Zhea

The sight of her long hair full of knots made her nauseous. Zhea held the dagger just below her jaw and, with a deep breath, began cutting away. She slashed at the hair around her face first, keeping it longer than the rest as it was the least tangled. As she moved back, she struggled to keep her arm in its position but managed to a semi-straight line. The once smooth mane that cascaded down her back was shorter than Jaime's hair now. Satisfied with the change, Zhea moved away from the mirror and left to see Qyburn about that potion.

Going back to rescue Brienne had been Jaime's idea. He was the brave one now, not her. The prospect of riding a horse for days exhausted Zhea. She was sick of being on the road. Never once had she thought she'd be begging to be in the capital. Qyburn was tolerable company. He kept to himself mostly but would insert himself when he felt he had more to add. Zhea liked him better than Grand Maester Pycelle, from what few interactions she had with him.

Before they left the Bolton's, Roose returned all of Zhea's weapons to her with a skeptical eye. He told her he doubted that she would be able to find equipment like hers in the Seven Kingdoms, and he was right. Anything she had, she was gifted from other people, and she treasured them all.

At night she and Jaime were usually the last ones up. He never acted it in front of the others, but he was worried about her–she could see it. The last night around a campfire, her horse spooked and took off, so on the last day of the trip Jaime shared him with her. Being so close to a man should've been a nerve-racking experience, but Jaime oozed comfort and warmth. Maybe it was the beard that softened him.

"Don't shave," she begged when they saw the Red Keep's towers in the distance.

He looked down at her in amusement. "Is that what you're worried about?"

"I think the beard softens you–makes you less mean and angry," Zhea said. She clung a little tighter to his back and pressed her forehead into him. The pressure soothed her.

"I'll need to trim it," Jaime told her.

"Just don't lose it completely."

When they entered the city on foot, Jaime was enthralled by the Red Keep's magnificence but disillusioned by the rudeness of strangers passing by.

"Watch it farm boy!"

Jaime nodded goodbye to both Qyburn and Brienne, unlikely they'd see him in this state again, and took Zhea's hand. She let herself be pulled by him, getting distracted by all the trinkets lying about whether they be toys or items sold in a market.

"Have I ever told you about my dream," Zhea asked, catching up after waving to a little girl. Jaime shook his head. "I want to live in White Habor."

"Why there?"

"Don't say it like that. It's a nice place! I want to own a ship and sail like my father did."

"But you said you hated it," Jaime retorted.

"Yeah, but I loved seeing other countries." Zhea shook her head, "It's silly, but I think I'd like it. Maybe I'll go home."

Jaime diverted his eyes and tightened his grip on her. "Let's hurry."

It took quite a long time to get past the guards. They were suspicious of the man who claimed to be Jaime Lannister–someone they knew presumed to be dead-but their fear of Tywin Lannister's wrath was stronger than the mistrust.

"Zhea, stay out here," he whispered. "Hide. I'll be right back." They were in front of a large set of doors–Cersei's doors.

"Why must we go here first," she begged. "Let's get settled in before we make our rounds."

"I have to do this." Suddenly his words from their first night in Robb's camp flashed back to her. That's right, Cersei was the only woman Jaime had ever loved. He loved her.

"We can't choose who we love," is what he said. Zhea nodded and slunk back into a nook in the wall.

"Don't be long."

She sat in the crevice that was dimly lit by a torch overhead as servants and soldiers passed her in complete ignorance. The smell was the first thing she noticed when they got close to the city: shit. Everything reeked of excretion in the capital. Even gold can't disguise the stench.

"Zhea." He was back. His face was paler and he didn't stand as tall, but he closed the door and said sternly, "Let's go."

"I didn't rush you did I? You can go back if you want more time," she said hurriedly.

"No, you didn't rush me." Jaime took her hand in his again and pulled her down the halls. All of the halls looked identical to her as they wound through the castle. She nearly bumped into him when he stopped short in front of a pair of just as elegant doors.

Zhea was worried for him. "You don't live with the other Kingsguard?" She asked, trying to change the topic.

"No, Cersei insisted I take a proper royal family room once she moved in," Jaime pushed open the doors and exposed the moderately large room. The bed was in the back of the room, partitioned by a screen. In the front of the room was a small table with wine and two chairs as well as a daybed. The right wall was replaced with a gaping hole that led to a balcony that looked over the bay. Vines and other greenery climbed the walls and flowers sprouted along the stems.

"Where am I staying?" Zhea asked.

"Here, until I figure out how to tell Cersei about you." Jaime gestured to the room before stepping out into the hall.

Zhea looked around the room and placed her bag on the day bed. She was conscious of the dreadful condition she must be in and decided to confine herself to the balcony. There was a section of wall in the cavity that led to the balcony that separated the bed from the day area. This must be a summer room as there was no way to completely close off the balcony.

A knock on the door startled Zhea, and she grew anxious as she wondered who it could be. She hid further back to ensure she was not seen.

"My lady, it is I, Lord Tyrion," a familiar voice called from outside the room.

"Come in, quickly." Zhea reentered the room and nodded politely to the man she hardly knew anymore. Although they had made acquaintance in Winterfell, that seemed like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since she first told him off and as Tyrion hustled inside and bowed to her Zhea saw she wasn't the only one who changed physically. While her hair would grow back, Tyrion's face would be forever marred by the scar that reached from corner to corner of his face. The blonde hair on his head was longer and curlier and his mismatched eyes looked tired, like her brown ones.

"Are you staying with my brother?" he asked her, walking over to the table and pouring himself a glass of wine.

Zhea nodded.

"And are you two…"

"Oh, no," she rushed to say. "I'm pretty sure he's into blondes." Tyrion looked amused by the offhanded comment. "He and I are just friends."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow knowingly. "Friends who are about to share a bed."

"Only until he tells Cersei about my arrival."

"Oh yes, I can imagine the scene she'll cause at that. My brother has a tendency for putting things off. You might be here for a while" Tyrion rolled his eyes and finished his glass. "Well, I must get going. The wife awaits." He bowed and flared his hands.

"Wife?"

He froze. "Oh, right. While you were away, Lady Sansa and I... were married."

"What?"

"Yes, it's a lovely arrangement. She gets my family's protection and I get the daybed." Tyrion joked, but he looked pained.

Zhea was appalled and showed him to the door. "Good night, my lord," and shut the door with a slam.

She had fallen asleep on the bed when Jaime returned with servants. They carried a large tub into the room and filled it with hot water, sprinkling bath salts and soaps into it.

"You can leave now. I'll be fine." The door opened and closed again, and Jaime's head peaked through the screen. "You want to share or do you need your own?"

Shaking her head, she peeled the dirty clothes off her thinning body and stepped into the tub. Jaime followed suit, watching as water sloshed from the extra body. By now, the two were comfortable being bare in front of each other. They had seen each other at their worst, so what was a little nudity?

The tub was larger than she was used to but still undersized as it was made for one person. They sat at opposite ends of the tub, their legs brushing each other, and paid no attention to the other as they washed.

"You're getting thin," Jaime said after a while.

Zhea looked up from where she was cleaning her legs. "Well, we've been on the road," she said.

"I know, I just want to make sure you're staying healthy," Jaime shrugged defensively.

"You don't need to worry about me," said Zhea. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're lying."

Zhea stood up and got out. "Why would I lie?" She towel-dried herself quickly and wrapped one of Jaime's robes around herself.

"Because, you're scared, obviously." Jaime followed her and repeated her actions. "It's okay to feel like shit every once in a while."

She looked away from him and glared at the bowl and shaving foam sitting on the table. Zhea huffed and pulled out the chair, moving the mirror out of her way.

"Come," she said, motioning across from her. "If you need to shave, there's no way you're doing it yourself."

"I can just get a servant–"

"No, no."

Jaime gave in and walked over to the table. "Fine, but we're doing it over here." He picked up the bowl of water and cup of foam and placed them on the side table near the daybed.

Zhea grabbed the blade and climbed onto the furniture after him. While on her knees, she towered over Jaime's sitting form and spread the foam over his face.

"Be careful," he said warily.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his face with one hand while she made short, quick movements with the blade in her other hand. Every so often she would dip the blade in the water, cleaning it, before returning the process. Her hands were steady and her eyes concentrated on Jaime's face and saw the scars his imprisonment gave him.

"You're going to send Lady Stark's daughter back to her, right?" she asked as she finished the first side. "Turn."

Jaime turned and hummed. "I'm not sure I can. Now that she's married to Tyrion, she's technically a Lannister. She's safer here than she'll be traveling home."

"You swore to Catelyn–"

"I swore I would keep her daughters safe," Jaime interrupted.

She rolled her eyes.

"Besides, if Sansa leaves, you have to too," he added in a smaller voice.

She concealed a grin and finished the rest of his face in silence. Jaime rinsed off once she had finished. Seeing as she had no clean clothes, Zhea wore one of Jaime's shirts, earning her a look that she brushed off. It was hard for her to imagine the man Jaime used to be. He wasn't the arrogant ass who marched into her home like he owned the place. She had seen him grow.

Jaime got into bed with a slight groan of comfort. It was the first night in over a year that he was comfortable. He turned and blew out the candles and stayed facing the opposite way. Zhea, on the other hand, was not ready for the nightmares she was sure to have once she closed her eyes, so she turned towards Jaime's back and, pressing her forehead into him gently, wrapped her arms around him that way.

He didn't turn around to hug her, but he didn't move her hands. His hands grazed hers on his stomach before they went limp.

Margaery and Loras were in the capital too, much to Zhea's surprise, and the former was getting married to Joffrey. Another surprise. Reunions got off to an awkward note as she ran into Margaery and Sansa strolling through the gardens. Margaery was struck silent but Sansa had eagerly hugged the woman.

"Oh, I thought you were dead," she cried, squeezing her so tightly that Zhea forgot how to breathe. "I'm so glad you're back. Where were you?"

Zhea hugged her back but peeled her away so she could get oxygen. She was taller than Zhea remembered and had filled out like the beautiful woman she knew Ned would be proud of.

"I was several lords' prisoner before traveling back here with Ser Jaime." Margaery's eyes widened and she butt in.

"You traveled here with the Kingslayer? I thought he was Robb Stark's prisoner?"

Sansa's head swiveled between the two women as they spoke.

"He was until Catelyn released him. I'm sure she faced hell for it, but she would do anything for her daughters."

"And how was the journey?"

"Wonderful," Zhea said sarcastically, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. "From one luxurious inn to the next. Loved every minute of it."

Margaery nodded stiffly and looked to Sansa, "Sansa, darling, my grandmother would love to see you this afternoon."

"Of course," Sansa said. "Will I see you later?"

Zhea smiled thinly. "Of course."

Jaime

Jaime had been sitting on a secret all day. A secret he had to share tonight before it was too late. Zhea had been quiet, but generous all evening, understanding that something was troubling him. Even now, he sat as she ran the blade over his face for the night barely breathing, as if a breath would allow every word to spill from him.

"Finished." She washed off the blade and allowed him to complete the ritual as she leaned back. "What's wrong?"

He scowled and then traded it for a pitying glance. "It's about Robb. I heard it from my father just this morning."

"Did he kick your golden asses on the battlefield?" She asked eagerly.

Jaime looked gravely at her. "He's died, Zhea. He, his wife and unborn baby, and Catelyn were murdered at Edmure Tully's wedding in the Twins. The Boltons and the Freys betrayed them."

Zhea was frozen. "Can–can you give me a minute?" She asked shakily. He nodded and left the room. As the door shut, he debated whether he should take a walk or stay put. He was ready to leave and return but the door opened and Zhea let him back in.

Her face was hidden behind her hair, but he could see the red eyes and nose, the wetness she couldn't soak up. On the table were three fewer wine glasses, nowhere to be found. Jaime wanted to say something, but she ignored him and got in bed, turning the other way. This felt like another moment where it would be best to say nothing. He faced her back this night and held her in his arms as she cried silently.

Jaime had been worried for the past few weeks. He moved her into her room, relatively far away from him a week after they arrived, and not once had she been to see Sansa. The rare times he saw Zhea were the nights he visited her after his duties. She looked worse each time. Reduced to skin and bones with bloodshot eyes and bags hanging beneath, Jaime couldn't stand to watch her deteriorate.

"Zhea." He called, knocking twice and entering her room. She was there drinking a glass of wine calmly. An illusion-he could tell from the glow on her cheeks and what remained of the wine in the glass pitcher.

"I've decided," he said slowly. "I think you should move back into my room."

"Why?" Eerily calm was always before a storm.

"Because you're wasting away in here! Zhea, you need to eat, you need to sleep–one of the maids told me you almost passed out when she walked in."

"I don't know what you're saying," she snapped. '"I do all those things. I'm staying healthy as you asked."

"I also don't think it's healthy for you to stay alone in your room all day," Jaime listed. "Zhea, you're moving back in tonight. Grab your things."

"Why the fuck do you get to tell me what to do?" She blurted slamming her glass on the ground. "I don't know what you want from me! I'm perfectly fine!" Zhea laughed manically but looked away as tears started slipping down her face.

Jaime felt the anger melt away, and he gathered her in her arms and embraced her feeble frame. He picked her up and carried her away from the broken glass she would've stepped on without a second thought.

"Jaime," she whispered as they trekked to his room. "I-I'm doing this for you. I don't need this."

"Thank you."

The next day, Jaime had to call her name three times before she responded.

"Yeah? Sorry, I got distracted." Zhea rubbed her head and laid back on her pillow.

"Maybe you could go visit Tyrion today?"

"Maybe."

Another reason Zhea hated leaving her room was because of Cersei. Although he had never seen them interact, Jaime knew that Cersei had confronted Zhea the day after he told his father. Zhea told him she presented herself as a grateful sister and queen, but there was a fragility about her collectedness that she dared not test. As if, at any moment, she could snap, and Zhea would be out of her hair for good.

In the time Jaime has been in the capital, he has yet to sleep with Cersei. Maybe it was the anger she had directed towards him for being gone, not as though that stopped them before, or hatred of his closest friend, but Jaime had yet to feel the same desire he held for her before he left. He still loved Cersei, that he was sure of, (You don't stop loving someone with a snap of your fingers after forty years of being together, is what he believed.) but he feared that she had stopped loving him.

When Jaime expressed this to Zhea, she told him: "This doesn't seem healthy." Then she turned over and fell asleep.

Whether she had stopped loving him or not, he knew that if she found out Zhea was staying with him again, she would go ballistic.

"Are you starting to like the girl? You know, Bronn calls her the depressed bitch" Tyrion asked him one night as they were drinking together.

Jaime disregarded the question. "He's not wrong."

"You haven't answered me. You're sharing a bed; you traveled across Westeros–a bonding experience if I do say so; and you aren't sleeping with our sister."

"You know who I love."

"I never asked if you stopped loving sister, dearest. I asked about the girl sleeping ten feet from us." They looked at the slowly rising and falling lump in Jaime's bed.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Tyrion shrugged and asked about how training his left hand was going.

"Absolutely awful. I don't want to train with the other soldiers and have them see how pathetic I am, but working by myself isn't doing a thing."

"How is father taking this?"

"He asked me to meet him tomorrow morning. I'll just have to lie to him, I suppose."

"I'll see what I can do. What about that giant woman you arrived with. She and I would make a comedic duo, wouldn't you say?"

Zhea was heartbroken at having to shave off Jaime's beard but she was ecstatic about giving him a haircut.

"The long hair never did it for me," she said running a comb through his wet hair.

"Will the short hair?" He asked lookup up at her without moving his head.

She shrugged and pulled a particularly nasty knot harshly. "Oops."

Grumbling under his breath he tried not to sneeze at the bits of hair falling into his face.

"You should explore the city today," he told her. "I'll come with you. I'm still in recovery according to Pycelle, so I've nothing to do. Other than speak to my father of course, but that's not until tonight."

"I'd love to. There's a certain shop on the Street of Steel that I want to revisit." She worked closely along the back and sides of his head and finished quickly. "There. So much better. Very handsome." Zhea winked at him in the hand mirror and smacked the back of his head before walking away.

"Zhea, wake up. It's nearly suppertime and you've been asleep all day," urged Jaime with an edge.

She groaned and sat up. She spoke as she rubbed her eyes, "I have nightmares at night so I take essence of nightshade. I must be taking too much."

"Maybe we should talk about what happened," Jaime sailed cautiously. Her eyes snapped to him.

"No. I've told you before I don't want to talk about it," she growled. Zhea threw the covers off her and began storming around, undressing and redressing.

Jaime averted his eyes. "I know, but maybe if you were to get everything out."

"No. Jaime, I don't need to 'get anything out'. I'm fine. It's done."

"Well, what about Robb. I never liked the guy, but he was practically your family."

"He's dead. I don't need to talk about that either."

"What about Sansa? You've been in the capital for three weeks now and you've never once voluntarily seen her."

"Sansa is fine. She has Tyrion and that Lorathi handmaiden–"

"Tyrion says she hasn't been eating, and I know for certain you haven't either."

"Why won't you believe me? I eat–"

"Not enough."

"Fuck off Jaime. I'm really sick of this bullshit." Zhea left the room, slamming the door, and Jaime ran his hand over his face and groaned.

"I'm getting too old for this."

When Zhea returned that evening, Jaime pretended to be asleep. He listened as she disrobed (probably leaving her dress on the ground) and climbed into bed. Zhea uncorked something, drank it, and laid back.

"I think you should move back into your room," Jaime said suddenly.

She sat up and stared at him in the dark. Sensing her eyes, Jaime rolled onto his back.

"What, why?" she demanded.

"Because I don't think this arrangement is helping you. You're just getting mad at me. I'm sorry if being yelled at isn't my favorite pastime."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know you're just trying to help me so please don't make me sleep alone." The lights outside the castle glimmered in her damp eyes and Jaime was weakened.

He cursed himself and held open his arm so she could lay next to him. Tyrion's face was painted on his eyelids and his voice rang in his mind. Then Cersei's face replaced him, and he let a contented breath lull him to sleep.

The next morning Zhea woke up before Jaime and was standing on the balcony when he got up.

"How was meeting with your father yesterday?" She asked him as he stood next to him.

"It's today, he said something wasn't completed and our meeted needed to be postponed. Did you hear who's arriving in King's Landing today?"

"No."

"The Prince of Dorne." Jaime watched Zhea's expression for any changed but she remained stoic.

"Doran or Oberyn?"

"I would assume Doran seeing as he is the head of House Martell."

"Yes, but he's been ill."

"You'll need to ask Tyrion."

Zhea nodded and beaconed Jaime inside to help him dress. With a great struggle, Jaime could dress, but he preferred to have Zhea help him when she wasn't angry. She always poked him in the eye when she was upset with him.

Zhea clipped the last piece of armor and left quickly, most likely on her way to see Tyrion. Jaime began the long trek to the Tower of the Hand, his first of many errands, nodding to the household guards he passed and counting how many steps he took in each hallway to occupy his mind.

When he knocked on the door, Tywin opened it wordlessly and backed up so Jaime could enter. In his right hand, he held out the hilt of an elegant sword that Jaime unsheathed. The steel glinted in the sunlight and it felt light and balanced in his hand.

"Magnificent," Jaime murmured, staring down the hilt of the sword. His father hummed his agreement. "Looks fresh forged."

"It is." He went back behind his desk.

"No one's made a Valyrian steel sword since the Doom of Valyria."

"There are three living smiths who know how to rework Valyrian steel. The finest of them was in Volantis." Tywin sat down, his sudden lack of height didn't diminish any of his presence. "Came here to King's Landing at my invitation."

"Where did you get this much Valyrian steel?"

"From someone who no longer had need of it."

They exchanged meaningful looks. "You've wanted one of these in the family for a long time."

"And now we have two."

"Two?"

"The original weapon was absurdly large. Plenty of steel for two swords."

"Well, thank you. It's glorious." Jaime tried to insert the sword into the hilt lying on the desk, but he struggled embarrassingly, and his father has to hold it steady for him.

"You'll have to train your left hand."

"Any decent swordsman knows how to use both hands." Jaime said haughtily.

"You'll never be as good."

"No, but as long as I'm better than everyone else I suppose it doesn't matter."

"You can't serve in the Kingsguard with one hand."

"Where's that written?" Jaime protested. "I can and I will. The Kingsguard oath is for life."

"The war is over. The king is safe."

"The king is never safe. How many people in this city alone would love to see his head on a pike." Especially Joffrey's, Jaime thought.

"Other knights continued to protect the king when you were a prisoner, and they will continue to do so when you go home."

"Home?"

"You'll return to Casterly Rock and rule in my stead."

"You are the Lord of Casterly Rock." Jaime rose, his armor clinked as he paced around the solar.

"I am the King's hand. My place is here. I don't expect to see the Rock again before I die."

"You know what they call me? Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honor. Now you want me to break another sacred vow."

"You won't be breaking anything. There is a precedent to relieve a Kingsguard of his duties. The king will exercise that prerogative."

"No."

"No?" Tywin was disgruntled by the insubordination, but not shocked. In his mind, his children never appreciated the sacrifices he made, but in Jaime's, he was more concerned about the well-being of the house and not of his children.

"No."

"I don't believe I asked you a question."

"If you think your bloody honor comes before your f-"

"My bloody honor is beyond repair, but my answer is still know. I don't want Casterly Rock. I don't want any wife you chose for me. I don't want children."

"What do you want? To chose your own wife?"

"Supper would be nice."

"For forty years I've tried to teach you. If you haven't learned now, you never will. Go. If serving as a glorified bodyguard is the sum of your ambition, go serve."

"I suppose you want the sword back."

"Keep it. A one handed man with no family needs all the help he can get."