his hands shoved into his pockets as he glanced back and forth between them.

"Hyle!"

Her voice was a mixture of surprise and alarm and Jaime grabbed his sword and rose, dusting the snow from the rapidly dampening fabric at his knees.

"You sure that's not another Nārhēdegon? The last one was pretty convincing," inquired Jaime, and wondered if he'd be forever wary of lone strangers in the woods, which upon reflection, he thought really should have always been his stance.

"It would be the worst one in existence if it thought to lure me using him." Brienne nodded her chin towards the road behind the cabin. "There's his car. Probably couldn't make it down the driveway."

Hyle approached, his gaze assessing Jaime with a critical eye before turning his attention back to Brienne. He was shorter than him by a few inches with brown hair peeking out at the edges of his cap and a weak chin jaw that Jaime decided could only be improved by a scarf.

"Your father called me. Seemed to think you were in trouble."

"He was supposed to let you know it was a misunderstanding," she grumbled. "I'm obviously fine."

Hyle shrugged and pulled his phone from his pocket, and entered his passcode.

"He did. But then there was this." He held his screen up to her face.

The Westeros Wire had a video playing silently at the top of one of their articles. Jaime stepped closer, pressing his shoulder against Brienne's to see a swarm of military personnel milling around the wrecked fuselage of a plane shredded with large vertical gashes along its sides.

"It went down in the Vale last night but that's just the cabin. Wings were thirty miles east, the nose twenty miles south with debris and casualties strewn in-between." Hyle tucked the phone back in his pocket.

"Remarkable plane that can steer without a cockpit or wings," murmured Jaime to Brienne who had gone stock still.

Hyle ignored him and continued to focus on Brienne, his brow furrowed and expression uncertain. "I talked to one of my old army contacts and the rumor going around is that the satellite feed was clear but the radar wasn't. Whatever it was that took out that plane was there in gone in less than twenty minutes."

"Why are you here Hyle?" asked Brienne sharply.

"Because he said they were claw marks," he hissed back at her and dropped his gaze to the gleaming sword in her hand. "You were telling the truth, weren't you?"

This?! This was the other man you told? he wanted to whisper in her ear. Glad to see your taste has become more discerning.

"Oh, now you believe me?"

"I believed that you believed it! I just thought you were-"

"Pathetic? Delusional? Desperate to think anything about me could be special?" she shot back with a flatness in her tone that told Jaime those were the exact words Hyle had used.

Yours weren't much better.

Hyle's mouth opened and closed before he scowled at Jaime. "Do you mind? We're having a private conversation here."

"I mind if she minds."

"I wasn't asking."

"Now that I mind not at all," replied Jaime smirking.

With a roll of her eyes, Brienne turned to Jaime, her free hand brushing his where it still gripped the pommel of his sword. Hyle followed the gesture.

"Wait for me in the cabin. I won't be long."

Loathe as he found himself to leave her, Jaime didn't let it show on his face and instead just snagged her retreating hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before sauntering back to the cabin.

I'd say chew on that, Hyle, but you haven't the chin.