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    Summary

    “Seven Hells,” that’s Clegane, has to be Clegane, “I’ll bet that’s the same kind of witchcraft that brought my fucking brother back to life, or whatever he is right now.”

    Suddenly, a couple of hands are on his face, and their skin is rough but the touch is delicate, and he opens his eyes to find that he’s lying on a bed with a fire going on nearby and Brienne is kneeling behind him and his head is on her thighs and she’s holding his head up and oh, he could stare up at her forever, he could, but he knows he has to tell them —

    “He’s right,” he croaks, hating how tired he sounds, “I said I would come here regardless and she had the Mountain kill me and then Qyburn brought me back. Whatever he did,” he says, breathing in, out, in, out —

    All of them look horrified. Snow, Tyrion, the man who looks like the resident maester given that he has some kind of tome in his hands, Clegane, Sansa Stark, and Brienne instead looks worried out of her mind —

    “Jaime,” Tyrion says, “why the fuck would she bring you back?”

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