Author's Notes: I know I keep saying this, but it needs to be said: you guys are the best! Writing TDR is so much easier knowing I have an eager audience, which is every writer's dream. I have no idea if I would've managed to get this far without you, but I am damn sure that I wouldn't have gotten this far this fast without you. Thank you for all of your support!
I finished my word count goal for CampNaNoWriMo just last night (those who follow me on Twitter will have seen status updates) and now I am going to be taking a break from writing TDR. Have no fear, my dear readers! The updates will not flag and they will continue on a bi-weekly basis as normal.
I would like to thank catzrko0l for being beta again. You really help ease the burden from my shoulders in sprucing this fic up. You're awesome!
Chapter 53
Brienne II
Brienne surveyed the grounds slowly, carefully scrutinizing every man who walked into the training yard, but none were Lord Jaime Lannister. Ever since their first duel in the yards, he had been present every morning, save for the ones when he was with the king at Dragonstone. This was the second day in a row he failed to appear.
She was certain he was still within the Red Keep. It honestly astonished her that he managed to sneak in with how loathe he was at making a quiet entrance or exit. Even just striding across the grounds caused everyone to stop what they were doing to watch him pass. A group of ladies had taken to accumulating around the outskirts of the yard at that time of day specifically for him, though he never paid them any attention. She rolled her eyes as many of them swooned at the sight of him, but she wouldn't deny that seeing him caused a blush to rise in her cheeks that she usually tried to hide by yelling at one of the children in the ring. It was difficult to believe that prior to that month, she was very nearly cursing the name Lannister for their treachery, and now she looked forward to training with him.
Lord Jaime never deviated from his path for any reason and always made a beeline for their area. She chastised herself for feeling like that smirk he wore was ever meant for her. He just valued her - them - as training partners. He had spoken more than once on how impressed he was with her technique. "You might even be able to best me one day," he had said to her after one of their bouts and she had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. If she wasn't already red and sweaty from the effort, that compliment alone would have done it.
He cut a dashing figure, but she was no fool. A currently unmarried Hand to the King such as him no doubt had a line of noble ladies of far greater import ready for him to choose as he pleases. In times such as these, most men of his stature were wed before the first week had ended and yet it had been more than a month and he hadn't even chosen a bride.
There was a small measure of guilt that accompanied her training bouts. It seemed wrong to enjoy training with him and finding happiness in her newfound friendship with the ladies of Bear Island. However, after she'd had long enough to process everything that happened, she found peace with it. While she regretted that Renly was now a pariah, he was at least alive. The city remained untouched and the innocents within no longer had to fear a sacking. Peace had descended on the Keep when war had otherwise seemed inevitable.
She wouldn't deny a cold shiver ran down her back at the fates of King Aemon's enemies. The old king Robert was to be executed, Stannis Baratheon was stripped of Storm's End and all of the power that came with being a lord paramount, and Renly was bound for the Wall. All of them were currently in holding cells here. As much as she wished she could see Renly, he was off-limits. They were simply waiting for men of the Night's Watch to make their way to King's Landing and round up those who forfeited their freedom by refusing to bend. There was also no escaping the story that Grandmaester Pycelle was dragged screaming from a small council meeting. It was unclear yet what he had done to deserve such treatment, but there had to be something. She hadn't yet met the king, but Lord Jaime was not unreasonable and he was considered the more volatile of the two. His anger was frightening to behold. He had looked ready to castrate her taunters as he had threatened.
She'd heard another persistent rumor that the injury he received from the bear affected him in other ways that frequently left him too ill to perform his duties. The only time she had seen him looking ill, his skin pale and sallow, was the day he threatened her taunters, but even then he projected strength and ferocity befitting a lion.
He appeared to revel in the rumors surrounding him and made no effort to correct what she figured were the most outrageous. It made her wonder if she'd ever know the truth about him. Not that I need to know, she thought. What am I to him after all? A sparring partner and nothing more than that. She shook her head and returned her focus to teaching the children. Lady Arya had become fast friends with Lady Lucille and they took every opportunity to swing at one another. Their enthusiasm was both inspiring and contagious, but she had to make sure they didn't end up with split skulls.
It was when she was making another unconscious sweep of the grounds that she stopped. Lord Gerion Lannister was striding purposefully towards her with a grim look on his face.
"My Lord?"
"Lady Brienne, please come with me," he said without preamble.
"May I ask what for?"
He gave her a wry look and said, "It's important."
She frowned but nodded.
As soon as they left the crowd and were on open grounds, he said in a low voice, "Too many ears there, my Lady. It's Jaime. He needs your help."
"Help? Is he hurt?"
"Of a sort. I can't reach him and neither can his brother, Tyrion, or the king. I think you might."
She stumbled in her steps and shook her head. "The king? What could I possibly do that the king couldn't?"
"He values you, my Lady. That much I know," he said and then they began ascending the Tower of the Hand.
"He doesn't value you or the king?"
He stopped briefly to give her an annoyed look. "You'll understand when you see."
When they reached the door, they saw Lord Jaime's bumbling squire, Podrick, and a dwarf whom Brienne figured must be the infamous Imp.
"Any change?"
They shook their heads in sync. Lord Jaime's brother then leaned around Pod and said, "Ah, Lady Brienne! Good idea, Uncle."
"I-I don't understand. What's going on?" Brienne asked.
They looked at each other and then regarded her. Lord Tyrion finally said, "My brother received unfavorable news that has left him quite distraught. It's been two days, but he won't eat or sleep."
"And you think I can help? I barely know him!"
"You've sparred with him everyday. That's more time than he's granted most of us since we arrived in King's Landing," Gerion said and he rolled his eyes.
The door opened and King Aemon walked out looking exasperated. Though she towered over most, it still shocked her to have to look down on her king.
"Your Grace," Brienne abruptly turned to bow. She had never had the opportunity to truly see him up close. She'd only kneeled and made her pledges before him on the throne, but then her vision had been colored red with anger and embarrassment at having been bested by wits and sheer numbers. The few times she attended court, he had been just and fair to the people who came before him. He bore the crown with a solemnity that befitted one of a much greater age than he was.
When she rose from her bow, he had a small smile on his face and nodded at her, but then turned to everyone else and shook his head, "No luck. I...I don't know what to say that could help. But Lady Brienne! It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I want to thank you for your kindness in teaching my cousin, Lady Arya, swordplay. I know it cheers her to have one such as you and Lady Dacey to look up to."
She felt her face heat at his words and simply nodded, unable to speak.
"Would you be willing to talk to him?" King Aemon asked.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I still don't understand how I'm supposed to help."
"He values you. He will listen to you."
"He doesn't value you? But you're his king and the rest of you are his family!"
She could see the barest hint of a smile on King Aemon, though he appeared to be trying to hide it.
"You're a woman! Men don't like to be vulnerable around other men, but for you he might," Gerion said to her with no small amount of exasperation.
She shook her head. "I-I suppose I can try."
"We'll leave the door partially open so there will be no question of dishonoring. Gerion, Pod, make sure they're undisturbed," the king ordered and then he departed.
Pod hopped to his feet and bowed.
"As you will, Your Grace," Gerion replied. He pushed the door to the Hand's office further open and gestured her in. "My Lady."
She stepped through the open door, staring around at the sparsely decorated room. The curtains to the windows had all been pulled, making the room dark, but she could see a figure hunched over the desk. She swallowed and stepped in more fully, recoiling as she was hit by the sour smell of vomit. The clinking of her armor felt unbearably loud in the otherwise silent room, but Lord Jaime did not stir. Her heart was hammering in her chest, willing herself to speak.
You're a warrior, she scolded herself. Act like one. She cleared her throat and said, "Lord Jaime?"
He looked up at her in shock. She winced at his unkempt appearance. His hair looked like a bird's nest from clutching it and the linen shirt he wore had dark stains like he had spilled wine on it. Though it was dim, his eyes were red and his skin was pale.
He abruptly stood, knocking his knee against the desk and causing him to wince. "L-lady Brienne," he said and then leaned over the desk, breathing heavily. When he looked up at her again, he was resolute. "Forgive me, my Lady, but I would ask that you leave."
She was struck by his body language. He had the look of a wounded animal, desperately hurt but ready to make a run for it all the same. When he was both sitting and standing, he was curled in on himself as though trying to shield himself from a number of blows. Although he was nearly her height, she had been surprised to see how slight he appeared and that was made doubly so by his current lack of armor.
"The king asked me to talk to you," she replied carefully.
Something flashed in his eyes and he drew his mouth into a severe frown. "That's not an order."
"He is my king."
"So you're talking to me because your king ordered you to?" He asked and there was an intensity to his expression that she wasn't prepared for.
"You didn't show up at the training yard today. Or yesterday. Your Uncle said you weren't eating or sleeping. Is there anything I can do?"
The tension left him and he collapsed back down into his chair, shaking his head.
Just as she was about to press him further, he began speaking in a dull monotone, "I'm sure you're familiar with the rumor mill surrounding me. King Aemon came into power when King Robert was going to behead my sister and me because my sister was caught fucking me. No one seems to care that I was tied up and unwilling though."
She gasped. It was inescapable to hear something that salacious, but she had chalked it up to being yet another wild tale.
He swallowed and picked up a piece of parchment in front of him. It was creased and wrinkled from significant handling. "I just received the news that she birthed a boy. Blond. It's mine." He kept his eyes level with her for a moment, the stark truth on his face, and then grabbed the flagon of Dornish Red and swilled it.
Brienne stomped over and yanked it from his hands. "That's enough of that."
"Give it back," He snarled at her and reached for the flagon again, but she kept it at arm's length.
"Drinking yourself to oblivion won't solve this."
"I may as well. My dear sister finally got what she wanted: a bastard out of me." She saw him wince and he rubbed his forehead.
"Is that it? You're just going to wash your hands clean of this child?"
Where before his eyes had been dulled with pain, now they were sparking with anger. "Careful, wench. A few bouts in the yard doesn't mean you know a damn thing about me."
She felt the blood rush to her face and her temper flared. "The babe didn't ask for its lot. You're going to abandon it like so many other noblemen? I thought you were different."
"The child will be taken to Winterfell to be raised there with its bastard half brother and sisters until such time I can return them to Casterly Rock."
"You foist your responsibility onto the Starks?"
He chuckled bitterly, wincing again as he looked at her. "My father would kill them if he got his hands on them. He almost killed Tyrion when he was a baby, but apparently even he doesn't want to test the gods' patience with him."
She recoiled, swallowing the acid that rose in her throat, her skin now the color of sour milk.
Jaime was back to staring at the parchment morosely. He released a shuddering breath that was half a sob and said, "He needs a name, but I can't think of one."
Brienne closed her eyes and collected herself. She had never gone through such wild swings of emotion in a matter of minutes and could only imagine how he must be feeling. "An ancestor's name?" She asked softly.
He shook his head. "I don't want to burden him with a family member's legacy, especially...no. That's not fair to him." He abruptly stood up and winced, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then began shuffling over to the bed visible in the other room.
She followed him with a look of confusion crinkling her face. "Are you well?"
"I overdid it," he mumbled, before collapsing on the bed, continuing to rub at his forehead. "Damn it! Bring the chamber pot over here, would you?"
Brienne frowned and grabbed it obediently, wincing as the smell of vomit wafted from it. "Paying for your sins?"
"More than you know." He peaked out at her and said, "Don't be alarmed. This will pass, as all things do…"
"What are you talking about?" she asked, placing the chamber pot on the floor by the bed.
"The Gods' curse upon me," he whispered.
She stared in confusion. A few minutes passed and just as she was about to ask another question, his body began to twist and shudder seemingly of its own accord. When his eyes opened, she could see only the white that had rolled back into his head as he groaned, coughed, and gasped.
"Somebody get in here quick!" she shouted and reached over to grab him just when it seemed he was about to roll off of the bed.
She turned her head at the urgent footfalls from behind her. Then Lord Gerion and Podrick appeared at her side and held his legs down.
"What's wrong with him?" She shouted.
"It's a souvenir of those bear claws," Gerion barked. "There's little else to do but hold him until he's done."
She stared frightfully into Jaime's pale face, feeling his heart race beneath her palm. After a time, his body stopped shuddering and he wheezed and moaned.
"Jaime?" Gerion asked, gently rubbing his shoulder. "Jaime? Can you hear me?"
He repeated this until Jaime whispered, "I can hear you. Did Lady Brienne leave?"
"I'm here," she said, stepping up.
"Stay." He blindly reached out to her and she grabbed his hand to stop his flailing.
She stared at him with a mixture of concern and fear, then asked Gerion, "What was that?"
"A seizure. He can't control them. Though he can certainly take care not to provoke them either," Gerion growled. "It scrambles his thinking for the time being and has a tendency to lower his inhibitions. But it takes all of his strength and renders him abed for the rest of the day. You don't have to stay if you don't wish to. He may not remember you visited at all by the time he's recovered."
She couldn't keep her eyes from Lord Jaime as she weighed her options. Though his eyes were closed and he hadn't moved since reaching for her, his breathing was uneven, suggesting he was still awake and listening to them speak. Would he really forget their conversation?
"I'll stay," she replied.
Gerion gave her a peculiar look and then nodded. "Very well. Podrick will be here if you need anything. I have to return to my duties with the Shepherds." She heard their retreating footsteps and then she was alone with Lord Jaime again.
She felt her shyness creeping up on her and awkwardly began rubbing her thumb over Jaime'shis knuckles soothingly. I shouldn't be here, she thought. What had possessed her to say those two words? There was a small amount of pity for his story. Was his situation not her own nightmare after all? How strange that she could relate to this man on anything other than fighting. And unlike most men, he was actually taking responsibility for the poor babe that resulted from such an unholy union.
Mostly, however, it simply felt good to be needed. No one ever needed anything from her, at least not without an ulterior motive that would end up with her as the fool. She hadn't known Lord Jaime for long, but she could believe his request was sincere, especially in this weakened state.
Gerion's words puzzled her. Was he implying that Lord Jaime wouldn't ask this small token of her if he were in his right mind? Or was he simply trying to spare her the indignity of being known to have been in a man's room alone? But she was Brienne the Beauty. No man had any desire to sleep with her unless it was to collect on a bet to steal her maidenhood. She very much doubted Lord Jaime, Hand to the King, second most powerful person in Westeros, would deign to look upon her when he had the pick of any woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
If this was the only moment she ever got, she would be content.
"Stop thinking so hard." His voice jarred her from her thoughts.
"What?" She could almost wonder if she'd simply misheard his voice.
"You're thinking too hard. It's grating on my nerves."
"Did you also develop the ability to read minds when that bear hit you?" She asked, feeling the fear bubbling up inside of her. It was a ludicrous notion, yet she desperately tried to change the direction of her thoughts.
He actually snorted. "Hardly. It's unnaturally quiet in here. It only stands to make my headache worse. Talk to me. Tell me...tell me a story."
"A story?"
"Anything to fill the dead air. What was your favorite childhood tale?"
Brienne felt a blush creeping up her neck. Was she really going to do this? She was glad that he never once opened his eyes to look at her. "Are you sure? It's lighthearted and foolish."
He knit his brows and frowned. "You heard what's been ailing me. I could use lighthearted and foolish."
"Very well. This...this tale originates from Tarth. I don't know how true it is, but it goes that there was a young boy who wanted to be a knight. His name was Cassian. He was of low birth and his father was a fisherman. He was destined to be a fisherman, but he was not content with that. At every chance, he picked up a stick and wielded it like a sword. At first the fishermen treated it as a harmless oddity, but as the boy grew older, they began to be annoyed by it. After all, where was the place for such foolish notions?
"Then one day his father's fishing boat was attacked by Stepstone Pirates, hoping to steal the catch. Cassian didn't have a sword, but he had a stave. His play at training gave him the strength he needed to knock the pirates in the water so that he and his father could get away. Once ashore, his father raved to everyone who would listen about how Cassian had saved their livelihood. It caught on that perhaps some weapons training wouldn't go amiss if it meant being able to fend off pirates.
"A local knight, Ser Anton, heard of the feat and took Cassian under his wing to give him the proper instruction. Despite all the years of his play, Cassian was a terrible fighter. Surprising, I know," Brienne broke off upon hearing Jaime's derisive snort.
"It took a lot of work, but Cassian was a quick learner. In only a year, he was holding his own against the noble boys of his age. They didn't like that. They broke his wrist in practice. He simply waited until he was better and was back. Then they broke an ankle. Again, he waited until he was better and then he was back. They broke both of his ankles. Still, he remained undeterred, and continued to go back into the training yard.
"Then, in the pitch black of night, the Stepstone pirates raided Tarth. Most of the soldiers and knights were all abed at the castle. Cassian and the few soldiers were outnumbered five to one, but they were able to hold on long enough until reinforcements arrived. Passersby say he roared like a bear and fought like one too." For some reason, Lord Jaime chuckled at this, though she couldn't see why.
"This earned him a knighthood. Not long after that, the King of the Stormland's hosted a tourney and he attended. He finished in the top five of the melee and gained wide renown for his sense of justice and honor, as well as his fighting ability. The King of the Stormlands granted him a place in his army. It is said that he led the Stormland troops into battle against the Reach in a war lost to time." Her voice trailed away.
There was silence and she began to feel a blush creeping up onto her cheeks as she stewed. Other than chuckling, Lord Jaime hadn't moved and she wondered if he had fallen asleep in the time the story ended.
"Remind you of anyone?" He finally asked, amusement coloring his voice.
She was certain her cheeks must have looked seared by the sun. She didn't say anything but her eyes were cast down to his hand that she still held. Fool, her Septa's voice lectured her, why should any man care for your hopes and dreams when they can never be?
Tears pooled in her eyes and she vigorously tried to blink them back. "It's foolish, I know. I just always thought that if I worked hard enough, that people would see past the girl and see me for what I am, like they did for the fisherman's boy. He was of lowbirth and he still fought his way to a knighthood. Why couldn't I? It doesn't matter."
"There's nothing wrong with working for what you want," Jaime replied. Though he still seemed loathe to open his eyes fully, she could see the sympathy there. "The world is changing, hopefully for the better. And it needs people like you who are unafraid to suggest that some traditions need changing."
Now she really was in danger of falling into tears. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I was to take lunch with Lady Dacey and Lady Maege. By your leave?"
He nodded.
She fled the room, holding her head high in hopes that no one would question her urgency and retired to her room to be alone. With any luck, Lord Jaime wouldn't remember any of that encounter like his uncle Gerion had suggested.
