The morning of the feast dawned bright and warm, and all of King's Landing was alive with activity. Tyrion had absolved the small council of their duties that morning, leaving Jaime free to do as he pleased until the feast began. The festivities would last for three days, after which, the council hoped some of the revelers would remain in the city, bolstering up the economy and the declining population. If all went as planned, soon enough, King's Landing would be well on its way to being a thriving city again.
Jaime awoke earlier than usual that morning, excited by the prospect of dancing with Brienne later that night. He felt as giddy as a little boy on his name day, and he could barely contain his excitement. As soon as he was dressed, he headed to Tyrion's chamber to join him for the morning meal. When he walked through the door, he found Tyrion hurriedly securing the fasteners on his doublet.
"It's a fine morning, isn't it?" Jaime said as he ambled across the room and sat down at the small breakfast table by the window. He turned to watch Tyrion, noting a distinct scowl on his brother's face.
"I'm not quite sure that I'd call it a fine morning," Tyrion replied. "The king has sent a message that I am wanted at the gate. I fear what might be waiting for me there. It never bodes well when Bran isn't specific."
"Do you think there's been trouble with one of the guests? They've been arriving for days now. I suppose the last of them should be here today."
"I don't know, and I'd hate to speculate." Tyrion straightened his shoulders and pulled down on the hem of his doublet, smoothing it out. "How do I look?"
"Harried."
"Yes, I know that, but do I look presentable?"
Jaime scanned Tyrion from head to toe. He wore a dark blue doublet with black breeches and black boots. His hair was as wild as ever, but his beard had been neatly trimmed, making him look far younger than he had in ages. Overall, he presented a respectable figure, and Jaime found nothing wrong with his appearance.
"You look fine," Jaime said. "Tell me, are you always this nervous when Bran sends you orders?"
"When he doesn't fill me in on the details, yes. Now," Tyrion said, cocking his head toward the door, "are you coming with me or not?"
Jaime pushed himself up from his chair, curious to see just what awaited Tyrion at the gate. "Sure, I'll join you. I don't have anything better to do until the feast tonight anyway."
"Good. I could use the company."
It didn't take Jaime and Tyrion long to reach the gate. When they arrived, Bran was already there, along with Brienne and the rest of the small council. Jaime cast an inquisitive glance in Brienne's direction, curious to know if she had any idea what was going on, but her lips just quirked in a wry smile before she quickly turned away.
Jaime and Tyrion took their places beside Bran and turned their attention toward the gate. A large black carriage was rumbling past the walls of the Red Keep, and Jaime knew it must contain someone very important for the king himself to have come to greet them.
Jaime's pulse quickened as he had a sudden, unsettling thought. He looked down at Tyrion. His brother's eyes were intently focused on the carriage, his brow furrowed with concern, and Jaime couldn't help but wonder if Tyrion had had the same troubling thought.
The carriage stopped directly in front of them, and there was no mistaking the sigil on its door. There, in shiny silver paint, was the head of a direwolf, the emblem of House Stark.
Jaime glanced at Tyrion again, but his expression hadn't changed. He simply seemed to be in shock.
The footman descended from his lofty perch and opened the carriage door, pulling down the retractable steps. A moment later, Queen Sansa of House Stark alighted from the carriage in all her regal splendor.
The air stilled in Jaime's lungs the instant she appeared. Somehow, she had grown even more beautiful than the last time he had seen her. She had abandoned the blacks and dark greys she had favored at Winterfell, colors that had dampened her beauty and made her look unapproachable. Now, she wore a heather grey gown with a flowing skirt, silver threads woven throughout to catch the light. Her hair was braided in two thin plaits on either side of her face, the rest of her auburn tresses left to cascade down her back. She didn't look at Jaime or even Tyrion as she crossed the courtyard. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on Bran.
"Welcome, Sansa," Bran said as she stopped before him. "It is good to have you here. You have been missed."
"And I have missed you as well, brother. More than words can express." Sansa looked as if she wanted to lean down and hug him, but she was a queen and such an act was beneath her now, at least in public. "Thank you for inviting me to the feast. I wouldn't have missed it for anything."
"You must be famished after such a long journey, and there is much we need to discuss. Will you join me in my solar for the morning meal?"
"Of course."
Bran signaled to Podrick to turn his wheeled chair around and escort him back inside. Jaime kept a keen eye on Sansa, waiting to see if she looked in Tyrion's direction, but she didn't. She just held her head high and followed after Bran.
Tyrion watched her go, his eyes never leaving her for a moment. "She hates me, doesn't she?"
"I'm sure she doesn't hate you," Jaime said, though even he had his doubts.
"She's angry. That much is obvious. I think she came here just to torture me."
But before Jaime could reply, Brienne came up beside them and said, "I think you give yourself far too much credit, my lord, thinking that Queen Sansa came all this way just to torture you."
"I wouldn't be surprised if she had," Tyrion replied. "I haven't heard from her in two months, and then, she plans a trip to King's Landing and no one tells me about it? That has conspiracy written all over it."
Jaime glanced at Brienne. He could tell by the hint of guilt in her eyes that she'd known about Sansa's visit all along and had likely helped make the arrangements herself.
"Tell me, Lady Brienne," Jaime said, "is Queen Sansa any closer to finding a husband now than she was two months ago?"
Brienne leaned in closer, as if she were about to reveal a great secret. "Well, from what I understand, the queen is quite eager to spend some time with the new lord of Storm's End. She has it on good authority that he would make an excellent match for her, even though he's already in love with her sister."
Jaime felt the urge to laugh again, but he resisted. Tyrion was already suffering enough, and Jaime didn't want to make things worse.
"Don't you two have something better you could be doing?" Tyrion grumbled, finally turning around to look up at them.
Brienne shrugged. "No, not really. Everything is ready for the feast tonight, so I'm quite content to just stand here all morning and talk about Queen Sansa and her search for a new husband."
Tyrion's eyes hardened on Brienne, but she didn't look the least bit bothered by it, so he turned his gaze to Jaime, no doubt hoping to intimidate him instead. "This isn't funny, you know," Tyrion said. "How long is she planning to stay?"
"I'm not sure," Brienne answered. "A week. Maybe two. She has much to discuss with the king, and since she's come all this way, it makes no sense for her to just leave as soon as the feast is over."
"She is here to torture me."
Brienne looked as if she wanted to laugh, her face reddening as she struggled to keep her amusement to herself.
"Why don't you go back inside," Jaime suggested, hoping to put his brother out of his misery. "I'm sure you can come up with some excuse to talk to the queen. Maybe you can even charm her into forgiving you for being such an arrogant fool."
"I'm not the only fool around here," Tyrion countered, looking purposefully at Jaime, "but point taken. I shall return to the keep and see what I can do."
Tyrion turned without another word and headed back to the castle, leaving Jaime and Brienne alone in the yard.
Jaime pulled his eyes away from Tyrion and looked at Brienne. "You knew about this, didn't you?"
"Maybe."
"And why didn't you say anything?"
"Bran swore me to secrecy. I was just doing my duty."
"Why is she here? Really?"
A knowing smile brightened Brienne's face, and she seemed almost relieved to finally be able to express herself freely. "Bran invited her for the feast, but I would be lying if I said that she hadn't also come because of Tyrion. She was none too pleased with his suggestion that she marry Gendry Baratheon, and she wants him to know it."
"He already knows it. After all, she stopped writing to him weeks ago."
"True. But her pain and her anger are something that mere silence can never fully express. Besides," Brienne said, her expression softening, "I think she secretly wanted to see him again, to see us all again. She's been up north for months now, all alone, and I think it's taken its toll on her. Even with spring in full bloom, I can't imagine it's been a very pleasant existence."
"No, probably not."
An awkward silence settled between them, and they both looked away, gazing around the yard, searching for something else to say. Jaime wondered if he should excuse himself and leave Brienne in peace, but she seemed in no hurry to be rid of him, and he was in no hurry to go.
Jaime turned his attention back to Brienne. Not knowing what else to say, he asked, "Are you looking forward to tonight?"
It took a moment for her eyes to meet his again. When they did, she said, "It's been a long time since I've enjoyed a festive evening of feasting and merriment. Not since we feasted at Winterfell to celebrate the death of the Night King."
The color rose in Brienne's cheeks, and Jaime had no doubt why. That was the night he had first fallen into her bed, the night they had first made love. It was something they never talked about, never even alluded to, and to hear Brienne mention it now was almost Jaime's undoing. He thought about letting the moment pass without comment, about changing the subject before things got too personal, but the opportunity was just too tempting to ignore.
"I'll never forget that night," Jaime said, his voice low and soft, his eyes locked with Brienne's. "Never."
He waited for her to break his gaze, to turn away and dismiss his words as if they meant absolutely nothing to her, but she didn't. Brienne of Tarth was no coward, and she could face the truth better than anyone he knew.
"I'll never forget it either. Despite . . . despite everything, that night was just about perfect, and I wouldn't change a moment of it."
Jaime's heart thudded against his ribs, and his whole body flushed with warmth. He had been back in King's Landing for two months now, and in all that time, Brienne had never before said anything quite so intimate. There was genuine emotion in her eyes as she stared back at him. She had meant every word she had said. The memory of that night meant as much to her as it did to him, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for them to build something on.
"Thank you," Jaime said, the words barely a whisper. "Thank you, Brienne."
Brienne finally broke his gaze and turned her attention back toward the keep. "You don't need to thank me, Lord Jaime. I'm just being honest, that's all."
"Well, I appreciate your honesty. In fact, it's one of the things I admire most about you, Brienne of Tarth. You never let your pride get in the way of your honor. That's an admirable quality, one I can only aspire to."
Brienne nodded thoughtfully, then looked at him again. "I think you're well on your way, though. You may be Lord of Casterly Rock and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, but you are not as prideful as you once were, Jaime Lannister, and I must say, I think it suits you."
"High praise indeed."
"High praise, but well earned."
The breath stilled in Jaime's lungs, and his heart swelled with pride. He was starting to think that things were finally changing between him and Brienne, that they'd finally passed a turning point. Hopefully, moving forward, they could at least be friends.
Jaime wanted to say as much, but he couldn't find the words, and he feared his voice would tremble pitifully if he even tried.
Brienne looked away again. Idly, she said, "I hope you've continued your dance lessons. I'm not looking forward to you trampling all over my feet this evening."
Jaime was in such a stupor that it took him a moment to realize what Brienne was talking about. When he did, he said, "I must admit, I haven't had another dance lesson since the day you found me with my teacher. Frankly, I didn't want to risk incurring your wrath again. So I'm afraid, Lady Brienne, if I do trample all over your feet tonight, you will have no one to blame but yourself."
The hint of a smile quirked the corner of her mouth, and Jaime knew she was pleased with his answer, though she couldn't quite admit it. "Well, I suppose we shall see tonight then, won't we?"
"I suppose we shall."
Brienne offered Jaime a curt nod before making her excuses and leaving the yard.
Jaime just stood there, watching her go, his heart and mind racing in anticipation of what was to come later that evening. It had been a long time since he had felt so close to Brienne, and he hoped that, by the time the night was over, something would finally break between them.