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A wave. Brienne waved back. She was safe, along with Podrick, rowing down the stream.
He breathed deeper while they drifted further and further. He managed to seize Riverrun without bloodshed, not counting the stubborn Blackfish, of course. Surrendering Edmure remained a heavy gamble, but it paid off well. Brienne would be proud of him, he hoped. Jaime, on the other hand, thought her foolish for even arriving. She remained lucky none of his soldiers or the Freys arrested her or harmed her.
As the small boat floated on, Jaime wondered when he would see Brienne again, or if he would at all. Why do I bother? Many other concerns bothered him before Riverrun: his father’s death, the sparrows, Tommen. Jaime didn’t want to lead the Lannister army, despite being Lannister’s heir and no longer in the Kingsguard. Jaime wanted to protect Cersei during her trial, and she sent him away. I forgot about you, just for a moment. Instead, Brienne flooded his mind ever since she stomped out of his tent. They way she looked at him... All night he expected to discover her captured or killed. It wounded him to admit he worried about the damn woman.
He didn’t want to fight Brienne. He didn’t want to fight the one person who saw honor in him. Never in his life did he feel so compelled to protect someone who wasn’t related to him. Even so, Jaime found no noble way to guard her, except giving her sword and armor. She almost didn’t need his help. His heart ached, confused at the odd devotion he felt towards her. It made no sense. If Brienne was stubborn and stupid enough to defend the Blackfish, maybe she deserved to die at his army’s hand. I could do it, just as I almost did. When he had two hands, he refused to believe Brienne got the better of him in the fight on the bridge. How different his life would have been if he dealt a killing blow to the Maid of Tarth. Jaime felt an unknown and lonely sensation swarm around him.
The thought vanished from his mind as a bright light flickered through the pine trees ahead. Daybreak, to be sure, but it seemed a bit early for that. Jaime tightened his eyes, noticing a point of light dancing across the forest.
Soldiers. Shouts. Jaime felt his stomach plummet to the ground as he realized Lannister guards running towards the stream, shouting about the escaped boat. He needed to stop them— immediately.
Jaime considered commanding them from above, but no one would hear him. He whirled to the right, lugging his heavy metal hand beside his waist. The soldier at the archway noticed Jaime’s intense concern and asked, “Should I order more guards to assist you, Ser?”
“No.”
The guard blinked, surprised at his answer. Just a woman, Jaime considered explaining, but Brienne deserved more credit and less suspicion.
Jaime rushed through the castle, ordering everyone to leave him alone and hold back. When he exited the castle, he thanked the Gods for two good feet. He found the nearest saddled horse and mounted, kicking the steed towards the brightening sky. He clutched the reins in his one good fist, trusting the unknown chestnut horse to leap and dodge all fallen logs, stones and trees in their way. Jaime could barely see, with the exception of blinking silver far in front of him.
Jaime pulled ahead, noticing an open trench and a dozen or so Lannister men surrounding defensive Brienne on land. A couple men lay on the ground, groaning and writhing. The conflict remained at a physical standstill while Lannister men taunted and doubted her strength. Nearby, a frightened Podrick tried to reassemble their collapsed boat next to the stream. The wood fragmented into dozens of pieces in his hands, like crumbling autumn leaves. Podrick would have better luck moving mountains.
Annoyed at her squire’s lack of help, Jaime dismounted his horse and stepped to the edge of the river. While stepping on a branch and hearing its crunch, the horse spooked and galloped away. Jaime cursed to himself, knowing a horse remained a critical advantage for him. Just another advantage he no longer had. The commotion caught Podrick’s attention, assuaged to see Jaime’s face instead of another Lannister soldier.
“S- Ser.”
“Go to this side of the castle and fetch two horses,” Jaime said.
Podrick sent him a questioning look.
“Or you can wait for Lady Brienne to give orders, but she appears a bit busy at the moment.”
Podrick swallowed and gave a curt nod, stumbling up the small, muddy river bank. You’re even more naive than Brienne. Podrick and Brienne had no chance to escape on foot, let alone on a destroyed boat.
Jaime rested his left hand on his sword hilt above his right hip as he walked up the small slope to see Brienne swinging Oathkeeper against one of his men. Jaime opened his mouth to give orders, but his quick witted mind drew a rare blank. Capturing her as a prisoner would complicate everything. The Freys remained unpredictable, and Cersei disliked the woman. Telling his men to leave her alone would be foolish, considering Brienne acted against them. The sensitive Freys would throw a fit over Jaime protecting an enemy, or worse. These soldiers thirsted for glory after such a bloodless siege.
As Jaime walked forward, several men transition their laughter to silence as Brienne thrust her sword at an angle, sliding beside a man’s spaulder and carving into his lung and neck. A grizzly sight. Brienne hadn’t noticed Jaime yet, and he thought that was for the better. Jaime winced. Blood drenched Oathkeeper while Brienne drew back into her set point. First blood.
She gave him little choice but to join in, to protect her or kill her, he wasn’t sure. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. And it did. Jaime pulled out his sword, feeling his right hand twitch, as if he still possessed it. His heart hammered as another soldier charged forward, allowing Brienne to slice open his knee. She forced him to kneel. The man cried out in pain while she whirled around, onto the next foe.
“It’s just a woman,” said the closest soldier to Jaime, no terror in his voice. Pursing his lips together in a fine line, Jaime held his tongue, tempted to fight the loyal man who swore to defend his house. No honor would remain, he feared, if he spoke. Jaime couldn’t betray Lannisters.
Brienne erupted in roars, and no man laughed. Several soldiers rushed forward, swarming the maid as she eluded their assaults. Do you plan to fight the entire Lannister army by yourself? Jaime twisted his awkward blade to a defensive position, brooding closer towards the melee.
“Yield,” Jaime commanded to Brienne.
She inhaled a short breath, and she sent him a relentless scowl while her eyes met his. He noticed her pause and blink as Jaime glowered back. She couldn’t win this alive.
“Yield,” he said, softer, as if he almost yielded himself.
Her lips quivered, just as he remembered them shivering before she left his tent. The way she looked at him…
A man struck her arm, bruising and distracting her while Jaime felt helpless and conflicted. Throw down the sword and yield. She didn’t. Brienne turned, ravaging the man with Oathkeeper until his blood soaked into the ground beneath her feet. She continued to kill Jaime’s soldiers, and it began to anger him.
Brienne stood her ground as she parried blows, blades kissing blades. A man rushed towards her back with a sword ready to slice and thrust, but Jaime leapt forward, colliding with the soldier in order to protect Brienne. The man stumbled backwards, displacing dead leaves as he landed in the dirt. Jaime watched a moment too long. Brienne’s elbow smashed against his cheek, reverberating his entire body backwards a few steps. His face stung.
“I shall go get help,” a soldier said.
“No,” Jaime said.
The fallen soldier heaved, fear rampant. He mouthed wordless nonsense at something approaching the two of them— Brienne. Turning his head, Jaime felt Oathkeeper’s point aligned with his own throat, dripping with blood and heat from Lannister soldiers. Beyond the sharp blade, Brienne’s blue eyes glared down. If she hesitated to kill him, it would be a wasted opportunity. Jaime’s entire body tensed. Adapting, he reached his right, golden hand to grab the blade and thrust his family’s sword away from him. Beading in sweat and flushed, Brienne magnified the momentum and pivoted herself towards another oncoming soldier. They collided while Jaime glanced around, noticing half of his men writhing or dead on the ground. Brienne kicked a man into the trench.
By the time Jaime’s stiff body and armor came to standing, three more men lost to Brienne. She was winning. In awe, he watched her punish men’s underestimation and impatience. She reminded Jaime of Arthur Dayne. In that moment, Jaime knew he lost, but refused to yield. What sort of commander inspired loyalty without risking his own life? He lunged forward, thrusting his sword towards Brienne in attempt to disable or disarm her. She anticipated him, far more skilled than him, parrying his attack while she looked down on him, disheartened. If she meant to shame him, she achieved that effect. Jaime stood close enough to almost see the bear claw scars on her neck, giving him pause. Brienne bravely leapt forward, pushing Jaime backwards as their swords sang together.
Embarrassed while his men watched, Jaime growled and reset, angling his blade for another chance. She toyed with him. Another soldier engaged her, managing to knock her down to her knees. Seizing the moment, Jaime charged forward as he dropped his sword. Hastily, he slammed himself against the mountain of a woman, bringing them both down as the soldier released an imprecise thrust. Jaime toppled over Brienne while she squirmed underneath him.
“Throw down your sword. Now,” Jaime said to Brienne, glaring at her impassioned face. She ignored him. Brienne caught her breath for a moment, looking around him with impatient eyes, tossing and turning. With only a couple soldiers left, he felt compelled to save their lives. Jaime attempted to raise his metal hand up as an order for his soldiers to halt.
Brienne’s throat rumbled as she rolled Jaime over, barely missing a man’s sword stabbing into the ground. Pinned under her, Jaime twisted his body against hers while she imprisoned him. Her thick, heavy thighs straddled over him while she leaned back, swinging Oathkeeper and ducking under another swipe over her head. She bucked against him, fighting for her life while he couldn’t decide if he should moan or grimace at the pressure on his groin. Jaime closed his eyes, frustrated that his body betrayed him. He needed distance. By the time he pressed forward with his golden hand, she retreated, taking her inviting heat away from him.
With another man down, Jaime scrambled to his feet, half awkward from unintentional lust. He let out a sigh as he watched her finish off the last soldier. Then, she turned towards Jaime.
He held up his sword, shaking his head slowly. The drenched, shining Oathkeeper glimmered in the daybreak and she stalked towards him, fury evident in her face. Jaime opened his mouth, tempted to call out her name, but his courage floated away with the remaining night sky. Say something. Anything. After two retreated steps, Jaime stood his ground, blocking off his midsection with his sword. Brienne marched forward, lips quivering again as if she knew the meaning of conflict that came with oaths. He yearned to know which honor she held higher.
Brienne lunged forward, striking Jaime’s sword out of his weak grip. His mouth fell open and he looked down to make sure he still had all five of his fingers. By the time he looked up, one of her boots crashed down on his chest, plunging him backwards. He fell farther than he anticipated until his braced muscles collided with a firm surface. A thump. He would be sore for weaks— If he survived.
Jaime opened his eyes to see himself surrounded by a deep trench, supported by logs and surrounded by dirt. Looking at the brightening sky, something towered over him. Frantic, he reached for his dagger, not comprehending he needed to kill the one unrelated person he cared about. He twisted up as she came down, engulfing over him while the smell of sweat and blood seeped into his lungs. Jaime leaned his head back against the dirt. She cornered him. Jaime squinted his eyes against his old and new rival. She held Oathkeeper’s edge against his throat while Jaime’s left hand pressed the edge of the dagger at her side. He helped design her armor, and he knew just where to ram the blade.
Seconds passed, and the sun rose behind them. Brienne’s deep breaths bathed over him and he felt himself growing more mournful than heartless.
“Ser Jaime, I don’t want to kill you,” Brienne said through through gritted teeth.
“Then don’t,” Jaime said, unable to press his blade into her.
He lost himself in her eyes, which yielded to him. A flicker of hesitation. Jaime’s impatient tongue ran against the top of his mouth while he swallowed once, throat bobbing against the edge of her blade. He loosened his poor grip on his dagger. Brienne crumbled in front of him as she shut her eyes, sword trembling, albeit less than his heart.
Jaime inhaled, only then realizing he held his breath. His cautious, golden hand lifted, slipping the immobile metal thumb around her weapon he gifted her long ago. Even without a true right hand, he could still feel her tenderness as he guided the blade away from his throat. With care, he lifted the threat and tension away from them, although a new pressure built in its void. It’s yours. It will always be yours.
Blood congealed onto his metal hand while his left dropped the dagger, adding a dense thud to the sound of their tense breathing. For once, his left hand tingled, wondering what to do. Brienne’s eyes remained closed and conflicted, mirroring his exact emotions. He stared, searching and waiting for a snide remark or distasteful look. He acquired bitterness and revulsion from nearly everyone in Westeros, even his own father, sister and brother. When Brienne opened her eyes, he saw no animosity. No contempt. With her eyes swimming, he saw fragility. Forgiveness. He never witnessed anything as beautiful as her.
Jaime stretched towards her, closing his eyes as his lips covered hers. He expected her to bash his face in, ring her hand around his neck or knee him in the groin. She did no such thing. Brienne tensed under him, despite the fact that she stood taller and cornered him against the dirt. His hand found her side, touching the small heated and exposed undercloth his dagger pressed into moments before. She flinched, culminating in tautness before snapping, leaning into Jaime and kissing him back.
His tongue dragged across her lower lip, commanding her to give into him. She obliged, providing him with a faint flavor of dirt, followed by a distinct feminine taste. A stifled moan escaped him. Brienne whimpered. His hand departed her side, soon seizing her face while Jaime deepened the kiss. She allowed him, letting his confidence swell until she pushed him backwards, pinning him back against the wall. With the rough impact, he grunted, realizing her own illiteracy to passion. It incited him further. Years of unspoken tension between them flowed freely.
Brienne’s feverish hands ran over his armor, searching for heat or buckles to unclasp. Now? Here? Jaime remembered the bath, how she stood before him— Dripping. His cock stirred again at the thought. He clasped her cheek, not wanting to separate his one good hand from the only skin he could touch. Brienne yanked off her gloves, seeking out the metal gorget around his neck first. She'll walk out of this trench no longer a maiden. Jaime reached out with his stump arm, pulling her against him. In the crisp fall air, Jaime could feel the warmth of her upper thigh against his groin, even through thick layers. Blood pooled, swelled and boiled within him until he could think of nothing else but spilling himself inside of her. Bastards be damned. No power in Westeros could separate them.
"My Lady?! Ser?!" Jaime heard from far away, as loud as a whisper compared to his unmistakable pounding pulse reverberating through his ears.
Just as the sun illuminated the forest, reality settled in as they pulled away from each other. Jaime clenched his fist, seeking out Brienne with embarrassing and desperate eyes. Painted pink and swollen, her lips distracted him for just long enough to swipe his own tongue across his lips, tasting the remnants of her as she shouted out, "Podrick, over here." She gazed at Jaime with a rather sorrowful look.
Jaime swallowed, noting his returning mental clarity. This wasn't his first forbidden tryst or interruption. But it feels like the first… something. For a moment, he felt young again, almost like he had never kissed before.
Brienne's cheeks flushed as Podrick walked over. Jaime felt the string between them grow heavy as she climbed up the ladder. He offered his help, not by guiding her, but by handing her back her sword. It's yours, after all. Halfway up, she turned back to accept it, after a pause. Podrick nodded, earning a polite, single nod from Jaime. Solitude returned, except for one last look as Brienne glimpsed back into the trench. The doleful tug on her lips killed him far better than Oathkeeper ever could. Refusing to admit his anguish, Jaime simpered before Brienne walked away, out of sight. The sounds of her mounting the horse echoed through his mind, followed by the rhythm of cantering hooves. Jaime’s subtle grin faded away.
Contradicting the rising sun, dark shadows consumed him. He stood on Lannister land, caged like a captured lion. He was not a free man, or else he would follow Brienne. A deep breath escaped Jaime while tension rooted and grew within him. Someone coughed beside him, to his surprise.
Eyebrows angled and eyes narrow, Jaime sought out the dangerous source of the noise, soon noticing a single Lannister soldier beside him in the trench. His dirty outfit lacked any blood, but he showed no gratitude. Jaime could have seen his judging face from fields away. This man saw everything— Even their kiss. Jaime remained calm, unlike the spirited flocks of birds chirping and dancing in the trees above them.
Jaime resheathed his dagger and offered his left hand to help up the soldier, who accepted with a frown. Jaime allowed the man crawl out of the trench first. He surveyed the area above, noting his soldier’s slain across the forest floor. No one else survived.
The soldier adjusted his armor before starting to walk back, and Jaime followed. He wet his lips, hoping to taste Brienne one last time. Only memories would linger in his mind, fading away until maybe, someday, he would see her again.
Jaime scrambled to catch up with the nameless soldier, reaching his right arm around to constrict the man’s head while he lifted his dagger to slice his throat open. The man squirmed against him, falling limp after a few seconds. Innocent, to be sure, but dangerous.
Jaime cleaned the dagger on his boiled leather. While he stepped over the body in the direction of the castle, as if the ghosts could hear him, Jaime said, “The things I do for love.”