Jaime is alive. When he appears at Winterfell with hopes of winning back his true love, Brienne, events do not exactly unfold as he had planned. What will Jaime find when he faces Brienne for the first time since leaving her on that fateful night...
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"She shall hate me." Jaime voiced as he crouched sullenly against the hard back of the caravan bench. The jostling of the wagon creating a welcomed discomfort in his mended bones. Surely, he deserved no relief.
"Probably" Tyrion nodded impassively. "Was that not your purpose when you left her?" He questioned.
"I feared she would follow." Jaime answered darkly, his gaze distant, envisioning that dreadful night and the one he had forsaken. "I could not have protected her, and seen my plan to its outcome." He lamented.
Tyrion leaned forward, his eyes narrowed, his interest piqued. "You have avoided the topic since I pulled you, barely breathing, from that pile of rubble." He stroked his beard hoping Jaime would at last divulge the reasons he had left Winterfell and the woman he clearly loved. Until now, his brother had been stoically tight lipped about the whole dismal affair.
They were far from Kings Landing. Cersei was dead. The Realm was returning to a normal pattern of life under its' new King. Jaime had been restored to health. The Red Keep itself was being repaired for Brandon Stark, a wise and noble ruler. With each passing moment the cart in which they rode was speeding them farther from the scene of Jamie's reported demise, and closer to the place he had parted from Brienne. The Lannister brothers were headed North, to collect the heart Jaime had left there. Tyrion thought, perhaps now, his brother would confide in him.
With a serious tone, Tyrion trudged on. "When we spoke in Daenarys's camp, I naturally assumed that your course was to rescue our sister and smuggle her to safety." He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "However, when I found your sorry half-dead carcass fallen atop Cersei, you were far from any escape you could have possibly made." Tyrion described in bewilderment. "Perhaps now, you would not mind telling me just what in the Seven Hells you thought you were doing returning to the Capital amidst all that death and destruction?" He inquired.
Jaime shrank further in his seat, and answered Tyrion with a sardonic sneer. "I was trying to protect her." He whispered.
"Protect who? Cersei?" Tyrion scowled. "Well, if that was your aim you certainly did a piss poor job of it." He raised his brows disbelievingly toward the rounded ceiling of the wagon. "Not that her suffocation by falling bricks has troubled my heart." He mumbled. There had never been any love lost between Tyrion and Cersei, and the price she had laid upon his head finally destroyed any portion of family loyalty he ever felt for her.
"Gods No!" Jaime almost chuckled, before his expression grew serious and dire. "You heard him." He recalled. "That night in the tavern in Wintertown." Jaime muttered.
Jaime's words were spoken through a thousand miles and nearly six long painful moons. He had spent almost half a year healing from his injuries. The separation from Brienne was an eternal torment, one he prayed she would end once they reached their destination. The encounter with Bronn in that pitiful Northern tavern had set him upon the course of breaking Brienne's heart. The threat Bronn made against her life felt like it was leveled only yesterday. Jaime's broken demeanor reminded Tyrion of the shell of a man he had found imprisoned by Targaryen troops when his brother was caught sneaking into Kings Landing. The Kingslayer appeared more a corpse than a man.
