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It is late in the day when he sees the patrol. Jaime holds up his hands as they come closer, relief flooding his veins. Look at the gold. I am your commander.
He has never been so grateful for his golden hand; an unquestionable form of identification now, when he is so dirty and dishevelled as to be almost unrecognisable.
“It is I, Lord Lannister. We need to get this woman to camp, now” Jaime tries to remember how to sound authoritative, but his energy is ebbing fast. His own voice commanding these men as if no time had passed sounds strange in his ears, and he is running out of time.
“Welcome back Lord Commander” nods the unfamiliar soldier in charge of the patrol, as if the situation is nothing out of the ordinary. “We will escort you to safety, follow us”. The patrol soldiers form a guard of honour either side of Jaime’s horse, the poor beast flagging now from carrying them both.
The patrol leads Jaime through the forest a short distance, and straight to the Maester’s tent, on the scrubby outskirts of the Lannister army’s campground.
A Maester’s assistant looks up as they approach, taking in the unusual sight of the Lord Commander caked in filth and holding another armoured body atop his horse, accompanied by several soldiers.
“I need help here!” Jaime spits, easing himself down from the horse without letting go of Brienne’s prone weight. The assistant rushes to Jaime’s aid, calling for a stretcher.
“She needs urgent care. She has many injuries she has not fully recovered from. Please help her”.
The Maester’s assistant looks at Jaime peculiarly as they lay Brienne gently down. “Of course Lord Commander.” And then rather more pointedly “Who is this woman, my Lord?”
Jaime checks his tone, adding a clipped note of arrogance that he knows will mask his true concern. “She’s highborn, of Tarth. Her father will thank you to save his only heir.” That is not the answer.
I want to stay with her. But Jaime knows that would raise eyebrows. “I will be back to check on her progress later” he says, hoping this sounds suitably non-committal.
Jaime strides quickly through the campground, looking for his tent. The camp has moved since he left it, but he knows roughly where the Lord Commander’s tent should be, in relation to the others. As the tents in rows become bigger and grander, a familiar voice cries out “Lord Commander! You have returned to us”.
Addam. Jaime looks at his friend with relief. It is an age since he last saw his face.
Addam comes closer and embraces him in greeting. “Where have you been Jaime? One of the patrols reported you left with a woman on horseback a fortnight ago. The camp has been in chaos”.
Jaime feels his back straighten. “Yes. Brienne of Tarth. She needed my assistance”.
“Assistance? The Lord Commander of the Lannister army disappeared and didn’t tell anyone where he was going. You will need to come up with a better response than that”.
Jaime feels his exhaustion catching up with him, and looks at his friend with pleading eyes. “Can we go inside? I could use a wash, and a meal. We can talk more freely”.
Addam collars a nearby squire - “bring food and wine to the Lord Commander’s tent, as well as hot water for a bath”. To Jaime he says “This way. Things should be as you left them I believe”.
At the familiar entrance Jaime gestures Addam inside and follows behind. “I don’t have long, I need to get back to check on her”.
Jaime’s eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the bright Lannister colours of the tent’s interior, having become used to the natural surroundings of the forest and the muted tones of the Quiet Isle.
Addam looks at him again, more softly this time. “Jaime. Who is Brienne of Tarth? How can she make you abandon your post so suddenly?”
“She is … upholding a quest. For my honour. I could not let her go alone into danger”. That is not the answer either.
“Your honour?”
“Catelyn Stark made me promise to send her daughters home safe from Kings Landing. After the red wedding, I sent Brienne to find them.”
“You sent a woman on this quest? Alone?”
Jaime’s chest swells with pride. “She is no ordinary woman Addam, she is the finest fighter you will ever see. I gave her a sword of Valyrian steel, and…”
They are interrupted by the squire returning, laden with food, and a trail of maids carrying steaming buckets to fill the metal tub that sits in front of the fireplace.
Jaime doesn’t know whether to bathe or eat. He is filthy, and famished. He decides on both at once, positioning a tray of cold meat and fruit on a stool near the bath so he can reach it as he washes himself briskly.
Addam’s face transforms from confusion into a picture of concern, and he drops his voice so as not to be overheard. “You need to take care Jaime. Your sister is aware of the circumstances of your disappearance. She sent me here to command in your absence and find out what was happening. There will be more questions now you have returned with your…companion”.
My sister. Jaime feels gooseflesh prick his skin in the rapidly cooling water.
“The w...Lady Tarth is injured, Addam. Gravely. What else could I do?”
Addam shakes his head. “Just be careful my friend. For both your sakes”.
Addam makes his exit, leaving Jaime to finish his ablutions. I don’t have time for these cryptic conversations. He climbs out of the bathtub and dries himself on a rough blanket, rooting in drawers for something fresh to wear.
As he dresses in clean breeches and a loose shirt, his mind is filled with the image of Brienne, when he first saw her again at Pennytree. She had ridden in with the patrol and the look of her had been cause to make his heart stop.
Her face was bandaged, and she had looked gaunt, red welts marking her pale neck. He hadn’t even blinked before he had gone to her side.
I suppose it does look mighty strange. I need to think of a satisfactory way to explain it.
Jaime rubs his face with his left hand and combs the fingers through his damp hair. Later. I need to go to Brienne.
Jaime heads back across the campground towards the Maester’s tent. Dusk has drawn in while he has been inside, and there is a flurry of activity as torches are lighted against the coming night. He finds Brienne in a corner laid out on a low cot, being tended by the age worn Maester and a young assistant.
She is still unconscious, and her armour has been removed. Her shirt and breeches have been peeled away to reveal her many wounds, and the bandage has been removed from her cheek revealing the angry pus-crusted bite.
She looks so much smaller out of her armour, vulnerable, like a turtle that has been forced out of its shell.
“How is she, Maester?” asks Jaime, trying to make his voice sound even.
“She has a lot of fresh cuts and bruises Lord Commander. Her broken arm and ribs are old injuries that have not been allowed to heal; and the bite on her face is infected. If a rib moves to pierce her lung, or if the infection spreads, it will kill her.”
Jaime feels like he is living the past sennight over again. The brothers of the Quiet Isle had themselves told him only days ago that she would most likely die despite their efforts.
“What can you do Maester?”
“I have treated her surface wounds and given her milk of the poppy. Now we wait. If she survives the night, there is hope”.
Jaime, caring nought for what looks proper now, drags a nearby chair to the side of the cot. “I will stay with her.” The Maester gives him a sideways glance but nods his head in assent. “As my Lord wishes”. He leaves them alone in their darkening corner of the large tent, busying himself lighting candles while talking to his assistant in a low voice.
“I am here again wench” says Jaime, so softly.
Brienne doesn’t move on the narrow cot. Jaime takes a cool wet cloth into his good hand and lays it gently onto her hot forehead. Little strands of damp hair are clinging to her deathly pale skin. He watches her breath come quickly in a tight rhythm.
Brienne. Not again. Jaime wonders over how much time he has spent sitting at her bedside this past sennight. How many times in my life will I have to sit waiting for the wench to die?
He had taken her to the Quiet Isle after their encounter with Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood.
But she had already been suffering the same symptoms of old injuries and infection on their journey from Pennytree, where she had lured him away from his camp with talk of Sansa and the Hound.
Their journey had been short, a couple of days at most. Brienne had been unusually quiet, even for her, and preoccupied. She hadn’t wanted to meet his eye no matter how hard he had tried to catch her gaze.
He had been curious about the bandage on her face, and the origin of the recognisable rope burns on her neck that signalled she had been in more serious trouble than she would admit to.
She had refused to answer his questions and would not let him see the wound on her cheek, even to change the dressing. But he had seen her flinch every time she mounted her horse, and knew she was in pain.
When they had reached the Brotherhood’s cave, Jaime had realised with a cold dread that Brienne had lied to him about the purpose of their journey. Confusion and sorrow had wrapped around his heart like thick blankets trying to smother the embers of a fire.
Brienne was the one person in all the world who he believed would never lie to him.
But in that moment of despair he had also realised that he knew her, and trusted her, deeply and completely. Whatever was happening, he trusted her. If Brienne has betrayed me it is because she had no choice.
So when Lady Stoneheart had been revealed, in all her visceral glory, Jaime had understood. Brienne is beholden to this creature who has been her liege Lady. She means to try to keep her oaths.
And when Brienne asked after a boy and a knight she had left behind, it was clear she had tried to make some bargain to save them. Always trying to save everyone else wench. Well this time there is someone to save you.
His heart aflame once more, Jaime had struck out at Lady Stoneheart, and a short but fierce battle had ensued. In the end Jaime had cleaved the monster’s head from its body, and between them he and Brienne had finished the Brotherhood men who had been its followers.
Together they had stood over Lady Stoneheart’s fallen body in silence. I won’t let you become me Brienne. My oaths are already broken.
Brienne had been desperate to rescue the boy Podrick and Ser Hyle, and became completely distraught when they discovered she had been too late to prevent their deaths. They had found them on the edge of the clearing, hanged not long before they had arrived at Jaime’s guess.
When she had cut them down, Brienne had fallen to her knees and sobbed over Podrick’s body. After that her symptoms had worsened quickly, as if her body had finally given up fighting.
Jaime knew he had to get her to safety before she was unable to ride. So together they set out for the Quiet Isle, Brienne’s acquiescence to his plan all the more worrying.
When the two of them had arrived at the modest jetty that signalled the landing location of the Quiet Isle’s small vessel, he had been greeted warily – his golden hand instantly recognisable as a sign of trouble.
The fact that he was carrying a woman, in armour, and heavily injured, was even more suspect.
“Who is this woman, Kingslayer, and how do you come to be travelling with her?” asked the brother as he took Brienne into the creaking boat. Now that is a question. Jaime’s inability to answer it to the brother’s satisfaction did nothing to quell suspicions of his motives.
Once safely arrived on the Quiet Isle, the elder brother had told Jaime that Brienne had already been in their care, but had not allowed herself time to heal before setting off on her quest again. She might not survive the night, her injuries and the infection as great as they were.
Jaime had been stricken. Running a high fever, Brienne had called out his name in her delirium.
As he had instinctively moved to sit by her bed, the elder brother had told him he was not allowed to stay with her. The rules of the Quiet Isle didn’t permit a man to stay with an unmarried woman.
“Marry us then.” Jaime had said without a thought. “I cannot leave her to die alone.”
So. The elder brother had performed the most basic of ceremonies, merely a formality to enable the precious rules of his isle to be adhered to. So Jaime could stay with his dying friend.
Is that what it was? An act of kindness for a friend? Guilt for the injuries she had received following a quest for my honour?
By candlelight, Jaime moistened a small sponge in a bowl of cold water, and raised it to Brienne’s dry lips; the same as he had for long nights after they had been married.
When she had awakened on the Quiet Isle against all the odds, they had fought; she was impatient to continue toward the Eyrie, searching for Sansa. But it was too soon. She was so exhausted. He had begged her to wait until she was stronger.
But Brienne, stubborn as ever, insisted there was no time to lose. “At least let me come with you then. I cannot let you go off weakened and alone. It is my oath as well as yours”. Brienne couldn’t argue with that and he knew it.
He had not told her about the marriage; he hadn’t dared to think himself yet what it meant, or what might happen now. Getting through each day at a time, that was all that mattered now, keeping Brienne safe. She is in this state because of me.
The elder brother had pulled Jaime aside as Brienne climbed aboard the craft which would take them back across the water. “You must protect her Ser Jaime. She is still very ill. You must make sure she rests, does not ride too hard, and does no fighting until her broken bones are healed”.
Has this man met the wench? Jaime knew his chance of getting Brienne to do any of these things was slim.
But he felt his burden of care deeply and had promised the elder brother he would do the best he could. The holy man who had regarded him with loathing to begin with had looked at him with something akin to pride. “I know you will”.
But she had weakened again so quickly, and fallen from her horse two days ride from the Quiet Isle.
Jaime had made an impulsive decision to bring her to the Lannister camp – it was the only thing he could think of to do. He wasn’t sure they would be in the exact same place he had left them, but if he rode in that direction he hoped a patrol would spot them. It should be only a couple of hours ride away from where she had fallen.
Fighting to get Brienne up onto his horse with only one hand, Jaime had felt himself starting to panic. Please Brienne, get on the horse. I can’t just sit here and watch you die. Somehow he had got her up with him and had ridden as hard as he dared.
He had thought he was saving her. But now it turned out he had potentially put her in danger in a different way. Cersei. It seemed no matter the choices he made now, he was unable to keep Brienne safe.
Jaime looked into Brienne’s face in the flickering candlelight, scarred, cut and bruised. The shadows picked out the contours of the bite on her cheek, the muscle tissue visible beneath the corrupted skin without her bandage to hide it.
Who is she to me? How can I answer that question?
Since their time together in the Riverlands, Brienne had always held a part of him. For some reason he had confessed his deepest secrets to her, and for some reason she had listened and believed him. That had changed everything.
He had never been able to trust anyone before. Never had another person cared about his wellbeing without ulterior motive. Certainly not Cersei. She had never come to him unless she wanted something in return. But even from those early days Brienne had been different.
He had dreamed of her before he had gone back to Harrenhal to rescue her from the bearpit. Back then she had been his captor, and then his protector.
When he had sent her away from King’s Landing, he had longed to go with her. Why? To fulfil his oath? Because she held his honour. And something more.
Jaime recalled his encounter with Ronnet Connington at Harrenhal, the painfully cruel words the man had spoken of Brienne and his own automatic reaction to defend her. Defending a Lady’s honour is not so unusual, is it? But if he was honest now he knew the act had awoken something inside of him.
Later when he had seen her at Pennytree, his first thought had been for her welfare. He had not realised how much he had been thinking of Brienne until he saw her again. How much he had missed her.
It had been like seeing a part of himself again, something he had thought lost forever. How could they be so inextricably linked now? When had this begun?
Jaime had spent so much time at the start of their journey to King’s Landing thinking they were so different, that he hadn’t noticed this changing. The wench brought something out in him that he could be proud of; she trusted him and believed he was honourable. He wanted to be honourable when he was around her. And he was.
Jaime shifts uncomfortably on his hard chair and notices the candles have almost burned themselves out. How long have I been here? I don’t even know the hour.
Brienne’s breath has slowed, and the sheen of fever on her skin has dried. Thank the gods. Jaime takes Brienne’s warm fingers into his own cold hand. My wife. My Brienne.
Jaime’s life is so complicated. But this suddenly seems so clear, like a flaming beacon in the darkest night. For a moment its brightness makes the hard truths of family, duty, and war fade into shadow. If my life were simple, I would stay with her always.
“Please live Brienne.” Jaime closes his eyes and leans down to rest his forehead against Brienne’s. I am hers and she is mine. “I have made an oath to you wench. You are my duty now.” From this day until the end of my days. He presses a gentle kiss to her parched lips.
Jaime strokes Brienne’s hair and rests back into his chair, never tearing his eyes from her face. The candles complete their transformation into waxy puddles.
As the first blush of dawn creeps across the tent’s white walls, Brienne opens her eyes. “Jaime” she says in a whisper. He smiles.