The Evenstar and Lone Lion

Jaime made towards the willow-wood. All he had to his name was a boiled leather jerkin, a dirk, a bag of silver stags, a stump of a hand, and his name. Edmure Tully had been merciful, but not helpful. But, Jaime had survived, somehow. It was a miracle. He hoped beyond hope that Brienne had kept her word. How many whispered conversations had they had between their capture and his eventual release? Would she be there? Would she be gone, off to her next adventure? “Seven hells, what has become of me?” he wondered. Cersei was gone, Tommen taken, and now some distant cousin ruled the Rock. Where would he possibly turn to for succour? Stannis would execute him, as would the Pretender Aegon, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to turn to. What would be his fate?



Onwards his horse proceeded into the night, at a slow pace. He would risk a broken leg in order to put distance between himself and Riverrun. Onwards, ever onwards, he rode. He had grown tired by the time the first light peeped above the horizon and the birds began to sing. His belly was empty and beginning to rebel against him. He had a few swallows from a skin he had filled at the last river crossing. The cold water sat hard in his stomach, and made him more nauseous than anything else. Then he caught the scent of a fire.



Jaime dismounted, tying his horse off to a nearby tree. The horse immediately began copping off the sprouts of some low growing weeds while he continued on. He drew his dirk, ready to fight or flee depending.



It was at that moment the flat of a blade descended upon his scalp, drawing blood and temporarily knocking him from normal consciousness. Jaime tried to make himself ready for the sure death that was to follow when he heard someone shout out. “Ser, My Lady! Oooh gods, Lady Brienne! Oh what have I done? It’s the Kingslayer!”



Jaime awoke next to a fire, his surcoat more stained than when he had arrived. His horse was tied up nearby and Lady Brienne was before him. She was as large as ever, glowering, her dirty blonde hair hanging in unkempt whisps. “Ser Jaime, I am glad to see you have survived.” She said almost remotely.



Jaime tried to smile but found that he couldn’t. “I am glad to see you held up your side of the bargain. It was a dirty trick leading me to...Catelyn...or whatever that wretched creature was.”



Podric filled a wooden cup with something from a kettle that hung over the fire. Jaime accepted it and drank, cooling it at length. It was some sort of boiled nettle. “Do you have any provisions?” He inquired “Even some roast trout would be nice.”



After they had filled their bellies with fat-back bacon and hard-tack, the conversation continued.



“The past is in the past.” Jaime said. “We must look forward. The war? The war is nothing. Let Stannis fight the Targaryen - it is no concern of mine.”



Brienne interjected. “I swore an oath to find…”



“To find who?” Jaime interjected. “Sansa Stark? Arya Stark? Sansa Stark was found by Baelish and married off like some political sack of onions. Lady Arya? She has not been seen for years. Besides, what oath do you owe...that thing? That wight? Would you return to her at the end of your quest?”



Brienne seemed glum, but the outcome was obvious. Some moments passed before Brienne spoke up. “Very well, my oath to Lady Stark is fulfilled.” She said at last. It left her rudderless. She had always had a mission, whether to serve her King Renly, or Lady Stark - both of those missions had seemed to come to a close both to her dissatisfaction.



“It is.” Jaime answered. “And now I must ask you a boon, wen...my Lady.” he corrected.



Brienne raised an eyebrow. “And what is this?”



Jaime sighed heavily and raised his stump. “You were there when my skill was taken from me. I would ask that you help me regain it. Train my left hand, Brienne. Help me become the sword I once was…”