Chapter Text
Day 0
When he arrives, one of the first things he finds out is that the Hand of the King and his daughter aren't coming to the tourney along with the royal party. While most speculate it's because someone needs to stay in the capital, as Aerys suddenly decided to come, he has a feeling the reason is another entirely.
When Cersei told him she had 'the ear of the King' and could get him nominated for the Kingsguard, he was too enthralled to consider the consequences. First sons don't usually join the Kingsguard; the honor is usually sought by second and third sons, with little or nothing to inherit or call their own. The months spent with his brother led him to conclude Tyrion would be a better Lord of Casterly Rock than he could ever be, which cemented his decision, but, until now, he failed to consider their father's hatred for him. He must have been furious to learn his favorite son won't be his heir any longer, and this is likely why he's not coming.
But what about his sister? She is in the Red Keep to get Rhaegar, right? If the heir prince is coming to Harrenhal, she should come along, shouldn't she? Unless Princess Elia is coming as well, he realizes. It won't be good for Cersei to be seen 'seducing' a married man in a tourney gathering most of Westeros. Still, why didn't she write him about it? Why did she leave him to find out about her absence through other people?
Cersei hasn't sent a word to him after they parted ways in that inn. He expected at least a letter following the royal summons, but, so far, he's met with silence. He even wrote to her before departing, telling her to send a reply straight to Harrenhal if she had any, but nothing awaited him when he arrived. What did he do to earn her silence? He gave her all he had in Eel Alley that day and agreed to give up on his titles and possessions to be with her in King's Landing. Her machinations clearly worked, so why isn't she speaking to him? Why didn't she at least send a happy message?
He tries to think of her reasons, but his mind goes back to Casterly Rock and what will happen to it when he takes his vows. Tyrion is supposed to be its new heir, but now he has trouble seeing Father accept this outcome. He will either give the seat to Uncle Kevan or to Cersei—Is that what she truly wanted? The question comes unbidden and startles him. Is it possible that her real goal wasn't to get them together, but to pave the way for her to rise as Lady of the Rock in her own right?
At first, he denies it to himself. She wants to be Queen, not 'just' Lady Paramount of the West. Both she and Father want Rhaegar to either set Elia aside or take Cersei as second wife, as other Targaryen kings have done in the past. Knowing Tywin Lannister, Jaime doesn't doubt the Dornish princess' days are counted, if that is what it will take to have a Lannister on the throne. He's killed innocents for less.
And his sister… She looks up to their father in everything, even things Jaime doesn't approve of. But we are one person in two bodies, he reminds himself. Should we not have the same opinions, values and desires? But a couple moments of honest reflection tell him otherwise. Jaime's goals are to serve and be loved; Cersei's revolves around power. Jaime loves Tyrion; Cersei hates him. Jaime cares little for ruling; Cersei thinks she should be the one to inherit the Rock. Getting the title is far easier than getting Rhaegar to make her his wife, especially when Aerys is adamant on having his heir wedded to someone with Valyrian blood—which is why Father's offer, years ago, was rejected in the first place.
He shakes these reflections off and stands up from his bed to leave. I'm overthinking this. For all I know, Cersei did write a letter, but it got lost along the way. Yes, that's it.
When he reaches the yards, there are some boys his age and many men training, but one person catches his eye: the only one training against a dummy instead of somebody else. Mentally grinning, he makes his way to the person. Easy or hard, a challenge is precisely what I need to stop my absurd thoughts. Only when he's out of the main yard does he notice the person in question is a girl. Though she might be a woman grown, with all this height. He's fairly sure she's as tall as him, and just as broad; only her lack of armor gives her away, as it shows her (meager) breasts. She's blonde like him, but it's a lighter shade than his golden strands.
He clears his throat, and she turns to him. Her pale face is covered in freckles, and her nose looks broken. Her lips are fuller than any other girl or woman he's ever seen, but her eyes are what draw his attention. He's never seen that shade of blue. Like the sea, he thinks, fleetingly recalling the Sunset Sea, visible from Casterly Rock's balconies. "Hello, Ser," she says, bringing him back to reality. "Who are you, and why are you here?"
He clears his throat again. "Jaime Lannister," he offers. "And what is your name, my lady?"
She flushes. Just as he considers she might not be highborn, she replies, "Brienne Tarth."
He hums. "Well, Lady Brienne, I saw you training against a dummy and wondered whether you'd be up for a spar. Unless, of course, you are not prepared for a real duel."
Her cheeks go redder. "Men have underestimated me all my life," she retorts. "I bet I can throw you to the mud."
He smirks. "I wouldn't be so confident," he quips. "I've just fought against the Kingswood Brotherhood. I was knighted there by Ser Arthur Dayne himself."
She lifts her chin, staring at him defiantly. "Then we shall see whether your knighthood was earned, Ser."
His smirk widens; she may not be pretty (save for her eyes), but confidence and defiance suit her. He unsheathes his sword. "Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?"
She grimaces before lunging, making his defence rather easy. She's stronger than he expected, but that's his mistake; someone as built as she is bound to carry a considerable strength within. And gods, she's noisy. She grunts all the time, whether she's attacking or defending. Even her breaths are loud.
Eventually, he manages to knock her to the ground and make her yield. When she does, he sheathes his sword and extends a hand. "Well fought, my lady," he says sincerely. "How old are you?"
She takes his hand in hers and stands up. "Fifteen."
"Same as me. How long have you been training?"
"Since I was… nine? I think I was nine when I first held a sword in the yards."
He hums. "You're really good, and you have the body for it." She bites her lip, likely not used to hear any compliment on her looks. "I'd like to spar with you more often. Are you and your family staying for the whole tourney?"
She nods. "My father is meant to compete in the joust. I want to join the melee as a mystery knight, though I probably shouldn't tell you that."
He chuckles. "Your secret is safe with me, Lady Brienne. Does your father know about your plans?"
"If he does, he hasn't said a thing. I told my brother—someone had to help me find a set of armor and a sword—but I don't know if he spilled it to Father before we left."
He nods. "Well, I put my name for the joust, but I'll take part in a mock melee that will open the tourney. We could train together, if it pleases you."
Her cheeks, already red from the exercise, flush deeper. "It would please me."
He grins. "Good. We can meet here at sunrise." She nods.
When he lays down on his bed, he realizes he hasn't thought of Cersei for a single moment while in Lady Brienne's presence.
Day 1
He rises with the sun, but Lady Brienne is already at their meeting place when he arrives. "Did you sleep at all, my lady?" he asks with a grin.
She frowns. "I did, though, if I woke up only to be mocked—"
He stops walking, eyebrows raised. "Mocked? I was jesting, yes, but not at your expense. I—Forgive me if I—"
Her tension leaves her face, and she shakes her head. "No, Ser, forgive me. The years have taught me to be defensive, and perhaps I learned that lesson a bit too well."
Part of him wants to ask about it, but she looks uncomfortable, so he skips the subject altogether. "I'd like to see if your defensiveness translates into swordplay," he quips.
She grins at that and unsheathes her sword. It's far from a good one, but at least it's not wooden. He does the same with his, and they begin to spar. "You grimace when you lunge," he says as his first pointer. "It gives away your game."
Her frown grows deeper in response. "How am I supposed to not do it?"
"Are you not a lady? Surely you've been taught how to smile without meaning to, or how to wear courteous expressions at all times."
Her frown goes away as she glances dejectedly to the side. "My—I am not fit for ladyship, Ser. There is no use in teaching what I can't learn."
"Nonsense," he snaps. She raises her eyes back to him. "I bet they said the same about you learning the sword, didn't they?" She nods hesitantly. "Anyone can learn anything they want. Some things may be easier or harder, but not impossible."
"You sound as if you speak from experience."
He moves to sit on a large rock that has room for both of them and pats the space next to him. When she follows him, he answers her. "I have a twin sister," he begins. "When we were children, we looked very alike, to the point we could pass up as one another if we wore each other's clothes. Whenever Cersei wanted to escape her septa's lessons, she'd persuade me to switch with her." He flexes his right hand. "I feared getting caught, so I did my best to imitate her. Even now, years later, I can mend clothes as well as any woman. Curtsey, too, though I'm not sure I can still do it without tripping."
She lets out a chuckle. "You can curtsey?"
He smirks and stands up. "Let's see who can do it better, my lady? Perhaps you can give me pointers this time."
She blushes. "Or it will be you teaching me again."
In the end, both fail miserably at curtseying, tripping on their own feet and falling more than once. By their fourth try, they are lying side by side in the grass, laughing at their own clumsiness. "Ser Jaime Lannister, prodigy at knighthood," she says with a degree of sarcasm after their laugh dies down a bit, "falls down at the first attempt at curtsey."
He nudges her shoulder as he laughs once again.
Day 2
"Have you ever been betrothed?" he asks when they take a break. He doesn't know why, out of all possible questions, this is the one he asks. Perhaps it's because a warrior lady like her either has all the lords begging for her to wed their sons, or she isn't sought after at all—a shame, if it's the latter case. A wife who can defend herself and her children is a wife who gives her husband a lot less worries, if you ask his opinion.
She looks down at her feet. "Thrice," she replies quietly. "All failed."
He can sense this is a hard subject for her, but it's too late to back off. He takes her hand in his and squeezes it. "What happened?"
"The first died in a storm," she replies. "We were both children then. The second saw me and broke the betrothal. The third was fifty years older and wanted me to hang up the sword. He threatened to chastise me if I didn't, and I said I'd only accept it if he bested me in a duel."
"From what I've seen here, it can't have been too hard to beat him," he says cheerfully.
She lets herself smile a bit. "It wasn't," she confirms. "I broke his collarbone, and he broke the betrothal. A couple months later, here I am."
He squeezes her hand again. "I'm sorry that you went through this," he says sincerely, "but, on the bright side, clearly you were spared awful husbands."
She snorts. "I'm glad there is Galladon to inherit Tarth," she adds. "He wedded Lord Staedmon's daughter a month before my third suitor visited me, and I won't be surprised if we go back home to find her pregnant. At least my House's future doesn't rely on me." Before he can reply to that, she takes her hand off his and raises her eyes to him. "What about you, Ser?"
"I'm supposed to marry Lysa Tully by the end of the year," he replies, "but I won't."
She blinks. "How are you so sure of it?"
He sighs. "I am not here just to show off my recently earned knighthood, my lady. King Aerys summoned me to join his Kingsguard."
She gasps and turns her whole body to him. He follows her movement. "Kingsguard? But you are your father's heir! How—"
"It was my sister's idea," he blurts out. "She's there with Father—they want Prince Rhaegar to consider her as a second wife, or something. She suggested my name to the King so I could be Kingsguard while she was Queen."
He doesn't realize the words he said until Brienne is staring at him in confusion. "Pardon me, but I don't think I understood this plan. Why does your sister want you to give up your inheritance to guard her as she supposedly becomes Queen? Why do you two want so badly to be near each other?"
Later, much later, he will say his heart already knew what his mind had yet to realize. Now, though, he has no idea what compels him to tell her the truth. "Cersei and I—we are lovers. We've been… kissing and touching since we were small children, and… Two months ago, we came together as man and woman for the first time. That was when she proposed that I took the white cloak... so we could be together."
She gapes at him, but says nothing. Unable to stand her gaze, he looks down at the grass, feeling his cheeks burn as he waits for her to stand up, declare she no longer wants to see him, and leave. Her next words catch him by surprise. "This plan is doomed to failure."
He raises his head abruptly. "What?"
"Your plan with your sister," she says slowly. "Putting aside the fact I'm questioning your taste in women, and perhaps your sanity, this plan is bound to fail." He says nothing, and she correctly sees it as a sign to elaborate. "First, it relies on the assumption Prince Rhaegar will take a second wife, which has only been done before by Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel—and I may not be well-versed in politics, but I don't see why the prince would take a second wife to begin with."
"I don't know how they plan to do it," he argues. "Perhaps Cersei is supposed to present herself as the best option—"
"You mean seduce him," she says dryly. "Convince him to take her to bed until either honor or shame compels him to wed her."
"That's not—" he cuts himself off as her words dawn on him. There wouldn't be any other way for Cersei to make Rhaegar marry her, not with Elia alive—and he doesn't want to think of his father and sister plotting the Dornish princess' death.
Brienne senses he won't say another word and continues. "Flaw number two: you assume your father will keep your sister in the Red Keep after this. With you out of the way, either he will take her back to Casterly Rock, or he will look for other marriage offers, especially since your nomination will break a betrothal with a Great House."
His eyes go wide. "You think he'd give Cersei to Edmure Tully to compensate for me?"
"Perhaps," she replies. "Flaw number three: as heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaegar usually spends his time in Dragonstone with his family. If he somehow marries Cersei, that is where she will likely live. Kingsguard are meant to stay in King's Landing, with the current king, so you'd have to wait for Aerys' death to be together, and who knows when he will die?"
"I've heard he doesn't let anyone take care of him and barely eats," he argues.
"He's mad," she says, lowering her voice. "Unpredictable. You can't rely on him to starve himself to death like Baelor the Blessed. And flaw number four: who's to say your sister won't leave you for Prince Rhaegar or some other man who isn't family, because we're not supposed to lust for our siblings?"
"The Targaryens marry and fuck between themselves just fine," he counters.
"And that has turned out really well for them," she argues, deadpan. "Our current Queen has suffered several miscarriages, more than the average woman. Madness plagues House Targaryen, and often the women give birth to monstrosities that don't last an hour out of the womb. And at least they used to have an excuse for it back in the day. Does your House ride lions, Ser?"
Absurdly, he has to fight an urge to laugh at the imagery. "No," he manages to reply.
"So it is more likely that one of you, if not both, will eventually get over your lust for one another—"
"We love each other—"
"—and turn to people outside the family like normal people do. Do you really want to be stuck in a white cloak when it happens, Ser?" Her face softens. "We've only known each other for two days, but I can see you are a good man, with potential to be a good lord—better than your father, if the stories about him are true. Don't throw it away over something that's so bound to fail."
He gulps. "I… May we continue our sparring tomorrow? I think I need time to think over what you said, my lady."
She reaches for his hand this time, squeezing it as he did previously. "Only if you promise me you'll come in the morning."
"I promise."
Day 3
True to his word, Jaime shows up at their meeting place at the same time of the previous two mornings. She is already there, and smiles upon seeing him. It's the first time she gives him a full smile; it suits her. "You came," she says, sounding happy and relieved.
"I'm a man of my word, my lady," he replies with a smile of his own.
"How are you feeling? I know I've said a lot; I apologize if I overstepped—"
He shakes his head. "No need for apologies. Your advice was most welcome, I assure you."
And it's the truth. Her words lingered on him long after they parted ways, and he reflected on them for hours, only to conclude she made solid points. She was absolutely right when pointed out that the chances of Rhaegar taking anyone as a second wife are low, and that, even if he did, Cersei would not live in the city, but in Dragonstone. To ensure they'd be together, both King Aerys and Princess Elia would have to die, and he doesn't think he could live with that, no matter how mad the king is rumored to be. He wants him and Cersei to be Jaehaerys and Alysanne come again, not Rhaenyra and Daemon reborn.
There is also her prediction that Father might take Cersei out of King's Landing if he takes the white cloak. For all he knows, he's doing it right now, and it is why neither of them are coming. No sensible lord, especially a Warden, would want both of his children linked to one single House, even if one is by knightly service instead of marriage. Not to mention the possible slight against House Tully. They are all in Harrenhal, which means he will catch on to their reaction as soon as he takes his vows. Depending on how the king phrases his nomination, they will either rage at Jaime for forsaking his betrothal or assume he's being forced to take the white. The way they perceive the event will influence how they will respond to it and determine a wedding between Cersei and Edmure (or Tyrion and Lysa).
On top of all that, there is Brienne's last argument: the real chance either he or Cersei move on from the other, and it's too late for him to go back to his life as heir to Casterly Rock. Until yesterday, he was sure he'd love his twin until his last breath, but Brienne's words rang in his ears for hours. Is this only a boyish infatuation, born out of desire for love and care after his mother's death? Looking back, when Lady Joanna separated them, Jaime didn't miss his sister all that much at first. He had his mother to hug him and kiss his forehead. He only sought after Cersei when she died. Is he using his sister to replace the mother they lost? It doesn't sound right, but now he fears it is the truth. Has he grown needy after losing Mother and turned to Cersei because there was no else to turn to?
Although he squired for Lord Crakehall for years, he didn't have much contact with girls his age. Most were either grown women or little girls, none of which could replace Cersei. But did he not feel a slight attraction to Catelyn Tully when he went to Riverrun? Granted, he was way more interested in hearing the Blackfish's tales of the War of Ninepenny Kings, but still. He remembers wishing Catelyn was his bride-to-be instead of giggling, dull Lysa.
Moreover, there is Cersei herself to consider. She fancied Rhaegar, perhaps still does, so she might be halfway over him already. If Father does marry her off to Edmure Tully, she might end up liking him. Or… there are so many men she could marry and take a liking to, and Cersei is much better at courtship than Jaime can ever be. Maybe Brienne is right, and he and Cersei are doomed to heartbreak in the long run. Would he rather face it wearing a crimson jerkin or a white cloak?
Brienne raises her sword to him, and their duel begins, pushing all thoughts of Cersei and the Kingsguard away. They spar for a couple hours until their first break, during which they walk to a river to get water. They sit by the grass, and he asks her about her family.
He finds out her mother died of a mysterious illness a year after her twin sisters died in the cradle. Since then, it's been her, her father and her brother, who's now married to Larissa Staedmon. In exchange, he tells her about Tyrion, his mother, his aunts, uncles and cousins. She gives more details about Ronnet Connington's rejection, and he tells her about how he almost got engaged to Princess Elia as a kid.
Brienne is a quick learner, and each spar session is harder for him than the previous one. She smiles more often as she progresses, and he likes the way it lights up her eyes. He also happens to appreciate her broad shoulders and muscled arms, as they make her strong and powerful. Although she is far from a traditional beauty, he doesn't find her ugly at all.
To compensate for his early departure yesterday, they train until the sun sets, and he escorts her to her tent. When he leaves a courtly kiss on the back of her hand, he feels his heart jump. Fuck.
Day 4
He is half tempted to ask for a random squire to find Brienne and tell her he's sick and won't make it to their daily sparring. It might not even be a lie; why else would he dream of them together in bed, naked as their namedays?
But he is practically a grown man, and he must deal with this kind of thing like one. He's too old for awkwardness, and it's beneath a Lannister anyway, according to his father. So he pushes his wet dream of his mind and gets ready for the day.
He finds her in armor. She always is, but today he is reminded of the beginning of his dream, in which he took it off and kissed every limb as he undressed her—
Stop. She is your friend at best, he reminds himself. Problem is, his cock seems to keep forgetting it as they begin their sparring session. Eventually, he decides to give up before she can notice what's happening between his legs. "You know what," he says, "we've practiced the sword enough. That's not all there is to a melee."
She frowns, drawing attention to her (pretty) eyes. "What else is there? You go from one opponent to another, until there is only you and someone else left."
"That's the gist of it, yes," he agrees, "but swordsmanship is one part of it. You need strength too—which you already have—and agility—which you don't, from what I've seen."
It isn't a lie, but it isn't the truth either. Yes, Brienne loses to him in speed—something he's taken advantage of more than once—but she's still good enough to defeat most of her possible opponents. "What do you propose we do, then?"
"Race, of course. We are surrounded by forest; surely we can find a good path to run across."
She nods, humming. "We are near lunchtime," she comments. "Would you rather do it before or after?"
"What about before and after? We don't know at which time of the day the melee is going to be."
"I thought it was always in the morning."
He shrugs. "Not if it's after a great feast. In that case, everyone will wait for the men to sober up."
She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't verbally reply. Instead, she takes her armor off. "What—what are you doing?" he asks with a strained voice. If she is somehow wearing the white dress she was in his dream—
"It is better to train speed out of armour, is it not?" she asks back. Her breastplate falls to the ground, revealing a dark yellow short, much to his relief.
As he's still a bit nervous, he nods frantically. "Yes it—it is." He proceeds to remove his own armor then, willing his cock to calm down. When he finishes, Brienne is already down to her normal attire. It doesn't bring any curves out, for which he's glad.
"Well," she calls him, "are we going or not?"
"Ah, yes, of course. But maybe we should just—"
He waves around their armors and weapons. Realization dawns on her and, together, they pile everything up by the nearest tree. As soon as they are finished, he grabs her hand to guide her through the small forest. It is calloused and slightly sweaty, but there is a softness in her touch that he never felt even with Cersei's feminine hands. Don't compare Brienne to Cersei, you dolt!
Finally, they reach a place mostly tree-free. "We'll just run as fast as we can," he declares, "since we don't know where this ends. First to tire or fall loses." She lets go of his hand and nods. Together, they count to three and begin to run.
As expected, he is faster than her, which is a relief because he doesn't think he'd last long if he was granted a sight of Brienne's back and ass. His dream is still affecting him—should it not have gone away by now? He's never remembered his dreams in such detail hours after waking up. Unbidden, memories of this very dream come up again. Dream Brienne was shy, but soft and caring—until she climbed on top of him and pinned his arms on the bed. The only thing more arousing than the sight of her above him was the way she whispered Mine in his ear as she—
Too distracted by his sinful thoughts, he doesn't notice the tree stump until it's too late. He trips over it and falls immediately, rolling ahead until he's facing the midday sun. Distantly, he hears a soft laugh. Soon, Brienne crouches down before him, a timid smile on her lips. It suits her. "Lose-er," she calls him, almost singing. "How did you not notice that stump?"
He groans as he sits up, unwilling to wait for his cock to respond to Brienne above him. "Ain't that the burning question," he mumbles.
She laughs again as she helps him stand up. He wants to hear that laugh everyday. Fuck me sideways.
Day 5
He can't have fallen in love so fast, can he? Until two days ago, he was sure his heart belonged to Cersei and always would. Could he be that fickle?
Still, how else can he describe all the feelings bubbling up in chest since yesterday? Lust played a big part of course—he couldn't get Dream Brienne out of his mind—but, at several moments, the flush threatening to rise to his cheeks and the butterflies in his belly had nothing to do with arousal.
He enjoys making her smile and laugh. Sparring her is the thing he did in the past five days, and he doesn't want to do anything else—though he is inclined to accept doing something else if it's with her. Although she is no typical beauty, he could easily spend entire days looking at her—in fact, more than once he's caught himself thinking she must be the lovechild of the Warrior and the Maiden, for there is no way a mere mortal would look like her. The mere thought of having to bid her goodbye at the end of the tourney leaves him heartbroken.
He knows duty commands him to either take the white cloak or marry Lysa Tully, but he wants to do neither. Once, his third option would be running away to Essos with Cersei, but his twin never wanted that, and now he doesn't want it either. If he ran away with anyone, it'd be with Brienne. To Essos, to a secret cottage in Tarth, wherever they could be together and happy. He wants her happy, above all else.
What is that, if not love?
Day 6
"I didn't see you or your father at the dinner hall last night," he comments when they meet at 'their' spot. I missed you, even though I can't reach out to you there.
The secretiviness of their friendship was an unspoken agreement made on their first day of sparring. Being seen together could bring complications to them both, as they are unwed. Besides, there is a clear separation of kingdoms: Jaime has to sit among his father's vassals, while the Tarths sit with the other stormlanders.
Still, he likes to watch her during dinner, and last night he was unable to.
"Father disliked the menu when he heard about it," she explains. "We went to Harrentown instead, where he found an inn in which they serve really good food."
He hums. "By the way, if there is a town with inns, why are you camped near the castle?"
She shrugs. "Father claims camping is part of every knight's life."
"He's not wrong," he muses. "Are you two going to the inn again?"
"Probably." A pause. "Would you like to come along? I'd be happy to introduce my friend to him."
Although the word 'friend' tugs at his chest, he agrees immediately. It's not like he can say no to the girl—woman—he's definitely in love with.
The day goes by as usual, until the time comes to get ready for dinner. Jaime struggles to choose his outfit. Does he dress casually, as Brienne's friend and nothing else, or does he dress up a bit more nicely, to subtly let her father know he wants more?
In the end, he goes for the former. Whether he has a chance to win Brienne's heart or not, he should try with her first, not declare his intentions to her father. Especially not with his sartorial choices.
Mustering all of his talents to keep a straight face, he goes to meet them by their tent—easy to find once you learn how House Tarth's banner looks like. Brienne would look nice in her house's colors, he muses.
Indeed, she's dressed in a blue shirt with matching breeches, while her father wears blue and yellow. He bows before Lord Selwyn and courteously kisses Brienne's hand. "I've heard a bit about you, Ser Jaime," her father says as they make their way to Harrentown, "though your family's reputation precedes you."
He clears his throat. "I hope to build a reputation of my own in the near future, my lord."
Lord Selwyn hums. "As a follower of your father's steps?"
His cheeks go red. He knows very well the things his father is known for: his actions as the Mad King's Hand, his treatment of Tyrion, his love for Joanna… and the way he dealt with the Reyne-Tarbeck revolt. The latter provokes different reactions on each person you ask, and Jaime has no idea what side Lord Selwyn takes part of.
However, he knows what Brienne's opinion would be, which is close enough to his to enable him to simply tell the truth. "No, my lord. I aim for a kinder reputation. I hope to be remembered as a strong, but good man."
Lord Selwyn nods, looking pleased. "Well, I should have expected nothing else from a friend of my daughter's. I like you already, lad."
He swallows a relieved sigh. If nothing else, he will leave this encounter knowing he won't have to worry about his approval if he manages to successfully woo Brienne.
As she predicted earlier that day, they indeed go to the same inn of last night. "You have good taste, my lord," he comments after finishing his plate. "The food here is indeed better than what's been served in the castle lately."
Brienne raises an amused brow at him, but Selwyn raises his cup of beer. "Aye, it is. The first nights were good, but they always serve the lunch's leftovers for dinner. I don't want to eat the same thing all day."
"They must be saving food for when the tourney actually begins," Brienne says softly, and her soothing voice goes straight to his heart.
They talk some more, until Lord Selwyn gets distracted by a tavern wench. "You've been training together all these days, right?" he asks. They nod. "So you can be by ourselves for a while. Ser Jaime, I ask you to escort my daughter back to our tents if I take too long to return."
That being said, he stands up and follows the woman inside. He turns to Brienne. "Will he take too long?"
She sighs. "Unless the woman rejects him, yes. And she was eyeing him last night; I doubt she'll refuse him."
"Do you want to go back now, or would rather stay here for a while longer?"
She bites her lower lip, unwittingly drawing his eyes to it. "I was going to suggest a walk around the town. It bursts with life at night, from what I saw yesterday."
He offers her his arm, which she takes. He pays for what the two of them ate—he'd pay the entire bill if not for her protests—and they leave for the streets. Although there aren't many things for them to do, there is plenty to see, and overall they have a good time—which is both a blessing and a torture for Jaime.
Eventually, she yawns. "We should head back," he offers.
She nods, but lets go of his arm. "You don't have to escort me," she says quietly. "I know the way back to my tent."
"I know you can take care of yourself," he replies, aiming for the same soft tone, "but I'd like to walk you back regardless. May I?"
She blinks in surprise. "I—Yes, of course you may." Her cheeks go red as she grabs his arm once again; it's an adorable look on her.
The walk back is silent, awkwardly so. When they reach her tent, he tries to dispel it with a smile meant to be charming. "I had a great time tonight, my lady. We should do it more often, if you'll have me."
She nods. "I had a good time too," she replies, her cheeks going even redder. "And I'd like to repeat it as well."
Suddenly he can't take it anymore. She looks too cute under the moonlight, and he must do something to show his feelings. Slowly, in order to give her time to back off or slap him, he cups her chin and lifts it until they are looking each other in the eye. Then he brings her closer until their lips touch in a soft caress. It's a quick peck, one she doesn't have time to reciprocate—he doesn't want to wait to see if she will or not. "See you tomorrow, my lady," he whispers against her mouth, then turns back without waiting for her reaction. She doesn't call him to come back, which can mean anything—or nothing at all.
Day 7
Brienne's cheeks go red as soon as he arrives at their meeting spot, but she came, so he didn't ruin everything last night. Or so he thinks, until he unsheathes his sword. Instead of following his gesture, she simply stares at him. "Should we not talk about last night? About that kiss?"
He lowers his sword. "You didn't call me when I left," he replies. "I thought you didn't want to."
"You didn't just leave, you fled," she retorts. "By the time I realized what happened, you were already gone." She takes a step closer. "Why did you kiss me? Why are you tender with me as of late? What about your sister?"
He gulps. Wooing Brienne is precisely what he intended with his actions, but her wide eyes make him uneasy. Are his advances completely unwanted? Does she not want him to even try to court her? "Let me propose a deal," he says. "We'll have a single duel right now. If you win, I'll answer all your questions right away. If I win, you'll have to be patient and wait until I reveal at my own pace."
She frowns. "You'll tell me anyway, then. It is only a matter of time."
"I will. I promise."
"Alright." She draws her sword and lunges at him.
He's always won their duels, but each day it got harder to defeat her. She's a quick learner. Today is the hardest so far, and she seems even more determined to win—of course she is, there is extra motivation. But he is extra motivated as well, so he gives her a good fight—
—Until he's on knees, with her sword on his chin. "Yield," she commands.
He's never seen anyone so magnificent in his life. "I yield," he says quietly. Just as she retreats her sword, he stands up, cradles her face in his hand and pulls her for a kiss.
It is nothing like last night. This time, he feels her lips move against his, and all rational thought goes away. One hand goes to her neck, the other to her waist, pulling her close until their breastplates are touching. Her hands rest on his shoulders, and her feet move to touch his. when their need for air becomes unbearable, he breaks their kiss slowly, only to quickly go down on one knee. "Marry me," he says with a husky voice.
Her mouth opens in the shape of an 'O'. "Jaime," she whispers, "what are you doing?"
"I'm in love with you," he replies. "Ever since you told me why Cersei's plans were doomed to failure, I realized she and I are not the soulmates she claimed we were."
Her beautiful blue eyes are wide. "But what does it have to do with me?"
"Everything, because I quickly realized you are all I've ever wanted, but never dared to even imagine with Cersei. Don't you see, Brienne? I want a wife to fight beside me, not one to bid goodbye to before a battle. I want a wife who can defend herself and our children in this forsaken realm where everyone is in danger all the time. I want a kind, gentle wife, one that doesn't play games or plots her way to the top. I want you."
He stands up and grabs her arms. "But I'm ugly," she protests. "You can't want someone with my looks."
He takes his breastplate off, then wordlessly takes her off too. Then, he pulls her into a hug. "You are no traditional beauty, indeed," he says quietly, "but that means nothing to me. In fact, it may be my saving grace, because if your inner beauty shone on the outside, you'd be long married, and we'd never have met."
"Jaime," she whispers, hugging him back.
Whatever she has to say, though, he doesn't let her. "I only care to know whether you feel the same, Brienne. If you don't, I'll let you go and never bother you again—"
"Stop with this nonsense," she cuts him off gently. "Of course I feel the same. How can anyone know you and not fall in love with you?"
He smiles widely. "Is that a yes, then?"
"I—Jaime, I'm unfit to be Lady of Casterly Rock. I don't know the first thing about it."
He laughs. "You don't know how to be a lady, I'm utterly lost at being a lord," he replies. "We're perfect for each other, my love, and we'll learn together, just like everyone before us."
She finally relaxes in his arms. He feels her smile against his skin. "What would our life even be like?" she asks, but her tone implies she's no longer putting obstacles to their union. "I can see nothing but a huge disaster."
He chuckles and hugs her tighter. "Let me tell you, then," he says, "because I've thought about our married life more times than it is considered sane." He kisses her temple. "First, I'll make love to you day and night. Worship your body until you forget there was ever a time you weren't adored as you deserve." She shivers in his arms. "We'll sleep entangled together, and whoever opens the door to wake us won't be able to tell where one ends and the other begins."
"Sounds sweet," she mumbles.
"And that's just the beginning. As I said, when we wake up our first action will be making love again. Afterwards I'll try to get you to stay in bed all morning, because I won't be able to think of anything else with you unclothed beside me, but you, being the responsible half of our marriage, will nudge me to get dressed and ready to do my duties. I'll whine and pout, but I'll fall a bit more in love every time you do it"
"We'll go on with our day, doing whatever the West demands of us, but I won't be shy about my love for my wife. You'll blush all day long, because I'll be affectionate all the time, everywhere. If I'm lucky, it will take five years for you to get sick of it and threaten to sleep in another room if I keep it up—because that would be the worst threat you could make. I don't want to spend a single day apart from you, Brienne, and I assure you it will only get worse after our wedding."
She raises her head to look at him, blushing but smiling. He can't resist; whatever she has to say gets lost as he kisses her again. "I'm loving your tale so far," she mumbles against his lips when they break their kiss. "Is there anything else to add?"
"Oh, there is. I'll take you to travel all around Casterly Rock and Lannisport. We'll jump off cliffs and swim through the sea. We'll visit the local fair, and, despite your protests, I'll buy you a necklace with a sapphire pendant because it will remind me of your eyes. Then we'll tour around the West, and we'll test the guest bedchambers of every single castle, as well as our bedrolls whenever we make camp." She giggles at that, and the sound leaves him slightly dizzy. "And then, one day," he goes on regardless, "you'll wake up so nauseous you'll throw up on me when I insist on our morningly lovemaking. You'll apologize, and I'll say I deserved it for being stubborn and horny. It will go on for days, until you finally decide to see the maester, who will tell you there is a lion cub growing inside you."
"Oh, Jaime," she sighs, kissing his cheek. "I want a family with you too."
"See? Our fantasies align." He grins. "I've been thinking about four kids. We'll teach them to fight, to sew, to sing, to do whatever they want. Boy or girl, it won't matter. I can see it already: our first child will sail west of Westeros, the second will go to the Citadel, the third will be our heir and the fourth will wander around the realm as a hedge knight, too embarrassed by the Lannister name to give it away to the lords they pledge themselves to."
She laughs. "Jaime, you could write a whole song about this, you know that, right?"
He hums. "I only care that you say yes, my love. So, will you embark on this crazy future with me?"
She holds his face in her hands. "Yes," she whispers.
They are halfway through the path to her father's tent when she realizes where he's going. "Are you going to talk to Father now?" she asks in surprise.
He stops and turns to her. They are holding hands. "Aerys wants to make me his Kingsguard tomorrow," he reminds her. "I wish we had more time; you deserve the wedding of your dreams. But we don't. Either we marry today, or I'll be lost forever tomorrow."
Her eyes go wide. "Wouldn't a betrothal be enough?"
"I'm sort of betrothed to Lysa Tully," he reminds her also. "That doesn't mean much. Only marriage can save me from the white cloak." He shifts his weight from one leg to another. "If you don't want to—"
"Oh, shush," she cuts him off gently. "I want this wedding as much as you do, Jaime. I love you as much as you love me. If we only have today, then so be it. I care little for the ceremony; marrying the man I love is more than I ever thought I'd get."
He smiles, kisses her briefly and continues to guide her to Lord Selwyn's tent. He doesn't bother letting go of her hand when they enter; let his actions speak for him if needed. Lord Selwyn raises his head to look at them, and his eyes fall directly on their joined hands. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Ser Jaime has asked me to marry him, Father," Brienne replies. "And I said yes."
Her father smiles. "I knew there was something going on between you two," he exclaims, standing up and pacing. "Now, I must write to Lord Tywin. There are so many things to decide about the wedding—"
"My lord," Jaime interrupts him, "I am so sorry, but… we must marry tonight."
That stops Lord Selwyn on his tracks. "Why? Have you two—"
"No," he replies instantly, feeling his cheeks warm. "I'd never dishonor Brienne, my lord. But time is against us. King Aerys is coming tomorrow for the opening melee, and he intends to add me to his Kingsguard."
Lord Selwyn's mouth hangs open. "I beg your pardon. Aren't you fifteen?" He nods. "And you're his Hand's heir! How is that possible?"
"All I know is that I was summoned to come to this tourney to take my vows," he replies, obviously not disclosing the story behind his nomination. "If we wait a day more, I'll be unavailable for marriage."
"Kingsguard knights are supposed to volunteer for the job," his intended goodfather replies.
"Not with King Aerys," he argues. "Only marriage can stop him from cloaking me in white. I know this is not ideal. Brienne deserves better. But we can have 'better' later, in Tarth or in Casterly Rock; now, we need the ceremony to make it official. To unite us in the eyes of gods and men."
"Please, Father," Brienne begs, holding his hand tighter. "I can't let Jaime go."
Lord Selwyn looks between them for a while, then nods.
They marry in a sept in Harrentown. Brienne wears the dress meant for the opening feast, a blue sleeveless gown that doesn't worsen her looks so much.
Despite there being no one else but the three of them, she still enters the sept guided by her father. The sept is poorly illuminated by a few candles, and yet she catches Jaime's shining eyes easily. They smile at each other through all the ceremony, and Jaime's pledging kiss is tear-inducingly sweet. Ever since she was old enough to understand her septa's lessons about men and marriage, she never thought someone would treat her with kindness and care.
Neither she nor Septa Roelle ever anticipated Jaime Lannister, though.
The septon promises a copy of their marriage certificate will be ready in the morning and bids them good night. Her father pats Jaime's shoulder and hugs her tight. "I know this ceremony was less than ideal," he whispers in her ear, "but I never thought you'd look so happy in your wedding, and I had given up hope of having a groom looking at you the way Ser Jaime does."
A tear falls from her left eye. "He loves me, doesn't he?"
"Oh, very much. You can't fake a look like that. And you love him too, I can see it."
She nods and kisses his cheek before grabbing the hand Jaime—her husband!—is offering. As he is the one who has a room inside the castle, it is there they go to. When he closes and bars the door, he encircles his arms around her waist. "Are you sure you want this?"
She wants to cry. Never before has someone spoken to her the way he does. "More than anything," she replies, uncaring if she sounds wanton or not. He's Jaime, and he's her husband; she won't be ashamed of wanting him.
He kisses her slowly and tenderly, tugging her close. His hands wander up and down her body, but delicately, as if she's precious. Her heart threatens to burst out of her chest with all the love she can feel coming from him. "Would you like me to undress you?" he asks between kisses. "Or would you rather undress me first?"
She breaks their kiss and looks into his eyes. He sounds earnest, and his eyes are shining. "I want to see you," she breathes out.
He breaks their hug and opens his arms. "Then I'm all yours," he purrs, "lady wife."
The way he calls her 'wife' goes straight to her tights, and she trembles as she pulls his shirt off him. When it goes down the floor, she places her hand on his chest, her fingers roaming through his muscles. He shivers under her touch, and she rests her palm over his heart. "You're so handsome," she mumbles.
"All for you, my love," he whispers back softly. "All for you."
She blushes and finishes undressing him. They kiss some more, and she shyly says, "My lord husband, I believe it is your turn to undress me."
He wastes no time in grabbing her by the waist and turning her around. Then, his pace gets agonizingly slow as he unlaces her dress step by step, kissing every bit of skin that gets revealed. "You have freckles here too," he mumbles, lips brushing against her skin. "I wonder if they go so far down on your front."
Feeling bold, she replies, "The sooner you finish over there, the sooner you'll find out."
"True," he replies, "but I'd like to savor every moment of this night, so I'll wait a bit more."
What he doesn't seem to realize is that she is waiting as well; the way he peppers her back with his kisses makes her weak on the knees. Is this how all women feel when they are with the man they love?
Finally, the dress falls. She wore no smallclothes to the wedding ceremony—she didn't need to, her dress was padded—so she's already fully naked. Jaime grabs her by the waist and turns her back to him. He takes a step back and looks at her intently, eyes going up and down her body. The lust in his eyes is unmistakable, and he swallows hard. "I was right," he says with a husky voice. "You are the lovechild of the Warrior and the Maiden."
She nearly chokes. "What?"
He pulls her close enough for their chests to touch. "I already knew you had the Warrior's strength," he explains. "Strong, powerful—you inherited those from him. But… gods, Brienne, I suppose none of the idiots who insulted you has ever seen you naked, have they?"
"No," she whispers. "Nobody has before you."
"I assumed not," he says. "Your body was sculpted by the gods, Brienne. The Maiden must be ugly now, for she gave all her beauty to you. You are a goddess all of your own, and I'm ready to worship you as I promised."
He knows he should not compare Brienne to Cersei, but, after tonight, he can't help it.
Brienne is everything he never knew he wanted—everything he never knew he needed until he met her. Being with her gives him evidence he and Cersei were never in love, not like man and woman should be. When he finally gets inside her, he thinks his head will explode with how perfect it feels. This, he thinks. This is why I was born. My lips were made to kiss her, my hands were made to touch her, my cock was made to be one with her. Nothing else matters; this is my true purpose. To worship her, to cherish her, to love her.
They barely sleep, eager as they are to consummate their marriage as often as possible. He explores as much of her body as he can, and in turn she learns his. Her touch is maddening, and he wonders how he ever lived without her at his side. Perhaps I was merely surviving. Now my life truly begins.
When they do get ready to sleep, she is in his arms, her head resting on his chest, as he's dreamed of for days. He's sure he falls asleep with a lovesick grin on his face. This is the first night of the rest of my life, he thinks before surrendering to darkness. I'm luckier than fucking Baelor the Blessed.
Day 8
He opens his eyes to see Brienne already awake, staring intently at him. "Good morning, wife," he whispers, running circles on her back. "Like what you see?"
"A little," she replies teasingly. Then she rests her head on his chest. He can feel every part of her body, chest and abdomen, pressed against him. "I just… I still can't believe this is real. Did I just get married last night to the man I love?"
He hopes to never get tired of hearing her declaring her love for him. "Yes, you did," he says, kissing the crown of her head. "And your husband is very much in love with you too, and he needs to show you."
So, as he vowed in his proposal speech yesterday, they make love once again. Afterwards, they lie side by side. "What are you going to do today?" she asks.
He uses one arm as a pillow while the other grabs her by the waist and pulls her close. "The opening melee is supposed to be near noon," he says. "I'm half-tempted to sabotage my own victory so the King won't bother with me, but I know my wife wouldn't find it honorable, and we can't have Brienne Tarth married to an dishonorable man, can we?"
She chuckles. "No, we can't," she replies gently.
He briefly kisses her. "So, whatever the melee's results are, if Aerys calls me forward to swear myself to the Kingsguard, I'll inform him I'm no longer available. He won't like it, of course, but what can he do? Then, there will be some other event—some random play, I think—and the opening feast at night. We'll dance together, and I'll behave like a lovesick fool in front of the whole ballroom so there will be no doubts on why we are married."
They talk for a bit longer until their stomachs beg loudly for food. Jaime pouts at having to leave the bed and get dressed. "I fear I can no longer find you stunning in any outfit," he whispers in his wife's ear, hugging her from behind before she can pick her dress from the floor. "You are way too gorgeous naked. It ruins every other look on you." As she chuckles, he roams his hands around her body one last time before letting her go and getting dressed himself.
They walk hand in hand to the dining hall, but, as they are late for breakfast, few people see them. When they are finished, they go to Lord Selwyn's tent to bid him good morning, then chat a little while waiting for his time to get ready for the melee. Brienne helps him wear the armor and, shyly, hands him a piece of blue fabric. "If you… if you want to wear your wife's favor," she explains.
He grabs her waist and kisses her. "If this was the joust," he replies, "I'd promise you the crown of Queen of Love and Beauty."
"Gods, no," she replies. "I'd die on the spot."
"Good thing this is just a mock melee then. Can't have my wife dying so soon after the wedding."
They laugh at their bad jape and head to the open camp together. They part ways upon reaching the yard the melee will take place, but not before he leaves a kiss on her cheek. When he turns, he comes face to face with the Blackfish. "Ser," he greets him, bowing. "I did not know you'd participate in this melee."
"Oh, no, I won't," he replies easily. "I'm just overlooking the setting. But I just saw something… interesting. Are you courting the lady over there?"
Oh, fuck. He's Lady Lysa's uncle! "I—I—"
"Calm down, lad," he replies, laughing. "You and Lysa are not really betrothed now, are you? It's supposed to be sealed here, but, if you have your eyes on another woman, the problem should be more between you and your father than your House and mine. If my brother does get angry, he can arrange for Edmure to wed your sister."
He looks down at his feet. "You think so?"
"Of course. As I said, there is no official betrothal. You won't be a Lannister version of Prince Duncan if you fall for someone else, and I know that look."
He raises his head back to face the Blackfish. "I'm glad to hear it," he replies. "I'll talk to Lord Hoster later today, Ser. I promise."
Ser Brynden nods and leaves the field. Soon the melee is announced, and he lowers his helmet.
As most of his opponents are squires and newly made knights, it is rather easy to beat them. His last duel is harder, and he almost loses, but in the end the other knight loses his balance and falls. His eyes search for Brienne in the cheering crowd; she smiles softly at him, and he smiles back, even though she can't see it yet.
Upon the King's request, he lowers his helmet to reveal himself. "Of course the winner is Jaime Lannister," he says, half-laughing. "I expected no less from the knight who is meant to serve me!"
The crowd goes silent. He cannot see Brienne's reaction, as his eyes remain on Aerys as his goes on one knee. "Your Grace," he begins, "I received your invitation for the Kingsguard, and I was honored by it. However, I find myself unable to take the white cloak."
He sees the King's face contort. "And how do you find yourself unable?"
"I got married last night," he replies with a firm voice, "to Lady Brienne of House Tarth."
Gasps are heard, and almost everyone—including Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia—turns to where Brienne and her father sit. His eyes wander to her as well: she sits straight, with a determined look on her face. She is not ashamed of being acknowledged as his wife. Aerys' face contorts even more. "You knew you were meant to become my Kingsguard, and yet you married the first highborn whore you found?"
Prince Rhaegar turns to him quickly. "Father, Lady Brienne is no whore—"
"She laid with a man that's unspoken for," he retorts. "You did not receive an invitation for the Kingsguard, Lannister. It was an order, and you were unable to wed from the day you got it. As such, your marriage is not valid. Ser Gerold, come forward. This boy will take his vows."
"Your Grace—"
"If you dare defy my orders one more time, I'll have your whore burned to the ground!"
The crowd goes silent once again as the Lord Commander walks to his direction. Ser Gerold's eyes are apologetic as the vows are made, but it's not enough. He should have protected him and Brienne; isn't it what knights are sworn to do? Protect the innocent?
But there are no knights now. No one to save him.
He is ordered to pack his things, for he is to leave for King's Landing on the next day. However, according to Ser Oswell, he is allowed one more night with Brienne, as long as neither of them show up at the feast. "It's a useless allowance," he mumbles.
"It's not," Ser Whent replies. "Use it, lad, or you'll regret it forever."
He doubts Brienne will want to see him after the King called her his 'whore' in front of the whole Westerosi nobility, but Ser Oswell is right; he must try, at least, or he will spend the rest of his life wondering.
Lord Selwyn is outside his tent, pacing. "There you are," he says quietly. "Brienne is waiting for you."
He takes a sharp breath. "Really? She wants to see me?"
His goodfather gives him a sad smile. "Why don't you hear it from her, son? Go."
He shakes the man's hand firmly, then goes inside her tent. Brienne is sitting on her bed, wearing the same dress she wedded him in. He feels faint for a moment, but quickly recovers, rushing into her arms. "I'm so sorry, my love," he whispers, feeling his tears fall. "If I knew—"
"None of that," she cuts him off gently. "None of us could have foreseen the King's reaction." They break their hug just enough to look at each other. She's crying too. "Father told me this tourney was sponsored by Prince Rhaegar as a ruse to assemble as many lords as possible. He wants to depose Aerys, Jaime, and a couple hours ago he came here to promise your release as soon as he succeeds."
He cups her face with his hand. "How long will it take?"
She shakes her head slightly. "He did not give Father any deadline save from a declaration he wants it done as soon as possible."
He lets out a trembled sigh. "Still," he replies, "you deserve better than being called my whore—it isn't fair! You are my wife, the woman I love, not a random girl I bedded out of lust."
She smiles sadly at him, much like her father. "I know, Jaime. Even if you—even if we had made love without getting married, I still wouldn't see myself as your whore. You've made your love for me very clear—in your words, in your actions, in your eyes. And I love you just the same."
He kisses her then. Deeply, passionately, desperately. Soon they are making love once more, but now there is sadness and grief where once only joy and love existed. "How am I supposed to live without you?" he asks after he rolls off her.
She pulls him in an embrace. "I don't know," she admits. "I wonder the same for me."
After another round, he asks, "Would you undo it, if you knew this was how it'd end?" He rests his palm on her cheek. "It's alright if you would." He wouldn't, but she's not obliged to feel the same.
"Never," she replies vehemently. "I'd rather have you for this short while than not meeting you at all."
And this is how they spend the night: making love, exchanging sweet words, talking about their past and planning a future they can only hope will come true.
In the morning, he is called by Lord Selwyn. "Ser Oswell is waiting for you, Jaime," he announces. "It's time to go."
"Give me a moment," he replies, more tears threatening to fall as he stands up from Brienne's bed. She turns to him and, with unshed tears of her own, stands up to get dressed as well. When they are both decent, she pulls him for a kiss. "I'll be waiting for you in Tarth," she whispers. "I won't marry anyone else—I won't love anyone else."
"Me neither," he whispers back. "You are the one for me, my love, and I'll keep loving you from King's Landing. I won't go back to Cersei, no matter what she says or does."
"I know. I trust you." Another kiss. "Promise me you'll remain a good man, Jaime. Promise me you won't let that forsaken court corrupt you."
"I promise," he replies. "I'll always do my best to be worthy of you."
They kiss one last time, and a couple tears fall as he grabs his package and leaves the tent. He and Lord Selwyn nod at one another in goodbye, and he follows Ser Oswell to the stables. "You'll go with members of the City's Watch who came with us," he informs. "It will be alright, Ser Jaime. Have hope."
He must know about Rhaegar's scheme, he thinks as he goes to meet the guards. Not that it matters; for the foreseeable future, he's stuck as a glorified hostage, forced to stay away from the woman he loves as if he never married her at all.