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Jaime spent his last day at Casterly Rock on the cliffs.

It was a wild day, and the wind tore brutally across the clifftops, flattening the grass and ripping Genna’s hat off her head when she came to find him. 

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing?” Genna scolded. “If you must come out here on a day like this, why not use the Nook?”

The Nook was a shelter hollowed out into the side of the cliff by some long-dead Lannister and filled with rustic benches, so the family could appreciate the sea view without the inconvenience of the wind. The dim light and muted echoes made Jaime feel as trapped as being in the house itself, but Genna insisted they go there so they could hear themselves think, so he reluctantly followed.

“I thought you generally walked towards the village,” said Genna when they were settled on the slightly damp bench in the Nook.

Jaime did, on the rare occasion he felt like leaving the gardens of Casterly Rock. He hadn’t walked the clifftops since the spring, and he hadn’t been to this particular spot for six years.

“I felt like a change. It’s the last chance I shall have to walk here for a while.”

“The last chance any of us shall have.” Genna’s mouth set in a hard line. “That it should come to this! Renting out Casterly Rock like a common lodging house…my grandfather would be appalled.”

“So would my father, if he fully comprehended it,” said Jaime drily.

Genna’s eyes narrowed. “Has it gone so far? Is he incapable of understanding the world around him?”

“Not quite that far,” said Jaime swiftly. The gleam in his aunt’s eyes reminded him too much of Cersei, hovering around their father like a vulture. “Not enough that he can be officially removed from charge of his affairs.”

“Just enough to allow him to run them into the ground,” said Genna caustically. “I can’t believe no-one noticed in time.”

It had come on gradually. A few uncharacteristically risky investments, followed by even more uncharacteristic heavy spending. Uncle Kevan had been uneasy, but he was not used to questioning his autocratic brother. An unscrupulous clerk had been keener-eyed and taken advantage by embezzling, and here the Lannisters were, on the edge of financial collapse. Forced to rent out their ancestral home to recoup their losses, and relocate to the more modest lifestyle of Oldtown.

Genna sighed. “We must hope Kevan can retrieve the situation, and the Rock will be restored to us soon.”

“I’m sure the tenants will take good care of it,” said Jaime without thinking.

A deeper chill seemed to emanate from the dank stone. He could feel that Genna’s eyes were fixed on his face. “The choice of tenants was…an unfortunate coincidence.”

Jaime got to his feet. “We should go back. I need to take a final walk around to ensure all the family items are packed away.”

Genna didn’t move. “Jaime.”

Jaime turned away. He had been avoiding this conversation for years, and saw no reason to stop now.

“Are you ever going to forgive me? For the advice I gave?”

The throb of genuine hurt in her voice stopped Jaime in his tracks. 

“I stand by it,” his aunt said. “If you had married, you would have resented her freedom to pursue the career you no longer had, and she would have resented that her need to consider you hampered that career. Let alone the disparity in age and background…it wouldn’t have worked, Jaime.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Jaime clenched his fists. “But I’ll never know for sure, will I?” 

He turned around. He wasn’t sure what his face looked like, but his aunt turned pale.

“Jaime, I-”

“Don’t. Your advice was sound, and sincerely meant. I don’t blame you for offering it. I blame myself, for listening to it. For throwing away my chance to be happy.”

“There will be other chances.” Genna stood up, reaching towards him, but Jaime stepped back. He couldn’t bear to be touched right now. “You’ve been too isolated here at the Rock. Moving to Oldtown will offer you new company. Open up your life again.”

Jaime doubted that, but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to dash her hopes for him. Genna’s advice might have been misguided, but at least she had cared enough to offer it. His father and sister paid so little attention to his affairs that they hadn’t even recognised the name Tarth when Uncle Kevan had spoken about the tenants. Nor remembered that Admiral Tarth’s daughter had saved his life, and stayed in their house for several months.

“And tomorrow I go to visit Tyrion at Winterfell,” he said. “I shall certainly not be short of company there.”

That distracted Genna, as he knew it would. She was still irritated that Tyrion had ‘snapped up Sansa Stark from under Jaime’s nose’, as she put it, deaf to all Jaime’s assurances that he had never had any romantic interest in Sansa. Her caustic observations about Tyrion and the Stark family took them all the way back to Casterly Rock.

Jaime took a last glance around the clifftop - their clifftop - with sombre eyes. In a few days, perhaps, she would be walking here, he thought, and sighed.

—

Jaime arrived at Winterfell with two unexpected companions in the shape of Myrcella and Tommen. Cersei was a loving mother only within the limits of her own convenience; when she realised that Jaime’s extended stay at Winterfell offered an opportunity to set up her new household and social circle in Oldtown without the encumbrance of two young children, she seized the opportunity.

“Winterfell will be good for them. All that country air is so bracing. Much better than being cooped up in Oldtown for the summer, and they will love the opportunity to spend time with their uncles.”

Jaime could have pointed out that Myrcella and Tommen saw him every day already, and that Cersei had declared Tyrion a bad influence after he’d taught the children to play poker the last time they stayed with him, but he didn’t have the energy. Arguing with his twin was too much effort, as he found most things to be these days.

Besides, he appreciated their company. Playing games with Tommen and listening to the incomprehensible details of Myrcella’s latest friendship drama kept his mind from wandering to places he didn’t want it to go. Memories of Brienne Tarth’s blue eyes bright with challenge as they argued, diamond hard when she shamed him into clinging to life, soft in the twilight the first time he kissed her, dull with hurt when he told her it was over. Memories he had buried so deep that they usually only escaped on the edge of sleep. Damn her father for renting Casterly Rock, and damn Genna for dredging up his past mistakes.

Jaime hadn’t had time to warn Tyrion and Sansa to expect two extra guests, but like the true politicians they were, they welcomed Myrcella and Tommen without a blink. When the children had gone out to the gardens to play with the dogs, Sansa waved away Jaime’s apologies.

“They’ll be no trouble. No doubt they’ll disappear into the woods with Arya, Bran and Rickon most of the day, and we’ll only see them at mealtimes. Though I had better get rooms prepared for them.”

She left the room to speak to the housekeeper. Tyrion’s eyes followed her with a warmth that still surprised Jaime. He had never thought his coolly calculating brother capable of falling in love, but Sansa had pierced his defences from their first meeting. Every time Jaime saw them, Tyrion was quicker to laugh without bitterness or speak without cynicism, stirring up memories of the boy he had been before he had learned to armour himself against the world’s scorn. 

“Don’t think I’m not glad to see you, Jaime,” said Tyrion, “but is it wise to leave Cersei alone with Father at this point in time?” Jaime gulped a mouthful of tea to avoid answering. “Uncle Kevan says that Father needs to be persuaded to hand over control of the family finances, and he’s worried Cersei will try to turn that to her advantage.”

“Of course she will. And why shouldn’t she?” Jaime challenged, stung by Tyrion’s expression. “She’s had to live with him all these years while you and I got as far away as we could. Doesn’t she deserve some reward for that?”

“She had to live with him because she was too dazzled by Robert’s bloodline and high society connections to care that he was a drunk completely incapable of providing for a family. And Seven forfend that she dirty her delicate hands by earning her own living. Don’t ask me to feel sorry for her, Jaime. Besides, neither of us left completely of our own volition.”

Jaime was swamped by a familiar wave of guilt. Cersei may have been the one to propose to their father that Jaime join the navy at sixteen after he’d been expelled from yet another school, but Father had given him the choice. Jaime had never regretted a moment of his years at sea, despite how it had ultimately ended. Tyrion, on the other hand, had been transported immediately from his last day at school to a lowly clerkship in Uncle Kevan’s office and lodgings in a boarding house so grimy and dilapidated that Jaime had used his own earnings to pay to move Tyrion somewhere better as soon as he saw them. His brother hadn’t been allowed to set foot in Casterly Rock, or see their father, in the last ten years. None of it had held him back from making his own fortune from successful investment piled on successful investment, and using that money to make himself a significant political player who held more influence in the corridors of power than most of the legally elected officials, but that didn’t make it any better.

Best not to talk about the past. Jaime deflected with the future. “So you think I should try to gain control of the estate instead. Have you been talking to Aunt Genna?”

“Her instincts are usually sound in family matters, much as it pains me to admit it.”

“I’m not interested. I don’t want to run the estate.” The weight of that duty and responsibility made Jaime recoil as viscerally as it always had. “Cersei is welcome to it. Let her sort out Father’s mess.”

“A satisfying prospect, I admit, but do you really want Cersei as head of the family? Do you really want to be dependent on her?” Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but Tyrion halted him with an upraised hand. “I know your navy pension isn’t enough to live on. And I know you won’t accept help from me, no matter how ridiculous I find it.”

It was perfectly logical to Jaime. If he was going to be a burden - and as a mentally unstable cripple now barred from the one profession he had been trained for he would always be a burden, no matter what anyone said - he would much rather drag down the family members who deserved to be imposed upon. He would not inflict himself on Tyrion.

“I’m used to dealing with Cersei.” It wasn’t so bad, once you mastered the knack of letting the stream of constant denigration flow through you rather than trying to fight against it. Besides, his twin was saying nothing that wasn’t true. “Don’t worry about me, Tyrion.”

—

They dined the following evening in full state at Winterfell, with the entire Stark family in attendance. “No avoiding it,” Sansa said apologetically.

Jaime had been expecting it. The Starks were an aggressively close family, and he had been surprised they had been allowed the first evening of his visit to themselves.

He didn’t find the prospect particularly daunting. His father and the previous Lord Stark had never seen eye-to-eye either personally or politically, but there were few families in the area that Lord Lannister deemed of sufficient rank to socialise with his children, so Jaime had attended events at Winterfell since he was a child. In the last six years it had been one of the few places he ventured outside Casterly Rock. He and the current Lord Stark had about as much in common as their fathers had, but Lady Catelyn had a sharp wit and a brisk practicality that Jaime admired. 

Admittedly, there had been a new tension at Winterfell since Sansa married Tyrion. Her parents had not welcomed the match. They claimed it was due to the age difference rather than Tyrion’s dwarfism, but Jaime had spent too long watching people’s reactions to his brother to be fooled. He prepared himself for an evening of filling awkward silences and diverting conversations onto safe topics, but something had occurred to completely change the usual family dynamics - the two older Stark boys were home.

Robb and his cousin Jon weren’t really boys any more, of course. They had been born in the same year and must be at least twenty-five, if not older. Jaime, who remembered them being born, didn’t want to think too closely about how much older. The war had kept them absent for years, Robb at sea and Jon with the army in the far north, and its recent end had brought them both home, Robb tanned and broad, telling stories of shipboard life with a laughing flash of white teeth. Jon, pale and abstracted, only speaking when asked a direct question. 

Robb had always been the apple of his parents’ eyes, and they had no attention to spare for anything else, even maintaining their disapproval of their son-in-law. Sansa took advantage, keeping her brother talking, the tension in her straight back easing with every tale. Every time Tyrion hovered on the verge of a caustic comment, a glance at his wife’s bright face held him back. It left Jaime free to drink wine in silence, passing the evening much more smoothly than he had anticipated.

“We must have a party to welcome you home, Robb,” said Lady Catelyn. “All your old friends will be pleased to see you.”

“And Jon too, of course,” said her husband, concerned as always that his sister’s son suffer no social disadvantage due to his dubious parentage. It was one of the few areas where Jaime appreciated his righteous obstinacy, as Jon had taken the time to write a note to Sansa and Tyrion after their marriage congratulating them both and welcoming Tyrion into the family. Perhaps it had been fellow feeling. Jaime had heard that Jon had married a local girl in the north, but nothing had been mentioned of her this evening. Perhaps she was even more unacceptable than Tyrion.

“Of course,” said Lady Catelyn with a fixed smile. “Do let me know if there is anyone you particularly wish me to invite, Jon.”

“I have someone,” said Robb, over Jon’s mumbled response. “An old comrade of mine. We were in officer training together and I haven’t seen her in an age. Her father is renting Casterly Rock-”  He broke off, flushing slightly as he remembered his Lannister audience. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause offence.”

“None taken,” said Tyrion lazily. “Father’s financial troubles are no concern of mine. He made sure of that years ago.”

Sansa stepped into the awkward pool of silence, sending her husband a glance of amused exasperation. “If she is such a close friend of yours, Robb, we will all be glad to meet her. What’s her name?”

“Brienne Tarth. Captain Tarth, I should say. She beat me to the rank, but it was well deserved. Af the battle of the Stepstones, her captain was killed in the first cannon fire and the ship damaged, but she took command and managed to sink two enemy vessels despite the damage-”

He reeled off the story, eyes alight with enthusiasm. Jaime didn’t hear a word. His mind was stuck on the sound of her name, reverberating through him like a cannon blast. Besides, he knew this story already, probably in more detail than Robb Stark. He’d stolen every newspaper from his father’s study for days after the battle and read the accounts obsessively.

Sansa elbowed him, and he realised that everyone was looking at him expectantly. “I’m sorry?”

“I said that you must know Brienne, Captain Lannister,” said Robb. “Her first posting was on your ship, wasn’t it?”

“It’s Mr Lannister now,” said Jaime. “She was part of my crew, but her first voyage with me was my last, I’m afraid.”

Robb’s eyes jerked down to the sleeve pinned back over Jaime’s right forearm. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.” He looked genuinely apologetic. He’d always been a good-hearted lad under the golden swagger.

Jaime waved away his apologies, but it effectively diverted the topic of conversation, much to his relief. He didn’t need anyone recollecting that Brienne had not only shared his last voyage, but his captivity. He was not sure how much Tyrion knew about it all. His estrangement from the family meant that he had not seen Jaime until well into his recovery, and their father had ensured that the details of the incident had not been widely reported in the newspapers. 

The Starks directed a clumsy sympathy towards Jaime for the rest of the evening that made him wince inwardly, but it was better than Tyrion’s sharp curiosity. Let them pity him for his visible wounds so he could protect his invisible ones.

—-

On the surface, the following week proceeded as all Jaime’s visits to Winterfell usually did. Games with the Lannister and Stark children, tea with Sansa while they discussed the latest novels, evenings of brandy and gossip with Tyrion. But every moment he felt balanced on a knife edge, counting down the days until the Starks’ grand party, fear and anticipation so tangled together that he could not tell which emotion was uppermost.

Jaime had wondered if Brienne might decline the Starks’ invitation - she had never been at ease in formal social occasions - but an acceptance came by return of post. Of course, Brienne had always put duty before personal inclination. He remembered her at her first officers’ dinner, stiffly polite, her discomfort betrayed by the extreme rigidity of her posture.

Would she expect to see him? She must know of the family connection through Tyrion’s marriage, but did she know he was staying here? Perhaps he should warn her. Jaime put pen to paper a dozen times over the week, but couldn’t think of any way to phrase such a message without sounding like a conceited fool. After all, why should Brienne care about meeting him again after six years? He was probably ancient history to her. A name she might hear in conversation and smile wryly to herself, thinking: I was foolish enough to care for him once.

The evening of the party finally arrived. Jaime dressed with more than his usual care, but when he looked in the glass all he could see were the lines around his eyes, the spreading silver in his hair, the pinned down sleeve. A man with the prime of his life now behind him.

The maid’s knock at the door was a welcome distraction, though her tidings were alarming. Tommen had been caught out in the rain yesterday, and Jaime had noticed his bright eyes and high colour earlier with a twinge of concern. Now his forehead was warm to the touch and he was coughing a little. Probably nothing, but he had always had a weak chest.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving him with only the servants,” he told Sansa and Tyrion. “He doesn’t know them, and he always settles better with someone familiar.”

They both protested, but Jaime was resolute, something like relief leaping in his chest at the last-minute reprieve. He sent them off with his apologies to the Starks, and read stories to Myrcella and Tommen until they both fell asleep. He dozed by the fire for a while, until he heard the noise of carriages outside. The guests must be departing. He looked out of the window, which overlooked the main courtyard. He stood half hidden by the curtain, listening to Tommen’s breathing, telling himself it was idle curiosity.

Suddenly his breath caught.

The view from his window was poor, especially in the dark, but the height of the figure who had emerged onto the front steps made her unmistakable. She was in full dress uniform, the gold epaulettes of her captain’s rank shining in the light from the lanterns. A slightly shorter man followed her out, grey hair above the uniform of an admiral - her father, of course. He climbed into the carriage. She halted, turning as Robb Stark came out of the house. Jaime could faintly hear his laughing voice through the crack of the open window, though he was too far away to hear what was said. Her answer took him back to the dark hold of a ship, the smell of damp and rotting flesh, and that same calm, clear voice telling him that he was not allowed to die.

Jaime’s vision blurred. When he blinked it clear again, the carriage was rattling across the gravel and down the drive, taking her away.

—

“I was impressed by Captain Tarth,” Sansa said the next morning. “She has more substance to her than most of Robb’s friends.”

“Simply knowing the name of the prime minister would qualify her for that,” Tyrion murmured. Sansa chuckled before she could stop herself.

“Captain Tarth deserves a little more credit than that. We had a very interesting discussion about improving the labour laws-”

She was interrupted by the arrival of the post. Tyrion caught Jaime’s eye and said softly, “What interested me was the realisation that she was with you when your ship was captured. Was she the lieutenant who-” His eyes flicked down to Jaime’s missing hand.

Jaime forced himself to nod. “She saved my life.”

He took refuge in his coffee cup. He could feel Tyrion watching him. 

“Why didn’t you mention it before? That seems like ingratitude.”

“Or consideration. Discussing it would bring back memories both of us are keen to forget.”

Tyrion’s next question was diverted by Sansa putting a plate in front of Jaime with eggs, bacon and bread neatly cut into manageable bites. Jaime often had to remind a servant to cut his food for him at Casterly Rock, but Sansa always did it without being asked.

“-which reminds me,” said Sansa, “she’s coming over to borrow a book I recommended.”

“Who is?” asked Tyrion, as the door opened.

“Captain Tarth to see you, Mrs Lannister,” said the butler, and held the door open for the visitor.

The next few moments were a blur. 

Jaime was vaguely aware of scraps of conversation - I’m too early, didn’t mean to disturb you at breakfast - my husband’s influence, he’s a disgracefully late riser, and I’m finished anyway - of course, you already know my brother Jaime, don’t you?

“Of course.” 

The world settled back into steadiness under the focus of a pair of blue eyes. Breathtaking eyes, once so dearly familiar, but now regarding him with a coldness he had not seen since the earliest days of their acquaintance. 

“Good morning, Captain Lannister.”

“It’s Mr Lannister now,” Jaime said, out of habit. 

She looked well. Her cheeks were glowing from the ride over, a healthy contrast to the pallor that had lingered after their captivity, and she’d regained all the weight she had lost in those desperate months. She stood healthy and confident and respected - everything he’d always wanted for her. 

“I should congratulate you on your promotion, Captain Tarth.”

“You’re four years late,” she said. Jaime’s heart raced at the snap in her voice, but at once it smoothed back into polite neutrality. “But I thank you for the good wishes.” She turned back to Sansa, and Jaime felt cast into shadow. “I am eager to read the book you offered, Mrs Lannister, but I promised my father I would not be gone too long-”

“Let’s go to the library,” said Sansa, tossing her napkin on her plate, “I know exactly where to lay my hands on it.”

She followed Sansa without a backward glance. Jaime avoided his brother’s all too curious eyes and forced down his breakfast, scolding himself to calm. The first meeting was over now, the initial shock of awkwardness passed. It could only get easier now.

—-

Jaime saw Brienne around Winterfell several times over the next few weeks. Walking through the grounds with Robb; deep in conversation with Sansa in the library; listening respectfully to Lord Stark as he showed her the family portraits. He got used to catching a glimpse of her fair head towering above any companion, to hearing the clear serious tones of her voice. They rarely spoke to each other directly, beyond a polite greeting. Brienne continued to address him as Captain Lannister, and after the third time, Jaime recognised the stubborn tilt of her chin and stopped trying to correct her.

Three weeks after the first party Brienne had attended at Winterfell, Lady Catelyn invited her and her father to another, one much smaller and more intimate. A family party, in effect. Jaime and Tyrion were the only other non-Starks present.

No convenient excuse intervened this time to prevent Jaime from attending, and the arrangement of the seating at dinner was not kind to him. He was not directly opposite Brienne, but he was only one chair away. Close enough to see every minute change of expression on her face as she talked to Robb, who was seated next to her. Jaime couldn’t hear what they were saying; their voices were low, and their heads bent closely together.

Brienne didn’t look in Jaime’s direction once.

Arya’s excited voice broke through the conversation. She had begged her mother to be allowed to join them for dinner, as it was almost entirely family present. Jaime had been surprised, as normally social occasions bored Arya to tears, but now, seeing her eyes eagerly fix on Brienne, he understood the attraction. Arya was determined to follow Robb into the navy when she was old enough, and although it had been two generations now since officer rank had been opened to women, female captains were still in a minority.

“What was it like, commanding your first ship?” Arya asked, eyes shining. “It was a frigate, wasn't it? The Silver Crescent?”

“Oh, the Silver Crescent,” said Brienne, looking rueful. “It was barely worthy of the name ship. Half the crew expected it to sink before we left the harbour.”

“You were lucky to get her,” said Admiral Tarth, smiling. “Lucky to get any ship so young.”

“Oh, I was well aware of my good fortune in being named a captain, Father. If wondering how long I would get to keep the title.”

“And whether it would be the incompetence of our hallowed superiors rather than enemy fire that finished you off,” said Robb, with a grin.

“They sent you out in a ship that was falling apart?” Arya was full of indignant disbelief. “And you agreed?”

“As Father says, with your first ship you don’t argue,” said Brienne. “Once I learned how to handle her she sailed well. Besides, I was keen to get back to sea. I had nothing to keep me on land.”

She did not glance in Jaime’s direction, but he flinched inwardly. 

“I hope that is not the case now,” said Robb, smiling at Brienne. 

Jaime’s hand jerked. A few drops of wine spilled crimson across the white table cloth. He set the glass down, dismayed by the tightness in his chest.

This is what you wanted for her. A successful career. Someone who could give her the happy ending you couldn’t. You cannot begrudge it to her now.

He did not hear Brienne’s reply over the buzzing in his ears, and when he recovered himself the conversation had moved on. He spent the rest of the meal watching them. Robb leaning close to whisper into Brienne’s ear. The wry fondness of her smile when he made a joke.

That was me once. We had our private jokes and our shared smiles. Now we are strangers, or perhaps worse than strangers, because she will never allow me that close again.

—

When dinner ended, the room was cleared to allow dancing. Lady Catelyn was coaxed to provide the music, and Jaime stood by the piano to turn the pages.

“At least I can be of use as your third hand,” he said, dramatically enough to make her laugh, and felt his way back to an even keel.

Jaime kept one eye on the music and one on the dancers, trying not to feel envious. He used to love dancing, the breathless exhilaration that came with mastering a difficult piece of footwork, feeling the rhythm reverberate through his whole body as he stamped precisely to the beat. But all the traditional Westerosi dances he had learned as a child, filled as they were with clapping and hands forming arches or waves, or steadying your partner as she span were impossible for him now.

So he turned Lady Catelyn’s pages.

“Mother,” said Sansa some time later, “Can you play First Frost without the music?”

“My piano teacher would turn in her grave if I could not.” It was one of the first pieces any player learned.

“Good, then I can steal Jaime away. Captain Tarth and Robb are going to teach us a dance they learned in Braavos. It’s called a line dance.” She tucked her arm through Jaime’s and drew him towards the dancers, ignoring his protests. “Come and try. It’s footwork only, and I know you miss dancing.”

There was no arguing with Sansa when she used that tone. Jaime reluctantly let himself be towed into position between her and, much to his surprise, Arya.

“You always say dancing is stupid,” he said to Arya, raising his eyebrows.

Arya scowled. “It is. But Captain Tarth said this kind of dancing improves agility and I should try it.”

Jaime smiled inwardly. 

The new dance style utterly confused them both at first, mainly because Robb was terrible at explaining it. Once he let Brienne take over the instructions while he demonstrated, everything started to come together. Jaime found himself becoming absorbed in the pattern of steps and stamps and turns, trying to keep in synchronicity with the others, all the while savouring the sound of Brienne’s voice. Her voice had been the one soothing constant in the pain and confusion of those terrible weeks after his injury, and it still meant solace and comfort to him. That had not changed, even though everything else had.

He had missed the comfort of her voice so much. Well, the comfort of her whole presence. Brienne always made him feel steady and secure in a way no-one else had ever had. She was still the sun around which he revolved, no matter how far out into the darkness his orbit took him.

Her voice and the music stopped, bringing him out of his daze. Sansa caught his arm, laughing and gasping for breath.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

Arya agreed eagerly, although she looked chagrined a split second later. Jaime had to admit she was right. It had been fun. More fun than he could remember having for a long time.

He looked up and caught Brienne’s blue eyes watching him. He smiled, trying to convey his gratitude, and was rewarded with a brief nod before Robb claimed her attention.

—

Arya’s interest in Brienne seemed to be returned, when she joined Robb when he played with the children in the gardens. Arya had recently started fencing lessons, and Brienne was the only person patient enough to practice the forms with her for the length of time Arya required. When he had a respite from keeping Tommen and Myrcella entertained, Jaime liked to watch them spar, mentally moving his body through the moves he still remembered from his own childhood, while he pushed down the ache of loss.

One afternoon, Brienne and Robb gave into the childrens’ pleas and sparred together. They made a good show of it, with Robb pulling out all of the flashy tricks he knew they would enjoy. Brienne gave him the space to show them off, before she decided the bout had gone on long enough and ended it with a few clean, precise moves.

Arya’s eyes were round with admiration. “She was in control all along, wasn’t she? She could have beaten Robb in the first few strokes.”

“She could,” agreed Jaime, impressed by her insight. The other children were clustering around Robb, begging him to show them one of his tricks. “I’ve never seen her equal with a sword.”

“Except yourself.” 

Jaime started. He hadn’t heard Brienne approach. It was rare for her to address him directly, and as soon as he looked up, her gaze moved to Arya. “Captain Lannister won every fencing trophy at the Naval Academy.”

“Really?” Arya frowned at him, clearly trying to reconcile this feat with the old, dull man before her. “Why don’t you ever practice with me, then?”

“It was a long time ago, and I can’t fence any more.” Jaime kept his voice light with the ease of long practice.

“Why not?” asked Brienne. “You still have one hand.”

The blunt brutality took his breath away. It was so different from the polite neutrality with which she usually treated him. Jaime stared up at her, unable to speak.

“Have you ever tried to learn to fence with it?”

A couple of times, but his frustration at his clumsiness had been too much to bear. “I don’t see the point.”

“Isn’t still being able to enjoy something you love enough of a point?” Her clear gaze was suddenly unbearable. Jaime looked away. “But you don’t need to fence yourself to help Arya. You have eyes and a voice and all your knowledge, and that’s enough.”

Jaime flinched. For once, when Robb called her away, he felt nothing but relief.

The next day, when Jaime was alone with the children and Arya started to practice her forms, he found himself walking to stand beside her. Showing her how to adjust her grip, where to place her feet. All that knowledge was still there after all, spilling out once he turned on the rusted tap. Arya was a good pupil, instinctive and quick to learn.

After a few days, he picked up a practice foil to spar with her. Brienne couldn’t be there every day, and even though he was completely inept with his left hand, Arya needed some kind of partner to practice with. He was better than nothing.

—

Jaime didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Well, he didn’t in the sense that he hadn’t deliberately followed Brienne and Robb to listen to them. He’d been searching a thicket of densely packed shrubs for Tommen’s lost ball when he heard their voices nearby. 

At which point he’d stayed completely still and listened for all he was worth. Sod privacy and gentlemanly behaviour. His hunger for any tiny scrap of knowledge about Brienne swallowed all that whole.

“I had noticed your cousin seemed melancholy,” Brienne said, “but I thought maybe that was his usual disposition.”

“In a way. Jon enjoys moping, always has,” said Robb with cheerful contempt. “But this is different. I’m worried about him. He met this girl up on the border, you see. Fell head over heels, married her even though she was completely unsuitable, and then…I don’t know all the details, but she died.”

“Oh. Poor Mr Snow.” The sincerity was clear in Brienne’s voice. Her sympathies had always been easily touched.

Jaime thought about what he had seen of Jon Snow in the last few weeks, and could see why Robb was worried. Jon had always been taciturn, due to the uncertainty of his position in the family, but now there was a deeper edge to his reticence. A lingering shadow in his eyes. Jaime tried to remember if he’d seen Jon smile since he came to Winterfell, and couldn’t.

“I thought he’d be over it by now,” Robb said. “It’s been over a year. But he still seems so…I’m hoping a change of scene might cheer him up.”

“Where are you thinking of taking him?”

“White Harbour. One of his army friends is living there, and I know Jon would like to see him. He just won’t rouse himself to organise it.”

“Will he go if you suggest it?”

“Probably not, which is why I thought I’d make it a big outing. Take the children, invite the Lannisters. It’ll make it harder for Jon to refuse, and less obvious that it’s all planned for his benefit.”

“You always were a crafty tactician.” The warm affection in Brienne’s voice made Jaime clench his fists. “I hope seeing his friend gives Mr Snow some comfort. I confess I admire his constancy. I have seen many people forget their lost partner in a few months, even after years of marriage.”

“It’s a Stark trait. Once we give our affections, we do not waver. Father spent years pining for my mother while she was engaged to his brother. And look at Sansa. Once she set her heart on Tyrion, she let nothing stand in the way of marrying him, no matter how much opposition they faced.”

“I thought your family were friendly with the Lannisters.”

Robb snorted. “Cordial due to geographical closeness is more accurate. I don’t think anyone in Westeros can claim to be friendly with Tywin Lannister, and his daughter has the most vicious tongue in the country. But it was Tyrion’s…condition my parents objected to.” Jaime ground his teeth together. “They would have preferred her to marry Jaime.”

“I see.” Brienne’s words were wreathed in frost. So often the object of unkind treatment herself due to her physical appearance, she had always hated to see others subjected to the same treatment. “From what I have seen of Tyrion, I think Sansa is very lucky in her husband.” Jaime found himself smiling.

“It all worked out well in the end,” said Robb cheerfully. He didn’t seem to notice the frost.

“And I admire her for not being so weak-willed as to succumb to family pressure,” continued Brienne. “When you choose someone to marry, only your own feelings should matter.”

Jaime’s smile died away. He shivered.

“Do you truly mean that?” asked Robb. “Would it not matter to you at all whether your intended spouse was agreeable to your family and friends? Whether they would fit into your social circle?”

“It would be a benefit certainly, but I would not allow it to influence me unduly. If I truly loved someone, no-one would be able to talk me out of it.” Bitterness suffused every word she spoke. Jaime closed his eyes.

“Me neither,” said Robb, low and warm. “As I said, Starks never waver.”

Jaime couldn’t bear to hear any more. He moved away as quietly as he could, and continued to look for the ball. 

When dusk came he had still not found it.

—

Jaime had never been to White Harbour. It turned out he hadn’t been missing much. There was nothing to dislike about the place, but nothing much to like about it either. It was merely a prosperous port town with a busy harbour, a row of undistinguished shops and a few inns serving reasonable quality ale, like many others in Westeros.

The children didn’t care. They were young enough that any new place was a novelty, especially if it had a beach. They ran barefoot through the shallow waves, chasing each other with hunks of seaweed. Jaime took deep satisfaction in thinking how horrified Cersei would be to see her children bedraggled and shrieking.

They had met up with Jon Snow’s friend, Sam Tarly. Nervous, sweet-natured and slightly plump, he seemed an unlikely soldier. His wife, Gilly, was a quiet woman with wary eyes, who spoke in an unfamiliar accent that Jaime found hard to understand. She seemed uncomfortable having so many strangers crowded into their small rented cottage, thick with cooking smells and the cries of their baby, and when Jaime suggested going to the beach her eyes flashed with gratitude.

Sansa and Tyrion decided to explore the shops, neither seeing any attraction in trudging through sand in a brisk sea wind. Robb and Brienne walked together as usual, so that left Jaime with Jon and Sam. Naturally, they were reminiscing about their service together on the border, talking of places and people that held no meaning for Jaime, so his attention drifted. He watched Brienne’s fair head bend to listen to Robb’s words, listened to her rare chuckle whipped towards him in the breeze. Jaime remembered how hard he had worked once to earn that chuckle, and his elation the first time he heard it. 

He forced himself to look away towards the children, scolding himself for indulging yet again in such useless yearning over the past. He had to stop it. His chance for a life with Brienne was long gone, and there was no retrieving it.

Arya called out Jon’s name, startling Jaime out of his reverie. She had found some treasure in the shallows that he must see. 

As Jon left them to obey the summons, Sam Tarly watched him go with worried eyes and a heavy sigh.

“My apologies,” he said to Jaime. “It’s hard to see him still like this. I had hoped going home to Winterfell would-”

“Cure him?” 

Sam pulled a face and Jaime’s estimation of him rose immediately. “Grief is not something that can be cured. Or needs to be cured. But I had hoped he would be comforted by leaving the borders. Being somewhere with fewer memories of Ygritte.”

“Ygritte was his wife?”

“Yes. Jon worked hard to convince her to become so. It is not an easy choice for a wilding to marry a Westerosi soldier.” A soft smile crossed Sam’s face, and Jaime put the pieces together.

“Your wife seems happy with that choice.”

Sam smiled shyly. “Thank you. But Gilly had less to leave than Ygritte did. Ygritte was a soldier, and her vow to protect her people was the most important thing in her life, right to the end. She died for them.”

“She was killed, then?” 

Sam nodded, his mouth grim. “Protecting a defenceless village from being plundered. A month after they married.”

Jaime looked at Jon's tall figure against the grey sky. “No wonder he left the army after that.”

“The army said it was border raiders.”

“I see. The navy have a similar issue with pirates. It’s amazing how many enemies the two groups appear to have in common.”

Their eyes met in perfect understanding. Sam gestured at Jaime’s turned-up right sleeve. “Was that the result of an encounter with pirates?”

“It was indeed.” Jaime decided he liked Sam Tarly. “I’ll keep an eye on Jon for you, while I’m at Winterfell.”

Sam’s smile warmed his whole face. “I would appreciate that.”

When the children tired of splashing in the waves they turned to building castles in the sand; or at least the Lannister children did. The Stark children found more fun in jumping off the steps built into the harbour wall. They gradually moved up step by step until Jaime began to feel uneasy. He’d jumped off greater heights as a boy himself, but in retrospect he’d been lucky not to come to any harm.

He suddenly realised Brienne was watching him. Their eyes met for a second before Jaime hurriedly looked away. She must have seen his concern, because he heard her say something to Robb, who looked up in surprise and walked over to the steps.

“Arya, you can’t jump from there. It’s too high.”

“Captain Tarth says you need a good head for heights to be a sailor.”

“Sailors don’t jump from the rigging.” 

“I bet they do if the ship’s attacked.” Arya sent a pleading glance at Robb. “Can I jump if you stand underneath and catch me?”

Robb hesitated, and then gave in, laughing. “Fine, you little monster.”

The step was at the level of his shoulders, so Arya did little more than drop into his arms. She pronounced it great fun, so her brothers took a turn. After a few rounds, Robb’s arms must have been aching, because Rickon slipped a little in his grip.

“Perhaps we should head back to the Tarlys’ lodgings,” Jaime suggested. “The children must be hungry.”

He was met with loud agreement. The adults gathered their belongings, and helped the children brush the sand off their feet and put their stockings and shoes back on. Jaime was helping Tommen knot his shoelaces when he heard Arya call out.

“One last jump before we go! Catch me, Robb!”

Jaime saw with horror that she was on the topmost step. She jumped as soon as the words left her mouth. Robb, taken off guard, ran forward, yelling her name.

Too late. Arya slipped past his outstretched hands and hit the ground heavily. Her head lolled back.

“Arya!” Robb fell to his knees beside her, hands reaching for her face. “Arya!”

“Don’t touch her.” Jaime grabbed his hands to stop him. “We need to keep her still. Is she conscious?”  

Arya hadn’t responded to Robb calling her name and her eyes were closed. He leant down, careful not to jostle her, and checked her breathing. He could see her chest moving, ever so slightly, and felt a wave of relief.

“I need something to cushion her head.”

“Here.” Brienne passed him the sash from her uniform. Jaime slipped it carefully beneath Arya’s head so it raised her up a little. That should help her to breathe.

He looked up. “Tarly. Do you know where to find a doctor?” 

“Yes. It’s not far.” Sam hurried off, his face pale with shock.

“Jon, take the children to my brother and Sansa. They’ll probably be in the closest inn.” 

Jon was staring at Arya in frozen horror, but at Jaime’s words he jerked and roused himself. “Of course.” He rounded up the other children and herded them away from the beach.

“We’ll need something to move her with,” said Jaime, thinking out loud. “Something hard and flat, but light enough to lift.” He looked at Robb, but the man was shaking from head to foot, eyes locked on his sister. No help there. Jaime looked up. “Brienne-”

“I’ll find something,” she said. “I’ll ask the fishermen.” Her blue eyes met his, and the world steadied around him. “You take care of Arya.”

There was little enough he could do, Jaime thought helplessly. Only keep her still, and check her breathing, and put his jacket over her to keep her warm. 

“Talk to her,” he told Robb, “in case she can hear you.” 

So Robb stumbled through reassuring words until Sam arrived with the doctor. Jaime leaned back as the dark-haired woman checked her over with a few brisk words of approval. “You did the right thing by not moving her until I got here.”

“Will she be all right?” asked Robb desperately.

The doctor didn’t answer. “We need to get her indoors so I can examine her properly.” Her expression cleared as Brienne appeared with some fishermen, carrying an improvised stretcher made from planks and a sail. “Excellent.”

Arya was gently transferred onto the stretcher and carried away by the two fishermen, followed by the doctor and the still-dazed Robb.

Brienne held out a hand to help Jaime back to his feet, bracing him as he stumbled. “Are you all right?”

Jaime realised he was shaking. “Reaction. I’m not used to dealing with this kind of situation any more.”

“No one would know it.” Brienne’s face held a warm respect that shocked Jaime. “I’d forgotten how good you are in a crisis.”

“So were you, finding the stretcher.” Jaime sighed. “That doctor seemed to know what she was doing. I hope-” 

Brienne’s face was full of the same fear that had choked him. “She’s a tough girl,” she said gently, gripping his arm. “I’m not giving up on her yet.”

Jaime looked down at her fingers, warmth blooming inside him. “Neither am I,” he said shakily.

For a moment it felt as if he and Brienne were still united against the world, holding each other up with their backs pressed together.

“Good,” said Brienne. She squeezed his arm once more and let go. Jaime felt the loss like a physical blow. “I’ll go to the doctor’s house. Robb will need support, and I can organise the practicalities.”

“I’d better find Tyrion and Sansa and Jon,” said Jaime, fighting the urge to grab her hand back. “Get the other children safely home and let the Starks know what’s happened.”

Brienne nodded briskly, and they parted in opposite directions. Jaime didn’t let himself look back.

—

Sansa wanted to stay with her sister, and Tyrion wouldn’t leave her, so Jaime and Jon ended up taking the children back to Winterfell. The look on Catelyn Stark’s face when they broke the news would stay with Jaime for a long time. She and her husband left for White Harbour within the hour. Jaime took one look at the Stark boys’ pale faces and decided not to take Myrcella and Tommen back to Tyrion and Sansa’s house. He and Jon set up bedrolls for them all in Bran and Rickon’s room, toasted chestnuts in the fireplace and read stories until the children finally fell asleep.

Jaime and Jon stayed in the room to watch over them, talking quietly in front of the fire with a glass of whiskey. 

“I keep seeing her fall,” said Jon softly, staring into the flames. “She looked so small lying there on the ground. I never thought of Arya as small before.”

“She’d tear your throat out if you did,” said Jaime. Jon made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “She won’t give up easily, Jon. She never does.”

Jon put his empty glass down carefully on the floor.

“Ygritte was a fighter too,” he said, almost in a whisper, and buried his face in his hands.

Jaime didn’t know what to say. He gripped Jon’s shoulder briefly but fiercely, hoping it gave him some measure of comfort. 

He stayed awake most of the night, soothing the children when they woke from bad dreams, and covering Jon with a blanket when exhaustion finally overcame him.

—

The next day brought Tyrion, pale and hollow-eyed, with the news that Arya was still clinging to life.

“The doctor says the next few days will be crucial,” he told Jon. “Sansa asked me to stay with the boys so you can go to White Harbour. She says Arya will want you there if…when she wakes.”

Jon nodded grimly, and left shortly after, surprising Jaime with a hug and a brusque murmur of thanks as he departed.

“Lady Catelyn didn’t want the boys there too?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion shook his head, sinking into a chair. “She thought it would be too upsetting. Better for them to be here in familiar surroundings, unless…things change. I can get them there in a couple of hours if needed.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “This is a hideous business, Jaime.”

“I know. What would be best to do with Myrcella and Tommen? Should I take them to Cersei in Oldtown? Sansa will not want to deal with visitors, whatever happens.”

“I think it would be best, Jaime. I don’t want to seem unwelcoming-”

“You’re not. Will you be all right here alone with the boys?”

“I’ll manage. It’s a relief to be able to do something to help, however small.” Tyrion sighed. “I’ll keep you informed.”

Jaime, Tommen and Myrcella left the next day. Jaime was disgusted with himself to find that in the midst of all his worry for Arya, and concern for the other Starks, was a sharp pang for the loss of Brienne’s company.

He had got used to seeing her almost every day, to the warm feeling her presence always gave, even if her attention was rarely directed at him. Like a plant in a shadowed corner that still grows towards the sunlight.

He was unlikely to see her again, unless…unless she married Robb Stark. 

If she does, then you must be glad for her. Robb is a good man, and she deserves to be happy. 

He imagined reading the notice of their wedding. Congratulating them when he next visited Tyrion. Watching them from the corners of family get-togethers, settled and happy, having children of their own…

Maybe he wouldn’t visit Winterfell for a long time.

You wanted her to have a happy, fulfilled life. This is the path you chose.

The words frayed at the edges, too thin for comfort. It was hard to hang on to that six-years-old conviction now he was forced to face the reality of it. Impossible not to acknowledge that he had chosen the wrong path. He tried not to drown in the bitter regret that flooded him, because it was too late now for any of it.

His mistake was irrevocable. Winning Brienne’s trust had been an arduous battle the first time, and he knew how deeply he had shattered that trust when he sent her away. He was not so foolish as to believe for a moment that there was any way to recover that.

No. There was nothing to be done but live with her absence. At least he was used to that.

—

Oldtown was a shock to the senses after the country quiet of Winterfell. Jaime was suddenly hemmed in by stone walls and wooden shutters, gabled roofs and twisting spires. The only hint of nature was weeds pushing defiantly between paving stones, or the brief glimpse of blue sea from his bedroom window. 

Jaime wasn’t sleeping well, because Oldtown was never quiet. Even at night he could hear the patrols of the city watch, the clatter of lamplighters, the rattle of carts of the market traders who came into the city before dawn. At least he told himself that was the root of his sleeplessness.

The Lannister household reabsorbed him without a ripple of curiosity. His father was now drifting almost completely in a sea of his own memories, and thought Jaime was his uncle Gerion, dead these thirty years. Joffrey was out from dusk till dawn, getting into the Seven knew what dubious activities, and slept it off all day. Cersei was busy insinuating herself into Oldtown society, and similarly only came home to change clothes between outings. She paused briefly to arrange for Myrcella and Tommen to attend a variety of classes, ranging from sketching to dance, so they could meet the children of the people she wanted to impress. Once they made friends and started going on their own outings, they didn’t need Jaime to entertain them any more. He drifted around the elegant, echoing townhouse like a living ghost, with nothing to do but eat and sleep and drink.

A few months ago, he would have stayed that way. Let the days slip past in a torpor of numb idleness. But now he found that a set of words echoed in his ears like a persistent fly. Words Brienne had spoken one day at Winterfell, with disappointment in her blue eyes.

You still have one hand. And eyes, and a voice, and all your knowledge.

She had saved his life, and he had not valued the gift. That look had made him feel as if he had ripped off the paper and trampled it underfoot.

So two weeks after Jaime arrived in Oldtown, he wrote a letter to his old friend Addam Marbrand. He was half afraid that there would be no reply, but he received an answer the next day.

They met in a tavern not far from the naval academy. It was a popular haunt of both current and former officers, full of people Jaime had known in his previous life. Addam, of course, was seated at the farthest table from the door. Jaime tried to respond to the greetings as cordially as he could manage, while ignoring the whispers and veiled stares at his missing hand.

“Was that really necessary?” he snapped, when he finally reached Addam’s table.

Addam gave him the unflappable smile that had been infuriating Jaime since they were boys. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t wasting my time. You’ll have to get used to talking to these people when you’re teaching at the academy.”

When, not if. Jaime stared at him, a lump rising in his throat. 

“So…you think it’s a good idea?”

“Of course I do. You had a reputation for getting the best out of green recruits as a captain. I remember old Selmy saying he knew anyone who served under you on their first ship would have a thorough grounding. I had suggested teaching before in my letters, you know. Not that you ever replied.”

“I’m replying now.” Jaime held Addam’s curious gaze stubbornly. “What’s the next step?”

“My lecturer on tactics had to leave the city unexpectedly, so I need someone to finish the course.  Six weeks. How about we start with that and see how you go? She left her lecture notes, but feel free to adapt them.”

Six weeks. That sounded manageable. Jaime agreed before he could talk himself out of it.

—

“Captain Lannister?”

The voice halted Jaime in his tracks on the steps of the Naval Academy. Six months since he had last heard it, but he would know that voice anywhere. Even after sixty years. Even at the end of the world.

His heart thudded once, painfully, in his chest, as he turned to meet Brienne’s clear gaze.

“Captain Tarth. What a pleasure to see you again.”

It was a pleasure, even though a painful one. He drank her in like a draught of cool water on a summer’s day. She looked thinner than six months ago, and worn around the eyes. Probably working too hard. She had never been one to spare herself, working for her lieutenant’s exams even when supposed to be convalescing. Robb Stark should take better care of her.

Brienne’s reply to his greeting was interrupted by one of Jaime’s students, asking for an appointment to discuss the essay due next week. Jaime stifled his annoyance, arranged a time and sent her away, already trying to think of a way to explain the strategy that made sense to her. There was nothing more rewarding than the glow in a student’s eyes when it all came together in their head. 

“Are you teaching here now?” Brienne asked, her eyes shining. 

“Yes, since the autumn. Strategy and tactics, with a bit of history thrown in. It was temporary at first, but then they offered me a permanent position.” It had blindsided him completely, but he had snapped it up as soon as he understood they were truly offering it. 

“And you enjoy it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Far more than I could have imagined.” Jaime smiled at her. “You were quite right to suggest it.”

“Yes. Well. I used to know you quite well…once upon a time.”

Her mouth was soft and her eyes warm, and Jaime was buried in an avalanche of memories. Six years ago, they would have celebrated his new occupation together, warm and laughing and close. 

He forced the ache away with the ease of long practice. “How are the Starks? I was relieved to hear that Arya made a full recovery.”

“Yes, thank the Seven. She’s back at Winterfell causing as much trouble as ever, and her parents can’t quite hide their thankfulness.”

“I will have to go up there when term ends and see her for myself.” The image of her crumpled body still haunted him sometimes.

“No need to wait,” said Brienne. “They’ll all be here in Oldtown in a few days. Hasn’t your brother written to you?”

“He hasn’t, but the letter may not have reached me. I moved out of the family home recently and my sister has not been prompt about sending on my post.” 

Cersei had not been impressed by his new occupation - being a teacher will drag down the whole family’s dignity, Jaime - and even less impressed when Jaime, running on his anger from that argument, arranged a meeting with the family lawyers to discuss a formal removal of their father’s control of the family estate.

The lawyers had agreed something official should be done, and taken temporary control away from Cersei until a formal guardianship arrangement could be set up. A formal arrangement that would require the agreement of all three of Tywin Lannister’s children.

Jaime still cringed at the memory of Cersei’s fury when that news broke. He had moved into the staff quarters at the naval academy the same evening. 

To be honest, he didn’t mind the change. It was a relief to be away from his sister’s constant complaints and criticism, and he still got to see the children. Cersei’s maternal indifference was paying off in his favour; she still didn’t appear to have noticed they were visiting him at every opportunity. And the other live-in staff at the academy were a sociable bunch, so Jaime was never short of company in the evenings if he wanted it.

“The whole Stark family is coming?” he said to Brienne. “I didn’t think Lady Catelyn liked Oldtown. Hotbed of spite and gossip is how she usually describes it.”

Brienne’s lips curved. “She does indeed. But it also apparently has the best shops in the country, and nothing but the best will do for her son’s wedding.”

Jaime couldn’t breathe. 

He’d known it was coming, had braced himself for the news every time he received a letter from Winterfell, but now he discovered he hadn’t been prepared at all.

“The wedding. Of course.” 

His voice echoed in his ears, sounding eerily far away. He knew he ought to congratulate her, but he couldn’t make himself form the words. 

The clock struck above them and he seized on the excuse like a drowning man. “You must excuse me, I’m late for my next class. I’ll see you when the Starks arrive, I’m sure.”

He felt her staring at his back as he hurried away, trying not to stumble.

—

Strangely, once the first shock was over, he felt almost relieved. He had been waiting for the news of her marriage for so long that the anticipation of pain had become worse than the reality of it. 

After all, he had been living with the loss of her for six years. This was merely the final nail in the coffin.

So when Brienne began to frequent the officers’ common room at the academy to catch up with old comrades, and sometimes sat near him - which could hardly be avoided in such a relatively small room - he found he could bear it. Seeing her was a sweet ache, like stretching a limb too long confined.

She often spoke to him. Mere pleasantries at first, but one evening she asked about his students, and Jaime told her about a girl who had questioned his strategy in class that day. Brienne said she had very relevant points, and they fell into a spirited debate, until somehow their cups were empty, the candles guttering in their sockets, and the servants pointedly clearing the tables around them. 

It was a painful echo of old times, when Brienne would distract him from the pain and boredom of his convalescence by challenging him into argument. Jaime had not realised how much he had missed it.

His heart ached too much to sleep that night.

Jaime told himself that he wouldn’t torture himself like that again. That the next time she entered the common room, he would keep his head down and leave as soon as possible.

He meant to do it. But Brienne arrived to a chorus of congratulations and well wishes that brought a pretty blush to her cheeks, and Jaime’s curiosity won out over his self-preservation.

“I’ve been appointed as the Commander of the naval fort here in Oldtown,” she told him with an undertone of disbelief, as if she expected the admiral to walk in at any moment and declare it all a joke.

Commander of the Oldtown Fort. As with many posts in the navy, the pedestrian title hid the reality of the power it conveyed. It put Brienne effectively in charge of the southern fleet, and the defence of the southern coast. Every previous holder of the post had gone on to become an admiral.

Jaime almost choked with pride. “I’m so glad for you. I always knew you’d go far.”

He had. He’d always known she could rise to the very top. It was one of the reasons he’d broken their engagement, and the knowledge that he’d been right healed a tiny piece of his heart.

“I still haven’t got my head around it,” said Brienne.

Her tone made Jaime tilt his head. “You are going to take it, aren’t you? I’d understand if you didn’t,” he hurried on, not wanting to sound like he was telling her what to do. “You may prefer to stay on a ship and not be bound to land-”

“No. I’ve spent enough years afloat. I’m ready to settle in one place.” Brienne sent him a meaningful look that made Jaime abruptly remember her upcoming marriage. 

“Of course you are,” he said cheerfully, ignoring the way his heart clenched. “Well then, your next step is to find a nest to settle in.”

—

It was a joke Jaime deeply regretted a few weeks later, when he somehow found himself following Brienne and a rental agent around a series of houses.

I need a second opinion , she had said, and there is none I value more than yours . How was he supposed to hold out against that?

“I like this one,” said Brienne, at the fourth house. It was tall and light and airy, with a view of the sea. It had a snug living room with a large fireplace for the winters, and a beautiful garden with a terrace for the summers. “It’s a convenient location too, halfway between the fort and the academy. The front room on the first floor would make a good study, with plenty of room for two.”

“There’s plenty of space everywhere,” Jaime agreed. He stared down at the garden and with a stab of anguish, imagined children playing hide and seek among the shrubbery. Children with dark Stark hair and Brienne’s blue eyes. “It’s a house to grow into.”

“So you like it?” 

Brienne seemed concerned to get his approval, and despite everything, Jaime’s heart glowed to know that his opinion still mattered to her. 

“I do. You should take it.”

Brienne smiled hesitantly. “Then I will.”

She left the room to find the agent. Jaime tried not to imagine how things could have been different. How this could have been their house. How he could have been the one sitting with her in front of the fire on winter evenings, waking up with her in the bedroom shaded by willow trees looking down to the sea. 

He had Brienne’s friendship again, and that was more than he had ever dared hope for. He must be content with it.

—

The Starks arrived in Oldtown with the spring blossom. They were renting a large house that was a little too close to the Lannisters for Jaime’s comfort. He hoped that Tyrion and Cersei didn’t accidentally meet in the street. Innocent bystanders might be harmed.

He visited the Starks the day after their arrival, to be met by a warm hug from Sansa, a sardonic smile from his brother, and the cheerful chaos that always accompanied the family. Robb was absent, much to Jaime’s relief. He was visiting friends and due to arrive in a few days. Jaime wasn’t sure he could get through the obligatory words of congratulation.

It was good to see Arya. The family had kept him well-informed of the progress of her recovery, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her vivid little face with his own eyes. She was keen to show him her latest fencing tricks with a poker, and somehow managed to smash the teapot. Her mother scolded her, but half-heartedly. 

“We don’t have time to wait for a fresh pot. We’re due at the dressmaker’s in an hour, and appointments with her are like gold dust.”

“Expensive as gold dust too,” murmured Tyrion.

He was not quiet enough, and Lady Catelyn sent him a sharp glance. “She made my wedding gown, and I would like her to make my daughter-in-law’s, as she didn’t have a chance to make Sansa’s.”

Sansa and Tyrion’s elopement would always be a sore point for her mother. Seeing Sansa wince and Tyrion’s eyes flash, Jaime flung himself into the breach.

“I’m surprised that Captain Tarth requires a wedding gown. I thought she would choose to be married in her uniform.”

There was an abrupt silence. Jaime looked around at a ring of suddenly awkward faces, and realised that somehow he had churned up troubled waters rather than soothing them.

“I fear there has been a misunderstanding,” Lady Catelyn began, as Arya shouted out: “Robb’s not marrying Captain Tarth! I wish he was. She’s much more fun than stuffy Talisa-”

“Arya, you know Talisa only has your best interests at heart,” Sansa reproved. “She wants you to recover your health fully-”

There was a buzzing in Jaime’s ears. “Robb isn’t marrying Brienne?”

“No,” said Lady Catelyn. Her voice sounded muffled. “I admit at one time I thought…but I must have been mistaken. Talisa is the doctor who cared for Arya after her accident. It has all happened very quickly, but she is a lovely girl. I thought Tyrion had told you all about it-”

“I did,” protested Tyrion at the reproof. “I wrote you a long letter about it all, Jaime.”

“I never got it. Cersei has been slow to send on my post.” Jaime could barely speak. His mind was a tumult of relief and guilt and joy.

“If she realised the letter was from me, she probably burnt it,” said Tyrion. “You’ll have to find an excuse to take the children out so I can see them…Jaime? Are you listening to me?”

He murmured an assent. A hand touched his arm, and he blinked, Lady Catelyn’s frowning face coming into focus.

“Are you quite all right, Jaime? You look very pale.”

“I do feel a bit dizzy. I’ll step out into the garden, get some air.”

Jaime escaped through the open doors before anyone could offer to come with him. He leaned back against the closed door and took several long shuddering breaths.

Brienne wasn’t going to marry Robb.

He didn’t understand why he was so relieved. It didn’t mend anything between them. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t find someone else to marry in the future. But the removal of the imminent prospect eased a clamp around his heart he hadn’t realised was there.

Someone cleared their throat awkwardly nearby.

“Captain Lannister? Are you well?”

Jaime realised Jon was sitting in a chair on the covered verandah. He felt briefly embarrassed, until he noticed Jon’s pale face and red-rimmed eyes. Perhaps he was the only person in this house who might understand.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I’ve had a shock, and I can’t quite manage the social niceties at the moment.”

“Sit out here with me then. I won’t bother you.”

Jaime took the offered seat gratefully. He tipped back his head and closed his eyes, and they sat in silence until Tyrion appeared to say that the ladies were setting off for the dressmakers’.

“I’m going with them, I have a few calls I need to make.” Political calls, no doubt. “Unless you need my company, Jaime.”

“Not at all,” Jaime assured him. “It was only a dizzy spell. Result of a late night and no breakfast, I expect. You go along. I’ll sit here with Jon until you return.”

Tyrion didn’t look satisfied by this explanation, but with Jon there, he didn’t press it. He retreated, to be replaced by Catelyn and Sansa, trying to persuade Jon to come out with them.

“It will be good for you. You need fresh faces and conversation. You can’t spend the whole visit sat in the house moping-”

“He’s not moping, he’s keeping me company,” Jaime cut in. “I hope I count as a fresh face after six months, and I’ve been looking forward to catching up-”

He deployed all his social charm to drive them away. The house fell quiet, and Jon sighed.

“Thank you. They mean well, but…I can’t face going out. It’s been a bad day.”

His voice cracked, and he turned his head away.

“Would you prefer me to go?” Jaime asked.

Jon shook his head. Tears glimmered in his dark eyes. “I don’t want to be alone right now, either.”

The maid had brought a fresh pot of tea, so Jaime poured a cup for Jon, adding three generous spoonfuls of sugar. They sat in silence while Jon drank it. Jaime could hear movement in the parlour behind them, but whoever it was didn’t come out to the verandah, much to his relief. By the time Jon finished his tea, all was quiet again.

“I’m sorry,” said Jon, setting his cup down on the table with a sharp click.

“There’s no need.”

“It was an article in the newspaper,” said Jon. “I shouldn’t have read it, but I can’t avoid any mention of the wildlings forever. I thought it would be all right…and it was, until they mentioned the honey cakes they make on the border. Ygritte loved them, and I could see her eating one-”

“It’s odd, the things that catch you off guard,” said Jaime. “I broke down at a childrens’ concert once.” They had sung an old lullaby that Brienne had used to hum when changing the dressings on his stump, giving him something to focus on through the pain.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t still feel so…like Robb says, it’s been nearly two years.” Jon’s voice was full of self-reproach. 

Jaime felt a sudden burst of anger. “What does that matter? It’s been six for me.” 

“You lost someone too?” 

There was a plea for understanding in his wide eyes, and Jaime hastened to say, “It wasn’t exactly the same. She didn’t die. She didn’t even leave me. I made her leave, because I wanted to be unselfish for once in my arrogant unthinking life.” 

Would it have hurt less if she had left him? If losing her hadn’t been entirely his own fault? Jaime didn’t think so. The hole her absence had ripped in his heart would have been just as deep, no matter the reason. 

“My family seem to think all I need to do is replace her,” Jon said bitterly. “That’s one reason we’re here, you know. Aunt Cat and Sansa think if they take me to enough balls to dance with enough pretty girls then I’ll fall in love with one of them and be happy.”

“You might.”

Jon scowled at him. “Have you?”

“No,” Jaime admitted, “but I’m much older than you. And I tend to be very…single-minded in my attachments. I’d never been in love before her.”

“Neither had I, before Ygritte.” Jon scrubbed at his eyes with Jaime’s handkerchief. “I don’t want to love anyone else.”

“Of course not. You’re not ready. But maybe one day, you will be. I hope so.” Jaime sighed. “It’s not a club I recommend joining.”

“What is?”

“Loving longest, when all hope is gone.”

—

Jon excused himself shortly afterwards, slipping out through the garden gate for a solitary walk before the rest of his family returned. 

“I can’t face more wedding talk right now.”

Jaime felt much the same. He decided to leave a note for Tyrion and Sansa rather than waiting any longer, and stepped back into the parlour to find pen and ink - only to find himself skewered by a pair of furious blue eyes.

Brienne. 

Not the Brienne of the last few weeks, polite and friendly. This was a Brienne Jaime had not seen in six years, flushed with righteous anger, shyness overcome by her outraged principles. Jaime felt his heart catch fire.

“How dare you, Jaime. How dare you say that?”

It was the first time in six years he’d heard her say his name, even if she was hurling it in contempt. Jaime’s throat ached too much to speak, even if she’d given him the chance.

“ Loving when all hope is gone ? You were the one who took hope away, Jaime, you ! Not me!”

“I know.” Jaime forced the words out. “I thought I was-”

“-being unselfish. I heard you.” Brienne almost spat the words. He had never seen her so furious, not even when the pirates had first captured them. “How was breaking my heart supposed to help me, Jaime?”

“By setting you free. You had your whole life, your whole career, ahead of you. You didn’t need an older, crippled man holding you back.”

“That is the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” Her eyes were blue flame, and Jaime crumbled like touchpaper.

“I know. I let Aunt Genna get in my head, and I'm sorry. I was sorry the moment you left, and it’s only got worse. I missed you so much.”

Brienne stared at him. The anger on her face flickered, revealing a devastation that made him feel so much worse. “Then why didn’t you come after me?”

“I didn’t think I had the right. I didn’t think you could ever forgive me.”

“I don’t forgive you,” said Brienne, moving closer. 

Jaime recognised the look on her face, a look he’d never thought he’d see again, and his heart swelled with agonising, disbelieving hope. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you.” She took another step forward. Jaime’s back thumped against the wall.

“I’ll never forgive myself,” he said breathlessly. He wanted to reach out for her, but he’d lost that right six years ago when he pushed her away. “Brienne-”

“Jaime.” The way she said his name was a claim, as was her hands gripping his shoulders, and her mouth on his a second later, warm and sweet and fierce. Jaime lay back against the wall and let himself be claimed.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he whispered into her ear, seconds or minutes or hours later. He was afraid if he loosened his grip on her for an instant she might disappear. “I thought you-”

“Hated you?”

“Worse. That you were indifferent to me. That you’d moved on with your life.” He stroked the fine hair at the back of her neck, remembering her eyes flicking coolly over him during that first meeting at Winterfell. He pressed his lips against the warm pulse in her throat, shivering.

“That’s what I wanted you to think.” Brienne’s fingers ran through his hair, oddly tentative compared to the fierce grip of her other hand on his upper arm. He might have a bruise there later, he thought with a secret smile. “I thought it myself until White Harbour.”

“Why then? Because I paid attention in basic medical training?”

“Because you were yourself again, not some pale shadow going through the motions of life.” Brienne pulled back a little to meet his eyes, her own bright and liquid. “You were my Jaime again, the Jaime who always kept fighting, who always managed to keep going no matter how bleak things were.”

“Oh, that Jaime. He did…go away for a while. Aunt Genna and Tyrion were right; isolation at Casterly Rock wasn’t good for me.”

“But Oldtown is. You’ve been brighter every day I’ve seen you here.”

“I’d forgotten what it was like to have work and feel useful…but it was you most of all,” he said firmly, determined that she wouldn’t doubt it. “Spending time with you again, even if I thought we could only be friends, because you were engaged to Robb-” 

“What? You thought…I was never engaged to him!”

“I know that now. But when you said he was getting married, I…you spent so much time with him at Winterfell, it was a natural assumption-”

“I did think about it,” Brienne admitted. “But after that day at White Harbour, I knew I couldn’t…it was a relief to me when he met Talisa, although I know Lady Stark doesn’t believe that. She felt very guilty on my behalf.”

Jaime dared the question. “So you didn’t love him?”

“No,” Brienne almost smiled, stroking his cheek. “You remain the only person I’ve been foolish enough to love.”

Jaime could barely breathe. “Love? Still?” 

Brienne glared at him. “Jaime, are you completely blind? Why do you think I’ve been seeking you out at the academy? Why do you think I took you to see those houses?”

“You mean-” For a moment Jaime thought he might faint in truth. “You were trying-”

“To see if you still felt anything for me.”

Jaime felt tears pressing at his eyes. “I loved the house you chose,” he admitted, voice raw. “I was dreaming the whole time that we could live there together, even though I knew it was impossible.”

“Not impossible,” said Brienne. Her whole face opened like the petals of a flower, and Jaime was helpless to do anything but kiss her again.

The noise of a door closing jolted them back to reality, an indeterminable time later. 

“I could quite happily never move again,” said Jaime, “but we are going to be swamped by Starks back from their shopping trip any moment.”

Brienne sighed. She moved back from Jaime, smoothing her hair and trying to straighten her uniform collar, though Jaime thought with a smug grin that both were a lost cause. “Shall we go, then?”

We. That one word flooded Jaime with a sunlit golden feeling he’d never thought he’d have again. For a moment he could see the future stretching before them here in Oldtown, Brienne commanding the fort while he taught at the Academy, the narrow white house with the sea views full of visiting friends and relatives, and maybe even children of their own…all the promise of ‘we’ that he thought he’d thrown away forever.

“Go where?” he asked.

Brienne’s mouth set into a thin determined line. “Anywhere your family is not. I am not letting you near any Lannisters until we’ve found a septon.”

Jaime laughed delightedly as Brienne seemed to realise what she had said, and a wave of crimson flooded her from hairline to throat. “That is…I didn’t mean…only if you-”

“My love, if you want to elope and marry me today I have no objection,” said Jaime. “As long as you promise to ravish me later, obviously.”

“Jaime!” Really, Brienne’s ability to blush was almost superhuman; every time he thought he had reached the limit, she exceeded it. “You are the most infuriating, shameless man I have ever-” 

“-decided to marry?”

They stared at each other with wide eyes. Jaime put out his hand almost shyly, and Brienne took it. They both smiled, bright and tremulous, like dawn breaking.

They slipped out the garden gate before the Starks arrived and walked hand in hand to the nearest sept, neither able to stop smiling. 

The city buzzed around them, but the sky was blue and open, the air crisp and clear, and they might have been alone on the cliffs by Casterly Rock.