Author's Notes: Hello, everyone, and welcome back to the fic! Thank you for your continued support in the form of reviews, faves, and alerts. I hope you continue to enjoy!
I'm currently stuck in the middle of a snowpocalypse. Send hot chocolate!
Chapter 43
Jaime XV
He walked to the training grounds without Pod. He had given him the afternoon off - after all, if he couldn't get any work done then Pod shouldn't be forced to work either. He had stayed steadfastly by his side since they had left Casterly Rock, through their imprisonment with the Ironborn and all of their travels, never once complaining. It seemed only fair he give the boy a treat.
There were days where Jaime barely felt like himself and this was one of them. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept through the night. The only time he ever seemed to find sleep was in the early hours of the morning. It had made him late to a council meeting, so Aemon tried to schedule the meetings for late in the morning rather than first thing after breakfast.
Things were made yet worse by Littlefinger's return. Aemon's note informing him of his appointment to Master of Coin seemed to have a sheepish tone to it and it only made Jaime angrier; though his anger was directed at Baelish rather than Aemon. Now I have to contend with that worm again, he thought. He felt a thrill of fear and stifled it in the next instance. It would be a lie to say he never felt fear, but he certainly did not allow it to control him and he would need all of his wits about him with Baelish around.
As much as he detested everything that came with being Hand of the King, it was frequently a much needed distraction. Perhaps too frequently. Cersei never left him. She haunted every dream, even ones that did not involve her action against him. The night before had been particularly bad. He had been caught in a landslide and lay half-buried under rock, clawing desperately to get out, but his legs were paralyzed. Cersei was perched on top of the landslide, dressed in the dark outfit he'd last seen her in a lifetime ago and wearing the shorn haircut the Militant Faith had given her. Her arms were crossed and she only gave him that insufferable smirk he had come to loathe. He'd heard the cry and squeal of a child. It was naked and sprawled on the ground, wailing, but he couldn't reach it. He knew it was his unborn child. He renewed his struggle to the point where he actually felt the ache in his shoulders and the stabbing in his fingers from scrabbling in the dirt, only for wolves to show up and tear the child to pieces.
When he finally screamed himself awake, he had found his face wet with tears. Before he knew what he was doing, he had reached over to the other side of the bed, as though seeking Brienne's comfort. It had taken him a moment before he remembered that he was alone. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He was tired of being alone. He managed to coax himself back to sleep for a few hours but still woke up drained.
David delivered status reports from his 'clinic' every week. He showed up that morning as usual looking ragged, but his eyes narrowed at seeing Jaime's pallid state.
"Are you about to have a seizure?"
"No! Give me that." Jaime snatched the paper. When he tried to read it, however, the letters blurred in front of his eyes.
"You need to rest," David said.
"I don't recall asking you for advice," Jaime shot back, glaring at him as usual.
"I am your healer. His Grace is going to have trouble running the kingdom without you if you don't take care of yourself. Therefore, for the good of the kingdom, I will impose my opinions of your health onto you," David replied. "Either go back to sleep or I will find a way to make you go back to sleep."
"You have something?" Jaime was honestly curious.
"You know it well enough: milk of the poppy."
Jaime grimaced. "No. What about that concoction we used to knock people out with?"
"No," David parroted back. "It tends to leave the recipient with a headache, and you have enough of those."
Jaime fumed silently. In the two weeks since they'd been in the Keep, he'd already had two seizures, the last one only two days ago. David's headache cure could only do so much.
"I will bring by a container of milk of the poppy for you this evening. It had better be empty when I come back in the morning," David ordered, daring to tilt his head back and peer down his nose at him.
"Careful," Jaime whispered. "You operate in these circles only by my good graces."
"And now the King's," David said. "You're Hand of the King; you best keep your wits about you."
"Do not order me again. I am Hand of the King and you are nothing. Keep up your attitude and I will pull your funding," Jaime snarled.
The Healer was silent but he raised his eyebrows as if he didn't believe him.
He probably doesn't, now that he has Aemon on his side, he fumed. There would be hell if the smallfolk were left without a healer once more. He and Aemon were already quite popular for the changes they had made, providing a healer and reopening the trade routes with all haste.
It was not long after that that Jaime gave up on getting any work done for the day. He felt ill and shaky and the pervasive feeling of loneliness had yet to leave him. There was only one person who could ease it and he was seeking her out now.
It had been a week since he had last seen Brienne. She was avoiding him; she was apparently avoiding everybody. He suspected she was coming to the training grounds even earlier than him. She had taken his remarks worse than he thought. She hadn't seemed this thin-skinned in the previous life, having taken so much of his belittling and stupidity on their trip through the Riverlands.
What has changed? Besides everything, he thought sourly. Renly was at least still alive! Did this have anything to do with knocking her out? Surely even she would recognize him behind the face cover. He finally decided that that was probably part of it, but she took his teasing as piling on rather than the friendly needling he meant it to be. He searched his memories for any further clues. After Renly had died, Lady Catelyn had taken Brienne in and that unfortunately led to Brienne speaking of her with reverence, like she was the Mother incarnate.
But there was no one to pick her up now. The only person who expressed any kind of public faith in her was Renly and he was now a pariah. There was no one for her to fall back to. As much as he would love to rush this, he'd always planned for a paced courting due to Brienne's reticence to be married. He also hadn't wanted to rush it so that his father wouldn't suss out his intentions. He rather doubted Lord Tywin would think Brienne of Tarth as a fitting bride and the last thing he wanted was to subject her to unwarranted scrutiny from him. Jaime was brought out of his thoughts by a taunt that could only be directed at Brienne.
"Hey, ladies, I believe the women of the Keep hold sewing parties in the gardens. Run along there."
"Does she even belong there? I'm not sure she belongs anywhere."
"Certainly not here."
The training grounds were busy, but there were three or four men lined up at the edge of a training ring and they constantly distracted other knights in the area with their taunting. Lord Randyll Tarly and his son were standing together a bit further away. Tarly was looking far too smug and his son wore a disapproving frown. Jaime directed a look of cool anger at them as he approached.
He looked over and could just see Brienne because of her ungainly height. Her brow was furrowed in what looked like concentration. She barked commands at the other woman, whomever she was, and kept her focus on the fight. She wasn't speaking loudly enough for him to see the color of her voice, but he expected red tremors of anger.
"What is the meaning of this?" His voice own voice was a rather violent red. He took a moment to regain his composure, so that his emotions were still under his control.
Dickon Tarly recoiled, but then glanced at his father and held his ground. Randyll didn't appear the least bit concerned and chuckled. "There's a girl and a woman - or whatever passes for a woman - training on the grounds. This is not their place. They don't belong here." His voice was a gleeful green, bright enough to make Jaime feel nauseous.
"You made that determination on your own, did you?" Jaime said.
Tarly's smile fell away and he frowned. "Fighting is for men. It does not fall under the purview of a woman. They are best served birthing our sons."
"And who proclaimed that? Did the Seven appear here before I arrived and declare the grounds sacred to men?"
Tarly narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, but no words came and he snapped it close. But then he shook his head and said, "Lord Hand, you can't seriously expect us to accept women on the training grounds."
"I don't see the conflict. The only ones who actually seem to be stirring the pot are the men. Afraid to be shown up by a woman, are you?" Lord Randyll's face turned red in fury, but he knew better than to snap back at the Hand of the King. With a last cold look of disdain, Jaime turned to head over to the taunting men, unsheathing Brightroar.
"She's not a woman. She can't be. Not with that grunting."
"Could be a pig. Oink oink, Brienne." The men burst out laughing.
"The only pigs I see are you," Jaime called out. The men turned in irritation, but then all of their eyes widened as they saw who it was. Jaime level his sword at them, but they didn't dare to bare their own blade and instead recoiled away. "I am not familiar with the care of pigs, but if I'm not mistaken we have a habit of castrating them. So who's first?"
They all blanched and recoiled further, one of them even stumbled into the ring.
Jaime smirked. "You're afraid. Wise of you. But Brienne of Tarth there leveled her own sword at me and threatened me when I invaded the Keep to get Renly. She's shown more courage and bravery than half the knights in the Keep. Challenge me to a duel and maybe then I'll consider you men once more."
One man whom Jaime felt he vaguely recognized dared to put a hand on his sword, but another man grabbed his arm and shook his head.
Jaime's smile only grew at their hesitation, but then it vanished and he sheathed his sword once more. "As knights of the realm, I expect you to hold your behavior to a higher standard. If I hear you ever disrespected another highborn lady again, I will force the households you are sworn to to release you from your positions. Is that clear?"
Their eyes widened and they nodded.
"Get out of my sight!"
They slunk away like frightened dogs; he imagined that if they had tails they would be tucked firmly between their legs. The other men in the area watched them go, some smirking at their obvious humiliation, but others appeared troubled. They all turned away as soon as his eyes fell on them. It will take time before the message gets across that I'm serious, Jaime thought. He was under no illusion that this had fixed anything for the women. They were just as likely to taunt them now as before. It would be a slow process to make women warriors more accepted, but it started with more than just him being comfortable with them.
When he turned to address the women finally, he was surprised to find the Alexandratos girl in the ring with Brienne. When his eyes finally settled on the girl, her look of annoyance melted into relief, and she drew herself up and bowed.
"Thank you, Lord Hand. They were...irritating," she said and there was no mistaking the anger in her voice.
He briefly looked at Brienne who nodded at him mutely.
"I didn't know you could fight. Or is Lady Brienne here just teaching you?"
"I can fight," she declared. "When we came to Westeros, mother and father made me train in secret. They said Westerosi didn't like women fighting, except in Dorne. Since we didn't have any status then, we didn't want to bring the wrong sort of attention to ourselves."
Jaime frowned. "And now?"
She grimaced. "I...I'm supposed to be sewing in my room, but I looked out the window and I saw the Lady Brienne training! I had to come out! If she can train, so can I!"
Jaime smiled faintly. "Of course women are allowed to train. Are you familiar with the ladies of Bear Island? Lady Maege Mormont is the head of her house, unwed, and she led her soldiers here with her daughter, Dacey Mormont. I'm not sure when they train, but any northman would find them formidable." His eyes flickered to Brienne and noticed a light of excitement return to her eyes that he hadn't seen there at their first encounter.
"And what of you, my Lord? Would you take one of us in a duel?" Brienne asked, a challenge in her face.
Jaime froze. He so desperately wished to duel Brienne. Should they duel now? My efforts to discourage their taunters will have been for naught if I refuse. At just the thought, he could feel his blood surging and he gave her an avaricious grin.
"You think you can handle me, my Lady, the greatest sword in the Seven Kingdoms? There are none who can," he said.
"I think you are stalling," she said.
Not for the reasons you think, he mused, shivering with excitement. He picked a blunted sword and trooped back over. They were garnering an audience now, and he was displeased to see his uncle Gerion and Ser Addam Marbrand among them. His uncle was giving him a knowing smirk and Ser Addam wore a puzzled look. He glared at them both.
He was lightheaded as he stepped into training ring. He had been desperate for this moment even before returning to this time. How long had he dreamed of a duel between himself and Brienne with his true swordhand and not the useless stump he had had? He did his best to hide the longing underneath the unearthly calm that overtook him when swordfighting. Unlike others who became frightened or even overexcited, he always in control on the eve of battle, even as his heart pounded. It was only when the metal touched that he felt his blood surge unlimited energy. His stamina was as unparalleled as his skill; he could outlast anyone. He fell into his stance, sword raised before him.
Brienne likewise readied herself. The noise of the audience fell away as they stared. He teased her sword with his and the sound of the metal sliding together produced gray ripples of sound. He could see her irritation building in her face. Then she sprang with over excitement as she swiped at him, but he dodged away with ease. She realized her mistake when she barely managed to catch his sword and then began matching him in strength and quickness.
She is good, he thought. Most men always thought the key to winning against him was being more aggressive and he made sure they rolled in the dirt for their troubles. With every strike of their swords, he began increasing the speed of his hits. Brienne followed, her face reddening and she grimaced with the effort.
He fumbled momentarily when he broke out of his calm to stare into her beautiful blue eyes, thinking of how blue the ocean around her home must be. He felt the sword slip in his hand and he just as quickly sank back into focus and stepped it up. He had toyed with her long enough. With a burst of speed and strength he crashed down on the sword, holding her in place, and before she could muster a response he swept her feet out from beneath her with a leg and she crashed to the ground with a grunt. He quickly stepped on her sword, just as she started to raise it.
"I yield," she said. Her face was red and she breathed in quick short pants. In terms of physical beauty, she was at her ugliest. The straw hair plastered to her head and sweat streamed down her face. But her eyes caught his attention. Most were annoyed when he defeated them, but she only looked at him in awe. He held a hand out to her.
She flinched away at first, clearly expecting something else, but then grabbed his hand and he pulled her to her feet again.
"Well fought, my Lady. You have strength, you have speed, and you have stamina. Just not enough. Maybe some other time," he said and flashed her a smug grin.
She huffed and said, "When will that be next?"
He raised an eyebrow at her boldness, though he knew she was just interested in sparring with him again. "Perhaps in the morning."
He turned to stride away, but a youthful voice called after him. "What about me?"
The Alexandratos girl was staring at him earnestly, her own sword now held up in challenge.
"Perhaps some other time, girl. I am Hand after all. There is work to be done."
She scowled, but eased up her stance. "I will hold you to that."
"You'll get your fight," he said in annoyance and strode away. He smiled to himself in satisfaction at finally getting that fight, but then Ser Addam and Gerion fell into step beside him.
"What was that?" Ser Addam asked.
"It was a fight," Jaime replied with a clipped tone.
"I must say, I'm surprised at you, nephew," Gerion said, unable to hide the glee on his face let alone his voice. "I wondered after that first encounter. I honestly thought you'd care more about looks, but I can see the attraction. You love her fight."
"Careful, uncle. You know not of what you speak," Jaime growled.
"Please, Jaime. I've known you your whole life," Addam spoke up. "You stopped in the middle of fighting to stare at her like she was the most beautiful creature you had ever seen. You were dazzled. In the middle of a fight! I didn't think anything could interrupt your concentration in battle."
"It was calculated."
"Of course it was," Addam mocked. "Was sparing the lady anymore unwanted attention also calculated?"
"If a woman is good with the sword, then I don't see the need for ridicule. We could use all the good fighters we can get," Jaime said, though the last bit trailed off into a mutter. The Long Night was back into the forefront of his mind and he shuddered at the fact that he was encouraging even the young Alexandratos girl so that they could one day pit her against the undead. Was it cruel of him to use them for their ends, even if it is to save the world?
"Fighters for what?" Addam asked. At Jaime's silence, he nodded and said, "I thought so." He got a glare in return, but he shrugged and said, "I don't care if you allow women to train, but don't act like you never have ulterior motives."
"That's enough out of both of you! Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do," Jaime said, breaking off from them to head inside the Tower of the Hand. Once behind the safety of the doors of his office, he cursed himself for being so obvious. They were in a delicate situation, he and the king being so new to their roles and no doubt there were hidden schemes afoot. It was a challenge to try and keep track of it all, especially with how little sleep he was getting. As he had in the other lifetime, he reached out to Brienne for help. He should at least be able to sleep a little easier tonight with her at the very forefront of his mind.
