Jaime was awoken by the sound of his own snoring. When did he get old enough to snore? He turned onto his other side and tried to go back to sleep. He lay for several minutes squeezing his eyes shut against the wan light coming through his window before he abruptly flung himself onto his back and threw his right arm over his eyes. It wasn't the light keeping him awake, he knew. It was not the hard bed or even the cold. He flipped over onto his stomach, scrunching the sorry excuse for a pillow under his head as he stared at the wall. He wondered if they had Stark Swan pillows in the Maidenvault. He imagined Brienne's peacefully sleeping face, sunk into a soft pillow, her breathing even and comforting. Shedidn't snore. Unless she had drunk too much, and last night she definitely had. He closed his eyes again and imagined her peacefully sleeping face, but in his mind her mouth hung slightly open over her large teeth and her breath came out in quiet little hums, almost like a cat's purr. The longer Jaime kept this picture in his mind the more he relaxed, until, at last, he dropped off to sleep.

An hour or two later he woke up again not feeling particularly refreshed, but a little better than he had. He hadn't been lying when he told the Dothraki guards that he couldn't get to sleep without Lady Brienne. His heart thumped a little harder when he wondered if she had had any difficulty sleeping alone in her bed in the Maidenvault. If she, too, had felt strangely incomplete without him next to her.

He hoped she had gotten back there safely since she had been having a little difficulty walking straight the night before. It would have been more chivalrous to walk her back to her room, he thought now. But she hadn't been very drunk; he had seen her a good deal more inebriated than last night, and more than a few times.

They had been through a lot together, good times and bad times, and sometimes they shared a drink in camp or in a tavern, if they were very lucky. He smiled to himself remembering how silly she could get when they had reason to drink and celebrate, when they could afford to just relax without being constantly alert for danger. Jaime thought of how she would let herself giggle at his jokes, and how her eyes would get so lively and flirtatious when she stopped worrying over her dignity, forgot to feel insecure about her looks. Gods, how she would look at him then, and not look away so quickly when he looked back at her with his own heart in his eyes. Jaime thought about how her limbs loosened with the alcohol until the grace he usually only saw her move with when she was wielding a sword came to her naturally, unfettered by her usual sober demeanor. He loved to see Brienne allow herself to be happy, to set aside the weight on her shoulders for just a little while.

Then there were those times when things were so bad and hopeless that they both would drink too much just trying to forget the horrors they had lived through nearly every night since winter had set in. Having to set fire to the still warm corpse of a comrade in arms to prevent them rising from the dead was terrible, but not as soul crushing as having to hack to bits someone they used to know, dead eyes transformed into an eerie blue without a spark of life in them, and then afterwards to torch the bodies all the same. He and Brienne had an unspoken rule about not acknowledging later how maudlin they would become or how they would cling to each other in their sorrow and fear during those times. Jaime wasn't sure which of them had decided they couldn't broach what happened and how they behaved in those unguarded moments, but it had become their way not to speak of it.

He wondered where Brienne was right now. Had she broken her fast? Was she closeted with his brother Tyrion helping to plan the campaign? Jaime felt a little stung that he hadn't been invited to those councils, but the feelings between him and Tyrion were still a bit raw, and he realized that as a prisoner, even a highborn one, it would not do for him to sit in council with the new queen.

Tyrion had killed their lord father after Jaime had helped him to escape the dungeons of the Red Keep, but Jaime had found he could not blame himself or Tyrion for that. In these days of unnatural evil it was difficult to forgive a man like Tywin Lannister, who had seemed to ruin lives with as little thought as a mindless wight.

He knew now that Tyrion hadn't killed his bastard son, Joffrey. The coin had flipped wrong on Joffrey, and his death had caused sorrow to few other than Cersei. His poisoning had been orchestrated by Petyr Baelish, the man who had also hidden away Sansa Stark. Baelish had flown to his death back at the Eyrie, a fate not nearly painful enough for him in Jaime's eyes. It was Baelish who had set in motion the events that led to Brienne going on her quest to find Sansa, and without that she would have been spared what she had suffered at the hands of the Brotherhood. Jaime keenly felt his own guilt for the harms done her since he had given her that quest along with his sword, Oathkeeper.

Too many dark thoughts for one morning, Jaime thought as he rose from his bed and ran his hands through his hair. He would have to see about getting a hot bath before they got back into the unremitting filth of the road and battle. He left the tower, whistling for the guards to follow him. The Dothraki's on duty exchanged an annoyed look before following Jaime as though he was in charge.

At the Maidenvault Jaime asked the chaperone guarding the entrace if Brienne of Tarth was still within her room but was informed that she had left to meet Ser Barristan not long ago. The ancient woman on duty looked Jaime up and down distastefully and began to shut the vault door. Jaime tried to give her a winning smile while keeping the door open with his left hand.

"I need to speak with the Lady," he said, "do you know where she and Ser Barristan were headed?"

Unmoved, the woman shook her head briefly and made shooing motions with her wrinkled hands. So much for the legendary charm of the Kingslayer, thought Jaime.

He headed for the practice yards to see if she had gone there. He didn't think she would go to spar without asking him along, but Barristan might have wanted her opinion on the variety of weapons needed for the campaign.

Gods, it occurred to Jaime, what ifCerseiis there?

So far he had been able to mostly avoid his sister, going so far as to bribe his guards to tell her he was not allowed visitors in Traitor's Walk. He did not know if she had attempted to see him there, but he hoped she was as disinclined to his company as he was to hers. He had been alarmed to hear she would be taking the Silver with him, but had avoided thinking about any possible implications. Brienne did not seem concerned about it at least. He had been surprised by her little jest the other day, but it heartened him that she was not dwelling on Cersei's presence.

Jaime knew very well that Brienne and Cersei did not care for one another. Brienne had been reticent when it came to expressing her dislike, but it was clearly there. When Jaime had spoken of Cersei so often in the first several months that he and Brienne had spent looking for Sansa it had been less about the love and passion they had shared and more about the anguish of her betrayal and rejection. Brienne had been all sympathy and quiet understanding, and over time he had come to see his relationship with Cersei in a different light, or maybe it could be called anindifferent light. He still spoke of Cersei from time to time, but with less bitterness and far less longing. Brienne, when she spoke of it at all, seemed to feel that Cersei lacked honor and loyalty. One time, after a few cups of a particularly potent ale, Brienne had referred to Cersei in an angry voice as a "spineless bitch" and a "horrible harpy." At the time he wondered if Brienne might be jealous about Cersei, that just maybe she was beginning to have more than friendly feelings for him. But as he could detect no sign of romantic regard after that incident he had put it down to his own vanity and, to be honest with himself, his own barely acknowledged hope that Brienne was starting to feel for him the same pangs of infatuation he had begun to feel for her. Alas he was still chasing after that elusive spark that might show him that she felt for him what he had come to feel for her.

Cersei had hated Brienne before she had ever seen or met her. His sister lived for jealousy and animosity, so when he had returned with Brienne, but without his hand, to King's Landing, she had blistered the air with cruel names for her and for him as well. At the time he had wanted nothing more than to be back in Cersei's arms and back in her bed, but even then his developing respect for Brienne had made him uncomfortable with Cersei's vitriol. Of course he was used to how passionately his lover could hate something or someone, but Cersei had been the only woman in his life since their mother had died, and he had known naught else. He had borne her demands and fulfilled her whims, and taken pleasure in the insular world they shared. It had seemed like it was meant to be; he had once believed that she was his and he was hers and that that would never change. For someone who was considered a man without honor and an oath breaker, he was in fact a man made to be faithful and true, and Cersei had thrown that back in his face.

Jaime sighed to himself. Still lost in dark thoughts this morning, and what he needed was to find Brienne and stop dwelling on his past with Cersei.

He rounded the corner to the training yard, and was pleased to see Brienne just suiting up in her armor. She was adjusting the straps of the plate on her long left leg, which was held slightly bent in front of her, raised up by her toes like a dancer. Jaime stopped in the shadows to watch her suit up, something he rarely got to do as they usually both rushed to arm up before night fell. His throat went dry as he watched her secure the top straps of the thigh guard to the strap dangling from the front of the wide leather belt that cinched in her waist. She bent lower to secure the straps holding the hinged piece near her inner thigh before moving on to the greaves. Her hair fell forward over her face as she twisted her torso to get to the straps, and he could see the flex of her calf muscles as she pointed her toes even more to raise her lower leg into an easier position to strap. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, but its rays limned her in light, outlining her figure, burning her erotic, completely un-self conscious pose into his senses. Finished with her left leg, Brienne quickly repeated the process with her right, unaware that Jaime watched her every movement in a self-indulgent daze of desire. She drew herself up and reached for her breastplate, which flowed nearly as smoothly across her chest as a man's armor, but tapered to her waist, the fauld flairing out over her hips. Brienne quickly put on her gorget and the remaining shoulder and arm pieces and reached back to gather up her long blonde hair and secure it at her neck.

Jaime quickly looked down at himself to be sure his tunic and cloak hid how aroused he was. Before she could don her helm he strode out of the shadows calling out "There's my Wench! I've been looking all over for you."

Brienne turned her head to look at him, a small, dimpled smile lighting her face before an imperious voice from out of view said "How sweet. Come to watch our lessons, brother?"

Fuuuuuuckk.

Cersei. What was the phrase he had learned from Tyrion about how quickly a man could go from rigid to retreat? Cock killer? Ball shriveler? Hearing Cersei's voice in that instant he wasn't sure he would be able to even find his cock when next he needed to pee.

Brienne's smile had vanished as quickly as Jaime's desire. She took in his stricken face and her own burned with a vivid blush.

Jaime turned to Cersei, who he was surprised to see was also suited up in armor, holding her little gold colored helm in the crook of her arm. He tried to shake off his shock and dismay as he said "Sister. My lady. I had not expected to find you here."

"I rather believe you were not expecting to find me anywhere." Cersei said coldly.

Gods, she could freeze the balls off a rutting boar, he thought. He composed his features into a cocksure expression, pure vintage Kingslayer, and gave her a smile. "On the contrary, I had heard you would be training in preparation for taking the Silver. I merely expected you to be training with Ser Barristan the Bold."

"Ser Barristan the Old, you mean. But no, he has passed me off to the Beastly Brienne, who, it is supposed, has some insight into how womenshould fight."

Brienne's eyes were on Jaime, and Cersei's use of beastly to describe her brought to mind one of the first unkind things he had ever said about her: this great beast of a woman. Did Brienne remember? Gods, would she think he had said the same of her to Cersei sometime? Jaime cursed himself for not thinking harder on what would happen when Brienne and Cersei were flung together on this campaign. Brienne could beat nearly anyone in a fair fight, but off the field he doubted her ability to out-bitch Cersei.

"Lady Brienne," Jaime said, "is the finest trainer you could wish to find, and if you hope to survive out there against the Others you will learn everything that you can from her."

"Ah," said Cersei, her green eyes glinting with malice, "Like how to be the Kingslayer's Whore?"

Brienne's voice, nearly as cold as Cersei's, said "I believe you already know how to be that."

Both Jaime and Cersei's heads snapped towards Brienne, who had bent down to pick up her own helm.

Jaime was completely lost for a moment. He was sorely tempted to take Brienne in his arms and give her a passionate kiss to show just who the real Kingslayer's Whore was. But she wasn't, not really, and she would not thank him undermining her purpose in being here, which was to train Cersei so that she might survive and even be some use outside of her little realm of intrigue and politics.

Brienne settled her helm over her head, the cut of the faceplate outlining her amazing blue eyes, which were now looking at Jaime, hot with some emotion. Apprehension? Anger? Resignation? He could not tell with the rest of her face obscured. He met her eyes with his own for a few heartbeats, trying to school his expression so his own turmoil might not be evident to Cersei.

He nodded briefly to Brienne, giving her a small smile before turning back to Cersei.

"Sister, I would ask that you show some respect to Lady Brienne, who now out-classes you on more than one level. You will be a foot soldier in this war we go to fight, and your survival is no sure thing out there where we all must depend on each other's readiness for battle."

"And you will not protect me, my love?" Cersei asked sweetly, attempting to walk seductively up to Jaime in her heavy armor. Her thighs clanked together and her greaves made her stiff-legged.

Was she serious, Jaime thought, could she really think he was likely to fall under her spell after all this time and all that had happened?

"Cersei," he said, almost gently, "we all protect each other, out there." He gestured with his chin toward the north.

"But you are her protector, are you not?" she hissed, the sweetness vanishing in the blink of her cat-like eyes.

Jaime glanced at Brienne nervously, I am hers and she is mine, he thought, but did not say it. Help me, Brienne, for I have no words for what we are to each other.

"He is my brother in arms, and we do what we must so that we both survive." Brienne said flatly.

No, that wasn't it, thought Jaime, but then he wasn't so sure. He was beginning to despise being anyone's brother.