The letter from the capital was shockingly short and to the point: Ned Stark had been captured for treason. Bran Stark had been ordered back to the Red Keep, by command of the new King Joffrey.

Jaime crumpled the letter in his fist.

He'd forgotten about Ned. He'd been so concerned about getting to Tarth that he'd forgotten about Ned.

Ned was a grown man, fully capable of making his own choices, and he'd shown absolutely no desire to listen to Jaime, but… No, there wasn't anything Jaime could have done. Not when the risk was to Jaime and Cersei's own children.

Jaime wondered how things had gone down this time, without Tyrion captured for an attempted murder of Bran that had never occurred, without Ned attacked in the streets of King's Landing by Jaime, himself. But apparently Ned had still found their secret and Cersei had still struck.

Whatever the details, all Jaime knew was that there was a boy in the next room over to whom he had to break the news.

Jaime knocked on the door, surprised when it opened under his touch. Bran sat on the bed, his head bowed. When he looked up at Jaime, it was with red-rimmed eyes.

"It's my father, isn't it?" Bran whispered. "I had a dream that a lion bit his neck. That Father fell to the ground and shattered into six wolves that ran every which way. He's…" He looked at Jaime hopefully.

"King Joffrey is putting him on trial for treason," Jaime replied.

"Will he…" Bran tried again. "Will he survive?"

Jaime's jaw clenched. He couldn't lie to the boy, couldn't offer him hope when he knew it would only be yanked away. "No."

Bran collapsed into sobs.

Jaime stood in the doorway, as useless as an oaken stump. He'd never gotten to raise his own children. Hadn't the faintest idea what anyone could do to make tears stop. Slowly, he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Bran's sobs echoed through the door, each one feeling like a blade stabbed into him.

Jaime fled, telling himself it was because there was someone else he needed to see, and not because he was a coward.

Thankfully, Brienne was practicing forms in a quiet corner of the training yard, one that bordered on the hilly wilderness. At Jaime's approach, she set down her sword, gesturing him towards a rough-beaten trail with a tilt of her head. Jaime joined her, walking side by side in silence for a long stretch as he gathered his thoughts.

"I'm thinking of joining Renly's camp," Brienne ventured first. So, she'd already heard the news. Good. She glanced at Jaime warily. "There might be a chance for me to earn a spot in his Kingsguard. But I know he's… that you're sworn to serve…"

So that was the cause of her wariness. At least it was easy enough to clarify that he wouldn't care, wouldn't consider it treason. Jaime shook his head. "Join the Starks. They're the only ones honorable enough for you. It doesn't matter which, just pick one and swear to them and they'll look after you."

Jaime expected Brienne to argue for her beloved Renly, was braced for it, for anything other than her meek, "Alright."

Jaime spun towards her, horrified. A blush stained Brienne's cheeks as she looked away.

And Jaime couldn't help but wince. She didn't know him. Didn't know that he had tried to keep his honor, had tried to protect the innocents. This time, he was nothing more than a pretty face who had been nice to her and told her to wear breeches. Just like her beloved Renly had been, once before.

She was infatuated with the Kingslayer. He had never been so insulted.

"What will they do to Bran?" she asked softly.

Jaime turned, not understanding.

"Your sister and nephew," Brienne clarified. "When you bring him back, what will they do to him?"

"It's such a shame," Jaime said slowly. "Such a shame that the pirates killed him so young. Such a shame that Brienne of Tarth was forced to take a lowly servant boy as her squire on her way to meet the Starks."

The sudden flood of stunned admiration in Brienne's eyes was too much. It was Jaime's turn to look away.

It had only been two moons since he'd given his vow to protect Bran for four. By all the old gods and the new, Jaime had said. No matter Ned's disregard for Jaime's oath, there were still two moons of it left.

"Your family won't…" she started softly. "You won't…?"

"Please," Jaime scoffed. "I've always been the family disappointment. They'll be surprised it took me this long to get him killed."

Brienne and he still walked side-by-side and hesitantly, Brienne's fingers brushed his own. Jaime wrapped his fingers around hers. He'd never touched her before with his right hand. Callouses from hilts covered her palm, matching the ones on his own; she felt marvelous.

"What will you do in the capital?" Brienne softly asked.

"The same thing I've always done," Jaime replied with a wry smile. "Survive."

...

Cersei was furious, Joffrey was furious, but in the end, it wasn't like there was anything they could do about Bran's death, was there?

Jaime stood silently, enduring the same tirade from Cersei, yet again. "One. Little. Boy. And all you had to do was keep him from getting killed."

"You've mentioned Sansa," Jaime realized. "But where's Arya?"

"Gone," Cersei said with a cruel twist of her mouth. "The wild little thing slipped away." He struggled to hide his relief as she glared at him. "We thought we had Robb's heir."

"Three Stark children." Jaime sighed, dropping into a chair. "Down to one. At least it's the pretty one. They'll want her back unharmed."

Joffrey laughed. "They won't want her back so badly once I've carved a smile onto her face. I've been thinking of sending her brother one of her fingers – one for each time he fights. Isn't that a clever idea?"

Without conscious thought, Jaime was on his feet. "You'll do no such thing."

Joffrey glared at him. "Who are you to tell me what I can't do? I'm the king!"

Still, Jaime stood.

His son. His fucking bastard of a son, with nothing but Robert's worst traits and Cersei's combined. He couldn't recognize a shred of himself in the boy – except perhaps the arrogance.

Joffrey looked uneasily up at his uncle. Jaime's stare cut through him as if he wished it were a sword.

Cersei put a hand on her son's arm. "It's not wise, my sweet. She's much more valuable to us if she's unharmed, if she's treated well. We can't afford to–"

"I'm the king!" Joffrey said, more determinedly. "Grandfather is the richest man in Westeros! We can afford whatever we want, anything I want–"

"Grandfather is losing your war," Jaime cut in harshly. He hadn't heard the reports – hadn't needed to. The only thing that had changed from the last time was that the Starks no longer had Jaime for a prisoner. The Lannisters would still lose – badly. Perhaps even worse than before.

"So?" Joffrey retorted. "We'll get more men. Grandfather says he has a plan to end the war for good. Oh, and did you hear?" He turned to Cersei conspiratorially. "Everyone's saying Robb Stark has a new sworn sword. A woman. They say she's as tall as the Mountain and uglier, too."

Jaime's blood ran cold. He'd been a prisoner for too long and on the road for too long to keep his timetables straight. Robb Stark. If she'd sworn to Robb, as he'd told her to, there was no power on earth that could make her break that vow and abandon the Starks.

"This plan of Father's," Jaime asked slowly. "It doesn't happen to involve the Freys and the Boltons?"

Joffrey scowled at him. "Who told you? It was supposed to be a secret."

Jaime had just sent Brienne towards the biggest slaughter in his lifetime.

Unable to bear another second, Jaime left the room. He paced in his chambers, his brain offering up nothing more helpful than an endless string of curses.

He'd done this. He'd fucking done this. Brienne and Bran would both die because of him. How the ever-loving hells the entire world was going to survive the Long Night without them was any man's guess.

But Bran wasn't the Three-Eyed Raven and showed little sign of becoming him. And Brienne, well, she didn't matter to the world. She just mattered to–

Jaime's chambers were too small. Flinging open the door, he stormed into the courtyard. But every corner was filled with people, with simpering idiots happy to see the Kingsla– so sorry, Ser Jaime return– and Jaime hated all of them. Hated every silk-clad, idiotic one of them. He kept walking and walking until finally, he was alone.

He leaned on the stone railing in the garden, the waves crashing below. Another time, so long ago, so vivid it felt like yesterday, he'd come to this same spot with Brienne at his side. Told her to fulfill his vow in his stead, to keep his oath to Catelyn and protect her daughters.

"I tried my best," Jaime whispered to the unhearing waves. "I even looked after your son."

The waves gave no reply. That Catelyn was long-dead, anyhow – as dead as the Jaime who had sworn to her.

And suddenly, he wasn't alone.

The slippered feet stopped on the path, their owner letting out a sound of surprise. Jaime turned, almost as surprised to see the elder Stark girl as she was to see him.

Sansa dropped a precise curtsey, her reddened eyes downcast. "I beg pardon, my lord," she said by rote. "I did not see you."

Immediately, she turned on her heel, striding back up the path.

"Sansa," Jaime called out. The girl stopped. He beckoned her closer. She took a step. Jaime beckoned again. She took another unwilling step. With a sigh, he walked to her. "You've been crying."

Her jaw stiffened. "I have."

"Why?"

The look she shot him was hateful – and gone as quickly as if it had never been. "Joffrey told me about Bran," Sansa said, as slowly as if each word would break her.

'Told' was the biggest lie of the day. Of course the bastard would have delighted in causing the most intimate pain he could. "I see," Jaime said.

But once she'd started, Sansa wasn't about to stop. "He told me how you'd gotten Bran killed. How you didn't even care to rescue him, as the pirates tortured him, how–"

She broke off, face contorting, before she schooled her features yet again, her voice carefully level. "Father told us that you'd keep Bran safe. That you'd sworn to him, but that it didn't matter that you were an oathbreaker, because Father would make sure you kept that vow. And now he can't. And you, you're right here, and you're fine, and you'll always be fine, and Father's dead, and Bran's dead, they'll always be dead, and you'll–"

"Bran's alive," Jaime cut her off, desperate to stop her rising hysteria.

Sansa's face crumpled. "And tortured and you didn't–"

Jaime put a hand on her shoulder. Sansa flinched. "Bran is fine, Sansa. He's in perfect health and in good hands." She looked up at him, still not comprehending, and he added, "Bran's far safer than you are."

"He's…?" Her face crumpled further, as if the good news being false would break her worse than the bad news ever had.

Jaime nodded. "I lied to Joffrey. Bran is perfectly fine."

Sansa flung herself against his chest, sobbing her gratitude. Her whole body shook with the force of her tears.

Jaime still had no experience with this whatsoever. He'd never gotten to raise his own daughter and Cersei had always wielded anger instead of tears. Brienne had cried once and gods, it had been the worst night of his life.

Awkwardly, Jaime patted a hand against Sansa's back.

After a while, her tears slowed. Sansa straightened, wiping her nose on a handkerchief.

"What are you going to do now?" the girl asked him.

Suddenly, the right course was so blindingly obvious. All it took was abandoning any last shreds of loyalty to his family, his house, his children–

Only all of that.

There was a chance he could still keep an eye out for the rest of the Lannisters, a chance this could work just as strongly to their own benefit… but he had to choose. Right here, right now, he had to know precisely what his priorities were. Stark and Lannister alike would turn on him. The Starks might not even believe him, might kill him on sight. The Lannisters were bloodthirsty or stupid and no shreds of decency would ever stand in their way.

He still had a moon left of his oath to Bran.

And then there was Brienne. He'd put them in danger.

And the choice became so blessedly clear.

After all, once he'd saved one wolf cub, it became so much harder not to save all the rest.

Jaime smiled at Sansa. "I kidnapped your brother," he whispered conspiratorially to her. "How would you like to be kidnapped, too?"

Her watery eyes were so full of hope. "Yes, please."

A/N: Hope you've enjoyed this second-to-last chapter. Please let me know!