#I'm cheating a little by posting at midnight when nobody is on ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[dreadwulf]

gwenspiration

@ofaclassicalmind tagged me for this meme started by @jaimebrienneonline: “Taking the idea from the amazing Gwendoline Christie, we should be promoting ourselves and not acting like our creative endeavors are worthless. In that vein, I challenge everyone to blog their favorite of their own works, art, fic, meta, manip, doll story, whatever it may be. Not someone else’s. 

I feel like I’m already promoting myself way too much, but because I was tagged for it... 

First I want to mention something from my old fandom, Dragon Age: Midnight in a Perfect World and its sequel, Visitations. I mostly shipped a side-companions pairing (Fenris/Isabela) that was not popular and both of these fics, although they are among my favorite things I’ve ever written, to this day have a grand total of 22 kudos each. I don’t think these fics are any worse than what I’m doing now, but I think my style and shipping preferences weren’t a great fit for that fandom. 

I also want to mention the Jaime/Brienne WIP I have shamefully neglected, Terrible Love, which is a Brienne POV book!canon fic that tries to recreate the red tent scene from the show using the book characterizations and after the Lady Stoneheart situation has been resolved. I’m pretty happy with the characterizations for both Jaime and Brienne, and I gave them a pretty intense confrontation where Jaime gives a love confession in a very Jaime way and Brienne does not take it well at. all. It was a little tough to write because there’s a lot of personal stuff in there, particularly when Brienne is having an emotional meltdown. The only reason it stops at chapter 3 is because originally, that was going to be the end of the story. Then once I put up chapter 3 I decided it was too soon to resolve Brienne’s conflict completely, and I would need two more chapters to get her there. And then I started AMFAS and have been writing that ever since. But the standing 3 chapters I actually think are pretty good in themselves. I’ll come back and add more someday. 

For an excerpt I think I pretty much have to put up my massive, 170k word and counting J/B fic A Man for All Seasons, but if I was going to pick out a part, I think I was happiest with Chapter 9: Annhilation. This chapter had several scenes in it that I had been planning since I started the damn thing back in 2017. 

The entire fic is in a lot of ways building to this chapter, but I think you could probably read it on its own, if you wanted to. Jaime has been in Winterfell for months preparing for a Siege by the impending Army of the Dead. Cersei is dead, Tyrion is gone, and Jaime has to start over entirely on his own with no allies while struggling with grief and regret. He’s kept himself pretty much in denial about all the things he’s been through and all the mistakes he’s made, but here he gets hit with absolutely everything at once on one awful day and self-destructs. Brienne, after keeping her distance from him for plot-related reasons, is there to pick him up when he falls. She takes him back to his room and puts him in a bed and essentially takes his confession.

(excerpt behind the cut)

[Jaime] doesn’t know what he’s going to say until he can hear himself saying it. He lets it happen, lets himself float a little way away from his body. It’s like there’s two of him: the one talking to her and another one listening curiously to his own voice saying things he doesn’t know he knows.

“I think I’m falling apart. Something’s terribly wrong with me. I feel ill all of the time and I can’t pay attention to what I’m doing. I look up and I’m somewhere else, or it’s hours later and I’m still in the very same spot and I don’t know what I was doing during all that time. What’s worse is I think it’s been like this all along and I just didn’t notice. Gods, I think years went by like that, very much like that. There were all these things I couldn’t stand to think of, so I just didn’t think of them. I would just be somewhere else inside my head. But now I have to think about those things. I can’t stop thinking about them, unless I stop thinking completely.”

He has to catch his breath. His body has gone slack, arms fallen to his sides. Fortunate that he was already sitting down. There’s more to say and it’s going to hurt, it will be like lancing a wound and letting the poison out. It should be a relief to let it out, but it doesn't feel that way. It feels as though it will keep coming and coming, that perhaps he is all poison, that he is nothing but wounds loosely sewn together and when all of his pain comes out there might be nothing left of him.

Jaime goes on anyway, in a low, dead voice. “My father was right. I spent all those years in King’s Landing as - what did he call it? 'A glorified bodyguard'. Not even that, practically a doorstop. When I was young I had so many dreams and ambitions and so much I wanted to do and somehow I forgot it all. All my dreams of knighthood and once I had it I was just marking time. I didn't think past the next day, the next night, the next morning. I had no plans for the future, no desire but whatever stolen moments I could take with Cersei.  I thought of nothing but what pleasure I could get from her. If I ever wanted anything more it only registered as this vague unhappiness that I blamed on everyone but us. I never asked for more. I didn’t care who we hurt. And now she’s dead, and our children are dead, and it should have been us who died first, they should have outlived us both. Tommen and Marcella anyway. They were good. They were so good. I don’t know who they got it from.”

“Jaime.” Her tone is so gentle that it pains him to hear it. It puts him back in his body where every nerve ending is afire. He is light-headed, his breathing fast and shallow and this is going to be too much, he’s on the verge of going away completely and right in front of Brienne, and he does not want her to see that again. But he’s still talking. He can’t stop.

“I think I’ve wasted my life, Brienne.”

“You’ve mucked it up a fair bit,” she says steadily, not quite letting him off the hook. “But it’s not over yet.”

“I can’t stand it. I keep going away so I can not think about it, but when I come back it’s worse. I’ve done everything wrong. All of this is my fault, all of it. The war. It wouldn’t have happened if not for me. Cersei died because of me. But so did Ned Stark, and Catelyn, and all of the other people who died in the War of the Five Kings. Because of me.”

She is smiling up at him. “You are so incredibly vain,” she says fondly.

That shakes him. “What in the hells do you mean?”

Brienne shakes her head slowly. “I should have known you would jump immediately from total irresponsibility to blaming yourself for absolutely everything. You, all on your own, started a war between five Kings? Did you kill Jon Arryn? Or Baelon Greyjoy? Did you murder Renly with the red god’s magic? Were you at the battle of the trident? Are you to blame for years of misrule? A thousand years of Targaryen history? No single person did all of that. Many people did that together.”

She takes his hand. “You played your part, you and many others. And you are atoning for it. You’re defending Winterfell and the North from an enemy that has nothing to do with you, who stands to annihilate all of Westeros. You’re doing the right thing. You’re becoming the honorable man you were always meant to be. Not because anyone told you to do it or because you expected any reward. Because you wanted to, because it was right.”

Her kindness, as it often does, fills him with a kind of dismay. It’s a mistake. She has mistaken him for someone he's not.

“You don’t understand. I've done terrible things,” he admits, with a sensation like sinking into the floor. “I'm a terrible person.”

“Ramsay Bolton was a terrible person. You aren't nearly his equal. Nor Littlefinger's - and if any single person is responsible for the mess we're in now, he is. As a villain you wouldn't even make the Bloody Mummers.”

Being made fun of, even gently, he does not take kindly to. He shakes his head frowning. “But Tyrion was right. It doesn't matter that I didn’t participate or that I disapproved of the Red Wedding, or Ned's death, or all the things Cersei did. I let it happen. I looked the other way. I never tried to stop them.”

“Neither did he,” she points out, with tender stubbornness. “And you did work against them, in a lot of ways. You sent me after Sansa, when Cersei wanted her dead. You set Tyrion free. I’d wager you’ve done even more than I know about. I would not be surprised to find you've been quietly resisting them your whole life.”

This he has never understood, where she has found this faith she has in him. He must have fooled her somehow, but damned if he can figure out how. He must look bewildered, because she goes on to explain.

“The man who drowned entire houses for power has a son who rejects power at every turn. Imagine that -- Tywin Lannister's son, of all people. Ever since you were a boy, you were dreaming of being a true knight, protecting the weak, and righting wrongs. Where did that come from? That wasn't your father’s idea. Swearing yourself to the Kingsguard definitely wasn’t his idea.”

No, it was Cersei's, he tries to say, but before he can say it, she's rushing ahead.

“Giving up your inheritance and the family name, refusing positions of authority, avoiding responsibility - do you know what that sounds like to me?” She doesn’t wait for his answer. “It sounds very much like a man who desperately doesn't want to be his father.”

That… is something that has never occurred to him. It feels important. But he isn't going to be able to sort through that now. It’s too big, he can’t get his head around it.

“We did awful things. My father did, and Cersei did, and I helped them.”

“You did,” she says steadily.

“The truth is...” he looks at his feet. “I still miss them. I miss all of them.”

His vision blurs, and he has to close his eyes and clench his jaw tightly to keep himself in hand. He has never quite gotten around to grieving for any of his family, not his father nor his three children, not Uncle Kevan and Cousin Lancel who died at Baelor, not for his brother’s betrayal or his terrible defeat at Highgarden and the men he watched burning to death there. He had to be strong for Cersei, her pain had always taken precedence over his. He had no right to mourn or be comforted. And then she was gone too, and he is left utterly alone, untwinned, orphaned, widowed.

After so long repressing his grief he thought it had faded on its own, but he had only concealed it. Now it’s all flooding in at once. Suddenly it just hurts, it hurts beyond his ability to hold it all. It’s just going to crush him.

Then Brienne is putting her arms around him, around his neck, and pulling him close. “Of course you miss them. Of course.”

The only thing bigger and stronger than this agony is Brienne. She is as powerful and steady as a castle wall and she can hold him together. She takes all his weight onto her and holds onto him until he finally relents and puts his head on her shoulder and lets it all go, begins to weep quietly into her neck. All of the losses in the last few years that he has never been able to mourn, he feels them all at once, in a terrible flood of despair and defeat.

He holds on to her tightly, shaking with painful, wrenching sobs. He's having years of emotions all at once. It feels like it will tear him apart. Brienne does not recoil from his tears, not the way Cersei or his father or even Tyrion would. She puts her hand on the back of his head and runs her fingers through his hair and shows no impatience with his weakness.

Whatever it is that holds Brienne back from the world, keeps her tightly controlled and contained, she’s broken through it now. She’s right here with him, touching him, trying to get through. Because he needs her. That’s what it takes to bring down her walls, it turns out. If he needs her, she will take them down herself.

“You haven’t lost everyone,” she whispers in his ear. “You haven’t. I’m not much but… you have me. You will always have me.”