Chapter Text
Jaime followed the servant through the halls of Harrenhal, the boy keeping his distance while they walked. At first, Jaime thought he was terrified of him, perhaps expecting the Kingslayer to lash out and choke him with his bare hand in a fit of rage after the loss of the other. As if he had the strength and mind to do so. Now, he knew it was the revolting stench emitting from his own skin and rags that turned the servant away. The bloodied, ugly stump was no better of a sight as Jaime kept it hovering upright against his chest.
When the boy gave him a glance, Jaime managed a ruthless smile. The servant looked away, and hastened his steps as they entered the bathhouse.
But they weren’t alone, much to Jaime’s dismay. Especially when he recognized the short blonde mess of hair peeking up over the lip of one of the tubs.
Jaime shuffled near the edge of the tub, lowering his head with an arrogant smile gracing his face, hidden by his overgrown hair. “Not so hard. You'll scrub the skin off.”
He heard the sudden movement of water, and felt more than saw Brienne’s stare seering through the layer of grime covering his skin as she demanded, “What are you doing here?”
“I need a bath,” Jaime muttered in exasperation, and announced to the servant, “Help me out of these rags.” He began to step out of his boots, the wasted leather peeling off like shedded skin. He felt hands behind his back, pulling off the rags with a slow precision over his head. The boy was at least mindful of his maimed hand, yet Jaime snapped, “Now get out.”
As the servant left, Jaime began to unlace the rest of his clothes, letting the ruined drapes fall at his feet. He glanced at the empty tub, then to Brienne’s, the owner of which was trying her best to ignore his presence.
With a slow approach, Jaime began towards her tub.
Brienne startled, exclaiming, “There's another tub!” She lurched towards a corner of the tub, placing her scrubber down upon the lip of the bath. Despite the act, Jaime understood that she was distancing herself from him and not just disposing of the cleaning instrument.
“This one suits me fine,” Jaime remarked proudly and began to lower himself into the bath, much to the wench’s chagrin. Once he was finished with basking in the heat, he noticed the way she was cowering, her arms wrapped around her knees in a fetal position and her head ducked between them. Ire pricked his chest. Was she that daft to believe that he’d save her from rape only days ago, and then force himself upon her later? Ah, but I’m the Kingslayer, Jaime reminded himself dully. I am the worst of the worst.
Exasperated, he reassured her, “Don't worry. I'm not interested.” His muscles began to relax, massaged by the rippling heat of the water. Jaime sighed. “If I faint, pull me out. I don't intend to be the first Lannister to die in a bathtub.”
“Why should I care how you die?” Brienne grunted quietly, peering at him now.
Jaime looked at her pointedly through the open curtain of his dirt-crusted hair. “You swore a solemn vow, remember? You are supposed to get me to King's Landing in one piece.” His stump raised above the water just a little bit more, his tone turning scornful. “Not going so well, is it?” Suddenly, he couldn’t stop himself from raving about her blunders, “No wonder Renly died with you guarding him—”
Brienne launched to her feet, sending water rippling Jaime’s way in a furious wave. Shocked, Jaime lifted his head, his mouth clamped shut by the wench’s withering stare. His gaze lowered from her face, to her breasts, and further down, and that’s where something caught his eye.
To the right of Brienne’s blonde mound, above her hip bone, was a small sword akin to the one beneath the bandages of his wrist. Jaime was suddenly overwhelmed with shame and self-loathing for himself, not because of her, but… He was her soulmate, and she was his. And he’d just mocked her, and… This entire time, he’d been wanting to get back to Cersei. He still wanted to get back to Cersei. And Aerys…
Aerys.
Jaime understood immediately that he didn’t deserve her, this woman who had demanded that he, the Kingslayer, must live. Aside from the million other reasons.
Slowly, Jaime came out of his stupor. He lowered his gaze from her altogether. “That was unworthy. Forgive me. You protected me better than most…”
“Don't you mock me.”
“I'm apologizing. ” Jaime couldn’t help but look back up at her face, yet he still avoided everywhere else. Especially the mark of soulmates. “I'm sick of fighting. Let's call a truce.”
“You need trust to have a truce.”
“I trust you.” Jaime felt it, deep in his bones, that he could. Mark or no mark.
Brienne sat back down, her movements gentler this time, and looked at Jaime loathingly.
“There it is.” Jaime tilted his head back, his eyes slitting through the fog of the bath’s steam. He suddenly couldn’t bear it, that look. Not from her. “There's the look. I've seen it for seventeen years on face after face. You all despise me. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. A man without honor. You've heard of wildfire?”
“Of course.” Brienne was looking at him skeptically now as if he’d just told her that they were soulmates. As if he could ever tell her.
Instead, for once in all his life, Jaime told her about Aerys.