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Brienne’s chambers at Casterly Rock would be lovely, were it not for the ghost.
The first night, she assumes it is a figment of her overtired imagination. It had been a long journey from Tarth to the Rock – four days by sea – and she had been wracked with nerves the entire time. Truly, she hadn’t wanted to go at all, but Jaime had been asking her to visit him for months and she felt she couldn’t refuse.
Besides, she had missed him. They had been inseparable all throughout the War for the Dawn – fighting together, freezing together, sharing food and tents and bedrolls – and when he’d left for King’s Landing afterwards, she had felt, absurdly, as though he’d taken a part of her with him.
Seeing him again awakens many emotions in her – confusing, frightening, exhausting emotions – so when she lies down that night in her sumptuous chambers and hears a knocking at her shutter, she puts it down to tiredness.
There could not be anyone on the other side of the shutter. Casterly Rock is built into a cliff face, thousands of feet high. Brienne has never seen a structure so vast. She is not sure how many floors up she is, but she is sure it would be no easy feat for someone to climb all the way up to her window. It’s some bird, she thinks sleepily.
But then there is another knock, a distinctly human-sounding one this time. And the room feels suddenly very cold, despite the fire blazing in the hearth.
Heart beating faster, Brienne rises cautiously and opens the shutters. But there is nothing on the other side but the night sky and the thousand-foot drop down to the sea.
I imagined it, she thinks as she closes the shutters again. I am overtired and emotional and I imagined it. There is no knock.
She lies back down and falls into a fitful sleep.
The next night, there is more.
She is reading before bed, a book of heroes’ tales from the Westerlands that Tyrion had lent her, though in truth her mind is not on the stories. It is on Jaime. He has been welcoming and polite – almost to an unJaime-like degree – since she arrived, but there seems to be a distance between them now that had not been there before. At Winterfell she had felt closer to him than she had ever felt with anyone, but at Casterly Rock Jaime is almost like a stranger. Perhaps it’s the effect of being surrounded by other Lannisters, or perhaps it’s the vast weight of his ancestral home pressing down on his shoulders.
Perhaps it has reminded him that she is unworthy of him.
But then why had he asked her here?
She is mulling all of this over when the gilt-edged looking glass falls off the wall.
Brienne jumps. There is no wind coming through the shutters or down into the hearth – not even the slightest draught. The hook is still intact on the wall. Brienne gets up to inspect it, and sees that there is no way the looking glass could have fallen unless it had jumped off the hook by itself.
Again, the room feels suddenly very cold, just as it had last night.
Brienne shivers. There is an odd feeling in this room, certainly. She feels as though someone – or something – is watching her.
Nonsense, she tells herself, though she is not so sure of that as she had been the night before. She replaces the looking glass on the wall – there is one long jagged crack running through it – and climbs back into bed, but this time she does not blow her candle out before going to sleep.
She doesn’t know how long she sleeps before she is awoken by the creak of bedsprings and the weight of someone sitting on the end of her bed.
She sits up, heart racing. The candle has gone out, so she lights it again with shaking fingers. There is nobody there.
She does not sleep again for the rest of the night.
“Ghosts?” Tyrion says the next morning, at breakfast.
Jaime is nowhere to be seen, which does not help Brienne’s mood. He has often been absent over the past two days, leaving her to bond with his brother. Brienne likes Tyrion well enough, but they have very little in common; and she has a sneaking suspicion that Tyrion finds her boring, though he hides it well.
“I know it sounds foolish,” Brienne says, peeling her dragonfruit, “but I’m sure of it.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you,” says Tyrion. “I am sure the Rock is full of ghosts, though I’ve never seen any myself. I wonder who it could be? Perhaps it was my lord father, looking for me.”
Brienne thinks that is meant to be a joke, but she doesn’t know if she should laugh. “Whoever it was, they frightened me.”
“You should tell Jaime,” says Tyrion, spearing a kipper with his fork. “I’m sure he’d be happy to move you to another, less haunted, room. We are not short of rooms here at Casterly Rock. I’d do it myself, but—” he pulls a mock-sad face “—he is Lord of the Rock, not me.”
Without her volition, Brienne finds herself thinking of the room she’d like to be in, and flushes red.
“Jaime seems very busy,” she says quickly, to distract herself from the thoughts she should not be thinking.
“He is,” says Tyrion. “It’s a lot of work, being Lord of the Rock. Though I must admit, my lady, I’m surprised he hasn’t spent more time with you.”
The acknowledgement that Jaime has, in fact, been avoiding her makes her feel a pang. She looks down at her plate. “I don’t mind,” she says.
Tyrion looks at her thoughtfully. “And he was so insistent that you come.”
“Mayhaps he didn’t realise how busy he would be,” Brienne says half-heartedly.
“He wants to see you,” Tyrion announces. “I know he does. Go and find him. Tell him about your ghost.” He gives her an innocent smile. “I’m sure he’ll find you somewhere much more suitable to sleep.”
Before she can figure out if he means what she thinks he might, he is leaving the room.
She does not find Jaime.
She makes a half-hearted attempt, wandering aimlessly through the endless halls of the Rock, but she deliberately avoids where she knows his solar and chambers are. Instead, she finds countless lesser Lannisters, all green-eyed and golden-haired though none so fair as Jaime; the gilded armour of past Lannisters displayed in the Hall of Heroes; and even an elderly lion caged up in an underground cavern. That makes her sad, and she makes a note to ask Jaime about it, if she ever sees him.
She decides she doesn’t like Casterly Rock.
She does see Jaime at dinner, but they dine with about twenty of his cousins, so she has little chance to speak with him. As soon as dinner is over, he makes some excuse and leaves.
Tyrion, sitting beside her, says, “Did you talk to him?”
“No,” she admits. “I couldn’t find him.”
Tyrion frowns. “Did you check his solar? He was there all day.”
“Not when I looked,” Brienne lies.
The truth is that she has no wish to force her company on Jaime when he so clearly does not want it.
That night she is awoken by a loud bang. She jerks upright and sees that her door has been flung violently open. Heart racing, she lights her candle again, only to see once more that there is nobody there.
She had barred the door before she went to bed. No human being or gust of wind could have opened it like that.
There is no denying it any more; she is afraid. Unwilling to be in the room for one moment longer, Brienne pulls on her robe and slippers, takes the candle, and leaves before she can think better of it.
She hurries through the halls, hoping nobody sees her. It takes a while for her to realise where her feet are taking her, and then she stops for a moment, wondering whether to continue.
It’s this or the stables, she thinks.
She keeps walking. It is a long walk. Finally, she finds herself in front of Jaime’s door.
She lifts her hand to knock, then hesitates. What if he thinks me mad?
Another, worse thought. What if he has a woman in there?
But no. There is nowhere else for her to go, and she has to speak with him sooner or later. As well to do it now, while there is a rampaging ghost in her chambers.
She knocks.
Jaime opens the door almost immediately, and her breath catches at the sight of him. He is wearing breeches and nothing else, his hair rumpled from sleep. He is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.
“Brienne?” he says, his voice drowsy but concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“My room is haunted,” she blurts.
He stares at her.
She feels her cheeks flush red. Before he can say something mocking, she barrels into his chamber, and is relieved to see that his bed is empty. His room is three times the size of hers. In the hearth, a fire is burning down to embers.
Jaime closes the door behind them and goes to poke at the fire. “Well, that’s an inventive way to get into my chambers, I must admit.”
Brienne’s embarrassment turns to anger. “It isn’t funny.” She whirls to face him, and suddenly she is half-shouting. “There is a ghost in my chamber. You gave me a haunted room!”
Jaime runs a hand through his hair and sinks down into one of the chairs by the fire. He gestures for her to do the same, but she is too angry to sit.
“I’m sorry to hear that, wench,” he says solemnly, though his lips are twitching at the corners. “Has this ghost been bothering you?”
She folds her arms in front of her chest and takes a deep breath, determined to maintain at least a shred of dignity despite how stupid she must sound.
“The first night,” she begins, “something kept knocking on my shutter. I opened it, but there was nothing there. The second night, the looking-glass fell off the wall, and then I was woken in the night by someone sitting on my bed. Then, tonight, my door flew open, even though I had barred it.” She uses his door to demonstrate, so loudly that Jaime winces. “Like this.”
Jaime looks at her, and his expression turns from tired amusement to concern. “You’re frightened.”
Brienne realises she is trembling. “Yes,” she snaps.
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“I did. To Tyrion. I would have told you, but you weren’t around. I’ve scarce seen you at all.” Embarrassingly, her voice cracks. “I don’t know why you invited me.”
Jaime sighs. “Sit, Brienne.” He sounds apologetic now. “Please.”
After a moment, she drops into the other chair, keeping her arms wrapped around herself. She feels hurt and angry and stupid all at once. It isn’t a pleasant feeling.
Jaime still isn’t wearing a shirt, which doesn’t help.
As though reading her thoughts, Jaime takes a white shirt from the bed and pulls it over his head, though it is laced so loosely it still reveals a sizeable portion of his chest. Dropping back into the chair, he says, “You’re right, my lady. I have been a poor host.”
She waits.
“Not because of the ghost, though that is unfortunate,” he continues. “I didn’t know about the ghost. You must forgive me for that. But it’s true that I’ve spent far too little time with you.” He runs his hand over his face. “The truth is that I’ve been dealing with some ghosts myself.”
He doesn’t need to explain. Brienne instantly feels guilty. Of course.
At Winterfell, Jaime had seemed almost blasé about his sister’s death. But at Winterfell they’d had more pressing things to think about. Here, where he had spent his whole childhood with her, of course it would be different.
And then there were the children. Tommen, dead in King’s Landing. Myrcella, dead in Dorne. Jaime hadn’t spoken much of them at Winterfell, either, but Brienne knows it weighs on him.
“You must see them everywhere,” she says quietly.
Jaime looks at her, and the grief is raw on his face. “I thought it would help,” he says roughly. “Having you here. And it has. But I didn’t want you to… see me like this. I didn’t want…”
Brienne stands. “Oh, Jaime.”
He puts his head in his hands. Without thinking, she crosses the space between them and wraps her arms around him. He presses his forehead to her stomach, and she slowly runs her fingers through his hair, again and again.
Strange, how naturally this seems to come to her, she who has never comforted anyone before.
They stay like that for a long time. Finally, Jaime looks up.
“Will you stay?” he asks quietly.
Heart beating faster, she nods.
They move to the bed. Brienne lies on her side and Jaime folds himself around her, his hand resting on her stomach. Just as they had slept every night in Winterfell, except they are not in Winterfell any more, and she can’t blame it on the cold.
Then Jaime kisses her shoulder, and that had definitely never happened in Winterfell. She hopes he doesn’t notice the way her breath catches in her throat.
“I missed you, wench,” he murmurs.
They sleep, and this time no ghosts disturb them.
The next day, they inspect Brienne’s chambers.
Jaime is in far better spirits this morning. “Come, ghost!” he says loudly, to the air. “Show yourself!”
Brienne elbows him. “You mustn’t speak to it like that,” she admonishes him, even as she bites back a laugh.
“How am I supposed to speak to it? Good morrow, my lord ghost, let us see you if it pleases you?”
“I don’t want to make it angry,” Brienne says, though here in daylight with Jaime beside her, she can scarce recall the fear she felt last night. Instead, she feels lighter and happier than she has in a long time.
Jaime lights the candle by her bed. “Ghost, if you’re there, snuff out this candle.”
They wait, but the candle doesn’t even flicker.
“Mayhaps it only comes out at night,” Brienne says, beginning to feel sheepish.
Jaime gives her a knowing look. “Yes, mayhaps.”
She feels herself blush. “It happened,” she insists stubbornly. “I saw it. I know there’s something here. Don’t you believe in ghosts, ser?”
Jaime rubs his chin, some of the mirth fading from his expression. “Oh, I do,” he says. “No, wench, I believe you, don’t worry. It seems to be gone now, though. Perhaps it’s fulfilled its purpose.”
Brienne frowns. “Its purpose?”
“They say ghosts can’t move on until they fulfil their purpose on earth.”
“What was its purpose, then? To keep me from sleeping at night?”
Jaime grins. “Perhaps it was Cersei’s ghost, trying to scare you away from me.”
Brienne hesitates at the mention of Cersei, but Jaime is smiling.
“If it was,” she ventures, shyly, “then it had the opposite effect.”
Jaime laughs, then leans in and captures her lips, as swift and graceful as he is on the training yard. When he pulls away, she feels herself grinning like a fool.
“Yes, it did,” he agrees, and smiles at her so fondly that she blushes again. “No, it must have been a matchmaking ghost, and now its job is done. We should thank it, whoever it is.” He tugs her towards the door. “Come, now, let’s get out of here. You’ll have no use for this chamber any more.”
Brienne finds she might like Casterly Rock after all.