"Ser Jaime!"

Jaime heard Brienne speaking in that Princess of Tarth voice he hated so, the voice she never used in the moments he was between her thighs, then she used her warrior voice, deeper, huskier, and never calling him "Ser."

He hates it so that he considers not turning around. Of course, he does, because somehow among a lopped off hand, a journey, and a bear pit, a maiden knight has stolen his heart and become his compass. Morals were something that had never occupied Jaime Lannister's mind. He was no Eddard Stark. Kingslayer, they called him, and he'd told Brienne that he'd done it because it was just, because the King was mad, but really he'd done it for the love of his father, just as he'd pushed Brandon Stark out a window for the love of his sister.

He'd abandoned Cersei and the Kingsguard, ignored her letters, desperate as they'd become as Daenerys Targaryen approached, and the North Star he followed was in Brienne's sapphire eyes. He was hers, crippled, aging Kingslayer though he was, underserving of her light, and so he followed the sound of that hated princess voice, and started back toward sweet, running to fat Gerald Pedalth, husband of his love and father to the child he'd rocked to sleep, not waking Brienne when he cried late in the night.

Jaime was no stranger to pretending. After all, he'd stood next to Robert Baratheon hundreds of times, all the while listening to them rutting once a month while he seethed outside the door, providing guard so the servants wouldn't interrupt.

"Yes, Princess Brienne," he said, smiling widely, as if his teeth weren't gritted so hard his jaw ached.

She looked at him, her sapphire eyes shining, and as Gerald walked up, the wet nurse hurried out to take the baby.

Jaime watched the baby go inside, borne of his love and the only child to bear any part of his name, and felt a stab in his gut, as if Brienne had run him through with OathKeeper.

He pretended to be very interested in his boots as Gerald greeted his wife. Brienne, however, wouldn't have it.

"Ser Jaime, would you come closer please? I wish to have a talk with you."

Princess of Tarth once more, no longer Kingslayer's whore, he thought bitterly, and approached them, standing nearer to Gerald than Brienne.

Gerald clapped him on the back again, his old routine, and nearly knocked him down. "Thank you for taking care of my family, Ser Jaime."

Jaime had his mouth open to produce whatever polite speak was required to get him out of this hellish situation.

Brienne spoke before him, though, no longer Princess but all warrior speak.

"Forgive me, Ser Gerald of Pedalth. I have wronged you."

"Wronged me? Brienne-"

She silenced him with a hand.

Jaime stood shellshocked, wishing with all his might that he had two good hands and a good sword, if Brienne was about to out them once and for all. Did she mean to have him killed? That'd be an easy way to get rid of an aging Kingslayer.

"I've been...untrue. In my body and my heart. I know the laws well of this kingdom and of yours on the Tiering Isles, Ser, and I remind you that if a battle ensues, the winner is the owner of the wife."

"Must there be a battle, Brienne? Who would-"

Running to fat, round faced Gerald turned to look at Jaime, who was still standing next to him, staring at Brienne who had clearly lost her mind.

Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer and recent lover of Brienne of Tarth, Lady of the Tiering Isles, can't do anything but stand there, unarmed, as Gerald of Pedalth, running to fat though he might be, stood a foot taller than Jaime and had two perfectly good hands, swings a right cross at him and knocks him on his ass.

"Stop!" Jaime heard the sound of steel against leather and he didn't realize that Brienne had been armed with OathKeeper all along.

Gerald and Jaime both looked at the woman they'd vowed to love, and she stood in warrior stance, even in her dress and stupid lady shoes, OathKeeper drawn and ready.

Jaime's still holding his nose, which is most likely broken, with blood dripping down his face, when he stands. "Do you mean to kill me, wench?" He says, angry, ignoring Gerald beside him who is none the worse for wear and better armed.

"Your sins are no more than mine, Kingslayer," she hissed, and her blue eyes shined all warrior at him. "All my life, I've been called a man, a beast. I have always wanted what you have, the ability to roam, to gain knighthood, lands. I am as much a man as either of you, and as such I demand the right to fight for myself."

"You intend to battle us both?" Gerald said, his round face red with anger, his small eyes glittering.

Brienne narrowed her eyes. "Draw your sword, Ser."

Gerald looked around to Jaime, as if incredulous. "You let another man, a Kingslayer into your bed while vowed to me, and now you want to fight me for your life? I could kill you both and the Tiering Isles would throw me a celebration!" His voice was low, booming, and Jaime watched him closely, knowing that he'd likely lose to the big man in a fair fight but then again, he'd never thought much about morals. If he intended to hurt Brienne, Jaime would protect her, just as he did in the bear pit, one hand or no.

"I intend to pay my debt to you."

"Pay your debt? The Kingslayer's whore pay her debts like the Lannisters?" Gerald, to have been such an affable man before, had cruel words for Brienne.

She still held OathKeeper ready, watching them both. "Arm yourself, Ser Jaime."

Jaime raised his gold hand meekly. "I'm not going to fight you, wench. You've beaten me when I had two hands and the gods know you'll beat me now, rusty though you may be."

"And I won't fight a woman, Kingslayer's whore or not," Gerald said, his words angry but his tone lower, defeated.

Brienne held OathKeeper higher. "I am not a woman. I am a warrior," she said, and Jaime smiled, bloody nose and all.

In the end, Gerald hadn't been able to summon the strength to fight Brienne, and declared her master of her own fate. Brienne had meekly dropped to his feet, begged his forgiveness, and Jaime wanted to take his good hand and hoist her up, standing tall as a warrior should be.

In the end, Brienne got exactly what she wanted. She was master of her own fate. She was given the ability to choose. What she would choose, Jaime fairly had no idea. She'd spent time with him in a sort of bubble, spending days making love and talking and reading, but there was no substance in it. There was no talk of the future.

Gerald's broad shoulders slumped beneath his armor. "What do you wish, Brienne of Tarth?"

"I wish to be divorced and free. I wish to be my own man, just as any other. I wish to remain in Tarth, to inherit and protect my lands. I wish for Ser Jaime Lannister to remain with me, not as my husband, but as my..." she stopped, looking for the words.

"Consort?" Jaime asked, unable to keep the grin off his face. It was all so ridiculous. It was all so wonderful. That is, if Gerald didn't decide to kill them both.

Her warrior blue eyes gave him a sharp look, and he made his face somber again.

"I wish to pay my debt to you, Ser Gerald, and offer myself as a knight. I wish to be in your service, to right the wrong I've done you."

Jaime was half listening, watching Gerald for signs of distress. He was under threat, of course, they both were, and although his heart was singing that she'd chosen him, if not as her husband as a consort, it was a small victory.

Jaime spent the rest of the conversation in a haze, thinking about what this might mean for his future. Brienne sailing off with her ex husband to fight battles with his men? Living among them? Brienne was nothing but her own woman, nothing but loyal, but Jaime felt uneasy, nonetheless, because after all, he didn't deserve this warrior princess, this Brienne ? the Beauty.

When it was over, Gerald had agreed to terms, and would be visiting in the spring to see his son. He sailed back the way he came, and Jaime wondered if he would ever really return, ever really call Brienne for duty, or if this was a way to be rid of the Kingslayer's whore.

Brienne came to him when Gerald was gone, and he was sitting in her room, on the bed where he'd explored her scarred body with his good hand, kissed her smiling mouth.

"What if I don't want to be a consort?" he said as she walked in.

She smiled, taking off OathKeeper and unbuttoning her dress. "You've always been a consort."

Jaime scoffed. "What if I don't want to be Brienne the Beauty's consort?"

The name they'd called her in jest made her warrior blue eyes flash. "If this has all been a dalliance, you may go. I'll rule my lands without you. You are your own man, Ser Jaime," she said, coldly.

"As are you, now, Brienne of Tarth." He stood up and went to her. He put a hand on her face. Her face, he'd once thought ugly, was not beautiful like Cersei's. It wasn't a face to turn men's heads. It wasn't her face that had stolen his heart, but the warrior glint in her sapphire blue eyes, and he didn't have to bend his head to kiss her eyelids when she closed them.

"I'm Jaime Lannister, Kinglslayer, OathBreaker, and consort to Brienne of Tarth. I'm yours, Brienne, however you want me."

"You'll be breaking more oaths."

"I've already broken them," he stated honestly, "and to a Kingslayer, what are a few more?" ]

He stroked her face with the back of his good hand, using the other to bring her into his arms, their faces close as she was the same height as him.

"I've broken oaths for you, Jaime Lannister. I've abandoned my husband and been a dishonorable woman, something I swore to myself I'd never do." Her eyes searched his, and he pulled her just a bit closer.

"You're not a woman," he said, and just before his mouth touched hers, he whispered, "you're a warrior."