Chapter Text
Jaime was sure his cell was more comfortable than either Brienne’s or…his sisters had been but it was still a cell nonetheless, with bars on the window and a stout lock on the door. And despite the relative comfort of the bed and the room he’d only slept a little, restlessly, and had woken before the dawn.
Cersei was dead, his golden twin, dead by his hand.
There would be a trial of course, but no one would claim his innocence, least of all him. When they’d found him standing over the dead king he had not denied that he slew him and when the Kingsguard had burst into his sisters chambers to find him with her corpse beside him he had not denied it either.
There was always the possibility of a trial by combat, though he wasn’t going to pretend it would be anything more than going out with one last show of defiance. Death had never scared him and it would be a clean death as well, it was something he would welcome. After all, he’d wanted his entire life to find something that was worth dying honourably for, Brienne would be as good as anything else.
And it would be a fine thing to die with a sword in my hand.
It was a foolish thought to have though and after only a moment Jaime pushed it away. If he elected to face a trial by combat then he would be made a laughing stock, a once-great Lord Commander who could now barely hold a sword to defend himself. People would wonder how he even managed to over-power a woman like Cersei. To die with the laughter of the crowds ringing in his ears would be too much.
That left the Night’s Watch, to take the Black and live out his days shivering and cursing on the wall. Perhaps the death would be better…
If I die, Cersei will be waiting for me.
The thought caught him by surprise and tears welled in his eyes, unbidden. He felt suddenly dizzied, dazed like he’d taken a blow to the head in a melee.
No, no I will not weep for her.
There was a rattle of keys and his door was opened. His uncle made his way inside looking, unsurprisingly, rather distressed.
“Jaime.”
“Uncle Kevan.”
His uncle’s expression was one of weary disappointment, as if he had found Jaime avoiding his lessons or teasing the Lions at the Rock rather than having been locked away for murdering his sister. As if this was just the last in the line of disappointments that had haunted Jaime’s life.
He hated that look.
“You are accused of kinslaying, and more, of regicide…of slaying the Queen Regent.”
“Accused? You mean there is doubt, Uncle? If so, allow me to remove it. I wrapped my hands-“ he held up both, gold and flesh “-around her throat and held them there until she ceased to breath.”
“Jaime-“ Kevan looked tired, exasperated.
“By all accounts you should be thanking me.”
“Your father is dead, your nephew is dead and your brother is wanted for slaying them. Now you kill your sister.”
And does anyone mourn them? My father was a tyrant, if you listen to some, my son a cruel idiot and my sister was the greatest fool of them all.
“Yes, the legacy of the Lannisters- death, cruelty and idiocy. My father would be so proud.”
Uncle Kevan stared at him for a long moment, tired eyes searching his face for something. Then he said “Take the Black, Jaime.”
Jaime smiled, a sardonic little smile “What other choice do I have?”
His uncle sighed, a man with the weight of the entire Seven Kingdoms on his shoulders “None”
He supposed he would say the words, seal his fate as soon-to-be Brother to sworn thieves and murders. Then again they might be preferable to likes of Ser Boros Blount and the bloody Kettleblacks “I will take the Black”
There was a rather resigned sadness on his uncle’s face as he turned away. Jaime found himself wondering how the man would fare shouldering the burden he’d been left with, if he could salvage the Lannister family name from the mire of madness and brutal ends it had slipped into.
Ser Kevan paused by the door, looking back at him for a moment “Brienne of Tarth has woken.”
Brienne had the windows in her borrowed chambers flung wide open and a sharp breeze was blowing in from off the sea, chilling the air, ruffling both her hair and the bedsheets lightly. Remembering his own experience of being shut away in a black pit of a cell, he understood her reasons even if her septas were like as not to throw a fit.
I was half-drunk on sunlight and sweet air when Lady Stark first released me.
“My lady, it’s good to see you’re awake.”
The squire at her bedside scrambled to his feet and belatedly he realised it was the boy that had accompanied Lord Selwyn. He nodded to him, grateful when the boy retreated to the door without being asked.
Her confinement had done nothing to improve the wench’s looks, that was certain, though she perhaps looked a little less like a corpse than she had the previous day. Her shoulders and chest were swathed in bandages and he imagined under her baggy nightshirt the rest of her was the same. Qyburn and his sister had apparently made sure there was little of her left untouched.
“I thought I had dreamt you…in the tower”
It was rather difficult to make out her voice over the sound of the wind, it was still cracked and barely more than a whisper. Jaime decided to seat himself on the edge of her bed, that way he might actually have a chance at hearing her. He tried not to let his chains dirty the white of the linens. They were foolish anyway, if he took off his golden hand he could escape them easily but it was the look of the thing of course. Couldn’t have the man who slew the Queen Regent walking around without chains. He saw Brienne notice them, saw the perpetual frown on her face deepen at the sight.
“When we first met, I came to you like this” He held up his hands, chains rattling “I seem to find myself in chains more often than not lately”
The wench still had a look of dull confusion on her face “Why are you chained? Because you freed me?”
“No, my crime is a bit more serious than that.”
I killed Cersei, I killed my beautiful golden fool of a twin because she betrayed me, because she hurt you to hurt me, because it’s my fault this was done to you.
He couldn’t force the words from his tongue.
“Your sister…” Her eyes widened as she searched his face, realisation dawning in them. The wench knows me too well.
There was such a lot of compassion in those big blue eyes then that he felt a spark of irrational anger. Why should she pity him? She would not be this broken wreck of a woman if it was not for him, not for his golden fool of a sister. Brienne of Tarth should be cursing the gods for the day she met him, not staring at him with those eyes.
They really were her only beauty.
“She’s dead?”
Her words were soft, almost awed. Oddly, it made it difficult to draw breath and he wondered for a moment if he would have another dizzy spell, maybe fall to his knees before her bedside.
“I am to exchange my white cloak for a black one. I go North in the morning.”
After a long moment she nodded, just the smallest movement of her head.
He realised, aching and bitter, that they really had very little to say to each other. So instead of talking, he leant down and kissed her, a simple press of skin on skin. Her lips were unexpectedly soft and yielding against his. Gods, she’s going to be the last woman I ever kiss…no women at the Wall.
When he pulled back, Jaime saw her face was made even more homely by the look of surprise.
“Why did you do that?”
Why indeed…what possessed me? There had been little thought behind the action, merely that in that moment it had been better than seeing the sentiment shining in her eyes.
“Have you not heard? We are a ballad for minstrels to butcher in taverns, a love tale told for maids to sigh over while they do needlework...and what kind of ballad ends without a kiss?”
“Jaime…”
His Uncle appeared at the door, Brienne’s trusty squire scrambling to this feet to admit him. So his time was done apparently and it was away to the Wall with him, shipped off to dwindle into obscurity in that great frozen wasteland.
He stood, grateful that the wench didn’t say anything more. Rather than turn and say his goodbyes, he gave instruction to his uncle.
“She can stay here until she is well enough to go to Tarth and give her Oathkeeper if you please, the sword is hers by right.”
“I won’t go to Tarth.”
They both looked over to the bed where she was struggling upright. Her squire sprang to his feet to assist her. There was determination shining in her ugly face now. There, that’s the same stubborn wench I remember.
“I have yet to fulfil my oath, I need to find Sansa Stark…”
Brienne met his eyes and the smile that she gave him was small, barely there but it still felt like a triumph.
“The Wall seems like a good place to start.”