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she didn’t drink. the game said you have to drink when someone guesses correctly about you and she just didn’t drink. or maybe she wasn’t drinking at all. maybe she never was. maybe it was tea or juice or water.
but she didn’t drink.
it made jaime’s mouth water. he couldn’t even begin to fathom why until he was standing and everyone’s eyes moved to him.
brienne had just gone off to her room. tormund was watching her the whole way and apparently so was he.
tyrion looked at him with a certain glint in his eye and mild shock. pod only looked at him over the rim of his glass as he drank from it. jaime looked at them all—even tormund who had just barely torn his gaze from the hall that brienne had left through.
”i’m going to… ah,” he didn’t even attempt at a proper excuse before grabbing his glass, her abandoned one, and the pitcher of wine before following after her.
he heard the table start to chatter as soon as he was about ten feet away but he couldn’t quite catch what they were saying. he wasn’t sure he cared to.
when he made it to her closed door he felt something he hadn’t since he was a boy. a strange rush to his heart and a deep pit in his stomach. he found it hard to swallow.
he had been in battle just hours ago and he was struggling to breathe properly now standing before a knight’s door. pathetic, really.
he forced his metal hand to the door a good couple of times before waiting for her answer. and he had plenty of time to consider what to say—from the walk here to standing before her door, really he should’ve had something.
but when she opened that door and he stood before her he felt suddenly very vulnerable. he couldn’t think of a thing to say. he stood with his mouth ever so slightly agape.
finally finally finally he said, “you didn’t drink.”
then he walked right past her into her room. he sat the cups and pitcher on the table before the fire.
”i didn’t drink?” she asked as she closed the door behind him.
”in the game,” he clarified.
“i drank,” brienne argued.
”in the game,” jaime said again. he held up the pitcher and informed her, “this is dornish.”
she moved to the other side of the table at his right and lowered her eyebrows in confusion. “this is not the game. this is only drinking.”
he handed her the glass. “suit yourself.”
she took it and even though she was confused she drank it.
he watched her all the while and when she said nothing he glanced at her fireplace and said, “you keep it warm enough in here.”
as he went to her bed and tugged off his jacket she turned to him and said, “it’s the first thing i learned when i came to the north. keep your fire going. every time you leave the room, put more wood on.”
”that’s very diligent. very responsible,” jaime teased as he dropped his jacket to the floor.
”piss off,” brienne dismissed.
”you know the first thing i learned in the north?” he asked as he moved in front of her again and back to the table with the wine. “i hate the fucking north.”
”it grows on you,” brienne said with a sort of fondness.
jaime hesitated before saying, “i don’t want things growing on me.” he poured himself a glass. “how about tormund giantsbane? has he grown on you?”
she gave him a look.
he wasn’t even sure why he asked. wasn’t sure where he was going with this. wasn’t even really sure why he was here.
“he was very sad when you left,” jaime informed her before sipping his wine and watching her over the rim of the glass.
brienne watched him a moment before carefully saying, “you sound quite jealous.”
jaime nodded as he thought to himself. “i do, don’t i?”
when she only blinked at him and he couldn’t continue to look at her—fully aware his eyes were like saucers, glazed over and surely betraying his every emotion—he forced a smile.
”it’s bloody hot in here,” he breathed playfully and attempted to untie the strings at the top of his shirt. he just couldn’t quite get it. he breathed a sound of frustration. he tried and tried—even attempting to use his teeth as another tool. it was to no avail. he couldn’t get the damned thing undone.
the next thing he knew she was swatting away his hand, “oh, move aside!”
she roughly pulled him closer as she untied the strings. their faces were only about a foot apart. he couldn’t help but look at the strings of her own shirt.
he reached out and tried to untie them.
”what are you doing?” she asked softly.
jaime paused but only looked at the shirt before trying again, “i’m taking your shirt off.”
she reached up and gently caught his fingertips in her hand. she held him there, gently, for only a moment—searching his eyes. when she found an unblinking, unamused, wide eyed gaze looking back at her she took her hand from his chest and moved to untie her own shirt.
she only looked down to untie further and even while she wasn’t looking at him he had such an awestruck expression on his face you would’ve thought he had just seen the gods. his eyes were glossed over and his mouth slightly agape again. he only looked down at her stings just before she had them entirely undone and when she looked up at him again he mirrored the action and their eyes met once more.
for a hesitant moment they only looked at each other and jaime—who, don’t forget, quite enjoyed fucking—wouldn’t have minded doing that the whole night. just looking at each other, he wouldn’t have minded at all.
but she reached out and untucked his shirt from his pants. he looked down for only a moment before quickly meeting her eyes again, making sure he could gently assure her that this was what he wanted. and she appreciated it—so much so that she took the initiative and pulled his shirt over his head.
she slipped her own shirt over her shoulders and onto the floor a moment later.
jaime did not even look away from her face—it was like he couldn’t. like her eyes had trapped his own. he could have looked at her for the entire night and woke up a happy man.
“i’ve never slept with a knight before,” he offered her his own fear.
i’ve never slept with anyone but cersei before, was what he meant. a dangerous confession, one he would be relentlessly crucified for should it get out but this was brienne. he laid himself bare for her more often than he didn’t.
she nodded. she understood. she offered her own secret, “i’ve never slept with anyone before.”
he didn’t let her think he would make fun of her for that—not again. so he didn’t hesitate long before saying with a nod, “then you have to drink. those are the rules.”
”i told you—“ she started in a whisper.
but he cut her off by slamming their lips together. he held onto the back of her head and she bent to meet his lips from a downward angle to devour him in this moment.
from there, the only next step was her warm bed.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
the following day was… eventful. plans were being made. armies sacked. bronn was promised highgarden by tyrion while he and jaime were at the other end of his crossbow. and sansa all but confirmed cersei would be dead by the following day.
and jaime couldn’t sleep. he was next to the woman he knew he had grown to love, bedded a second time—though they both wished it had happened sooner, and he couldn’t sleep. his mind raced and stirred and whirled with thoughts that moved so quickly he could barely catch whispers of them.
‘…an honorable knight with an oathbreaker…’
‘cersei will die without you…’
‘such a vast future brienne has waiting for her…’
‘…kingslayers never get the happy endings.’
’you will never see your sister again.’
he had slept in the moment after they hand pulled apart—panting and delirious with joy. when the heat of their bodies dissipated they pulled the blanket higher to their chests and slept—jaime hooking an arm under brienne’s shoulder and letting their legs tangle together. jaime pressed his face into brienne’s hair, breathed deeply, and then fell asleep.
for all of two hours.
when he awoke again he knew would not manage to sleep once more. he looked down at the woman who had laid across his chest and then had—in the night—rolled over to the other side of the bed and smiled weakly.
then his thoughts started to stir—his brain finally aware he was awake.
danaerys targaryen would soon storm kingslanding and kill his sister, assuming she did not back down—which he did, in fact, assume. if he knew anything about her—which he did.
his sister would be dead by lunch in the upcoming day.
his stomach twisted and flipped.
he may be well aware that what they had was not healthy or good or noble by any means but… she was the mother of his children. she was his sister. his twin. and she would be dead. by lunch.
the other half of him—dead.
what he and brienne had forged and fought for and sat with—even while it seared through everything either had thought for themselves—was something else entirely.
to define their relationship as something of just love felt childish. it felt too small.
brienne was the only person he had told of what happened with aerys targaryen. she was the only person who would have believed him anyway. she had brought him from one side of the country to the other—under oath. she was noble and loyal and everything a knight should be. everything he ever wanted to be before everything went so horribly wrong.
she had found an ounce of affection for him, too—what luck! she had managed to find it in herself to care for him even after he was file and foul and awful to her. after he insulted her and demeaned her out of instinct—if he could not fight with his hands he would do it with his words.
kingslayer.
she never called him that again. he told her that foul story. that awful thing he had done. he laid himself bare before her… and she took it in stride, adjusted herself to this new information, and moved like she’d known all along.
jaime.
remembering his name fall from her lips made him smile.
her eyes never lingered on his golden hand. not the way cersei’s always did. even in their previous hours together she did not shy away from the cold of the metal against her skin. it was as if it were his hand as it had been. like nothing had changed.
he looked down at her again.
such a wide future she could have. she was officially knighted—he’d done so himself only nights ago. she was sworn to sansa stark, the lady of winterfell. with any luck her job would be easy and uneventful—he hoped there would be no other sniff of war after… after the last targaryen did what she might with his sister and the rest of kings landing.
sworn to sansa. a woman of nobility and loyalty. she would have a bright future indeed. the one had always wanted for himself. the dream, really. and he was so happy for her.
so happy, in fact, that he knew he could not squander it.
he could not do that to her. would not.
no, she would have a good life. she would have a long, honest, noble life. she would serve sansa—as both women deserved. she would fulfill every vow and oath she ever agreed to. she would be good and honest and trustworthy. she would be everything ever knight should be.
and he would not be around to see it.
he knew that he had to go. his own impurity would seep into her. his own oathbreaking title would sully her good name. he would never lose his names.
kingslayer
oathbreaker
sister fucker
that is all he would ever be.
all of the horrible things he had done would never leave him. they would follow him everywhere like a shadow just waiting, lurking, aching to come back and bite him.
he would not subdue brienne to the same fate.
he leaned down and kissed the top of her head before sliding off the bed and dressing.
the fire kept him warm and the wine dulled the ache in his heart slightly. he only sat before the warmth for a minute or two once he was dressed. he couldn’t handle being in the room now knowing he wasn’t going to stay in it forever.
the night’s wind bit at his face as he readied his horse. the only sound for a long time was of the fire in the torches crackling.
he didn’t expect to see her again. or maybe he did. he hoped she wouldn’t wake. or maybe he hoped she would. he wasn’t sure. he just knew that his heart swelled when he heard her approaching.
only in a long coat, he noted. he should wrap this up quick—he didn’t want her to fall ill from the biting cold.
she knew where he was going and why—or she thought she did. she would chalk it up to cersei and their relationship and that would be that.
he would do everything he could to cement that idea in her head. he would hammer that thought process into place. he would confirm all her fears about him if it meant she would let go of him faster.
”they’re going to destroy that city,” she said simply with her brows furrowed and her arms crossed to fight the cold. “you know they will.”
he did. he did know that. he would likely die right along with it.
”have you ever run away from a fight?” he asked without looking at her, continuing to ready his horse.
but it wouldn’t be a fight. it would be a massacre. he would die. he would die. he would die.
deflect. deflect. deflect.
she rushed forward and took his face in her hands. she forced him to look at her. she searched for what she had seen in his eyes in the safety of their room.
“you’re not like your sister. you’re not. you’re better than she is. you’re a good man and you can’t save her. you don’t need to die with her. stay here,” she begged. her face scrunched in pain when she added, “stay with me. please. stay.”
and the way her voice broke destroyed him exactly how he needed it to. it proved that he was right. he had to go. he would only ruin her. he would only hurt her.
he did something he shouldn’t have. he reached up and put his hand on one of hers that was on his face. he just wanted to feel her warmth again.
he quickly put on the mask. he forced his eyes to focus and become smaller—less wide. he made a cool mask of indifference slide across his features all the way to his voice. “you think i’m a good man?”
and maybe it was because of how much time they spent together or maybe she just knew him that well but she seemed to immediately understand that whatever he was about to say next would not be good. she released his face but didn’t step back.
“i pushed a boy out of a tower window, crippled him for life: for cersei. i strangled my cousin with my own hands just to get back to cersei. i would have murdered every man, woman, and child in riverrun for cersei.”
brienne inhaled sharply and forced a sob to not slip from her mouth.
jaime forced his own face into that steely mask he knew so well. he listed all of his horrible doings that had run through his head from the moment he had done them to now. he laid them out bare for her. he had done this before—but now, to chalk it all up to cersei—he hoped it would be enough. he just had to drive it home.
“she’s hateful. and so am i.”
he then turned and mounted his horse.
he heard her sobbing behind him. the entire time he rode away. for hours. he would hear it until he drew his last breath.
but this was what needed to be done—if you asked jaime.
many would ask: “why not tell her the truth? tell her that you feel unworthy of her? that you don’t want to let your sister die? why not tell her the truth?”
to that, he would say: the truth? tell her the truth so that she will never properly mourn me? never let me go? tell her the truth so that she might convince me to stay and ruin her life further? why would i do that? she has an oath. i will not ruin her like i have ruined myself. she has a destiny. i will not squander that. no, no. let her think that i never loved her. that it was all a lie. let her forget me. let her live to her fullest potential—she would never be able to do that with him.
she was worthy of more.
she worth giving up the last of his honor. the last of his dignity. breaking one final oath—his oath to her, one she was not even aware of.
her destiny outweighs his honor.
and when he finds cersei and is crushed under the rumble of the red keep he thinks of brienne. he thinks of her skill with a sword, her smile, her strong will.
he thinks, kingslayers never die happy.
because to die happy—he would have to be with brienne.