Archive of Our Own ^beta

In the last month there were few nights when Jaime didn't dream of his hands around his sister's neck, of her screams, of the hate and love he felt for her even as he was killing her.

Brienne was usually awake before him, the nightmares made him make too much noise certainly, although she had never complained to him like she probably should have. And that night was no different. And she was looking at him with those huge blue eyes full of pity, he hated that look and he had been getting it almost every night since they had boarded the ship to Braavos.

"So watching me sleep again Brienne? Tsk, tsk, tsk the people will start talking girl."

Even in the darkness he could see that he had made Brienne blush a little, it brought him some satisfaction. Brienne ignored the comment and said:

"Are you okay?"

“Well, you could have gotten us a better cabin, we in House Lannister are used to a certain level of luxury. And also, this lack of a hand is still bothering me.”

“I’m serious, Jaime.”

“Me too, have you ever tried to do everything with just one hand?”

“So you weren’t dreaming about your sister?”

If it had been anyone else who had asked, Jaime would have lied, but Brienne knew him well enough to know when he wasn’t telling the truth. So he just shrugged and said:

“I’m fine, go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t worry, if I feel the sudden need for a hug, I’ll wake you up.”

“Good night, Jaime.”

“Good night, Brienne.”

.

.

.

When they left, King’s Landing was a city without a King or Queen. 

He had always known that if Tommen and Myrcella died, his sister would be devastated and angry, but what he saw was more than that, he saw madness, he saw Aerys. 

Even her words were similar, burn the city, burn the world, burn everyone. 

He killed the other two men of the kingsguard who were present first, then the pyromancer. It was the best fight he had fought since he had lost his hand, although it had been a bitter victory. 

But when it was time to kill her, as he had done with Aerys so many years ago, his sword fell, he kissed her, he begged her to run away before the enemy armies arrived, that he loved her, that he could give her more children, that he could give her the life she had always wanted. 

Cersei looked at him with contempt in her eyes and said: 

“What I always wanted was to be Queen! I should have married Rhaegar! And if I had Jaime I would have let you go without hesitation, you were a consolation prize and a very small one. AND NOW MY PRINCE AND PRINCESS HAVE BEEN TAKEN FROM ME, IF YOU WANT TO LEAVE THEN GO, I HAVE MORE KNIGHTS AND MORE PEOPLE WHO KNOW HOW TO HANDLE FIRE, GO AWAY BEFORE I SEND YOU TO A CELL OR HAVE YOUR OTHER S—“

And then his hands were on her neck, the golden one and the flesh and blood one, and they didn’t stop there until she was dead.

It was Brienne who found him crying over Cersei’s body, and it was she who dragged him out of the palace, and somehow managed to get them a place on the next ship to Braavos. 

That day he did everything she said without protesting, without even throwing a sarcastic response. 

In retrospect, he thought that if she hadn't been there, he would have been completely lost as to what to do, like in a dream he once had in which the only thing that was illuminated, the only thing that made sense in all the chaos that surrounded him, was her.

.

.

.

He shouldn't be alive. 

He spent his life certain that he would die along with Cersei. Every second he breathed was a shock. It wouldn't be that hard to kill himself. He could tie the sheets of his bed together and make a gallows, or see if Brienne would leave her sword behind and use it for that purpose. But as soon as he thought of a way to die, the image of Brienne's face when she found his body came to mind.

That was the only thing on the list of pros for continuing to live. 

He had lost everything that had been important to him throughout his life, but if he killed himself, Brienne would find his body and be scared and sad and would probably blame herself like an idiot. It shouldn’t have been enough, but somehow it had held him back all month long, and the annoying thing was that he was sure it would continue to be enough.

Maybe a part of him had died with Cersei, Jaime thought that night as he watched Brienne fall asleep in the bed next to him, the same way a part had died when he’d slit Aerys’s throat, but he was still there, alive and breathing. And with Brienne.