It had been a fortnight since Jaime's return, since Brienne and the babe she carried had been declared in full health by Winterfell's Maester. Only a few mere weeks had passed since Brienne made Jaime the happiest man in The Realm by agreeing to become his wife. The promise of their life together filled him with a joy he had never known. Their nights hence were spent in their own world of passion and love. The days saw Brienne still keeping her oath to protect Sansa Stark. The Queen in the North had declared her sworn sword would no longer stand at her guard, fearing the long days upon her feet would be too exerting for Brienne as her pregnancy progressed. So it was that Sandor Clegane assumed a vigil at Sansa's side, safeguarding the young woman he clearly loved, whom most could tell returned his feelings in kind. Somewhat self-consciously, but more than a small bit grateful, the first female knight in Westeros sat at the Queen's right arm, watching over her charge even as she saw to her own woman's work. Jaime strayed no more than a few paces from Brienne's side. He stood proud above her, holding true to his own vow of protection to his maiden fair and their unborn child.
In those weeks Jaime and Brienne lived as husband and wife, like they had done before his chosen course stole him from her side. They easily began the habit of rising early, before the day's duties would busy and distract them, determined not to lose anymore moments with which they were blessed. Though the love that Jaime and Brienne shared was far too overpowering to be locked away, the couple spent the hours at daybreak secluded in their chambers, wrapped in each other's arms. On this morning, Jaime seemed preoccupied, almost bristling at the unvoiced thoughts which ran through his mind.
"What troubles you, My Love?" Brienne questioned as she fastened the front of a gambeson that had been altered to accommodate her expanding form.
Jaime looked up from pulling on his boots, as if he barely heard the quandary. "What?" He answered absentmindedly, before realizing how unusually quiet he had been. Standing quickly to assisted his bride to-be, Jaime smiled, trying to ease her worry. "Nothing troubles me." He told Brienne warmly as he settled her into the crook of his handless arm and worked the final few stays of her leather garment. He then trailed his fingers down the side of Brienne's rounded belly, sighing lovingly as he felt through her skin and clothing their child moving within her. He rested his forehead against Brienne's cheek and once more thanked The Gods for her.
"All that preoccupies me are thoughts of the lucky man I have finally become." Jaime beamed, losing himself in Brienne's astonishing eyes. "And how eager I am to wrap a cloak around your shoulders and call you mine." He held her close.
Brienne sighed at the assurance of his nearness. "I am already yours." She nestled against him. "I always have been." Brienne smiled, and turned to accept Jaime's deep adoring kiss.
When they had satisfied their need temporarily, Brienne filled her lungs with a refreshing breath, readying herself for the day. "I should see to The Queen." She acquiesced, dutifully, though a bit reluctantly.
Jaime nodded. "I shall join you presently." He replied, escorting her to the doorway. "I have a small spot of business which needs my attention." Jaime explained as he moved the lock and opened the latch.
Brienne raised a surprised brow at him as they entered the passageway. "What business?" She asked urgently, wondering if there were cause for alarm.
Calmly, Jaime took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with, My Dearest." He affirmed. Then seeing the uncertainty in Brienne's eyes Jaime caressed the curve of her cheek, sliding his fingers beneath her chin and lifting her gaze to him.
"You need not worry. I shall not be long. I will be back at your side in no time." He promised before he bent and hovered over her protruding abdomen.
"Watch over your mother for me, Little One." He bid their babe, and than laid a kiss atop Brienne's belly through her garments. As if to signal the compliance of a young knight, his lips were met with the sharp nudge of a tiny foot from within.
He rose gleefully to see Brienne smiling down at him, her hand soothing where the babe had kicked. "You see." He grinned. "I am leaving you in the best of care." Jaime laughed before pressing one last kiss to Brienne's mouth. In his parting, he bowed to her and hurried off in the opposite direction.
"Them?" Jaime asked from behind a heavily loaded wagon, nudging his chin in the direction of a group of burly northern soldiers gathered across the courtyard.
"Yes. Those are the ones." Podrick confirmed, his eyes narrowing ruefully as he peered around Jaime to watch the men. Unaware of their audience, the raucous group jested and guffawed baudily as they slapped each other on the back. "They are the sons of dogs who smirked behind Ser Brienne's back and called her…"
"I know what they called her Podrick." Jaime's forced the acid loathing down his throat. His expression of malice matched Pod's, images of the men's crimes racking his brain. The young man had already explained to Jaime how, in his absence his precious Brienne had come to be referred to as 'The Kingslayer's Whore', their innocent babe already taunted as his bastard. The four reprobates upon which they spied had come to Winterfell after the battle, their swords for hire, and joined what was left of the Northern army. They had been Lady Brienne's most vocal and virulent detractors.
Pod shook his head regretfully. "I wished to skin them alive." He seethed. "Ser Brienne would not allow it." He explained, and then eyed the ground fuming like a trapped animal. "I should have anyway." He declared.
Jaime shook his head, ripping his angry glare from the guards. "It was not your fight." He acknowledged. "You were right to follow the orders of your commander." He reminded. "You did Ser Brienne a greater service by staying your anger." Jaime praised. Pod nodded dutifully, though still he scowled at his forced inaction.
"You have no reason to be ashamed." Jaime affirmed, clutching Podrick's shoulder proudly. "You protected her." He said, gratitude in his tone. "She needed you, and you were there when I was not." Jaime's jaw clenched in remorse. "You did not fail her, Pod." He told the eager young man. "I did." Jaime sighed and lowered his eye in shame.
With that, Jaime turned back toward his targets. With a sharp gulp of air, he rousted himself and swelled with determination. "But never again." He vowed, already in motion. Podrick fell in step behind him, as Jaime tore across the courtyard.
At a sprint, Jaime covered the open ground to the men that had disparaged Brienne's reputation. His gaze narrowed as he watched them still in their self righteous humor. Winterfell itself seemed to shake with the rage in his every step. "What is it you find so amusing?" Jaime shouted within their earshot, halting only far enough from them to gauge his striking position with all four. Pod joined defiantly at his side, his fingers locked around his sword hilt.
What Jaime possessed in bold protectiveness of his lady love, he lacked in the knowledge of just how much The North, and in fact Westeros itself had changed since the defeat of the Night King. The forces of the North had been decimated during the battle with The Dead. The Stark army was no longer comprised of only loyal bannermen. These were not knights, they were not honorable men, and they were not impressed by his name or his legend.
A large man with ruddy skin and a patchy growth of beard sauntered foward, his head cocked to the side, an arrogant patronizing chuckle aimed down his nose at Jaime. "You, Kingslayer." He answered. "I see that dragon knocked you off your high horse." The man laughed at the one handed sword fighter who stared him down. Quickly, his compatriots flanked him on either side, equally menacing and ready to brawl.
Unmoved, Jaime laughing mockingly. "Call me whatever you wish, you are not the first." He conceded. "Your opinion of my well known history matters little." He scoffed. "It seems, though, I am not the only target of your denigration." Jaime's tone grew deadly serious. "Your disrespect of Ser Brienne is beyond acceptance, or tolerance." He inched closer to his intended victim, his hand already clenched into a fist.
Indifferent to the offenses he had perpetrated, the crude guard spat at Jaime's feet. "Ser." He rolled his eyes and spoke as if the word itself were a mockery. "You mean that woman…" He paused for a moment to flash a scornful grin at his friends. "That woman with your bastard in her belly, pretending to be a knight." He matched Jaime's steps to hover threateningly over him.
Unable to keep his peace any longer, Podrick could not bare the insult to his mentor. " That is your commanding officer." He corrected sternly.
Though the big man's answer was directed at Podrick, his eyes never left Jaime. "I don't take orders from the Kingslayer's Whore!" He wickedly proclaimed.
In the breadth of the moment it took Jaime to weigh his course, the first reaction which filled his mind was to draw Widows Wail and seperate the rube's head from his neck. Fiery wrath filled his every muscle with a twitching longing for revenge. He would make the man pay for his callous lack of respect toward Brienne and their unborn child. At one time in Jaime's past, had the vicious epithets been hurled at Cersei, he would have quickly dispatched the brash offender and counted himself the cavalier hero. The insults now, however, had not been leveled against his evil sister. This unfortunate fool had denegrated his beloved Brienne. The woman who to Jaime was more ethereal and divine than The Seven themselves. He wanted to savor his vengeance. Jaime would bring down upon the man all the weight of every moment he spent unable to declare his adoration for Brienne. Each blow he intended to inflict would visit retribution upon this solitary recipient for the anger of every insult she had ever suffered. He wanted to created a living example, for all to see, of just what would happen to anyone who dared harm the one he loved most, either by deed or word. He wanted the man reduced to a quivering bloody pile of barely recognizable flesh and bone. Jaime wanted to beat the shit out of him.
Not allowing another moment to escape his grasp, Jaime sprung at the man, knocking his bulky frame off balance with a single punch. The man recovered quickly and returned to meet his aggressor with an angry growl, only to have his attempt to advanced thwarted by a crushing elbow to the eye from Jaime's handless arm. Widows Wail remained securely sheathed. Jaime's punishment would be exacted by his bare knuckles. He longed to feel every moment of it.
Before the other soldiers could reacted, Podrick engaged them with fists flailing, connecting to any bony angles of their looming masses he could reach. Fearlessly, Podrick aimed his momentum at one of the others who had dared to question Ser Brienne's honor. The man, who was at least a head taller than Pod found himself no match for the young knight's ferocity and determination. Podrick knocked the offender off his feet, and went to work penning his own message on the brute's face.
A few paces from where Pod was engaged in battle, Jaime continued to exact his revenge upon the one who had the unfortunate distinction of speaking first. These mercenaries, who were unfit to even cast their lowly eyes upon his glorious Brienne, had been bold enough to sneer at her state. They would pay for their vile insults. With his knee in the man's throat, Jaime delivered a barrage of well-places blows to the cad's now bloodied face. The figure which squirmed futilely beneath him was quickly losing the last vestiges of human appearance. Another of the group attempted to pull Jaime from his victim? It was to no avail. The lion was now mad with blood lust. No force imaginable could have caused him to lose grip on his prey.
Somewhere on the edge of his senses, Jaime became aware that his target no longer fought back. The man still breathed, the blood which spurted from his toothless mouth attested as much. Half of the volume which pumped through the culprit's veins seemed to be painted up Jaime's arms and spattered across his own face and chest. In the moment it took for him to release his unfortunate mark, Jaime became aware of a second pair of hands trying to pry him from his bout. He turned in time to see Podrick's foot smash into the side of the second man's face.
Stunned and dazed the would be attacker lost his footing and fell backward into the bloody snow. Scanning the scene quickly to determine his next opponent, Jaime caught site of the Podrick's first adversary lying bloodied and immobilized on the ground a few feet away. He rose hastily to meet his next challenge. The only one of the group left standing, peered fearfully from Jaime to Pod and back again. Frantically, he tried to back away. The malicious smile that spread across Jaime's face was almost maniacal as he reached to grab the man, and stop his retreat. Seeing his next conquest daring to move, Podrick jumped on the man he had kicked down and let loose his own bombardment of pain, as Jaime rained a hail of forceful punches against the jaw of the last man standing.
Engaged in combat, Jaime and Podrick did not hear the wail of the guard on the battlement, or the thunder of the men on horseback who filed through Winterfell's gate. Jaime remained locked in imparting his lesson to the last of Brienne's libelers. The coward had fallen to the ground and was writhing beneath Jaime's grasp as he tried fruitlessly for escape. The man's blood mixed with that already dried over Jaime's garments, and the mud in which they fought. Beside him, Podrick was equally covered with filth and fury. So preoccupied were they, that neither noticed the stately white haired gentleman who alighted the lead horse and strode forcefully toward them. He stood for a moment over the scene of their brawl, inspecting them disdainfully.
"What is this?" He old man howled, stopping both Jaime and Podrick in mid swing. Shocked, they looked up, and froze as if they were boys about to be scolded. Jaime's heart stopped when he saw the opunlent sapphire blue robe which hung upon the nobleman as if he were born wearing it. The mantle was emblazoned with the sun and moon on a field of red and blue. He knew that Sigil well. It belonged to the woman he loved. The man standing in judgement before him was Brienne's own father, Lord Selwyn Tarth.
The Evenstar regarded Jaime with a scowl. His gaze traveled down to the blood covered form of the man sprawled upon the ground in front of him, stopping where Jaime's right hand should have been. The glare in which Lord Selwyn beheld him was devoid of any kindness or leniency. His scrutiny seemed to Jaime to last a hundred years. Jaime's breath had never been stilled in his own chest so alarmingly by even his own father. At last, Brienne's father rolled his eyes and sighed at the blood covered wretch before him. Lord Selwyn then did something that told Jaime the old lord knew exactly who he was, and what he had done. The Evenstar ignored him.
"Boy!" Lord Selwyn shouted to Podrick, clearly accustomed to his authority. "Where is my daughter?" He roared. "Take me to her!" The Evenstar ordered.
Podrick had no choice but to hop to his feet, and stumble for balance as he led the Lord of Tarth toward Winterfell's Great Hall. Jaime rose to his knees, his chest rising furiously to catch the breath that rushed from his lungs. He blinked another man's blood from his eyes, trying desperately to discern the events which unfolded around him. Jaime was left in the Evenstar's wake, staring numbly after him, wondering if in his need to avenge Brienne's honor he had just ruined everything?