Jaime starred absently at the fire which smoldered in the hearth. He could not remember when he had last moved from the solitary chair in the dark stale room that had become his cell. His body was slow in returning to him. Bones still mending, muscles weakened to the point of atrophy, he had only the strength to drag himself from the small uncomfortable bed to the hard unwelcoming spot where he spent his days. Once, he had forced his aching limbs to drag the rest of him to the door, desperate to flee his crypt, only to find it barred. The lone casement was locked as tight as the door, as was the shutter that filtered the light and blocked any view. He was a prisoner. The worst part was the identity of his jailer.
Tyrion visited him daily, usually making several trips to the tiny foreboding room in which his brother withered. The younger Lannister always pocketed the key. The elder brother lacked the strength even to try gaining its possession. Jaime barely spoke during those visits. Tyrion offered little information regarding his current circumstances. Jaime wondered if perhaps Daenarys had taken him prisoner. Tyrion was her hand, after all. Had his own brother sold him out to the new queen?
"You are not a prisoner." Tyrion informed him one day, when Jaime had flung venom at him during a moment of self pity and despair.
"You call this freedom?" Jaime asked in disgust.
"I call this protection." Tyrion shot back.
"Locked windows, and barred doors, protection?" Jaime mocked in disbelief.
"Yes." Tyrion held firm. "It's the best I could do. You are not a prisoner." He repeated. "And Danaerys is not Queen." Jaime thought he saw a shadow of shame cross before Tyrion's eyes. He sat back and studied his brother for a moment.
"Where are we?" Jaime questioned, his face a mask of confusion.
"Someplace safe." Tyrion promised. "For now. As long as you stay in this room." His answer was cryptic, and only fueled Jaime's curiosity and suspicions.
Tyrion's so called sanctuary was more painful than any torture he could have imagined. As Jaime slowly healed from the injuries he had sustained in the collapse of the Red Keep, the unrelenting solitude gave him no distraction from his thoughts. It did, however, afford plenty of time to thoroughly examine each of his regrets. Most of them centered upon what he had done to Brienne.
Jaime knew not how much time had been lost from his life. There were moments when it seemed as though only days separated him from the time he had cherished with Brienne. In other reflections it felt that years had journeyed by since he last felt her in his arms. He spent most of his days, eyes closed, deep within his own thoughts. It was not a weariness from the pain of his injuries that caused his stupor. It was only by shutting out even the dim firelight that glowed in the hearth could he focus his inner vision solely upon her. It was more than a memory. Jaime could sense Brienne with him. It was as if some tiny cord of communion connected them still. He could see Brienne so clearly in his mind. He could yet taste her upon his tongue, hear her lilting voice calling his name, feel her gentle touch. So intent in his dreaming was Jaime that he did not even realize when he raised his fingers trying to trace the curves and plains of Brienne's glorious body. The feel of her continued to tingle upon his own skin.
If he concentrated hard enough Jaime could imagine Brienne's perfect figure still pressed against him. How he had gloried in the view of her form. It had not been at Winterfell that his eyes first beheld the tight perfection of her body. At Harrenhal his reflexes had known the truth his heart would not admit for so very long. That moment played over in his brain since. He had taunted her, threw jabs with his bitter words about her prowess as a fighter, about her failed protection of Renly Baratheon. Judging her then in his fevered haze was far simpler than admitting or even attempting to fathom his attraction to her. Before her dead king's name left his lips Brienne had bolted from dark water, ready to fight him for his disrespect. Jaime had grown hard at the sight of her. That fit, flawless form that only he knew. The secret beneath her armor. He might almost have been remorseful at his unkind treatment of Briennensave for the fact that she had given him a gift of which he would partake often, the magnificent sight of her. Jaime realized what others thought of Brienne's appearance. He felt the shame of his first remarks to her. He called her ugly, declared that he could not decide if she were woman or man. Those words, now bitterly chided him. They echoed hatefully in his ears. He was uncertain when it was that he began to consider her the loviest, most exquisite thing he had ever known. It was not just her precious face, and sensual body that had made it impossible for him to deny his need for her. Brienne's caring and steadfast heart had drawn Jaime to her like a man dying of thirst. She was the only thing that could quench his longing. To Jaime, Brienne was more beautiful than Cersei had ever been.
Brienne was everything that Jaime had longed for his entire life. All that he had been denied, and all he yearned to be. Gods, how he loved her. He had never told her. Would she have believed him? Could Brienne have ever trusted that his heart truly belonged only to her now, forever? He feared her rejection. The way Cersei would have laughed and belittled him at the declaration of such emotions. There were times during that wonderful moon they had spent together at Winterfell, that Jaime would catch Brienne staring at him, watching him, almost trying to memorize him. It was as if something told her their happy bliss would not last. Tears found Jaime's eyes, realizing how correct she had been.
More than he would have hoped, Jaime's mind traveled back to the horrible night of his worst fault. The nightmare plagued him still. It visited him the first night he and Brienne had shared their passion, and nearly every night since. So jarring, so shocking was it that he found himself jolted awake drenched in sweat and starved for breath. In his sleeping state, Jaime saw Cersei discovering his love for Brienne, understood his heart belonged to another, and realized that that he never wanted to be near her again. His mind then watched in horror as Cersei slaughtered Brienne in front of his eyes. He was powerless to stop it. Even in a nightmare Jaime was unable to save the woman he loved.
At first, Jaime tried to ignore the terror that haunted him in the dark. He told himself that he would never let Cersei get that close to Brienne. He believed he could protect her. So he buried the nightmare in the light of day, and lost himself in their new found happiness. That was, until the day Sansa Stark told him of Cersei's ambush of Daenarys Targaryen's army. Cersei was winning. Suddenly the nightmare was all too possible, and all too real. For the first time he understood the danger in which he had put Brienne. That night, when he was roused from his slumber, he watched Brienne sleeping so peacefully beside him in their bed, and knew it was a chance he could not take.
He wanted to hurt her. Jaime needed to make Brienne hate him. It was the only way he truly could ensure she would not follow him. He could not even trust that the path she had sworn to Lady Sansa would keep Brienne at Winterfell. He had broken far too many oaths in his day to trust their tenuous nature, not when it might mean Brienne's life. At first he thought slipping away under cover of darkness without saying a word, would be so callous that Brienne would never look upon even his memory with love again. But she had caught him, stopped him. Her sweet face had been so desperate, so dear, that he could not bear to look. He had never seen her beg, for anything, not even her life. Yet in the cold darkness, as he prepared to leave her, she pleaded with him not to go. That was when he was certain Brienne loved him as much as he loved her. Each of the tears that fell bitterly upon her cheeks were blades that sliced his heart until he was numb. He did not dare peer into her deep blue eyes. He could only hold Brienne's trembling wrist with his gloved hand and try to comfort her. It was a pitifully small attempt, yet still she saw only the good in him. No steel through his flesh, no pile of bricks crushing his bones could ever be more painful than saying goodbye to her.
——————————
Life at Winterfell carried on as usual. Servants and bannermen worked to fulfill the needs of the Starks and those over whose welfare they were charged. Preparations were being made for Sansa's brother, Bran, to travel once more to King's Landing to assume the throne, no longer iron. Queen Sansa endeavored tirelessly to watch over it all, and ruled the frigid North with kindness and honor, as her family had done for centuries. However, in the tiny comfortable chamber which housed the daughter of Tarth and her infant son, the room in which the child had been conceived and born, life was warm and gentle and new, and seemed so far from the games of the Realm.
Despite never having dreamed of becoming a mother, Brienne took naturally to her role as if it had always been her destiny. She cared meticulously for her child's every need, and had never felt so happy. To her astonishment, Brienne became so busy seeing to her babe, that thoughts of the boy's father soon faded to what she deemed their proper place at the back of her mind. Even as her body healed, and she regained her strength she began to forge a new identity for herself, and her son, separate from The Kingslayer.
Sam and Gilly called upon Brienne daily, eager to ensure the health of the new mother and her babe. While her recovery from the birth was not the easiest, they always found Brienne in good spirits, and enthusiastic about all of the new discoveries of motherhood. Podrick Payne, too, was a constant visitor. Brienne looked forward to her cheerful squire's accounting of the events outside her lodging, and enjoyed watching him with little Galladon more than she let on.
Soon, Brienne was up and around, returned to full health, and seeing to the matters of Queen Sansa's security. The affairs of the day were often seen to with her tiny babe in arms, for she trusted only a select few with her child when she could not be with him. Usually, it was Gilly who was given the honor, when Brienne felt her day's service would be too taxing, or too frigid for her infant. She would not allow herself to be gone from Galladon for long, however, and returned to him nearly heartbroken from the separation.
It was at the end of a long day of training recruits for Sansa's Northern Army, that Brienne's resolve was to be tested. It came from the mouth of a newcomer who looked to be closer in age to her own father, than even to herself. She had just finished showing the man how to properly handle a broadsword in close combat, and was turning to inspect the posture of another trainee when the older man mumbled his none too veiled remark.
"I'll not be taking my orders from The Kingslayer's Whore." His vile words rang in Brienne's ears as she turned slowly, her face set in steely disgust. She would have cut him down for the remark, but was stopped by Sansa's call from the walkway above them. Podrick bristled, and puffed protectively, as he appeared at Brienne's side seemingly from nowhere.
"You will take orders from your commanding officer, Ser Brienne of Tarth." Sansa's decree rang above the noise of the courtyard. "Or you will not be a part of my army." She threatened. The man only sneered once more in Brienne's direction and tossed his own weapon upon the ground at her feet.
"Guards." Sansa ordered. "See this man to the gates." She gave the rest of the recruits a menacing glare, letting them know she would not abide any further disrespect directed toward Brienne.
Brienne bit her lip at the man's snide remark. She had seen the sideways glances, and hidden laughter as she had grown large with Jaime's child. The whispers had been better veiled, but they had been spoken none the less. This was the first time anyone had nerve enough to say it within earshot of her. Throughout her life, she had become a master at hiding her feelings, at times until her mouth was raw from the chewing attempts to keep her tears at bay. She gathered herself enough to give her queen a thankful bow, and bid Podrick to finish the day's maneuvers. Then, Brienne steadied to her full height, and strode proudly from the training yard.
Somehow, through a lifetime of practice, Brienne had managed to control the storm of emotions welling up within her. She made her way to the passage that led to the Tarlys' small apartments. There she found Gilly watching Galladon along with the girl's own children. Brienne thanked the young woman politely, and gathered her son, clutching him tightly to her. Her head swam with a thousand thoughts that all seemed to converge on one distant point, Jaime.
Brienne had no memory of her legs moving, no recollection of the faces that passed her as she trudged down the corridor. There was only Galladon in her arms, and her heart racing in her ears. The cold steel knob felt like ice in her hand as she turned it. The door slammed behind her like a boulder lodging itself in place, keeping out the rest of the world. Brienne looked down into the face of her child sleeping peacefully in her arms. The face so much like that of his father, save for her own eyes. At last she gave herself the freedom to weep.
Her knees buckled and she slid to the floor. The sobbing shook her body as she rocked her child. All of the vicious slights and cruel comments to which she had been subjected her entire life, had not been as hurtful as the epithets she imagined her little boy hearing whispered behind his back as he grew. The world would be harsh to the fatherless child of a dishonored father. Somehow, people would know. Everyone at Winterfell were already well aware of the identity of the boy's sire. She dreaded the day some mean-spirited fool would say it to his face.
Since he left her, Brienne found that she was somehow able to keep the ghost of Jaime Lannister from her mind. Only rarely, now, did his specter creep into her thoughts. She became quite good at chasing him away as quickly as he would intrude upon her. Somehow she had found a way to keep him from troubling her every waking moment. She had forced herself not to think of him each time she looked into the face of the child he had given her. Brienne knew there would come a time that she would not be able to force his shadow from their lives. She vowed to herself that even in his absence, her son would never be lacking for anything. She would be both mother and father to her child. He would know only love, and honor. She would see him grow strong and proud, and never ashamed. Brienne swore that she would create a distance between them and Jaime so great, that no one would dare ever call her The Kingslayer's Whore again. If she were vigilant, and very lucky, her son would never know that he was the Kingslayer's Bastard.