What Was Left

Chapter 8

"She shall never speak to me again." Jaime mourned. He seemed more like a lost little boy, than a knight, or a Kingslayer. Brienne had all but declared her hatred for him, and there was nothing he could do to change it, any of it. He could not turn back time, nor did he have any idea how to go forward.

Tyrion sighed, his face glowering in a pensive frown. "I fear you may be correct, Brother." He agreed "Something tells me that few have ever been granted the chance to restore Lady Brienne's good opinion of them." He conjectured. Jaime's posture fell even more.

Unable to bear seeing his brother in such overwhelming pain, Tyrion wanted to ease Jaime's mind. He hoped that Brienne's rage hid deeper, stronger, more pleasant feelings. "I remember the way she looked at you at Winterfell, even before the two of you..." Tyrion stopped himself for decorum's sake. "Before, you acted upon your love for each other." He smiled. "I have only ever seen one other living soul whose face shown with such complete adoration, as hers did when she looked at you." He almost smiled.

Jaime shook his head. "So help me, Tyrion, if you mention anything about me and that witch of a sister of ours, I will throw you through the window." Jaime promised.

Tyrion nearly allowed himself a good natured chuckle. "Not to worry." He assured Jaime. "That travesty was the farthest thing from my mind." He said with a disgusted scowl.

Jaime gave Tyrion a relieved nod. "Then who is this lovesick fool of which you speak?" The shadow of a grin played at the corners of his mouth through his sadness.

"You, whenever you but think of Lady Brienne." Tyrion affirmed. Jaime replied with an almost bashful blush.

"Mark my words, Jaime." Tyrion contended. "Brienne's love for you is still as strong as it ever was." He said with certainty. "It may be buried under layers of hurt, and shrouded with anger, but a love like that does not simply disappear." He declared.

"I believe Lord Tyrion is correct." A soft, almost mystical voice surprised them from behind.

Jaime and Tyrion turned as King Bran entered the solar, his chair pushed by Ser Podrick Payne. From the utter shock on Podrick's face, and the falter in his step, it was clear that no one had made him aware of Jaime's return to the world of the living. The King's gaze washed over Jaime with as little astonishment as if they had spoken only a few moments before. Jaime realized that Brandon Stark had been well aware that he had not perished in the collapse of the Red Keep.

"Your Grace." Tyrion snapped to attention upon the entrance of the young king.

Jaime repeated Tyrion's greeting rotely. "Your Grace." He stammered slightly. Never would he have imagined he would one day be addressing  , as the ruler of Westeros, the same boy he had maimed and nearly killed. Never would he have dreamed that boy, now a man, would regard him kindly, even compassionately.

Next, Jaime's eyes wondered up to meet Podrick's glare. At first a sense of  familiar affability washed over him at the sight of the young man he considered a friend. Then he saw the steel set of Podrick's jaw, and the darkness in his eyes. Jaime got the distinct impression that Brienne's former squire would like nothing better than to send him to the Hells for real. He could not blame the loyal young knight.

As of sensing his Shield's animosity Bran turned his head, and without taking his eyes from Jaime, spoke to his trustworthy bodyguard. "Would you excuse us, Ser Podrick?" He said, his words more a command than a question.

"Of course, You Grace." Podrick bowed too rigidly.

"You may take your leave now. You can attend me at the Small Council meeting in a few hours." Bran bid Podrick.