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“It’s the Blue Lion!”
Brienne can just hear one of the sentries on the guardhouse calling to the inner wall as she approaches the King’s Gate.
She nods to the guards who wave her through the East Gate, and once inside she quickly dismisses the bannermen who have accompanied her on this journey. She sees no reason to delay their personal welcomes home.
As they disperse, she turns her own horse to the stables. Her personal welcomes will have to wait. Jaime and Sansa often spend the afternoon in council sessions or hearing grievances in the Great Hall and there is no immediate reason to interrupt them when she still needs to see to her horse and she has wanted a bath for the last three days.
When she reaches the stables a holster limps out to greet her. The structure was only a wooden frame when she left for Dorne. Now it is finished, and has been long enough for the wood to weather a bit. She knows its part of journeying to miss daily life, but she still mourns the moments she lost.
“Lady, would you like me to have your bags taken to your chamber?”
“No, thank you. I can manage on my own. It looks like things have been progressing here.”
She assumes the castle is as short staffed as when she left, and any available servant has more pressing duties than to carry her bags. It’s not the first time she has carried her own bags, and it likely won’t be the last.
“Aye, it looks more like it should.”
She nods, but she does not know what Winterfell should look like.
Brienne never saw it before the sack, or the second one for that matter. Only after Ramsay burned its godswood, raped and killed its smallfolk, and bitterly betrayed its leaders. Jaime led their wildling army against him; she stayed with Sansa as he captured her seat. It meant she was with the girl when Sansa first saw the devastation ravaged on her home.
Brienne was the one who handed her a cloth for her tears, and a knife to gut the Bolton bastard.
Jaime had the unpleasant task of watching and smelling Bolton for the hours it took him to die—the Hound would have been proud of Sansa’s expertly torturous gut wound. Jaime stood witness since Sansa refused to let him end it mercifully, and Jaime refused to rest until he knew Ramsay was dead.
Brienne hung his head from the wall after he died, and once Jaime finally let her clean his wounds and agreed to sleep. She would have preferred to bring the bastard back to life and killed him herself. However, it was almost as satisfying to hang his head as proof that he was finally dead to the few people who had survived the massacre he instigated when it was clear Sansa was retaking her home.
“You served before Winterfell was sacked?”
“Aye, and I was here when the fucking monster pissed on everything Lord Stark built. Excuse me, my lady.”
“Do not feel the need to apologize for the truth. Let me get my bags and I will be out of your way. Please give her an apple or two. She’s been a good steed this journey.”
The holster nods, and Brienne goes about collecting her belongings, hoping that she can make it to their rooms before someone needs her. She really wants that bath.
“Wife!” At this Brienne does turn, her arms full of saddlebags. Jaime is running through the stable yard with little concern for his dignity.
He is on her before she can empty her arms, and she worries about losing her balance with the extra weight and her armor, but Jaime naturally compensates as he pulls her to him and he brings his lips to hers.
She sighs into the touch, too happy to be home to feel overly embarrassed about the soldiers, stable hands, maids, carpenters, and other folk watching them. As distracting as Jaime is she can hear them whistling and cheering. The smallfolk never seem to tire of this show, and it amuses Jaime every time.
Even with her happiness at being home—with being in Jaime’s arms—and her familiarity with the cheering, Brienne must remind herself that it is not mean or petty laughter. Jaime has learned to anticipate her shyness, but he never understood why she retreated from these displays. Sansa finally ordered Brienne to enjoy her homecomings and to let the castle folk share their happiness with their lions.
Joy was something that the people of Winterfell desperately needed after Ramsay.
She inelegantly drops her bags at their feet and brings one hand to cup his face, the other wraps around his waist. The kiss was never chaste, but now that her arms are free Jaime deepens it even further. Brienne can feel her entire body blushing as his tongue plunders her mouth.
When they are alone he loves to watch how his simplest touch can make her whole body flush with anticipation and desire. She is sure he knows the reaction she is having to his kiss.
“Crone’s tits, I have missed you wench.”
Now that he has broken their kiss, she takes the opportunity to study his face and catalog the new gray hair and the wrinkles she doesn’t remember. She had forgotten the way his lips twitch when near her and how he doesn’t bother to lace his shirt when she is not here to help him.
“I have missed you too, husband.” She knows her smile is louder than her words.
She glances over his shoulder and sees that Sansa and several of her other advisors followed him in to the yard. Farther back Lord Manderly is huffing towards them like a great green whale. Brienne is certain they were in a council meeting, and here only because Jaime refused to stay once he heard she was back.
She wonders how he learned of her arrival.
“Don’t get that look. I behaved myself. I did not horrify any ladies, well except for Sansa. I let young Pod beat me ragged in the practice yards, and as you can see I did not kill Wyman.” He punctuates his statement with a kiss to her scarred cheek.
She returns the kiss to his brow and tries to untangle his hand from her hair.
“What are you doing? I am perfectly content to stand here. With you. Like this. Stop it.” He growls slightly as he pulls her closer. “Though if you want to take this to our bed, that’s agreeable too.”
Even with the shiver that runs down her spine and pools between her legs, Brienne is able to pull back just enough to speak.
“My Queen, I have news of the south and messeges for you.”
Its impossible to kneel with Jaime wrapped around her. She is sorely tempted to step on his foot, but she thinks he would consider it a challenge to keep his hands on her and they would likely end up wrestling in the stable yard. It has happened before.
“Thank you, Brienne. It will keep.”
Sansa was doing a bad job of trying not to giggle when she speaks. The people of Winterfell are not the only ones who could use some simple joy.
“See to your husband first.”
Brienne’s annoyance at Jaime getting his way must have shown because Sansa does giggle.
“Yes, Lady Knight, please see to your husband. He will be insufferable until he is satisfied.”
Brienne thinks Lord Manderly does not means it as an insult, at least not to her, but given the rapid way Jaime’s lips stiffens and his muscles shift for an attack its clear he does hear some slight.
Now she is happy that their limbs are too tangled for him to pull away.
“At least I have a wife to satisfy me, Manderly.”
Jaime clearly is aiming for a specific target with his clipped words. Brienne watched Lord Manderly’s fists clench and his shoulders tense for a mere moment before his face filled with false cheer. They could be two men joking, but Brienne knows that is not the case.
Jaime’s aim was true, but Manderly did not want him to know that.
Brienne was too busy watching Manderly, anticipating how to defend if his attack became physical, to notice that Jaime’s attention was on Sansa and not the large lord. She follows her husband’s focus and realizes the young queen’s eyes lost any humor they had before Manderly spoke and she looks ready to cave in on herself.
She looks more like the girl they found in the Vale, than the Queen who rallied the Night Watch, treated with the Wildlings, and met the Dragon Queen as an equal.
Brienne knew their letters to her were scant about the actually happenings in Winterfell, but now she wonders what Jaime and Sansa did not want known beyond these walls.
“Jaime-” Even though her voice is to low for anyone else to hear, he cuts her off with a fast kiss. As enthusiastic as he makes it look, its not like their first kiss. She can feel the difference. Jaime wants Manderly to direct his attention at him, instead of Sansa.
“Let us retire, my lady. You heard the queen your knightly duties will keep.”
Of course he says it with just enough lechery to remind everyone that he is claiming her wifely duties. She resists the urge to turn on her heel and walk away from him. She knows its an act to distract from whatever just happened, but it still makes her feel like a possession meant only for her husband’s amusement.
She despises when he puts this mask on. After years of use it fits so well most people think that the man she married is the act he has learned to please her, and this mask the real Jaime Lannister.
“Your grace, I will be indisposed for the rest of the afternoon,” Jaime pauses to look at Brienne. Even if this is an act, the look he levels at her is full of real desire. “And probably most of the evening.” Unsurprisingly several of the other men laugh. Even less surprisingly Brienne can feel the heat rushing to her checks. “My wife has been gone too long. Shall we continue the council meeting in the morning, after you meet with Brienne?”
Brienne is sure this act is for Manderly who looks ready to speak for Sansa, and then thinks better of it.
“That’s acceptable Ser Jaime. You are excused. I will retire to my solar for the rest of the afternoon. I promised the Dragon Queen an embroidered swaddling cloth and I have not picked up my needle and thread all week.”
Even before Sansa granted her approval Jaime was already moving to pick up the discarded saddlebags. The rest of her speech was for the benefit of her other advisors who would have happily followed her and kept badgering her if she was headed anywhere else.
According to Arya, Sansa has always liked the solar and embroidery, but Brienne knows the space is her only retreat from her councilmen. Not that her ladies in waiting are any less ambitious or meddling or annoying, but Sansa seems to find their dynamic almost comforting. Jaime assures her frequently that Sansa’s ladies are gentle doves compared to the vultures Cersei kept around.
Brienne takes the saddlebags that Jaime hands her, and she subtly changes their positions so that his good hand can wrap around her fingers. She never thought that she would marry a man who would find so much joy in holding her hand. Its also an easy way for her to let him know she is not anger that he her as a tool in his maneuvering against Lord Manderly. He squeezes back in apology.
They are in the castle proper by the time she remembers she has several questions.
“Where is Pod?”
“There were bandits reported along the King’s Road, to the north. I sent him out with a squad yesterday. Relax, Brienne. He will be fine. If you are going to worry about anyone, worry about the squad. He is a horrible taskmaster, your Payne. I have the bruises to prove it.”
She knows Pod is more than capable, but she still worries about the boy, even if he is a man now.
“He isn’t a boy, or your squire any more.”
She smiles. It is typical of Jaime to know her thoughts even when she keeps silent.
“How did you know I arrived?” Its been bothering her since he came running through the courtyard, trailed by a queen and more dignified lords.
“My heart knew you were near, my soul sang,” she lets him back her in to an alcove as his mouth nips at her neck just above her armor. “My loins burned with desire, my tongue thirsted to taste you, my lips trembled to kiss you, my fingers itched to stroke you, my cock-”
“Yes, I get the idea Jaime. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
“I am doing this all wrong if you are still worrying about that.”
His breath is warm and ticklish against her ear, and its only years of self-control where he is concerned that prevent her from losing her train of thought completely.
“Jaime!”
“Aye, you like that wench?”
“Jaime, anyone could see us!”
“So? We are married there is no scandal in this.”
“Ser, we have very different ideas of scandal. What if one of the castle orphans…” As soon as she mentions the childings that have come to belong to the castle now that their parents are dead Jaime’s eyes crinkle just slightly. She pulls back a bit, “Jaime, did you bribe the children to keep watch for me?”
“I would never do such a thing, and you know they are all terrified of the Golden Lion. I think northern mothers use me to terrify their unruly wretched offspring.”
More like in awe of him. Half a dozen of the boys trail after him wherever he goes, for hope of a story about the Kingsguard or the final battle at the Wall. Even more appear whenever he is on the training yard, though only a few have been brave enough to pick up a sword and follow his drills.
He mostly ignores them. She knows he worries their interest in him will only hurt them, like it did another curious northern lad.
However the childings are patient enough to wait until she comes to the practice yards. Then they dutifully follow her directions, ask their questions, and are rewarded with stories. In a few years Sansa is going to have the most formidable army in Westeros.
“You would absolutely do such a thing. What is the going rate to interrupt a council meeting?”
Jaime sighs, burying his nose in her hair, just behind her ear. Clearly he knows the jig is up.
“A slice of ginger cake to the first to see you, two if they spotted you before the gate, and another slice if they managed to tell me while in council.”
“I am only worth a slice of ginger cake?”
“They’re too young to ask for sapphires.” He smiles at what has become one of their private jokes and his fingers start to wander again. “Fuck, your armor keeps getting in the way.”
“That’s because you are too impatient to wait until we are in our chamber.” Brienne sticks her head out of the alcove, and seeing no one starts towards their chambers. Jaime obediently follows. She hopes no one passes them, Jaime’s hair is mussed and his lips swollen and red. She is sure she looks no better.
“And, a bed would be more comfortable. Though I remember that time with the tree, and there was the barn, and the snow hut we had to build over the Wall, and the time in your favorite cove when we went to Tarth.”
Jaime might follow her obediently, but he is never quiet.
“Yes, husband. And if I remember correctly my back bore the tree’s mark for a week, it took days to get the straw out of your beard after the barn, and the snow hut was because it was bloody cold.”
“And the cove?”
“That was worth the sunburn.”
Jaime roars as they enter their chambers. After years of being told she was a dull as stick, and even plainer she enjoys making Jaime laugh even more than she enjoys the way that his eyes follow.
“There is still the matter of Manderly.” She hangs her saddlebags neatly on a chair; Jaime drops his share and kicks them into a corner as soon as he shuts the door.
“What was it that Sansa said? It will keep.” To make his point even clearer he kisses her with the promise of what should take priority.
“Of course it will keep, but a stitch in time, saves nine. I thought you found an accord?”
Its odd to her how they can argue with their words, but seamlessly go about removing her armor together.
“Must you be so horribly honorable all the time?”
“If I am to have enough honor for two, then yes. How can I serve Sansa if I do not know what dangers she faces?”
“Wyman wants her married to a Manderly, not a Lannister.”
“Its too bad he does not have an unmarried son, or a grandson. He can’t mean to annul Wylis’s marriage?”
Given Jaime’s grimace, which looks too much like Tyrion to sit well with her, she is clearly missing the obvious answer.
“Think woman, there is one unmarried Manderly.”
“The Maid’s bloody lips!”
“Aye, my thoughts exactly. Wine?”
She waves off the offered cup and sits ungracefully in the chair nearest her. Jaime seems willing to drink the wine he poured for her.
“He is old enough to be her grandfather. I mean his granddaughters are an age with her. Isn’t one of them in Sansa’s entorage? ”
“Yes. The one with the garish green hair. You’re young enough to be my daughter and your father’s last woman was younger than you. I am not saying its in good taste, but its hardly incestuous.”
Jaime must hate the thought of Sansa tied to Wyman if he is willing to compare it to his own misdeeds.
“Is that why she invited Tyrion here for her name day celebration? He was surprised to receive the invitation.”
Several of the conversations she had with the Imp in King’s Landing are making much more sense. Jaime must have known that Tyrion had at least an idea of what was happening in the North and he did not want his brother to glean more information from her, hence the thin letters he sent her.
“Why should he be surprised? He is her husband.”
Sansa is not the real reason Tyrion avoids the North, and they both know it. Instead Tyrion sends Sansa extravagant gifts that appeal more to Jaime than the Wolf Queen.
“Do you think that his coming will put off Manderly?”
“Possibly about the marriage. It is harder to annul it if its consummated. My brother will infuriate him and the other Northern lords though.”
He is right. It’s a funny turn of events that the North trusts the Kingslayer, but that trust does not extend to his brother.
“Do you think it wise for Tyrion to come?”
“I am sure it’s a horrible play, but it’s the only one I can see. Maybe he will think of something better.”
She does not miss his bitter tone, but she lets it go. Nothing good will come of commenting on it.
“And Sansa?”
“She needs Manderly’s support, but she doesn’t want to lose her crown to him.”
“Or her maidenhead.”
“Aye, that too.”
As saddle sore as she is, and she pushed hard to make it back to Winterfell, its easy to stand up and to go over to her husband, to stand behind his chair and wraps her arms around him. She buries her nose in his air and deeply breaths in his scent. How she missed this man.
“Its good I am home.”
He nods, finally relaxing back into her touch. She is sure he has not been sleeping well with her gone, and worries about Sansa.
“Husband, what was it that Sansa said to me? These worries will keep. At least till morning.”
“Oh, you have finally noticed that I am devilishly handsome, incredibly charming and yours to debauch?”
“Yes.”
“Well lets get on with it wench.”