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Of all the things she could have distracted her stubbornly single mindedness on in that moment, the last of them should have been the suspiciously bloody marks on the ceiling. Brienne could not be sure, though, if they truly were mementos left behind by the previous occupants of the freezing room or just her tired eyes playing tricks as the dying candle bathed the space in flickering shadows. She had tried to slip into slumbers multiple times since she had retired for the evening, but the sounds of merriment rising up from the hall below kept her from finding the rest she craved.
She, sadly, knew this dance too well.
When he grew bored enough with the festivities to crawl into their chastely shared bed, she would hiss at him for waking her although it would only be another lie to add to the shamefully growing pile. Remaining fully clothed but no warmer for it, he would burrow under the borrowed, moth eaten furs as if trying to steal a portion of her guarded warmth, joking all the while about her giant feet or broad shoulders leaving him no room. But, as always, even as she stared at the rafters and soothed herself with stories of home, Brienne would not find the comfort of sleep when her mind was blind to everything but Jaime.
Two moons had crested and waned since Pennytree. Two moons of wondering and worrying and waiting for him to rage over what had almost come to pass. At first she had wanted some kind of reassurance that her choices had been driven by honour rather than a love that never could be returned, but as that particular conversation remained beyond her capabilities, Brienne was left alone to try and work through the reasons why Jaime had become so distant as of late.
The news that his sister had taken Kings Landing by force had reached them a fortnight earlier, the details distorted as the story passed along what was left of The Kingsroad, though every account had made sure there was no doubt about the untimely and tragic demise of their young king. If history was to be believed, not so long ago there would have been seven men ready to give up their own lives to protect their sovereign, but that kind of honour had been twisted by betrayal and the need for self advancement, coin and reputation meaning more to some than the oaths they'd sworn. Now, with Loras Tyrell burnt and bedridden on Dragonstone, Jaime acting as Lord Commander in name only, gone too long for his sister not to have pushed another into the White Tower, the remaining members of the Kingsguard seemed to be only loyal to the one lining their pockets. Certainly not to the boy who'd been too innocent to sit on the Iron Throne.
Trying to push away the thoughts that jousted for control in her mind, Brienne instead found herself holding her breath as the room below quieted until an air of anticipation began to fall. The group of sheltered young men that had given him centre stage were waiting for the start of Jaime's next knightly story. She should have stayed to listen rather than retiring early, like always, being reminded of a time before truth and treachery when he sang those same words loud and clear.
Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool...
As the night wore on, their talk would develop a more maudlin undertone and she wondered how ugly and irritatingly naive he would make her amongst the vague tales of bears and bonds and baths, aware that even if she'd stayed close until the cold light of dawn washed over them all, Jaime would have barely glanced in her direction more than once. But despite how at ease he was in a crowd, seeming to be able to control the very atmosphere with words and smiles, they had shed his Lannister armour following the final fight with Lady Stoneheart, the shining red and gold drawing more attention than either of them wanted or needed.
At first, she wondered if grief kept him talking to strangers night after night, but if he mourned the end of Tommen's short reign it was done quietly and alone. It felt to Brienne, though, as if an aura of guilt still lingered around them like early morning mist, Jaime too busy with what their life had become to listen to any further attempts at an apology for what had been. Surely, he must have known by now how she felt. He might have been the only person who could understand.
There was no denying how deeply he'd been hurt, both by the woman he'd loved and the woman who had fallen in love with him, but, had Jaime shown any real inclination or need, Brienne wouldn't have hesitated to offer him some kind of comfort. She had thought about it before, what might have happened if she'd gone to him after Robb Stark's wedding with a heavy heart and tears in her eyes, but the fantasy kept shifting and now she couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to hold him to her chest when he joined her in bed.
Hearing the men start to bid Jaime goodnight, his name lost in a chorus of parting noises, she shuffled toward the far side of their bed and closed her eyes, pretending to be deep in the same dreams that kept escaping her. His journey to her, up the stairs and along the corridor, was the same as every other night they'd spent on the Quiet Isle, his pace having now become so pronounced that Brienne could almost count each leonine movement. She didn't know how she'd react if he decided to change this dance, the future was daunting enough as it was, fated as she was to walk into it with him.
There was nothing binding in their arrangement, although the men who swapped ale for stories believed them to be wed in the light of the Seven. Brienne couldn't remember exactly when Jaime had lied, and still didn't understand why he'd done so, she'd been so close to death, so wrong in her choices, she could only think that he had wanted to watch the Stranger take her so that he could be sure.
Two dull thuds marked the removal of his boots as he quietly padded across the room. The softer slide of his shirt moving over sinew and muscle kept her on teetering on the edge of something unknown. It had been too cold to properly undress for a sennight or so, but he seemed to like the feeling of fur pressed against his skin more than he found discomfort in the drop in temperature. If not for how gracefully he moved, avoiding the floorboards that screamed and creaked when they were touched, Brienne would think he'd overindulged downstairs.
Back in Renly's camp, she had heard tales of men who'd found salvation at the bottom of a bottle only to wake up the next morning with an ugly or unsuitable woman at their side. But there was no amount of intoxicating beverages in the Seven Kingdoms that could blind Jaime to what she'd done, betrayal fuelled by loyalty and respect. Even in her deepest dreams, she never wanted him to make that kind of choice in the dark while he still doubted her intentions during the day.
Jaime picked at a fraying corner and lifted the blankets, a blast of cooler air leaving Brienne fighting not to shiver, holding herself absolutely still as he slipped just close enough that she could almost feel his chest steadily rise and fall, half asleep already. He sighed contentedly, beginning to warm through, and she wondered if, right before his eyelids grew too heavy to stay open, that he might sometimes think about her and the way things could have been.