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Chapter Text

Jaime Lannister has not worn this ceremonial cloak since his mother passed away. Now, he is barely sitting upright in a hospital sept, getting married, while men whimper and die just outside those doors. They had pulled a nearby switchboard operator to stand in as his bride, as the nurse had more pressing matters to attend to.

This is the only way his father could ensure his betrothal. When he is broken, maimed and zoned out on poppy milk. 

The war must be coming to an end, he thinks as the septon drones on about the Gods if his father is arranging marriages. He must know something.

When Jaime had entered the hospital a sennight past, a letter was waiting for him. Tywin Lannister, one of the most powerful men in Westeros, informed his eldest son of his imminent marriage. 

Before the war, the great Tywin Lannister would have balked at marrying any of his children into a new money family. But this was a modern Westeros. And this girl was heir to a family who invented new mining technology, something the Lannisters desperately needed. The letter also mentioned that her father was a minor lord so it was not a complete disgrace of a pairing.

Jaime is wheeled back to his cot once the ceremony is over. The septon takes his heavy, gaudy cloak and Jaime is too tired and broken to care about anything right now. He desperately tries not to think of how Cersei will react. She will be devastated, no doubt. 

Jealous and territorial, his twin sister always hated the thought of Jaime loving anything more than her. The thought of seeing her again was the only thing that kept him from walking towards the door and wandering off into the wilderness. 

But would she accept him back now?

---------------------------------------------------

Eight Months Later. Six months after the war.

The train is quiet and hums along the tracks, the only bit of noise that slices through the midnight air. Jaime Lannister was being pulled away from Highgarden, away from the Reach, away from the love of his life.

It is a long ride back to King’s Landing and the only company Jaime has is his memories.

“Come away with me,” he whispered, pushing her long hair to the side and peppering her neck with kisses. “What can that old bag Olenna do for you that a Lannister cannot?”

Cersei shoved away from him, pulling her loose curls around the spots his lips had made contact. “You’re a fool, Jaime. A beautiful, golden fool. I have an opportunity here that I could never obtain back at the rock. Father is stuck in the past in a way Olenna Tyrell is not. I am not just a woman here, meant to play house and pump out children. I have the chance to be great here in a way I never could before.”

Jaime balled his hands into a fist, trying to mask the urge to grab a vase and toss it. His mind was blank with disbelief. During the war, he had thought of nothing but Cersei. His other half, his soulmate. In his hallucinations, the world was warm and hazy and highlighted with laughter. His reality in the trenches was dark and wet and tasted of blood.

“Nothing matters but us,” he quipped, using her own words against him. “Fuck everyone that isn’t us. We could be happy together, just us. You can’t possibly prefer that cripple Willas to me, can you sweet sister?” he had tried to jest but it had backfired. 

“You are acting like a modern fool, Jaime. What Willas lacks in strength and vigor, he more than makes up for it in his words and actions. He has a mind for business and treats me as an equal. His head is planted firmly on the ground, not in the clouds living in fantasy lands like yours,” she dismissed him so easily. “Why can’t you see the advantages? I will love no one but you, but I need to do this first. Things do not have to change between us, just because I refuse to run off with you.”

Jaime had made a surprise visit to Highgarden to see his sister on the pretense that he missed her. And he had, most ardently. But he also wanted to convince her to run away with him, first to King’s Landing then to Pentos or Braavos. He was so sure that he would find her miserable in Highgarden, surrounded by thorns and petty flattery. 

Jaime had never guessed she would have thrived in that atmosphere.

Before his misery can become too all-consuming, the train screeches to a halt, pulling him out of his pathetic memories. Looking down at his watch, he sees that it is barely past midnight and they are nowhere near the capital. The whistle blows loudly, piercing the air three times. Jaime looks out the window, sees nothing, before looking around the car. He can hear faint yelling outside the train and knows something is wrong.

All is quiet, for what feels like an eternity before the door to the passenger car is kicked open and two men burst through brandishing rifles. It takes Jaime a moment before he realizes that two more men enter from the other end of the car as well, bandanas covering their face and dusted hats on their heads.

The car erupts into chaos. Women begin screaming as one bandit cocks his rifle, bellowing, “Everybody stays calm and no one needs to get shot!” A passenger stands suddenly, trying to rush one of the gunmen before taking the butt of a rifle to the face with a disgusting crack, crumpling him to the ground.

Isn’t this just the cherry on top of a perfect fucking day.  

The robbers start harassing the passengers, shoving a tote bag under their noses. “Let’s go!” one yells. “Everything you got. Money, jewelry, anything of value goes in the bag! If I have to hang ya out the window by the ankles and shake ya for everything you gots, I will!”

Jaime sits down and closes his eyes, leaning his head against the seat behind him. In his hasty retreat from Highgarden, he had no means to defend himself or anyone around him. Useless, Lannister, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Tywin whispers in his ear.

“Get on the ground!” Behind him, there is a bang, a crash, and the sound of two people scuffling. The screams get louder and a shot goes off. Jaime is up on his feet now to see the passengers around him cowering lower in their seats and two men are holding a man down. Swinging wide, they punch him in the face.  He turns his head to the side and spits blood when Jaime realizes it is not a man, but a woman dressed as one.

She is wearing black slacks, a white button-up under a grey sweater vest. The only thing that gives away her gender is her full lips and shoulder-length blonde hair.

The man on top of her comes to the same realization as Jaime does and hoots with laughter, palming her chest and pulling at her vest. Jaime swallows roughly, his thoughts going back to the worst parts of the war and reliving the nights when he could do nothing to help. You’re not a child, you are a Lannister, do something! Tywin again.

Another man has come to help turn the woman over, tying her hands behind her back in a tight knot as she grimaces and struggles, earning another punch and a degrading slap on the ass. “Reckon we can take her with us and teach her how to be a proper woman,” the pig takes a handful of hair and yanks, hissing, “because it is clear no one in yer life has done so.”

“Gentleman,” Jaime drawls, his voice sweet and his hands raised in surrender.  The robbers startle when they see him making his way slowly down the car. The second man stands and aims his rifle, forcing Jaime to smile. “I didn’t survive four years in a trench to die on a train by men too frightened to show their faces.”

The Pig stands beside his fellow bandit as the Second Man shoots at Jaime, deliberately aiming past his head. Jaime does not flinch. “Take a seat, boyo. Or I won’t be as generous with my aim next time.” 

Jaime keeps one hand up but reaches in his pocket for his money clip, tossing it in their direction. “My name is Jaime Lannister. My father is Tywin Lannister. You may have heard of him? The wealthiest man in Westeros. Some say the most powerful, too.” He takes his other hand down and removes his watch, tossing it their way, as well. His demeanor is cool, slow. Nonchalant. This is how Arthur Dayne would square off with masked gunmen.

“Lannister, eh?” one of them fires again, causing another ripple of screams to make its way through the passenger car. The bullet hits one of the overhead lamps, causing the glass to shatter and the light to go out. “Where I’m from, we don’t take too kindly to Lannisters.” 

Jaime actually laughs at that, “We are a bunch of cunts, that’s for sure.”

“Alright, enough chit chat,” the Second Man storms up to him, bypassing the money and the watch to butt Jaime in the face with the rifle. He curses loudly as his eyes fill with water and blood starts to trickle from his nose. He is shoved to his knees and his hands are tied together behind his back.

“Anyone else got somethin’ smart to say?!” the Pig hollers, grabbing a handful of hair and dragging him to where the woman lays on the floor. He must have a kink for hair pulling, Jaime muses. “You seem to think we’re playing games! This ends quickly and no one else has to get hurt!”

They pull the woman to Jaime and tie her to him so that the two are sitting back to back on the floor. The Second Man punches Jaime again, causing more blood and water to leak from his face. He can hear the Pig behind him, talking to the woman tied to him. Jaime turns his head to try and get a better look. The Pig has her face in a vice grip, “You lucked out this time you ugly, fucking bitch. Next time, learn your place before punching a man stronger than you.”

The passenger car door slams shut and silence falls upon the traumatized travelers. Before long, Jaime can feel her fingers moving rapidly around the ropes. “Sir,” her voice is surprisingly soft. “I need you to untie us. Please.” Jaime turns his head and sees she is talking to a man seated next to them. The man, dressed in a tailored suit and still wearing his bowler hat, sits unmoved. His eyes flicked over and Jaime saw the unfiltered terror that shone in his eyes. The woman begged, again, and the man shook his head but said nothing. 

“I need,” her voice is small and urgent. “I need to be released. I can still catch those men. I need to get my things before they are able to escape.”

Jaime is unjustly annoyed. He saved her from being raped and kidnapped and she still wants to chase after them? Is the money worth more than her life and dignity? “What is your plan?" he interrupts her pleas. "How will you overpower four men with guns?”

“I will find a way,” she grits, still writhing against his back, trying to loosen up the knots that bind her hands together. Her back feels strong and stable and for a brief moment, Jaime thinks that if anyone can beat those men, it is this ox of a woman. “I have to.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad I stuck my neck out for you, then,” he spits, a little more than frustrated.

“No one asked you to,” she hisses back, still moving her arms up and down behind him. “Please, can someone untie us?” 

“Good luck, lady. They’re all too terrified to move. I saved you from being kidnapped, raped, and possibly even killed and I was beaten, shot at, and tied up with you.”

“I had everything under control,” she huffs, her voice full of irritation.

“Under control. Yes, it certainly looked so. When he had you pinned beneath him and was threatening to kidnap you.”

“I would have figured something out,” she repeats, not once stopping her arm movements.

“Well, my sincerest apologies, my lady,” his tone drips with sarcasm. “If I had known that is how you enjoy yourself, I would have sat by and let you be carried off into the sunrise. If they could carry you, that is. Considering how massive you are -”

Before Jaime can finish his antagonizing rant, she knocks the back of his head with her own, causing his ears to ring and his teeth to clench together painfully. “Oh! You hard-headed lunatic! I was trying to save you! The polite response is a thank you!”

“I already said, I did not need saving!”

The nerve of this woman! 

Jaime opens his mouth to respond when the mousy Bowler Hat man looks at them. “Could you two please keep quiet. I believe the robbers are still on the train and I don’t want them returning because -”

“Shut up!” They both hiss simultaneously, causing the tepid man to sit back and continue to ignore them.

“I am so sorry, sir,” Jaime hears her say, rolling his eyes and glancing away. She is muttering an apology that Jaime chooses not to hear when he hears her gasp. 

Straightening up, Jaime can feel the presence of another person looming over them. A gun ricochets from behind him, causing another jolt to ripple through the passenger car. For a brief moment, Jaime is worried the woman behind him was hit but he assures himself he would have felt her body react behind his. He instinctively pushes back onto her frame, twisting his fingers till his pinky wraps around hers.

It almost amuses Jaime thinking that this is how he’ll go. Tied to a stranger on a train after coming from a city he wasn’t supposed to be in.

“Everybody out!” the Pig screams. 

There is a moment of unsure silence, passengers glued to their seats. “Am I speakin’ Valyrian? Get out!”

There is a stampede around them, now. As the remaining men and women scatter like cockroaches off the train. 

“Me and the fellas are on our way out and I had a tickling sensation in my belly that I had some unfinished business back here,” the Pig drawls, the heels of his boots kicking on the floor as he walks around the two of them.

“That sounds like worms,” Jaime replies. “You should probably get that checked out.”

The Pig finally moves to stand in front of Jaime. He looks up and sees only the fuckers eyes, his hat, and bandana covering the rest of his miserable face-up. He points the barrel of his shotgun to Jaime’s forehead and presses roughly, digging into the skin. “I could easily kill you. Right now. I have all the power over you right now, you smug, elitist prick.”

“But we both know you won't,” Jamie smirks, his voice low and playful. 

The Pig growls as the woman behind him squeezes his hand. “Please,” the woman begs. “There is no need for violence. You can leave, right now. You don’t have -”

“Shut up, cunt,” the Pig spits, not taking his eyes off of Jaime. 

“How much would Daddy Lannister pay to get his golden boy back?”

Jaime whistles and shakes his head. “First you threaten to take the girl hostage, then me. Not a great strategy, my friend.”

“As opposed to just killin' ya now?” he counters, digging the barrel into his skin even more. 

“You are fucked, either way, truly,” Jaime answers honestly. He can feel her hands start to sweat in his but she doesn't tremble. Her head is turned, he can feel her temple resting against the back of his head. “Kidnap me, and my father will find you and make sure you are sent to the dirtiest, Dothraki prison he can find. Kill me and he will end your bloodline. The way I see it, the only real option you have is to get off this train and forget you saw me.”

Jaime can feel the barrel of the gun trembling, but he doubts it’s from fear. He can practically hear the man grinding his teeth with rage. “Aye. Must be nice hiding behind your daddy’s skirts.”

“It has its perks,” Jaime smiles. The bandit truly had no idea who he was messing with, what he was getting himself into. Tywin Lannister had virtually gone to war for less. And, for the amount of danger he was in, Jaime was unphased by the man's threats. He had the upper hand and both men knew it. He didn’t want the woman to get hurt so, in his mind, this protection covered her as well, even if the Pig didn’t realize it. 

Suddenly, the Pig’s eyes sparkle with something, under normal circumstances, Jaime would consider excitement. Outside the passenger car, he can hear the faint sounds of a car starting up. The Pig pulls back his barrel slightly and gently runs the tip of the gun through the hair that fell across his forehead. “I can’t kill ya. And I can’t take ya with me. But, I can give ya something to remember me by.”

The Pig puts the gun away and pulls out a knife. Sitting roughly on Jaime’s thighs so he can’t move, The Pig grabs his face between his hands and squeezes. Jaime tries to headbutt him but the fucker leans back and cackles. He can hear the woman panting behind him and moving her hands up and down again. Jaime finally realizes that she is trying to use friction to loosen up the rope. If he was smarter, earlier, he would have used his fingers to try and gently untie her ropes, then she could have untied him. They could have worked as a team. Instead, he antagonized her. Idiot.

The Pig slices along the side of his face, cutting through the flesh as if it were butter. At first, he feels nothing. He belatedly feels like he is being torn apart, split, and hot blood falls down his face. Jaime jerks and screams as the Pig laughs and laughs. His ears are ringing and the woman tied to him is pleading for the bandit to stop.

“Every time you look in the mirror, I want you to remember me. To remember this moment.” He takes the blade and quickly slices down the same cheek, burning the scar that was already there and creating an X with his knife.

Before he gets up, the Pig pulls down his bandana and Jaime gets a brief look at his face. He is going to regret this, Jaime thinks. He gets a good look at him before the Pig spits in his face. He slaps the wound, spreading and splashing the blood, before standing and running out.

For the next few moments, all he hears is her ragged breathing. He leans his head back and rests it on hers, sinking his body into her form. The gash feels hot and sticky, raw, and open. He is thrumming and numb but he slowly realizes she is speaking. 

“Mr. Lannister. Can you hear me? Are you okay? I’m going to try to get help.”

Jaime isn’t sure how much time passes but there is a lot of commotion behind him. Someone else is here. He is too dazed to help her this time. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, someone is on their knees in front of him. It is her. Jaime finally gets a good look at her. Her face is broad and pale, dotted in freckles. Her nose is crooked and he knows the remnants of a broken bone when he sees one. 

Jaime wonders if she were beautiful, if she wasn’t ugly, would more men come to her rescue and not only him?

She jerks her head up and her eyes are so disarmingly big and blue that Jaime is momentarily speechless. She is speaking, but Jaime isn’t listening. He has never seen eyes as blue as hers before. She is sopping up blood and tying a piece of fabric around his face. Her quick actions remind him of his time at war. “Thanks, Doll,” he croaks with a smile.

“Don’t call me that,” is what she says, as she helps push him back to lean against a seat.

“Mr. Lannister,” a strange, deep voice interjects. “My name is Dr. Goromon. I am here to help. We are close to Bitterbridge and we can get you some help there. Take this. It is the milk of the poppy.” His head is tilted back and a thick, white liquid is poured down his throat. 

“Is this train moving? Or did you give me too much?”

Jaime hears the man chuckle. He sounds like an older man but Jaime’s lids are drooping with sleep. “We are moving, Mr. Lannister. The devils are gone. Luckily, no one was killed.”

“We’re about half an hour away,” he hears her. He can tell she is sitting at his side. The side with the cuts. “Do you think he’ll be alright? He’s lost a lot of blood.” She sounds worried. 

Jaime can hear the doctor talking but he blurts, “Dollface -”

“Mr. Lannister, please don’t call me that,” her voice is so stern it reminds him of his childhood septa.

“I don’t know your name.”

“You can call me Brienne,” she answers quickly. 

He wants to respond, has a million things on his tongue, but the poppy milk is pulling him under. Is that a popular name, he wonders? His wife, his Brienne, floats into view. Jaime wonders how she would have acted tonight. She would have behaved differently, for certain, but she would not have sprung into action as this Brienne did. Jaime goes under, and it is not his wife he is thinking of.

Chapter Text

When Jaime wakes, he momentarily thinks the war has not ended and that he is back at the front. The sound of a hospital buzzing about him as one wound or other stings in pain is a hell he thought he wouldn’t have to revisit for a while.

Bringing his hand to his face, he can feel the puckering of suture marks where they have sewn his wounds closed. Gods, Cersei will reject him even more now. 

“How are you feeling?”

He jumps, not realizing another person sits at his side. It’s the woman from the train. The one that he stood up for, who nursed his wound in return. Gods, she was tall. He hadn’t realized, seeing as he had only seen her beaten on a train floor. “Why are you here?” he snaps, harsher than he intends.

If she was alarmed by his rudeness, she did not show it. “You briefly came to while they were sewing your face. You almost cold-cocked a poor nurse trying to help,” she explains with a shrug. “I helped hold your head while the doctor finished. After, seeing your wounds, it didn’t feel right to leave you alone. So I stayed.”

“I assure you, I do not need a babysitter,” he grumbles, twisting to sit up properly.

“You stood up for me. And in return, you were beaten and slashed. I needed to make sure you were okay,” her brows were knitted in worry, her lips set in a hard line. 

“While all of that is factually correct,” he replies, his mouth curved into a smile. “I suppose I could have handled the situation better.”

“I have to agree,” she nods solemnly. Jaime could have laughed if his face wasn’t inflamed. 

While she sits in silence, Jaime takes her in. She is as homely as he remembered, if not more so now that she is awashed in fluorescent lighting. Her clothes are spattered with blood and the sleeve of her button down is torn off. Only one, though, making her look ridiculous with one sleeve missing. She has a bruise on her temple and her lip is busted. She looks a mess and Jaime can’t imagine he looks better. She catches him staring and shifts uncomfortably. 

“So,” he exhales, exhausted with the uncomfortable silence. “What are you really hoping for? Money? I know you were so desperate to get back what was stolen.”

A blush creeps up her face and she stands abruptly. Ah, that had offended her. Talks of money always did offend people, curiously. 

“I served in the war, I’ll have you know,” she huffs out full of indignation. Gods, she is a giant. She is towering over him now. She could probably wrap her hands around his throat and end his life right here. “I was taught to care for the injured. And to never leave anyone behind without seeing to that they were okay.”

Unsure why he was so annoyed at her, he stares her down. Or, up at her. Her shoulders are back, her chin high. She was like this on the train, too, he remembers. Rebuffing any form of help. He holds a hand up to his bandaged face. “As you can see, I am well. So, if it isn’t money you are after, feel free to leave.” 

Jaime doesn’t bother to give her the satisfaction of waiting for her reaction. He yanks at the thin white blanket they had draped over his body and flings it to the floor. “I can’t believe you took me to a community hospital!” 

Before either can say another word, the white cloth that separates his bed from all the others in the room is swung open and a plump nurse barges in. The way she holds herself and the smirk that touches her lips when she takes a look at him reminds Jaime of his aunt Genna and he can’t help but like her. “Even though we are but a humble community hospital, Mr. Lannister,” she chides. “I promise we can keep up with the best of them!”

Jaime offers her a small smile in defeat. “My apologies.”

“Besides,” she continues, grabbing the clipboard that was attached to the foot of his bed frame. “You have the community to thank for getting you the help you needed. Ms. Tarth here brought you in out of the goodness of her heart. “

Jaime’s eyes dart to the giant. Brienne, she had said on the train, before the poppy milk had knocked him out cold. 

The nurse kept rattling on about the community but it was the blonde in the room who held his attention.

“The doctor will be in shortly to provide an ointment for the cuts and to discuss cleaning before you can leave,” the nurse explains before jotting a few notes on his paperwork and leaving the two alone again.

The silence is heavy and Jaime can practically feel his heartbeat in his ears. “Ms. Tarth, is it?” he inquires softly, trying to keep any acquisitions out of his tone. 

She nods. “Yes. Brienne Tarth. I’m from an island in the Stormlands.”

Jaime lifts an eyebrow and nods. What was she playing at?

“Well, thank you for seeing me to safety, Ms . Brienne Tarth,” he enunciates. 

She shrugs awkwardly, her eyes downcast. “As I said, it was the least I could do.”

“Indeed. Tell me, what is a woman from an island in the Narrow Sea doing all the way in the Reach? Unaccompanied? Starting brawls with train bandits dressed as a man?”

She at least has the decency to squirm under his questions now. She bites her lower lip and looks up at him briefly before averting her gaze again. What did he see there? Guilt? Fear? 

“I-um was visiting a friend. Now that the war is over, it is safe to cross Shipbreaker Bay and head to the mainland.” 

Horrible liar.

“I see,” he says slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. “And, I assume you aren’t married?” 

A blush creeps up her face, and she shakes her head no. She is uncomfortable, now that the attention is solely on her. 

“Curious,” he starts lightly. “I had heard -”

The curtain swings open again and this time, it is the doctor.He is a tall, frenzied looking man with kind eyes. “Good Morning, Mr. Lannister,” he greets jovial. “Good to see you awake!”

Jaime gives him a thin smile and a tight nod. The world truly did conspire against him today. 

Sensing the mood, the doctor looks between the pair. “Would you like me to come back in a moment, Mr. Lannister?”

“No. I would like to leave so if you can give me what I need, that would be great,” he says, his eyes back on Brienne. Or whatever her real name is. By the time the doctor has handed him a prescription and a note about basic cleanliness, he informs Jaime that the bandage will need to be cleaned often and there is a good chance he will have a pretty nasty scar. At the mention of a scar, his thoughts drift to Cersei. His almost ethereal twin will surely hate to look upon him now. 

With the moment for interrogations over, he swings his legs off the bed and stands, his joints groaning from the previous night’s abuse. She steps back, giving him space, and Jaime realizes she is a bit taller than him. He had been calling her the Giant in his head but he didn’t realize she was even taller than he!

“It’s a long way to King’s Landing,” he sighs. “Perhaps we can chat more about your family on our journey east? I can pay for your ticket, Dollface.”

That scowl is back as she grumbles, “Don’t call me that.”

“Yes, yes, Brienne . I remember.” Jaime doubts he sounds sincere, in fact, his voice is high with annoyance, but he is suddenly exhausted. He’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, this giant stranger from the same island with the same name as his wife, but first he decides he needs fresh air. 

Jaime gestures widely for Brienne to lead the way out of the hospital. She chews her lip and walks ahead of him. As she does, Jaime catches a glimpse of her exposed shoulder, her exposed arm. Like her face, the skin was pale and dotted in freckles. But what surprised Jaime the most was just how strong she looked. Lean and muscular, he had fought side by side with scrawnier men in the trenches.

When they exit, he closes his eyes and breathes in the air. He could smell the Mander from here. The road was already bustling with carriages and pedestrians, the world moving around them. It was late morning and they just might be able to make the noon train into the capital. 

After grabbing a taxicab, which took considerably longer now that they weren’t in a major city, the strange duo sat in silence in the back of the car. He said nothing. She said nothing. He felt on edge, like something was happening but he wasn't sure what. Perhaps if he had better sleep he could think better.

Exhausted and tired of beating around the bush, Jaime digs into his pocket for the leather wallet his wife had gifted him. Pulling out a photo that Brienne had cheerfully stuffed into his wallet after his first work trip kept the newlyweds apart. “Never forget me, darling,” she had giggled. “You’re from Tarth. As is my wife,” he sighs and holds up the photo. “Do you know her?”

Leaning in, this Brienne's face lit in recognition. “She is my cousin,” she whispers. Staring at the photo for a while longer, she looks up at him, her eyes searching his face. “I hadn’t known a match was made for her.”

Jaime places the photo back into his wallet. Her cousin. That made sense. A family name, perhaps? For some odd reason, that conclusion leaves him feeling oddly deflated.  

Suddenly, the taxi stops at the train station. The driver turns and interrupts the conversation. “That’ll be two dragons.”

“I was robbed yesterday," Jaime huffs matter of factly. "I do not have two gold coins to rub together even if I wanted to. My name is Jaime Lannister, you can send a- “

“This cab doesn’t run on credit,” his accent is laced with contempt. “You think I got the time to be sending bills for each fella that sits his arse in these seats,” he slaps the seat beside him. “I need the money this week, not next week or three weeks from now.”

“Fine, fine, fine, fine,” Jaime grunts. He hasn’t been spoken to with such disregard since his early days in the war. The robbers took his money and his watch, but he still had the cufflinks his father had given him as a wedding gift. He plucks the gold lion cufflinks off his jacket and hands them to the irate cabbie. “Here. Take these. They are made of real gold and will fetch you more than you make in six months.”

The cabbie’s mouth slacks as he holds the cufflinks in his palm. Jamie shoves his way out and leans into the open window of the passenger side door as the gigantic women gingerly step out behind him. “Those are made with gold from the mines in Casterly Rock. Do not let some lowly pawn dealer hustle you out -” he stops, remembering the way his wife pinned them to his sleeves before he left the rock. Her beautiful face swimming into focus. “Actually, do what you want with them. I don’t give a shit.”

The train station is teeming with people moving about frantically. In a sea of well-groomed travelers, eyes pivot their way as Jaime leads the way to the ticket booth. They make an awkward pair, him with his bandaged face and rumpled clothes and she dressed as a man with ripped sleeves and blood speckled about her attire. 

As they wait for their train, his thoughts go to Cersei. To the way they had left things. He hadn’t told his wife or father that he would be stopping in Highgarden so explaining the new scar will be interesting. Cersei will hate it. Even though she is married to a cripple, she expects more of him. 

Jaime can feel the giant edging about in his peripheral vision. She keeps looking at him, then looking away, as if she wants to ask him something. 

“What?” he barks, once again harsher than he intended. 

“How is Jocelynn?” she croaks, the words coming out quick and forced. “I haven’t seen her since before -,” she pauses mid sentence, catching herself. “I have not seen her in many moons.”

“Who is Jocelynn?”

“My cousin. Your wife.”

Jaime shakes his head, the whistling of a train in the distance pinching his ears. “My wife’s name is Brienne.”

Confusion ripples across her homely face. Her tongue darts out and moistens her lips as her gaze shifts about the surroundings. She does that when she is thinking , he realizes. “The lady in the photo. She is my cousin, as I said. However, her name is Jocelynn. I am Brienne.” Her speech is stunted, her words unsure. She speaks like a highborn lady herself but does not carry the confidence of one nor do her actions portray that of a girl of gentle birth.

“You must be mistaken,” he dismisses her. “Perhaps you did not get a clear view in the car. Look again, Dollface. This is my wife. Her name is Brienne.”

Jaime can practically see her swallowing as she takes the photo from him this time and really stares. “Her name is Jocelyn. She is my cousin. Her mother married my father some years back.”

The platform buzzes about them as the train heading towards King’s Landing starts to board. The conductor is shouting and people are saying goodbyes on the platform. He is stuck in place, staring at this stranger. 

She could be lying. But she didn’t look like it. Nothing about this woman said master manipulator. “Why should I believe you?”

She huffs out a laugh. “I am not trying to convince you. I have nothing to prove. I simply wanted to know how my cousin, your wife, is doing.”

“My father is a ruthless, controlling man who marries his children off by hook or by crook. Or, by proxy, in my case. Five months before the end of the war, he married me to a woman from Tarth. Any of this ringing a bell?” 

She gives him a once over before turning away towards the train with a shake of her head. “I don’t know why it would. Why would you think her name is Brienne?”

This daft woman , he thinks bitterly.  “Did you not hear me? Almost a year ago, now, my father had me married, by proxy, while I was in a hospital recovering from a broken hand and a severe case of shell shock.” 

Their train whistles loudly and steam rises through the air.  “I am tired of being  interrupted. Get on the train, you look ready to pass out. And I don’t think I am strong enough to hoist you myself.”

“I can’t think about this right now,” she mutters quietly. “This is simply too much.”

Jaime glares at her, his jaw tight with frustration. The tender scar tissue pulsates under the bandage and it takes an absurd amount of control not to say something cruel.

“Get on the train, please,” he asks desperately. As it whistles again and starts to ready for departure. “I know you have to go to King’s Landing. Say nothing, if you wish. Or sleep, lord knows you look like you need it. I am not accusing you of anything and I mean you no harm. I am just as confused by the day's events as you. And I am looking for answers.” Brienne gives a curt nod and the two are the last to board.

The conductor eyes the pair up and down and points them in the right direction. Jaime catches a glimpse at a few newspaper headlines addressing the train robbery as he passes. It already feels like a lifetime ago.

He sits across from her and says nothing, his mind whirling. He scruitinezes her, trying to get a better sense if she is lying or not. But his mind goes back to the train, to the hospital. The truth had come out slowly, in passing, almost by accident. Nothing seemed planned.

Jaime remembers first meeting his wife. She was pretty, petite, and pale. The war had barely ended before she was accompanied by her mother to settle her in at her new home. A party was thrown to welcome Jaime home from war and to celebrate his recent nuptials. The men clapped him on the back for marrying such a beauty. And she was beautiful. Cersei hated her instantly. “You’ll be bored to tears with her, brother,” his twin had cooed. “I tried to have polite conversation with her but she is so utterly pedestrian, I may as well have talked to a wall!”

Jaime spent much of his rather short marriage away from his wife, so he was unable to really get to know his little bride. But in the time he spent with her, he found that Cersei was not wrong. His wife was rather ordinary and they had nothing in common. She was prone to giggles and her favorite pastime was walking in the gardens.

He is pulled back to the present, back to the woman sitting in front of him. Even though neither of them speaks, the silence was loud and awkward. The only sound was the train huffing and pulling them along the countryside.She looks around, pokes at the seat underneath her and sinks into it. Dark circles sit under her eyes and Jaime wonders if she got any sleep last night. She looks dejected and bone tired. She should sleep but she stares straight at him.

“Can we start from the beginning?” she asks. “I feel like someone has come upon me and knocked me for a loop.”

“You know my story. I was recovering in a hospital during my service in the war. My scrupulous father, no doubt sensing the winds of change, had me married by proxy to a woman named Brienne Tarth. Said her father was some sort of innovator in mining technology. I don’t know. But I came home from the war six months ago and met Brienne,” he coughs and waves his hand in the air noncomittingly. “Now, I am here. With a woman who says that her name is also Brienne Tarth. And that my wife is her cousin and her name is apparently not Brienne.”

Saying it aloud sounds ridiculous. His father was a calculated man that hated error. The thought of him marrying his eldest son to a complete stranger was preposterous. 

“My father’s name is Selwyn Tarth. Tarth is a beautiful island in the Narrow Sea that has an abundance of marble mines. My father took over the family business and instead of focusing on fishing, as the previous men in our family, he looked to the mines. He was incredibly smart and had a vision. The company started growing so rapidly that pretty much everyone on the island worked for us. Our business was the island’s economy. But pretty soon our family was hit personally. My sister died in the cradle. And when my mother gave birth to another baby girl, both died. So, it was just my dad, brother and I. He was devastated. I was too young to remember. When I was four, my brother drowned in the Narrow Sea. Hit his head on a rock and went under. He was only eight. And then it was just the two of us. My father tried to be everything and I think, eventually, it took its toll. Not only was his grief wrought as day, but he also had the weight of the island on his back.” She stops, looks out the window at the passing town nearby. “It was just the two of us for a long time. I spent a lot of time by myself. Learning to sail, fence, shoot, ride horseback.

Eventually, my mother's cousin came to visit. aunt Roelle, I called her. I think she thought a womanly presence would do me good.” Her laugh is dry and self-deprecating. “She had a daughter named Jocelyn. That is my cousin - or step-sister, I suppose. While aunt Roelle and cousin Josie stayed on Tarth for years, she was only married to my father for a year before the war broke out. Because I couldn’t fight, I went about reforming the mines. Women, for the first time, began working there. In all sorts of roles. It was the closest I got to female friendship. But after a year or so, I - uh - I met someone. A wonderful man.” Her face flushes.

She looks at her hands, her large fingers fidgeting in her lap. “He inspired me to go to the war front. I became an ambulance driver in King’s Landing. I delivered medical supplies, transported patients to hospitals, and drove through artillery fire to retrieve the wounded. But, after the third year of the war, my father passed away suddenly.” Her voice tightens and she pauses, her shoulders rounding. “The war was winding down but it was still too dangerous to cross Shipbreaker Bay. I couldn’t be there for his funeral.” Her voice cracks as she relives the tale in her mind. “I haven’t been home since I left for the war. I must get home. I need to make things right.”

Jaime is silent for a long beat. “I didn’t ask for your life story.”

She straightens, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Piss off.”

“That's a lovely story you just spun. Truly. But I ask again, why should I believe you? Do you have any proof to back up the claims that you are who you say you are?”

Her eyes narrow. “I have no reason to lie,” her voice is gruff as she reaches into the pocket of her blood splattered slacks and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “My service papers.”

She shoves the paper into his hands and almost dares him to object, to say something smart. Jaime looks at the card and takes in the information. Her name, her home, the day she enlisted, all match what is on this paper. The evidence is overwhelming. The woman that sits before him is Brienne Tarth. 

Jaime wants to stand, to pace, to move about while he processes this information. Instead, he hands her back the paper, drops his head into his hands and laughs. The vibration hurts his wound but he cannot help himself. He can hear her shifting opposite of him, crossing and uncrossing her arms, as his laugh turns into a long groan. He digs his palms into his eye sockets and looks at her fully, now. “This is absurd.” 

She stares at him but Jaime notices she doesn’t look him in the eyes. Her head is straight but her gaze focuses just below his head on his chest. Has she truly not pierced this all together?. “Absurd?” she asks quietly.

“Don't you understand, Dollface?” he asks incredulously, fumbling for his wallet and pulling out the photo that had been looked at more in the past hour than the entire six months it sat there. “I did not marry this woman. I married Brienne Tarth. If you say you are Brienne, and this is your cousin, Jocelyn, then it is you I am technically married to!” The words come out rushed and thick and hang heavy in the air between them. She jolts and ducks her head, her face aflame. 

“No,” her head shakes slowly. 

“Do you deny that you are Brienne Tarth?”

“No,” she whispers, even softer. 

Jaime slaps the photo on his knee, before letting it drift to the floor, face up. His Brienne’s beautiful face staring up and mocking them. Memories flood back, now. On what his Brienne and this Brienne have said. Jaime thinks of the overlapping similarities. His Brienne never talked of her father, always insisting it was too fresh a wound to open and pour salt into with reminiscing. This Brienne is proud of her father, of his accomplishments. 

And once he starts analyzing every encounter, it is as if all the keys finally lock into place.

His Brienne never spoke of the business her father started (“ What business does a lady have with such nonsense? ”), never wished to visit home (“ Casterly Rock is my home now, darling ”) and hated being on the water and in the sun (“ Sun causes far too many freckles, sweetling ”). 

His Brienne was a pretty, prim, and perfect mystery. 

She could almost be anyone , he thinks ruefully. Generic , his cynical side hisses.

“When did the marriage take place?” she inquires, shyly pulling him out of his reverie. 

“Back in June. Don’t ask me the date, though. The odds of me remembering are slim to none.”

Her face contorts. “My father passed in July. Did your father arrange this marriage with my father? Why on earth did he not tell me?”

“How should I know what my father was doing? I was a bit busy fighting a war. Had a lot more going on at the moment.” They fall into an uncomfortable silence again. “Did you not know about this marriage arrangement?” 

She looks up at him, now. Her eyes were so wide and full of innocence that it catches Jaime off guard. “No. Like I said, I was working in King’s Landing. It was too dangerous to cross Shipbreaker Bay so I was isolated from the island for most of the war. We wrote to each other as often as we could, but it became harder as I was always on the go, and as his illness accelerated. He never made any mentions of marriage.”

Jaime stares at her intently, trying to discern if she is telling the truth or not. His jaw clenches and the wound pulsates as pain reverberates up his face. “This is absurd,” he repeats, sitting back, his leg bouncing up and down from pent up adrenaline.

“What do you suppose you are going to do?” she asks after a moment.

Jaime openly stares at her. It was a valid question, really. What was he going to do? He didn’t have a good response so he sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps I can go home and -” he pauses. “You’ll come with me. To Casterly Rock.”

Her eyes are as round as saucers. “I cannot. I already told you, I need to get home. I have been neglecting my duties for far too long.”

Jaime can’t help but roll his eyes at her earnestness. She protested as if he asked her to personally kill her father. “I am not asking you to come home with me and play housewife, Dollface. I am asking you to come with me and grant me an annulment. And in return, I can help set your house in order before we can go our separate ways.”

Brienne, it’s hard to think of her as such, sits in bewilderment. She picks up the photo. “Did you not want to be married to her?”

“I didn’t want to be married to anyone." 

She says nothing for a while and Jaime starts to suspect that this was all planned. That he would marry the heir of a wealthy mining company in name but they would send the attractive relative instead as a trick. A cruel plan, but plausible.

“She’s beautiful,” Brienne whispers as if reading his thoughts.

Jaime compares the photo to the woman before him. She is truly a giant of a woman, plain and unsure of herself. He thinks of the last time he saw his wife. Her hair was piled high on her head, her dress was pink and gold and soft, complimenting her honey hair and milky skin. She was everything this Brienne was not. “Yes, I suppose she is.”

Brienne says nothing, just stares at the photo. She looks sad, lost, almost wounded. It was pathetic to look on, really. 

“We can freshen up in King’s Landing before traveling back to the rock,” he says cooly. “Once there, we can take the car up the Gold Road. I don’t know about you but I am pretty tired of trains.”

The sadness was gone when she glanced up at him. “I appreciate the train ticket, Mr. Lannister, but as I’ve said, I cannot accompany you to Casterly Rock. I have neglected my duties for far too long now. I must return home.”

Jaime rolls his eyes again. “And you will return home, once you accompany me back to Casterly Rock and grant me my annulment. Then you may do as you please.”

She places the photo on her lap calmly and blinks slowly. She opens her mouth to speak but Jaime cuts her off. 

“Let me cut to the chase, Doll. From where I am sitting, your family has pulled the wool over my father’s eyes with this marriage. Which is no easy feat, so kudos to you. However, with your admission that you are Brienne Tarth, there is a woman living in my house, pretending to be my wife, under false pretenses. Now, either we end this marriage quietly or I drag your family name through the mud to get it done.”

Her eyes widen with shock, alarmed by his threats and accusations. He knew well enough that she had nothing to do with this marriage ploy but he would be damned if she didn’t help him now. The thought of seeing his father’s face as Jaime revealed the truth is almost too sweet to imagine.

He lightly plucks the photo off her lap and tucks it back into his pocket. “Now, as I was saying. We can rest in King’s Landing for the day before heading back to Casterly.”

Chapter Text

By the time they reach his apartment it is midafternoon. Jaime and his brother, Tyrion, often spent most of their time in the capital, especially since the war ended. The city exploded with innovation and it was hard to head back to the Lannister estate, which always felt so outdated compared to the city. 

The giant, his wife , spends the majority of their journey simply ignoring him. He has nothing to discuss with her, now that he knows she is as clueless about the situation as he is. Let her grumble and continue with her silent treatments, in a handful of days they will be rid of one another. 

It takes the doorman a full ten seconds to realize the bandaged man is not, in fact, a homeless person seeking shelter, but Mr. Jaime Lannister. He eyes Brienne up and down and only offers a stiff nod in her general direction. Before heading up, he asks the concierge to send a note to Tyrion, two floors below him, to meet Jaime at once and then to send for Dr. Pycelle. Jaime ignores the large eye roll from Brienne as they enter the elevators.

When they arrive at his apartment, Jaime barely has a chance to sit when there is a persistent knock on the door. Catching a glimpse at Brienne, who looks thoroughly overwhelmed, he rings for room service before opening the door to an amused Tyrion. 

“What the fuck happened to your face?” he exclaims, taking in his brother's appearance without evening noticing the other person in the room. 

“Hello to you too, brother.” Jaime shuts the door with an easy, lopsided smile. “I’m sure you heard of the train that was robbed outside of Highgarden yesterday?” Tyrion nods, skeptical. “I was on that train. And the men did not like Lannisters, apparently.”

The brothers share a loud laugh at his expense. Both men rarely took life seriously and Jaime was glad he could count on his brother to laugh with him. 

“Also, and you will really love this,” he smiles, the constant stretching making his scar twitch and itch. “This is my wife.”

The smile on Tyrion’s face vanishes almost immediately. He looks to where Brienne is standing by the french doors and turns back to Jaime. “Brother,” he starts slowly. “You do know polygamy is not legal in the seven kingdoms. Not even for us all-mighty Lannisters.”

Jaime chuckles. Seeing the look on his family’s face would be the highlight of his year. It would almost make this marriage worth it. Almost. “This is Brienne Tarth.” 

Tyrion’s brows came together in confusion, as he looks between the two. 

“A funny thing happened on my way from Highgarden.”

“Besides the robbery and face mutilation?”

“Quite. I met a woman who told me her name was Brienne Tarth. Turns out, the woman back at the Rock playing house is named Jocelynn, Brienne Tarth’s cousin. And this,” he points. “Is the real Brienne.” When Tyrion eyes him skeptically, Jaime clarifies. “She has identification. She showed me her papers from her service during the war. She is, indeed, Brienne.”

Tyrion groans and looks heavenward. There is another soft knock at the door. As Tyrion heads to the bar, Jaime asks the housekeeper to bring up a menu for lunch and an extra pair of pajamas. By the time he turns his attention back to his brother, he is sitting on the couch opposite Brienne. They both have a rather large glass of whiskey in their hands.

 “So, since I was so regrettably unable to be made privy to my own wedding planning, I want to know what is happening,” Jaime says, grabbing his own drink at the bar before going to sit next to his brother. 

Brienne looks like the walking dead opposite the golden-haired Lannister brothers. Her pale skin highlights the dark circles from lack of sleep and the cuts and bruises look harsher than he remembered. Jaime momentarily regrets hastily inviting his brother up, thinking himself cruel for how long this poor woman has been awake.

“To be honest, brother, I don’t remember much. You know how Father loves to keep me in the dark as much as possible,” Jaime nods but says nothing, giving his brother the chance to continue. “The war ate up a lot of our resources and unlike most of the factories and businesses in Westeros, Westerland women did not want to join the working cause on behalf of their country. Profits were down, manpower took a nosedive, especially after the draft. Most companies don’t want to discuss mergers and acquisitions during wartime. But you know what they will discuss? Marriage. Babies. The full Westerosi Dream, as it were. Father wanted the upper hand and the best way was to go with a new money family.”

Jaime lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. “Father hated the nouveau riche.”

Tyrion swallows a rather large swig of whiskey and chuckles, wiping the remnants that fell down his chin. “Ah, he does. Lucky for him, that the Tarth's were old money followed up with new money! A good name hiding on an island in the Narrow Sea. Splendid, right?”

“Yes, splendid,” Jaime adds sarcastically. “But we couldn’t have been doing that poorly for Father to have his child hastily married like a dirty secret.”

Tyrion simply shrugs. “They said her father was ill and wanted to be there for his daughter’s wedding and asked if we could hold a proxy marriage. Father wasn’t going to turn them down, of course. Then we received word that her father did pass a month or so later.”

Tyrion made it sound so simple. 

“Brienne was not even on the island when the marriage took place, Tyrion,” Jaime explains. “She was a driver during the war.”

His younger brother looks at Brienne now and sizes her up and down. “Impressive,” he beams. Jaime stomps the flurry of pride that inexplicably bubbles up. “So,” Tyrion continues. “Who is the lovely girl playing homemaker back at the rock, knitting booties ready for her little Lannister lion?”

“She is my cousin,” Brienne croaks, her voice rusty from hours of misuse from ignoring Jaime. “Her mother married my father a year before the war. Her name is Jocelynn.”

Jaime curls his lip and stands, making his way to the bar to make himself and his brother another drink. For the most part, he is grateful for this gift that has fallen into his lap but he cannot help but be disgusted at the oversight his father committed. “To marry me to a girl sight unseen,” he muses aloud, handing off the glass to Tyrion. “Father isn’t usually this careless.”

“Remember, Jaime,” Tyrion chides. “The Narrow sea was rife with U-Boats and ships were constantly being attacked. Islands like Tarth, Estermont, and Dragonstone were basically isolated. What was he to do? Deny the dying man the right to see his daughter married?”

Jaime concedes with a nod and a shrug. 

“How very medieval,” Jaime mutters bitterly. “To establish arranged marriages for the sake of business. What did Willas Tyrell have to offer father?”

Tyrion frowns and shakes his head. “That was not Father. Cersei decided to marry the heir to Highgarden. She visited Highgarden during the war and came back practically begging Tywin to let her marry the man.”

Getting slashed in the face hurt less. 

A third knock taps on the door. Jaime finishes his drink in one long gulp and looks to Tyrion. “I would be forever grateful if you did me a favor, dear brother,” he tries to smile. “Would you take over the meeting for me tomorrow? I have a few things I need to attend to.”

Tyrion chuckles, “Figures. What do you plan on doing, if I may ask?”

Jaime lets Dr. Pycelle in and sees Tyrion out. “Selwyn Tarth is dead and the woman in my home is a fraud. I plan on getting an annulment.”

Waking in his own bed the next morning felt like a luxury. After Dr. Pycelle left, Brienne continued her silent treatment. Stubborn ox . Pycelle treated her cuts and bruises and, with the help of a few drinks of whiskey, she passed out in the room down the hall from his. 

The next morning, the only thoughts that consumed him were of Cersei and Willas. He had assumed the marriage was arranged as well and it was the only comfort he had when he learned of the betrothal. 

Perhaps he could venture to Highgarden again? Ask her, point blank, if she still loved him as he loved her? She was the only thing he thought of during the war, the reason his marriage remained unconsummated. She was his other half. 

The overwhelming jealousy was enough to make him forget about Brienne. About his own wife. About the plan to end his marriage. What would he do with Brienne while he reunited with Cersei? The thought of Cersei meeting his true wife was enough to convince Jaime to telephone her. 

Highgarden was an hour behind King’s Landing but after stopping at the bank and doing a few more errands, he couldn’t wait any longer. The operator put him through and the person on the other end was no other than the Queen of Thorns herself, Olenna Tyrell.

“Mr. Jaime Lannister. How good to hear from you. And so soon after your visit, no less.”

Jaime ignores the dig. “Is Cersei available? I wish to speak to her.”

“My son and daughter in law are out, unfortunately.” He can practically hear the mirth in her voice. 

Keeping his tone as light as possible, Jaime forces a smile. “Mrs. Tyrell. Would you be so kind as to deliver a message to my sweet sister?”

He hears her chuckle and the blatant ridicule drives him up a wall. “You may do as you please. But I am sure you were not waiting for my permission.”

No, he wasn’t. “Please tell Cersei I will be traveling home this afternoon and will be making a stop near Highgarden. I would like for her to meet me -”

Olenna heaves a long, heavy sigh. “Do you mistake me for a fool, boy? I may be old and on the way out but I still have eyes and I saw the way you looked at her. The way you followed her about like a wounded animal.”

Caught off guard, Jaime is silent. He wants to rebuke her claims but even he must admit after Cersei turned him down almost immediately he practically threw himself at her feet. 

“You Lannisters of Casterly Rock like to think of yourselves as lions. As a pride; a pack. But Cersei came to me as a feral kitten. Claws sharp as ever but she thought the only weapon a woman could wield was a cunt. She needs to be tamed and I will not have my daughter in law influenced by Lannisters if I can help it. Do you understand?”

Jaime wonders if she knows that sometimes the telephone operator listens in on calls. 

“You are hardly the first boy to come calling since the war ended,” Olenna continues calmly. 

That grabs his attention. 

“What do you mean?” Jamie hisses. 

Instead of answering, Olenna laughs and laughs. Perhaps the phone operator is laughing, too. “Go home to your pretty new wife. And if I see you in Highgarden, and I see you following around your sister like a lovesick little fool, disrespecting my grandson, I will personally rip out your heart myself.”

Jaime ends the call, violently slamming the receiver and startling a man who happened to be walking past the telephone booth.

His ears were ringing and his head swam. What God did he piss off to have his world upended so thoroughly? Reaching Tyrion's door in record speed, Jaime rapped at the door hard. It was early enough that his little brother should be awake but not late enough for him to actually be working. After a few more knocks, Jaime slapped the door with his open palm.

“Fucking hell, Jaime,” his brother snaps, yanking open the door and letting Jaime barrel inside. His hair is wet and he wears nothing but a robe. “I’m starting to feel like your emotional support crutch.”

“Cersei,” Jaime says, his breathing as fast as his pulse. “Was she with anyone? Anyone besides...Willas. Anyone else?” His brother, his intelligent and clever brother, understood almost immediately. 

When Tyrion sighs, as Olenna had sighed, Jaime's stomach twists into knots. “Was she?” he asks again. 

His eighteen-year-old brother looks like the world was placed on his shoulders. “Why do you wish to know?”

“I called after Cersei,” he explains. “She was out, apparently. I ended up speaking to the delightful Olenna Tyrell. I wasn’t sure if what the old bag was saying was true or if she just wanted to make me angry.”

Tyrion laughs softly. Almost fondly, to Jaime’s chagrin. “The Queen of Thorns was once beautiful but apparently is forever deadly.”

“And Cersei wants to stay there?” Jaime asks without needing the answer. She had told him so herself, he just hadn’t believed her. Even after he stormed off, he still thought it ludicrous that she would prefer Highgarden over him. 

“Of course she does,” Tyrion says it as if the question isn’t even worth asking. “Highgarden is the epitome of fashion, high culture, and arts. And you know how vain our sweet sister is. It is the perfect place for her, really.”

Jaime could punch him. 

“And besides Willas,” he remarks, his tone pinched with jealousy. “Were there any others? Any other suitors?”

Tyrion’s face softens and Jaime didn’t know if his heart could take it. “She had two flings that I know of before she visited Willas in Highgarden,” he says, reluctantly. 

Swallowing hard, Jaime turns away from his brother. It is all too much. 

“Brother, surely you didn’t think this...thing could last forever, could you?” The distaste in his tone made Jaime flinch. He had thought that. He had wanted nothing more than to live happily with her, have adventures with Tyrion. “Jaime, did you think Cersei would remain loyal to you?”

Jaime turns back to Tyrion, his body shaking with unchecked emotion. “You don’t understand. I love her. More than anything. I have never been with another, never wanted to be with another.”

This clearly catches the younger Lannister off guard. “But you’re married,” he sputters.

Jaime has no answer to give. “I couldn’t,” is all he can say. “My love for Cersei has always been stronger.”

Tyrion’s mouth twitches. “That sounds more like a death grip stranglehold.”

Jaime runs his fingers through his hair, desperately needing a good wash. He wants to vent, to rage, to commiserate with his brother but he knows he cannot. Cersei and Tyrion were enemies on the best of days and his brother did not approve of their relationship.

“Let her go, Jaime,” Tyrion says seriously. “She’s made her choice.”

When he arrives back at his apartment, Brienne is finishing a letter. She is wearing women’s attire and, so used to seeing her in ripped clothing accented with blood, that he thinks the fit becomes her.  She is wearing a high waisted plaid skirt that gives the illusion she has a waist and a simple white button-up blouse. “So you can dress like a woman?” he asks snidely, itching for a fight. 

She looks down at herself before looking back up at him. Her eyes flash with so much contempt that Jaime almost hopes she says something. 

As he stalks to his room to put some things together for their trek west, he wishes more than anything he could somehow put this Brienne thing on hold. If only for a while. The betrayal cut so deep he scarcely felt he could breathe sometimes. 

She had seen two suitors and married another all while he was risking his life in a mud-soaked trench. 

As he packed, the anger came in waves. Blinding hostility and agonizing ideations of hope. The painful stinging of his scars did nothing to lessen his mood.

“My cousin, Cleos, will be driving us back to Casterly. I’ve called the bellhop and he can grab our things. Are you done with your childish silent treatment, now?”

“Is the silver spoon so far down your throat that you cannot drive the journey back to your home?”

He exhales loudly. “Must you always argue? My hand was crushed in the war and is still mending. I have trouble gripping the crank or wheel for long periods of time. Do you delight in my shortcomings?”

He thinks he sees the tiniest flicker of regret pass her face before it is gone, replaced with her usual stoic veneer. “Not in the slightest. If you cannot drive, I will. I drove in the war, I think I can handle one road West. Besides,” she adds, primly. “I don’t believe it’s fair to drag another person into this debacle.”

Her stubborn do-goodness grates on him. “If you wish to be my personal chauffeur then please, lead the way.”

Chapter Text

As she weaves her way through the trolleys, buggies, and pedestrians, Jaime points her in the direction of The Lions Gate. She handles the automobile better than he and certainly better than his cousin, Cleos. She is all business, never taking her eyes from the road and barely even speaking to him.

The late spring air is warm on his face and the further away from the city they get, the air gets even sweeter. If he closes his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back at the Rock, before the war.  Jaime loved speeding around the country roads, scaring horses, and earning well deserved curses from the stagecoaches and farmers. It was the only real-time all three Lannister siblings could get along. Tyrion in the back, Cersei beside him. 

“My cousin,” she asks quietly. “What do you plan on doing with her?”

Jaime shrugs. “To put it indelicately, I plan on tossing her out on her prim little keister. My father’s shocked face will certainly keep my cold dead heart warm for the rest of my days.”

“Are you always so dramatic?”

“I do think I reserve the right to be dramatic,” he responds all pompous airs about him. “ I go to war, serve my country and what do I return to? What do I get? A wife that I, quite literally, do not know. A crushed hand that can barely function properly. And in the past 48 hours, I was robbed, beaten, scarred, and found out by the woman that I loved -” he pauses and swallows hard, saying too much, as always.

Brienne says nothing, just continues to stare straight ahead. She was good at that, not talking.

He turns away from her and stares out the window, at the passing scenery that gets greener with each passing mile. While he may jape about the situation, he has no idea what he will do with the girl living at Casterly right now. Has no idea how his father will act. So caught up in his own radical emotions, he has yet to consider what will happen when they do arrive at their destination. 

Cersei would find it very amusing, to be sure, if he had told her he was married to the wrong woman. 

Well, right woman, wrong person. 

The situation felt messy and he wished he could pluck the pretender from his life and be done with it.

His thoughts return to Cersei and how she was willing to attach herself to Willas and the rest of the Tyrells. When they were children, he had thought of himself as the warrior, the protector and Cersei was the beautiful fair maiden. They whispered stories to each other in the night and played at games where he offered her the world and she would confess her undying love in return. And as they got older, he would continue to offer every inch of himself to her and she would whisper her love. 

Was he wrong in believing that they were meant for one another? Was everything she said a lie? She had dreams and desires that he had never even realized she harbored. It was a knife to the heart to know that there were things she kept hidden away from him. Jaime had liked to think they were soulmates, that they shared one soul and one heart. But that was never the case.

Did you ever really know her?

So lost in his thoughts, Jaime didn’t realize they were pulling off at a roadside campground. “Why are we stopping? We aren’t even at The Reach yet.”

She parks the car and glares at him. “You didn’t expect me to drive through the night, did you?”

He had expected to drive through the night. Cleos would drive through the night sometimes, only stopping for meals and piss breaks. 

Stretching his limbs and twisting with a groan, Jaime takes in their surroundings. Tiny wood cabins with red roofs dotted the perimeter with cars parked in front of each tiny home. He hadn’t even noticed the sign as they entered that welcomed them to The Crownlands Tourist Camp.

“A tourist camp?”

“Oh, don’t be a snob!” she says dismissively. “They’re cheap and clean. I stayed in my fair share right after the war. At least we don’t have to sleep in tents.”

How fortunate, indeed. 

“Now, you are going to have to make arrangements for us. We won’t get any pushback if they think we are married.”

Jaime chuckles. “Dollface. We are married.” 

A slight tinge of redness creeps up her face, “Yes, well, once we get a room we can move the car to our cabin.”

When Jaime pays for the night, he can see the man glancing in Brienne’s directions. “Your wife knows how to drive? I don’t believe I know many women who do.”

“She was a driver during the war,” he replies, purchasing questionable lunches that they also provided. 

“What a bloody waste of a war,” the man grimaces, shaking his head. “You’re brave for letting her go off and service.”

“I don’t believe I could have stopped her even if I wanted to,” Jaime says with a smile. He has known Brienne for two days and he already knows this to be true. 

The two men share a fond laugh before he hands over a set of keys and pointing him to the direction of their cabin. “Check out is midday. Showers and lavatories are just past building 15.” Jaime hadn’t shared a toilet with another person in six months but this time, there was less of a chance of catching trench foot.  

The cabin was small and intimate, with one large bed, a loveseat, and a round table in the corner. Everything was still gas-powered but it was clean enough. 

Brienne grabs the water judges and heads out for freshwater. Jaime sets up their meal of a simple cheese sandwich and a lukewarm cup of tomato soup and devours most of his before she even returns. 

When she does return, she offers a stiff thanks and eats in silence. 

Jaime can't remember the last time he had done something as spontaneous as this. Something his father didn't know about. Something Cersei didn't know about. Signing up for the war felt like it at the time, but soon the draft was implemented and it was hard to feel special about it when the country forced as many able-bodied men to join as they could.

He watches her dig through her small traveling bag and pulls out a first aid kit. 

“Where did you get that?” he asks. Did she know he would forget?

“When you were out this morning, I went to the pharmacy to grab a few things. More bandages for your face and our mutual wounds.”

He doesn’t know how to properly say thank you to her. It hadn’t even occurred to him to pack his own first aid kit, so consumed with thoughts of getting in contact with Cersei. “It doesn’t hurt so badly,” is all he offers. 

“Yes, but I don’t want it to get infected. I’ve seen a lot of men get taken out by the smallest of things during the war.” 

Jaime nods in agreement. One of the worst aspects of war was standing in trench water so filthy it would sometimes require amputation. 

As she washes her wands, Jaime wonders how his wife would have tended to his wounds. Minded his pain. No doubt be overly weepy, kissy, and hands-on in an unhelpful way. Not that Jaime was cruel, she was a pretty thing full of open smiles and airy comments. She just never challenged him. She always agreed with his opinions and wanted nothing more than to be a dutiful wife and servant to her husband. It felt like he had a pet and not a companion.

She did not know him and did not wish to.

She was nothing like Cersei. Or even her cousin, for that matter.  

“Sit,” she commands, nodding to the edge of the bed. He does as he is told. She kneels above him, before awkwardly deciding to sit close to him on the bed.

“I don’t bite,” he tells her with a roll of his eyes.

She shoots him a dirty look but says nothing, just places the kit on her lap and starts pulling at his bandages. It rips at his skin, pulls at a few of the stitches. “Sorry,” she breathes softly on his face, pulling slower. Her touch is tender and thoughtful. She’s so close, he can’t help but stare into her eyes. He thinks back to when he first saw them, on the train, as she cradled his face in her hands, just like now. 

“Don’t stare,” she scolds. “You’re making it weird.”

Jaime tries not to smile as her fingers softly place the ointment on his puckered skin. Gods, the way her fingers moved over his face. Her touch was maddeningly gentle. “You have nice eyes,” he admits with a shrug.

Her cheeks redden and he can see her lips twitch. Her lips . “Still weird,” she mutters and this time, Jaime does laugh and it causes his scar to full and hiss with pain.

“We should only have to do this once a day,” she says, gingerly pulling away and putting her kit back in her bag. He feels the absence of her warmth almost immediately. “We’ll be sure to keep it moist, so that it does not scab over, taking even longer to heal. And, I know it will be hard, but do not itch. That will make the scar heal poorly.” 

“As you wish, darling,” he says sarcastically, loving how uncomfortable almost everything seems to make her.

Placing her hands on her hips, she surveys the surroundings. “Well, how should we do this? I could take the loveseat, so you don’t have to roll over on your stitches?” she offers.

“We’re both adults, Dollface. We can share a bed for one night. I promise I won’t tell,” he brings a finger to his lips as if this is their little secret. 

She looks around again as if something might have changed in the last fifteen seconds she last looked. Her face is as red as a cherry, now.

“Here, look,” he finally says, her embarrassment only amusing for so long. He grabs the pillows from the love seat and places them down the middle of the bed. “You have your side, I have mine. Problem solved?" She looks dubious at best, nauseous at worst. 

Moving about the room, she purposely avoids his gaze. He had truly never met a woman like her. She took on train bandits, joined the war effort, and spent six months traveling the Reach after the war. She is stubborn and combative and there wasn’t a single time she did not annoy him in the past two days they have spent attached at the hip. But he wishes they could be friends. He wishes he could turn back the clock and not get started on the wrong foot.

“What on earth are you doing?” he asks, as she ties one corner of a spare bed sheet to the curtain rod. 

“I am making a barrier,” she responds carefully, her eyes set on its task. He watches her take the coat rack and tie the opposite end of the bedsheet to the rack. The effect is a slightly lopsided wall of fabric. 

“Such a prude,” he tsks. “Would have thought a modern gal such as yourself wouldn't mind getting undressed in front of a man.” 

She sneaks behind the fabric wall, glancing over her shoulder with a withering look. “Just because I am a modern gal does not mean I get undressed in front of strangers.”

“You know what’s funny?” he asks.

“What?”

“That, as my wife, you are technically the wealthiest woman in Westeros. And you are undressing in a cabin in the woods behind a sheet.”

She does not respond, and Jaime only hears the rustling of clothes. 

“You never said what you were planning on doing with my cousin.” she changes the subject. To one he didn’t want to think about. 

Jaime sighs and starts to undress as well, needing the distraction. “Aren’t you angry?” he counters, unbuttoning his shirt. “Are you not upset that your cousin is pretending to be you? Reaping the benefits?”

“I should be, shouldn’t I?” he can hear that she is not moving, now. “But I’m not. My cousin is meant for marriage. For child-rearing and minding the house and making her husband proud. That has simply never been in the cards for me. She would make a better wife than I.”

She steps out from behind the makeshift curtain in a shapeless, utilitarian nightgown that barely touches her calves. No doubt bought ready-made at a shop in King’s Landing. 

When she sees he has undressed and wears nothing but his undershirt and knee-length drawers, she huffs in annoyance. “You did not say you were undressing as well! That is what the wall is for!”

“Yes, and you could not see me so I believe it worked rather well!”

He couldn’t tell her that he liked it when she yelled at him. He thought it funny when she scolded and reprimanded him. If he told her, she might stop and that would spoil all of his fun. 

He watches as she crawls on the left side of the bed, careful not to make eye contact. So she could take a punch but couldn’t sleep in bed with her husband? 

“So you harbor no ill-will towards your cousin?” he asks, turning off the gas lamps before making his way to the bed.  

The moonlight peaks through parts of the window that the shades do not cover and her blonde hair and pale skin seem to shine in the light. Jaime swallows hard and turns to sleep on his back as he waits for her response. 

She shifts beside him. “How could I be. She is the perfect bride. Any man would want her.” She is quiet for a moment, before continuing. “My father wanted me to be happy. To find a nice husband and settle down on Tarth. But, most boys don’t fancy girls who can knock them down and beat them at horse racing. After a while, I gave up trying. The war started and my father became ill. I cared more about work than marriage. So, to answer your question, I don't believe my father wanted to marry me behind my back. And I do not believe my cousin had any ill will when she said she was me.”

Jaime is stunned by her naivety, her innocence. Her cousin saw an opportunity to be a Lannister and took it. He tries to imagine if Lancel had pulled off something like this and can’t imagine his forgiveness would be nearly as kind. Did she normally believe in the goodness of others or was she blinded by familial love?

How easy it can be to love someone and not know them at all.

He tries not to think of Cersei and fails. He fails every time. 

“You know,” he says into the dark. “This is the first time I am doing something of my own free will. Everything is pre-decided for me by my father or strongly encouraged by my family. This is the first time I am doing something that wasn't decided by a Lannister. Even joining the war was pre-determined for me in a way. Because my father had fought and his grandfather before him.”

“How terribly lonely,” she says softly, her voice full of sorrow. “The world is such a big place and I’m sorry your father only lets you catch glimpses of it through his lenses.”

Jaime thinks of his conversation with Olenna. How she implied Cersei could achieve great things if she weren’t under a Lannister thumb. Were they all that way? Could it be that way for all of them? 

“Well, on that note, good night Dollface.”

Chapter Text

When he wakes the next morning, the pillows are scattered and he is sleeping precariously close, holding her hand. Nothing about her is tiny, including her hands, but their warmth and size gave him the comfort he couldn’t understand. He thinks of those hands holding his wounds, bandaging them.

Jaime rarely ever shared a room with his wife. He had made love to Cersei the night the newlyweds had met and saw her like a noose from that day forward. In fact, he hadn’t shared a morning bed with Cersei in years. Probably since they were children. 

Peeling his hand away slowly, he tries hard not to wake her. Wrapping his robe around himself, he heads out of the cabin. It felt almost like he was back at the summer camp his father forced him to attend, out of fear his eldest son was being mollycoddled. 

When he gets to the showers, the men hoot and holler at him. “Get to the back of the line! Wait your turn like everyone else, Curly Sue!” 

Hopping to the back of the line, Jaime is once again reminded of his time in the war, but a touch more civilized and not under the threat of death from artillery fire. He tries to imagine how anyone in his family would handle the situation of being told to wait in line to take a piss. 

By the time he is clean and heading back to his cabin, the camp is alive with activity. Children play and race around him, families load up their cars as men bicker and women laugh. He sees a fresh fruit stand just outside the periphery of the cabins and grabs some bread and fruit.

“Wake up, Doll!” he kicks the mattress and jolts her awake. “Line to the shower is mighty long. Better hop to it! I got some food, too.” He takes a loud bite out of the apple and smiles. 

“Aren’t you the provider?” she grumbles, her hair and eyes messy from sleep.

“Enough backtalk, Lady Lannister and get moving. I want to be out of here and on the road in an hour!”

As they pass through the Riverlands, they are stuck for almost an hour as sheep decide to pass slowly over the road.

“I fucking hate the Riverlands!” he exclaims, as Brienne laughs beside him and turns the car off to wait it out.

The next stop is when Jaime has to practically beg her to pull over so he can piss. “Men have it so easy,” she rants as he makes his way back into the car. “You can just unlace and go anywhere.” 

“Jealous?” he asks with a toothy grin.

When they hit a rather large pothole and a tire goes flat, they bicker about who is going to be the one to change it. 

“When is the last time you’ve changed a tire?” she barks, already popping the trunk to get to work. When he can’t respond immediately, she calls his bluff. “See, if you have to think that hard, it’s been too long. It’ll be faster if I do it.”

“You have grease on your face,” he tells her when she finally gets back into the driver's seat. She quickly rubs at it before taking off down the road again. “Who taught you how to drive, anyways?”

“My father,” she says lightly. The past few hours he has seen her shoulders relax a bit, her scowl not a permanent fixture on her face. He gets the feeling that she enjoys driving through the countryside, taking in the sites and scenery. “We didn’t have many cars on the island, but they made life easier for some of the workers and I wanted to know how they operated, in case my assistance was required. I became obsessed with their inner workings. I don’t have a way with words, as you probably know, but I love mathematics and science and the inner workings of an automobile reminded me of a mathematics puzzle. It is hard to explain.”

Jaime understood completely. “I suppose,” he offers quietly, his thoughts once again drifting to Cersei. She hated driving and loved to be carted everywhere in a horse-drawn carriage, seeing herself as one of the characters in a fairytale. She did love to have Jaime drive as fast as possible with her at his side. “While I don’t love automobiles in such a boring way as you”, he says, “I have a fascination with them myself. They feel like the future, being in one. It’s hard going back to horses once you’ve driven a car.”

Jaime sees her eyes flick to him before concentrating on the road ahead, surprised they have something in common. “When we got a chauffeur,” he continues. “I spent a lot of time under his feet, to the annoyance of my father. I could easily spend my entire life around automobiles.”

Her brows drew together. “You shouldn’t let your hand keep you from driving.”

Jaime rolls his eyes, almost out of habit at this point. “My hand was crushed in the war. A freak explosion in the trench. The bone of my right hand was sticking out and required surgery to place the bones back together. I was such a dumbass and I refused to listen to the doctors about the wait time and I ended up losing movement. I can drive short distances but clutching the steering wheel for too long or working the gears becomes impossible.” 

She is quiet and Jaime wants to tell her to wipe that sympathy off her face. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of the way she drove. She was better than him. Even if he did have his hand working, she handles the gears expertly, moving on the road as a fish takes to the water. No jerking, no false starts, no shifting to the wrong gear.

“You know,” she interrupts his thoughts. “There are ways for you to regain those feelings. During my time driving, I saw physiotherapy do wonders for weakened muscles to help strengthen them.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks at the mention of his weak muscles. “It’s not that big of a deal, Doll,” he brushes her off. “I am wealthy enough to always have a chauffeur with me, as I do right now. No skin off my back.”

Her expression closed up and she was once again focused on the road.

The sun is long set behind them when they finally reach a small town to stop for the night. The road is wide and lit up with small shops and eateries. “Ah, electricity,” Jaime beams. “How I’ve missed you!”

Brienne decides to ignore him and heads to a tiny bed and breakfast. As he stands and stretches, she folds the map and places it in the glove compartment. “We should be in Casterly Rock this time tomorrow,” she says.

Jaime nods, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Anxiety seeps into all of his decisions since learning the truth of his wife. Somehow, this will all be Jaime’s fault. That his pretty little wife in Casterly Rock is not his wife. Tywin will somehow make this his fault and will be humiliated, no doubt. Jaime looks at Brienne. She is no beauty but he was surprised how much he likes her company. She was so unlike any other woman he had met and it was like a breath of fresh air. 

The bed and breakfast was a large converted home, with cozy rugs and warm lighting. A tiny woman with white hair piled high on her head sits behind a desk, knitting. As Jaime and Brienne enter, she looks between the pair and smiles. 

“Any rooms for the night?” Jaime asks, a winning grin stretching his face.

She opens a ledger and flips through the pages. “We have one, yes, but it is our renovated basement unit with no windows.” She looks up at them almost apologetically.

“I’m not as tender as all that,” he replies, earning a warm smile from her. “We will take the room.”

She gives a nod and slides the ledger his way, asking for his information. “You don’t look it, from the sight of ya’s.” She takes in his face and her yellow bruises. 

As Jaime sloppily fills in the guest's information he turns to Brienne and smirks. “We were on the train that was robbed outside of Bitterbridge a few days past,” he explains. Before he can finish, the innkeeper gasps and clutches his hand.

“I read about that in the papers! They stole all of the money and valuables from the mailroom!”

Horrified intrigue lit within her eyes and Jaime happily continues. “Yes, and apparently that was not enough for our villains, as they came into the passenger car and took us for everything we had.”

She glances at the guests nervously again. “Monsters,” she whispers.

Jaime turns to look at Brienne and sees her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her forehead furrowed. Jaime had forgotten she lost something on that train, something she would likely never get back. He wants to ask what it was but he is never sure how to bring it up. 

She hands them a key to their room, tells them that breakfast is served at 7 am sharp and that there are clean laundry utensils in their washroom. For a room that lacks windows, it is surprisingly cozy. Lamps illuminate the large area and it almost feels like a separate living area instead of a room in a house. 

As Jaime falls onto the large bed, bemoaning his aching back, he can see Brienne pulling out the first aid kit. “Dollface, I am in desperate need of a drink. Play nurse when we return.”

She sighs and looks about the room. “One drink. And let me freshen up.”

The pub they had passed when entering the tiny town was practically jumping with merriment when they arrive. He had expected barflies and old ladies and stale beer, not something to rival a pub in King’s Landing. Music assaults them when they enter, loud and thrumming.  Bagpipes, drums, violins, and accordions. Men and women dance together, men hold drinking competitions on tables that dotted the room and a few children ran around underfoot. It was chaos. 

What else is there to do in the middle of nowhere?

Brienne seems less surprised than he, moving to sit as far away from the music as possible as Jaime heads to the bar to grab the drinks. The atmosphere was infectious and Jaime couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he watched the people around him. During the war, some of the men would go to seedy pubs or back-alley brothels.  Brothels seemed to be more of Tyrion’s thing. 

The thought of Tyrion makes Jaime wonder how his siblings would fare in a pub like this. Tyrion would love it and be the center of attention, telling stories, dancing on tables with a barmaid, or entering the drinking contests. His brother always knew how to win over affection. 

Cersei would never stoop so low to be here unless absolutely necessary. Jaime can practically see her nose in the air. She would be miserable and complain the entire time. 

She would make everyone around her miserable, too .

Brienne doesn't seem to be one for much fun so they will most likely be out with one drink. 

Careful not to spill anything, Jaime weaves his way around a few tables and couples before he notices a young girl following him. No older than ten, her hair is loose and curly and she wore a floral dress with black stockings.

“Are you from around here?” she asks loudly, right on his heels.

Jaime turns to look at her. “No. I am from Casterly Rock.”

“Are you going to be dancing?”

Jaime shoots her a smile from over his shoulder. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

By the time Jaime reaches Brienne, the young girl is looking up at him with big green eyes. “Would you like to dance with me?” she asks as if she is offering him something and not the other way around.

Jaime looks at Brienne and she gives him a small smile.

“You must ask my lady wife for permission if you want a dance,” he states solemnly, or as solemnly as he can while negotiating dances with a little girl. 

She turns to Brienne and suddenly gets very shy, frowning at her hands. But Brienne’s face softens. “You may dance with my husband, so long as you are mindful of his hand, as it was injured during the war.” she glances up at Jaime, now. “And be careful about your scar. Try not to get it too sweaty and itchy.”

As the music switches behind them, the girl jumps up and down and starts to tug on his hand. “Are you my mother or my wife?” he asks playfully. 

She opens her mouth but closes it quickly. Jaime chuckles, knowing exactly what she was going to say. 

The tiny girl stands on his feet and lets Jaime move her about the dance floor. He wonders where her parents are. He glances over and sees Brienne, sipping her beer with a small smile still stretched across her face. He smiles back automatically. This is the most relaxed he has seen her.

“Your wife looks like she could beat up anybody. She looks strong.”

Jaime throws his head back and laughs. “She is strong and she can beat up anyone.”

Jaime holds her small hands in his own and spins them about. She begs him to spin her, so he places her feet on the ground and gives her a spin. “Again, again!” she begs. When her small arms wrap around his waist, Jaime feels a tap on his shoulder. He looks and sees Brienne. 

“Care to cut in?” he asks cheekily. 

Her smile is gone and she is pulling him away from his dance partner. “She is trying to pickpocket you.” 

The girl squeaks and scampers off as Jaime stands in the middle of the dance floor, laughing.

“What is so funny?”

Jaime shrugs. “She’s a kid!”

Pushed together by the throngs of dancing partygoers, Jaime takes her hand in his. He still loves the feeling of her hands and the voice of the little pickpocketer rings in his ears, that she is strong. 

She had said it with such awe.  

Jaime takes a large gulp of his drink and gives her a sideways glance. “What?” she asks innocently. 

He shakes his head, taking another large swig. “Nothing. You’re so prim and proper.”

Her eyebrows raise in a challenge. 

Jaime’s drink sloshes in his hand, spilling the ale on the table and floor as a man bumps into him. Jaime shoves him hard, knocking him back into the table. He can feel Brienne tense beside him. 

“Sorry, mate!” the man yells with a smile. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes are droopy with drink. Jaime's seen this look once or twice on Tyrion. “We are celebrating a friend’s engagement and we might’ve gotten carried away!” As they talk, a table crashes behind them. Instead of shouts, cheers ripple through the air. 

“Do I know you?” 

“I was in the war, fought in King’s Landing,” Jaime replies with a shrug, his hand sticky with drying ale.

That seems to appease him, as he nods his head with dawning recognition. “I was a tunneler in Storms End,” he explains. “Volunteered to go, can ya believe it? I thought it would be an adventure.” 

Jaime could believe it. Because it was exactly what he did. “Another volunteer, eh?” Jaime asks, taking another drink.

The man laughs, a bit too loud but he was drunk so Jaime let it slide. He taps his glass to Jaime in unspoken cheers. “Not that it matters, the draft would’ve gotten us sooner or later!” 

Jaime laughs, feeling his scars stretch and burn under the bandage. “My wife is from the Stormlands.”

“Cheers to you, mate,” he guffaws, “for being brave enough to marry a girl from the Stormlands. A stubborn, stormy lot!”

Brienne scowls while Jaime shares another laugh with his new friend.

As the night goes on, they meet more people. The laughing gets louder, the music gets faster and he gets drunker. Jaime plays cards and Brienne talks to the other girls. One drink turned to two to three to five. He glances at her often. Taking in her relaxed shoulders, her kind eyes, her small smile. 

Is this what normal people do? He wonders more than once throughout the night. Go to pubs with friends, spend the evening together. Engagements aren’t used as excuses for absurdly lavish parties to impress people that your father does business with.

“Perhaps we should head out?” Brienne moves close to him, whispers in her ear. Her breath is warm, her body is solid. Her hand is on his shoulder and her face is pressed close to his. 

“I think my lady wife wants another round,” Jamie bellows to the small corner of people. “Drinks on me!”  Her eyes narrow and Jaime grins wide at her, his cheeks hurting from all the smiling. 

“How did your fella propose?” he hears a girl ask Brienne.

“It was on her island in the Stormlands,” Jaime chimes in before she has a chance to spoil their fun with the truth. “But my wife tells the story better than I, don’t you darling?” He absolutely loves teasing her. Her reactions are always hysterical and this horrified look is one for the books. 

She grabs his glass and takes a large sip as the woman inch closer and egg her on.  “Ah, it was on Tarth, yes.” her voice quakes with nerves. “We hold a seven-day long festival at the start of every year, to give thanks to the Gods for the year before and pray for a fortunate year ahead. Each day honors a specific god and the whole island comes together. We celebrate our history, the great Kings from the past as we look to the future and pray to the Gods to bless us. The Evenstar will lead a parade to the sept where everyone lights lanterns and sends them up to the gods with a personal prayer.” Her eyes twinkle, reliving the memory in her mind. “The sky is filled with lights and lanterns. It’s beautiful.”

Pausing before clearing her throat and continuing, she takes small sips of his drink. “That year, everyone knew the war was approaching. No one had to say it but we all prayed for the same thing. For a quick war with small casualties. That's where it happened,” she ends with a shrug. “Outside the sept, under the lights.” 

“That sounds so heavenly,” a girl simpers. “I’ve never been to an island before.”

“Tarth is beautiful,” Brienne says, almost sagging with relief at the change of subject. “It’s called the Sapphire Isle because the waters are so blue it almost feels like a dream.”

She avoids his gaze, purposely looking away from him. 

He wasn't sure what she was going to say but it certainly wasn’t that. Jaime had never thought of proposing to a woman before. He never had another woman in his life besides Cersei, and their bond negated the need for proposals. 

How many things has he missed out on because of his bond with Cersei, he wonders?  Dating, proposals, marriage. None of it seemed to matter because he could not do it with the woman he loved. His head was swimming.

But now? Now that Cersei had chosen a life that did not actively include him? 

Could he reach for those things now? 

“Did you make all of that up?” he leans in and whispers in her ear. 

She jolts at his closeness but does not move away. With a shake of her head, she finally turns towards him. “It happened when I was a girl. To a seamstress who lived on the island.” They are both whispering to each other, trying to keep their secret between themselves. “When I was small, I thought that every girl got that type of love.”

She is so close he can practically count her freckles. Her pale skin is tinged pink from the alcohol. It was rather cute. “Well, perhaps your next marriage will be better,’ he replies with a smile. “Although, I’m sure it won’t be too hard to top, considering you found out you were married to me after we were robbed on a train.”

Jaime expects her to laugh but she does not. Instead, she averts her gaze almost shyly. “I am not meant for such things,” she responds, quietly. “To discover I am married while bruised and covered in my husband's blood is about all I can hope for.”

He laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. The pub is buzzing about them but all he can think about is this homely woman in front of him. 

“If you’re going to kiss her mate,” someone yells loudly at them. “Do it and get it over with!” Good-natured laughs billow about and it is only then that Jaime realizes how close he is and how he has not backed out of her personal space.

Before he can think, he leans in and captures her lips with his. She is stiff with shock but her lips are so soft and pillowy that Jaime leans in more, opening her lips with earnest. He can hear noises about them but that all seems to fade and it is just the two of them. When he leans back, her eyelids flutter open. She looks dazed and confused, guarded bewilderment passing over her features. 

“Jaime, you’re bleeding!”

Gods, how drunk are you, Lannister?

Bringing a hand to his face, Jaime feels the sticky liquid starting to seep through his bandage. He can hear Brienne deciding to call it a night as the men hoot and ask what she did to reopen the wound.

For a brief moment, Jaime wishes he could stay longer. No wonder Tyrion loved pubs. These people, regular common folk, were so much better than the people who licked his family’s bootheels. He hadn’t realized how much he hated the bootlickers until he came back from the war. They had all loved him when he was a soldier but thought it taboo to discuss such matters once the war ended. They frolicked and partied and sipped champagne and ate soft cheese and just kept living while men had died for them and it was too much of an inconvenience to think of.

Perhaps that is why he likes Brienne so much. Enjoys her company, even though it was fraught with stiff silences and stony stares. There were no airs about her, no pretenses. She was not attractive but she was good and honest. 

When they enter their lodgings, Jaime collapses onto the bed and she heads straight to the washroom. Was she mad? Her stomping indicated that she might be mad. “Why did you kiss me?” She asks, no doubt using the wall between them as a shield.

“You have lips made for kissing,” he answers honestly. They were full and pink and good. No seduction necessary, they called to him all on their own.

He hears her scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. Lips are lips. And all lips are the same.”

“Very untrue,” he starts, as she sits him up and begins to work on his bandages. 

“Looks like a few of the stitches came loose. Doesn’t look too bad,” she mutters.

Swallowing hard, Jaime closes his eyes. Having her so near, her hands tender and strong, her body warm and close. When was the last time someone cared about his well being while asking nothing in return? He thinks of Tywin marrying him while he was battered in a war hospital, of Cersei dismissing their love as foolish. He was so easily forgettable. The thoughts made him uncomfortable but he wasn’t ready to run from them just yet. However, before he can do anything about it, she moves away. 

“Sorry I am not a better husband,” he apologizes before sleep overtakes him.

Chapter Text

Rain comes down hard, pelting the roof of the car. The sound would be almost comforting if he wasn’t soaked and the car was actually moving. 

“Well?” she asks, taking in his wet appearance. It is the first thing she has willingly said to him all day. 

“I can’t get any traction to push it out. The road is too slippery.”

She sighs and looks out the window. The tire was caught in the mud and they were left stuck on the side of the road. 

“We could stay here and wait it out,” she muses, more to herself than him. 

Jaime nods and looks out his own window, the rain practically coming down sideways. When thunder cracks, they both jump.

She was steadfastly ignoring him, refusing to discuss the night before. He had no interest to discuss it either so it hung in the air between them, an awkward chasm that would persist until they parted ways.

And it was such a stupid thing to do; kiss her. Was he so desperate for intimacy after his spat with Cersei in Highgarden?

Cracking open the door, she peeks her head out the window. Was she going to try and push them out? She might, stubborn as she is. Instead, she looks up at the sky. “The storm is going to pass soon,” she tells him, wiping the rain out of her eyes.

“You think?” he asks, fidgeting next to her. The damp fabric of his pants chafed at his thighs. 

“I know. I was raised on an island in the Stormlands. We got a lot of storms. The wind moves west to east and the weather pattern follows that same flow. We shouldn’t have to wait here too long.”

Jaime looks out through the dashboard window then over at her. She would be remarkably useful in war or just someone you would always want at your side, he thinks. By her own admission, she was not one for words, and her silence could be mistaken for dimwittedness but she was sharp and dependable. He is embarrassed by how negative his thoughts were of her during those first few hours on the road. How he thought her boring and slow and compared her unfairly to his sister. She stayed with him in the hospital, made sure his scars were cleaned properly, drove them across four regions without complaint.

It dawns on him hot and fast that he would like her to stick around in his life, in some capacity. If not as his wife as his - something. The realization makes his stomach twist. His drunken decision making comes back to him hard, as the rain patters around them, the earthy smell chokes him. He likes her resourcefulness, her convictions, her loyalty. She may be ugly but what did looks matter? Did it make him a better soldier? Did it keep him from getting mutilated during the robbery? Did it keep him from getting his heartbroken? 

She had eyes he could drown in and lips that tasted like salvation.

“You know,” he says, his voice sounding loud compared to the silence in the car. “I remember you saying something the first day we met. About a man you loved. Who made you join the war. Who was he?”

Her face blooms with color and she ducks her head, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “He was from Storms End. He was an officer named Renly who came to Tarth. Before all the u-boats and bombings started. We held a small dinner for him and he was so lovely. Tall, strong, dark hair, funny.” Her voice is the lightest he’s ever heard. She looks at nowhere in particular, wistful. 

“Some of the men hated that my father put me in charge while a lot of men were off fighting the war. They were hateful. Renly saw how they were. Spent the whole night complimenting me, my works, my efforts. I felt seen in a way I had never been before. He made me laugh and never left my side that night. The next morning, during breakfast, we discussed the war. We drove to the beach and he said that if I was passionate about helping, I should consider joining.”

Jaime is silent for a moment before a nagging voice in his head forces him to speak. “Renly Baratheon?” she nods. “Wasn’t he interested in men?”

Her eyes are as round as saucers as she inhales sharply. “You knew?” she breathes.

“Yes,” Jaime chortles. “Renly and his elder brother, Stannis, were in King’s Landing a few years ago. I liked Renly. He was a charming bloke. Always laughing and joking, and you know I rarely take anything seriously so we got along well. But, he kept egging his brother the entire week. Constantly being a little shit. Until Stannis made a snide comment about Renly’s little boyfriend and I never saw a man clam up so quickly in my life. After that, it become a lot easier to notice it.”

Brienne says nothing for a bit. “I suppose you think I’m silly, falling for a man like Renly.”

How could a sister fucker such as he ever judge? “Of course not,” Jaime says sincerely. You can’t help who you love.”

Her eyes meet his and they are so full of gratitude that Jaime has to look away. 

“When they told me he had been killed, murdered in his bed, the thought of revenge consumed me. It was an ugly wound that festered day and night. And no one understood. I scarcely understood it myself, the feelings I had for him. During the war, I collected any information I could. Anything that could help find justice for him. But it seemed like everything was a dead end, or that everyone was trying to pretend it didn’t happen. Which left me so bitter and raw. Because I felt that if they were trying to hide what happened to him, the world would forget what a wonderful man we had walking this earth. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

She swallows hard and Jaime wants to hold her hand but can’t bring himself to make a fool out of himself again. 

“My father passed right before the war ended. And the guilt I had, over not being there for him, for not being able to say goodbye, tore at my soul. When I inquired about the funeral services, my Aunt Roelle wrote me back and said it was already done. That the fighting had reached Tarth’s doorsteps. She told me I seemed lost. That it would be best for me to figure out what I wanted before I came home and made a mess of things. She gave me his pocket watch as a keepsake and that's all I had of him. 

“So, I stayed on the mainland after the war ended. And I thought, if I could just find out what happened with Renly, I could go home. I could honor both men and I could devote the rest of my life being the heir my father needed.”

Jaime is quiet when he realizes it is the pocket watch the men had stolen from her on the train. The one thing she had of her father while trekking across King’s Landing was thoughtlessly stolen from her. 

She mistakes his silence and says, “I know you didn't ask for my life story.”

Jaime shakes his head. “Have you figured out what happened? Have you avenged your love?”

“I spent the last six months following up on leads I acquired during the war. I ended up in Horn Hill at the house of Randyll Tarly. He was the one who told me about Renly. And what happened.” 

Taking a deep breath, “Renly was caught in bed with another man. He was caught in the crossfire. It was an accident. A lover’s spat, as it were. Randyll said to let it go because the Baratheons want to keep it quiet. I was on my way home when the train we were on was robbed.” 

“And the rest is history,” he tries to joke lightly. 

Jaime thinks of the way she talks of Renly, of her father, how she talked of Jocelyn. She was a wall of pure determination and steel, hiding a tender heart. She gave her loyalty and love away as freely as a priest gave a sermon. He had the sudden urge to protect her from people like Tywin Lannister, her wicked stepmother, and an opportunistic cousin. They did not deserve her loyalty. 

“What about your love?” Brienne asks softly. “Is she waiting for you at Casterly Rock?” 

Confused, Jaime stares openly at her. Had he mentioned Cersei? 

“The second day we met,” she supplies. “You mentioned a woman you loved before.”

“Ah,” he says with a sniff. The rant he had gone on when she asked if he was always so dramatic. “No. She is not waiting for me. The war ruined what we had. We were separated for so long that when I tried to rekindle the love, she was a different person. I was a different person. She is married to another and, technically, so am I.”

Her brows draw together and confusion ripples across her features. “ So, that first day, in the car, your love was not,” she trails off, her voice fading.

It’s his turn now to be perplexed before it dawns on him that she thinks he is in love with her cousin. “Jocelyn? No, no, no. She did try. But it wasn't a good match, her and I. After about a week or two of getting to know her, I made any excuse I could to travel away from Casterly. I perhaps was to blame, as I compared her needlessly to my first love. And to love in a country traumatized by war is not as sweet as young love softened by time.”

Jaime leaves out the part where he was cruel with his thoughts and his time. She was a perfectly fine girl, her cousin, beautiful and dignified. A wife any man would be proud of. But Jaime hated what she represented. A forced marriage with a girl who saw a name but not the person in front of her.

“Who was your first love? What do you love about her?”

The rain gets lighter but neither of them notices. It was a simple question, really. What could Jaime say without letting her know he was in love with his sister? That she was his sun, his soul? His other half? 

“My father thought that love was a weakness,” Jaime starts, wanting to make her understand. “You cannot eat love, cannot buy a horse with it nor warm your halls on a cold night with love, he had said to me once. When my mother died, my father poured everything into his work. I was alone. And she was there. A bright beacon of love.” 

A smile touches his lips as he thinks of Cersei. Her playful smiles, adventuress spirit. “She is beautiful, smart, charming. Every man wanted her. And she knew me better than anyone. Could read me like a book. With no mother and no father, she was my home.” 

He will never be rid of Cersei. She lives in his heart and he will never be able to untangle her. The thought is haunting.

Brienne nibbles on her bottom lip, her lashes fluttering closed. He wants to ask what she is thinking but it feels inappropriate somehow. He's not sure what it is about her but he feels he doesn’t have to hide around her. For so long he loved being around Lannisters and friends of Lannisters and a region that relied on Lannisters. But now, sitting in a parked car, damp to the bones, with a person he hadn’t known a week ago, he can't think of a single thing about Casterly Rock that was better than this. 

When the rain finally clears, the air was sweet and warm as the sun peeked through the clouds, lighting the sky pink. She gets to work getting the front tires unstuck, first sticking a large stick into the mud to assess the damage. They start to grab small stones and bits of gravel to place in front of the tires to create the friction needed to get out. He lets her boss him around, responding ‘Yes, Sir,’ with each new task she provides.  After so much of this, she stops her scowls.

“Too bad we don’t have any sand,” she laments, dusting her hands off on her trousers. “I suppose I won't take that for granted on Tarth again.”

She has Jaime get into the driver's seat and tells him to drive slowly and move the tires left and right, so as not to get stuck in a track while she pushes behind. 

Caught between humiliation and admiration, Jaime does as he is told. She continues to impress him with her quick thinking skills. After a few tries, the car pops out and Jaime is laughably relieved. 

Still at the wheel, she hops in beside him and slouches, a sloppy smile on her face. He really likes it when she smiles. “Would you like to drive the rest of the way home?” she asks.

They both looked a mess. Dirty trousers on them both, tousled hair that has settled in different directions, wrinkled sweaters, and mud-splattered faces.

“Absolutely,” he replies, jerking the car to life. “And if my fingers fail to move and we end up flying off of a cliff, I think we lived a good life.”

He hears her snort. “Thank you for making the decision for both of us.”

“You put me in the driver seat, Doll.”

Chapter Text

When they pull up, he can practically feel her tension. He slows, just as his fingers start to numb and lose feeling. 

“Good lord, this place is huge. The only place bigger than this has to be Storms End.”

Jaime groans. “How dare you insult me, so?” he looks her over. “Do you not wish to enter?” He asks. 

“I look a fright”, she mutters, staring down at her clothing. 

“As do I, which is rather amusing, don’t you think?” 

She says nothing, just looks out the window. 

“Brienne”, he says, drawing her attention back to him. “ You are Brienne. You are not in the wrong here. Of everyone involved in this mess, you are more innocent than any. You should be marching up there and knocking in teeth. Demanding answers like a she-devil I met on that train.”

 “I am monstrous,” she agrees quietly. 

“That’s the spirit,” he jokes, jerking the gears and springing the car back into action. 

They pull up to the house and the footmen stumble out to greet them. “Welcome to Casterly Rock can...Mr. Lannister. I thought you were in the capital. I wasn’t made aware of your presence.” 

“No worries,” Jaime replies easily, tossing the keys to the boy. And he was a boy. All of sixteen. Tall and strapping but the eyes of a kid. 

“Is everything quite alright?” He asks as he takes in Jaime’s appearance. His gaze then turns to Brienne and Jaime wishes he could commission a drawing of this very moment. 

“Yes, of course. Is my father home? And Joce-my wife?”

“I believe so, Sir. Your father is in his office and Lady Brienne is in the study.” His tone is cautious, curious. Jaime is practically bouncing on the balls of his heels, ready to get inside.

“Splendid. Tell them both to meet me in the drawing-room, at once. Have Carsen tell them, they’ll listen to him.” Carsen has worked for the Lannisters since before Jaime was born and was the family’s head butler. He was dependable, no-nonsense, and immensely respected. 

Jaime grabs Brienne’s wrist and pulls her into the entrance hall. He can hear Brienne muttering hellos and pleasantries to any of the staff that gawks at the pair. As they pass through the main hall she can hear her audibly gasp. The room was the heart of Casterly with its arched ceiling, sweeping columns and intricate styling. 

He leads her into the drawing-room, grateful that there was no one in there at present. His aunt Genna could easily be found pretending to sew while really reading trashy magazine stories. 

“Jaime,” she gapes, “this place is overwhelming.” He looked at her and smiled. He loved the way she said his name. All ladies loved the drawing-room, it seemed. With its soft colors of cream and pink, it is the room Joanna designed herself. It stood in contracts to the harsh golds and reds that marked the rest of Casterly Rock. 

“You are as rigid as a statue. Relax. Have a seat.” He flippantly orders, while he himself paces about.

“I'm filthy,” she hisses even though they are the only two in the room. “I can’t sit and ruin these seats.”

“Fuck the seats and relax.”

“Jaime,” his father's voice interrupts them both. Carsen must have told him first before grabbing Jocelyn. “What a surprise you’re-” he stops and looks at Brienne. “And you’ve brought a friend, it seems? Care to tell me why you both are standing on my carpets covered in mud?” His voice was low and menacing. 

“Don’t worry about it, the mud’s dry,” Jaime tries to cut the tension, for Brienne’s sake. “Will flake right off.”

Tywin’s eyes are slits and he asks quietly, “Jaime what is going on?”

“It seems you have been duped, father.” He is smug, insolent almost. He catches a glance at Brienne and she looks petrified. He saw the woman go toe to toe with train bandits and yet confronting her porcelain cousin made her want to hide behind the couch. 

The door opens and Jocelyn steps in. From where Brienne is standing, she cannot see her cousin, as her eyes are solely trained on Jaime. “Jaime, darling,” her voice is soft and whispery, “We didn’t expect you back so soon! What on earth happened to your face?” As she walks past Tywin to Jaime, she catches sight of Brienne and gasps. Audibly, so. Her eyes are wide, her pretty pink mouth open.

Jaime can practically see her trembling. 

“Father,” she whispers. “Can you perhaps let my husband and I catch up privately? There are some things -”

“No,” Tywin cuts her off, firmly. To the untrained ear, the Lannister patriarch sounds calm and collected. But Jaime can hear the concerns. “What is going on, Jaime? Who is this person in my home?”

Jaime smiles over at Brienne. “Oh, her? This is my wife.”

Tywin's eyes were ablaze with fury. “Did you forget you already have a wife?”

This was fun. “Oh no, how could I forget?” he responds lightly. “The both of you love to remind me in your own special ways.” He turns to Brienne and she is a wet blanket on his fun. She chews on her bottom lip and wrings her hands in front of her nervously. “Could you please sit?”

“No,” she squeaks.

“Humor me,” he half pleads.

“I’m always humoring you.”

“So why stop now?” His grin is wide and cheeky. 

“Jaime,” Jocelyn whispers, fear crossing her features. “I can explain.” 

He offers her a tight, thin smile and a shake of his head.

“What is going on?” Tywin roars.

“This is Brienne,” Jaime explains, pointing to his wife.  “Selwyn Tarth’s daughter. The daughter you intended for me. This is Jocelyn, her cousin, pretending to be Brienne.”

Jocelyn sinks into the chair beside him, a shaking breath escaping her lungs. 

Tywin turns on Jocelyn, his jaw slack before snapping shut and clenching so hard he was like to break a tooth. His eyes were furious and suddenly, Jaime was not having fun anymore.

“How,” Tywin grinds out, going to the door and locking it before whirling on the threesome. 

Jocelyn is crying, now. She turns to Brienne. “This is all your fault!” she sobs. “You left us!”

“She joined the war effort!” Jaime jumps to defend her. He wants to shake the girl, for her knows Brienne will never stand up for herself but Brienne puts a hand on his arm. 

“Jaime,” she pulls. 

Jocelyn’s face contorts as she takes in the interaction. “How did the two of you even meet? Did you always know? Is that why you were never home?”

Jaime looks down at her and lifts an eyebrow. “We met on the train that was robbed outside of Bitterbridge. She was being robbed, so I stepped in to help. It all went downhill from there.”

“So you made a stop in Highgarden, then?” She tosses back and Jaime’s smile slips. 

“Tell us what happened, Jocelyn. The truth. Brienne was not on Tarth when we were married. She has not stepped foot on her island in years. She didn’t even know she was married when we met. I had to tell her.”

Jocelyn kneads her temples. “She..Brienne..her father married my mother.” Her eyes skip to Tywin nervously before glancing back up at Jaime. “I was on Tarth for a few months before the war started. Brienne was all Selwyn had. He treated her as his son. She was his presumptive heir. When war broke out, Brienne was the one that got women working in the factory. But as the years passed, and the war got worse and nobody seemed to know when it would end, the business was horrible. It was hard getting food on the island, hard exporting anything when the fighting was inching closer to our doors. Brienne wanted to go help. She wanted to go to the mainland. We begged her not to go, to make her see she was helping enough at home. But Selywn agreed to let her go. Said she was a warrior and the war could use her. When the letter arrived, from Tywin Lannister, Selywn was more than happy to arrange a meeting between heirs. But he deteriorated quickly. He wanted to bless the book and cloaks before marriage. So we held the proxy ceremony in June, with Selwyn in attendance. He held on before passing away quietly. 

“We assumed you were coming back! We didn’t think you would be gone for so long! He was such a wonderful man, Brienne. You were so lucky to have him in your life.”

Jaime turns to see Brienne’s eyes were wet and her lower lip was quivering. He wanted so desperately to somehow turn back time and make this right for her. First Renly then her father. 

“So why are you here and not her?” Tywin asks harshly. 

Jocelyn flinches. “My mother received a letter from Brienne not too long after the war had ended. She didn’t want to come back. She needed time away. And we could risk losing a powerful ally so my mother -”

“I never said that!” Brienne finally speaks, her voice gravelly. “Aunt Roelle told me I shouldn’t come back until I clear my mind.” 

“So you just stayed gone?” Jocelynn accuses her viciously. “You didn’t think to come home once, to check-in?”

“I wanted to,” Brienne croaks. Tywin runs his hands down his face in frustration. Jaime wishes he had held a reunion between the cousins before getting his father involved, now. “I didn’t think I was wanted.”

“I was doing what you weren’t,” Jocelyn defends herself, wiping the tears that streaked silently down her face. “I was thinking of Tarth’s future while you were off playing hero! Was it not enough for you to be a leader Tarth needed?”

“Enough of this,” Tywin dismisses her. “I want you to go upstairs. Pack your things. And be gone by the first light of tomorrow. I do not care where you go. You are not to talk to anyone about this or I shall have you arrested for fraud.” 

His voice low, his eyes thunderous, Tywin does not take his eyes off of Jocelyn until she submits to his demands with a small nod. 

Gliding to the door, he calls for Carsen. “Please see that Lady Tarth has a few girls to help her pack. She will be leaving Casterly tomorrow morning. Make sure this is done as quickly and as quietly as possible.” Carsen, bless him, tries to keep his face controlled but his eyes dart wildly around the room looking for context clues.

With Jocelyn gone, Tywin turns to Brienne and sizes her up. A lump so large forms in Jaimes's throat that breathing feels impossible. “I want to express my deepest apologies for this situation. For your loss of your father and having the wool pulled over your eyes in regards to your own marriage. However, you are a Lannister, now, and we need your number one priority to be your family.”

Brienne turns helplessly to Jaime, her eyes round and pleading.

“Considering the circumstances,” Jaime starts. “I don’t believe it is fair to insist Brienne stay married to me.”

“Nonsense,” Tywin slides his hands into his pockets and moves closer to the pair. 

“She needs to go home. She’s been through enough.”

“From her own blood, it seems,” Tywin dismisses him with a curl of his lip.

“I want an annulment,” Jaime tries to argue but it sounds weak even to his own ears. 

“Your jokes are not appreciated,” Tywin says coolly.

“It is not a joke,” Jaime hisses, feeling like an errant boy arguing over having desserts for dinner. 

Tywin must feel the same because he says nothing. Instead, he gives him a long, hard look before turning towards the door. “Please get cleaned up, I cannot take you seriously when you look like a gutter rat.”

After three days, two motels, and one kiss later, the two stand at their destination in resigned uncertainty. The drawing room is quiet and the only sound that can be heard is the ticking of an old clock stuffed somewhere in a corner.

Jaime turns to look at her and see her eyes are closed, her tongue swiping at her lips. Her jaw is tight and her frustration is palpable. She is no doubt furious at him for dragging her here for nothing. To watch him get dismissed by his father as a child. 

You had no plan, idiot.  What did you think would happen? You never think, do you?

“She lied,” Brienne whispers finally. Her voice is shaking with anger. “My aunt lied to keep me away. I knew I was not what she had expected in a daughter but I didn’t think she would want me gone.”

“Oh, now you’re angry?”

“I’m sad,” she admits with a shrug. “I should never have left. It haunts me. I should never have left.”

“I am so sorry, Brienne,” he says, meaning them with his whole being but the words still feeling empty, somehow. “I am sorry I dragged you here. Away from your home.”

She ducks her head and runs her hands through her mangy hair. “I’m sorry I was not around to oppose the marriage in the first place,” she replies, glancing up at him through her lashes.

Jaime laughs. The image of her, now, messy and dirty inside his house was like two vastly different worlds colliding. They only spent a handful of days together and he didn’t want to let her go. He thinks of her fighting robbers, fixing a flat tire, whispering with him in a dirty pub, fixing his wounds, pushing a car out of the mud. He sees her rolling her eyes, arguing with him, telling him when he’s wrong.  

He can’t let her go . 

 “Let’s stay married,” he blurts, catching himself off guard. 

The shock on her face is evident. “What?” 

“Why not?” he asks, slowly moving towards her, his heart pounding in his ears.

“What do you mean why not? You threatened to drag my family's name in the mud if I didn’t come with you to grant you an annulment!”

“I know, but that was before I knew you.”

“Jaime,” she sighs. “We don’t need your father's permission to get an annulment. If you are worried, I will grant you what you wish.” She looks around nervously, wanting to sit but not doubt worried about the furniture. 

“I don’t wish for an annulment.” The fear that she might not want him courses through him.

She scoffs. “Do you even know what you want?”

“Who does?” He asks incredulously. “I spent my whole life doing as others told me to do with a single-minded vision to be a great army commander. The person that entered that trench was not the same person that left it. The only time I’ve felt like myself is when I was with you. These past few days...Brienne.”

How could he put this into words without ruining everything?

“Jaime,” she says softly. “You can’t possibly want me as your wife.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re incredible!”

“I’m not marriage material!” she exclaims, exasperated. “I don’t know how to be a wife!”

“I don’t want a wife!” he practically shouts. “I want you! I don’t want to change you. I don’t want to change a thing about you!”

The silence descends down on them again. They were made for quiet moments, it seems.

“This is a lot to take in,” she says quietly. 

Jaime stands in front of her and takes her hand. “I know,” he agrees. 

“Are you -” she doesn’t get a chance to finish because Jaime grabs her face and kisses her. 

The kiss is bruising and deep. She opens her mouth to his and lets him slip his tongue over hers briefly before resting his head against hers, smiling. “I’m sure,” he says. 

“I need to go home,” she says with a small smile. 

"I won’t keep you locked in a tower above the Sunset Sea, I understand you need to go home. I’d love to come with you.”

“I’d like that,” she sighs, contentedly. “You know, I’ve been on my own for so long, it’s been nice traveling with someone. Even if you are a snob.”

“You’re not alone anymore,” he promises.

The door behind them clicks open and Jocelyn steps in, her eyes puffy but dry. The pretty, docile creature he has known for six months is gone. In front of them stands a steely determined woman that Jaime does not recognize. 

“Good,” she chokes, her eyes darting about the room uncomfortably. “You’re both still here.”

“Jocelyn,” Brienne starts, moving away from Jaime. 

“Brienne,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry for everything I said! I swear, I didn’t mean to place the blame solely on your shoulders!” 

“I never meant to hurt you!” she continues, clutching to Brienne as if she were a lifeline. “Please understand, I did not know what my mother did.” 

Jaime crosses his arms and can feel the tension rise up his back. Figures she would slink back to apologize in private.

“I should never have left,” Brienne cries softly, embracing her smaller cousin. Jaime wants to toss his hands in the air with frustration. She had nothing to apologize for! 

“It’s been so long. We can head home together and set things straight.” Jocelyn leans back and gazes up at Brienne. “Gods, I’ve missed you!”

Jaime tenses. Where else would she go? Did she have family in Storms End?

A blush creeps up Brienne’s face. “Uh - Jaime will be joining me. Us. To Tarth.”

Jocelyn moves away from Brienne and looks between the pair. “Your--you-you’re going to remain married?”

“Yes. She is my wife.” Jaime keeps it simple. 

She is his wife. She is his wife. The words play around his head and the surreal feeling consumes him, again. 

“You need to tell her,” Jocelyn orders quietly. 

Uncrossing his arms, Jaime stares at her hard. “Tell her what? Nothing happened between you and me.”

“Not me, you fool,” she retorts, giving him a dirty look. “You need to tell her about Cersei.”

She could've knocked him over with a feather. “What are you talking about?” he swallows, schooling his face to remain neutral.

Her expression hardens. “That very first night we met? I saw you with her.” His blood runs cold. “Tell her the truth. If you don’t, I will.” she insists.

“To what end?” Jaime snaps angrily. “There is nothing between us anymore.”

Jocelyn glares. “I won’t have Brienne humiliated the way I was. She deserves to know the man she is married to, just as I did.”

Jaime had to actively fight the urge not to strangle her. “You were never my wife. You were never supposed to be here.”

Her eyes spark with rage. On his periphery, Jaime can see Brienne tense and confused.

“Look at her,” Jocelyn says through clenched teeth, pointing to Brienne. “I can see that you care for her. Imagine the hurt she would have felt if she caught you fucking your sister, as I did.”

His eyes snap to Brienne. Her eyes widen, big and blue and staring into his soul.

With a grunt, Jaime stalks over to Jocelyn and towers over her. Grabbing her arm roughly, he all but drags her to the door. She pushes and digs her heels, but Jaime rings for Carsen and brings his face inches away from her own. “Brienne may be fooled, but I’m not. I see you for the spiteful, petty, little social climber you really are.”

She wiggles and rips her away from him. “Think about what you want! You don’t think this whole goddamn castle doesn’t know ? I was humiliated! I won’t have Brienne suffer that same fate!”

Too bad she didn’t show this much fire before, he thinks ruefully. “Carsen,” Jaime turns to the portly man, his tone clipped. “Call the car. Lady Tarth will be leaving tonight. Take her to the train station. See her off to wherever she wishes. Anything not packed tonight can be shipped at a later date.”

Shoving her into the arms of the butler, Jaime slams the door shut and turns to Brienne. Terror was written plain as day on her face. “Brienne,” he breathes, not knowing how he was able to get the words out. It hurt to look at her. 

“Who - your sister? Who is your first love? Who is Cersei?” her words are broken, unsure, the hurt slicing at his heart. 

Running his hands over his face roughly, Jaime groans loudly. This is not how he wanted this to go. “Cersei is my sister. My twin sister.”

Her expression is closed off, her eyes wide and questioning. “The girl you loved. Is your sister?” Her face is twisted, her arms folded around herself.

“Brienne,” he says quietly. He takes a step forward and she takes a step back. The trust was gone, just as it had started. “Do you remember what I told you earlier today? About my father and how the girl I loved saved me? Can I please explain?”

Brienne swallows, averting her gaze. “You violated your sister?”

Jaime winces. Violated? “Brienne, please. I can’t change the past. I loved her. I perhaps always will. We don’t get to choose who we love.”

She heaves in a breath, shaking her head. “I have to--I have to go. I can’t.”

She sprints around him and makes a beeline for the door. Fuck. He chases after her. “Brienne, wait!”

As she walks quickly through the main hall, they both catch up to the footmen helping Jocelyn pack her trunks into the car. 

“Please don’t leave like this,” he begs, holding her damp hand. The hand he loved to touch.

“Jaime,” she moans in despair. “I can’t do this right now. I have to get my life in order before I can bring you into it. And I think you need to do the same.”

She pulls her hand out of his grasp and turns away from him. She doesn’t look back as she steps into the car. She doesn’t look back as the car pulls away.

Chapter Text

“What do you think?”

“It looks wonderful,” Brienne breathes. She looks around Evenfall, at the decorations and festival tents. Her childhood home was teeming with life. Winter rarely ever touched Tarth the way it did for the rest of Westeros, only dropping the temperatures and increasing the storms. This would be the first celebration since the end of the war. This year’s festivals were as much for the returning soldiers as it was for the gods.

She tries not to think of Jaime. Of the desperation in his eyes when she last saw him. 

Goodwin looks over at her and smiles. Her childhood mentor, her father's right hand, the new Evenstar, was the saving grace Brienne needed when she returned to her island. Overcome with emotions, she went to the beach and sobbed for what felt like hours, until she had no more tears left to shed. 

She would give anything to have her father back. Anything. Just to see his face one last time. Her guilt, her anger, her overwhelming sorrow consumed her for the first few weeks back on Tarth.

She thought of Jaime often. She had asked him if he knew what he wanted and he had laughed, that low throaty laugh that she loved, and said ‘Who does?’ 

She hadn’t realized how lonely she was until he stormed into her life and tore it asunder. With his easy smiles and witty tongue, he coaxed something out of her that she had buried deep inside herself. He had kissed her and lit her heart in fire, he had asked her to stay married and she was his, forever.

It wasn’t until she was on another train, heading home, that she realized they were still technically married. They had yet to sort out the details of their annulment. 

Jocelyn apologized and cried and hugged her and Brienne had forgiven her. 

So you just stayed gone?

Her cousin had been right. Brienne had stayed gone. And she would live with that regret till the day she died.

However, a few months after returning to Tarth, Jocelyn left for King’s Landing and Brienne was almost relieved to see her go. Jocelyn reminded her of Jaime and the separation would do her some good. 

Her Aunt Roelle bristled when Brienne and Jocelyn showed back up to Tarth. She had begged Brienne not to remind Jaime of their marriage. After a few days of constant needling, Brienne understood that Roelle assumed Jaime did not want her and forced the two away.

He loves his sister, Aunt, she had wanted to scream.

Sometimes, when she needs to pluck up extra courage, she pretends that she is Jaime. She thinks of his attitude on the train, in the pub, walking back through his ancestral home. She summons him when she needs him. 

A few weeks after arriving on Tarth, when the veil of guilt and shame started to lift, she finally confronted her aunt about the funeral, the letter, letting Jocelyn live at Casterly Rock as her. 

“Your father loved you a great deal,” she had said. “But that love blinded him. I was only doing what I thought was necessary.”

“Necessary,” Brienne chokes, horrified. “You thought Tarth would be better off without me.” 

“Of course not. Don’t be so melodramatic. The Lannisters had a certain expectation that needed to be met.”

“So why not marry him to Jocelyn?” Brienne asks, her bravo waning. 

Roelle plucked at her dress, offensively, not looking Brienne in the eye. “Mr. Lannister wanted the heir to the company.” Brienne waited, but Roelle never expanded on those comments. 

Goodwin would eventually force her back to her family home in Storms End. 

Brienne tries to keep herself busy at all hours of the day. She works alongside the board and C-Suite of her family company during the day and takes up solitary activities she had given up during the war, like sailing and fencing at night. 

She tries not to think of Jaime, as the loneliness seeps back into her bones. 

You work better alone , she rationalizes.  

‘You’re not alone, anymore.’

When she lays in bed, she ruminates on his startling confession. That the woman he loved was his sister. When Jocelyn had spit the truth, and Jaime’s eyes confirmed it, Brienne had wanted to erase his existence from her memory. 

With no mother and father, she was my home.

Brienne would never be able to put herself in his shoes, never be able to understand the neglect and despair that was his upbringing. Who do you turn to when you have no one to love?

We don’t get to choose who we love.

Brienne knew what loneliness did to a person. What you would do to chase that feeling that someone, anyone, loved you in return. The first kind man to her and she left her home and joined the war efforts on his recommendation. 

I was alone, and she was there.  

Brienne had been ready to hand Renly her heart after that weekend he spent on the island with her.

As the days turned to weeks turned to months, Brienne thought of Jaime every morning and every night. She visited her father's grave often, her brothers, her mother, and her sisters as well. She fell into a routine of work and fencing, work and sailing, work, and driving. 

Then, the postcards started arriving.

Lannisport, Oldtown, Starfall, Sunspear. They all had different facts and antidotes on them. 

‘No gold cufflinks to trade, the cabbie was okay with money.’ 

‘I was easily pickpocketed today in Sunspear. Had no one to watch my back.’

Brienne keeps the postcards in her room and reads them often. 

“Today’s the big day,” Goodwin beams up at her. “You sure you don’t want to do the honors?”

“You’re the Evenstar,” Brienne reminds him with a smile. “I’m honored to walk beside you.”

“And I, you.”

Brienne had never seen so many people pile into the streets for the parade to the sept. Goodwin tells her it was like this the day the war ended but she tries not to think about that. She is overcome with gratitude as men and women shake her hand or embrace her with tight hugs. She hears story after story of women thanking her for opening the factory to them. Of men complimenting her on her bravery to join the war efforts.

For the first time in a long time, she feels immensely proud of serving in the war.

The first night of celebrations makes her want to weep with joy. She wants to share this moment. As the lanterns go up and she looks around, her heart is overflowing with love towards her people. Before, she felt isolated and dejected. But now. Now she sees families and friends, ordinary people living for themselves and their loved ones, just trying to carve a bit of happiness into their lives. 

She sits on a grassy hill behind the sept and stares up at the lights, a sense of calm washing over her. She felt at peace, here and now. For so many years, the thought of returning home filled her with dread. She was so unsure of her place on the island, as her father's heir, as a worthy successor. But here and now, she felt that maybe her father could see her and that he was proud of her

“Wow. You really weren’t kidding about these lights.”

Brienne jumps at the sudden voice on her side. The sudden, familiar, voice. 

“Jaime!” she squeaks. “What are you doing here?”

Jaime Lannister, the beautiful golden lion was sitting next to her. In the flesh. 

“I wanted to see the lanterns. Celebrate the gods. Pray for a good year.” He gives her a lopsided grin. “See my wife.”

Brienne blushes from her roots to her toes. Absolutely floored at his surprise appearance, she can’t find the right words. Or, any words, for that matter. 

His golden curls and tan skin are illuminated in the lights and he looks like a god himself. His bandage gone, his scar is visible on his face. The puckered X does nothing to detract from his beauty, if anything, it gives him a rougher edge.

He catches her staring and touches the raised skin. “You did a good job. I never itched and kept it clean.”

She clears her throat. “It - uh - looks like it healed well.”

He chuckles. “It did.”

They stare up at the lights in silence, as more lanterns go up as more of the parade marchers reach the sept.

“How long have you been here?” she asks quietly, unsure of what to say.

“Just got here this afternoon. I would’ve thought you’d have guessed my coming by now,” he says with a playful smile. He always flusters her with his smiles. 

Brienne shakes her head, unsure of what he was saying. 

“The postcards,” he explains. “I was making my way to Tarth.”

She swallows hard, unable to fully look him in the eyes. She had so much going on, she had no idea the Postcards mapped out his journey to her.

“Brienne, I need to apologize,” he says softly. “For the way, we left things.”

She interrupts him. “I can’t pretend I understand. The relationship between - you and her.”

“I know,” he sighs in resignation. “I can scarcely make sense of it either. We’re twins. There were no meetings, no marriages, it’s always been her and I. We were inseparable. And I won’t lie and say I didn’t love her, because I did. But, you have my word when I say there is nothing between us. And there hasn’t been for a very long time.”

He sounds so sincere, so apologetic, that Brienne felt a tinge of pity on his behalf. “As you said,” she repeats. “She is your twin. You cannot possibly tell me you will rid her from your life.”

His shoulders sag. “She is my sister. I will always love her. I will want her to be happy and to thrive. But I will never touch her. Never seek her out. Never put her before you.” 

It was a shock to the heart. “How can you say that? How can you be so sure?”

“Do you remember what I said? When we got stuck in the mud during that rainstorm? The war ruined what we had. I could never go back, even if I wanted to.”

Brienne shakes her head in disbelief. “Jocelyn saw you with her. After the war. Was that a lie?”

He groans, running his fingers through his hair and Brienne has to stop herself from biting her lip with want. “Yes,” he admits with a sigh. “I had hoped. I Had wanted - I wanted to pretend life could be as simple as it was before the war. In my mind, she was the epitome of childhood innocence.” 

Hot jealousy curls inside her stomach. “How many other times? While we’ve been - um - technically married?” 

She had to know.

His laugh was low and gritty. “Just that once. Turns out she had been with other men while I was on the front lines.”

An apology was on her tongue but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Sorry, your sister wasn’t faithful to you during the war.

Brienne nods and looks up at the lanterns briefly before turning to look at Jaime. He was staring at her, waiting for her response, her reaction. “I should not have left the way I did,” she apologizes. “From the robbery to meeting you and everything in between, it was too overwhelming. I could have handled the situation better.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he responds kindly. “You handle bad news surprisingly well.”

Brienne can’t help the smile that pulls at her lips. She had missed him, these past few months. He was in her life only a handful of days and the mark he left was larger than he could ever know. 

“I have something for you,” he says, pulling out a small box and handing it to her.

Her eyes widen and her jaw slacks. She looks up at him in disbelief before pulling her father's pocket watch out of the box. “Jaime,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “How did you find this?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Pawnshops, local auctions. Nothing too crazy.” His words were modest but his grin was conceited. 

She leans in and presses her body to his, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. He was solid and warm and he smelled so familiar that Brienne almost loudly inhaled.

“Brienne,” he murmurs into her hair. “I meant everything I said before. I want to stay married.”

She pulls back and observes him. His eyes are wide with uncertainty. “You were right,” he continues in her silence. “I couldn’t be the person you needed if I didn’t have my life together. Tyrion and I have been working on opening a new office in King’s Landing that hires war veterans and I’ve seen a specialist for my hand. Before I met you, it was so easy for me to coast through life that when it came time to try, I never wanted to.”

Brienne is so proud she could burst. She leans in and presses her lips to his. “I’m not very good with words,” she mumbles against his lips.

He laughs, the vibrations tickling her lips. “This is more than enough.”