He stood at the windows in his chambers, watching his men failing to spin silver from shit. As the Dothraki horde inched closer, Jaime Lannister began to understand what Olenna felt like, cooped up among the walls of Highgarden, waiting for death to close her. He picked up the dagger beside him, wondering if he had the strength to slice it across his veins.
“Fuck this,” he finally said to himself. “Those are my men getting killed. The best I can do is lead them instead of sitting here cradling my golden paw.” He grabbed his sword and left his chambers.
Jaime was met with wary eyes as he walked through the corridors. They followed him as he went past, as if trying to pull him back with gaze alone. They think I will be slaughtered, he thought, his left fingers balling into an angry fist. Every reproachful glance spurred him to fight and die on the field even more.
When he turned a corner, he ran into her. “Lady Brienne,” he said, slightly puzzled. “I thought you would be with Sansa.”
“She is in her chambers,” Brienne replied. Her voice was stiff. “She has men protecting her.” She paused, voice now softening slightly. “Where were you going?” she asked, even though she seemed to know the answer.
“Those are my men dying. I’m going to fight with them.”
Brienne’s blue eyes were skeptical but not, Jaime recognized, like the others. “If that is what drives you,” she said, clearly indicating she thought otherwise. She moved to leave, but turned at the last moment. “Your honor does not need your life, Ser Jaime,” she said. “You have nothing to prove to me. There are few knights who have saved the lives of half a million people. I hope you remember that.”
She left, leaving Jaime alone and with another thought. She loves me, he realized, staring blankly where she once stood. She loves me, the poor fool.
*
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