Chapter Text
He wakes up to the sound of ocean waves, the feel of a soft breeze on his cheeks, and the sight of his sister near him.
What in seven hells is going on? Am I still asleep? Just a while ago, he was in Winterfell, going for a walk after fulfilling his (admittedly feeble) duties while waiting for his favorite time of the day: just after supper, when both he and Brienne can excuse themselves to their chambers only to go together to hers. He really wants to know how he ended up with his vile of a sister when he was living in pure fucking bliss a nap ago. When did he even fall asleep? His last memory is of standing outside the castle, approaching Brienne and Lady Sansa.
"Jaime," his twin's voice calls him. He blinks and tries to sit up, feeling a sharp pain on his stomach. "Don't move," she warns him as he lays back down. "The bleeding stopped, but the wound is still open." Which wound? He doesn't realize he's asked that out loud until she answers. "You said it was Euron, but didn't give me any further details before passing out. Don't you remember?"
Her voice is oddly neutral; it isn't sweet like it used to be back when things were simpler, neither it is venomous like in their last days. "I don't even remember getting to you, to be honest," he replies, because what else can he say? He has no energy to try to pretend he has any idea of what is going on.
"What, exactly, do you remember?"
He turns to her. She's wearing Lannister crimson, unlike the black he's seen her in since Tommen's death; her dress is a bit torn on its skirt. "I was in Winterfell," he states, not wanting to get into any details with Cersei of all people. He may have been proud to mark Brienne as his to the Starks and their household, but he will keep her from his sister for as long as he can.
She frowns. "I'm not sure how much I can help you," she says. "You showed up in the Red Keep as it crumbled under the Dragon Whore's fire." What? "You dragged me across tunnels I've never seen and led me to this very boat. You said we'd wait for the first ship to Essos to come. When I noticed you bleeding, all you said was that it'd been Euron's fault, and that you killed him."
At least that bastard is dead, by my hands no less. That's the only remotely good thing from Cersei's speech, or the one that makes any sense, anyway. "Daenerys Targaryen set the Red Keep on fire?" He asks first, because maybe she knows at least that.
She scowls. "From what I've seen in the distance, she set fire to the whole city with her dragon. Is that the kind of queen our brother allied himself to?"
"You're the one to talk," he spats. "Or did you forget you burned the Sept of Baelor?"
"Well, clearly the Dragon Whore decided to upstage me. I hope you did not lend her your support while in Winterfell."
He doesn't remember even talking to the Targaryen girl after his 'trial'. "What drove her to do it? She seemed… sane enough in Winterfell." Maybe sane was too good of a term, but… she looked stable. Not that he paid much attention to her, busy as he was trailing after Brienne.
"I wish I knew," she replies dryly. "I didn't see the whole battle. Ser Gregor and Qyburn were to escort me to safety, but then the Hound showed up, and they began to fight. Qyburn tried to intervene and got smashed, so I just slipped out. You found me not long afterwards, and the walls were already crumbling. It's a miracle we made it out at all."
The Hound and the Mountain facing each other makes sense to him; the two brothers hated each other, although Jaime did not expect the undead Clegane to remember Sandor enough to hold a grudge against him. Well, it's not the most important part of the story. "What about Tyrion?"
"He tried to negotiate, I'll give him that. Not that I was going to accept."
"You'd rather perish inside the Red Keep than give it to another."
If she notices his harsh tone, she doesn't show. "Euron had killed one of her dragons and captured her closest advisor—what was her name…?"
Miss—something, he remembers vaguely, but won't tell her. "What did you do, Cersei?"
"I executed her in front of the Dragon Whore," she replies coldly. "In hindsight, not my smartest move."
"Oh, you think?" Stupidest Lannister might he be, but even Jaime would know not to taunt the Mad King's daughter like that.
She looks away. He sighs; nothing she said explains to him why he's here. There is one thing he can think of, though. "The baby?" He asks.
"I haven't bled," she replies quietly, turning back to him. "So I suppose it's fine."
He lowers his eyes to her belly. It's not showing from where he lays, but it could be just because she's sitting down. Maybe I came to rescue the baby, he thinks. I'd not dare save Cersei, not after all she's done, but perhaps I thought saving our child was worth the effort. Has he ever told Brienne about his sister's pregnancy? He can't remember. She'd help me if she knew. Could this be a plan made by the both of us?
He knows his sister lives on borrowed time. Sooner or later she will be found and executed. All he needs to do is to keep her alive long enough to give birth, and then keep himself alive to raise the child. The latter part may not be so difficult; the Starks allowed him to stay in Winterfell for however long he wanted, even though one of them is crippled precisely because of him. Daenerys Targaryen may not be fond of him, but Tyrion is, so he might bargain for his life. Of course, he'd have to give up his titles, but he never cared much for them in the first place, especially if he convinced Brienne to marry him. Did he ask her before leaving? Surely I told her how I feel, at least. I'd not leave for such a risky mission without letting her know I love her.
It's surreal to reflect on his history with Brienne and how far they've come. When he first laid eyes on her, back on that night, chained up in a cell for a year, he'd never have guessed he'd fall in love with the giantess who looked at him with scorn. He'd never have imagined her looking at him any differently, least of all with the awe of being discovered and seen, like in their first night together.
Of course, back then he'd never dare see himself loving anyone other than Cersei, but things changed, and his perception of the world and those around him shifted as well. His time with Brienne lifted a curtain in his eyes, enabling him to see people for who they were, notably his father and sister. It took time, and some relapses, but eventually he freed himself from Cersei's grasp. He'd never go back to her if he could help it, so the only plausible explanation for his current predicament is his concern for his unborn child.
Another sharp pain pulls him from his thoughts, and he sends a prayer to whatever gods are listening. He won't be able to save his child if he bleeds to death. Then, lulled by the slow and rhythmic rocking of the waves on the boat, he falls back asleep.
He wakes up again in a cabin, lying on an actual bed. He looks down to see his abdomen bandaged. From the corner of his eye, he sees Cersei walking to him. "Luckily we found a ship with healers inside," she tells him, "whose captain cares nothing for who we are in Westeros."
"Where are we heading to?"
"Lys, then Volantis. I was going to ask you where you think we should stay."
He turns his head in her direction. She's standing now, and her belly still doesn't look as swollen as he expects. Suddenly it occurs to him… "It isn't mine, is it?" He asks, huffing. She straightens up defensively, but he's too tired for a fight. "Just… tell me how many moons."
She hesitates. "Two."
Definitely not his, then. He only laid with Cersei once after her coronation; had his seed quickened in her womb, she'd be five moons pregnant. Not showing when he left, but surely now. He doesn't bother voicing the obvious; instead, he goes for more practical matters. "Then it's safer if we go as east as we can before you give birth."
She nods stiffly. "Volantis, then."
When they finally reach the city, Cersei is beginning to show. It's subtle, and he doubts he'd notice if he hadn't committed the sight of her pregnant body to memory before, but it's there. He finds no news of Westeros, but finds a man willing to send a letter to Winterfell with part of the coin he got after selling his golden hand—Cersei didn't like that he did it, but shut up when he asked how else they were supposed to get money. He sits down and, careful to not mess up his penmanship, begins to write:
My beloved Brienne,
I write to let you know I'm safe and sound in Volantis with Cersei, though not without some bad news to deliver.
First of all, it seems that I've forgotten all of my journey from Winterfell to King's Landing, as well as any plans made beforehand. I wish I could actually wait for your reply so you can enlighten me, but Cersei and I decided to sail as farthest east as possible before she gives birth. We still don't know our next destination, given Daenerys Targaryen's history in Slaver's Bay, but we won't stay here long enough for a reply of yours.
My last memories are of seeing you and Sansa talking in the yards. Did we make some plan for me to sneak Cersei to safety until she gives birth? I tried to think of any plausible reason for waking up in a boat alongside her after spending a whole month waking up next to you, and this unborn child is all I've found. Oh, if only I had you by my side to remind me what we planned.
I do wonder why my memory fails me. I woke up with a bleeding injury in my stomach, but, as far as I know, memory loss comes from head injuries instead, and I've got none of those. Perhaps I've gone away inside? It makes sense that I'd retreat myself in order to face my sister once again, away from you. I don't think I've ever talked about this method of mine in detail to you, have I? I'll tell you when I get back, I promise. It's nothing you should concern yourself with.
I hope things are well for you and Lady Sansa. Cersei told me she saw the whole capital burning under Daenerys' dragon (apparently Jon Snow's was killed by Euron?). There's been no news of Westeros here, so I can only pray you are indeed in Winterfell, safe in the bloody North.
I don't remember telling you this, although I must have, so I'll tell you here and now in this letter: I love you, Brienne. Don't let this little quest make you doubt my devotion to you. Whatever this plan is, I'm only here for the child—which, second bad news, is not even mine, but Euron's. As soon as the baby is born, I'll find my way back to you. I wish to marry you, my lady Ser, if you'll have this old, crippled man with no prospects and nothing to give you but his heart.
I miss you already. Can't wait to get back to you.
Yours,
Jaime Lannister.
Cersei finds a small inn near the docks, which he finds perfect for their purposes, but they are still found—though not by anyone he ever expected.
The woman standing at their room's door is dressed all in red—a red priestess then, just like the one he saw in Winterfell. "Cersei and Jaime Lannister," she says quietly, as if knowing those names are not safe to be said too loudly. "I come here in peace."
He hears Cersei growl, but decides to give this woman a chance. "Say what you have to say then. I won't let you in, though."
She nods. "Very well. My name is Kinvara, and I'm a servant of—"
"The Lord of Light, I know. I've seen people like you where I come from. Say your piece, my lady."
"I've seen… things. In the flames. Regarding your future, and the ones of those you hold dear. And of Westeros."
His jaw clenches. "What do you know of those I hold dear?"
Her voice drops to a whisper so low, not even his sister hears. "Brienne of Tarth."
His hand closes in a fist. "Spill it out," he hisses.
"She is in danger, just like most of the realm. I saw it after—we've recovered a dead body in our temple. Like you, it is someone whose life crumbled before their eyes, to the point they cannot remember how things ended so badly."
He doesn't like what he hears, but something tells him she's right. Didn't he hate it when he woke up to see Cersei's face instead of Brienne's? Whatever his memory doesn't tell him, it probably isn't something he'd like to remember, but Kinvara's words make him wonder whether his memory gap includes something far worse than he thought. "And what does it have to do with Brienne? Is it her?"
"No, it's someone else. But all of this—their death, your current predicament, the danger Brienne is under—it's all connected to a person you must bring down."
He frowns. "We are in Volantis. How am I supposed to bring down someone in Westeros?"
Her eyes are wide. "Go to Asshai", she says. "And ask to meet the Oracle. She is the one who warned me of your arrival through the flames, and of your importance. I do ask you to bring the recovered life along, though. You must unite to defeat the enemy."
This is not new for him; he's gone to Winterfell following the same premise. "Who is this person?"
"I'll bring them to you tomorrow morning."
"Deal."
When he arrives at the inn's main hall to find Kinvara sitting beside Daenerys Targaryen, he's very glad he left Cersei in the room. "You died?"
Her expression is vacant, and there are heavy bags under her eyes. "Apparently, yes," she replies dully. "I have a scar on my stomach, which is from the injury that killed me."
He sits down between the two women. "How—"
"I don't know," she replies, interrupting him. "My memories after the Long Night are all fuzzy. I… I see flashes, but not enough to understand." She glances at Kinvara, then back at him. "She says we should unite as allies once again."
"That's what I was told, too," he replies, glancing at the red priestess. "Do you trust her?"
"I met her before," she answers, nodding. "I do believe she's on my side, and therefore ours."
He sighs. "I'm with Cersei," he tells her, because it's better to tell than to show. "I'm suffering from memory loss just like you, so I don't remember how I ended up sacked with her after everything, but I believe I'm here for her child."
She raises her eyebrows. "I didn't know she was pregnant."
"My brother didn't tell you?" He shrugs. "Then again, back when she told me—and him—she wasn't actually with child. It was just a ploy to keep me under her thumb and make Tyrion hesitate to act against her."
Daenerys frowns. "But she is now?"
He nods. "Euron Greyjoy. I realized it when the size of her belly didn't match her supposed stage of pregnancy."
The Targaryen woman bites her lip, clearly unsure of what to say. "Do you know anything of… my fate?"
He shakes his head. "All I know is what Cersei told me. She said you got your dragon burning King's Landing down. We almost died getting out of the Red Keep because it was crumbling under the fire."
The moment the words get out of his mouth, he finds himself wishing he had found a kinder way to say them. The once queen buries her face under her hands and begins to cry. "I didn't want to be Queen of Ashes," she says between sobs. "I truly didn't. I just wanted to go back home."
Suddenly she looks impossibly young, almost like Myrcella when she found out she would go back to King's Landing. His mind jumps to the moments before her death, when she told him to be glad he's her father. It makes his heart squeeze in pain. "I'm sorry," he offers weakly.
Seemingly ignorant of what he said, she turns to Kinvara. "What—what are we supposed to do? Who is this common enemy, and how are they any worse than… me?"
Gods, he can almost hear himself in her self-loathing tone. "Like I told you yesterday," the red priestess replies gently, "go to Asshai."
He shifts on his seat. "Who is this Oracle you speak of? How can she help us?"
"She is many things. A… what is it that you call? Greenseer. She can see the future better than I do, although the future is malleable—different choices result in different outcomes, and all that. She can get inside a living being's mind, though she cannot interact, only see. She can control some aspects of nature, though. It is her who grants some sunlight to the Shadowlands—I'm not sure how much you know about the region, but the mountains there are placed in a way that blocks the sun all year round. Only her magic makes things a bit better."
Some of her powers remind him of Bran Stark's, though he never quite understood what the boy had become after Jaime pushed him down. Despite having spent a month in Winterfell, he rarely saw him outside the godswood, so they didn't interact much. "You said she was the one to warn you of the dangers in Westeros," he reminds the red priestess, because the list she gave doesn't cover that part.
"Yes, she can do that. I suppose it comes with her control of nature elements—she sought me out through the flames, after all."
He does not understand magic, so he decides to trust the red woman in this aspect. Daenerys nods, as if this is a very logical explanation; he supposes she knows something of magic, having been able to hatch dragon eggs and all that.
The once Dragon Queen turns to him. "I know we have our share of animosity," she says. "I'm not eager to work with you or your sister. But, if Kinvara is right, if there is a threat looming over Westeros that we must stop—I'll compromise again."
"So will I," he replies easily; it's nothing they haven't done before. "I can't speak for Cersei, though."
"She wants to go back home, doesn't she?"
She wants to go back to the Iron Throne, which is the same place you want to go. "I'll try to persuade her," he says instead. "I make no promises."
"I don't intend on playing hero," Cersei spats when he finishes his speech—which he almost didn't, considering the amount of interruptions on her part. "This is your little dream, not mine."
He swallows—typical of his twin, to consider being a good person a 'little dream'—and says the argument he's rehearsed in his mind before coming back to their room. "But you want your crown back, don't you? If you lead an effort to save Westeros from another huge threat, people will back you up."
"Just as they might back the Dragon Whore up."
"No, because she has to pay for burning the capital down. Her heroism will be seen as her atoning for her wrong deeds, while yours will be seen as proof of your benevolence."
She goes silent after that, eyes gazing at nothing, and he knows he's gotten to her. Years watching and following Cersei taught him what she likes to hear; he may not have used this knowledge often, but things have changed, and so must his tactics with her.
Sensing she won't answer anytime soon, he decides to leave her for a bath. The inn has two tiny bathhouses attached, one for women and another for men. As he strips and lowers himself inside one, he reminisces about the bath he shared with Brienne years ago.
He cannot say he fell for her there; he was not lucid enough to do so. But everything about that moment—from her naked form looming over him to his choked confession about Aerys—left a deep impression on his mind and soul, one he carries to this day. If you ask what prompted him to tell her about the wildfire, he won't be able to give a straight answer. There are so many things to consider: he wanted her to trust him; he feared he'd die and wanted at least one person to know the truth, for it to live on after his passing; he was delirious with fever and lacking in self-constraint…
The reasons don't really matter; the consequences do. Brienne believed him instantly, despite his inability to prove his tale. Her attitude towards him shifted day by day, until they found themselves holding private conversations in the Red Keep about matters that could put both of them in serious trouble, should anyone loyal to the Crown overhear them. And then she named her newly gifted sword Oathkeeper. He's pretty sure that was the moment for him, in which his heart surrendered itself to her. Of course, she already had some hold on it—after all, he wouldn't jump on a bear pit unarmed for just anybody—but from that day on, whenever he claimed to love Cersei, he saw a pair of sapphire blue eyes instead.
His cock stirs at the unbidden memory of Riverrun. He doesn't remember asking in Winterfell whether she knew what he meant with 'It's yours; it will always be yours'; he suspects she didn't. Oh, it hurt to play the part of Kingslayer and tell Edmure he loved Cersei and would kill all Tullys needed to get back to her—if only the frail lord knew he was putting on a show out of love for another woman. Jaime chuckles upon imagining the confusion that would bring him.
When he goes back to his room, Cersei's clothes are changed to ones she bought as soon as they set foot in Volantis, and she's now sitting on the edge of the bed. When he closes the door, she raises her head to him. "We will bring the Dragon Whore with us to Asshai," she states. "We'll find out what this threat is and deal with it accordingly. Then we get rid of her for good measure."
He doesn't bother telling her he won't kill Daenerys unless he finds a good reason to; he just nods.
It takes them five days to get on a ship that would go straight to Asshai. "It's unwise to stop by Slaver's Bay," Daenerys explains. "I left some representatives there, but my presence might give them wrong ideas. They may think their queen is back for good, which I wouldn't be."
Curiosity peaks in, and he almost asks more about it—why did she leave a place where she was already Queen? How did she even rise to the position? Why doesn't she go back, if she is wanted there? However, it is not his place to ask. He's not her friend, but a reluctant ally at best. So, he just accepts her explanation and looks for a ship that sails past Slaver's Bay.
Fortunately, he finds a way to pay cheap for two small cabins, so the Targaryen woman won't be saddled with him and Cersei. He is not eager to share a room with his sister, but duty demands it; someone has to watch over her and the baby. (He also doesn't trust his twin to not sneak out to Daenerys' cabin to kill her.)
The single bed in the cabin is too small for two people, so he makes himself comfortable on the floor. However, his sister seems to have other plans. "We are far enough from Westeros, brother," she begins, her voice in the seductive tone she tends to use when she has plans for him. "There is no need for secrecy or false modesty."
He sighs. For a brief moment, he wonders if he should close his eyes and pretend to buy into her sweet talk, but no. He's not that weak man anymore. He wrote to Brienne to not question his devotion to her; he has a duty to his heart to stay faithful. "I agree, there is no need for any of those things," he replies without turning to her. "After all, we are only twins. Brother and sister."
He sits on the blanket he's put on the floor and looks at her. She's laying down on the bed, her tunic half-open, revealing the entirety of her left breast and the side of her right one, as well as her slightly swollen stomach. Once upon a time, not so long ago, that sight would have made him instantly hard. But now that he knows Brienne's body intimately, he can't help but compare—and be disappointed at what he sees now. "Don't be shy," she purrs. "I know you miss having a real woman underneath you."
"I do," he agrees once again. Just as she begins to grin, he adds, "But she's far from here."
There, he said it. After months of keeping his mouth shut, he blurts it out. The change in Cersei's posturing is immediate. Her grin turns into a grimace, her cat-like eyes narrow, and she sits up, letting the side of her tunic fall. "You cannot mean to have bedded that beast."
"I bedded no beast," he replies firmly, holding his gaze. "I made love to a woman far better than you could ever be."
"Don't be ridiculous," she spats. "Anyone who spares her a glance can tell she's lacking in all ways of womanhood. There is no possible way she's better than me. You just say it because you were suffering from my absence. Don't you remember how you went down on me in the sept, after months and months at her side? You did not seem to find her better than me back then."
He wastes no time with a reply. "I was a fool back then, unable to see what has always been in front of me. If I'm suffering from anyone's absence, it's hers, because I love her and she loves me." Well, he's not completely sure of that last part, but he hopes it's the truth. He doesn't believe she'd allow him in her bed without feeling something for him in return. "For that alone, she's far better, but," at that he stands up, "I wasn't just comparing you two in bed. Brienne is better than you in every way possible."
"And yet," she snarls, "you are on a ship with me, instead of enjoying her cunt some more."
In the blink of an eye, his hand is holding her chin firmly, violently, lifting her head to him. He can feel his face contort in fury. "The next time you speak of her with disrespect will be the last time you speak. Do you understand?" He then lets go of her, pushing her slightly in the process. "I'm the sole reason you are still alive, sister. You'd do well not to push my buttons." And then he leaves the cabin without waiting for her answer.