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Look back, Jaime thought, his heart beating faster in his chest. With each stroke of the oars that took the boat farther from him, the more desperate was his need to see her turn around. Look for me, Brienne. Just look. After a long moment, Jaime saw the pale visage of Brienne turn her eyes upon him. He wished that he could truly see her up close; in that moment, he felt that it would be worth the price of his other hand to look into her eyes one more time and try to discern her thoughts. She sees me.
Jaime raised his golden hand dumbly, as though a wave of his overly decorated and useless appendage could ever convey what he felt. Even Jaime was uncertain what his feelings were, despite his racing heart telling otherwise.
I am merely worried for her, he thought desperately, doing his best to tamp down the dull ache that was spreading from his chest up to his throat. She is fierce, yes, but she has never been in battle. Brienne waved back to him, and he instantly felt salved for the most fleeting of moments. She broke his momentary placidity when she turned back again to face her rowing squire. I may never see her again. Jaime swallowed, his chest aching truly now, even though he’d had this same thought at their last parting.
Things are different now. Back then, I half thought that she’d find her way home to Evenfall Hall. Well, I hoped that, anyway.
No. I hoped she’d come back to King’s Landing with her tail between her legs. That’s the truth of it. I wished to infect her with some of the cynicism that the world forced on me.
No - that isn’t it.
Jaime’s good hand tightened into a fist. He struggled to make sense of himself.
The truth is that I wished to comfort her in her failure. For how could I welcome back a woman who aided a traitor? Some part of me wished for her to fail, just so that I could see my wench again.
As Brienne and Podrick’s boat became ever smaller in the distance, he began to squint, the air pricking at his unblinking eyes until they near watered. The lady and her squire were but a speck on the moonlit river now, nearly indistinguishable in the shadows. Jaime kept his eyes on that speck for as long as he could until it disappeared around the bend of the river into the shadows beyond. While his heart had calmed and his left hand had relaxed from the fist which he had tightened the harder it was to see her, Jaime was anything but calm. He lowered his head, imagining Brienne on a battlefield, facing a horde of better-equipped men.
“Happy with yourself?” Bronn said from the doorway to the rampart. “Because you sure don’t seem happy, even though you damned well should be.”
With a sigh, Jaime stood up straighter and took a last glance at the waterway. He turned his frown on Bronn.
“How long have you been creeping about out here?”
“Why? Did I miss something?” Bronn asked, his face wearing its usual and utterly unconvincing mask of ignorance.
“I was merely observing a quiet moment before I have to face those damnable Freys. So, yes. You missed something. You missed the chance to interrupt my solitude earlier.”
Bronn looked out upon the river and then back at Jaime with his singular look of disbelief.
“Aye... Those Freys are a dirty lot of hat wearin’ fools. I’ll not be sorry to see the last of them. I suppose you’re aiming to get back to King’s Landing and your duties, whatever those might be outside of the uhh… Kingsguard,” Bronn said, pausing to switch tacks as soon as he realized his error in bringing up that still fresh trauma. “Anyway, it’s not as if you could just go for a tumble with a lass whenever you wanted in that job. Now you have Casterly Rock, and to every other man’s horror, you’ve still got your looks. Even if you only got one hand.”
Jaime frowned as he turned his eyes back out to the river. His thoughts wandered through his options to help Brienne in her and Sansa’s suicide mission as he had countless times since he’d seen her that morning. No matter how many times he went through the few possibilities, none of them seemed a safer option than the last time he’d mused upon them.
“Those Freys are a crude lot,” Bronn continued, scratching his beard, “So layered in dirt they are - I almost thought I was facing a mongrel dog in a stupid hat - the first one I saw. And then those fools with the things they said to Lady Brienne as she marched by on her way to treat with the Blackfish—”
“What did they say?” Jaime snapped out, his foul mood now even fouler. “Did she hear them?”
“Aye, she heard them. But she’s strong, Lady Brienne is, she doesn’t pay them no mind. After all, she’s twenty times the fighter those useless cunts are, even if she is one of those ‘honorable’ fighters.”
“Who spoke ill to her, Bronn? Tell me, or by the gods I’ll—”
“Hold on a second, my ‘Lord of Casterly Rock’,” Bronn said, his hand firmly stopping Jaime’s angry steps toward the door. “If you truly aim to quit lingering in this backwater keep, you’ll not waste your anger on the Freys over something that I’d wager Lady Brienne has dealt with her entire life. You’ll save your golden hand slapping for our exit, if you actually mean to take Lord Edmure out of this hole. Those Freys are feeling mighty full of themselves since they got the keep back, and I’d bet my right hand they won’t let him go easy.”
“You know, I truly despise it when you are right, Bronn. You might think to being wrong more often. I might pay you more.”
“Please do shut up about paying me, as we both know you may never do so. Instead, tell me where Lady Brienne is and I’ll go make japes at her while you talk to those idiots. I do love to see her face turn red when I make some of my less noble comments.”
“I’m surprised you’re not dead from making even one jape at her,” Jaime mused, heading back indoors toward the main hall.
“I’m what you’d call a survivor, that’s why. I know when to quit a room. Speaking of which, that’s what’s happened to m’lady, isn’t it? She’s gone. You let her slip away, didn’t you?”
Jaime stopped dead in his tracks on their way down the stairs and pushed the fingertips of golden hand hard into Bronn’s sternum. He wears my patience thin, talking about her where anyone can hear.
“I don’t know why I’m here, truly – how it could be that I could spend more than half of my life in the Kingsguard only to be pushed out by Tommen and his power-hungry High Sparrow. If the Freys were so incompetent as to lose control of Riverrun, why should I have had to spend all of my time gathering our army and marching them here? I should be back in King’s Landing. Cersei needs me, and regardless of his opinion on the matter, so does Tommen. We will get back to King’s Landing, but I will not let you talk to me about Brienne of Tarth for the entirety of the ride. She made her choices, for good or for ill and she’s gone now.”
Bronn raised his eyebrows with doubt toward Jaime’s attempt at a disinterest and looked down at Jaime’s hand before removing it from his chest.
“Hmm. Not two minutes ago, you were about to slap another Frey with that golden hand of yours over her honor. You say she’s made her choices, but so have you. Her problem is that she’s like that old man Blackfish, and that’s just what bothers you. She is too damned noble, and you know it’ll get her killed. Maybe if she’d lighten up a little and get something she wants, she’d stay alive a little longer. And maybe if you were a little more noble like her, you could live with yourself.”
Jaime narrowed his eyes at Bronn. He treads dangerously.
“I saw his body, you know. I saw what becomes of sticking to your noble duties blindly. He cut down three of our men and injured two more before he died. All the other Tullys laid down their arms, but there’s this old goat swinging his blade about with a death wish. Tell me, Lord Jaime, how does walking into certain death make a man noble?”
Jaime’s thoughts immediately turned to Brienne. He knew that she and Podrick would rush to rejoin Sansa Stark in time for that damned battle, no matter how much he might wish them not to.
“Show me the Blackfish,” Jaime grumbled. “I’ll attend to Edmure Tully in the morning.”
##
Back in his tent, Jaime removed his armor piece by piece, settling them on their stand at the rear of the tent, his mind and his heart numb from the exertions of the day. The tent was quite chilly in his small clothes. The weather is turning, he thought grimly. Settling under his blankets and furs in bed, he shut his eyes to try and get sleep for the last few hours left before morning. She’s gone straight into the coming winter, he thought before he drifted off into his dreams. And I let her.
##
He was back at Harrenhal in his prisoner’s rags, being lead up the stairs by Bolton men with torches. Each step seemed leaden until he entered her small, cold, turret cell. As soon as the soldiers closed the door, it was as if chains had been removed from his ankles and the heat of a roaring fire had driven away any hint of chill. Brienne stood before him, but not in the blasphemy of a dress which she was forced to wear at Harrenhal. Instead, she wore the blue armor that he had gifted to her. She shone as though she were lit from within, radiant and beautiful.
“Jaime,” she whispered, before lowering her eyes to the ground.
Jaime stepped closer to her. “Yes, Brienne?”
When her eyes raised to his, he found that he could not look away from her studying gaze. It was as though she was looking for something within him, gently seeking, with her eyes only occasionally flitting elsewhere to rest on his parted mouth or his eyebrow. When he finally removed his eyes from studying hers, he looked down to see that Brienne was naked, but for the belt which kept Oathkeeper tied firmly to her hip. The belt changed before his eyes, at one moment leather and strong, the next moment shifting sinuously like a wet snake. It glistened as it wrapped itself lower along her hips until it graced her mound. He felt his heart beating fast. He licked his lips and his eyes traveled back to the sword which she grasped firmly in hand at her side, up to the gentle curve of her waist and pointed slopes of her breasts. She continued to watch him intently, but he felt that he could do nothing beyond staring back.
“My lady, are you cold?” he asked, stepping closer to her, reaching for what he thought was his Kingsguard white cloak. Instead, he found the Lannister cloak of red and gold. He was wearing his Lannister armor rather than the peasant rags he had been wearing. He unfastened the cloak, ready to cover her shoulders, when she turned away from him, and he saw her shudder with a sob. He wanted to comfort her more than anything.
She walked away from him then, and with her departure, the shadows in the corners of the turret cell spread. An inky black shroud over drew over everything in his vision aside from Brienne, creeping up his legs and higher until he felt that he was drowning in its darkness.
“Brienne…” he called out, desperate to reach her but finding her farther away. Until she no longer was away from him, but was in his arms, her naked body warm against his. They were in the baths at Harrenhal, only it wasn’t she who held him up this time, but it was he who supported her. He could see that she was ashamed to be so vulnerable, and he felt sad for it.
“Jaime,” she whispered to him, her breath ruffling his hair as he brought her into a closer embrace.
“I’m here Brienne. I’m yours. I will always be yours.”
##
Jaime’s eyes opened before his lips touched hers, even though in the dream their embrace felt so good and right. Groggy from the brevity of his rest, he draped his handless right arm over his eyes to block out the light for one more moment. His lips parted as he fought between ignoring the urges of his cock, stiff and pushing against his small clothes, versus his conscious insistence that the dream was inconsequential. It was just another one of those dreams. Dreams mean nothing.
His cock throbbed, insistent. He drew to mind an image of Cersei, but found that he could not settle on a memory. All of their but few liaisons since he’d been taken captive were rushed. They felt joyless, aside from the physical release. Desperate, almost. He tried again to bring up an image of Cersei, from her wedding night to Robert Baratheon, in which she swore her love to him. He began to work at his cock with his good hand, but before he could stop himself, he lost track of his remembrance of Cersei and his mind returned to the image of Brienne. Half-remembered and half-dreamed, he stroked himself harder as he imagined the feel of Brienne close to him, her breath upon his face.
Her body is so warm against mine, her arms sturdy enough to hold me, but gentle. A rivulet of water streams from her collarbone down her tiny breasts with their pebbled nipples against the cool air. The water runs down her chest, tracing a line until it drips off of the tip of her breast. This is wrong.
Jaime took his hand from his dick and stopped for a moment. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he fought within himself. Finally, the pulsing of his restless member became too much, and he spat into his hand before continuing.
I could but reach forward an inch and lap that water from her tit. I gently suck on her breast, dragging my tongue over soft skin in worship.
Jaime’s hand worked ever harder, gripping with determined thrusts of his hand up and down the shaft. He consciously turned his mind from the Harrenhal baths to another sight – of Brienne’s face as she beheld the suit of armor that Jaime commissioned for her.
I wanted to close the distance between us then. I remember feeling such warmth from her just in her reaction. She was unguarded. It would have been wrong for me to take advantage of her. But if I had… If I had just gone up and kissed that wench while she was unguarded, she wouldn’t say no. She’d have kissed me back, and not out of gratitude. She loved me then, I saw it. She’d have let me kiss her truly, as I’d wanted to in that moment. Gods, why didn’t I? I wanted her so badly, despite all of her naivete and her stubbornness. Because of it. I want her still, even though she’s been changed by her travels.
Jaime’s conscience pricked at him as he continued to gratify himself, as it once had when he and Cersei had progressed to actual fucking. He pushed those thoughts away and returned them to Brienne. Of her in the tent that morning, how close she stood to him finally, after their long dance about the table.
Her eyes. I did not turn from them as though looking into them for one second more would cause her to say what I need her to say aloud. I wished that she was not there to speak of politics with me. I wished that she would just call me Jaime.
She could remove her armor and rest from her oaths, and then I could rest from mine. We could lean against the table together rather than have it separate us. We could talk of those times when we were both covered in mud, traipsing together across Westeros. I’d lean into her and ask her for a kiss, and she’d let me. I’d start gentle, but I’d push her against the table and before she knew it her hands would be on me, seeking out my skin beneath my damned Lannister finery. I could find her skin, drawing her closer to me until we were both out of breath from wanting one another. I could tell her the truth, then. That I love her.
As Jaime imagined her taking her clothing off for him, her eyes bashful and embarrassed as she always was when he complimented her, he found that his fantasy was of a sudden too much for his starved cock to handle. He handled his body’s eruption with a slight chuckle at his almost teenage lack of control before being rudely brought back by Bronn’s voice.
“So, I’m guessing you were thinking about Lady Brienne, just now.”
“Gods, Bronn. How long have you been enjoying the sight of me?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Ser Jaime – you are disgustingly handsome – but I don’t go for lads. You know, it’s not as though there’s any other entertainment in this godforsaken place. If Podrick were still around, I could at least slap that kid around a bit more for fun, rather than catching the sight of you slapping your cock.”
“Right, well, let’s avoid that happening again, shall we?”
“No argument here, m’Lord. I’ve just come to see about what the next step is. The lads’re getting restless and the Freys are already annoying the shit out of them enough that I’ve already had to break up two fights this morn.”
Jaime sat up with a glance around the tent for some sort of cloth to wipe his hand on. He ended up rolling his eyes as Bronn tossed him a handkerchief soiled already with gods-knows-what already.
“I imagine you’ll be needing that,” Bronn smirked, reveling in Jaime’s embarrassment. “But no need to give it back. And don’t even think about shaking my hand.”
Jaime scornfully wiped at his hand and sighed. He truly had no one. He could barely count on Bronn – it just took one better offer for that man to switch sides – and yet, here he was.
“Would you say that the men are spoiling for a fight, given that we ended the siege so quietly last night?”
“Without a doubt. If they were smarter, they’d just be glad that few of them died for this foolish job. They’re not all that smart, though. Why?”
Jaime sighed heavily. His mind turned to Cersei then, in King’s Landing. She doesn’t even think that she needs me, and I’m no longer in the Kingsguard, so what good am I? She has that foul creature to protect her. He may be a beast, but at least he has the use of both of his hands. Brienne, on the other hand… She is fierce, capable. She is strong and a better fighter than most. But, she’s doomed. If Sansa goes forward with their suicide mission to fight the Boltons to win back Winterfell, they’re both as good as dead. Don’t fool yourself. What can you do that does not result in you turning your house against the crown?
“Tell me you’re not thinking of taking your men to face the Sept.”
I cannot let the wench die like this. I cannot live knowing that she died with those damned Starks, and with her any hope that I have at reclaiming my honor. I have a choice.
“I’m afraid that it’s a bit worse than that. Order the men to decamp. I’ll deal with Lord Edmure and send a raven to King’s Landing.”
“Aye, but where shall I tell the lads we’re headed?”
“North. To Winterfell."