Work Text:
Medicine
The snow had fallen constantly since Jaime had left King’s Landing. It had started out with a few lonely flakes that melted on his leather gloves the moment they touched them. But the more north he rode, the thicker and more numerous they’d become. Eventually the ground had started to turn white, and the snow had settled on the horse’s mane as well as Jaime’s shoulders and face. His short hair was plastered to his head and snowflakes clung to his eyelashes, making it difficult to see the road.
Not that there was any road to see. Jaime had decided to avoid the Kingsroad until he’d passed the Crossroads. Further north, he knew, there’d be no way around it; the Kingsroad provided the only safe passage through the Neck after all.
But while still in the south, Jaime had thought it safer to follow the small track beside the river. It led along the eastern shore of the Gods Eye towards Harrenhal. He’d stayed clear of the castle, of course, and had cut his way through the sparse trees and shrubbery instead. Now he was somewhere north of it, and while he’d hoped to reach the Trident before nightfall, he was beginning to doubt it.
The still falling snow darkened the sky prematurely, more than any summer storm could. Jaime had trouble steering his horse forward safely. There was no way around it, he’d have to make camp.
Jaime dismounted his horse and squinted through the snow for a halfway dry place to stay the night. He ventured left and found a spot under a big tree, big enough that the snow had not yet touched the ground near the trunk. It would have to do.
He tied the horse to the tree - no easy feat with just one hand – and quickly collected some firewood. Lighting it though, again with only one good hand and one lump of metal that had no purpose besides looking good, took a while.
When the fire finally burned, Jaime pulled the meagre contents from his saddlebag. He uncovered a threadbare bedroll and a blanket made for summer days only. Perhaps Cersei had been right after all, and he truly was the stupidest Lannister. He hadn’t even thought to bring a fur coat, in fact, he wasn’t sure he even owned one.
Everyone had known for a while that Winter was coming, and Jaime was perhaps the only person in the world that hadn’t planned for it. Or rather, he’d certainly not planned for a Winter anywhere else than in King’s Landing. He’d never thought he’d be heading north, and certainly not as far north as Winterfell.
Due to its location, it was only logical that the seat of House Stark would serve as the central base in the Great War. Every army, every man, willing to fight against the dead would assemble there over the next weeks.
Jaime had given his word to lead the Lannister Army north within a fortnight. He was determined to stand by it; only now he would be arriving sans army. He would come alone, a single swordsman, and not even the great one he’d been before his hand had been cut off. How would the King in the North, the Dragon Queen, and everyone else react?
Word would have travelled faster than he, it always did, and by the time Jamie would arrive at Winterfell, everyone would know of Cersei’s betrayal. He’d be once again branded a traitor, an oathbreaker, before he’d have set one foot inside the gates.
Would they give him the chance to explain? Would they let him speak at all? Jaime thought it much more likely that he’d be thrown in a dark and damp cell the minute he’d arrive. Or, come to think of it, he’d be burned alive like Randyll Tarly and his son had been.
Jaime shivered despite the fire he had going on. His prospects didn’t look good, did they? Every Northerner despised him, hated him, and no one would ever trust him. They’d never believe that he wasn’t there as part of his sister’s plotting. No one would believe he’d broken with her.
Perhaps, if he could get a chance to speak to Tyrion… or Brienne…
The thought of those two lifted Jaime’s spirit somewhat. There was a small chance he might survive after all, if only he’d be allowed to see one of them. They were the only two people in the world he trusted.
He had known for a while now that he fully trusted Brienne, no matter whom she served. She had his trust not because of where she stood, but simply because of who she was.
And the same, Jaime assumed, applied to Tyrion, although it had come as a bit of a shock to realize it. They’d been on opposite sides, and Tyrion had killed their father and Jaime hated him for it, and still… Jaime’s first thought after he’d turned his back on Cersei, had been of his little brother.
‘Now Tyrion’s the only family I have left,’ he’d found himself thinking while he’d stormed from the courtyard. He’d realized then that, despite everything, he’d still thought of him as family. He’d never stopped loving his little brother. And he trusted him.
Perhaps not as much as Brienne… he trusted no one as much as Brienne, Jaime knew, but… he trusted, Tyrion would at least hear him out, and he’d give him the chance to prove himself true to their common cause.
So, Jaime would go to Winterfell and he’d put his hopes in Tyrion and Brienne being there.
He put another log on the fire, then took some bread from his bag and began to eat. The snowfall had thankfully lessened over the course of the evening, but the air was still ripe with it. The ground was colder now than any other time he’d had to sleep a night outside. He spared a brief thought on the Inn at the Crossroads, with its warm ale and feather beds. Perhaps he should have pushed on towards it after all?
But then again… the risk of being recognized would have been too great. He wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuously person of the realm. Further north he would have to rely on Inns for the night, it would grow considerably colder after all. But for now, the forest ground would have to do. He’d just have to try and think warm thoughts.
Involuntarily, Jaime's mind conjured up Brienne. Had she reached Winterfell already? Or was she too spending the night outside somewhere? No, he chided himself a moment later, of course not. She had no reason to avoid an Inn; she and her squire Podrick would spend the nights… well, if not entirely comfortable, then at least somewhere warm.
Brienne, Podrick and a few other Northerners had left for Winterfell three days before Jaime. He had come to the guest chambers to see her off then. Miraculously, they had managed to part on good terms. The farewell they’d exchanged would have been cause for the most scandalous rumours, had it been witnessed by anyone other than Podrick.
But the loyal squire hadn’t batted an eyelash at their clasped hands and honestly spoken words, nor had he voiced any concern when the touch had lasted perhaps a tad too long. Jaime wouldn’t even have noticed, had he not seen Brienne blush maidenly. Only then had he let go of her hand.
Her reaction had forcefully reminded him of the fact that, no matter how much he tried to forget or ignore it, Brienne wasn’t just a knight. She was a woman, first and foremost.
‘No doubt,’ Jaime thought with a smirk, trying in vain to banish the image of her naked body, the curve of her breasts and hip, the way he’d seen her in the baths of Harrenhal. He’d been almost mad with fever then, could barely recall the words of confession he’d forced out, and still the image of Brienne, standing tall and naked, was as sharp in his mind as if she were standing before him now.
“A woman she is,” he chuckled softly. “Though I pity every man who would dare to reduce her to being one to her face. She’d likely make him feel her disagreement by sword.”
Still smiling fondly, Jaime stretched out by the fire. He scooted backwards, so that he wouldn’t accidently get burned if he happened to roll over in his sleep, and closed his eyes. He hoped that sleep would find him quickly.
‘Fuck loyalty!’
Brienne’s outburst in the Dragonpit suddenly came back to his mind, and Jaime’s eyes shot open again. Fuck loyalty! He’d never thought he’d hear her utter something like that. The way she’d grabbed his arm and had spat those words at him, eyes blazing with fire… Jaime had been stunned, to say the least. Stunned and shocked and… it had been such an unlikely thing for her to say… and yet it had been utterly justified. The time of houses and oaths was over, she’d said. There were more important things to consider…
More important than loyalty and honour?
Well, look where his fucking loyalty had gotten him! So, yes, perhaps… Brienne had been right.
Olenna Tyrell had perhaps been right, too. Cersei was a disease, she’d said. A disease that had infected him, that had spread further and further, beyond even Jaime’s control. He’d admitted it then, to the old lady. It had gone well beyond his control.
Or had it?
Perhaps, by leaving, Jaime had managed to take his first sip of medicine. Would he ever be free of this disease? Would he ever make a full recovery?
He doubted it. But perhaps it didn’t matter.
Perhaps all that mattered was that he wasn’t lying on his deathbed anymore.
TBC