Brienne

Brienne scrubbed the rough woollen cloak over her cheeks until they were nearly raw. 'Fuck Jaime Lannister,' she muttered. She'd already wasted enough tears on the bloody man. His actions made it quite clear that he'd never truly wanted her. She'd been an amusement that he tossed aside when the siren call of Cersei grew too strong. Brienne had no use for such men. They were weak. And Brienne of Tarth, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms was not weak.

She straightened her shoulders and strode back into the castle, her head high, chin forward. The path to her room was blessedly deserted, so there was no one to comment on the stray tear that tracked down her face. ' Fuck Jaime Lannister,' she hissed, as she flung the door of her room open. There was nothing left that even hinted at his presence.

Except for the armor.

Except for Oathkeeper.

A trembling forefinger trailed down the breastplate of her armor. She recalled the pleased expression on his face when he'd presented it to her. Even now, she could see the glint in his eye when he saw her wearing it the first time. Brienne picked up Oathkeeper, the hilt settling in her palm, the lion's head tapping her wrist. Jaime had seemed gratified to see such a fine weapon in the hands of a skilled fighter, as it should be.

She could leave them in here. Bury them. Throw them into the sea. Erase them from her life.

'But what good would that do?' she murmured, practical as ever.

The Jaime that had given her both items had done so in one of his few moments of true nobility. That Jaime would have been disappointed, if not hurt, that she would refuse to use them because of some silly emotional nonsense.

'Ser Brienne.' Podrick rapped briefly on the door, before opening it. 'Ser Ja-' He took in the sole occupant of the room, and the absence of Jaime's meager belongings. He closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth before crossing to the armor. 'M'lady,' he said, out of habit, and began helping her don it, piece by piece until an inscrutable mask slipped over her face. Her eyes closed briefly and she picked up her sword. 'Let's go,' she said tonelessly.

Ravens flew furiously between King's Landing and Winterfell in the coming weeks. Most bore horrifying accounts of the events that had transpired, hints of a death toll too high to be borne. Brienne had little time for it. There was too much to do at Winterfell. There were young men and women to train, an armory to sort, walls to repair. She really ought to think about formally knighting Podrick. How Pod had come into such a steadfast character, Brienne couldn't say. He was there, half a step behind her, teaching the younger lads, and a handful of girls, the skills he'd learnt as her squire. It may not have been swinging a sword or letting an arrow fly through the skies, but if it would keep them warm, dry, and fed, it was worth as much as the swords they would one day wear on their hip. She found a reason to keep herself occupied from the moment she awoke until she fell asleep. She didn't want to think about him . Whether he'd lived or died.

And so it went as the weeks turned into months. And Brienne only spared a thought for him in her dreams.

At least until the day Tyrion Lannister galloped into the yard, looking haggard and wan. Brienne was taken aback. Tyrion didn't ride, if he could avoid it. He slid off the gelding with Pod's quiet assistance, then stopped short, gazing mournfully at Brienne. Tyrion bowed fully from the waist. 'My lady knight.'

Brienne inclined her head. 'My lord.'

'I'm nobody's lord,' Tyrion said shortly. 'Might I have a word with you in private?'

Brienne thumbed a lock of hair away from her eyes. 'There's nothing you can say to me that you cannot say out here.'

Tyrion took her callused hand between his, and slowly licked his lips, as if he needed to select his next words with care. 'Jaime is dead.'

Brienne tottered back a few steps, feeling as if she'd been punched in the gut, then toppled to the side, landing in the mud with a splat .

Tyrion

Smoke and ash coated everything with a bitter tang. Tyrion stumbled through the camp, looking for Davos. If he found Davos, Gendry was usually nearby. They were huddled in cloaks, passing a wineskin back and forth. Gendry swallowed, coughed, then spat a blackened glob of spittle in the grass to the side. 'Sorry,' he muttered in a scratchy voice, holding the wineskin out to Tyrion. 'I need to get into the Red Keep,' Tyrion said quietly, before taking a swig of what proved to be rum.

'Same place as before?' Davos asked, seemingly interested in using a twig to clean under his remaining fingernails.

'Yes.'

Davos peered up at the sky, trying to judge the hour. 'You go first. Gendry and I'll follow you.'

Tyrion took another swig of rum. It had been a long night, listening to the screams and moans of the dying and wounded. He set off for the cove, body aching, but unable to rest until he had answers. He hadn't been willing to admit that he may never have them, but King's Landing was large, and there was a distinct possibility that Jaime and Cersei were blackened piles of ash in the streets or buried under piles of rubble. He'd never been particularly religious. It all seemed a load of tosh and nonsense. But Tyrion found himself praying to the Seven as he never had before. He couldn't care less about Cersei. She'd wanted him dead from the moment he was born. He held on to the hope that Jaime was somehow alive. It was quickly dashed when he arrived at the cove. The skiff was still there on the shore, and just beyond it was a body. Tyrion floundered over the rocks, sagging with relief when he realized it was Euron Greyjoy.

Davos came strolling into the cove, to all appearances lost in thought. He perched on a rock next to Tyrion, and after a few minutes, they were joined by Gendry, burdened by a pack. Tyrion said nothing, but led them into the hidden entrance.

It was blocked. 'Oh. No…' Tyrion moaned.

Gendry shrugged, pointing to a gap between the top of the arch and the pile of debris. 'Just need to move some at the top and wiggle under the arch,' he said, handing the pack to Davos. He clambered up the broken bricks and moved enough to slither through the opening. Davos quickly followed, astonishing Tyrion with his agility. Davos moved a few more bricks, while Tyrion picked his way up the pile.

Gendry was quick. He'd cleared pathways through the next two arches. Tyrion was hauling himself up the third pile of rubble when he heard Gendry bellow, 'Oi! Hurry!' Tyrion scrambled through the opening and nearly slid down the pile, skinning his palms in the process. Gendry crouched over a battered and bruised body. 'He's barely breathing,' Gendry said. Tyrion could scarcely recognize his brother under the layers of dust, ash, and blood caked on his face. Gendry and Davos pulled out daggers and began the painstaking process of cutting off Jaime's clothes and boots. They tried not to jostle him, but Jaime moaned piteously, especially when they had to tug his shirt away from a stab wound in his side. It was stuck inside the wound, crusted over with dried blood. Gendry inspected the clotted cut on Jaime's forehead and carefully ran his fingers over Jaime's skull. 'Got lucky. Only a cut. Head wounds'll bleed like you're dying, but head doesn't feel broken.'

'Was he like this when you found him?' Tyrion panted.

Gendry gestured with his chin. 'Facedown under that arch. That stupid gold hand finally did somthin' right. He had it over his head. Probably kept his head from caving in.'

Davos ran his hands over one arm then the other. 'Right arm's broken. Maybe two… three places that I can tell. Left one, too. Need to splint 'em.'

Gendry palmed Jaime's torso. 'Ribs…' He traced around the stab wound. 'Need to clean and stitch that before fever sets in.'

They each examined one of Jaime's legs. 'Someone's stabbed him in the ass,' Davos grumbled. 'Leg's broken, here.' Davos waved a hand over Jaime's thigh.

'Here, too.' Gendry buried his face in his broad hands. 'Bone's poking through.'

Tyrion sat in a stupor. 'How do you know all this?'

Davos and Gendry both gave Tyrion an incredulous look, then Davos began digging through the pack. 'Y'think people in Flea Bottom or common smugglers can afford Maesters?' Davos snorted.

'Or you've got a death warrent hangin' over your head,' Gendry added. He waved a hand over Jaime. 'You learn the simple stuff. Most smith's aren't goin' to waste coppers on their apprentices when they break an arm.' Davos handed Gendry several flat sticks and strips of cloth. The quickly splinted both of Jaime's arms and legs. 'Isn't pretty,' Davos stated, 'but it'll do for now.'

Gendry unstoppered the wineskin and sloshed a good measure of rum over and in the stab wounds. Jaime cried out, thrashing weakly, and Tyrion covered his brother's mouth with his hands. 'Shhhhh. Shhhhh.' Tyrion looked around wildly, hoping they hadn't been heard. 'Give him somethin' to bite on,' Gendry advised.

Davos pulled off a glove and stuffed it into Jaime's mouth. 'Get on with it.' Gendry carefully stitched the wounds, and with Davos' help, managed to bandage both wounds and wrap his broken ribs. They were both shaking and sodden with sweat when it was over and Jaime was tucked under the remains of his cloak.

'We need to get him out of King's Landing,' Tyrion said wearily.

'You need to get out of here,' Davos said. 'There's a stretcher in the pack. Gendry and I can take him to the skiff.'

'We'll go to Storm's End,' Gendry pronounced. 'I went down when we started the siege, got to know the people there. It's not that far. They don't need me here, but Jon Snow needs you,' he told Davos. 'We can send a raven ahead.'

Tyrion got to his feet. 'Did you happen to find Cersei?' Gendry jerked his head to his left. Tyrion could make out the blood-red velvet of her dress. She was buried under a pile of wreckage, and what he could see of her golden hair was hidden under a sticky layer of blood.

Tyrion walked to her and stared at her body for several long moments. He spat on her once, then turned and began to climb out of the crypt. 'Wait.' He stopped. 'The hand. Give me that fucking hand.

Davos unstrapped it and handed it up to Tyrion. 'What d'you plan to do with it?'

'Drop in the street. There's thousands of dead bodies, burnt beyond recognition. Cersei Lannister died down here. Jaime Lannister died in the streets.' Tyrion reached into his doublet and tossed a bag of coins at Gendry. 'For his care.'

Jaime

If Jaime felt anything it was pain. Everything hurt. By rights, he ought to be dead. He'd meant to die in the Red Keep with Cersei, if for no other reason than to ensure she actually died. He knew what she was. Tyrion had been right. He'd always known. So many terrible things he had done at her urging. It might as well have been her hands that committed the deeds as well as his own. He managed to open his eyes just enough to make out bedposts, carved from dark wood, before shutting them again. Maybe he really was dead, and his place in the Seven Hells revolved around pain. Until he atoned for his sins, perhaps. Or forever. Either way, Jaime didn't care. It was nothing less than he deserved.

'I know you're conscious,' drawled a familiar voice.

'Tyrion?' Jaime rasped. Hell might not be so bad if he had his little brother's company. Tyrion had never made him feel inadequate or felt anything for him other than unconditional love. He felt the cool rim of a pewter cup press against his mouth, and a trickle of honeyed water flowed into his mouth. It was then he realized he was alive. Jaime swallowed greedily, whimpering in protest as Tyrion took the cup away. 'Enough,' Tyrion murmured soothingly. 'Not too much at once.' Jamie opened his eyes to mere slits. 'Why didn't you let me die? I should have died with her.' Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and dripped down the sides of his face, dampening the rough linen pillowslip under his head.

Tyrion's face swam into focus. 'You very nearly did. You tried. For the last two months, you've tried. But I owe you my life, so I refuse to comply with your wishes. For now. When you've recovered, my debt will be paid, and your life is yours to do with as you please.' Tyrion held the cup to Jaime's mouth again and let a bit more dribble over his tongue. 'Although, technically, you are dead.' Jaime's eyes flicked to meet Tyrion's, brows drawn together in a frown. 'Officially, Jaime Lannister is dead. Burnt to ash in King's Landing. How you managed to survive, I don't know. Gods must not be through with you yet. That ridiculous golden hand was left behind, and nobody had the time or energy to do a more thorough search.'

'Convenient.'

'Quite.'

Jaime tried to sit up, but he was immobile. Of course I am. Repayment for injuring the Stark boy, regardless of what he said. 'Why can't I move?'

'Broken bones take time to heal. You had… many. And so do unused muscles. And multiple stab wounds. You haven't been fully conscious for nearly two months. You've only had honeyed water or very weak broth since you arrived here. Healing is going to be a long process, I'm afraid.' Tyrion held up the cup inquiringly. 'You really are a cat. How many lives do you have left?'

'Hopefully this is my last.' Jaime could hear the roar of the sea from the window of the room. 'Where are we?'

'Storm's End. Gendry kindly offered shelter and sanctuary. And since you're officially dead, nobody will come looking for you. Any passing resemblance to the late, not very lamented Jaime Lannister, we can pass off as you being one of Father's bastards. It's entirely plausible he had a few, so why not pass you off as one?'

Jaime closed his eyes and carefully turned Tyrion's words over in his mind. 'So I've lost everything. Including my name.'

'Not everything,' Tyrion retorted.

A corner of Jaime's mouth lifted slightly. 'Except for you.' He exhaled slowly. 'Tired,' he mumbled and slipped back into the blessed black of unconsciousness.