Author's Note: There, the day has arrived at last. This is the last chapter! Meep!

I hope you'll like it till the end.

You were an awesome readership, and I hope I can keep you around for more stories, but always start at the beginning ;)

The moon stands high over King's Landing. The Red Keep is illuminated like a crystal.

Royals from all of the regions serving the Iron Throne have gathered to celebrate the day King Robert won the Rebellion against the Mad King.

Queen Cersei, as beautiful as ever, sits next to the Iron Throne, sipping wine, her features not only as fair as porcelain, but also just as stiff.

The Queen is, to the day, childless, and only the Gods will know how much that emptied her out, not having a single thing to love more than herself, more than the world itself. For it seems that only a child would have given her reason for a love beyond reason, a fulfilment that no man's arms, no title, no throne could ever give her.

While no one knows for certain, it is suspected that King Robert, after a hunting accident, has trouble having children, if it isn't impossible for him – and the Queen is whispered to have the best years well behind her, too.

Obviously, this doesn't help her mood tonight, or any other night.

The guests are roaming the spacious room, chatting, drinking, eating, while Cersei is busy pouring acid over them with her eyes as she sits next to her husband.

Cersei doesn't know what happened to her life. She is Queen, and still she feels imprisoned, hollowed out, cut in half.

The ship that sailed to bring the little monster to Tarth to marry the giant cow sunk after it left Tarth, short before it was to reach a port. For all other people, the case was quite clear that the Lannister dwarf died on the boat, drowned like a rat, after the Lady of Tarth had officially refused his asking for her hand in marriage. It is said that she married a commoner without riches instead, not wanting to have her wealth torn away from her at last.

Cersei believes that the Imp is not dead, whatever the whispers may say. She sent out many ravens, talked to many shadows to search for signs, but Tarth became a nest she no longer manages to hatch eggs in, or send a new bird to reside there. Whatever bird she sent that way came back without news, without a single straw of the nest. And at some point she was out of resources and will to try. Cersei then heard rumours from the main lands that the dwarf was seen in Harrenhal, then Riverrun, then Storm's End. Others whispered about an Imp owning lands in Pentos now, while most still tend to believe that the best he could have found was seaweed as he sank to the bottom of the endless sea, paying the debt to his father at last, who told him in private that it was only him being born a Lannister that kept his father from tossing him in the sea the day he was born.

Maester Duvall came back to King's Landing one day, tied up in a bundle, sent along on a merchant's ship from Tarth. He sought out the Queen, hoping to get her help, but Queen Cersei has better to do than help vultures with broken wings, and thus sent him away without regrets. For all that is known, he fell into the hands of the men he once was indebted to, bearing another name that was tattooed on his forehead when he came to King's Landing, the words "I am Jaden Tar/ Dice" making him easy prey. No one knows if he is dead or was sold into slavery, which likely leads to the same result.

She should probably laugh at the little monster's letter that arrived short after the Imp had taken off from Tarth, in which he stated that since a Lannister always pays his debts, and his debt, in Cersei's and Tywin's eyes, always was that he took one Lannister's life, one name off the list, he found it appropriate to remove himself from the list, giving back the name he took – in the hope "to sleep with as many whores as possible, and so the Gods will, die with wine in his belly, and a beautiful woman wrapped around his cock". It appears that he wanted to use the ship to have a swift escape, but then it sunk, and likely along with him. Though Cersei sees him dancing in front of her ever so often, like a little ghost.

The raven with the letter came from Gulltown. According to some rumours, a dwarf was spotted there, too, but no one could find the Lannister spawn Cersei wanted out of her life for all her life anyways. Not that she ever shed a single tear about his disappearance. And in fact, she rather has him as a ghost than alive somewhere, laughing at her expenses.

And Jaime… her other half just disappeared without a word, took one half of her along with him. He never wrote to her, didn't ask about the child she told him that she'd have from him, with him.

And that left a rupture within him that even a Queen's life did not fill. She was split and left in half.

Cersei is certain that the Imp took him on the ship with him, but she never got proof for it, and her husband is too lazy to care, or so it seems. He appears to be very much delighted that her plaything is gone out of his sight, and to get rid of the backstabber of a knight her brother was to his understanding.

Her father was enraged, to say the least, upon hearing the news about both their disappearance if not death, but to Cersei's shock, he vowed no revenge and did not send out the hounds to find their trail, since he said that Tyrion likely died either on the ship, or is gone for good, and that Jaime knows how to stay hidden if he doesn't want to be found, if he didn't share Tyrion's destiny at last.

As she had to learn, men are all mice in the end, without teeth and claws.

Because Robert and Tywin both just seem to accept it that Jaime is either dead or hidden, on Tarth, as she suspects to the day. Though Robert took more gloating in it than the Lord of Casterly Rock did, since with this ship sank the Lannister empire from his side of the family tree, and Tywin will likely have to give over to his brother Kevan once he passes. That is unless Cersei, by some wink of fate, ends up pregnant often enough to give him one heir who is not needed for the throne, or he'd overcome his grief to have another heir himself.

But his love for his first and only wife is but an eternal flame.

Tywin seemed little enthusiastic about the prospect of Cersei still bearing children, stating only that she'd grown older faster than he had hoped. The head of the Lannister clan grew even grimmer over the last years, seeing his House slowly but surely crumble, as the mines are hollowed out and exhausted with every day passing, and him approaching his grave with fast strides, with no child available to continue his legacy. As it seems, even one of the most powerful and influential men in all of Westeros is crushed by a lack of trust, a lack of love for his children, to keep them close to him when it matters.

Because power doesn't bind the way trust does.

Cersei looks on, a frown forming on her full lips.

For a moment, she thought she heard her brother's laughter.

Maybe a ghost?

A vengeful spirit to haunt her?

She grimaces as he sees a man of his stature and his walk as he now talks to Renly Baratheon. The hair is rather short and he has a short-trimmed beard, but… but it can't be.

"… So? Have you gotten used to your new life yet?" Renly asks, sipping from his golden cup with an amused smile.

"It feels like it's been decades already. At some point I can't remember how my life was any different," the other man replies.

"You mean to say you miss your old life?" Renly asks.

"Is she standing behind me?" he questions.

Renly chuckles to himself. She grabs him by the neck, making him cringe, "Do you, dear?"

"Ah, you know that I am absolutely devoted to you, dearest," he says.

"Devoted? I haven't noticed that yet," she snorts.

"Oh, you hurt me, my heart! Oh, the pain," he shrieks, clasping his chest, earning himself a jab in the side, "Stop that. You are acting like a child."

Renly still chuckles softly as he watches the two fighting and bickering.

"Are we amusing you, Lord Renly?" the other man asks.

"Why yes," the Lord replies.

"If only she actually had any sense of humour," the other man rolls his eyes.

"I have enough sense of humour to put up with you," she argues.

"Oh, please, you don't just put up with me! Only last night you proved how much you enjoy my company…," he means to say, but that is when she pulls the hairs in the back of his head, nudging him in the side with her elbow, "Ow! Now that hurt!"

"I must apologise," she says to Lord Renly apologetically, who only shakes his head, "There's nothing to apologise for. In fact, I'm glad to see how well you get along."

"Get along? We want to kill each other half the time," the other man argues.

"For as long as you don't, I suppose you get along after all," Renly shrugs his shoulders.

"That is very true, Lord Renly," she agrees.

"Why don't you ever use that sweet voice on me?" he narrows her eyes at her.

"Because you're you?" she snorts.

"Valid enough, I suppose," he shrugs, tilting his head as though contemplating.

"So? Have you reached a decision yet – about the new treaties? My advisors force me to ask these questions," Renly rolls his eyes.

"You will have to talk to our minister of finance about the matter," the other man replies.

"Where is he, by the way?" Renly frowns, looking around.

"I reckon already under some table after he drank his head sore," he snorts.

"Didn't you tell him that he was supposed to keep it low tonight?" she exhales.

"Do you still think that he listens to me in any way?" he huffs, gesticulating. "He didn't since he was that small."

"Not really. I don't listen to you either," she shrugs nonchalantly.

"Well, then I suppose I will see if I can find your minister of finance somewhere," Renly winks at the two.

"Tell him to quit the wine," the other man calls after him.

"And the booze," she adds.

"I will see you later," Renly says, waving at them as he goes.

"Of course," the two agree.

"He will just take his Loras to have some secret fun with," he huffs. She nudges him in the side forcefully.

"Will you stop that?" he narrows her eyes at him. "You should behave yourself."

"Will you?" she retorts.

"I am not the one nudging," he insists.

"No, you are just the one bantering like a lad," she argues.

"You love for your boyish charm after all, admit it already," he argues.

"You wish," she rolls her eyes.

"How are you feeling?" he whispers, now perfectly sincere.

"Better than I thought," she shrugs, taking a quick sip from her wine.

"How about we…," he means to say, but that is when a voice rings out from behind them, "Jaime?"

The two turn around to an ashen Cersei, who still stares at the two figures in front of her as though they were ghosts haunting her.

"That is the name, Your Grace. Can we help you by any chance?" Jaime asks nonchalantly, bowing slightly.

"Jaime… what are you…? You are… we thought you were dead," Cersei says, her voice quivering.

Here he is.

Others may not recognise him with the hair and beard, and without armour, but she will always.

"We who?" Jaime frowns.

"Father, I? The Lannisters? Your family?" she looks at him.

"I am no Lannister," he shrugs.

"You are…," she means to say, and he completes with a swell of pride, "Lord Jaime of Tarth."

"You…," she blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing like that of a fish out of water.

"I think you know my wife," Jaime gestures, one hand against the blonde woman's back. "Lady Brienne of Tarth."

"Your Grace," she nods curtly.

"How were we not informed about this union?" Cersei demands.

"If the heiress of Tarth decides to wed someone who is without social standing, a complete nobody, as she may because of her apparent wealth, then she doesn't have to let anyone know, except for a septon and friends and family," Jaime shrugs.

"We are your family," she insists.

"I have only one family, and that is my wife, and my brother," Jaime replies. "As I said, I am Jaime of Tarth, not Lannister. That man died, for all I know."

"Jaime… what are you saying?" Cersei looks at him, still perplex.

"The Jaime you know is no longer," he says.

"I will tell Father," she threatens him, feeling confidence wash back into her. She can reveal this conspiracy, she can...

"Do it," he shrugs with nonchalance, his features tensing not for a split second. "Though he can't do much. I was not named as his heir by any chance, which would be the only way for him to get a hold of me. I was a man without title and without name after I fled from some bad place, and am now the Lord of Tarth. Even the mighty Tywin Lannister can't do much about it."

"But my husband," she goes on.

"I fear that he won't be very surprised," Jaime shrugs. "For he knows."

It cost him a lot to turn to Robert for a favour, but it was much easier once he spoke to him, now that he saw in the King no longer a rival for his affections, since his heart already travelled to Tarth, and only a man he never really learned to respect beyond a certain level. And the same seemed to be true for the King.

Robert wanted him gone and Jaime wanted to go.

The deal was sealed without many words needed.

"What?" she stares at him.

"Do you know how rich we are? We could buy the enitre Narrow Sea with the sapphires of Tarth. Do you really think your husband would let go of a deal that promises him not only Tarth's trading routes which prove to be pivotal for Westerosi shipping, but also a nice bundle of pink sapphires for his pains? Not to mention his straightforward delight for us getting rid of the Kingslayer for him. One can never know what such a backstabber would do. So it's better that we killed him."

Robert's price for his 'death' was not at all expensive for all they care, and it offered them the protection they needed to shoot Cersei's birds from the sky. Not to mention that it pays off to be close friends with his brother after all. Robert was ever the more glad to finally put a leash on his wife, whom he thought had gone way too far in her ways, after Jaime and Tyrion, short before they left, told him but a few of the stories she wrote behind his back. He was obviously fed up with her believing herself absolute, free to do whatever she desired, since her decisions had consequences for politics and for trades to be left out since Tarth was left out of the equation, thanks to her doing. As the King put it, she'd "learn her place beneath" him, or rather, that he'd make sure of it. Which is why Cersei found herself in the situation where no whispers reached her anymore, and she almost became deaf over the years, no longer able to affect Westerosi politics in any significant way beyond the Red Keep.

And of course Tyrion was glad to contribute a list of the Queen's spies he knew about, for the King to keep, so Robert may keep a closer eye on what she does behind his back without his knowledge, which made the task a lot easier.

Cersei seemingly dug too deep and fell into the self-dug hole after all.

"Then why are you here?" Cersei asks, her voice coming out croaked.

She had envisioned scenarios in which she would catch them. She wanted to fetch a ship to Tarth and see for herself, but she was intercepted, stopped, found an invisible leash around her swan-like neck, and was pulled into the Red Keep. She had dreamed about the images of her screaming out Jaime's name to the man's face to reveal that he was hidden beneath a cloak, beneath a hood, and that this would bring him back to her.

But here they stand now, not afraid, not shaking of her revenge.

Why aren't they afraid of her?

She almost had the cow destroyed once.

They should be shaking.

They should be begging.

They should try to flee.

But they don't.

"Because Lord Renly was so kind to invite us to join his entourage," Jaime says. "And we cannot say 'no' to the man who is one of our greatest partners in terms of politics and economics for our isles."

"So you are just here to what? Mock me?" Cersei snorts.

"Your Grace, there are many things I would want to do with you – after all we know by now that you did to her and to me," Jaime tells her, his voice and face suddenly very dark. "Mocking you is the least of my concerns."

"And all you have is to come here and laugh at my face?" she huffs.

"I am merely fulfilling my oath to her," Jaime says, gesturing at Brienne.

"What oath?" she frowns.

"That I would get my revenge for my beloved Father," Brienne says.

"Oh yes, since this meeting here will leave me in shatters," Cersei rolls her eyes.

"We all know it won't," Brienne replies.

"Well, then why this little show here?" the other woman demands.

"I wanted to see for myself," Brienne shrugs.

"See what?" Cersei demands.

"You. To see that there is nothing we can do to you that you didn't do to yourself already," Brienne shrugs. "You already are in shatters, very much the way you have left me over the past few years."

"Right. You will have to live with the sins committed for the rest of your life – and you will have to suffer the consequences. A loveless life next to a man you never learned to love, presumably without children, despite what you may have said a long time back. Till the day you die, you'll be thinking about all the maybes and what ifs of the life you are stuck in. And all that while we will enjoy our new lives without regrets," Jaime tells her.

"Without regrets? Don't make me laugh," Cersei lets out a feigned laugh that comes out rather strangled, though.

"There are things that I regret, but they are a thing of the past, as are you," Jaime shrugs. "I was reborn, and I like my new life a lot better."

He only cares for his old life in terms of the memories he shares with his loved ones.

The others are just faint shimmers of a life that fades away each day more.

"The day will come that you'll realize that you traded a diamond for a shard of glass," Cersei warns him.

"Gladly, I like sapphires more than diamonds, and we have a whole bunch of those," Jaime shrugs. "I find them much more interesting for their variety and colour."

"You will always belong to me, even if you don't want to believe it," Cersei snarls.

"I belong to her and no one else," Jaime says resolutely.

"And you just stand there and smile at me smugly?" Cersei narrows her eyes at Brienne, who replies simply, "No, not smugly."

"Then what? Satisfied that you gained a small victory over me? I am more than you will ever be. I am Queen," Cersei tells her. Brienne draws a little closer, "I honestly thought I would take out my dagger and murder you when I was on my way here to King's Landing after all this time, but now that I am here… I can't help but feel pity for you, Your Grace."

"Pity? From you?" Cersei cries out in small, flustered.

"Yes, pity. Pity that you went as far as to sell your soul because you feared that I would tear him away from you, when in fact… that is what eventually united us and made you fade out of our lives, just so that you stand here now alone while not alone, haunted. You took my Father from me, but with it, you took your own fortune away. So yes, I can only feel pity for you," Brienne says. "You, as a Lannister, will have to pay your debts, just that you won't pay with riches, but with pieces of yourself, until nothing remains of you. You will live out the destiny that I was torn away from at the last moment."

"I don't need your pity," Cersei growls.

"In fact you do. If you didn't have my pity, you would have my rage," Brienne says, her eyes suddenly full of fire that a tremor goes through Cersei.

"And trust me, you don't want to suffer her rage," Jaime adds with a malicious grin. "You may remember Jaden Dice. He suffered only a morsel of it, and let's say it didn't go well for him."

"So what comes after this small victory you gained for yourself?" Cersei huffs.

"We will go on with our lives, while you will keep walking circles," Brienne says, and Jaime adds, "However far your dear husband's leash on you lets you run your circles, Your Grace."

She glares at them.

"This is a last goodbye," Jaime shrugs.

"The oath is fulfilled," Brienne adds. "I had my chance of blood... and choose not to take it."

"I could make your life living hell, you know that?" Cersei narrows her eyes at him. "I could chase you, to the rim of the world and beyond."

"We smoked out Tarth by now and got rid of all the little pests you sent or fed there. And since we live on an isle, we know what comes to the ports, you may have noticed. All this time you didn't manage, and you won't in the future. Try to plot against us – but you will only end up failing, and run your head against a wall until you succumb to unconsciousness. You will not succeed. You will lose even more than you already did," Jaime tells her. "We have allies. And just let me tell you that Robert won't give you an army to fight us. He didn't to this day, because you are just... his woman, who seemingly still has to learn her place."

"You will regret this," Cersei grits her teeth.

"Never," Jaime replies with a small smile.

"Goodbye, Your Grace," Brienne says.

They leave Cersei standing there alone. Jaime grabs Brienne's hand, holding on tightly, one finger sliding over her wooden ring he made for her, bearing her father's Evenstar.

"I suppose now it's my turn to ask you if you are alright," Brienne grimaces at the firm grip against her palm.

"I just want to make sure I don't lose you in the crowd, my lady," Jaime replies, flashing his typical smile, though it comes out a bit strained.

"As we all know, I stand tall above them all, so you will hardly miss me," Brienne argues.

"Oh, I will always miss you, you know that," he replies. Brienne means to say something else, when a voice calls out, "There you are!"

"There you are! We were looking for you!" Jaime rolls his eyes at Tyrion, the obligatory cup of wine to his lips, the hair a lot longer, and a full beard around his mouth.

"I had a nice little chat with some merchants, you should be proud of me," Tyrion argues vehemently.

"Is that so?" Jaime huffs.

"Of course. I take my work very seriously, almost as seriously as wine. Though I think I can be proud of you, too, seeing Your Grace boiling like a firepit of Wildfire over there?" Tyrion muses, looking at Cersei as her face reddens with unshed tears and fury.

"We just did what was necessary," Jaime shrugs.

"How satisfying was it?" Tyrion asks with a grin.

"Words can't describe it," Jaime replies.

"That's what I thought. So the oath is fulfilled, Milady?" Tyrion asks Brienne, who gives a nod, "Yes."

"Let us rejoice!" Tyrion says, taking another sip from the wine.

"Are you very lonely or do you think you can bear without us?" Jaime asks.

"Lonely? I can well entertain myself on my own," Tyrion huffs.

"I think your sweetheart might have some different say about that," Jaime chuckles.

"I spared Leah a lot of trouble by telling her to stay back home," Tyrion grunts.

"She spares us a lot of trouble because she keeps you at bay," Jaime argues.

Leah is one of the commoners of Tarth, a young girl with fair hair and edgy features, safe for her full breasts, and a clever, foul mouth. She is the vintner's daughter. It's likely needless to explain what those two had in common in taste right from the start. Though Leah is about as feisty as he is. She gave him chase for almost a year before Tyrion was allowed to call her his sweetheart at last, not to mention how much money he left in the wine tavern to make her talk to him.

They have a very unique kind of women on Tarth, so either brother had to learn.

"Well, you could have let Pod come along to keep me company, but you even denied me that bit," Tyrion snorts.

"He is supposed to prove himself as deputy of the Guard. The boy was knighted not long ago, he needs the training," Jaime argues.

While he was the one to knight Pod at last, Brienne was the one who was most invested in his training. After all, Brienne will always be the better knight of the two by virtue. Even though she and Jaime often end up with a truce when they fight, with blunt swords only, of course. Pod proved to be an able man who can do a lot to help Tarth's militia, now Guard, even if he still has no clue how to skin a hare, something that is still to Brienne's very frustration, after she had taken him out into the woods to train his survival skills.

She is a tough fight, but an even tougher master.

While Pod never complained, no one can tell how many times he earned himself a slap in the neck or being pushed into the dust for not catching on.

Steph has well settled into the life on Tarth, too, after she apprenticed to the old blacksmith of the isle. She reminds the Lady and Lord of Tarth a lot of Brienne when she was still young. While she still wears dresses, except for during work, she does not hesitate to push men into the dust, and has not set eye on any man for herself. At some point it might be that she is one of the few girls who will stay a maiden with pride, and forge iron marvellously, finding fulfilment in the fires of the ovens and the results of good and hard work.

"In any case, since my heart is heavy with feelings of loneliness, I have any intention to have another round of wine," Tyrion huffs.

"Will you watch her boil?" Jaime chuckles.

"Until her skin peels off," Tyrion grins maliciously.

"Oh my," Jaime makes a face.

"Hey, I don't get to talk to her like that, as you said, because she'd likely toss me around like a ragdoll, so let me enjoy at least that bit," Tyrion argues.

They agreed beforehand that Tyrion was supposed to keep away from the Iron Throne, which is why he mostly busied himself further away, talking to merchants and drinking cup for cup of wine. It's curious, really, how all used to recognise the Imp and the Kingslayer from far away already, but now that they died to all other people, no one even seems to care for the resemblance ghosting through the Red Keep one last time. Their names remained a faint echo, whizzing through the hallways of the palace, whispering through the streets of the city, but their faces faded away beyond anyone's recognition or care, deep down into the waters until sapphire blue covered them and smoothed out their features, pulled them into the sea's embrace.

What is dead should stay dead.

The Imp and the Kingslayer wouldn't ever be missed, so who in King's Landing would wish to revive them?

"Have your fun, dear brother. We will be back shortly," Jaime says, squeezing his shoulder once.

"Do you realize that you always just leave me standing somewhere?" Tyrion calls after them.

"But we always come back!" Jaime argues as he pushes Brienne forward. Tyrion chuckles softly. That is true indeed. After all, the two stood true to their promise of his happy ending story, too, taking him away from a family that never wanted him, and gave him a purposeful task, a purposeful life, a life not filled with loneliness but togetherness, a life of belonging somewhere and to more than one somebody.

And all it took for his freedom was a ship that was made to sink within other people's view, and a few whispers to spread the rumours to make him a ghost people would go looking for in the shadows, and not the brightly shining sky above the Sapphire Isles. And a new name, after he had given his back to those who always begrudged him his name, his life.

As it turns out, dying is not the almost bad, if you do it right.

Tyrion smiles as he watches Cersei sister burn in her apparently violet velvet dress.

"Oh, the irony," he chuckles to himself, taking another sip of the wine, which is not nearly as good as the one back home.

Oh, the hellfires are far better in reality than in the story of the women with the voice of honey who almost managed to corrupt Ser Gabriel completely.

Meanwhile, Brienne and Jaime made their way outside to one of the balconies, glancing out into the night.

"So? How are you now?" Jaime asks with a grimace. He was afraid till last that something would go wrong about the plan, but he had promised Brienne that she would get to see her, talk to her one last time.

He promised her that she would get to sink an invisible dagger into the Queen's heart to draw invisible blood to satisfy the monster of rage and revenge for all times.

"I am good – and no, that doesn't mean that you get to tell me that you told me so," she replies, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Alright," he chuckles softly.

"I always thought it'd be much harder, after what she did to us, to him…," Brienne exhales. Jaime grimaces, tightening his grip on her hand a little. No matter what happens, that is a pain that won't ever wash out of her, no matter how many times they swim in Tarth's waters or fight or laugh.

Though Jaime hopes that if he is to step before the man one day when in the Heavens, so the Gods will, that Lord Selwyn will say that the sacrifice for her happiness was worth it in the end. Because that is what she is now, happy, at least Jaime makes any effort to ensure it, mending piece for piece, smile for smile.

That is his vow to her after all.

And oaths are the most important thing in the world.

"When I first saw her, I wanted to put a dagger through both her eyes," she goes on in her blunt voice that holds no mercy.

"Oh my," he grimaces. "I thought I took the dagger from you?"

"One," she replies with a shrug.

"I tend to forget that you use clothes to hide weapons where others hide their coins," Jaime chuckles softly. "But you are sure you are alright? Or are you already having doubts?"

"I don't know, I just always think back to that ball and how strong she felt to me back then. Even if not physically, I had the feeling that she suprassed me in all other matters by far. She stood above it all. That picture haunted me, that she still could keep that up, having taken his life, but then I saw her here today and… and she seemed so small, so lonely. She looked like me back when I lost my father, safe for the tears, but just as small, just as pathetic," Brienne grimaces, eyes drifting off into the night.

Even King's Landing seems smaller than she remembers it to be.

"You were never pathetic, my lady," Jaime argues.

"Inside my head, I was. And she looked just like it… and… now I honestly feel just pity for her, not in the sense that I would want to help her, but just… I feel bad for her that she is seemingly... just this," Brienne grimaces.

"And she's never been any more," Jaime agrees.

Just like he hasn't been until he made the choice for his new life and let Brienne make him more.

"And how do you feel about it?" Brienne asks, studying him wth a sympathetic smile.

"I didn't think about her ever since you granted me a stay in your life," Jaime replies.

"Our life," she corrects him.

"Yes, our life indeed," he agrees. "I suppose I just follow your dear Father's advice."

"Which is?" she tilts her head.

"To counter the bad with kindness and good. And by the Gods, what we have is so good that it undoes even her evil, at least in my view," Jaime shrugs.

"Yes, I think you're right and I think that he'd be happy now, no matter the circumstance," Brienne then says, a small grin tugging at her lips.

"For as long as you're happy, he surely is," he nods, for some reason feeling a little lighter again.

In fact, he feels lighter with every day passing, the weight of sin being lifted off of him for living a good life and trying his best to be the man she deserved for much longer than he can ever repay her.

She agrees with a small hum, flashing a smile.

"What is it, wench?" he studies her curiously, knowing that smile which means that she has something on the tip of the tongue that means to slip out into the world. He learned them by now, each and every one of them, studied her features, and knows them by heart now, because that is where he keeps them.

"He'd also be very happy since I fulfil my oath to him at last," Brienne says with a smile.

"Which one?" Jaime grimaces.

"Not the revenge," she replies. And Jaime's eyes open wide as realisation dawns on him, "… You mean…"

"Yes," she nods. Jaime just smiles at her, pulling her closer to him, "Why, why didn't you say anything before?"

"I wanted to be certain," she shrugs.

And she proves the world wrong yet again, proves wrong all the hushed words of adivce and threats of her body being broken beyond repair.

"Why didn't you say it to her? Her face would have been priceless," Jaime argues.

"I don't want that part of our happiness to have anything to do with her. We literally started a new life without her now, and as such I want to keep it," she replies. Jaime kisses her deeply as the emotions pour down on him like waves. He pulls away slightly to see her eyes shining brightly as she asks, "Are you happy?"

"No," he replies.

"Oh?" she tilts her head.

"I'm blessed," he says. She smiles at him.

"Do you want to leave – because I want to leave, preferably for home, but I don't think we can sail back to Tarth before morning rises," Jaime makes a face.

"Not without Tyrion," she argues.

"Never. Oh, he'll be thrilled once we tell him the wonderful news," Jaime muses. The little brother teased him often enough when he would finally get to have some nephews and nieces to play with.

"He… already knows," Brienne shrugs. Jaime turns to her, gaping, "You told him before me?! Oh, my heart, that really hurts."

He grabs his chest, but she pulls his hands down with a roll of her eyes, "Stop that, I didn't tell him."

"How else would he know?!" Jaime insists.

"He said my breasts got bigger and assumed that I was. What was I supposed to do? Lie to him?" she argues. "You know that I'm not good at it."

"Oh, that little gremlin! I told him that your breasts are my business alone!" Jaime growls.

"Now calm yourself," she grunts, nudging him slightly.

"Calm myself? You betrayed me, wench!" he cries out.

"But there is something I didn't tell you yet that even Tyrion doesn't know," she argues.

"And that would be?" he looks at her expectantly.

"I will let you choose the name," she replies with a grin.

"You said that you'd rather die than let me name any of our children, to quote you 'if it ever came to it'," Jaime argues.

Because he told her again and again that they didn't have to rush anything, that only their happiness mattered now, and that, so the Gods will, this would become part of their happiness, then it would, and if not, then not. And now it seemingly does.

"Don't you want to? I can very well take it back," she argues. Jaime grabs her by the arm, flashing a smile, "No, no. I'll name the child."

"Then stop pouting like one," she tells him.

"I don't pout. I'm happy. I am blessed, I am… I am speechless," he argues.

A child, his child, their child, not marked by sin but by her virtue.

Maybe the Gods are not the almost bad after all.

"Oh, I thank the Seven!" she chuckles. "The day has come at last!"

"Who could have guessed that we'd get so much in return for our troubles?" Jaime exhales.

Who could have guessed how much bliss he would get for all the sin he committed and helped commit? Sometimes, the Gods seem to show mercy after all, or maybe they just forget about those who die and secretly sneak back to the realm of the living.

"I certainly didn't, till last," she shrugs.

"Brienne of Tarth, you don't just make me someone, but the happiest man in all of Westeros – and beyond," he says, kissing her.

"You are not the almost bad yourself," she chuckles. He pulls her close, "Yet another new life starts."

"A new adventure," she agrees.

"Jumping into the next story, are we?" Jaime grins.

"If you are?" Brienne tilts her head.

"Always one step behind you, wench," he says.

"That's good to know, Goldie Curl," she winks at him.

"Let's fill some more pages, shall we?" he grins.

"As many as we can," she agrees.

And above their heads shines the one star unmoving, their Evenstar, because only the stars that stay in the starry firmament are the ones they wish upon.