GoT S8E4 Ch. 03 - Atonement

"Are you happy here, Ser Jaime?" Lady Sansa asked, some mornings after Queen Daenerys and the Northern Armies had left for Dragonstone and King's Landing.

Jamie had come to see if she had any tasks for him. He had agreed to do this when receiving permission to stay at Winterfell. It was becoming a heavier price than he had anticipated. Usually he worked with the master at arms to train the new men for the castle guard or accompanied Brienne about some business for Lady Sansa, but only trivial things. A few times she had trotted him out to the countryside to deal with a cow or a barn or some other smallfolk drudgery. The people had always irritated him.

But he was content, nevertheless, so he made his face a polite smile and answered her question. "Of course, Lady Sansa. Our Houses haven't always been friends, but you and I do not have to follow worn paths. You were once my sister by marriage. The winter has come. We must see to the needs of the people going forward," he said with bow.

"We are agreed," she said, smiling at him. "Which is why you will be touring Winter town today, checking on the smallfolk with the maester, and to make plans for cleaning up after the armies. You are one of the heroes of the battle of Winterfell, the people will appreciate your interest. The Great Houses united in peace sets the right tone, especially with what will soon happen in the capital."

"I thank you, for the confidence. I shall be the hero the people expect," he replied.

She brushed her hair back off of her shoulders. "Perhaps I should apologize, Ser Jaime. When you first asked for harbor here at Winterfell, I doubted your intentions towards my house and my people. However, you have been honorable in your actions since you've been here. Brienne had confidence in you, vouched for you. She doesn't give her love or loyalty lightly." She sighed before she said, "In quiet moments I worry I take advantage of her goodness and loyalty. I owe her my life. So I do my best to honor her struggles as a female soldier, and now knight, here in Westeros."

Sansa's eyes gave the illusion of sadness, but they really weren't, Jaime noticed. "I also owe her my life, Lady Sansa," Jaime replied. The young woman had spent too much time with Tyrion and Cersei both. He hoped she had their better parts. Either way, the truth was safest. "She was my will to live, when I thought my life was worthless. Hers is the faithful council that never waivers from what is right. Her actions are sometimes stupidly brave but always admirable," he said. Then he looked the shrewd young woman in the eye. "Knighting Ser Brienne was the honor of my life," he said, putting a slight emphasis on the first word.

She blushed a little and seemed genuinely surprised at his words before she replied, "Well said, Ser. Well said."

"If you'll excuse me, my lady, I should meet with the Maester to see about our ride to winter town."

"Very good."

Jaime rested his hand on the hilt of Widow's Wail as he walked out the door. Today he hated the North. They always made you earn it.

***

"Stop, just stop," Brienne said, as she tried to catch her breath. "I can't take it anymore."

"What, have I worn you out?" Jaime said, his chest heaving.

Brienne shook her head. "I am not tired, ser. But your grip is making my wrist hurt. And the thumb," she said. "Watch the thumb."

He scowled at her and fixed his grip. "There, are you happy now?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "That's better. Now maybe I'll be able to feel it when you hit me," she said, unable to stop herself from smiling.

Jamie tapped the flat of the practice blade against his leg. It was something he did when he was particularly provoked by her. "You try it left handed, ser. I've only been at this a few years, compared to the thirty-odd before it."

He was deliciously irritated with her. It was the best part of her day, their sparring. She turned her back to him, blushing. Maybe the second best part of her day. She switched her sword to her left hand. "Alright then, Jaime. Let's get to it."

They began to spar. Forwards, backwards, parry - thrust. They ranged the yard, circling, clashing, repositioning, attacking again. They went at this for half an hour before they finally came to a draw and broke off, laughing. Single combat on a field of war seldom lasted that long.

The clapping of the Stark men surprised her. "Ser Brienne of Tarth," the Stark master of arms said, "And Ser Jaime Lannister. That was some of the best sword play I've seen, given its with your off-hands. Too bad neither of you wanted to win. We should put it in the training though. Never know when an injury will come."

Jaime squinted at her, brushing his hair from his eyes. "She beat me. I yield knowing you'll like seeing a Lannister bested."

"No, Ser," the older man said. "Battle makes strange bedfellows. You shed blood with us when you need not and you've stayed under our Lady's protection, estranged from your House. You've done good here, since the army left. You're a smug bastard, sure, but you're not lazy. Not a man left in Winterfell wouldn't fight beside you, nor Ser Brienne neither. The North Remembers doesn't mean jus' the bad, Ser Jaime," the older man said. "Do not waste your chance."

Brienne could see Jaime, for once, had no words. No matter how many times he was offered absolution, he seemed unable to accept it's grace. She answered for him. "Thank you, ser. We both appreciate your compliment and your welcome."

The master nodded, then he and the others left to go about other business. Brienne chanced a glance at Jaime. He seemed ready enough. "Come now, ser, I believe we made a wager, and you've just yielded," she said.

"Go again?" he asked. "I'll double our agreement. And let's use real blades this time. I'd like to feel that edge of panic."

She took it back. This was the best part of her day.

***

In the hall after the evening meal, Jaime kissed Brienne on the cheek and went to take his usual wander on the wall walk. "Would you like to come with me?" he asked politely.

She brushed the hair out of his eyes. "No, you go ahead. I wanted to go to the library and then just return to our room."

"Don't fall asleep?" he said as he stepped away. "I owe you double." She felt herself blush and he grinned wider.

She talked with the others at the table, finishing her wine. Then she did go back to their room. She went with him only once, the night after the army left. He had not said a word during their tour, and at the front of the keep he stopped and looked to the south. She knew what it meant. He was looking at home. She understood, but didn't want to watch.

So these many nights, usually just after dark or a little later, they parted for a short while. Brienne would use the time to think about their travels, about that Jaime and this Jaime. This Jaime that had left his Queen and love and nearly walked into his own execution because she had upbraided him about his duty to the living. This Jaime that asked to fight at her side, who charged his way into her bed, probably with as little serious thought as when he'd ridden into Winterfell alone. This sincere and committed Jaime, her friend, the only man other than her father that she gave a damn about. She usually didn't go much farther than that, with her thoughts. It wasn't wise. Instead she thought about waking and finding him gone, of the space at her back that would go unguarded, of the lure of the South. One could never have enough practice, defending one's self.

She thought of these things as she went about her evening habits until she heard his step in the hall. She thought about none of these things the moment he was again in her arms and inside her body.

***

Jaime stalked across the courtyard, generally bothered by yet another day among the smallfolk in winter town, no matter how gracious they had been to him. In fact, it made him feel worse, the grudging respect the whole of the North seemed to show him these days. Eddard had been a pillar of honor. Robb had bested him at tactics. Jon Snow, a bastard of the North, was a prodigy at leadership and inspiring allegiance. He could have no confidence in the earnest acceptance they gave the kingslayer from the South. It felt like they were mocking him.

Then he saw the maester walking away from Lady Sansa and Ser Brienne. Sansa was reading a raven scroll. As she read it she started to walk into a more private courtyard, Brienne at her heel. Jaime followed, needing to know what it said. It was too early for them to have made a move on King's Landing. He followed them, his cape billowing in his wake.

Lady Sansa's gaze waited for him, even as she spoke in a low voice with Brienne. He couldn't quite make out what she said, but also didn't try. He would be told what he needed to know. Sansa would make sure of it. "What happened?" he asked.

He looked between Sansa and Brienne, who was expressionless. His chest wobbled. He didn't like Brienne feeling - that. Sansa nodded to Brienne. She straightened to give the news, brows furrowed.

"Euron Greyjoy ambushed Queen Daenerys and her fleet. One of the dragons was killed, several ships destroyed, Missandei captured," Brienne said. In his head, Jaime heard it, the song that had woken him out of his sleep most nights.

Brienne wouldn't look at him.

Lady Sansa gave a small smile, a hitch of her cheek really. "I always wanted to be there when they execute your sister. Now I guess I won't get the chance," she said to him. Then she turned and walked away.

Brienne turned to watch the young woman as if she'd never known the Lady capable of such malice.

It was a slip of the knife Cersei would have been proud to deliver herself. Jaime closed his eyes for a moment - it was too much. It was a show of Lannister ruthlessness. The Dragon Queen would sack the city, without a doubt. There would be no hope of surrender.

"I must go after Lady Sansa," Brienne said when he opened his eyes.

Jaime only nodded before Brienne turned and walked in to the keep.

***

Neither of them ate much at dinner, and neither wanted to join in the discussions about this recent news. Jaime took Brienne's hand and pulled her from the hall.

"Aren't you going for your walk?" she asked.

Jamie stopped. "I'd rather be in bed with you, if you'll allow?"

She nodded.

They undressed each other and bathed. Not together as the tub was too small, but they took the time to wash each other, stayed close by as the other bathed.

"I wish I had a scissors," Brienne muttered, running her fingers through his hair. "It needs a cut."

He took her hand and kissed the palm. "It doesn't matter," he said.

When the bathing was done and the fire properly tended, they climbed into the bed, face to face, not saying anything. Then they reached out to touch each other's cheeks and lips. She tugged on the grey patches in his beard. They usually forgot there was more than ten years between them.

"It doesn't matter," he said, pulling her hands away and kissing wrists where her pulse thudded under her skin.

He traced the shell of her ear with his fingertip, tugging on the earlobe, tracing down her chin and to her lips. She sucked on the tip of his finger even as she grasped his hardness. He exhaled softly, as she knew he would. He took his hand away to enjoy her touch. Her large hand and strong wrist gave his cock so much pleasure. His early seed streamed from him, and she used it to ease her hand's travel. His hips flexed into her and he pulled her to him for a deep wet kiss.

His hand ranged over her nipples and back, down her side and up, his touch so light it almost tickled her. Finally he slid his fingers over her sex, spreading her own excitement well over her lips and folds. "Jaime," she gasped when he squeezed her center between two slippery fingers.

They moved close together, kissing lazily, as if they had all the time in the world. She slid a muscular leg up his own until it was high enough to run up over his butt. She used her calf and pulled him toward her, and then, moments later, she felt his hard cock push against her.

He palmed her butt, pulling her to him, and she wrapped her arms around him, hips undulating until they were joined. They set a languorous pace, drawing out their pleasure rather than rushing to it. The night was young, they would make it last.

***

He got up, that song with it's malevolent refrain humming through his head, and all the thoughts that made him a Lannister playing along with it. He pulled on his pants and tended the fire.

"Jaime?" Brienne said from the blankets, roused by the snap and crackle of new wood.

"Shh, Innocence. Back to sleep, I'm just tending the fire, like you taught me," he said, trying to sound light. "I'm going to get some more wood. Then I'll be back."

She rolled over, and her eyes flicked about the room. She sighed and snuggled back into the blankets, her sapphire blue eyes all that was visible above the furs. Jaime's chest wobbled.

"Hurry back," she whispered before she closed her eyes to sleep.

He finished dressing and did see to the wood like a common servant. He wanted the cold and the activity. The task was soon finished. The full wood bin by Brienne's fire gave him an odd sense of satisfaction. Brienne stirred, and blinked at him, but then she rolled over and went back to sleep.

He sat facing away from the bed, and poured himself a glass of wine, haunted by his ghosts, his tears falling like soft rain no one would hear. When her breathing told him she was sleeping deeply, he collected his things and slipped quietly out of the room.

***

Brienne rolled onto her back, thinking the room didn't feel right. Then she noticed his things - usually spread across the room - were gone. She teared up at the loss, but wasn't surprised. She breathed, thinking all of her careful thoughts, just as she'd trained herself. He had always protected her, from first they met. He was trying to protect her from himself. They had been perfect and now it was over, time to move on. She wouldn't be able to talk him out of it.

Seven Hells! She'd be damned if she didn't at least try.

She scrambled into her night shirt and heavy armoring coat, pulled on her boots and walked down to the stables. If she lost, it would be on her feet, as a proper knight. He would have to sink the knife himself.

She walked through the castle, using the fastest route to the stables. There he was, making final adjustments to his saddle. He didn't look up at her as she crossed the yard.

"They're going to destroy that city, you know they will," she said, crossing her arms.

Jaime looked down. He said softly, "Have you ever chosen not to fight?"

She walked to him, took his face in her hands and made him look at her. "You're not like your sister. You're not. You're better than she is. You're a good man, an honorable man, and you can't save her. She's only ever been the ruin of you - you don't need to die with her, no matter what you think. Stay. Stay with me. Please," she said, half command and half plea. Her lower lip quivered, and tears came.

Jaime's face, which had been set in that blank mask he wore when he couldn't take his own emotions, softened a little. He pulled her hands gently from his face, kissing her palm and wrist, as he so liked to do.

"You think I am a good man? An honorable one?" He held her hands to his chest and nodded gently in understanding. Then he looked her in the eye and said, "I pushed a boy out of a tower window - crippled him for life - for Cersei. I strangled my cousin with my own hands, just to get back to Cersei," his grip tightened on her hand, his golden hand crushed her arms to his chest. "I would have murdered every man, woman, and child in Riverrun for Cersei," he said fiercely.

He looked at her face, expecting her look to change from attachment to disgust, but she didn't feel any kind of change, so her face didn't show one. His face wore confusion at her constancy.

She frowned at him through tears that ran unchecked. "I knew about your cousin already, you forget I was in the camp. You could have slaughtered all of Riverrun, but you didn't, you found a way not to. As for the boy I can only assume is Brandon Stark, you must have been forgiven, or you'd be dead. Those sins were all long ago and not repeated. They have been forgiven or atoned for with your own blood. Cersei is a spiteful thing, and would never truly seek either pardon or penance, not in her heart. But you have - why can you not forgive yourself?"

Jaime had that flat dull look he got when he went away inside. He barely looked at her when he said, "She is hateful. And so am I."

Brienne wept as he turned away from her, adjusted his tack and mounted his horse. Just as as he was about to ride off, she said to his back, "You really are a coward, Kingslayer."

He seemed to shrink a little, but then cantered off, without looking back.

Her sobbing could be heard as he rode out of the gate.

***