Despite his father's insistence to the contrary, Jaime was not stupid, slow, nor any such descriptor.
He was, however, exceptionally skilled at compartmentalizing information.
It was how he pushed away from the guilt-ridden taboo of crossing the line of a normal sibling relationship with his sister. It was how he managed to not kill his father when he saw him beating Tyrion and instead tried to keep the man's ire focused on himself.
But the truth always surfaced in his quiet moments, when exhaustion kept his body still and he couldn't push it down any longer.
Lightheaded from what he presumed to be either magic or blood loss, he blinked against the world that spun like a kaleidoscope where they knelt in the icy mud facing one another. His gaze flicked over Brienne, taking in her bowed head as she murmured in High Valaryian while gripping his wounded arm. Belatedly, he realized that their free hands had found each other, her palm resting over his while his thumb ran over her skin in an unconscious movement.
The entire moment reminded him, suddenly and absurdly, of a wedding.
A blank sort of terror flickered at the edge of his awareness and he instead focused on the dragonglass dagger that rested just beneath their entwined hands.
She needs a better weapon.
The steady stream of High Valaryian cut off abruptly and Brienne's eyes opened, focused and alive, to meet his and her lips parted.
"Dracarys."
A great flash of heat whipped across his left cheek as flames erupted at the mouth of the cave to rush along the walls, burning the inside and turning it into as hellish a place as it actually was.
But Jaime couldn't look away from Brienne. The Evenstar glowed almost incandescently bright and Jaime half expected his hand to start to burn where they touched.
Magnificent.
He'd always longed to experience Westeros as it had been, to see the wonders of the old tales for himself. If someone had told him he would find one hunched in the corner of his classroom, he would have laughed.
And I almost overlooked it. I almost missed this. I almost missed her.
The light within Brienne faded with the fire and she slumped forward to press her forehead into his shoulder. Hesitantly, he brought up his hand, his fingers brushing over the back of her head before settling against it.
"Well done, Grace," he murmured into her hair. "High marks indeed."
She laughed weakly and pushed back, reaching for the scrap of Jaime's sleeve she'd discarded before tying it snuggly over his wound.
"This," she said and tugged gently on the cloth with a look "was stupid."
"I disagree," he argued but she didn't seem to hear him.
"It'll keep pressure on the wound until we can tend to it properly," she explained, the words coming out in a slurred breath, and she sat back on her heels, her eyelids drooping.
"Nope. On your feet," barked Jaime and gripped her elbow as he pushed himself up.
"Just a moment-" she protested but he firmed his grip.
"You're still covered in that shit that's eating your skin," he argued and slung her arm over his shoulder. "It's a downhill walk to the Blue Fork. I'll roll you there if I have to. Your choice. "
"Fine," she bit out after a long second and moved her feet.
The going to the fork was slow with Brienne still uncharacteristically uncoordinated, but Jaime found them at the riverbank sooner than he anticipated and reached for the hem of her tattered sweatshirt.
"I can do it myself," she snapped and battered his hands away, her fingers fumbling uselessly at the fly of her jeans.
"The only thing I trust you to do by yourself right now is drown," he countered and pushed her hands aside when she had made no headway. Pulling her shirt off required him to rise up on his toes and his body brushed against hers, a hot frisson of awareness washing over him.
It was unsettling, Jaime thought, to find long-held beliefs about oneself upended. With Cersei, that had been about isolation, loneliness, and the need to grasp onto some sort of affection. The love between them was what made it what he had wanted. He'd often wondered what it was like for others, to see a person and feel the chemistry that could compel two strangers to want to touch and hold and fuck.
He grit his teeth against the feeling and moved on to his next task, ignoring how the muscles of her abdomen twitched when he slid his hands against the waistband of her jeans. A moment later he was sliding them down her legs, his body lowering to the ground with the motion. Her fingertips lightly gripped his shoulder for balance, the points of pressure stealing a disproportionate amount of his awareness. When he looked up their eyes met and Jaime was acutely aware of the length of her legs and how close his head was to her cunt. Tall as he was, she was taller, and he could picture how easy it would be to taste her, her back supported by a wall and a leg over his shoulder.
She looked away first, her eyes squeezing shut.
Silently reprimanding himself, he pulled off his jacket, and kicked off his shoes to roll his pants legs as high as they would go.
When he straightened, he hesitated, his hands uncertain. He'd seen her in her smalls before but that had been her doing, a practical action leading to a very impressive display of her strength, all while she wore an attitude of now familiar defiance.
But this Brienne was battered and wounded, needing his help even to walk while her hideous clothes were in tatters. The defiance he knew so well still burned bright, but it was brittle now, like the wrong word from him could shatter it all.
The thought that he could well and truly hurt her left a hollow feeling in his gut that made him resolve to absolutely not fucking do that.
He grabbed her clenched hand and pried it open to clasp it in his own.
"Come with me."
They waded out until he pressed down on her shoulder so that she lowered into the freezing water up to her chest.
"Shit, it's cold!" she exclaimed and curled her upper body over her knees as the current flowed around her.
Her uncharacteristic swear startled a laugh from him and he grinned, relieved to see her usual scowl return.
He bid her stay where she was (earning him another scowl) and he retrieved her discarded clothing. The pants, at least, would suffice for her to wear on the way back but the sweatshirt was a total loss. Ripping off the largest clean bit, he dunked it in the water and returned to Brienne who had yet to unfurl.
She jumped when he reached out and swept her hair back from the nape of her neck but kept her face tucked down into her knees as he swiped the rag over the red marks. His fingers slipped off the cloth to skim over the pink flesh and her trembling started anew.
"You weren't kidding about the healing. This already looks better."
She was silent and still as he continued his work, not even flinching when he brushed over the worst of her wounds.
Nineteen. Nineteen and a lifetime of encounters like this ahead of her, he thought and wrung the rag out with enough force to blanch his whole hands.
"Why did you do it?" she asked.
His hands still, their color returning and he shifted so that he was in front of her. "Why did I do what?"
Brienne lifted her head from the cradle of her knees. "Why did you come for me? How did you know?"
He dunked the cloth back into the water before sliding it along the skin from her shoulder to her collarbone.
"You didn't answer my texts," he responded smoothly and unfolded her arms to drag the cloth over the hills and valleys of her muscles down to the angry wound at her wrist.
"And for that, you marched into a Nārhēdegon den?" She stared at him, that dangerous fragility from before still swimming in the depths of her eyes, and any glib comment he considered flew away.
"I dreamed of you."
He launched the soaked rag back to the shore and then bent to help her up, all the while avoiding her gaze.
"I got off as much as I could without completely soaking the pants but your sweatshirt could not be saved." He held out the jacket he'd left on the rocks earlier. "Here. Take this."
"No, I don't get as cold as normal people do."
He gave her a skeptical look as she continued to shiver.
"Not usually," she amended.
"Just take it. The sun will still be out for another hour. I'll ask for it back if I need it."
He felt a rush of relief when she slid it over her shoulders.
"Jaime..."
He looked up from putting his pant legs back in place.
"I... I thank you."
Her eyes were soft and for the first time completely clear of any suspicion or mistrust. The site of it made him feel lighter, the anxiety and fear of the day finally lifting away.
Selwyn was pacing before the cabin when they returned just as the sun dipped below the horizon.
"Thank the gods," he muttered as he rushed to meet them, his hands gripping Brienne's shoulders.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, father."
Jaime glared at the side of her head.
"She's wounded and needs rest, whatever else she may tell you."
Selwyn and he exchanged a look that had Brienne rolling her eyes and pulling away from them both. Her steps were unsteady enough that Jaime hovered at her elbow and Selwyn darted forward to open the cabin door, his expression disconcerted.
He held his palm out to stop Jaime.
"Is she alright? Truly?"
"It was close, but best I can tell, yes."
"And the...thing... whatever it was?"
"Gone."
"Good."
The older man rubbed his hand over his face as if trying to physically push out the anxiety and fear etched there and Jaime went to slide past him.
"Lannister."
He paused in the doorway, wondering if Selwyn would have the gall to try to bar him from the house but the man just gave him a quiet and solemn nod, Jaime met it with his own.
"The incidents are increasing," said Brienne to her father once they had joined her in the kitchen. "First an ōrbarsudake, then a Narhegadon..."
"Do you still suspect a Jotnur?"
Brienne bit her lip and nodded. "The rift might not be stable enough yet to allow one to pass fully through and remain on our side... but it is only a matter of time."
Selwyn folded his arms over his chest. "I've heard from Melisandre."
At this Brienne sat up straighter, her face all worried anticipation. "And?"
"She's had visions of breaches opening in the North near the wall, beneath the sea at the Iron Isles and Kings Landing, and finally South in the dunes of Dorne."
Brienne's eyes closed and she let her forehead rest on the table.
"How much time do we have?" she asked, her voice muffled.
"A few months at most."
"What does this mean?" asked Jaime, his heart starting to race.
King's Landing. Cersei. Tyrion.
Brienne lifted her head with a great sigh. "Magic will have returned in earnest to our world. The few who still have magical blood may find themselves with new abilities. And more breaches will soon follow. And right now, we have no way to stop it."
Selwyn looked askance at Jaime before raising his brow. "That's not the entire truth, Brienne."
Her glare narrowed. "I am aware of what Melisandre recommends and I have already explained that I will not be executing millions to make that happen."
"Who?" asked Jaime.
"A Red Priestess from Asshai," answered Selwyn, his distaste evident. "Says a sufficient sacrifice could seal the veil once again like in Old Valaryia."
"How does she know what qualifies as sufficient?"
"She doesn't," replied Brienne who had sat up to push her fingertips against her temples as if she had a headache.
"But in a very short time, there will be creatures like the ones we've encountered throughout the world?"
"Yes."
"Right then," said Jaime and pushed off the counter.
"Wait! Where are you going?"
Jaime leisurely pivoted on his heel.
"To see about my inheritance." He turned back to the door and pulled one of Brienne's coats from where it hung since she still wore his.
"You," he said, pointing at Brienne. "Do not leave until I get back."
"Jaime-"
"Please," he implored gently, begging her with his tone to not argue this time.
Whatever she saw in his look had the tense set of her shoulders dropping and she sighed. "When will you be back?"
"By morning."
He could see the reluctance but remained silent while she decided, knowing he was close to victory.
When she nodded, a blush staining her cheeks, he grinned widely and wider still when she averted her gaze to the table.
"Thank you, Grace."
Pulling the door closed he heard Selwyn ask "Grace?" with evident confusion and laughed.