What Was Left

Chapter 2

Jaime starred absently at the fire in the hearth. He could not remember when he had last moved from the solitary chair in the dark stale room that had become his cell. His body was slow in returning to him. Bones still mending, muscles weakened to the point of atrophy, he had only the strength to drag himself from the small uncomfortable bed to the hard unwelcoming spot were he spent his days. Once, he had forced his aching limbs to drag the rest of him to the door, desperate to flee his crypt, only to find it barred. The lone casement was locked as tight as the door, as was the shutter that filtered the light and blocked any view. He was a prisoner. The worst part was the identity of his jailer.

Tyrion visited him, daily, usually making several trips to the tiny foreboding room in which his brother withered. The younger Lannister always pocketed the key. The elder brother lacked the strength even to try gaining its possession. Jaime barely spoke during those visits. Tyrion offered little information regarding his current circumstances. Jaime wondered if perhaps Daenarys had taken him prisoner. Tyrion was her hand, after all. Had his own brother sold him out to the new queen?

"You are not a prisoner." Tyrion informed him one day, when Jaime had flung venom at him during a moment of self pity and despair.

"You call this freedom?" Jaime asked in disgust.

"I call this protection." Tyrion shot back.

"Locked windows, and barred doors, protection?" Jaime mocked in disbelief.

"Yes." Tyrion held firm. "It's the best I could do. You are not a prisoner." He repeated. "And Danaerys is not Queen." Jaime thought he saw a shadow of shame cross before Tyrion's eyes. He sat back and studied his brother for a moment.

"Where are we?" Jaime questioned, his face a mask of confusion.

"Someplace safe." Tyrion promised. "For now. As long as you stay in this room." His answer was cryptic, and only fueled Jaime's curiosity and suspicions.

Tyrion's so called sanctuary was more painful than any torture he could have imagined. As Jaime slowly healed from the injuries he had sustained in the collapse of the Red Keep, the unrelenting solitude gave him no distraction from his thoughts. It did, however, afforded plenty of time to thoroughly examine each of his regrets. Most of them centered upon what he had done to Brienne.

Jaime knew not how much time had been lost from his life. There were moments when it seemed as though only days separated him from the time he had cherished with Brienne. In other reflections it felt that years had journeyed by since he had felt her in his arms. He spent most of his days, eyes closed, deep within his own thoughts. It was not a weariness from the pain of his injuries that caused his stupor. It was only by shutting out even the dim firelight that glowed in the hearth, could he focus his inner vision solely upon her. It was more than a memory. Jaime could sense Brienne with him. It was as if some tiny cord of communion connected them still. He could see Brienne so clearly in his mind. He could yet taste her upon his tongue, hear her lilting voice calling his name, feel her in his arms. So intent in his dreaming was Jaime that he did not even realize when he raised his fingers trying to trace the curves and plains of Brienne's glorious body. The feel of her continued to tingle upon his own skin.

If he concentrated hard enough he could imagine her perfect figure still pressed against him. How he had gloried in the view of her form. It had not been at Winterfell that his eyes had first beheld the tight perfection of her body. At Harrenhal his reflexes had known the truth his heart would not admit for so very long, as he had grown hard at the sight of her. That fit, flawless form that only he knew. The secret beneath her armor. Jaime realized what others thought of Brienne's appearance. He felt the shame of his first remarks to her. He called her ugly, declared that he could not decide if she were woman or man. Those words, now bitterly taunted him. They echoed hatefully in his ears. He was uncertain when it was that he began to consider her the loviest, most exquisite thing he had ever known. It was not just her precious face, and sensual body that had made it impossible for him to deny his need for her. Brienne's caring and steadfast heart had drawn Jaime to her like a man dying of thirst. She was the only thing that could quench his longing. To Jaime, Brienne was more beautiful than Cersei had ever been.