Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Brienne sheaths her sword at Ser Goodwin’s behest and holds the hilt in one hand and the scabbard in the other as she follows him back into the keep of Evenfall hall. Her father has called upon her, has not come to find her himself, and she holds onto her weapon as though it were her only tether.

Only three other times has her father summoned her as such. The first to tell her that her first betrothed had passed, the next to tell her that he had made her a second match, the last to tell her that he had made her a third.

“Lord Selwyn, I have found you Lady Brienne,” Ser Goodwin says as she steps into her father’s solar. Ser Goodwin shuts the door behind her.

Inside the solar there is now only her and Lord Selwyn Tarth, who looks at her with tired eyes and the final sparks of a fading hope.

Brienne knows that she still cannot refuse her father, even after her failed betrothals to Ser Ronnet Connington and Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, the latter of which had only been ended two years past.

“My daughter, please sit,” Selwyn implores as he gestures at the chair across from him. Brienne sits and places her sword on her lap. Selwyn looks down at it wistfully before looking back up into her eyes. “Brienne…” he starts.

Brienne can’t help but flinch as her knuckles turn white, gripping her weapon. Memories of men that have treated her unjustly race through her mind.

Selwyn gives her his softest smile, “Lord Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock has finally decided that he wishes to find a wife and wed.”

“Has he?” Brienne asks quietly as she shuffles her feet nervously. Lord Jaime Lannister. Everyone recognizes the name. He is the best swordsman in the realm, the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, the Warden of the West, a cunning military commander with cutting wit, and then there is also his rumored ethereal beauty. He is also known to be ruthless in war, cruel as his late Lord father, and one to bed his, just as beautiful, twin sister.

Selwyn sits up and reaches over to her and gently touches her hand, “He has invited every unwed high-born lady across Westeros to Casterly Rock so that he may meet and choose between them all at once.”

Brienne frowns and meets her father’s eye, “That sounds…”

“Preposterous, I know,” Selwyn says and rubs his face, “But it is what he wishes and we cannot overlook his request.” Or this opportunity, he doesn’t say.

“You wish for me to try and wed Lord Jaime Lannister.”

“I wish for you to go and meet Lord Jaime Lannister.”

Brienne tries to give her father a small smile although she acknowledges there is more truth in her own words. She then chews her lower lip and nods. “I will go to Casterly Rock and… meet Lord Jaime Lannister.”

“You will not bring your morningstar or sword,” Selwyn adds, a demand rather than a request.

Brienne bows her head and grips her sword, “I will not bring my morningstar or sword.”

“And while you are within the walls of Casterly Rock—“

“I shall wear my gowns.”

“Thank you, my daughter,” Selwyn sighs and touches her cheek. Brienne resists the urge to pull away, “If only it could have been another way, I would have you swinging that blade in my courtyard every day.”

Brienne tries to smile at her father as they both think of the heir their island had long lost. “If only.”

Chapter Text

Ravens land in the rookery every day as noble houses across the realm confirm that their daughters will be arriving within a moon’s turn to grace the halls of Casterly Rock.

Jaime leaves the ravens to the maesters, not caring which houses respond to Tyrion’s invitation and which houses wish to send more than one lady. He, quite frankly, does not care who comes to Casterly Rock, only that he will find someone to love and cherish among those who do.

Jaime has only loved one woman his whole life, has only wanted to marry and produce a pride of lions with her.

And foolishly he had thought that she had felt the same way for him too.

Then Cersei had married.

But that marriage had been at the behest of their undeniable father and Jaime had still been welcome in her bed. He had also believed he was still the only one in her heart. When after her first husband died, Jaime had hoped for her hand once again.

Instead, she had chosen another.

However, this match was for the sake of the peace of the realm. Or so Jaime had told himself as they had lain together in the cloak of darkness, their love once again never welcome to the light. But then her second husband passed as well and Jaime expressed still that he wished to wed her. Cersei had been indefinitely returned to the Rock, their father dead and buried, peace ruled the realm, but again and still…

Cersei simply did not want to marry him.

Rather, Jaime discovered Cersei would rather bed their cousins and his soldiers, his captains and his bannermen, would rather love and lay with power and control than to wed and love and stay true to him.

A fool, Jaime deemed himself upon gaining this vast and unwelcome repertoire of knowledge. A fool who had never held the whole of her heart and was only just recovering pieces of his own from her coiling grasp.

A lovelorn fool, who could have married fiery Catelyn Tully or sweet Elia Martell decades past, but had turned them all down for faith of his sister.

Now, as Jaime anxiously waits for the rooms of Casterly Rock to fill, he only hopes that he can find it within himself to love and trust someone else after 32 years of having his heart crushed in twain. He doesn’t know if he is capable, but he hopes. He hopes that he can love again without the fear of being hurt clouding him. He knows, now, the feeling of having his heart torn out and mangled, but he can’t abide a life where he cannot give his heart to another. Love must exist. Love must be true. Or else… what is he at all?

It is a crazy bid, he knows, to have all the ladies of the realm descend upon the Rock at once and hope to find someone singular, someone he will love and will love him back, someone who will take care of his heart, among the flock of them.

But he has waited for requited love all his life and he doesn’t want to wait any longer.

Chapter Text

Brienne does not bring a morningstar or a sword with her to Casterly Rock as she had promised her father. Instead, she brings her closest companion, a small mutt that she had found in the forests of Tarth when it was but a puppy and had cared for ever since. The dog still lives in the wild, not taking to the restrictions of home and keep, but it always comes to her when she calls to eat her scraps, lick away her tears, and remind her there are things in this world that need love.

At the Rock, her dog’s penchant for the wild is fortuitous for it becomes quickly and abundantly clear that the castle already has many mouths to feed and bodies to house. Her scruffy companion would simply not be welcome within the keep.

After she watches her furry friend disappear into the under bush of the forest, Brienne turns and gawks in wonder as her father’s bannerman escorts her to the foyer where Lord Jaime’s younger brother, Lord Tyrion Lannister, is efficiently doling out rooms and information about the castle, grounds, and Lannisport to all of the newly arriving guests. Casterly Rock is easily five times the size of Evenfall, staffed ten times as well, and is buzzing alive with the steady arrival of ladies hoping for Lord Jaime’s hand, just like her.

When Tyrion lays eyes on her and she lays eyes on him, an immediate understanding permeates the air between them. Tyrion treats her just like any other lady he has met before and it is like a breath of fresh air to not have a man stare and furrow their brows at the mere existence of her face; she also treats him like any other lord she has ever had the pleasure of meeting and indeed he proves to be much more of a pleasure than any lord she has ever met. They look at each other square in the eye, both acknowledging the hilarity of their height difference, but do not comment on their shared commonalities. He smiles at her as he hands her a folded parchment of information, his mismatched eyes happy despite the grueling and mundane task thrust upon him over the next sennight.

Her father’s bannerman leaves her the moment that he feels she is secure in the Rock and her possessions have been taken by the servants assigned briefly to her care.

When Brienne is led to her designated room and she sees the view she has from her small terrace, she wonders if being ugly has finally come in use for something. The horizon of the sunset sea, the twinkling lights of Lannisport, the gardens of the castle her view for the next moon’s turn. Her room is even close to the stairs leading out to the courtyard, which leads to the castle grounds, which leads to the forest where her friend will be waiting for her.

Brienne grips the bannister and laughs for the first time since her father told her about her journey west, the wind catching her gown and tussling her hair. She breathes in the familiar and fresh sea air.

-///-///-///-

Below, with a practice sword in hand and his best friend, Addam, by his side, hidden away in the courtyard and as to not to get immediately accosted by the arriving ladies, Lord Jaime Lannister smiles. He wonders who is enjoying Casterly Rock so much so that they should have such a wonderfully exuberant laugh. He hopes that he will meet her soon.

Chapter Text

Brienne visits her companion in the woods often, especially after activities that require for her to act as a dainty and refined lady, of which either, she is assuredly not. Lord Jaime and Lord Tyrion’s sister, Lady Cersei Lannister, and many of the other ladies in attendance have found her to be grotesque and amusing, digging their claws into her whenever they can. Brienne is used to this treatment, but it still hurts when they don’t even try to hide their snickers and laughs as she stumbles through her curtseys and clatters her cups and saucers during tea.

Long ago her father had told her that words are wind, and he is right. But she has learnt that wind can hurt, can push you until you teeter then fall. However, Brienne is still braced and standing on her own two feet. She wants… needs to believe that someday the wind will stop howling and the hurt will end.

But for now she visits her only friend and takes in the happiness she can.

“Pod,” she calls as she ambles through the forest, “Pod, please come to me. I will give you belly scratches and love.” Brienne waits for just a moment before a ball of fur bursts from the bushes and flies into her chest, all lolling tongue and slobbery kisses.

Brienne laughs as she sits against an old stone well. She pets her companion and feeds it the scraps she has stolen away from her midday meal. Little scraggaly Pod eats the scraps merrily and after, lies upon her lap, contented, with her fingers buried behind his ears.

She stays with Pod until the sun begins to dip back down towards the horizon, the ladies will not miss her.

When she must leave him again to the trees, she doesn’t notice the cruel emerald eyes that have been watching her delightedly through the leaves.

-///-///-///-

Cersei hates what her brothers have done. She hates this charade that Jaime is playing to punish her. And she knows that it is their damn monstrous little brother that has put her Jaime up to this farce. She knows that he is hers. She knows that he is merely trying to force her hand, trying to convince her to wed him by threatening her with his own impending marriage. But she, of all people, knows that marriage isn’t forever. They are forever, her and Jaime.

So Cersei schemes and wheedles her way into socializing with the ladies during the first days while Tyrion is busy doing servant’s work and Jaime is away in Lannisport. By the time Jaime returns or Tyrion realizes what she’s done, she is too ingrained in the whole affair for them to simply pluck her out. By the first evening she has already sent a handful of them running home with tears in their dull eyes.

She is the Light of the West. Her beauty should overwhelm these boorish women. They should be scared of her cutting intellect. They should go back to where they belong, licking the boots of the Lannister’s, rather than trying to wed above their station.

Jaime is hers.

He will always be hers.

And she will rid this castle of every last one of these whores for him.

Several days into the steady influx of more ladies than Cersei can send scurrying home, arrives a girl that Cersei thinks will be too easy of a mark, though the term “girl” would be putting it much too kindly. Cersei thinks it will only take an hour before the tall, ugly, mannish sow represented by a crest Cersei does not even care to recognize runs crying home.

But the dreadful beast doesn’t.

She stays day after day, bearing the brunt of Cersei’s cruelty, her face still as sullen and ugly as when she had first walked within the halls. The other ladies no longer fear Cersei’s wrath, for how terrifying can she be if this unsightly and ungainly maid can so easily endure the brunt of her blows.

So Cersei follows her after tea one day, to find out how she can best cut into the heart of this beast.

And she finds the perfect way.

The next day, after their midday meal, Cersei sends the grotesque creature with the other ladies to walk about the grounds to smell the lovely roses, taking pleasure in the fall of the girl’s face as she nods her acquiescence. Cersei is tempted for a moment to stay, just to watch the woman stumble about trying to take small, diminutive steps, but she manages to pull herself away.

Cersei whisks to the forest.

“Pod,” Cersei calls out once she is among the trees, deepening her voice to near that of a man’s, “Pod, please come to me. I will give you belly scratches and love.” Cersei tries not to cackle at the stupidity of the words she sings.

The small miscreant pokes its head out of the bushes, but when it sights her. It does not move any closer.

Cersei simply smirks and leaves the mongrel a napkin of scraps to eat before she turns and leaves. The smirk grows on her face as she hears the animal gnawing on the meat.

Chapter Text

Brienne isn’t able to go and spend time with Pod again until the sun is low in the sky. She leaves the dining hall as quickly and as inconspicuously as she can, which isn’t all that inconspicuous at all, if Cersei’s eyes gleaming at her have anything to say about it. Brienne treads quickly through the forest, calling for Pod, promising him belly rubs and love, expecting her furry friend to hurl himself at her at any moment.

But he does not come.

Becoming more and more panicked, Brienne picks up her skirts and beings to run through the thick under bush. Twigs and leaves get caught in her rose coloured gown ripping at the much too delicate lace and silk until she reaches the place where she had met Pod last, by the old stone well, where she halts her movement.

There she finds him.

Tears come burning to her eyes.

Crows have somehow already picked the meat on his small body clean away. Only his fur and bones are left, unnaturally bleached in the setting sun. Her friend looks a fortnight decayed rather than just the day since she had last seen him.

Brienne stumbles to her knees by Pod’s side, dropping her food scraps to the ground. She tentatively reaches out her hand and touches the rough patches of his torn fur with a furtive finger and the tears fall.

Although a wild creature, Pod’s fur had always been unbearably soft ever since she had first found him and washed him, grooming the knots and tangles away. His breath was always warm and wet upon her face and his body was always moving with excited breaths as though there wasn’t enough air in the world to supply the rapid beating of his happy tail.

Brienne gathers Pod’s remains in her large hands and cries and cries and then wonders if her father will scold her for returning home without having seen Lord Jaime Lannister at all.

As she morosely contemplates how she is to return to the Stormlands, the light of the sun casts pink and orange into the heavens, the evening star winking to life in the twilight sky, a faint and gentle guiding light. The shape of a hand touches her shoulder.

But, when she startles and turns around there is no one there.

However, there is a voice, lulling and lilting inside her head.

“Don’t cry any longer,” it whispers and soothes her aching soul, “Take your companion and bury him within your hearth at the Rock and then he will forever be by your side.”

Brienne doesn’t know why she listens to the voice. Burying Pod’s fur and bones in her room at the Rock will hardly keep her friend with her when she leaves, but she feels compelled to do it anyways. Grief, she suspects, is what drives her to do the inane. So she gathers the fur and bones in the folds of her torn gown and brings them back to the halls of Casterly Rock and into the safety of her room.

Brienne buries Pod within the ashes of her hearth, his white bones blending yet contrasting with the ash, and then sleeps fitfully on the floor near the fire as a new flame flickers and spreads warmth on her face.

She dreams that it is Pod licking the salt from her cheeks.

Chapter Text

All of the ladies that will come to Casterly Rock have now arrived at Casterly Rock and Brienne’s hands shake as Lady Cersei walks between the tables of the small room where it seems like hundreds of them are cramped tightly together and are seated in uncomfortably close proximity. Although it is already warm outside, and the multitude of bodies have made it warmer, Cersei has ordered the maids to tend to the hearths, fires blazing to stifle the guests in the small hall even more.

There are many ladies from the great houses of the realm, there are their cousins, and then there are many like her, whom come from the many minor noble houses. It is obvious that the Tyrell’s have sent every available maiden to Casterly Rock in the hope of having even one of them attract the attentions of Lord Jaime Lannister, and it is obvious that many others are here out of duty, knowing they will never be chosen, just like her.

Brienne swears that Lady Cersei levels her with a piercing stare, her teeth bearing in distaste, but then she passes by, her gown swishing at her feet. Brienne wonders why it is that she has seen the lady more often in her time here at the Rock than the lord that they are meant to woo and marry. Indeed, she had not caught sight of Lord Jaime Lannister during her time here at all.

Her question is quickly answered as Lord Tyrion enters the cramped hall, Lord Jaime, tall and splendid, by his side. Both brothers look displeased at the arrangement the moment they enter, immediately pulling at their collars from the insufferable heat in the room, but the non-verbal spar they seem to have with their sister is lost as they sit in chairs set upon a raised dias, Lord Tyrion staring at Lord Jaime irritably.

Brienne’s eyes widen, as do many of the other women’s in the room, as she gazes upon the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, the Warden of the West, the aptly named golden lion of Lannister. His beauty is as they had say: golden curls, a defined chin, high cheek bones, cat-like eyes, a defined and muscular body, and Brienne once again feels that she is far out of her depth. She feels her face involuntarily flush at her sheer attraction to the man.

“You will all embroider a handkerchief,” Cersei suddenly commands and Brienne’s eyes leave the lord and swirl to the baskets on the tables in front of her. The moment her gaze break from him, she regains herself and remembers who she is… what she is and what she knows of him. “If you cannot perform this one simple task, then you will not be allowed to attend the ball overmorrow. My brother will not have a heathen for a wife.”

Brienne sees Lord Tyrion rolling his eyes at his sister’s declaration and Lord Jaime shift in his chair uncomfortably, although he does not disapprove so overtly. Perhaps he agrees with his sister’s task and Brienne has travelled all this way for naught.

She is handed a golden handkerchief by one of the sweet maids. It is the colour of the starburst on her crest and her thumbs smooth over the opulent fabric. She knows this is a fruitless task for her. She has never been able to embroider well, even when her hands were still small, and feels again that she should just go home. Why hadn’t she just written to her father requesting to be escorted back to Tarth? If Lord Jaime wants a wife who can embroider and sew, he will not find that sort of wife in her.

The gentle voice from the forest returns. “You must try,” it says kindly, but also forcibly and Brienne feels oddly obliged to listen although she knows, knows that it is futile. The feeling she has is like how she feels compelled to pray every time she steps within the walls of a sept.

Brienne swallows and bows her head, reaching for a small needle and a silver spool of thread. She has come all this way. She has lost her only friend for this journey. As she slowly threads her needle with shaking hands, she tells herself that she must try, even if she is destined to fail.

Chapter Text

Cersei sniggers as she sifts through the red and gold handkerchiefs, the regal colours of House Lannister spoiled by the hands of whores. The embroidery on all of the fabrics is either tasteless or poor. She cackles and delights in casting the worst ones to the floor.

The door swings opens and her twin enters the room, a deep frown on his face after the afternoon’s event. “What are you doing Cersei?” Jaime demands as he bends down to gather up the discarded squares of cloth.

“You should see the stitching of some of these so called ladies who have come to wed you brother,” Cersei sneers as she looks up at him, her golden hair falling around her face like a lion’s mane and her emerald eyes shining in disdain.

Jaime rubs the bridge of his nose with one hand as the other clenches around the fabrics in his hand, “I go to Lannisport to deal with trade affairs for one night and return to the news that you have chased off some of our guests and now—“

“Do you really believe the words of our impish little brother? Those ladies left of their own volition,” Cersei huffs, but her lips pull up where her twin can not see.

Jaime’s eyes can’t help but soften as he gazes down at the woman he has long loved. Although he was trying to move on from her, a part of his heart still aches for her every time he sees her, still wants to wait because surely someday she will want to be his wife. But then he remembers her other betrayals and his heart aches a little bit less. “And now you have required my guests to perform these menial tasks telling them they are obligatory to attend my ball. I do not wish for this Cersei. They will all attend the ball and they are free to do as they wish as my guests on our grounds. I will have no more of your interference!” He doesn’t understand Cersei’s little game. When they were younger, innocent golden children without a care in the world and he first loved her, it was as though they were of one mind. Now he feels he understands her naught at all. She doesn’t want him, so why is she acting the jealous lover?

Cersei pulls out a red handkerchief with a lop sided lion’s head embroidered in the centre, “Look at this pretentious thing. This one hopes to sew the lion of Lannister the rest of her life.”

Jaime clenches his jaw and places the handkerchiefs in his hand on the table, away from Cersei’s reach so they will not be, once again, callously casted to the floor. He stops when he comes upon a golden square with a sword hapzardly embroidered into the fabric. The blade is not straight, the point is not quite sharp, the hilt is lopsided, but with his warrior’s eye, he can see that the sword is still somehow finely balanced.

A strange warmth blooms in his heart.

The design immediately endears itself to him and he turns away from Cersei to tuck the handkerchief under his doublet, close to his heart. “All of them will attend the ball, sweet sister and you will stop this madness.”

Cersei sneers and turns her nose into the air, “If you wish to dance with lumbering sows, brother mine.”

Jaime leaves her before she can say more.

Chapter Text

Brienne sits in front of her hearth, the red and orange flames dancing in her eyes. Between the stress of her departure from Tarth, her treatment at the Rock by Lady Cersei, and the death of her faithful companion, she had not put much thought into what the main event at Casterly Rock would be for Lord Jaime to meet all of the ladies of the realm. A ball. Of course it was a ball.

She closes her eyes and remembers the laughter of the boys of Tarth, of the houses of the Stormlands as they had mocked her. They had danced with her, acting like perfect gentlemen, but had laughed at her clumsy steps and awkward gait behind her back. She had returned home from that ball, with tears in her eyes, praying that she would never have to attend another.

But here she is, about to attend another ball, no better a dancer, and her best gown torn and ripped. The other gowns she brought with her will make due for the ball, no gowns truly look well on her, but her torn gown had been the soft rose colour of her crest. Although she looked pallid in it, it had still been a small comfort from home.

The day she had found Pod was the day she had lost all of her comforts from home, she supposes.

And then the voice comes again. “Douse the fire, seek your comforts in the ashes,” it says.

Brienne, still not caring that she has probably slowly been going mad with grief and anxiety, allows her raging hearth to burn to glowing embers and then for those charcoals to cool. Once the ashes were as cold as the night around her, Brienne digs her hands deep into the hearth and instead of finding fur and bones, her fingers slides against silk and steel.

In shock, Brienne sifts through the debris and instead of the last vestiges of Pod’s bones in her fireplace, there is a sword. The blade is black with rippling fire, the hilt gold with rubies shining as the eyes of a somewhat canine pommel. She pulls the sword from the cinders, the weapon being impossibly long for the depth of her hearth and then she pulls out the bundle of silk that had lain beside it. The ashes fall off the fabric like snow as Brienne unfurls the bundle, a pristine, silk, azure tunic, as soft as Pod's fur had once been, and black leather breeches rolls out onto her lap.

In her hearth she has found the two things that her father had made her promise not to bring with her to Casterly Rock.

Brienne feels tears prickle at the corner of her eyes and she clutches the beautiful gifts against her chest as sobs wrack through her. She thanks the voice… and she thanks Pod.

Chapter Text

Brienne enters the ballroom dressed in her blue silk tunic, her black leather breeches and her knee high boots. Lord Tyrion announces her arrival to the ball with a little bit more flourish than he had the previous lady, appraises her with a fine eye, and then raises his eyebrow at the sword tied precariously to her hip with long, strips of rose fabric, torn from her ruined gown. “Lady Brienne,” he says and takes her hand, kissing the knuckles. His eyes sparkle as he looks up, up, up at her.

“Lord Tyrion,” Brienne replies and bows instead of curtsies, knowing that doing so could possibly send her off her feet. She has decided to do what is comfortable for her now rather than what is expected. It never should have been any other way. Brienne the lady was never going to win Lord Jaime’s heart and if by the grace of the Gods she somehow had, it would have been through deception and lies. She is a noble woman, she is a Lady, but she is also not a lady and that is just something about her that will have to be accepted.

Tyrion laughs merrily as his hand guides her in towards the hall, “I hope to find you again before the night ends. You are certainly of the interesting sort, My Lady, and I so do enjoy interesting things.”

Brienne nods at him, not smiling, but feeling warm nonetheless, “I wouldn’t say that My Lord.”

Tyrion shakes his head and her hand slips out of his though the tips of his fingers curl as though he is reluctant to let her go. But let her go he does and then he turns to the next lady making her way into the ballroom.

Brienne tries not to quiver as she walks through the crowds to get to the shadowed walls. Most of the guests seem to automatically assume that she is a man, one of many who have come to take advantage of the event to find their own wife, but some of the ladies she had spent the last sennight with do a double take when they realize that she is one of them.

The eyes that fall upon her burn her skin and she skims along the walls and tries to stay out of sight.

Past the heads of the people around her, she sees Lord Jaime dancing dance after dance with every woman that comes his way. His smile often seems stilted, the emotion not reaching his eyes, and sometimes when he opens his mouth, his dance with his partner suddenly ends as she skitters away near tears or even crying.

Brienne thinks that he is probably as cruel as they say he is, especially if he is anything like his sister. Those poor women he is scaring are off have probably found themselves on the wrong end of his cutting wit. She does not want to be the target of his mockery, will not lower herself to that station.

She will not lower herself to begging for a dance with Lord Jaime, unless he asks to dance with her first and so, Brienne lifts her chin and thinks, maybe she will be able to go through the night without dancing at all.

As the evening wanes and all of the guests housed in Casterly Rock arrive to the ballroom, Brienne sees that Lord Tyrion has finally found time to escape from the entrance, another Lord of the Westerlands with copper hair taking his place.

“My Lady?”

Brienne startles and looks down. She thinks it odd that she merely has to think of the little lord for him to appear before her. “Lord Tyrion, I’m glad to see that you are now able to join the festivities.”

His eyes twinkle as he scans the room, “Oh yes, festivities,” he chuckles, “my brother must regret his idea right about now. Possibly even ten dances ago when his feet surely got sore.”

They both look over to Lord Jaime, who is still dancing, each dance shorter than the last as he tires of his partners quicker and quicker. “It was a…” Brienne pauses and Tyrion looks at her from the corner of his eye and nods with a silent chuckle bursting from his mouth, “… foolish idea.”

“The mad idea of a lovelorn fool whom simply wishes that he could finally find the one.”

Brienne looks at Tyrion in surprise.

Tyrion smiles at her, “Is it such a shock to learn that my brother is a romantic like no other?”

“Is he now?”

Tyrion nods with such a fond look on his veneer as Lord Jaime once again dismisses a woman only a few steps into the next dance, “I think he has an idea in his head of who he wants and his partners are quickly refuting that notion.”

Brienne couldn’t help herself now that Tyrion had given her just a little leeway, “Is he looking for the greatest beauty in Westeros? For she does walk these halls.”

Tyrion casts her a sharp look and Brienne feels that she has misspoken. But then he relaxes and smiles in the direction of his brother, “He is looking for a great beauty, but he knows better now than to just use his eyes.”

Brienne swallows and excuses herself. Tyrion lets her go, not even casting a glance her way. Brienne finds her way out onto the courtyard and takes big gaping breaths of fresh air, wondering how close she had gotten to having her head removed from her shoulders.

“You must dance at a ball,” urges the voice.

And so to calm herself and dance the only way she knows how, Brienne unsheathes her sword and allows the moonlight to reflect off the blade.

The weapon whips through the air as though it is an extension of her own arm, the ripples of fire lapping at the golden hilt as Brienne steps into the movements of her familiar drill.

Slash, step, lunge, step, step, swing.

After what feels like a moment or an eternity, Brienne hears a rustle behind her. She turns on her heel, her sword out in front of her, and sees that Lord Jaime Lannister is leaning against the castle wall staring at her. “My Lord,” she says as she quickly lowers her weapon, shivers, and bows. If Jaime Lannister is anything like Humfery Wagstaff, she knows she will not be able to get away with trying to break his bones.

Jaime Lannister regards her for a moment, his emerald eyes shining in the night, his lips pursed in the straight line. She quivers in place, the light of the moon making him glow as her eyes rake across his fine form.

Then a smile graces his lips, lighting up his eyes, his face, everything about him. Brienne thinks that she was foolish to think that he was beautiful before. Now, with happiness saturating him, he is stunning. She had known nothing then. She knows it now.

“My Lady…” Jaime pauses and looks at her imploringly.

“Brienne of Tarth.”

He seems to play with the name in his mouth before it melts like sugar from his lips, “My Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

“Yes, My Lord,” she squeaks as he pushes off the wall and walks toward her.

He pulls out a neatly folded cloth from his sleeve and shakes it out, “I was foolish to still hold the ball once I found this. It would have made more sense to hold a tournament if I wanted to…” he says, his eyes soft as he holds out a handkerchief to her, “This is your work? Is it not?”

Brienne sees the sword that she had embroidered on the gold cloth a mere two days ago. She had chosen the shape due to its straight lines and familiarity, and nods mutely.

Jaime sighs as he thumbs the fabric and folds it back up again carefully. He then places it under his doublet, near his heart. “Then you are the one I have been looking for all this night.”

Brienne’s mouth gapes open, “But the stitching…”

Jaime frowns, “The other women deigned to say that the stitching was uneven and the blade was crooked. I sent them away. Don’t say the same, I wish for you to stay.”

Brienne’s mouth snaps close and her cheeks flush as her eyes sweep over his face.

His gaze falls to her sword and the smile on his face turns wicked, “Do you dance, My Lady?”

“What?” Brienne asks.

Lord Jaime Lannister pulls unsheathes his own blade, shifting so that he is in a fighter’s stance, and he asks her again, “My Lady Brienne of Tarth, would you be so kind as to give me one dance?”

Chapter Text

Brienne stares into Jaime’s eyes and sees them spark with life. Slowly she raises her own blade and shifts her centre of weight so it is lower to the ground.

They say no words, but their blades whirl through the air in unison, steel clashing against steel. Brienne’s blood sings in her veins as the smirk on Jaime’s face grows each time their swords kiss and she realizes after the third parry that they are playing with live steel.

Jaime is calm though, as he swings his blade, his control beyond that of any other knight she has ever witnessed and she finds that she must use her full strength and every skill she has ever been taught to fend off his blows.

With each strike of his blade, the steels seems to sing louder, deafening her as she moves back and circles, waiting for him to tire, knowing that she does not have enough prowess to get a strike into his defenses.

He does not coddle her. He brings his sword down on her again and again and she feels her bones vibrate with each assault.

He whirls and she follows, he steps and she steps. They move around the courtyard as she tries to use the environment to her advantage. He laughs as he realizes what she is doing, and in that sound she hears no mocking. She finds that she is near laughing as well. Brienne feels that she is having fun.

Finally, a blow lands that rips her blade from her hands; the sword spins, reflecting the light of the moon with each rotation, and skids through the dirt. Her silk tunic is soaked in her sweat and her boots are scuffed. She breathes forcibly, trying to draw air into her lungs as she recovers from the spar.

Jaime grins, a manic grin at her, but then sheathes his sword and walks over to hers. He picks up the enchanted blade, for it must be enchanted to form in her hearth from the bones of her companion, and examines it.

Slowly, Lord Jaime Lannister walks back over to her and looks at her makeshift sword belt and her poorly whittled sheath. “Tomorrow,” he says as he holds out her sword, “We shall go to Lannisport together and get you a belt and scabbard. Ones as finely fashioned as your skill and blade.”

She blinks and breathes, and stares at his face. He is still there, not a dream or a figment of her imagination. He is still waiting for his reply, the words coming out of his mouth real and he is still holding out her sword for her to take. It is too much all at once and she sees that he can see it in her eyes. His smile is soft again as he gazes upon her.

“I wish to call upon you on the morrow Lady Brienne, will you come?” he reiterates.

Her hands shake as she takes the blade from his hands, their fingers brushing. A fire is lit beneath her skin where he has made contact with her and she feels her chest, neck, and face flush with heat. “Why?” she asks quietly.

Lord Jaime Lannister puts his hand over his heart, where he had tucked her handkerchief, and smiles at her, “Because you are the one.”

-///-///-///-           

Although he has asked for her on the morrow, he does not part with her on this eve. Jaime does not return to his own ball, instead they circle the courtyard together and then the grounds, her hand finding its way to his elbow and his fingers interlocking with hers as they meander and speak. At first, it is mostly him doing the talking, but he lights up when ever she deigns to answer his questions and so she begins to speak more as well.

By the time they come to and decide to venture into the dark forest, she has discovered that he is as cunning as they say, but cruel in only the most superficial of ways. He is biting and witty, sharp like a knife and maybe to some he would be considered mean spirited, but she has known his sister and true cruelties beyond that and so sees in him only lightness and the tendency to take a lighthearted jape too far.

They have fallen into a comfortable banter as they walk among the trees, Jaime leading her she knows not where. She finds that she can be herself with him. When she had first tried to hold her tongue for fear and embarrassment, he had pulled and griped at her until she could endure no more. At her first snap, he laughs so joyously that it is how they are now found somewhat to be hand in hand.

Eventually, he leads them to where the trees thin out and they happen upon a meadow. “Come My Lady. I want to show you something,” he says and tugs her through the long grass.

As the reeds whistle around them, fireflies begin to light the air and Brienne gasps in astonishment. “They are like stars,” she murmurs as more and more light up around them until it feels like she is immersed within the midnight sky.

Jaime looks into her eyes and hums, “Indeed they are.”

Chapter Text

The next day, Brienne wakes in the late mid morning, the sun peeking through her curtains and someone knocking on her door.

Septa Donyse measures her for a gown and when Brienne asks her why she is here, the Septa laughs and tells Brienne that Lord Jaime sent her.

After Septa Donyse finishes her task, she helps Brienne cleanse and wear her tunic, breeches, and boots. Brienne can see in the Septa’s eyes that she does not approve of Brienne’s attire, but she holds her tongue, and even smiles slightly when she sees that Brienne is comfortable in the garments.

“Lord Jaime will meet you at the gate, my Lady,” Septa Donyse says before she scurries from Brienne’s chambers, off to have the gown for which she has taken measurements for made.

Brienne makes her way out of the castle and notes that although it is near midday, the grounds are devoid of Casterly’s guests. She remembers that when she had returned from her walk with Jaime the ball was still holding, ample casks of ale had been cracked at Lord Tyrion’s behest, and the noise and revelry had proceeded into the night even as she had decided to turn in for sleep. Jaime had returned to the ball, but not before ensuring her that he would not stay for long. Why he had felt the need to do so, perplexed her.

At the gate, Jaime and Tyrion await her and the brothers share a common twinkle in their eyes. Brienne understands now that the brother’s are much more alike than Jaime is to his twin.

“Lady Brienne,” Tyrion greets as he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles.

Jaime seems to frown for a moment, his brother merry at the expression, before Jaime takes her hand out of Tyrion’s and kisses it too. “Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

“Soon to be Lady Brienne Lannister of Tarth,” Tyrion japes and Brienne flushes. She is about to open her mouth to refute the claim, hurt by Tyrion’s mockery, when she sees that Jaime’s cheeks have turned rosy as well and it stops her in her tracks.

“Ignore him my Lady, he is simply here to be a nuisance to me,” Jaime sniffs as he tugs her hand and guides her to a beautiful mare. “Your steed. I hope I have surmised correctly that you know how to ride?”

Brienne looks at Jaime and nods. He smiles at her and leaves her to mount her horse on her own. Jaime mounts his own stallion and Tyrion waves them off, bouncing cheerily as the gates of Casterly Rock close behind them.

“Will a guard not be coming with us today, My Lord?” Brienne asks.

Jaime shakes his head and pointedly looks at the sword strapped precariously to her side, “My guards will only be a hindrance between you and I, My Lady.”

Brienne stares at him for a moment before his face splits into a grin. She rolls her eyes as he reins his horse so that they touch knees while riding slowly to Lannisport, side by side.

-///-///-///-

In Lannisport they leave the horses to a stable hand that Jaime trusts and walk through the market. “What do you wish to have adorning your belt and scabbard, My Lady?” Jaime asks as they peruse the stalls, the vendors recognizing and jovially greeting their lord.

The way that his people love him endears him more to her. Brienne now understands that many of the rumors about him, which she has heard circulating the Stormlands, have been false. “Just a simple leather belt will do,” Brienne says as she stares wide eyed at all of the stalls.

Jaime smirks and shakes his head as he steers her toward a stand selling leather belts. Brienne looks at the wares and touches a belt dyed such a dark blue that it almost looks like night. Jaime leans over her shoulder as she examines the quality of the leather. “You have a good eye,” Jaime states, his breath brushing her neck and causing her to flush, “This vendor sells some of the best quality leathers in Lannisport, and that is one of those products.”

The vendor smiles at Jaime and bows, “Thank you my Lord. This quality of leather is hard to come by.”

“This must be expensive then,” Brienne muses as she tries to remember how much coin she has in her purse.

“I also sell other products at all price ranges M’Lady,” the vendor states, but then he sees the incredulous expression on his lord’s face, “But you won’t want to see those.”

Brienne picks up the plain belt and marvels at the craftsmanship and the pressed pattern of waves in the leather, “Then I shall get this one.”

Jaime turns to the vendor, “You do commissions, if my memory serves me.”

“For you M’Lord, anything you wish,” the vendor says.

Jaime nods and stops Brienne from digging through her purse and trying to pay. Brienne looks up at him with startled eyes. “I would like to purchase this belt, but also commission another. The same colour and quality, but studded along the edges with silver moons and pressed with suns.”

“My Lord?” Brienne inquires as she blinks owlishly in confusion.

Jaime smirks at her and then turns back to the vendor, “And in the middle of those suns, stud gilded lion heads.”

“Lord Jaime!” Brienne cries out in panic.

The vendor nearly bursts in glee at the commission, “I will have it ready for you on the marrow M’Lord.”

“Please charge it to Casterly’s accounts and have it sent to the castle. My brother needs more paperwork to amuse himself with,” Jaime continues as though Brienne is not berating him through the use of his name. The vendor nods and is about to wrap the belt that he has taken from Brienne’s hands in cloth before Jaime shakes his head, “The Lady will wear that one now and until we receive the other.”

The vendor nods again and hands the belt to Jaime. Brienne’s eyes flash, “I could have purchased both of those belts myself. Tarth does not have gold mines, but it is not poor!”

Jaime smirks at her, “But I have purchased it for you instead, now let us rid you of that ribbon and then find you a proper sheath for that sword of yours.”

Brienne jolts as she realizes, “When you said that you would take me to find a belt and scabbard…”

“I meant that I would purchase you those items too.”

“That… this is too much My Lord,” Brienne’s eyes shift to the vendor who is pretending not to overhear their conversation, “This belt is already too much. I can’t accept the second, not at all, but especially with the golden lion heads.”

Jaime stares at her and slowly shakes his head as his fingers undo the ribbon that holds her makeshift belt around her hips, “You shall accept my gifts to you with no further complaint Lady Brienne, especially with the golden lion heads.” His tone brooks no argument and Brienne can’t even begin to comprehend what any of his strange behaviour means.

They fight again when Jaime tries to purchase her a golden sheath, her calling the thing pretentious and him claiming that gold would suit her best. She wins the battle when he acquiesces to buying her a blood red lacquered scabbard, but then doubts her triumph when she sees the smile on his face too soon after leaving the stall.

Brienne thinks that Jaime has crazy a compulsion to purchase for others when he next presents her with new supple leather breeches. Maybe this should have been the rumor that reached the Stormlands, that Lord Jaime Lannister is a frivolous spender. “There must be other ladies you can buy things for!” Brienne cries as the next vendor hands her yet another package filled with all manner of silken tunics, the abundance of them a deep blue, with a jubilant smile on his face.

“Lady Brienne,” Jaime eventually sighs as her protests refuse to die down no matter how many vendors take his side over hers, “I do not wish to purchase anything for other ladies.”

Brienne startles as Jaime looks at her in exasperation, but also earnestness. She flushes red hot as she finally realizes what the day had truly been, why he kept on demanding that not only suns and moons be studded and embroidered on her gifts, but roaring golden lions as well. Maybe the children back on Tarth had, had it right. She is dim witted. “Me?” she asks, still not quite daring to assume his intentions.

Jaime smiles and pats his chest, over his heart. And with sudden clarity, she understands what lies beneath. “You,” he breathes, his fingers now touching her cheek, “Is that okay My Lady?”

She looks at the ground then looks back at him. She thinks she knows him better than she has ever known any other and the way he looks at her makes her think that perhaps he feels the same. He would be right. Somehow she had bared her soul to him the night before without realizing it. The night they had spent surrounded by the fireflies in that peaceful meadow, learning the histories of each other, flash in her mind. “That is okay,” she says.

Chapter Text

Some of the more astute ladies at Casterly Rock depart the castle as they realize that its lord has chosen his betrothed, others remain, convinced that there is no concern to be had. Lord Jaime Lannister has simply found entertainment in the ugliest maid in all of Westeros and will soon set her aside.

Tyrion is unsurprised by his brother’s choice. When Tyrion had first lain eyes on Lady Brienne of Tarth he had sensed something about her that Jaime would instantly be enamoured by and then when Tyrion had seen her appear at the ball with a sword strapped to her side, he had known right then who Jaime would choose. Tyrion quite likes Lady Brienne. She is kind to him and in return he is kind to her, but their kindness to each other is not gentle. It is quick and sharp and witty and Tyrion enjoys the way that she japes when she feels comfortably enough to shout at either he or his brother, usually in exasperation as Jaime and Tyrion often take their jokes too far. She is not who he would have chosen for a wife, but she is someone that he would choose for a friend.

Cersei, meanwhile, is furious. She still thinks that Jaime is playing her, still trying to force her hand. She still thinks that there is no woman in all the land that poses a threat to her hold on Jaime’s heart. Her idea is only reinforced by the mere suggestion that he has chosen the ugly, beastly, sow that she had loathed the most as his intended. It is all a big joke to her, but she is not laughing at the jape.

-///-///-///-

“Come this way Lady Brienne,” Jaime grins as he dismounts from his horse and ties the reins to a nearby tree. He holds out his hand to her and she doesn’t take it, finding that it is much easier to dismount without his help. Jaime tilts his head in fondness when she searches for his hand after her feet are on the ground, while fumbling with the reins, one handed, to tie her horse beside his and he squeezes her fingers in affection.

After what Jaime determines is much too long a time to stand with their horses, fiddling near hopelessly with a set of reins, instead of heading off where he plans to go, he starts tugging on Brienne’s hand to hurry her up and Brienne shakes her head at him and gives him a look as though to reprimand a child. Jaime thinks that their children will either be the best or worst behaved sprites in all of the Westerlands with Brienne as their mother. “If you would just let go Lord Jaime, I would be able to do this faster,” Brienne states the obvious.

“No,” Jaime replies petulantly.

Brienne huffs at him, but still continues to fumble with the reins one handed, her other one interlocked with his. Their children will be the most spoiled miscreants in all of Westeros and they will be half their father and half their mother and Jaime will love them so. “Where are we going anyways?” she asks as she finally is able to tie a tight knot.

Jaime grabs a bag from the saddle of his horse and grins as her. Instead of replying, he tugs her along and soon enough the whistling sound of the trees is replaced by the crashing of water on rocks. Brienne gasps as the tree line breaks and before them appears the sunset sea. “I want to go cliff diving with you Lady Brienne.”

Brienne jolts and stares at him in shock, “Cliff diving?” she asks in alarm.

Jaime’s laughter is like a low rumble and he tightens his hold on her hand to comfort her, “I did it all the time as a child.”

“A stupid child!”

“Undoubtedly, but it is perfectly safe.”

“Is it Lord Jaime? Because it would explain why you have a few screws knocked loose in that big head of yours!”

“Where is your sense of adventure Lady Brienne?” Jaime exclaims as he sets down his bag and quickly pulls out several wool blankets and a change of clothes for them both.

Brienne eyes the gaudy azure tunic and brown breeches embroidered with moons and suns and lions that are surely made to measure to her. She wonders if she can get away with stealing Jaime’s much more unadorned crimson tunic embroidered with just the roaring Lannister lions without causing him any offence. Her room is now filled with these atrocities, although she can’t help but be somehow fond of them no matter how garish they are, simply because Jaime had gifted them to her. What she had once thought was an over studded sword belt is now the most plain of her possessions. “I have a sense of wanting to live,” she replies.

Jaime chuckles and sits upon the blanket, finally letting go of her hand to pull off his boots, “Don’t worry your dour head, Lady Brienne,” he turns his emerald gaze up to her, “I very much plan on living too.”

Brienne blushes all the way down her chest and then sighs dramatically before seating herself beside Jaime and wrestling off her boots as well. “I’ll haunt you if I die, My Lord.”

“Please do,” Jaime grins and bumps his forehead against her shoulder. She swats at him playfully before they stand up and make their way toward the edge of the cliff together.

-///-///-///-

“Lady Brienne,” Jaime says suddenly, interrupting their discussion on the much more sensible and leisurely activity of sailing versus cliff diving, as they sit side-by-side shivering after climbing out of the chilly water of the sunset sea. They are wrapped in the woolen blankets and snuggled together under the heat of the sun with the ocean still spread before them.

Brienne looks over to him and tilts her head. It is absurd to her that as cold and nearly blue as he is, he still looks like a golden god. Meanwhile, she’s sure she looks like a white walker from the old tales of the Long Night. “Lord Jaime.”

“I must be honest with you, My Lady.” Jaime says, his head lowered, his teeth digging into his lower lip.

Brienne tries not to startle, tries not to let her thoughts get ahead of her. “Of course, My Lord.” Jaime nervously tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, pulling her as close as he dares.

“Won’t you call me Jaime?” he asks quietly.

Brienne flushes and Jaime looks up at her through his eyelashes. It’s unfair, really. That look should be illegal. “O-only, if you call me B-Brienne,” she manages to stutter out. At the blooming smirk on his face, she adds, “And only in private!”

“For now,” Jaime counters, and then “… Brienne.”

Brienne thinks that she blushes so red that she will never return to her normal skin colour again. At least she is now quickly warming up from her brief oceanic dip. “What did you want to tell me… Jaime?”

A smile bursts on his radiant face, but then quickly disappears. She can read in his eyes the seriousness of what he plans to tell her. “You have assuredly heard the rumors concerning me?”

Brienne nods.

“Have many of them been true?”

“Some.”

Jaime rubs his thumb over her knuckles, “The better ones I hope.”

Brienne leans over and shyly presses a kiss to the crown of his head. He looks up at her in surprise and she flushes hot, “Yes.”

Jaime gives her a smile that is both uneasy and adoring. And suddenly she knows what he’s going to say and her stomach drops. “Not all of the unsavoury stories are false, I fear,” he sighs and squeezes her hand anxiously, “I do not want to keep the truth from you. I wish to have you as my confidant for the rest of my days and I hope that I can be yours. But I know for certain, that this can only come to pass if I am honest with you about my past. Brienne, I also want you to know that it is over. It had been over long before I met you… but… but she is still my sister.”

Brienne gulps and remembers the pair of eyes that are so much like the ones looking so earnestly at her right now, but instead those eyes are laced with deception and cruelty. They are not the same, Jaime and Cersei’s eyes. Not at all. “Why?”

Jaime kisses Brienne knuckles, “I know better now, the feelings of the heart. But at the time I truly believed I loved her and maybe I did, since I did love her the best way that I knew how. We were born together and, as children, we felt like we only had one another. She told me that it was us against the world…” Jaime grimaces, “I was convinced that she loved me too.”

“Does she not? Did she not?”

Jaime shakes his head, “If she did at one time, she does not now.”

“How could she not?” Brienne whispers without meaning to.

Jaime looks up into Brienne eyes, startled. “What?”

Brienne’s fingers reached out to trace his jaw, “How is it possible to not love you, Jaime?”

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, for an eternity.

She leans down and he swoops up.

Fingers tangle in hair.

Their lips touch.

And she knows that her heart is his.

Chapter Text

She is summoned into Tyrion’s study and he waves at her to sit. His eyes scrutinize her from the other side of his desk and she blushes red hot at the amusement that dances in his mismatched gaze. “I see that Jaime has abundantly made his wishes known,” Tyrion snorts, his lips pulling up though it is obvious he is trying not to outright laugh.

“Its quite ostentatious isn’t it?” Brienne murmurs as she fingers all the golden lions that now decorate her.

Tyrion laughs then and leans back in his seat, relaxing in her presence, “Jaime does wear his heart on his sleeve or more precisely on your sleeves.” He shakes his head and pours a finger of dark liquor from a glass bottle into two crystal tumblers. “Could you not have worn some of the clothing you brought with you from Tarth?”

Brienne winces and flushes down her freckled chest, “I… I only brought gowns with me from Tarth.”

“Ah, and Jaime is taking full advantage of your discomfort,” Tyrion says, and passes her one of the glasses.

Brienne sighs, but gives Tyrion a fond smile, “I don’t believe you called upon me to talk about Lord Jaime’s clear lack of fashionable sense, Lord Tyrion.”

“Oh, if I had, we would be speaking until the mythical Long Night descends upon us again,” Tyrion chuckles, “But you are right Lady Brienne, that is not why I wished to speak to you.”

Brienne nods and gingerly takes the tumbler and brings the glass to her lips, only wetting the skin with the sweet, burning liquid before cradling the crystal in her lap.

Tyrion readjusts himself in his seat, not at all caring about the silence she presents him and drinks from his glass. “Why did you agree to come to Casterly Rock, Lady Brienne?”

“To meet Lord Jaime, of course.”

“To meet?”

Brienne gives him a sad smile and Tyrion already understands, “I didn’t dare think I would be able to win his heart.”

Tyrion regards her coolly and Brienne realizes that normally hearts don’t matter when it comes to high-born betrothals. They don’t matter unless you are a Lannister lord just preposterous enough to try and court every lady in the land to find someone, the one, to give your heart. “And yet, here we are.”

Brienne purses her lips.

“Tarth… a strategic island in the narrow sea, is it not?”

“Indeed My Lord.”

“You have marble mines.”

“But no sapphires,” Brienne smiles.

Tyrion chuckles, “Ah yes, I remember that particular discussion. Ships a plenty?”

“Many.”

“A loyal ally to our friends at Storm’s End.”

“The Storm Kings are in our blood.”

"And you're the last living heir to Evenfall, to Tarth itself."

"Yes."

Tyrion nods and speaks more to himself rather than to Brienne, “More than enough for those whom erroneously undercut the value of matters of the heart.”

“What?”

“Have you contacted your father about…” Tyrion waves at her in general, “This?”

Brienne shakes her head and her fingers clench around her glass.

“Why not?”

Brienne gives Tyrion another half smile, “I didn’t want to get his hopes up.”

Tyrion waves at Brienne again, at the lions that decorate all of her, “You still think he will set you aside after… this?” Tyrion wrinkles his nose and refills his tumbler. What he is seeing would explain all of the money Casterly Rock owes to the tailors and embroiderers in Lannisport.

“I…” Brienne begins quietly, “I am still having a hard time believing that this is all real, Lord Tyrion. Some days I expect to wake up and it will be my first day here, or mayhaps I will wake up on Tarth having not yet set off to the west yet at all.”

Tyrion scrutinizes her for another moment and then finishes his finger of fire in one swallow. The glass slams back down on the desk and Brienne flinches in surprise. “I will have a raven sent out to Tarth immediately.”

“What?”

“Does that mean you approve, brother?” A more familiar voice to Brienne echoes into the study.

“I already approved of your choice long before you made it,” Tyrion dismisses as Brienne stands up and whirls around to see Jaime standing at the door, leaning on the frame, arrogant smirk on his face, and an eyebrow raised. “I just wanted to see for myself what all of the servants were cackling about. Honestly brother, learn some reserve.”

Jaime smirks, “Never.”

“What is…?” Brienne starts.

“We will wed when your father arrives at Casterly Rock, Lady Brienne,” Jaime says and then grins, “If you’ll have me.”

Tyrion rolls his eyes and pours himself a glass so full of liquor that it trickles down the sides, “She would have worn the damn gowns, if she wouldn’t have you. No matter how uncomfortable or unbecoming, they can’t be worse than that. Look at the poor girl! No wonder she thinks she’s dreaming. I think I’m having an absurdist’s dream being stared at by all those lions, Jaime.”

Brienne’s mouth opens and closes.

“Please don’t let my brother’s endless nattering be your acceptance of my proposal to you,” Jaime says as he walks up to her and takes her hands in his own.

“I…” Brienne’s eyes flicker between the Lannister brothers.

Jaime rests his forehead on Brienne’s, “It’s all real, Brienne. My poor sense of fashionable reserve and all.”

“Jai—Lord Jaime…”

“I do wish to wed you. And there is only one reason for which I would finally choose to wed. And it has nothing to do with your ships or marble mines or Storm King’s blood.”

Brienne closes her eyes and squeezes his fingers, “Do you truly?”

“I do.”

“Then I accept. I will marry you.”

Chapter Text

Cersei is furious as she watches her twin brother stand before the septon dressed in the elegance of Lannister crimson and gold. She can see that he is nervous and that he is refusing to meet her eye. He won’t stop staring at the back of the sept as though he thinks that doing so will make it seem as though he is truly delighted that he will soon see his ugly bride be presented to him.

The crowd around her is quietly tittering and Cersei wants to slap the old bat from Highgarden seated near her that dares to suggest that Jaime looks positively thrilled to be wed in the next moments, a groom that can’t even await another instant for the arrival of his bride. Neither of Cersei’s late husbands had been described to be thrilled to be wed to her and she is the most beautiful in all the lands. No one can be happy in a marriage, no one wants to marry, the bride can only hope to gain power, and the groom can gloat in the gain of a living trophy.

Which is why this wedding is absurd. Brienne of Tarth is no one’s idea of a trophy, much less one that inspires superiority upon being gained. So the only reason that Jaime must have chosen to marry her is to infuriate Cersei.

The door creaks open and the Evenstar sweeps in with his cow of a daughter on his arm. The sept hushes. The Maid of Tarth, for how can she not be, is smiling at Jaime as though she thinks the marriage is real, smiling as though she doesn’t look like an aurochs stuffed in silk.

The gown she wears can’t hope to flatter her, no gown can, and the azure and rose quartered cloak upon her shoulders looks absurd amongst the regal crimson and gold banners of Casterly Rock’s sept. The colours of her house are as lowly as she is and it takes all of Cersei’s will power not to bare her fangs as the girl strides by her.

Cersei wants to dig her nails into the creature's dress. Wants to tear it into shreds. Jaime is hers. Jaime is hers and this barely a woman dares to make even empty vows to take him from her.

The craven beast doesn’t even meet Cersei’s eyes either.

The bride’s gaze is only for Cersei’s twin as Jaime takes her from her father and they stand together before the septon. Both of their hands clasp together pretentiously as the septon reads his prayers and Cersei can see the mockery on Jaime’s face as he tries not to outright scoff at the whole ceremony of things.

What a farce.

Jaime parading that animal around covered in the lions of Lannister.

Them spending all of their free moments together in the light of the sun.

The two of them disappearing into Lannisport and the woods at all times of the day and night.

This wedding where they dare not look at anything but each other.

All of it is just a farce just to shame her. She had never known Jaime to be so petty, but she should have known. Should have comprehended the lengths that Jaime would go to, to ensnare her. Cersei will not be baited.

“I am hers…”

“I am his…”

“And she is mine…”

“And he is mine…”

He is mine!

The couple on the dais smiles at each other.

“From this day, until the end of my days.”

The corners of Cersei’s lips lift.

Of course…

Jaime is already giving her the answer.

He is indeed still hers.

He will always be hers.

Chapter Text

“Jaime!” Brienne cries as he tugs her through the halls of Casterly Rock, her wedding gown and Lannister crimson and gold cloak swirling around her legs, “What about the feast?”

Jaime simply holds her hand tighter as they continue to scamper down the corridors away from where their wedding guests are filing into the great hall, “The feast can wait,” Jaime grins and looks back at her, his green eyes dark.

Brienne can feel the flush on her face bloom at her husband’s blatant enthusiasm for what can now be done, now that they are wed, “The room won’t be ready!”

Jaime flashes her his most haughty smirk, “You think that I would be so ill prepared, my Lady Lannister? I thought long ahead.” Although his arrogant tone is infuriating, she can hear the purr in his words.

Brienne bites her lower lip as Jaime finally slows in front of his chambers where a serving girl is only just shutting the door, “M’lord,” she squeaks and looks back and forth between her lord and her lady.

“Is the room ready, Myra?”

The girl giggles as she peeks at Brienne and nods, “Everything is as you requested M’lord.”

“Thank you, Myra,” Jaime says, pushes the door to his chamber open, and drags Brienne inside.

In Jaime’s bedchamber, the hearth is blazing, everything is immaculately clean, Arbor Gold, fruit, and cheese are piled high on a table, and the bed is made with fresh white sheets. Brienne thinks that she is the crimson colour of the cloak that Jaime had placed around her shoulders. She walks awkwardly into the room as Jaime bars the door and then stalks up behind her. “This is where you sleep,” Brienne murmurs, mesmerized as she sees books and items scattered here and there that are just so Jaime that she wants to scream. She unbuckles the Lannister cloak from around her neck and gingerly drapes it over a chair.

“And where you shall also sleep from now on. Your possessions will be moved here on the morrow,” Jaime murmurs as he kisses the back of her neck and wraps his arms around her waist. “Septa Donyse did well with your dress Brienne.”

“I still cannot believe that you had sent her to measure me for my wedding gown the morning after we met!”

Jaime shrugs and grins, cat-like, “It wasn’t a fruitless endeavour, was it not?”

Brienne turns in his arms and captures his lips in reply before she pulls back and shakes her head at him, “You were ill behaved at the sept today, Jaime.”

Jaime laughs and caresses her cheek, “The septon’s prayers were poppycock, My Lady, and were only delaying my wedding to you.”

"You’re wedding to me?”

“And your wedding to me,” Jaime amends his thumb brushing just under her marvellous blue eyes, “Mayhaps we should request your maiden’s cloak from your father so that you can place it upon my shoulders.”

“Jaime! You jest!”

“I want a marriage of equals Brienne,” Jaime tuts and rubs her hip, “That is what this marriage shall be.”

“Shall it?” Brienne smiles. “A unique marriage.”

“Ah, but My Lady Wife Brienne Lannister of Tarth, this marriage was unique from the moment it was made. For how often do two high-born nobles get to marry for love?”

“I never imagined it would be for me.”

“Silly,” Jaime murmured as he rested his forehead against hers, “How can one get to know you and not love you? Come, I have a wedding gift for you.”

Brienne blinkes as Jaime leads her to the corner of his chamber where two cloths cover two figures. Brienne braces herself for the next ostentatious garment she will still somehow adore. Jaime smiles at her and pulls the cloth off one of the figures and Brienne gasps. “Jaime… it’s gorgeous.” Where Jaime knew nothing about fashion, he did know armour. The armour was blue, almost as blue as the night; Tarth’s sun was emblazoned on the front while its moon was on the back and in the centre of each was a roaring lion’s head. The rest of the flourishes were subtle although still themed with suns, moons, and lions but most of the armor was plain, plain and beautiful.

“A marriage of equals Brienne,” Jaime repeats and reveals what laid beneath the other cloth. It is the same suit of armor, only red, and measured for Jaime. Brienne gapes at it, the marriage of their house symbols on his armour and then turns and kisses Jaime until they are nearly melded and out of breath.

“Jaime…” Brienne murmurs as she looks into his eyes, her fingers moving to undo the first few clasps of his doublet.

Jaime, delighted by her forwardness, nods and then smirks as his fingers curl into the silk of her gown and she gasps as the fabric rips, “Although I do fear that in my old age I will not be able to equal your youthful vigour when it comes to frequent beddings.”

“Jaime, the dress!” Brienne gasps, scandalized, as she tries to cover herself again, but to no avail as Jaime undoes the last of the laces holding the garment onto her and the gown drops and puddles at Brienne’s feet leaving her in just her smallclothes. Jaime grabs her wrists and sucks on her collarbone, maneuvering them towards the bed.

Jaime nips at her clavicle and Brienne throws her head back and moans at the sensation. He smirks into her skin, “But trust me My Lady, I shall try.”

The back of Brienne’s knees hit the bed and suddenly she is down on the white sheets with Jaime bearing down on her. “You only have a little over a decade on me My Lord,” she squeaks and trembles.

Jaime sees that she is terrified, regains his senses, and slows down. He kisses her tenderly, not progressing any further until Brienne herself undoes the last of the fasteners on his doublet. He then sits up and shrugs out of the garment and quickly divests himself of his tunic, leather breeches, and boots, before he returns to the bed and lies beside her in his smallclothes, shifting them around so that they are comfortable and she is in his arms. “I’m sorry, Brienne. We don’t need to rush,” he murmurs softly into her hair.

“But the feast,” she replies quietly as she runs her fingers along his jaw.

Jaime kisses the corner of her mouth, “They’ll all understand.”

-///-///-///-

They never make it to the feast. Myra brings them platters of offerings from the great hall between their first and second coupling, giggling softly at all the love bites that cover Brienne’s pale neck and shoulders. Brienne is just happy that the girl didn’t see all the ones on her thighs as Jaime smirks like a cat that got the cream. After the serving girl leaves, Brienne lets their meal go cold as she shyly, but with determination returns Jaime’s favour with marks of her own. Tyrion and Addam drunkenly come by to knock belligerently on their door, singing bawdy songs after their third coupling before they turn down for the night.

It is only after the fourth time that their bodies have fully known the other, that they have filled each other body and soul, when the castle has fallen into complete silence after a long night of revelry, that Jaime finally dozes as Brienne cradles him in her arms.

She brushes her fingers through his golden mane, picking out the tangles her fingers had made, and murmurs soothingly to him as he curls into her. He presses kisses into her skin, even while he slumbers, and she finds that she is so perfectly content that when she finally falls asleep, she has no need of dreaming.

Chapter Text

Jaime kisses her tenderly, his tongue sweeping across her lips and his hands warm on her hips. One of his captains cough from the council room and Jaime grunts in frustration before he pulls away again. “You should go,” Brienne whispers although her fingers are still curled into the fabric of his doublet.

“Hopefully this will not take long,” Jaime sighs, “Where will I find you when it’s over?”

Brienne nuzzles his temple, “In the courtyard training or mayhaps…” Brienne blushes and runs a finger down the clasps of Jaime’s doublet, “Mayhaps in our bedchamber.”

Jaime smirks and kisses her again. After their wedding, they had not left their chamber for three days and yet still, they were eager for more time together. But the council could no longer wait for their lord.

Another loud cough echoes down the hall and Jaime shoots his friend, Captain Addam Marbrand, another fierce look. Addam merely wiggles his eyebrows and nods at Brienne, coughing even more obnoxiously even though Jaime hasn’t gone in for another kiss.

The whole castle had been all a stir at their ‘missing’ lord and new lady. The maids had loved that a husband would want to spend so much time with his wife, even though, with all the time they spent in their room, they couldn’t always be coupling. The women had wondered if Brienne would be able to walk straight and the men had japed about how their lord would surely strut, once they finally emerged.

Jaime continues to ignore Addam even though Addam is positively causing a ruckus and even some of the servants are now tittering at their overly affectionate lord and lady. “I hope it will be the bedchamber where I will find you My Lady,” Jaime grins and takes her hands in his.

Brienne flushes and reemphasizes, “Mayhaps!”

Jaime’s laughter is like a chorus as he kisses her knuckles and then reluctantly lets her go to finally join his council. He smacks Addam upside the head before they enter the chamber and Addam laughs in utter joy as he calls to Brienne, “We should all sup together tonight, Lady Brienne!”

Brienne nods back kindly before the door closes and she makes her way out to the courtyard.

Oddly enough, the yard is empty and Brienne fingers the canine pommel of the sword on her hip. Usually at this time of day the squires are all out training. Most of them still look at her as though she is an oddity, some of them flock to her in order to gain Lord Jaime’s favour, but she thinks that maybe one or two actually admire her for who she is and the skills she possesses. However, none of them are here now.

“How strange,” a voice murmurs behind her and Brienne can’t help the crawling chill that causes her spine to shoot ramrod straight. Cersei sweeps in beside her, draped in crimson and looking as regal as the dawn. “Alone today Lady Brienne?” she asks.

Brienne eyes her wearily. Cersei has not spoken a single word to her since before the ball and she could have sworn that Jaime’s sister held nothing but contempt for her at the wedding. However, at this very moment, Cersei seems almost calm and demure.

“Good-sister,” Cersei sighs impatiently at the silence, “It seems we have gotten off on the wrong footing. Let us take a walk together and start over.”

Brienne doesn’t want to walk with Cersei, doesn’t trust the sparkle in her emerald eyes, so similar but not to her Jaime’s. But she feels that maybe she has been the contemptuous one. She has spent many hours with her good-brother and although Jaime has distanced himself from his sister, it is true that he still loves her as his family. “Where would you like to go, Lady Cersei?”

“You often walk with my brother in woods, let us go there,” Cersei says with a tilt of her head. She even offers Brienne her arm and Brienne slowly and nervously links her own with it.

They take short, lady-like steps through the courtyard and the gardens, taking nearly twice as much time to get to the forest as it usually takes Jaime and Brienne. The whole time they walk, Cersei talks. She explains her mistreatment of Brienne and all of the other ladies that had come to Casterly Rock to wed Jaime as her way of chasing off those that were only there to steal the family fortune and hurt her brother in the process. Brienne finds that words are sticking on her tongue. She thinks that although Cersei’s concerns had been valid, her methods had not, but she cannot find the right way to articulate her thoughts other than to think about how much better Tyrion had dealt with the same concerns. Lady Cersei does not seem to mind Brienne’s lack of reply or understanding for she keeps on speaking even as the trees of the wood rise around them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? The lands around the Rock,” Cersei sighs and tightens her hold on Brienne.

“Yes,” Brienne manages to sputter out as she regains her footing from being jostled about.

“I want to show you my favourite place in these woods,” Cersei smiles and looks at her, “I used to play there all the time as a child and it holds so many memories for me.” There is a gleam in her eyes that speaks of nothing but truth and Brienne wants to relax. It seems that Cersei is truly trying to be kind to her now that she has the Lannister name as well.

“I’d be delighted to see this place,” Brienne says.

Cersei nods and almost giggles, the sound like bells and Brienne thinks that in another life she would have thought it to be the most wondrous sound. If she didn’t know the cadence of Jaime’s voice as he whispered to her in the night or the deep vibrations of his laughter in her ear, she would have, but she does know, and so Cersei’s giggles don’t make her pulse race and her face flush and her heart warm. But Brienne acknowledges that there is a reason that this woman is called the Light of the West.

Cersei leads her further amongst the trees and Brienne realizes where they are going just as she sees the old stone well. This place does not give her peace. It is where she discovered Pod’s body, and that visceral sadness still lives in her bones. She fingers her sword again.

Cersei gestures to the edge of the well, “Sit Lady Brienne and let me help you take off your boots. You must feel the grass between your toes,” she says as she slips off her slippers and smiles.

Brienne sits on the edge of the well, but replies, “I can take off my own boots, Lady Cersei, please don’t mind me and rest yourself.”

Cersei shakes her head and kneels down before Brienne to help undo the one set of laces slowly while Brienne quickly divests herself of her other boot. Brienne bites her bottom lip as she watches Cersei’s delicate hands pick at the ties daintily, like a lady should and flushes when she realizes that she had stripped herself of her piece of footwear like a boorish man. “Can I tell you a story, Lady Brienne Lannister?”

Brienne’s eyebrows furrow at the use of her full name as Cersei continues to undo the laces and places Brienne’s foot upon her knee to get better access to the remaining ties.

“When I was young, younger than you, I had a friend,” Cersei hums as she pulls at a knot. “She was from a lower house, but still my closest companion and we would play together everyday. But one day…” Cersei pauses and let out a breath as Brienne’s boot loosens around her calve and ankle, “One day she told me that she would someday wed Jaime, and Lady Brienne,” Cersei’s green eyes upturn to stare into Brienne’s blue ones, “That just wouldn’t do.” Cersei pulls off Brienne’s boot.

Brienne’s breath hitches in her throat as Cersei grabs her foot, her nails digging into the skin at her ankles, “Lady Cersei?”

“You see, you ugly cow…” Cersei’s teeth gleams as her eyes swirl and morph, and again that cutting cruelty that Brienne thought she had once imagined returns, “Jaime is mine.”

Cersei uses her solid stance, braced low on the ground, and continues to lift Brienne’s foot high into the air. Brienne’s blunt nails and fingers scramble to grapple at the smooth stone of the well as she tilts backwards while Cersei slowly stands. Brienne’s eyes widen as she realizes that she has no leverage to push back, or even topple to the side, and that the stones are sanded down to be as smooth as ice.

“It was such a terrible accident that took her life,” Cersei titters, “They found her in here, you see… As they will find you.” And with one last powerful motion, Cersei stands tall and flings Brienne backwards into the well. Cersei laughs as she hears a sickening crack of bone against stone, silencing Brienne’s bellow of terror, before her body hits the water.

Chapter Text

Jaime was desperately searching through the alleys of Lannisport as the sun sunk completely below the horizon and darkness washed over the sunset sea when Addam Marbrand came riding up to him. “Please tell me you’ve found her in the wood,” Jaime begs as Addam climbs off his steed.

Addam swallows deeply as he holds out a pair of boots, “Jaime…” he says, his voice low and broken.

Jaime’s eyes widen as he recognizes one of the many gifts that he had given Brienne before they had wed. His hands reach out to grapple at the leather, the embroidered moons and starbursts of Tarth and the lions of Lannister dancing near the eyelets of the laces, “Please Addam… please,” he pleads, his eyes filling with tears as he stares at his friend.

Addam wraps his arms around Jaime’s shoulders and he pulls him in. Addam holds Jaime as tight as he can. There are no words he can say to make this better.

-///-///-///-

The doors to the sept open again and Jaime doesn’t even turn to try and send whoever has come away. They should know better than to disturb his vigil if they have come to pay respects. Those who know him, those who care about him, know to leave him be. Tyrion had stood for as long as he could before the fatigue on his hips got to him and he had returned the keep to take care of the matters of the castle; Addam was one of the ones constantly coming in and out, his duties permitting; Selwyn had lasted the longest before he had needed to depart the Westerlands all together. The father hadn’t even managed to depart from the castle after attending his daughter’s wedding, before he had to depart the castle following her funeral.

There are just no words that can be said.

“Brother…” Cersei’s voice echoes in the sept that not long ago, such a short time ago, had been a place of such happiness and celebration.

But now, instead of Brienne standing before him, her eyes glittering like the sea, she lies on a cold stone slab, her magnificent blue eyes closed forever, her freckles fading along with the flush of her skin, her broad features thinning and thinning with each passing day. Her softening hands are clasped around the hilt of her sword and all of the items she wears has suns, moons and lions embroidered lovingly onto them. She is still Jaime’s wife. She will always be his wife.

“If you are not here to silently pay your respects, then leave,” Jaime commands.

Cersei doesn’t. Instead she wraps her arms around him and tries to provide him comfort although nothing will do that for him now. “You’ve been here for four days, you’ve afforded her time enough. You must rest now Jaime. The Westerlands cannot be ruled by our little brother,” Cersei pleads.

“Seven days,” Jaime moans.

“Even our father did not get your full seven days.”

“She is my wife.”

Cersei seems to bite back what she wants to say and instead substitutes her words with the simple phrase, “I’m sorry for your loss. But I am here for you Jaime. Come back to the keep with me and I will comfort you.”

“They found her with water in her lungs.” And although it feels like he has already cried enough to fill the sunset sea, tears still come to his eyes, “She must have been so scared,” he whimpers and chokes. Jaime trembles and his fingers reach out to smooth through Brienne’s hair, unveiling the blow to her skull that had prevented her from swimming until he could find her. “I should have been there to save her. I never should have left her side,” he heaves and sobs, his body wracking with guilt. They couldn’t destroy the old well, it being a source of much needed water, but Jaime had demanded it be boarded up, only ever reopened in the case of an emergency. If Jaime could help it, it would never be reopened in his lifetime.

“Jaime!” Cersei snaps with no sympathy, “There is nothing you could have done.”

Jaime shrugs out of her embrace. “Leave me!”

“Jaime!”

“Leave me be!” He shouts and shoves Cersei away from him as he kneels and tries to curl his arms around Brienne’s body and tucks his face into her hair by the crook of her neck.

Cersei huffs, but leaves, the sept door slamming closed behind her.

Jaime cries and calls out Brienne’s name and touches the cold dewiness of her skin. But no matter what he does, she does not, cannot reply.

Three days later, Jaime wonders what will become of his heart, his un-whole soul, as he sets Brienne’s funeral pyre aflame.

Chapter Text

Jaime thinks he has spent a sennight in bed, curling in Brienne’s fading scent, before the nightingale first comes to sing. It wakes him up at dawn with its song and although at first he is angry at it for pulling him from his dreams of her, he slowly learns to enjoy the sound as it heralds in morning after morning.

It is after listening to one of the nightingale’s melodies that he finally manages to rise from his bed and leave his bedchamber. His brother, the council, and the castle are shocked at his manifestation and seem eternally glad to see him again, although he cannot say that he feels anything even resembling happiness quite yet, if ever again.

But he is up, and he is once again performing his duties as the Lord of Casterly Rock, so they do not complain, and because they love him, they would not have complained anyways.

Even Cersei seems to worry over him for the first few days before she tires of his dour mood and sweeps away from him angrily every time he does not care to answer to her siren’s song. Her music doesn’t work on him anymore.

The only thing that rouses him now is the nightingale’s morning call.

-///-///-///-

One morning, Jaime decides to climb out of bed before the nightingale finishes its flourish and is shocked to see that the bird is perched on his windowsill rather than on one of the branches of one of the trees outside and singing right into his room. It pauses its melody as he approaches it, but does not fly away and soon resumes its song, softly serenading him.

Jaime drags a chair over and sits down by the window. He watches as the nightingale fluffs its feathers and seems to hum just for him. He notes that its morph is unlike the nightingales that he has seen in the Westerlands before. Instead of the common brown and tawny feathers, this nightingale is lighter, but with a dark belly. As Jaime squints he realizes that the dark feathers are a midnight blue that glint nearly sapphire in the sun.

Jaime laughs coarsely as he now observes the nightingale’s other colours and sees that its plumage is somewhat straw-like, with flaxen fluffs. He knows he sounds foolish, but it gives him some comfort to ask, “Are you my Brienne?”

The bird suddenly silences its song and begins to hop on the windowsill shaking its wings. Absurdly, he wonders if he has angered it.

Jaime’s eyebrows furrow as he lowers his head to look directly into the nightingale’s black eyes, “No…” he murmurs and his eyes meet its.

The nightingale suddenly twitters loudly at him and flies at his face. He shouts in surprise as he falls back and crashes onto the floor of his bedchamber.

Jaime rubs his back and butt from the pain and looks up to see the nightingale is still perched petulantly on his windowsill as though it did not just attack a lord. The way that it looks at him is so reminiscent of a look he was often given after sparring matches that he can feel his heart hammer in his chest. Jaime holds out his hand, his palm up in offering and he whispers, almost desperately, “If you are truly my Brienne, please perch upon my hand.”

And with a graceful flutter of the nightingale’s wings, she lands in the palm of his hand.

-///-///-///-

Jaime immediately commissions overly large golden cages to be placed by his bedside, in his study, by his seat in the great hall, and in the council room. The cages are not closed, allowing Brienne to flitter to and fro whenever she pleases but each is decorated with mountains of pillows and fabrics all embroidered with moons and suns and lions.

At first Jaime has no idea what to feed his nightingale, but when he walks into the kitchens and demands that a sample of all of the castle’s food is placed before him and Brienne flies at the berries, he ensures that fresh berries are in the cages at all times.

Brienne rarely flies far from Jaime although she has the freedom to do so and when she is not found in one of Jaime’s golden cages she is often found nestled in his golden locks, her beak and feet constantly picking at the tangles in his curls the way that Brienne’s fingers use to comb through his tresses.

Tyrion thinks it is the most hilarious thing, seeing Jaime roam around the keep and sometimes even around Lannisport laughing and chatting with the nightingale singing in his hair, but his brother is happy again and that is all that matters to him.

The nightingale’s tune is almost always sweet when she wishes to sing and she knows when to quiet while Jaime is in council or is particularly harried by his duties. However, it soon becomes of particular note to everyone in the castle that the nightingale positively shrieks horribly whenever Cersei dares to approach Jaime.

Everyone, but Cersei, finds this behaviour exuberantly funny.

Chapter Text

“You cannot have that bird nesting in your hair while you are meeting with our bannermen!” Cersei hisses shrilly as the nightingale shrieks and shrieks from atop Jaime’s head.

Tyrion has his face in his hands, shaking while trying as hard as he can not to guffaw at the scene before him as Jaime flusters and tries to get the nightingale to quiet down, but the small bird simply refuses not to scream as long as Cersei is in the same room as Jaime. Jaime would rather eat his own tongue than to ask his nightingale to leave him and he has already once made the mistake of trying to dismiss Cersei so that Brienne would calm down, so now all he is left with is begging. “Brienne please,” Jaime beseeches as he tries to gently run his finger down the back of the nightingale’s head and Cersei nearly explodes in anger at the name and the gentle tone that Jaime calls the bird.

“Do you hear this?” Cersei insists, “What if that demon bird acts like this in front of our loyal men? What will they think of the Lannister’s of Casterly Rock then?”

“Brienne only acts like this when you are around sweet sister,” Tyrion adds in all too charmingly, loving that Cersei practically internally combusts at the fact that he too calls Jaime’s nightingale the same name as Jaime’s late wife.

Happiness is not something he is going to deny his older brother and if Jaime believes that the oddly coloured nightingale is Brienne returned to him, then the nightingale is Brienne returned to him. Tyrion knows too well what happens when happiness is denied to somebody for far too long and Jaime is far from mad.

But then Tyrion also sighs, “But our sweet sister does have a point Jaime, you cannot have Brienne nesting in your hair while the Lords of the Westerlands are declaring their loyalties to you.” He gives Jaime a soft smile and wiggles his fingers at the still shrieking bird. Brienne never shrieks at him. Sometimes she even lands on his shoulder, sings to him sweetly, and nuzzles his neck.

Jaime’s face becomes somewhat stormy as he curses and shuffles through his papers, “Why hasn’t my commission arrived yet? I ordered a small travelling cage a fortnight ago!”

Cersei purses her lips and Brienne fluffs her feathers and squawks warily, her voice finally giving out.

Jaime sighs as he reaches up to untangle Brienne from his tresses and brings her to his face, “Now look,” he says sadly, “You’ve abused your beautiful voice,” he murmurs as he fluffs her belly with his pointer finger.

Brienne opens and closes her beak, but no sound comes out. She hops around in his palms and pushes her body against his cheek mindful of the sharpness of her beak.

“Silly girl,” Jaime coos and stands up to gently set her upon an azure pillow in the golden cage standing beside him. “Get some rest, I would hate to not have your song wake me up on the morrow.”

“Oh for the love of the Seven,” Cersei curses.

“Oh shut up,” Tyrion snaps. Cersei glares at him and from the corner of his eye he swears that the nightingale is glaring at Cersei in return.

Jaime sighs and sweeps his hand through his hair while sitting back down in his chair. “I understand the importance of this meeting Cersei, I’ll…” Jaime looks noticeably pained to say what’s next, “… ask Brienne to stay here tomorrow.”

Cersei sneers at Jaime and the nightingale, looking repugnant at the idea that Jaime talks to the bird as though it is a person. The nightingale flaps its wings as though it’s ready to swoop for Cersei’s eyes despite its tiny size.

Tyrion reaches across Jaime’s desk and Jaime takes his out stretched hand, “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, “But it is for the best. I’ll check on her in the afternoon, if you wish.”

Jaime laughs warily and squeezes Tyrion’s hand in appreciation, “My dependence on her is getting a bit ludicrous isn’t it?”

Tyrion shakes his head, remembering the near moon’s turn after Brienne had passed where Jaime had been catatonic, “No, you are grieving brother.”

“I feel you have grieved for long enough and should let that bird return to the wild,” Cersei hisses.

Tyrion sighs and grits between his teeth, “Does it look like the bird has no choice but to stay Cersei?”

Cersei huffs and Jaime turns to smile at Brienne who fluffs her feathers just for him and flies back to nestle once again in his hair, preferring his golden curls over her golden cages.

-///-///-///-

The morning Jaime leaves to go meet the lords of his realm he listens to Brienne sing to him from her golden cage by his bedside. Once she can sing no more, she drags to him one of the fabrics in her cage and he tears up as he sees that it is the golden handkerchief with the sword that Brienne had long ago embroidered.

Jaime takes the handkerchief from the nightingale and deliberately folds it and tucks it above his heart, under his jerkin for Brienne to see. She twitters quietly, but affectionately at him and then watches him leave before she falls back into a dozy slumber, safe in the room she had once shared with her husband.

It isn’t even an hour later, probably the amount of time that it takes for Jaime to ride out of the grounds of Casterly Rock for the door to Jaime’s bedchamber to once again swing open.

Cersei malevolently sweeps in.

She runs at the cage and seals the large opening with a swath of crimson fabric preventing Brienne’s escape.

Brienne shrieks and shrieks as the fabric comes down and encloses all around her.

The last thing she feels is the breaking of her bones between long tapered fingers.

Cersei buries her in the garden.

-///-///-///-

When Jaime returns late in the evening, he sees Tyrion standing at the steps of Casterly Rock shifting his weight nervously back and forth on his two feet. Jaime dismounts and allows one of his stable hands to take care of his horse as he goes and meets his brother.

Cersei joins them just as Jaime reaches Tyrion.

“What’s happened?” Jaime asks casting a wary glance at the castle.

Tyrion looks up at his brother, his mismatched eyes filled with conflicting emotion. He does not know if he is over reacting. He is hopeful, but sad and angry and confused and is already mourning for Jaime. “I haven’t seen Brienne all day. I’ve checked every cage and have tried to listen for her song but…”

“Your nightingale is a wild thing,” Cersei says soothingly and touches Jaime’s shoulder and looks up to the sky, “Perhaps she has simply decided to return to where she belongs.”

The next morning Jaime does not wake up to his nightingale’s song.

Chapter Text

Although Jaime continues to wander through the halls of Casterly Rock doing his duty, it’s like he has become a ghost once again. Cersei trails after him often and he doesn’t even have the energy to send her away as she hangs onto his arm and whispers into his ear, “Jaime, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.” Cersei hardly acknowledges the difference in Jaime as long as he still acts as the Lord of the Rock and does as she asks. It is almost worse than when he refused to rise out of bed at all, but at least he still bars her from his chambers.

Tyrion hopes everyday that the nightingale will return but he knows in his heart of hearts that the bird is gone and that it is not that the bird won’t return, but that it cannot return. He is so saddened every time he sees his older brother drift listlessly from room to room barely acknowledging the world around him, but he doesn’t know what to do. Investigate every cat in the castle that might have had a taste of nightingale? Research as to how a bird might suddenly die? What would that even accomplish?

However, a sennight after the last time the nightingale sung within Casterly Rock’s halls and fairly early in the morning, before breakfast is even served, Captain Addam Marbrand comes storming into Jaime’s study shouting, “Jaime! You must come out to the garden at once and see this!” Tyrion is already on Addam’s heels waddling as fast as he can to keep up with Addam’s excitement.

Jaime looks up from not listening to Cersei complain about yet another inconsequential matter, his eyes dull and nods at his friend, not even caring to inquire what Addam wants to show him before he follows Addam out of the study. Cersei trails after the three of them, an involuntary shiver crawling down her spine as they walk outside.

Addam excitedly leads the Lord Casterly Rock and his siblings outside to the garden. To the entire castle’s astonishment, for everyone in the castle must be gathered out in the garden, a giant weirwood tree has sprung up from the dirt over night and now casts shadows upon the grass and flowers, its leaves blowing majestically in the wind.

Or, at least, Tyrion thinks it’s a weirwood tree. Instead of the characteristic blood red leaves and silver bark of the weirwoods still living in the north, the tree in Casterly Rock’s garden has sapphire leaves and straw coloured bark.

Cersei swallows as she realizes the roots of the tree sit over the grave of the nightingale. She wrings her hands and shakes her head, refusing to acknowledge such a silly association even as her blood runs, first, boiling hot and then ice cold.

The magical tree immediately entrances Jaime as his eyes regain their light. Addam watches in absolute glee, shooting Tyrion expectant glances, as Jaime approaches the tree and tentatively touches the bark, the soft texture pliant under the tips of his fingers. The moment Jaime makes contact, the leaves above him rustle casting light and shadow upon his face and a sapphire leaf falls tenderly upon his hair. He sets his palm deftly against the bark.

“Brienne?” Jaime murmurs, this time believing it even less than the last but needing to hope for it again anyways. He picks the sapphire leaf from his hair and twirls it between his free fingers, seeing her eyes in its vibrant colour. The tree cannot reply, but nevertheless Jaime feels tears prickle involuntarily at the corner of his eyes as he steps closer to the trunk and rests his forehead against the flaxen bark. The weirwood almost seems to warm beneath his touch. “Brienne,” he repeats with more finality.

-///-///-///-

Many of the residents and visitors to Casterly Rock take to lounging and then picnicking under the magical weirwood tree, taking its sudden appearance as a sign from the Gods that They look favorably down on the castle and its lord.

Jaime erects a hammock under the branches so that he may spend an hour or two each day napping under the tree’s shade. The time he sleeps beneath the tree gives him more energy than the nights spent in his cold and empty bedchamber and often Jaime wonders if it would be absurd for a lord to take a bedroll from the castle and sleep outside during the night as well.

Jaime reluctantly decides not to camp outside in the end, but he spends every moment that is appropriate beneath the weirwood tree and it is not even a fortnight past the tree’s appearance before he acts as though he is a young boy and climbs among the branches. For him, the weirwood stays sturdy and strong as he scales it, the branches seemingly lifting him up higher and higher and soon enough, Jaime discovers that from the highest perchable point in the tree he can see much of Casterly’s grounds, some of Lannisport, and a swath of the sunset sea. With further exploration through the sapphire leaves, he eventually discovers nooks between the boughs where he finds he can nap not just under, but among the branches, the leaves softly caressing his face like the pads of calloused fingers while he sleeps.

When he naps in the branches of the weirwood he dreams so vividly of her, of her and him, of her and him together again, that he soon forgoes his hammock completely and begins to nap only within the leaves. He almost retracts his own declaration that he would not leave his bedchamber for the outdoors during the night, but the weirwood will not let him. He had tried to do so only once, but all through the night he only had dreams of Brienne being cross with him for being so reckless, so somewhat cowed by his endless nagging figments of her, he had returned to sleep in his feather bed, at least for the nights.

Often Tyrion or Addam have to throw rocks at him to get him to wake from his midday naps and climb back down and do his duties, but they openly acknowledge that Jaime performs them well and with unprecedented vigor, desperate to complete his tasks so that he may once again go outside and dream among the tree’s branches.

Tyrion and Addam are the first to further humor him by supping with him in the morning, afternoon, and night beneath the tree, once again happy that Jaime is regaining his cheer, but also preventing him from just sleeping in the branches all the time. Eventually many of the castles inhabitants join them and sup beneath the tree rather than in the great hall. Tables are brought out, scattered across the entirety of the garden, and every meal is practically a summer celebration as men and women sing and dance and eat in revelry outside around Casterly’s precious sapphire weirwood.

For everyone in Casterly Rock, the sapphire weirwood stands resilient and is a place of safety and pride. Everyone but one. When Cersei dares to step below the tree, boughs, twigs and branches fall upon her head, causing her to scream and run lest she wishes to have her skull cracked open by one of the bigger falling branches. Cersei often finds that she ends up dining in the great hall, or in her own chamber, alone.

After several incidents of Cersei venturing below the tree in frustration and defiance, consequently causing Jaime to worry over the health of the weirwood, the tree losing parts of itself at her presence, Jaime suggests to Cersei that she refrain from coming to the garden at all.

The last thing Jaime wants is for his precious weirwood to lose all of its pretty flaxen boughs and sapphire blue leaves as they drop upon his sweet sister’s head. And… Jaime always needs to remember to amend, he also doesn’t want Cersei to be hurt either.

Chapter Text

Cersei hates the damn mutant weirwood as she hated Jaime’s ugly wife, as she hated Jaime’s shrieking nightingale. Jaime even sometimes slips into madness and calls the aberrant tree by that devil woman’s name. The woman who won’t stop haunting Cersei although she is dead and ash and long, long gone.

But no one will support Cersei as she protests that the tree is dangerous, as she points out time and again that the tree is a hazard, that someday it might kill an innocent child with one of its falling branches. None of the Lannister soldiers will help her cut it down. None of the Lannister servants will help her cut it down. No blood person in all of the Westerlands will help her cut it down.

Everyone loves the demon tree.

Jaime spends every day and had even tried to spend every night with the damn thing. He has stopped listening to her, forsaking her for an overgrown beastly plant.

Tyrion thinks she is hysterical and that if she thinks that the weirwood is so dangerous, she should just stay away from it. Jaime goes one-step father and bans her from the garden.

This will not stand.

This will not stand.

That devil tree will not stand.

Cersei pushes her hair out of her face as she desperately attempts to sharpen an axe in the Rock’s forge, her emerald eyes hard and crazed, sparks flying and burning through the delicate crimson silk of her gown as sweat drips off her chin and her soft hands hurt from the hard labor.

When Jaime comes running toward her shouting at the top of his lungs in the middle of the night, he even checks on the tree while he sleeps, it is too late. She has already managed to inflict enough blows to fell the weirwood, the thing crashing noisily to the ground sending shockwaves through the Rock’s grounds. Blood is running down her face and shoulders from deep lacerations as almost all of the branches of the thing lie scattered around her, some of them smeared with her blood. It has not managed to kill her, but she has killed it. She has once again won.

“Cersei!” Jaime roars, “Why have you done this?” He grabs her shoulders, uncaring of her injuries and shakes her, his nails digging into her skin as his face blazes with a fury that she has never seen directed at her before. It is the damned tree with her colouring that has done this to him. But the tree is now gone and he will once again only have her. She is the only thing that matters and he will remember that.

Others start to appear in the garden, awakened by the sound of the fallen weirwood and Cersei thinks she hears the sound of choked sobs. What imbeciles! It is just a tree. A dead tree.

Cersei meets his eyes and grins, a manic grin that makes Jaime flinch and nearly reel back in horror, “The tree was dangerous dear brother.” She drops the axe at her feet as she gestures at all of the fallen branches around her, proving her point, proving that it was the blasted tree that was dangerous.

She would have killed it even if it hadn’t been.

“I did it because sh—... it… was keeping us apart.” Cersei wipes at the blood dipping down her face, smearing it on her golden skin.

Jaime bares his teeth at her as his eyes flash. The sorrow of losing the beautiful weirwood that so reminded him of his Brienne has not set in yet. Right now he is just simmering rage and he wants to strangle her. He wants to strangle his beloved sister. And for some reason it feels right. Something about what she has just said makes it feel unbelievably right.

The sheer violence of his sentiments, especially before all who have come from the castle, makes Jaime calm down just enough to let the sorrow come rushing in, clouding his thoughts. His sister and the growing crowd fades into the background as his attention switches to the felled weirwood. Although he knows he will continue to do so, because he simply cannot not, Jaime feels like the fall of the weirwood is the end of all his dreams of Brienne.

-///-///-///-

Jaime is back to being furious at Cersei when the sun rises and has half a mind to lock her in her chambers until she is old and rotten and gray.

But then he reasons, desperately reasons even, his emotions still ebbing and flowing as they have all night, that Cersei has a point. The tree did drop boughs at times, although he had only ever seen the tree drop them on his sister, and he had tried to protect Cersei by sending her away, but what if someday it dropped branches on some other unsuspecting person, some poor defenseless child. How guilty would he feel then? How haughty would Cersei act then, if someone got hurt because of his strange attachment to a tree that reminded him of his late wife?

Jaime sighs as he collapses in his chair and wonders if his grieving of Brienne has gone too far. He has now not just grieved her once, but three times. Although can you consider them three events when the first time had never stopped?

It has been several turns of the moon since Brienne has left this world, his world, making it several more moon turns than he had even been wedded to her. Did husbands long grieve their wives? Why did his heart still hurt as though she had only just parted yesterday? But then he remembers her eyes, the smile on her face, the way that she moved when they sparred in the courtyard and when they lay abed. He remembers wondering at the completeness of his soul as she burnt away.

Jaime rubs his temples and thinks that maybe he should commission a ship to be made from the flaxen wood of the weirwood tree, use the wood for something rather than just discard or burn it. He remembers a conversation that he and Brienne had once had before they were betrothed about sailing and since then he has longed to sail. He and Brienne had once promised to sail together upon the sea one day, her teaching him the way, but she had passed before they had gotten the chance.

With that thought Jaime nods to himself as he determines to commission a tradesman to turn the pieces of his precious weirwood into a sailing vessel and to ask one or many of the maids to press and dry as many of the sapphire leaves as they can so that he may have them as keepsakes. Even if Jaime can’t be the one to sail the boat himself, he can still enjoy being out on the sea where the waters and the wood will remind him of his late Lady Wife. Jaime smiles softly to himself as he also thinks that it will be less outrageous to name a ship rather than a tree or even a nightingale, The Lady Brienne.

Chapter Text

The Lady Brienne is almost as magnificent as her namesake.

Tyrion thinks that it’s hilarious and endearing that Jaime has ordered that suns and moons and lions be painted ostentatiously all along the boat’s hull, japing with his older brother that he fashions his boat like he once fashioned his wife. Jaime smiles at this jape and only demands that gilded merlions should be added to the railings of the vessel, all of them roaring as pretentiously as possible.

-///-///-///-

On the day of the maiden voyage of The Lady Brienne, Jaime is reluctant to have Cersei come along. There is something in his gut that tells him that she is not welcome and part of him is surprised to realize that it is just him that feels that way.

Cersei is unwelcome.

She had detested his lovely, melodious nightingale and then it had flown away. Then she had loathed his precious weirwood and had even cut it down in her madness. An action, which, Jaime supposes, is the only reason The Lady Brienne even, exists, but the ship never needed to exist. He would rather have had his weirwood where he could dream of Brienne… would rather have had his nightingale whom acted like Brienne… would much, much rather have had his Brienne. He truly wonders if the nightingale and the weirwood had been Brienne, and if the weirwood had… did that mean in using the wood to craft his ship, that the ship was her too? It is what he hopes, but Jaime know that his hopes are far-fetched.

However, several of his bannermen whom were now gathered at the dock in Lannisport to attend the maiden voyage of his prized vessel, had oddly inquired after Cersei’s health when they had arrived at Casterly Rock. After only a couple questions, Tyrion and Jaime had discovered that Cersei had sent out ravens to all of the large houses in the Westerlands describing her injuries and how they had come about.

The fury had returned and Jaime had managed to find Addam to cross swords in an alley to burn it off, the feeling of Cersei being unwelcome only growing stronger.

However, because of the situation his sister had manufactured, Jaime knows that it would be peculiar not to have Cersei on board his vessel to show that she is healthy and strong. So although Jaime would rather lock Cersei up in a room in Casterly Rock and throw away the key, he instead escorts her onto and across the plank and onto the deck of the ship, her beautiful golden hair glinting in the morning sun, but the scars on her face finally marring her beauty, finally reflecting to the world his sister for who she truly is inside.

Almost immediately after The Lady Brienne sets sail, Cersei becomes hysterical and screams and screams and screams.

-///-///-///-

Jaime has to practically carry and shove Cersei into the cabin so that she will not alarm their other guests in her manic frenzy, Tyrion running after both of them as Cersei shrieks and claws at her ears, opening up several of her wounds. “Don’t you hear it Jaime?” she cries as she throws herself at him and desperately covers her ears although whatever sounds she hears do not seem to be blocked out despite her efforts.

Jaime looks at her and her bleeding face. Tyrion looks at him and Jaime’s gaze flickers to meet his eye. Their sister has gone insane and looks it too. “What… do you hear?” Tyrion asks slowly only registering the cutting of the ship through the waves, the water pushing up against the bow as The Lady Brienne sails the sunset sea.

Cersei sneers at him, “The hull, it creaks!”

“As boats wont to do,” Jaime hisses even though he has not heard a single creak from his finely crafted ship.

“It’s groaning my name,” Cersei insists as she claws at Jaime’s shoulders. He wrenches her hands away from him and holds her as far from him as he can. Already her blood stains his doublet.

Cer-sei.

Cer-sei.

Cer-sei.

“Your name,” Tyrion repeats, his tone even and emotionless.

“The water lapping! Jaime! You must hear it,” Cersei cries, nearing tears.

I’ll drown you. I’ll drown you as you drowned me!

“Jaime! Make it stop. Please,” she pleads as she falls to her knees. A wave hits the side of the hull and Cersei hears her. Hears her voice.

Don’t you dare call his name, don’t you dare ask for him when you didn’t want him. You didn’t want him! Now he doesn’t want you.

“She’s trying to kill me. The bitch is trying to kill me!”

“Cersei,” Jaime hisses, “Stop this madness at once.” He kneels so that he is can see her face to face and he reaches out to brush her hair out of her eyes, “Mayhaps you are feeling sea sick,” he says more quietly, caringly although irritation is still burning deep in his gut.

“Jaime,” Cersei sobs.

Get away from him!

Cersei needs Jaime to save her. Needs him to choose her. “I love you Jaime, I love you.”

Both Tyrion and Jaime jolt at her words, their eyes wide. Jaime realizes that this is the first time he has ever heard her speak those words and he wonders how it ever was that he was convinced she loved him in return.

His heart breaks a little more.

The cabin creaks.

I’ll kill you.

Cer-sei.

I’ll kill you.

Chapter Text

The moment the boat docks, Cersei rushes off the boat, grabs a torch from one of the servants awaiting their lord or lady’s return and sets fire to the ship. She doesn’t even care that no one else has had a chance to disembark when she swings her torch at the ropes leading to the sails, the flames licking up the crimson and sapphire fabric decorated with lions, moons and suns before the fire spreads down the mast and catches the deck a blaze.

Jaime commands his own waiting soldiers, Addam among them, shocked and horrified, to evacuate the ship and the marina before even trying to put out the fire. His heart breaks at seeing the beautiful flaxen colour of his ship turn first black, then gray as it falls to ashes before him, but his people must come first.

Tyrion immediately takes up the task of mitigating the disaster that Cersei has brought upon their house, disappearing with the distressed nobles back towards the heart of Lannisport.

Jaime knows that the lack of loss of life is only because so many of his castle’s tenants had been awaiting the return of The Lady Brienne, many of the servants and soldiers hoping for a midnight sail upon the ship that was composed of their once precious sapphire weirwood, and had been available to help. Maybe with no losses, his bannermen will have a chance of trusting the Lannister’s again. He silently thanks Brienne, still and always the Lady Paramount of the Westerlands, protector of him and his people.

But in regards to the actions of his destructive, crazed sister…

“Arrest her,” he says to Addam when his longest friend and most faithful captain approaches him, silently and worriedly.

“What do you want me to do with her?” he asks, placing a comforting hand on Jaime’s shoulder.

Jaime’s hands are curled up into fists at his side, his eyes sad and cold, “Lock her up in a room that befits her station, though I wish we could just throw her in the cells. Place guards there that you trust, that have no loyalties to her. Don’t let her leave. She is never to leave the Rock again.”

Cersei cries his name as Addam drags her off, but Jaime is unmoved. She even has the audacity to repeat her earlier sentiments, but Jaime knows now… understands deeply in his soul that although he had truly loved her once, he loves her no longer.

The marina clears and more of the night passes, but Jaime stays to watch the last of his ship disappear into the wind and sea. Jaime walks forward and regards the oddly empty space that The Lady Brienne had once occupied in the marina. The ship had burnt so completely, no part of it left to him, except for the stupid gilded merlions that maybe he will one day have the heart to retrieve.

Tears come to his eyes as he reaches into his jerkin and pulls out his golden handkerchief with the embroidered sword. He clutches it in his hand and holds it to his face.

He thinks of Brienne again. Remembers her… and wonders if he should finally let her go.

His fingers loosen around the handkerchief knowing that the wind will pick it up and take it away should he let it. A gust causes the fabric to flap and snap falling further from his fingers, a golden banner in the inky darkness.

Jaime’s fingers curl back around the handkerchief so tightly that he almost hears his knuckles creak.

His eyes squeeze shut.

He knows he has to let Brienne go.

He clutches the handkerchief tighter still.

But he simply can’t.

What Jaime truly knows is that he never will.

He finally does what he has not done since before his mother died when he was a child.

Jaime makes a prayer to the Gods, to the Seven, to the Father, to the Mother, to the Warrior, to the Maiden, to the Smith, to the Crone… to the Stranger. All of them, any of them, in the hopes that just one will hear.

Jaime asks Them for just one thing.

Though he knows they can’t give her back to him.

-///-///-///-

Or so he thinks.

The Gods have long waited for his prayer.

And finally it has come.

-///-///-///-

Long after Jaime departs from the docks and Lannisport, the handkerchief tucked safely back before his heart, the scattered ashes blow and swirl and gather up as one, even the ashes floating on the surface of the sea.

Jaime doesn’t hear the kind disembodied voice that speaks good will to him. Instead, he rides through the starry night with memories of blue eyes, freckled skin, wide smiles, gentle hands, and easy laughter to occupy his troubled mind.

The ashes blow away from the sunset sea, away from the marina, away from Lannisport, away from Casterly Rock and deep into the lush forests of the Westerlands. They swirl in the breeze and land in the middle of a clearing, the nearest point of civilization a small orphanage and not much more.

Where the ashes land, a cluster of forget-me-nots grow.

-///-///-///-

The next day, a young orphan boy, by the simple name of Podrick, finds the small, blue flowers. He hums excitedly as he picks them, he hadn’t seen them there the day before, and happily brings them home to brighten up his and the other orphans’ lives.

Chapter Text

Podrick thinks that the little, blue forget-me-nots are enchanted for even though he has not been able to place them in water, they have not wilted, lost their colour, or died. The older children think he’s silly, but the younger children join in with his delight and stare at the flowers with him whenever they aren’t working. Some of them create stories of beautiful, enchanted maidens, others of long lost love, and one even tells a tale of the strange Others coming down from the North, the flowers always somehow playing a central role to the tale. The forget-me-nots have done what Podrick had wanted them to do when he found them in the clearing, brought joy into their little lives.

Once in a while, when Podrick returns from gathering sticks from the forest for their small hearth or hunting squirrels for supper, he sees Jeyne, who is five and ten, fingering the flowers and smelling their floral scent. However, the moment she hears a sound, she scurries off and once again acts the prim and proper mother she is forced to pretend to be.

Six and ten, Gendry really doesn’t care about the flowers, but sometimes Podrick sees a small smile almost crawl onto his face when one of the littlest ones come to him giggling in delight with a story to tell after he has returned from patrolling around the orphanage, searching for anyone that wants to do the lot of them harm and hunting for the bigger game.

There is a fairly sizable group of children at the orphanage, around a dozen or so. Their caretaker had died in the previous wave of disease that had swept through their household along with two of their youngest ones, and no one had come to take their place. Nevertheless, the remaining children are still surviving, still thriving even though a few of them are only useful for toddling about the place and getting constantly in Jeyne’s way.

Podrick is no longer one of these wee toddlings. He is ten and useful and helps Jeyne around the house as much as he can. He tries to help Gendry too, but Gendry often leaves him behind. It is for the better, Podrick recognizes, although sometimes it makes him sad. He is small and Gendry is big and Gendry is good at protecting while Podrick is good at keeping the children warm and happy.

But then one day, when Gendry is not home, one of the children comes running to the cottage reporting that they have spotted a group of men coming straight for the orphanage from the direction of the Riverlands. It is obvious that the men are hungry and angry and ready destroy anything that gets in their way.

Jeyne and Podrick gather all of the children still in the vicinity and hide them in the cellar. They will lose most of their food, maybe even parts of their home, it has happened many times before, but mayhaps they won’t lose their lives if they are quiet enough in the darkness below. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it happens few and far enough between that the orphans forget the fear in between only for it to come crashing back like a tidal wave when the bandits come.

Podrick laments having to leave the beautiful forget-me-nots behind when he closes the small trap door.

It only takes a couple moments once the darkness sets in, but then they all hear the sound of the orphanage door being kicked down. They hear the men laughing as they praise their luck. Inside the ramshackle cottage there is a roof over their heads, places to sleep, wood to burn, and food enough for a dozen children to keep their bellies full. Hopefully they will be indulgent and only stay for a night and not question why it is that there is no one there.

They hear things above them shatter, their few possessions tossed about, broken or tucked away, stolen. The men have brought with them some skins of ale and imbibe as they wreck the place.

One of the children begins to cry. Jeyne tries to desperately shush them with tears running down her cheeks, but it’s to no avail.

Podrick grabs for the nearest, hardest thing he can find as the laughter stops and then starts again, increasing in intensity as footfalls storm above their heads.

The trap door opens above them and three full grown men look down. One of them spots Jeyne and Podrick feels the hair on the back of his neck rise at the look they give her.

Podrick launches himself out at the closest man, swinging his wooden plank, but he is small and the man catches him easily and wrenches at his arm. Podrick cries out in pain and prays.

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees his enchanted forget-me-nots glow and then suddenly in a burst of steel, the man holding him lets go. Podrick drops to ground and realizes that a sword has pierced straight through his captor.

The sound of the blade swinging through the air is like a song as the two other men are cut down just as quickly and their bodies thump to the floor.

Podrick writhes on the ground, his shoulder dislocated, and looks up… and up… and up. A woman dressed in a dark blue tunic, black breeches and leather boots all decorated in suns and moons and lions, a smile on her face, and eyes bluer than the sky stands before him.

“Hello,” she says, softly, gently as she kneels down and reaches out to him with a large, freckled hand.

He blubbers as Jeyne and the kids peek out of the cellar behind him.

“My name is Brienne,” she continues and looks over all of them, “Don’t be scared.” Her gentle, soothing voice belies her large frame and ugly face. Though, ugly as it may be, it is the face of salvation and Podrick knows he will never tire of it, “I’ll protect you.”

Jeyne openly cries.

-///-///-///-

Gendry returns not too long after and charges inside when he sees the burning pyre outside.

Everyone is gathered on the floor around the hearth, enraptured with the woman who had come from the enchanted flowers to protect them. She smiles at Gendry and nods at his hammer. He nods at her strange sword, his eyes suspicious and wary, and takes the bowl of stew from Jeyne, who although still has red eyes, is smiling from ear to ear.

“His name is Gendry,” Podrick states excitedly, his arm in a sling, reset by Jeyne, “He’s usually the one who protects us.”

Brienne nods again at Gendry as he stiffly sits down and then she turns back to Podrick, “You’ve introduced me to everyone else, but not yourself. What’s your name?”

Podrick blushes and tells her.

Her eyes widen and water as she nods, “C-can I call you Pod, Podrick?” she quietly asks while fingering her sword.

Podrick beams and nods his head.

Pod.

What a loving nickname.

Chapter Text

“And with the extra horses and men sent to House Lefford, it seems that all of the lords of the land are still appeased by Cersei’s confinement. Let us hope it remains that way,” Tyrion sighs heavily and sets down his quill and docket. Everyone around the table fidgets nervously, but Jaime surprises himself with how unmoved he is by the removal of his sister from his life.

“Now, for the last matter of the day,” Addam bolsters to cut through the ice as he breaks the wax seal of a weather beaten missive and rolls out the parchment. His eyes scan over the document, his lips down turn, and his eyebrows furrow deeper and deeper as he reads.

Jaime’s gaze slowly moves from his own writing up to regard his captain and friend as silence takes over the room. Addam’s head suddenly snaps up and he stares directly into Jaime’s eyes. “What is it Captain Marbrand?” Jaime asks, “Do we have trouble from the Riverlands again?”

Addam nods his head slowly, but in a way that denotes that Jaime’s guess is not all there is to the story.

“Well out with it then. What does the missive say?”

“The devastation wrought in the Riverlands is causing all sorts to seek refuge in the Westerlands. Most are harmless and have been allowed to find residence, but some are proving to be scum of the earth…”

“That’s not new,” Tyrion states, a frown on his face as he regards the look that Addam is still giving Jaime.

“No,” Addam confirms, “And the sentries we have posted along the border are taking care of most of the riff raff that are bleeding over, but it seem that there is a small section of our border, where the defenses are weak because of the terrain. No matter how many men they have tried to post there, scroungers have gotten through. However, they report that it seems the land beyond is being fiercely protected, but not by one of our soldiers.”

Jaime’s eyebrow furrows, “Men from one of the small towns? Our smallfolk have taken up arms to defend their ilk before. Send them supplies, weapons, whatever they need.”

Addam shakes his head slowly, “That is not the situation this letter is describing, nor is it what I think, nor what your soldiers think, you will find interesting Jaime. According to our sentries, not men… not even a man… but a woman is guarding that territory of land.”

“A woman?” Tyrion piques.

“A warrior woman living in an orphan’s cottage,” Addam says.

Jaime blinks several times and straightens in his seat. His fists clench and he can feel the nails digging half moons into the palms of his hands. “Addam… what are you not saying?”

Addam hasn’t broken eye contact with Jaime in all this time, their gazes locked, “They report that this warrior woman wears moons and suns and lions…”

Jaime crushes the quill in his hand.

“And has eyes as blue as Tarth’s sapphire sea.”

-///-///-///-

Jaime doesn’t even wait until the next day to prepare a horse and saddle; he barely even waits for the council meeting to adjourn. “Jaime!” Tyrion calls as he finally catches up to his brother who is mystifying the poor stable boy by doing his job for him, yanking at the buckles of a saddle, “As Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, and Warden of the West you can’t just ride out to dangerous territory by yourself.”

“Addam and his retinue can follow when they’re ready, but I’m leaving now!”

“What if it isn’t her?”

Jaime turns to his brother, “Then it isn’t her. But if it is… by some miracle that it some how is…” He remembers burning her body, remembers standing vigil over cold skin and purple lips and closed eyes. His hand goes to hover over his heart, “If she’s Brienne, then I must go now.”

“It’ll take you almost a sennight to get there if you ride like this.”

“I’m taking two horses and have no plans to sleep until I find her,” Jaime hisses. The stable boy looks frantically around and races to saddle another horse.

“Have you thought about food? Water? Ale?!”

“One of the maids will soon be here with enough supplies for two, there and back. Addam can bring more with him when he follows.”

“Oh gods, you’ve actually thought this through.”

“I’m not going to be stopped for anything Tyrion.”

Tyrion sighs and reaches for Jaime’s hand, “Jaime…”

Jaime clenches Tyrion’s fingers tightly and looks upon his younger brother fondly, “I am not planning to give my titles to you yet brother. Do not worry.”

“See to it that you don’t,” Tyrion sighs with half a smile, “Addam will ride after you tonight, after gathering his men, and actually partaking in some supper.”

“Thank you Tyrion.”

“You know where you’re going?”

“Yes.”

“I hope…” Tyrion wonders if he should say what he wants to say and then says it anyways, “I hope for your sake, for all our sakes, it is her Jaime.”

Tears prickle at Jaime’s eyes, “I do too.”

Chapter Text

Jaime rides hard into the night and into the day and despite his wishes and his plans, sleeps restlessly beneath the stars when he nearly falls from his saddle as his horses nicker around him.

Although he sleeps, it is like the wind carries beneath his horses’ hooves, sweeping him across his lands, through the dense forests, the holdings, and the towns, his entire point of focus narrowing and narrowing as he gets closer and closer to where the missive indicated that the warrior woman resides, to her.

He can feel his heart beating in his chest, can hear the blood rushing in his ears as he grips the reins of his horse tighter.

The night before he thinks he will reach his destination, only four nights since he departed the Rock, he stops earlier than usual, allowing the horses a longer period of rest as he bathes himself in the still warm waters of a brook under the gentle light of the moon. He picks his finest clothes to wear on the morrow, sharpens his sword, polishes his boots, cleans his armour although he doesn’t plan to don it, and fluffs at his hair so that it will not dry oddly on his head and plaster onto his face the next day.

Jaime is beyond nervous. He doesn’t know what he will do if it is her, his Brienne, this warrior woman who protects the innocent… even worse, he doesn’t know what he will do if it isn’t her.

He doesn’t want to think that he will cry, but he already knows that his heart is in too deep. His brother had tried to warn him, but he rarely ever listens.

Hope.

All he has is hope.

-///-///-///-

“Return.” The gentle and familiar voice in her head tells her as she strolls through the dense thicket of trees, her palms feeling the rough bark beneath the callouses. She lifts her chin and listens to the birds sing their lovely morning song, a tune she can hum to now that she knows the melody.

After everything, she still feels a connection with the warbling birds and the swaying trees that she thinks will never fade. She appreciates the croon of the birds more, knowing how it is to resonate. She enjoys the shade of the trees more, understanding what it is like to catch the sunlight so that she can bring relief to those she loves.

“Return.” The voice repeats.

Brienne strolls slowly back to the orphan cottage and runs into Podrick along the way. He smiles toothily as her, his arms full of sticks, a squirrel on a string thrown over his shoulder and tells her of his day. Seeing him happy and healthy, she doesn’t quite regret her decision to stay.

Gendry had cornered her the first night, after she had been able to magic herself out of those small, blue blooms, the disembodied voice screaming that it was her time. He had told her of their history, of all that the children there had lost, of the dangers that befell them everyday, and she had seen the world press down on this boy, not yet a man’s, shoulders. He couldn’t protect them all alone and the weight of the burden had robbed him of his childhood. All these poor children were just so alone.

So despite her want, the incessant pull of her heart to the west, she had stayed… stayed and hoped that she could somehow pull him to the east. Him and a way to bring all these sweet children to safety too.

A small hand touches her arm, “Brienne,” Podrick whispers to her worriedly, tugging on the sleeve of her tunic.

Brienne breaks out of her trance and looks to where Podrick is pointing.

Immediately, her heart blooms in her chest and blood rushes through her ears. She didn’t realize it until this very moment, that the world had not been in full colour, was muted and gray. She realizes because the moment she sees him, suddenly it is like she is seeing the world anew: vibrant and vast and deep and beautiful. Even the sounds she thought were melodic, become sweeter in her ears, and finally, finally she can feel the morning dew that has gathered on her skin.

There in front of the orphan cottage, with two horses nickering, talking to poor, sweet, flustered Jeyne is Jaime.

Her Jaime.

“Jaime.”

He turns to her.

-///-///-///-

“Brienne.”

It is Brienne.

His Brienne.

The air wooshes out of his lungs and his mind becomes hazy, his vision too light and too dark all at once, flashes of colour exploding in his periphery as all the world disappears, but her.

He steps towards her and nearly stumbles and sees that she mirrors his movements towards him.

Slowly they make their way towards each other, each movement faster than the last and before long they are running at each other until finally, finally she comes crashing into his arms.

“Brienne,” he breathes, and he realizes that all this time that she’s been gone, he’s barely breathed at all.

“Jaime,” she cries and soaks his tunic, tears finally allowed to fall.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, as his hands desperately grapple at every part of her, diving up under her tunic, feeling her body, real and warm and alive against his.

“I’ve missed you too,” she replies and curls her fingers in his hair, something she couldn’t quite do even when she sat among his tresses as a trilling nightingale. The fingers of her other hand dips below his collar.

“Were you with me?” he asks desperately as he holds her and buries his nose in her flaxen hair, “Was it really you?”

Brienne nods, her face in the crook of his neck, her lips pressed to his cool skin, “Every moment.”

Jaime squeezes his eyes shut and holds her as tight as he can while nuzzling the hairs at her temples, “I knew it. I knew it. My Brienne. My lovely Brienne.”

“I love you Jaime, I love you. I did not wish to leave you.”

“I know,” he says. He pulls back and caresses her cheek, “I heard it in your song, I felt it in your shade and as we sailed the sea. I love you too. I never stopped loving you.”

“I know,” she repeats and kisses him, “I know,” she whispers this simply truth against his lips.

Chapter Text

“Addam should be here overmorrow,” Jaime murmurs as he shuts the door to the cottage with one hand, the other tightly interlaced with Brienne’s. They make their way to his horse to unload his armor and bedroll. He has been loath to let her go ever since the first moment he had been able to touch her again.

Brienne bites her bottom lip and regards Jaime sweetly as he pulls himself to her and kisses her on the temple. “Are you sure you will be able to find a place for all these children in Lannisport?”

She recalls the supper they had all just shared. Jaime had unloaded most of his supplies from his horses and immediately shared the food he had brought with the children. Jeyne had nearly vibrated out of her tattered shoes in delight at everything Jaime had offered her, and then she had used some of what he gave her to cook them all a delightful little feast.

At supper, most of the children had stared at their Lord Paramount in starry-eyed delight, Podrick asking endless questions of Jaime that Jaime had answered in his overly charming way. Some of the older children, mainly Gendry, had glared at Jaime in ire until Jaime had, of his own volition, offered them all safe harbor in Lannisport along with a small stipend to live off of until they could pay their way. With Addam arriving in two days time, escorting a dozen children across the Westerlands would not be overly difficult and Brienne’s heart had swelled at Jaime’s kind offer. All the children had agreed to the offer, though Gendry was still suspicious, nothing really pleased him, but Brienne knew the protective boy would follow his companions if they chose to go.

Jaime’s free hand brushes through her hair, the tips of his fingers running down the long line of her throat, “I am sure. But if for some reason the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands cannot secure a small homestead in his largest town, the children can stay at Casterly Rock and find work there if it pleases them,” Jaime smiles at her, “You should remember how many people the keep can hold.”

Brienne snorts as she remembers Jaime’s preposterous invitation and ball, though she does not regard it with derision any longer. After all, it is her husband’s absurdness that led her to him after all. “Will your family tolerate the arrival of a dozen children?”

Jaime imagines Tyrion’s face and chuckles loudly as he backs away and clumsily retrieves his bedroll with one hand, “Certainly not. But he tolerates me, so he shall endure.”

Brienne casts her eyes to the cottage and then to Jaime’s bedroll before she tugs at their joined hands, “Let us sleep under the stars tonight Jaime, we can build a fire to keep us warm.”

Jaime looks at her and a grin crosses his face, “We may not need a fire to keep warm Brienne.”

Brienne flushes and nudges Jaime with her shoulder. He chortles and kisses her again, this time on the lips. She parts them at his contact and his tongue touches hers as their hands squeeze.

“Did you want to sleep outside for the privacy My Lady?” Jaime teases between kisses.

Brienne nips at him in reprimand before she slowly pulls away, “Yes, but it’s not for this warmth you speak of.”

Jaime hums. “Then let me divest my horse of my armor and we shall go sleep under the stars My Lady.”

Brienne watches as Jaime places the bedroll on the ground and once again tries to unlatch his armor awkwardly with one hand. That is when she notices which suit he has carried with him all this way. “Jaime…” Brienne murmurs as she moves forward and touches the red chestplate. On it is a sun with a lion’s head roaring in the middle. “It is sweet that you came with this.”

Jaime seems to pause for a bit, contemplating the meaning behind Brienne’s words before he understands. He places a hand over Brienne’s and says, “You misunderstand Brienne. I didn't especially choose this suit for today… it is the one I always wear now.” Brienne’s lower lip trembles as fresh tears come to her eyes. She clamps her teeth over her lip to stop its quivering, but Jaime simply shakes his head, “Now, now,” he says and leans up to kiss her again, “leave your lips for me to bruise.”

Brienne’s teeth release her lower lips and Jaime immediately nips the soft flesh as the world once again drops away around them. When they return, it is with some soft laughter and with Brienne’s help Jaime finally removes his armor from his horse and stores it safely away. They then walk several paces away from the cottage and into the trees. They find a small clearing where they can still see the orphanage, but are still utterly alone and Jaime sets down his bedroll. He looks longingly at their joint hands before he lets go to gather some wood to start a small fire.

When he arrives back with his first bundle of sticks and trepidation already in his eyes, Brienne gathers him up in her arms and whispers soothingly in his ear that she is still there. Jaime runs the palms of his hands up and down her hips, taking the measure of her, feeling the reality of her as his forehead presses against hers. “What is it that you want to discuss that you don’t want the children to hear?” Jaime asks.

Brienne sighs as she wraps her hand around his waist and squeezes as tight as she can. Jaime gasps a bit at her force and she knows that she is embracing him so harshly not just out of love, but also because she is trying to simmer down the blaze of her anger.

“Your sister.”

-///-///-///-

“I’ll kill her. I’ll execute her myself!” He roars as he clutches tightly onto Brienne, running his hands all over her skin where Cersei had burnt her, down her spine where Cersei’s axe had cut into her, along her ribs, where Cersei had crushed her, through her hair, fingers on her scalp where Cersei had inflicted the wound that had drowned her.

Sometimes, after she had returned and found a home in the orphanage, Brienne jolts awake feeling like she can’t breathe.

Jaime’s eyes water and he looks wretched as he enfolds her in his grasp as though to try and protect her. The warmth of him makes her think that maybe… maybe as long as she wakes up beside Jaime she will never wake up feeling like she can’t breathe again. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know Brienne. If I had known…”

Brienne’s eyes are hard when she thinks of Cersei, but are soft when she sees the wroth and anguished man in front of her. “No,” Brienne says and shakes her head as she runs her hands comfortingly over his shoulders, “It is best that you did not know.”

“Brienne, you can’t possibly forgive—“

“You shouldn’t execute her Jaime,” Brienne sighs while clenching her fists in his tunic and pulling him closer to her.

“How could you say—“

Brienne’s eyes burn as she drops one hand from his tunic and fingers her sword, the lovely canine pommel. She contemplates forlornly what else she now knows that she didn’t know before. “No… you should not be the one who executes her.”

Chapter Text

Cersei doesn’t scream when the door to her prison is unbarred and her twin walks in with his once late wife. She drops her golden goblet of wine, the garnet liquid staining the lush carpet, her pallor becomes deathly pale, and her eyes widen as she tries to take the sight of Brienne in, but she doesn’t scream.

The screaming comes when Jaime, her Jaime… no longer her Jaime tells her her fate.

All the love he had once had for her, as his lover, as his sister, as his twin, is gone. She feels the loss like a cord snapped and it rents her down to her soul. The promise of his protection, of his loyalty, of his undying devotion, gone.

Cersei may still be the Light of the West, but the west is where the light sets.

-///-///-///-

Cersei demands for a trial by combat and it is granted, but without the gold of Casterly Rock at her disposal and the love of the Westerlands burnt into the sea, she cannot find a single person who will champion her.

Instead, she is trialed for her deeds. And although Cersei shrieks and cries that Brienne lies, that there is no way she could have murdered a woman so obviously alive, the fact that many who are in attendance of Cersei’s trial were also in attendance of Brienne’s funeral, seals her fate.

The lords and ladies of the Westerlands do wonder how it is that Lady Brienne Lannister has returned from the ashes, but dare not question what must be the will of the Gods. No one even thinks to question that the woman at their lord’s side is Lady Brienne Lannister though. She is just simply too… unique to be impersonated by any other noble lady of the land. It is also obvious that there is no tolerance for those who dare to question the return of Lord Jaime’s wife.

-///-///-///-        

Although there are calls for a public execution, many of the lords and ladies whom had been aboard The Lady Brienne and the smallfolk of the Westerlands all calling for blood, Cersei is granted a private death.

Jaime has half a mind to sentence Cersei to drowning, opening up the well that he had wanted to remain sealed for all his days. Jaime has been woken up too many times by Brienne gasping for air and crying silently into the crook of his neck until the dawn. He never knows what to do but sooth her and murmur that he loves her and cherishes her and is there for her. Brienne tells him it is enough, more than enough, but Jaime’s helplessness always makes him ache with frustration. It makes him sad and furious all at once that his wife still suffers because of his wretched twin.

However, Brienne requests to end Cersei by her sword instead.

“I wasn’t her first victim,” Brienne says to Jaime as she fingers the canine pommel and remembers sweet, small, furry Pod. She should have known that it had been Cersei that had killed him before she had tried to murder her, “This is his right as much as it is mine.”

Jaime clutches her hand tightly in his own and nods. They make their way through Casterly Rock together and enter Cersei’s cell. Inside the cold stone room, only Addam and Tyrion join them.

Cersei is dressed in her most elegant Lannister gown, all red and gold and regal. Her sharp green eyes are dry though red with rage filled crying.

She makes one last attempt at life and immediately tries to beg Jaime for her life, appeal to the love that he once had for her as his sister, as his want-to-be wife. She does not look at Brienne; she doesn’t even mention Brienne in her begging. “Please Jaime… we were born together. We have always had each other in this world. You know you cannot truly exist without me Jaime.”

Jaime shakes his head and squeezes Brienne’s hand as a whirlwind of emotion courses through him. He hates her and he loves her and he wants her dead and he wishes that she could live. “I now know who I can no longer exist without and you and she cannot exist together. I’m only sorry that you did not find happiness in time to save yourself, sweet sister.”

Cersei shrieks again as Addam grabs her and Tyrion comes to Jaime and Brienne’s side. “She tried to kill herself several times,” Tyrion sighs and pulls a poison filled vial out of his pocket, “Better to die on her own terms than on yours, I suppose.”

“She doesn’t want to face the true consequences of her actions,” Brienne states and draws her sword. She watches as Addam forces Cersei down on her knees and presses her neck onto a make shift stone block. Cersei screams and shouts, calling Brienne every terrible name that comes to her mind, finally meeting Brienne’s eyes as Cersei’s burn with poisonous hate. Both Lannister brothers clench in fury at the vitriol their sister spits. “If she dies on her own terms, she can still claim to be the victim or the tragic hero who failed to slay the—“

“Brienne,” Jaime sharply cuts in and tugs at their connection.

Brienne gives him a small smile and even with Cersei’s litany of curses they share a moment.

“Cersei is no hero,” Jaime says and releases Brienne’s hand. Brienne glances at him and he confirms that the action means he is ready.

Brienne nods and steps forward with her sword that had once been her first friend, her Pod. “Last words Cersei?”

“I wish I hadn’t killed you,” she spits, her green eyes burning like wildfire. “I wish that I had dismantled you part by part while you still lived. I wish I could have subjected you to an eternity of agony. Only what is right for such a monstrous beast.”

Brienne shakes her head and Jaime clenches his jaw. She raises her sword, “I don’t.”

Steel sings and Cersei is finally quiet.

It is a cleaner death than any of them believes she deserves.

But Brienne is not Cersei.

And doesn’t want to be.

Chapter Text

Although it is a long time coming and neither regrets it, it is still not easy to recover from Cersei’s execution. Not for Jaime. Not for Brienne.

But they find a way and they do it together.

Over nights and nights, Brienne wakes Jaime less and less often from dreams and sensations of drowning, being crushed, being cut, and burnt, from the miasma of cruel and cutting green eyes as they slash into her soul. Instead, their nights sleeping beside together slowly lengthen as they hold each other, skin on skin, taking solace in the warmth, the presence of each other even during slumber.

It takes over a moon’s turn after they are reunited and a little over a sennight after Cersei’s execution before they couple again for the first time since the first days of their marriage. However, neither feels the loss in the time in between, for their intimacy lies with the gift of being together. Whether it is sitting beside each other during meals, teasing each other mercilessly, leaning on each other on a divan while reading missives or books, sparring in the courtyard, or walking through the wood, Jaime and Brienne can no longer be found far apart. Their intimacy lies in tips of fingers touching, whole palms caressing, hair brushed and untangled, and breath intertwined. But when they do finally meld again, Jaime in Brienne as white hot desire courses through them, limbs wrapped around each other so that no one would be able to discern one from the other, a completeness, a wholeness, a peace finally settles back over them.

It is after they couple the first time that Brienne finally addresses all of the elephants in the bedchamber. “Are you going to keep those cages, leaves, and lions forever?”

Jaime holds Brienne tighter, hooks her knee with his knee up higher, and whispers just under her ear, “Merlions, Brienne.”

“I’m sorry, merlions,” she smiles fondly at her husband and kisses his brow.

Jaime keeps his eyes closed and breathes her in another time before he retracts his face out of her hair and blinks sleepily, but happily at her. All the golden cages that he had commissioned long ago for his nightingale hang in their room, sapphire leaves weaved intricately between their bars, and merlions roaring in their depths cradled on ostentatious cushions. “I think we should keep them,” he states, “But mayhaps not in here.”

Brienne hums and runs a hand down the curve of his back, “It is a bit strange for me.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Jaime murmurs and nestles her nose with his own. They have talked about her experience extensively since Brienne returned, but there is no way of wrapping ones mind around the events between when Brienne was taken and then brought back to him. The Gods keep their secrets still and Jaime dares not to question them. “I’ll move them to decorate places around the Rock. The chambermaids, servants, soldiers, and guests will appreciate seeing them.”

“Will they?” Brienne asks and squeezes his shoulders in a gentle massage.

“Have I not told you?” Jaime inquires in surprise as his hand runs down her sides and clutches tenderly at her hip. “I didn’t even get a chance to ask my men to retrieve the merlions from the bottom of sea before they were already back before me, cleaned and polished and treasured dearly. Those weirwood leaves… I asked the chambermaids to press and dry a few and they press and dried them all. The cages, I suppose I kept, but it is beyond me to think of keeping the fabrics and cushions, much less decorating them so beautifully.”

Brienne hums again as a smile bursts on her lips, “Ah, I did think the way the leaves were intertwined was much too tasteful.”

Jaime guffaws and nuzzles into her collarbone and under her chin until Brienne squeals with laughter and runs her hands through his hair so that he will stop tickling her with his beard. “I have you, so my people can have those. Something to gaze upon when their lord has secreted away their lady for days on end in their bedchamber.”

“Jaime!” Brienne admonishes.

Jaime gives her a leonine grin and rolls so that he is on top of her and nestled back between her thighs, “For, I do promise Lady Brienne Lannister, I will frequently secret you away.”

Brienne laughs and sighs and then throws Jaime off her. He lands on his back on the feather mattress with a small, confused, and surprised “oomf” that makes her heart burst in loving him and then she climbs astride him, one of her hands interlacing with one of his and holding it down beside his head. “But what will your people have of their lord when their lady secrets him away instead?” she whispers slyly into his ear as she lowers herself onto him.

Jaime has barely an intelligible reply.

Chapter Text

Although Jaime did what he promised and found all of the orphans a home in Lannisport and had provided the lot of them a stipend to live and even had helped them attempt to find jobs in the city, it takes less than two moon turns for the whole lot of them to migrate to Casterly Rock to stay.

The great migration had started with Podrick dropping by the castle near everyday, tripping over himself to visit Brienne with a toothy grin and an over enthusiastic story. Jaime and Brienne had smirked at each other in amusement while Podrick nearly bounced in glee while watching them spar, and it was Jaime who eventually suggested that his wife take the boy on as a squire whom Jaime would one day knight if he served his lady well. Suffice it to say that Brienne had adored the idea and Podrick had taken little to no convincing to stay on at the Rock.

Jeyne and the gaggle of younglings that depended on her had been next. They had come to the Rock simply to thank Brienne and Jaime and inform them of the progress of their humble lives, but the whole lot of them doted so fiercely on Brienne throughout the day that Jaime didn’t have the heart to send them home when evening came. He understood what it was like to dote on Brienne.

His kindness had nothing to do with the fact that some of them looked at him with especially big, wide, glimmery eyes and raised arms, demanding cuddle after cuddle and nothing to do with how attached he had gotten to them on the sennight’s journey back to Casterly Rock from the orphanage and definitely nothing to do with how much he missed the company of all the very loud, chaotic children after returning back to the castle.

Jeyne found a place at Casterly Rock as Brienne’s personal chambermaid and worked in the kitchens when Brienne didn’t have need of her. Meanwhile, the dozen children brought joy and chaos in bounds to Casterly Rock, driving the residents mad, although most with affection, and keeping them extraordinarily busy.

“Please brother,” Tyrion begs as several of the children climb on him and pull at his hair while he sits in the library attempting to read them a story, “Wait until some of these have grown before you have some of your own.”

“I will make no such promises,” Jaime had grinned as he pried a small drooling boy off of his younger brother and handed him to a nursemaid while lugging two children clinging to his legs around himself.

Gendry had been the last to relent and when he had appeared at Casterly Rock silent and sullen, Brienne had simply smiled and sent him in the direction of the smith. He did eventually open up, as much as Gendry opened up, and helped control the children, preventing them from climbing all over Tyrion when ever he wasn’t with the smith.

“Why do they have such attachment to me?” Tyrion demands at the next council meeting, his peers trying not to chuckle at him. Except for important meetings and sleep, he can barely ever find a free moment without a few of the dozen small children finding and accosting him.

Addam sniggers and retorts, “It is because you cannot run away fast enough Lord Tyrion.”

“Damn all of you and your normal length legs!”

“I’ll try and get them to give you some alone time,” Brienne placates.

“But then they will simply cling to you,” Jaime points out.

“They cling to you as much as thing cling to me,” Brienne teases.

“Lady Brienne is already used to a grown man clinging to her like a limpet. It will not be a bother for several small children to do so as well,” Tyrion retorts.

“Admit that you love the attention Lord Tyrion!” Addam jests. Addam is lucky. Although all of the children quite like him too, he has long legs and has the training of a soldier to move him quickly and covertly through the halls when he wants some peace. When he doesn’t want peace, he plays and spars with the younglings enthusiastically, trying to run them weary by battling them all at once, Jaime, Brienne, and young Pod, his only comrades in arms. Addam has control of his time with the children, wherein Tyrion has none.

Tyrion glares at him, but says no more. The council bursts into laughter again.

-///-///-///-

Jaime and Brienne are by the cliffs, standing under moonlight and starlight, a small fire blazing just beside them casting light. In Jaime’s hands is his Lannister wedding cloak, crimson and gold, and still as beautiful as the day that they had been married. In Brienne’s hands is her Tarth maiden’s cloak, azure, rose and gold, and requested from her father, sent along with the notice of her revival.

Selwyn now sleeps peacefully with his retinue in the walls of Casterly Rock, beyond happy for the return of his daughter.

And to Jaime and Brienne it is like the whole world is asleep, except for the both of them.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” Jaime whispers as the cloak in his hands unfurls, “I am hers,” he swings the cloak over Brienne’s shoulders and fastens the golden clasp upon her freckled clavicle, “And she is mine.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” Brienne recites next as her maiden’s cloak whips in the wind, the sound of the crashing sea far below them, “I am his,” she wraps Jaime in her cloak and does the clasp at the base of his neck, “And he is mine.”

Both of their hands, now free of their cloaks, intertwine. “From this day,” their foreheads touch as they breathe each other in, speaking their breaths in unison, “Until beyond the end of our days.”