Summary:
"Swear it by the Seven," urged Ser Illifer the Penniless.
"By the Seven, then. I did no harm to King Renly. I swear it by the Mother. May I never know her mercy if I lie. I swear it by the Father, and ask that he might judge me justly. I swear it by the Maiden and Crone, by the Smith and the Warrior. And I swear it by the Stranger, may he take me now if I am false."
"She swears well, for a maid," Ser Creighton allowed.
(A Feast for Crows, Chapter 4, Brienne I)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The shackles were cold on Brienne's wrists, and she suppressed a shiver with an effort. Still, the horse she was sitting on must have felt it, as it moved restlessly. She sensed that she'd caught Jaime's attention, and swore silently, but didn't move her head, determined to keep ignoring him.
Brienne couldn't remember what she'd expected when Jon Snow (King Jon, now) and Lady Sansa had asked her to ride to meet with Jaime Lannister. You thought he could be made to forget his damned sister, didn't you, a harsh voice asked her. Thank the Seven, this voice was only in her head. No-one would ever find out how foolish she'd been.
The ride back to the Riverlands had been uneventful, if colder than Brienne remembered from her previous journey. Podrick had pointed it out, too, and if he noticed something, it must be obvious. He hadn't noticed the group of riders following them south, though. So the king had sent someone after them, had he? She'd hoped they would keep their distance, else the Lannister forces would see her arrival as an attack, rather than the peaceful parley she wished for.
It had all turned to naught in the end, though. Once she'd arrived on the outskirts of the camp, in front of one of the Twins, she'd been brought before Jaime, who looked older and more beaten down than she remembered. But it's only been a month, her inner voice wailed in despair, as her heart clenched in her chest for him. The way he raised his head, as he sat at a desk in his tent, and stared at her for a few seconds, reminded her of his father.
"I thought they must be mistaken, my lady. The scouts, I mean. When they saw two riders, and described Brienne of Tarth as one of them, I thought they must be mad. I almost had them flogged, for drinking on duty." As he talked, Brienne's heart sank. This was the old Jaime, the arrogant Kingslayer, not the man who'd given her a sword and a mission.
There were other men in the tent, too. Perhaps that was why he was so different with her. Bronn she recognized from previous meetings. But he too was changed, and did not even attempt to talk to Podrick. She supposed the last man, besides the guards, to be a distant Lannister cousin, from the various lions decorating his clothing and armour. The sneer on his face seemed permanently etched.
"My lady?" he asked, contempt dripping from his words. "Have I not heard that this," he paused, looking her up and down, "woman, travels all over the land, dressed as a man, affecting to fight? No lady here, surely."
Brienne sensed Podrick reaching for his sword, and immediately grabbed his arm, keeping her eyes straight ahead. Meanwhile, Jaime shot his cousin a look of fury.
"You'll keep a civil tongue in your mouth, Ser. I'll not have the lady disparaged."
The man flushed, but showed no inclination to stop speaking. "The Queen will not approve of your giving shelter to the protector of the murderess, Sansa Stark!"
Brienne was conscious of having changed expression – Jaime winced, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. She ignored his description of Lady Sansa, and hesitated before speaking.
"King Tommen . . . " She trailed off, not knowing how to continue.
Jaime sighed and leaned back in his chair. "There was an . . . eruption of wildfire under the Sept of Baelor. My nephew, the king, his wife, Lord Tyrell, Ser Kevan . . . most of the court." He held her eyes long enough for her to see the pain in them. "All gone. My sister was crowned queen soon after." His expression hardened. "Long may she reign!" he suddenly barked, and everyone in the tent chorused after him.
Even Podrick mumbled the words, taken by surprise, Brienne thought. But she did not. Jaime's eyes widened while his cousin spluttered at his side.
"My lady, you would be wise to-" Jaime started, but she wasn't interested in what he had to say.
This farce would end now. It was clear to her that Cersei had massacred the entire court and installed herself as queen, but that was not anything to do with her. She'd never been happier to know that Daenerys was headed towards King's Landing – let her deal with that poisonous power-mad bitch.
"She is no Queen of mine," Brienne interrupted, "nor of Podrick's", she added, aiming a quelling look at her side. "Nor of the North. There are no more Wardens, now. The Boltons are gone. Their line is extinguished. Jon Snow is the King in the North. Son of Rhaegar Targaryen, King of the Andals and the First Men, lord of the North from the Neck to the Wall."
"Jon Snow? King in the North? The Stark bastard who joined the Night's Watch?" The Lannister cousin scoffed, face almost purple with rage. "Have you lost your wits?"
Jamie interjected. "Son of Rhaegar Targaryen, you said. That's madness. What proof do you have?"
"He has a dragon. He rides a dragon. I saw it with my own eyes." Brienne noted how each man reacted to her words.
The Lannister cousin simply laughed, and not kindly. Jaime shook his head and Bronn narrowed his eyes. But when she gave a quick glance to the men standing guard, she noticed hands tightening on lances. So, the common soldier was not inclined to dismiss talk of dragons out of hand.
"C'mon, boy," Bronn said, glaring at Podrick. "You're not going to tell me you saw a dragon."
"I wasn't there," Podrick said, a note of apology in his voice. "But I trust and believe my lady."
Jaime hadn't said a word, but now he raised a hand, and everyone fell silent. "Why are you here, Lady Brienne?"
Brienne swallowed. She'd hoped to have been able to speak to him in private, but that was not to be.
"My king sent me as an emissary, Lord Lannister," she started, thinking that two could play the game of icy court manners, if he so wished.
She got no satisfaction on seeing a twitch when he heard the title he usually associated with his father. She also needed time to consider her words. If she even hinted that a Targaryen Queen with two dragons and a horde of soldiers was headed towards King's Landing, no god in existence would stop him from taking his armies there, except maybe the Stranger.
"The king will join us soon enough, and you will see the truth of my words," she continued. "It is not for me to say what he intends, simply that he wishes an alliance between North and South, to face . . . to face a growing peril."
Brienne chewed on her lip, conscious that she'd not ended on her strongest point. But what could she say? If they wouldn't believe the dragon which she'd seen with her own eyes, they would never believe talk of White Walkers and wights, monsters from childhood tales. She was half unsure if she believed it herself.
"If that bastard dares show his face here, a dozen arrows will deal with him," the Lannister cousin spat. Unseen, to his side, Bronn rolled his eyes.
"Your wench has lost her wits," the Lannister added, and Bronn winced this time, though Brienne didn't know why. It wasn't as though Jaime had shown her any special regard since she'd come.
Jaime leaned back and studied her, then shook his head. "Guard! Bring two sets of shackles."
Brienne just nodded, but the gasp from her side showed that Podrick hadn't been expecting this.
"My lord!" he protested, while Bronn seemed to be trying to signal the boy to keep quiet.
"Thus end all traitors," the Lannister cousin said piously, while Jaime rolled his eyes.
"I'm not going to execute them," Jaime said, in the bored tone Brienne knew all too well. "But we can't have enemies of the Queen loose in our camp. Bronn can keep an eye on young Podrick here. Lady Brienne will be my guest tonight."
Brienne didn't need to see the guards' expressions to see that they were smirking; a glare from Jaime aimed over her shoulder confirmed that quite well. Oh Jaime, she thought. My reputation was almost recovered from the Riverlands.
The guard returned with two sets of shackles. Jaime took one of them and carefully chained her wrists, all the while avoiding her eyes. Bronn saw to Podrick.
"Ser Jaime," the Lannister cousin started angrily, though a sharp look from Jaime caused him to slow down. "My lord, I mean. Surely it is not wise to seem to show favour to such as these? The men, I believe, may not-"
Bronn interrupted, having had enough, it seemed. "The only one inciting the men to grumbling every time my Lord Lannister gives an order is yourself, Ser Damion. Come on Podrick, we've got drinking to do. If you need to take a piss, don't worry. I'll give you a hand."
They left the tent without a by your leave, but Jaime didn't seem angry. Ser Damion was spluttering something about insolence, and jumped up gutter-rats who affected to be knights, when Jaime pointed out, in a mild tone, that Ser Bronn had been anointed after the Battle of the Blackwater. Ser Damion, evidently not a veteran of that battle, left in a huff.
Presently they were alone, except for the guards, who Jaime also ordered to leave them, though not without a few protests.
"Are you saying I can't defeat a woman who's shackled? I can see how much respect I command here!"
Brienne rolled her eyes as the guards trooped out, nudging each other. Doubtless many tales would be told about their lord's prowess in bedding the ugliest maid in the land, Brienne thought bitterly. Some of that must have shown in her face.
"Brienne, I had to chain you. I'm sorry."
Why must he be so obtuse? What did it matter if she were shackled or not? She was once again the Kingslayer's Whore.
"What do you intend to do with us, Kingslayer?"
Jaime's face fell, but to his credit, he didn't attempt to win her over with sweet words. "At first light we march on the Twins. Apparently someone's killed Walder Frey." He sighed, and poured a cup of wine, offering it to her. When she shook her head, he shrugged, and went on. "The remaining Freys are blaming Edmure Tully, and have locked him in their dungeon, breaking the agreement we made the last time I was here."
"The agreement," she sneered, wanting to say more but suddenly feeling sorry for Jaime. He looked so tired, so worn. Tommen was dead, she remembered. His last child, gone. She tried to harden her heart against him, but could not. Fool, she raged. Lackwit. He feels nothing for you. Then why did he ensure that I wouldn't be raped by his soldiers, she thought, perversely arguing with herself.
Jaime cocked his head to one side, a tiny smile on his lips. "Have you come to a decision?"
She brought her brows together. What was he talking about?
"Whether you hate me or not."
Something clenched in her chest. "I could never hate you," she burst out, then bit her lip, not wanting to say more.
Jaime looked away, his eyes glistening. He cleared his throat, seemingly fighting for control. "There's a cot," he said, with a lazy gesture of his golden hand. "Get some sleep. After this Frey mess is dealt with, I'm sending you to your father."
Back to Tarth, she thought with anger. Back home, a failure, like a beaten dog. But then she shrugged, because it didn't matter. It would never happen. No mere mortal could defeat King Jon, now. Not with Viserion at his side. When she looked up, Jaime was looking back at her, puzzled.
"No protests?" he asked, and she shrugged again. He didn't believe her about the dragon, so why should she rail against him? Then a horrible thought struck her.
"Jaime, you must not try to fight the dragon. Promise me that you will not."
Jaime looked bemused. "Brienne, I don't know what you saw, or think you saw, but-"
Brienne felt as though the rage would make her erupt in flames. Why was a woman's word never enough? Would they have believed everything if Podrick had seen the dragon? Well, they'd all find out soon enough.
She only managed to sleep for an hour or two, conscious of Jaime sitting at the makeshift table that had been set up for him. He'd seemed to be looking at a map of the Riverlands, though she could have told him that it was pointless – there was no way to get into any of the two castles except by trickery, and his ruse wouldn't work twice. King Jon had other methods.
The next morning, the air was cold and crisp as they rode the short distance to the Twins. Jaime had told her of his plan to try and talk to the remaining Freys again, before starting a siege. Brienne wasn't going to repeat herself, so she'd just nodded, ignoring the sidelong glances of the soldiers who'd come to wake Jaime, who was already awake, of course.
She'd exchanged nods with Podrick and Bronn, hushing the former as he hissed an urgent whisper at her.
"My lady, he didn't-"
"No, of course not." Was it her imagination, or did Bronn look almost disappointed as he caught her whisper? Podrick blushed.
"Ser Bronn seems to think that you would do well to . . . uhh . . . " She was quite sure she knew what Bronn was advising, and cursed her fair skin for the colour that she was sure was rising in her cheeks like a flag.
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, including Bronn in her words. "You know we have other matters to worry about."
Brienne couldn't help worry, because while she'd tried her best to warn Jaime about the dragon, she hadn't said a word about what the King incessantly called the real war to be fought in the North. Not that she could blame him. He'd seen true horrors, among them, his own men rising from the dead to attack him. Once again she asked herself: did she really believe him? Well, how could she do otherwise, with whole villages emptied, with only one or two survivors left to seek refuge at Winterfell?
As she mused, they rode. She was fully lost in thought, so the first screech did not rouse her. But Bronn's words did.
"By the hairy arse of the lord of hell, that's a fucking dragon!"
She looked at him and he was staring up into the sky, along with Podrick, Jaime, and the other men on horseback. The dragon passed over them, and as she looked up, she caught a glimpse of the King looking down at them. Brienne felt her heart hammering in her chest, and knew she had to act fast.
"Jaime, send out your sergeants! Calm the men! You must do it quickly!" Jaime, to his credit did not hesitate. The others looked at her, puzzled. Only Bronn was nodding.
"Didn't you see that bugger's face? Not the dragon, I mean, his rider. He was spittin' mad, probably that you've chained up his sworn men, begging your pardon, m'lady."
She could hear the sergeants going through the ranks, yelling at the men. She was about to argue that it wasn't really what she'd meant, when Bronn put a hand on her arm, snatching it away quickly when Podrick looked daggers at him.
"Sorry, m'lady. But they're simple soldiers, and shouting is the best way."
As they talked, King Jon and Viserion wheeled over the soldiers, once, twice, almost daring them to loose arrows at him. Then he turned and flew towards the nearest of the Twins. They weren't close enough to hear what he said, but everyone, even the men on the ground, saw what happened next.
Torrents of fire shot out of the dragon's mouth and enveloped the men standing on the battlements. Their shrieks tapered off almost immediately, but Brienne still cringed at the thought of being burnt alive. She didn't look away, though. She was conscious of men's eyes on her, and if she'd learned anything from being a warrior, was that respect was earned by being able to gaze upon such horrors, and not look away.
The sound of a horse's tack distracted her from her thoughts, and she realised that Jaime was once again by her side. He was staring at the scene which had her fascinated, and as she looked back, she saw the King draw his sword Longclaw with a flourish, and jump lightly onto the battlements of the castle. Viserion then flew around and seemed to be attacking the drawbridge, until it fell with a loud crash – the dragon had melted the chains. As if at a signal, a group of Northern warriors burst out of the woods nearby, and rode hard for the castle entrance.
"Where is Ser Damion?" Jaime's abrupt question stirred her from her reverie. It was true, she hadn't seen the man since the dragon flew over them.
Bronn gave them a sidelong look. "Off to tend to his ravens, I'd expect."
Jaime's lips thinned. "Take some men and . . . deal with him."
Bronn opened his mouth and closed it again, though he wasn't really abashed by the look on Jaime's face. He nodded, dismounted, and vanished with a couple of men in tow. Brienne was conscious that she was staring at Jaime, mouth open.
"He's Cersei's spy, Brienne. Or rather, Qyburn's spy. Or both. No matter, he needs to disappear in the Riverlands," Jaime continued, his voice having returned to its usual lazy drawl.
"But he's your cousin," she said, and I thought your family was so important to you, she wanted to yell, that you could never work against them.
He shrugged. "Distant cousin." He noticed that she was still glaring at him. "If it helps, he suggested that I should give you to the men, for their sport."
Brienne felt her bile rise and controlled it with difficulty. She ended up shaking her head. "I don't think I'll ever understand you, Jaime," she mumbled, and then could have kicked herself as she saw the pleased look on his face. He produced a key for her chains, and just like that, she was free, and so was Podrick.
A shout from the men drew their attention to the castle, from which the group of Northern warriors had emerged.
As they drew closer, Brienne recognised them – they were the spearwives who'd come to Winterfell with Tormund. Only some of them had fought in the battle against Ramsay Bolton, because Tormund had said he was tired of watching Free Folk be massacred for the kneelers. This was said to her round a fire after some sparring, where she'd been lucky to hold her own against those fierce fighters.
The two outriders had pennants fixed to their lances – on the one, a white wolf against a grey background, and on the other, the increasingly familiar three-headed red dragon, against a black background. Brienne tried to ignore the muttered conversation the soldiers were having behind her.
"Wasn't the Stark banner a grey wolf on a white field?"
"That Jon Snow's a bastard, I hear."
"Aye? So am I. How's he king, then?"
"He's got a dragon."
As the warriors drew closer, the muttering changed.
"More bloody women with swords."
"Do you know these women?" Jaime murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
Brienne managed to answer just as discreetly. "They are Free Folk. Their leader is called Karsi." She privately wondered how the King had managed to persuade them to wear Northern clothes and armour, though she was sure their furs were rolled up and tied to their saddles.
The women stopped when they were close enough to be heard.
"Jon Snow demands the release of Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne, who are to join him in the castle." Brienne was sure that was not all they had to say, and she was right when she heard Karsi's next words. "Jaime Lannister will also join the . . . king."
Jaime raised his eyebrows at her tone, even as Bronn spluttered in rage. "You can't be thinking of going there! That's a death trap!"
Jaime ignored him, turning to Brienne instead. "Doesn't she like your king in the North?"
"They're wildlings, Jaime. They have no kings. Though they do call him King Crow, sometimes – 'crows' is their name for the Night's Watch."
"One day you will explain to me how he got out of that one. Very well." Jaime turned to the warrior women and raised his voice. "I accept King Jon's invitation, with thanks."
Bronn's face had turned purple with frustration and anger. "Jaime!"
Jaime sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "If Jon Snow had wanted to kill me, I'd be a pile of charcoal right now. But if I try and run, he'll hunt me down on that bloody flying lizard. I have to believe that he needs me for something, if it's only for the Lannister armies and our gold."
He quirked an eyebrow at Brienne, but she refused to meet his eyes. She knew why King Jon needed an army, and she wasn't sure Jaime was going to like it.
"Bronn, I need you to take charge of the men. I'll send for you as soon as I can."
Jaime turned to Brienne, and his devil-may-care smile almost broke her heart. Was she leading him to his death? No, Lady Sansa would have never allowed that. But Lady Sansa was a queen now, with a queen's responsibilities.
"Well, my lady?" Jaime raised an eyebrow, and she flushed, muttering an apology for her distraction.
Brienne forced her trembling hands around the reins of her horse and spurred the animal to follow the free folk to the castle. She knew that Jaime and Podrick followed behind.
When they entered the great hall of the Freys, she was expecting King Jon, and wasn't surprised by his casual attitude. He was stoking the fire and swearing, and Jaime stopped in his tracks, a look of bemusement on his face.
Podrick immediately ran to the fireplace and wrenched the poker out of the King's hand. "Your Grace!" His consternation was obvious, and the king shrugged.
"None of the bloody Frey servants are coming out of hiding – they think Viserion's going to eat them. I had to free him myself."
Brienne had a moment to register that the King's Northern burr was stronger than ever, when she realised who the king was talking about. Edmure Tully stalked towards them, his eyes full of hatred, fixed on Jaime. She immediately put herself between them.
"My lord Tully," she started, unsure of how she should go on. Luckily by then the king had reached them, and put himself in front of the man.
"Get out of my way!"
"We talked about this!" King Jon sounded as exasperated as he did when dealing with the Northern lords and their incessant squabbles with the wildlings.
"I agreed to nothing," Tully spat. "This murdering bastard is going to die, today!"
"I'll have you know my parents were wed before the Seven," Jaime added mildly, and Brienne rolled her eyes.
"Do you know what Roose Bolton said to your brother, right before he stabbed him to death, in this very hall? 'The Lannisters send their regards!'" Edmure would not be pacified.
But now Jaime was angry, too. "I was miles away, having my hand cut off at the time! You can hardly hold me responsible for my father's actions!"
"Oh, and what about your actions, my lord Lannister? You threatened to put my son in a trebuchet and throw him over the battlements!"
At this even Podrick looked up from the fireplace in shock. Brienne could hardly believe her ears, and the King was rubbing a scar on his forehead.
"It was just a threat, to get you to give us the castle! I never would have done it."
"Enough!" The roar silenced them all, and even if she hadn't known that the King had led men into battle, she would have recognized that tone.
Outside the hall, she could hear a dragon screeching, and she didn't need to see it to know that Viserion was flying around the castle, agitated by the King's sudden outburst. There really is a link between them, she thought.
The door to the great hall opened a crack, and a terrified face looked in. "Um, begging your pardon, uh, lord, we, that is, the servants, we was wonderin'-"
Brienne didn't often thank the gods for Podrick, but she did now. He instantly took charge of the man, directing him to get food and wine for all, and clothes for Lord Tully. Soon they were all sitting as close to the fire as they could get. Once the servants had finished bringing food and wine, deposited in front of them with shaking hands and averted glances, the King turned to Podrick.
"Did any of the servants tell you what really happened here? All I got out of the lesser Freys were threats and insults."
Before Podrick could answer, Jaime's languid tones interrupted, and Brienne could have kicked him. "Was that in the few moments before you set fire to them? I can't imagine why they didn't tell you the whole story."
But the King didn't seem angry at Jaime – at least, not very angry. "It seems that every time we meet you insult me, my lord. In fact, they did say something about Lord Edmure here killing Walder Frey, which I don't know how he did-"
Lord Edmure interrupted him. "From a dungeon! Where I was chained up since you left here, my lord."
Jaime had the grace to look embarrassed and pained. "I offer my deepest apologies for that. Walder Frey . . . I should never have trusted him to keep to the agreement."
Lord Edmure seemed slightly mollified and nodded at Podrick to speak.
"One of the kitchen maids tried to tell me about a strange serving girl who disappeared around that time. They found Walder Frey in this very room, with his throat cut – to the bone, she said."
Podrick waited for a reaction, and, when none was forthcoming, continued. "His sons were dead too. But no-one wanted to talk about them."
The king nodded, and rubbed his chin. "It is no matter." He turned to Edmure Tully. "Your wife and son are being held in the other castle. There's only a castellan there, and a few Frey men. With the help of the Tully troops who I'm sure are roaming the woods in the Riverlands, it should be no issue for you to take the castle. Might be some one here knows a hidden way in."
"Probably through the river," Brienne blurted out, then flushed, as all eyes were on her. "At least, that was how Ser Brynden helped us escape from the Riverrun . . . after it was surrendered."
She realised that she'd said the wrong thing when Lord Edmure bristled at her words.
"Yes, my uncle Brynden – what happened to him, I wonder? Butchered by Lannister soldiers!"
"He could have surrendered without dishonour, and he knew that," Jaime answered mildly. "He chose to die fighting."
"To keep your whore safe, no doubt!" Edmure shouted, and Brienne felt her skin heat up and tighten with embarrassment.
Podrick and Jaime shot to their feet, their hands on their swords. Brienne tried to pacify them and looked to the king, but he was no help, the expression of fury on his face one she'd rarely seen. Then he held a hand up, and glared at Lord Edmure.
"Lady Brienne of Tarth is my sworn emissary and protector of my wife, Queen Sansa. You will curb your tongue, Lord Edmure."
Tully seemed more embarrassed at himself for his outburst. "I must apologise, Lady Brienne. I have not been . . . myself, of late."
She tried to accept the apology gracefully, but it was hard. Jaime sat down, but Podrick stalked off, and pretended to stoke the fire.
It was then that Edmure seemed to hear what the King had said. "Your wife, Sansa? She's your half-sister, by the gods!"
The king sighed, no doubt tired of having to repeat what he'd said more than once. "I am not Ned Stark's son, Lord Edmure. I have told you this."
"A dragon? A dragon being your pet is the proof we're supposed to take for you not being Ned's bastard but some kind of Targaryen by-blow?"
Jaime sniggered. "Have a care, Lord Edmure. There's a few piles of ash on the battlements who spoke to King Jon the way you are doing now."
The king ignored Jaime's words and addressed Lord Edmure. "You are not being asked to accept anything. The Riverlands are not part of the North. I freed you so that the Twins will be an open passage to any of the North who need to travel South. And, of course, the other way. Particularly, my . . . aunt, Queen Daenerys Targaryen."
The sneer fell off Jaime's face and he leaned forward. "Queen who? Where is her kingdom? Which throne does she sit?"
Now it was Edmure's turn to smirk, and Brienne's heart fell. This was not turning out the way she'd expected. She suspected the king felt the same way. She met his eyes, and there seemed to be a question in them. She nodded. This bickering had to end. Perhaps it was what Jaime was used to, coming from King's Landing, but that was in the past, during a Summer which had seemed endless.
"Neither concerns you, Lord Jaime." King Jon's voice turned as cold as he'd been when he'd executed the Master-at-arms in the courtyard at Winterfell, as cold as she was sure he'd been when he'd ordered Viserion to blow fire at the Freys. "You will never return to King's Landing."