"Brienne, I'm so-"
Jaime draws up short. The cold weight of his gold hand seems to increase as the moments slip by. Across the table, Tyrion waits patiently, pen poised over a fresh sheet of parchment. Jaime growls in frustration. "I'm sorry."
His devoted brother, Master of Laws and royal pain in the arse, suppresses a snicker. "Are you apologizing to me, or am I meant to write that in the letter?"
This is a fool's errand, and I am the greatest fool of all. Jaime rises from the table where he's spent most of his time, of late. His chair's legs screech in protest, echoing sharply throughout the Council Chamber and the courtyard adjacent. The Winter sun winks coyly off fat flakes of falling snow; a single piece flits in to kiss Jaime's cheek- soft as Brienne's lips in Winterfell and frozen as Cersei's in her grave.
"No," he says. "Thank you, but I've changed my mind. If you'll excuse me, King Jon has need of me. We plan to oversee preparations for the festival. I like not the way Lord Sunglass speaks to the commons, and Jon wants to hand out an extra silver piece each to the workers due to the unexpected snow." Jaime cocks his head." No pun intended, of course."
Tyrion ignores the bait and merely sighs, steeples his fingers. The effect is so evocative of their late father that Jaime's breath catches. His tone is kind, however." Jaime, Ser Brienne will be here with Queen Sansa's retinue in but a moon's turn. It is inevitable you shall see her, and as Hand it is your place to liaise with our little Northern Queen. That you will end up in proximity of the Queen's sworn sword is a given. She deserves to know why you left, and that you still yearn for her."
"She will not believe, Tyrion."
"You cannot know that for certain." Tyrion breathes deeply. "It must be worth something that you ended Cersei's reign of terror. Surely. It proves-"
Jaime scoffs. "Brother, you know better than most the slice of a cruelly barbed tongue. My thick-headed wench meant to accompany me back to King's Landing, to what at the time I believed would be certain death. So I lied. I used my words to cut at every softness I managed to find during during that month I was buried inside her cunt and her heart. I proclaimed undying devotion to our sweet sister while my spend dried between Brienne's sweet thighs, then I left her crying in the snow." He's almost out the door when Tyrion calls out.
" She's your wife, Jaime. I know you love her! "
The drop of melted snow traces down to his jaw, as Brienne's fingers had under that weirwood.
" Always," he tosses over his shoulder as he leaves. "More than anything."






















