It was hateful.

He had left her there. But after her tears dried, it wasn't loss she felt.

It was anger.

Anger, brimming through the tears that streaked her face, and she hated him. They stung as they clung to her cheeks, the cold of the North biting her skin, making the tears burn.

How could he do this to her, after the weeks they'd spent in near bliss?

She turned and went back to her room, feeling as though she might be sick.

She swallowed the bile, and sat on the edge of the bed, hating that, too…for it was there that he'd held her, there that she'd known love.

And they'd laughed…smiled so much that her face felt numb.

Now it felt only cold.

She almost wished that he'd never came knocking on her door three weeks ago. Or that she'd pretended to be asleep. Or she'd chucked him out as soon as he said, "You keep it warm enough in here."

Or slapped his hand away when he'd reached for her shirt.

So many times she could have avoided this moment.

Brienne of Tarth laid back and hated Jaime Lannister. She hated him for leaving her there to be alone while he went back to his sister.

She turned over, refusing to cry any more. She wouldn't…not another tear. And unbidden she thought about what he'd said…how he was a bad person.

Hateful.

Because of all the things he'd done for Cersei.

He'd killed, maimed…other unspeakable things…for her.

She sat up.

He said he'd done those things…for her. Not for love. He hadn't said the word love once. He didn't love Cersei. He hated her.

And he was trapped.

Brienne stood. He was going to King's Landing to kill Cersei…to be free of her. She covered her mouth.

He'd left Cersei.

Abandoned her to ride North to fight.

He'd said that he hated the North, but was ready to stay there with her…with Brienne.

And he'd left when he discovered that a dragon was dead.

Because he was concerned that she'd win.

"My god," she whispered.

She would not be sleeping that night.

Brienne walked into the hall, riding clothes on. "Pardon me, My Lady, but I'd like a word."

Sansa looked up from a scroll and smiled. "Of course."

She cleared her throat. "Ser Jaime left late last night for King's Landing."

She canted her head. "He's done what? Left us?"

"He has."

"Oh, Brienne. I am sorry…"

"Never mind that. I believe he's gone to…" she cleared her throat. "To tend to unfinished business, of particular interest to you and the North. But I fear for his safety as well as his state of mind," Brienne shifted her weight and cleared her throat. "I am come to beg your permission to make journey to King's Landing."

"To stop him?"

"To…" to do what, exactly? "To find him. Help him if I can."

"Help him…" Sansa swallowed. "I know that you love him."

Brienne's eyes fell. "I do, My Lady. I'm sorry."

"What for? The Night's Watch surrenders all notions of love and the like. Not the Kingsguard."

She sighed, and looked at her again. "I must make haste, for it's likely that he rode through the night."

"I'm planning on making the journey tomorrow. I'm hoping to make some good come of this mess, and perhaps even have a say in what happens to my country. Will you wait?"

She blanched. "I apologize, Lady Sansa, but…"

"But you need to find Jaime Lannister. I understand."

Brienne smiled. "Thank you."

"You're leaving now, then?"

She nodded. "Podrick will come with me. We are ready to leave now."

"Very good. I hope it works out for you," she stood. "And that I'll see you soon."

Brienne bowed and left the room for Pod in the back.

She walked with purpose out to the courtyard. She was desperate to get on the road. She wasn't sure if he'd taken the King's Road, but she had no reason to think that he hadn't. It was the quickest route, and if King's Landing's eyes were turned inward, there was no reason to think that there would be patrols…especially with more than half of the country now pledged to Daenerys Targaryen.

"Morning Pod," she mounted the horse.

"I can't believe we're going back there, Ser."

"Well, Ser Jaime is en route, and we are following."

"Why's he off to the Landing?"

She looked at him. "To kill Cersei."

The King's Road was covered in snow…not deep, but it was pervasive. The cold felt less biting than it did in the North.

He had travelled through the night and made some good ground. He was exhausted. He'd need to stop soon to eat and rest.

But moving kept his mind off of things…kept him busy and not thinking about…her.

Jaime looked at the sky. What he was doing really made little sense. How would he be received? Likely with a sword.

She wanted to kill him for treason.

And he was treacherous, but not just how Cersei thought. He was about to abandon her and her rule for what she considered to be the enemy.

And he wasn't sorry. Not even slightly.

And to him, that was what was treacherous.

He didn't love Cersei. Probably hadn't in a while.

What was it that made him realize that she was beyond hope? He stopped his horse. An inn was just there. He needed to eat. Jaime dismounted and went over, opening the door.

He sat at a table.

And a knife fell from above him and was stuck in the wood in front of him. He looked up.

"Running, are you?" Arya Stark was standing there, a malevolent look on her face.

"No. You?" he sat back.

"No. I don't run," she sat across from him.

"I believe that," he nodded.

"What are you doing?" Arya's face was impassive.

He swallowed. "What are you doing? You're a hero. You should be with your sister…"

"My sister is fine. And my business in unfinished."

He nodded. The barman came over. Arya looked at him. "Everything he wants. I'll take it."

Jaime raised his eyebrows. "I have gold."

"Oh, I know. But we might be here a while," she looked at the keep. "Bring him ale and the stew. It was quite good."

"So. Here we are," he rested his chin on his left palm.

She sat back. "Here we are. An unlikely pair."

He smiled, and sat back himself. "Where are you going?"

"King's Landing."

"Curious. So am I."

"Off to join your sister, are you? I should have slit your throat after all."

The food and ale came. "Perhaps you should have. It likely would have spared at least a few people some pain," he sipped and took a spoon.

"Who else have you caused pain to?"

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you. But you're acting like a traitor. And that I don't like."

"You're right. I am a traitor. But not to who you think," he drank deeply. Jaime heard the door close behind him and watched as Arya's gaze followed whoever had walked in. He turned. "Fuck."

Sandor Clegane walked over. "Well. If it isn't the older Lannister cunt."

He smiled. "Such terms of endearment."

"What are you doing here?" Clegane sat next to Arya, across from Jaime.

"He's traveling to King's Landing," offered Arya. "What do you think, Sandor? Shall I slit his throat?"

"While the two of you discuss my death, perhaps I'll finish this excellent stew and reserve a bed," Jaime took another bite.

"Why are you going to King's Landing?"

"You know, we fought alongside each other not a month ago. Some kindness should be offered," Jaime looked at both of them.

Arya swallowed. "He's right. He left Cersei and fought with us. And survived."

"But is he running back to his sister? If he was able to leave her, come North, swear allegiance…he can do it again in reverse."

Jaime sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do when I reach King's Landing. I have some ideas, but rest assured. I'm not committing treason again. Think about what you're saying. Cersei is a lot of things. Stupid isn't one of them. Who can get to her? Who will she listen to?"

"What? You're going to try to talk to her?" Arya laughed.

"I honestly don't know. But if it's all the same to you…" he finished the stew and called the keep.

"We're going with you," Arya handed the keep money.

"Sorry?"

She looked at Sandor, who sighed. "We are going to travel together. Might as well. All heading the same place," she smiled.

Jaime looked at her, then Clegane. He shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm leaving in an hour, right after I get some sleep," he stood. "Thanks for lunch," and he left.

And he went upstairs, exhausted. Pleased he was exhausted, as it would disallow any reverie.

The one thing he couldn't afford.