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Cruel To Be Kind
Jaime Lannister knows how to be cruel. He uses it like a knight uses a shield in battle. It's easy for him to twist his smile in such a way that it appears kind all the while his mouth says words to cut like a dagger. Sweet japes soaked in vinegar and venom. He knows how and he uses the skill well. He even uses it to break his own heart while destroying the only truly pure thing he has ever had. Brienne's broken and sobbing face has stayed with him since the moment he rode away from her. It's the first thing he thinks about in the morning and the last thing he sees before his dreams take him to a darker place.
A place where his hands (always two), that used to caress his sister's smooth throat in the throes of lust, turn into iron pressing the life from her as he chokes her. The dreams always start the same, in Cersei's room, her cruel smile a mirror of his own, her eyes boring into his as she takes the knife in her hand and slices Brienne's throat open. He can never get there in time. He can never do anything to save his lady knight from the death his sister gives her, but he always kills his once lover after. Tears always fall, because even though this didn't happen and now will never happen, the fear is always there. A constant reminder that if he had stayed with Brienne and Cersei had won, that would have been the fate of his brave warrior. Cersei would have killed her. As a joke, as a way to show her dominance over him, as a way to tell him without words that she still owned him.
She didn't in the end. Jaime wasn't hers. He belonged to someone else, still belongs to someone else, even if that person didn't know or care any more. The thought tears at him. Brienne had always cared for him in some way or another, even when she didn't like him and he was the kingslayer to her. The giant woman protected him and forced him to live when all he wanted to do was die. She washed his broken body, wiped the vomit from his beard and cleaned the shit from his ass as men leered and mocked. She did it all with gentle, caring hands. Later that care turned and changed. Love bloomed from her endlessly blue eyes and he basked in the warmth, even while knowing he didn't deserve it. Now he is certain that warm was gone, replaced by hurt that he set there with brutal words and cool indifference.
He always was great at being hateful. Isn't that what he said to her? He was and is hateful. And she didn't deserve it. Jaime did it any way. He had his reasons, but reasons be damned. It didn't change anything. The end was the same. Brienne was alone and heartbroken in the courtyard of Winterfell and it was because of him.
The trial for his life is short. More a formality than anything. Jon was there when it happened. The stoic man had seen the madness take hold as Cersei screamed for death and pain to all that stood in her way. He had seen Jaime beg his sister to stop and think. Jon watched the moment Jaime knew what he had come to do would have to be done as he quickly grabbed his sister's body to him and pierced her heart with the dagger he had seen on the table. They both sank the the floor. Blood covered them. Her last breaths against his cheek. His tears in her hair. Whispered words fell from his lips, 'I'm sorry.' 'Why did you make me do it? 'Stupid, foolish woman. I loved you.
At the end of trial, he was pardoned. A laugh escapes his lips, bitter taste in his mouth. He is free again. It seems killing queens has no more consequence than killing a king did. The moniker changes slightly. Kingslayer becomes Kinslayer but it doesn't matter to him any more. Those words don't hurt as much as hearing her begging him to stay while he pushed away from her does.
It's months after he last held Cersei in his arms that he finally finds the courage to head back. The road is long and he pushes his mount to the point of exhaustion every day. He fears that if he wastes even a second more time, she'll be closed off completely to him. And those fears are the ones that have hope. Most hours of the day he's convinced he'll meet her sword long before he meets her lips. If Brienne decides to see him at all that is, she'd have the right to refuse him. He hopes she won't. He hopes she will. Jaime hopes that the cruelty he honed didn't kill her innocence completely.
He knows it did. Another reason to hate himself. Add it to the pile, he thinks resentfully.
The walls of Winterfell appear finally and he tenses at the gate. This is it. Moment of truth and he is terrified. Bowing his head he kicks his mount and moves forward. The northern men glare at him. The northern women watch him with curiosity. He ignores them all. His green eyes swiftly glancing around, desperate to see her and scared at what he'll find when he does.
He does find blue eyes staring at him. Not the ones he wants but ones he knows he'll have to face all the same. He gracefully jumps from his horse, tying the beast up and walks slowly towards Lady Sansa. Her pale pink lips tighten a small amount but she doesn't curse him on sight.
“Lady Sansa,” he bows.
“Ser Jaime,” she greets back with a lift of her brow. “I didn't expect to see you in Winterfell again. Not with the way you left so suddenly.” He swallows and stays quiet. The young woman before him eyes him. “May I inquire about what brings you here. No more dead to fight. So that's not a reason any longer.”
“You know why I'm here,” he says to her lowly, a darkness to his words. He isn't in the mood for games. He is anxious enough. “Where is Brienne?”
Sansa doesn't say anything for a moment before she takes a deep breath and replies, “Not here.”
His insides turn to ice, “When is she coming back?”
“I don't know if she will come back,” Sansa wraps her arms around her middle.
“What's that supposed to mean,” he can feel panic raising now.
“Ser Brienne had to leave,” the red head shrugs, but he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, “She's gone and I don't know when or if she will return.” Her voice, which has been so hard, turns soft, “I hope she does.”
“Are you going to tell me where she is?” Jaime wants to shake her. Demand the information from her but he just tightens his fist and stands there waiting.
It takes her a moment to respond, but when she does the hardness is back, “No.”
With that she turns on her heel and walks back into her home. Jaime shakes with rage and almost acts on his previous urge to shake the girl, instead he follows her. She walks calmly in front of him, seemingly unaware of how close he is to unleashing his anger on her. Once they enter a small room that is almost taken up entirely with a large table Sansa sits and glares at him. He shifts from foot to foot.
The silence stretches until he can't take it any longer, “Tell me where she is.”
Sansa smiles. Her lips turn at the corners but there is no warmth behind the expression. The coolness of her tone shows she too knows how to use mercilessness as weapon. Cersei taught her well. Littlefinger gave her a master class in the game. “Why should I?” She tips her head up, “Brienne doesn't want to see you.”
The words are a blow to the stomach and knock the wind out of him, “She said that?” He doesn't want to know the answer but he needs it. He sits in the seat across from her, pleading with her with his eyes to tell him the truth. No matter which truth that ends up being. “She told you she doesn't want to see me?”
Can you really blame her if she did, his mind snaps. You did this. You waited too long. You didn't love her the way she deserved to be loved and now she doesn't want you. Mission accomplished you fucker.
Sansa shifts slightly. Her eyes soften only a touch, but it's enough to show him she isn't as heartless as she wants to appear. It gives him hope. Stupid, useless, totally unjustified hope. She leans forward in her chair and folds her hands on the rough surface of the table.
“No,” she finally admits, surprising herself it appears with the truth. “She didn't say the words.” He releases the breath he doesn't know he is holding in, it makes him feel lightheaded. Her next words tighten his chest once more, “But Ser Jaime,” she pauses and adjust her position, “if she wanted you to know where she was, why wouldn't she tell you herself?” Sansa eyes him again. “She could have sent you a raven, but I suspect she didn't believe you would care one way or another.”
“I care,” he speaks mostly to himself but she hears it all the same.
“You have a very unkind way of showing it,” she answers back with thinly covered anger. Jaime sees the way she looks at him and knows without a doubt she's fighting for her friend now. Sansa is standing up for Brienne in a way only a true friend would. Guarding her sworn sword's heart in the way Brienne guards her body. “You broke her. She deserved better than you leaving her in the cold. It would have been kinder to never show up in the first place than to give her a reason to believe only to rip it from her.”
“I,” he starts and then stops because what can he say.
“Why do you want to know where she is,” she presses him. “Why did you come back here after months? What could you possibly say to her now that you couldn't have said moons ago in a raven?”
I'm here because I didn't want to leave. I came back because I'm dead inside and I only feel alive with Brienne's arms around me. I didn't send a raven because she wouldn't have believed it. I want her, need her, love her.
She waits for his answer. He stays quiet. His reasons are not for her. His apologies are not for her ears. He only owes them to Brienne. His only debt is to her.
“If you won't tell me,” he stands, looming over her. She doesn't flinch. “I'll find her myself. I'll search this whole fucking world until I find her. Good day, Lady Sansa.” He turns on his heels, already trying to think of a place to start when her voice stops him.
“Tarth,” his heart pounds in gratitude. Jaime turns to face her again. Her blue eyes conflicted. “Don't make me regret telling you that. Don't hurt her again. If you do, I'll use my father's sword that your family stole and run you through.”
He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. He nods instead. “Thank you.”
Sansa nods back to him and pulls some papers toward her, ending the conversation. He takes a deep breath and smiles to himself. Tarth. He did think the island was beautiful when he passed it all those moons ago. It's time to see for himself if the waters really did match her eyes.