A west wind blew through his tangled hair, as soft and fragrant as Cersei's fingers. He could hear birds singing, and feel the river moving not far away. Coming out after so long from the tent after discussing with lords of Westerland and Reach about the siege and war plans against the North and Riverland lords had him almost yearn for his his lover's lips. Almost.
Yet they were not the thoughts he was having, for days ago the scouts with red cloaks have caught the man singing praise of newly found Rhaegar's son and his sword ending the tyranny of Gregor Clegane and his men off the smallfolk. The mere mention of prince Rhaegar's and his son to him had made his sleep ruin. For day had he tried to confront the man yet his courage fails to do it every time. The words echo in his mind every now and then, Prince Rhaegar appears to him in night with a cold light, sometimes white, then red, then dark. "I left my wife and children in your hands."
Jaime looks to the wide expanse of newly laid camps of House Vance of Atranta, House Bracken of Stone Hedge and House Frey of Twins from Riverland who have spurned their liege lord Hoster Tully for favour from Lannister and land and titles of rival houses. Lord Norbert Vance of Atranta despite himself being fellow squire together with Lord Brynden Tully to Lord Darry, such oathbreakers mattered little to him though for he himself was the biggest of them.
He finally drags his legs to the makeshift prison made for deserters and enters the smelly and rotting cell, where lay the man captured, Anguy. "What is he like," Jaime pauses troubled to name his prince without retching over his own mistakes, "this king of yours." he finally asks.
Anguy a young lad, skinny with freckles and red hair and coloring of Dornish Marches, jerks upon hearing words of man leading the Lannisters. "He is nothing like you in the very least kingslayer." The young man snorts, "Except for sword hand he has, though I doubt you would ever catch up to him. He rode alone that day for us, men stranger to him with nothing but a sword and white direwolf and plucked Gregor's head like a grape of fucking vine."
Jaime heard the whole story but his brain refused to process of things he heard after mention of white direwolf. A violent shiver takes over him, and he grabs the lad's neck, "Say the truth, did you see the white direwolf."
Anguy gasps clutching his own neck but continues without fear, "He is Aemon Targaryen," hearing his words Jaime loosened his hold, "Son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife Lady Lyanna of North."
Jaime shocked by the words falls on the ground not minding the rot that lay and soon starts laughing, and it was with that laughter he entered his own tent and took a swing of his flagon, "We are both oathbreakers Ned Stark", he wheezes deep in his laugh, "Raised a dragon under Robert and Tywin eyes. Welcomed Baratheon and Lannister to your home while dragon walked down the same halls."
It was laughter that he could not control till he got in his bed, for the dreams were anything but happy. Five men in white rode to him, their horses pale as their cloak with visors of their helms closed but Jaime did not need to look upon their faces to know them. These five had been his brother once.
"We all swore oaths," starts Ser Arthur Dayne, his tone so sad that it hurt his ears. "He was going to burn the city," Jaime cries, ashamed to make the person he admired the most sadden. Though it mattered not for shades dismounted from their ghostly horses. When they drew their long swords, it made not a whisper of a sound. "He was your king," said Ser Jon Darry. "You swore to keep him safe," said Whent. "And the children, them as well," said Prince Lewyn.
"I never thought he'd hurt them." Jaime pleaded remembering the fate of Elia and her children, "I was with the king . . . " though nothing could silence the critic of his brothers he had in all but blood.
"Killing the king, you swore to" said Ser Arthur. "Cutting his throat," said Prince Lewyn. "The king you had sworn to die for," said the White Bull and it was all but rebuke he listened throughout the night.
Brienne walks through the modest great hall of castle of House Caswell, of Bitterbridge and in doing so she could hear the murmurs and whispers of her beauty not too soft reaching her ears. It was not the first time she had heard of them and surely it won't be the last, as a child, she was named much worse by boys who were supposed to be her suitors and was often treated poorly by men in her own home, Evenfall Hall, except for her father and master-at-arms.
As she moves she recalls the conversation she last had with her father before rushing to answer the call of Lord Renly, It would be wise to delay in committing to one lord, Brienne. She had not paid any mind to it, Renly was more than a king to her no matter his now pledge to King Joffery.
She had loved him since first he came to Tarth, to mark his coming of age. Her father had welcomed him with a feast and commanded her to attend for she would have hidden in her room like a traitor of night's watch. She had been no older than ten and three then, more afraid of whispers than of swords but Renly Baratheon had shown her every courtesy, as if she were a proper lady, and no less pretty then any. He had danced with her, and in his arms she'd felt graceful, and grateful. Later others begged a dance of her, to enter in Lord Renly's grace and from that day forth, she only wanted to be close to Lord Renly, to serve him and protect him.
She soon reached the room where lay Lord Renly rested though Baratheon guards in color of emerald green color stopped her from entering as they declare with barely concealed irritation, "Ser Loras, holds Lord Renly's presence inside, lady. You may wait or choose another time to meet."
Brienne gave the guard a dark look over his emphasis on title though it changed nothing for all she cared was to meet her lord and swearing her fealty.
"What do you plan for Stannis's daughter, Renly." she soon hear Ser Loras soft words passing through the door and though it mattered her not, she edged close to doors of room for she too had heard the disease that plagues Shireen Baratheon.
"The ugly daughter of my cold and dull of a brother, death would be mercy for her. For there is no creature on earth as unfortunate as an ugly woman." Renly replies his vain and frivolous.
Brienne standing outside turns to shock hearing the kind and gentle lord she had long dreamt of serving saying words that didn't matched him yet before she could retrace her steps, the voice of Knight of Flowers starts again, "Then why do you suffer the presence of Lady of Tarth in front of you, Renly", her heart begun to hammer against her armor hearing her name come through as the youngest child Tyrell continues, "Though the visor she wears hides her ugly mop of straw hair, her mouth is too broad covered in freckles, lips and nose crooked and broken too many times. Is it Everfall hall you seek in your grand plans for Lord Selwyn hold no heir after her."
She prayed the Seven standing there alone in her misery for silence from Lord Renly yet answer she didn't seek to hear travels out the room, "She is as useful to me as any knight Loras and though freakish and grotesque by face she looks or how absurd her reason to be the knight and worldly views might be, its her strength I need not her."
No sooner the words of Renly sounded did she shed bitter and painful tears, many years after being mocked by Red Ronnet, her supposed intended in marriage. It was his cruel actions of giving her roses and calling out her a freak that had led her to seal herself in her room. No wanting to listen any longer Brienne walks out of castle, leaving the guards of room with no words who held nothing but mockery for they too heard the poison spoken by their liege.
Looking at the vast camps streching across banks of the Mander, Brienne saddles herself on her horse and gallops away from the humiliation and thinks of Septa Roelle, from home who taught her when she was a child.They only say those things to win your lord father's favor. It was a harsh and true lesson, one that left her weeping but it was her father's stories that she cared more of. The story of Ser Duncan the Tall, her ancestor, one of the true knights of Westeros who valued honor, protected the weak, and upholded oaths over personal glory and rank.
As soon as she thought of him, the horse turns to the foothills of Red Mountain to place where lay bones of her idol.