"Don't tease me, Kingslayer," Brienne had said, and before he could speak, she'd gotten up, strapped the baby onto her chest, and straddled her horse.
It was three months before she'd let him touch her again, and it was nothing, the briefest of moments of his good hand on hers. She'd tucked her hand into his and let him hold it for a moment.
Six months after Gerald had gone away, hours after holding her hand in the meadow, he'd been sitting next to her as they finished dinner.
"I think it's time for you to return to Kingslanding," she said, as nonchalantly as if she'd asked him to take out the rubbage.
Jaime set his jaw in a hard line. "Is that so?"
"Gerald sent word that he'll be returning in a week."
"My services are no longer needed, then?" Jaime's voice was low, but warning. He poured himself a glass of wine. He'd decided he would need it.
"You're a true friend, Ser Jaime. I appreciate all you've done for me and little Jaime in his absence."
Courtesies, Jaime thought bitterly. Nice words she'd learned as a child, calling him Ser as if they barely knew each other, as if he were above her somehow. As if they hadn't been kissing in the grass mere months before with the babe slumbering next to him, his hand on one milk heavy breast.
"As you wish, Princess," Jaime said, his words turning the wine bitter in his mouth, and as Brienne excused herself, he poured himself another glass.
Hours and a flagon of wine later, Jaime found himself standing at her bedchambers, resting his forehead against the door, breathing slowly, in and out, listening for her heavy breathing. Candlelight spilled from beneath the door and he knew she was still awake.
He fumbled for the doorknob and stumbled inside.
She was sitting on the bed and looked around as if she'd been expecting him.
Jaime, prepared to rant and yell at her about what a wench she was being, about how she'd led him on, let him kiss her and touch her and pretend to be father to the babe, saw her face in the candlelight, her warrior blue eyes, and the words that came out of his hoarse throat were not the ones he was expecting.
"Please don't send me away," he said, almost begging, and made his way unsteadily to her bedside.
"Jaime-"
He made it to her bed and placed his head in her lap. She stiffened for moment.
"I hate it when you send me away," he muttered, and then he felt her soft hand in his hair, brushing it back from his face.
"You're drunk," she said, softly. "That's all."
"No," he said, stubbornly. He tilted his head to look up at her. "I love you, and you tried to send me away."
He heard Brienne's voice catch in her throat. "Do you really mean that, Kingslayer?"
He opened his mouth to tell her, but the room was spinning, and he decided to close his eyes instead.