Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Night King’s forces continued to pour over the walls of Winterfell. A steady and powerful stream of wights relentlessly scrambled towards the weary fighters who had survived thus far. Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister, and Podrick Payne were still among the living, and still fighting to remain that way. The three had their backs against one of Winterfell's great walls. They fought closely and in conjunction with each other. When one was overwhelmed, another would find a shred of shear willpower within them, and rush over to slay the mass of undead. Jaime pondered on how long their luck would hold out though. They were vastly outnumbered and their mortal bodies, subject to the effects of pain and weariness, put them at a disadvantage.

The wights as individuals were easy to deal with. They had little intelligence, and could be cut down easily. It was their numbers that made them formidable. Our heroes had already been fighting nearly the entire night. Their bodies were tired and with every stroke their arms grew weaker. The dead though, they felt no pain and never slowed down. Jaime looked over to Brienne and caught her eyes. They both had the same expression: This might be the end.

From above, a raven swooped down and attempted to perch on Brienne’s shoulder. Her wild swings, slashing the wights before her, made it impossible though. The bird cawed relentlessly though.

“It must be Bran!” said Podrick.

“What does he want us to do? Follow it?” screamed Jaime, “We’re barely holding our own ground!”

The raven cawed a few more times, before taking flight again. Brienne, Jaime, and Pod didn’t spend any time thinking any more on it. They had to keep focused on fighting.

Another group of wights attacked Brienne. She cut down the first of them with her golden sword, Oathkeeper. The one behind it reached out towards the Maid of Tarth's throat. Brienne hacked it to pieces anyway.

A few minutes later, they heard the roar of a dragon. As it approached above, they saw it was Drogon and Daenerys, led by a flock of ravens. Earlier Dany had seen the Night King fall from Viserion and attempted to burn him, but he was immune. It was equally parts unfathomable and disheartening for her. How could they defeat the Night King if even Dragon Fire was useless against him?

Daenerys was unsure what exactly Bran wanted her to do. She followed the birds only after one had pestered her, clearly indicating itself as being Bran warged into it. She looked down and saw Jaime Lannister, Brienne of Tarth, and her squire. The ravens she was following suddenly dipped towards the mass of wights surrounding them. Suddenly, she understood.

She put Drogon into position and yelled, “Dracarys!”

Her mighty dragon torched the horde of undead. Being within Winterfell, the surrounding buildings and walls in the area were torched too. For whatever reason, this is what Bran wanted.

Below, Brienne, Jaime, and Podrick were greeted by the raven again. It stared them down for a moment before flying off towards the Godswood.

“He means for us to follow it,” said Brienne.

The trio took advantage of the brief pause in the endless undead onslaught, given to them my Drogon’s rain of fire. They started heading towards Winterfell’s grove of Weirwood trees. The raven looked back and saw the warriors had received its message. It swooped back up into the air, and rejoined its flock, leading them back to Daenerys and her Dragon. Bran still had more work to do.

As the trio ran across Winterfell, a wight grabbed Podrick’s ankle and he fell. Jaime stabbed the creature before it did any real damage, and Brienne pulled her squire back up to his feet. They continued in their trek, slaying as many of the Night King’s forces as was necessary to keep moving.

As the approached the Godswood they saw Jon Snow.

“Shouldn’t you be on a Dragon?” asked Jaime.

“He’s done fightin’ for tonight,” Jon replied. “He took some damage while attacking the Night King’s dragon.”

“Bran brought us here,” said Brienne, “Any idea what for?”

Jon gestured towards the Godswood, towards Bran. “The Night King will come for him. Other than that, I don’t know.”

As if summoned by the invocation of his name, the Night King appeared. He was on the other side of the courtyard with a group of ten White Walkers were behind him. Jon Snow stood and faced him from across the open area. He was inviting the creator of the Army of the Dead to yet another fight. The Night King just smiled though, and turned to walk into the Godswood. Jon yelled and began to charge. Brienne, Jaime, and Pod began to follow, but all were interrupted by Viserion, descending from the storm clouds. The undead dragon blocked anyone from getting near the Night King. Viserion was quite damaged from his earlier fights. Blue flames leaked from his neck, and he limped as he shifted around the open area. The Night King watched for a moment as Viserion let loose his enormous flame over the courtyard. The four warriors had to jump for cover in order to not be roasted alive. The close call was all to a familiar experience for Jaime Lannister.

The Night King, satisfied with his work, began to walk into the Godswood. Two of the White Walkers followed him.

Jon became desperate in his actions, and several times jumped out from cover to attempt to get around the dragon. All attempts failed though. The other warriors hunkered down, trying not to let the blue flames get to them. Despite the frigid night, it felt like they were being cooked alive in their armor.

The screech of another dragon echoed across the sky. Daenerys was back with Drogon, to save them yet again. The ravens still guided her. Upon Drogon’s back was also Ser Jorah Mormont. Drogon landed, and Ser Jorah jumped off quickly, landing near Jon. Drogon reared onto and back legs and flared his wings. He roared, and undead Viserion did the same. The two dragons launched flames at each other, the orange and blue fires colliding in a beautiful, yet terrifying display. At Dany’s command, Drogon lunged through his brother’s flames and attempted to grapple his undead sibling.

Jorah huddled with the others, trying not get caught in the cross fire.

“I take it the ravens brought you here too?” he asked.

Brienne nodded, “It’s not clear why though.”

“We have to get inside!” yelled Jon, “Bran is the bait, and the Night King is already there!” The others could barely hear him over the sound of Dragon fire behind him.

Jaime looked at the weapons they all wielded.

“Valyrian Steel,” he said. “We all have Valyrian steel.”

“It can kill White Walkers,” added Jon.

Brienne nodded towards the direction of the group of Walkers across the yard. “That’s why we’re here. Bran brought us here because we have a chance at getting into the Godswood.”

“I don’t have Valyrian steel,” said Podrick.

“You have dragon glass?” Jon asked.

“Yes.”

“Use that instead.”

Jorah leered at the dragon battle not far from them. “First we have to get past these dragons though,” he pointed out.

Jon frowned in thought, “I trust Dany will take care of it,” he said.

At Daenerys’s bidding, Drogon continued to lunge for Viserion’s neck. After a few attempts, he managed to secure the powerful grip he was seeking. Viserion protested, and let off an enormous spout of blue flame into the air as he thrashed against Drogon’s pull. Drogon was able to get enough air under his wings though to pull the undead dragon out of Winterfell, taking down nearly every wall and building in their path. In the chaos, Daenerys had been knocked off her mount though. She was on her feet however, heading back towards the main group. A mass of wights was close behind her.

The White Walkers stood unmoving across the open field of snow. They stared down the group of living humans, knowing a fight was coming. The five human warriors stood and faced them as well. Each side was sizing each other up. Eight Walkers, five humans. Jon was, of course, the first to charge. The others all followed, and a clash began.

Podrick noted that the White Walkers were tall, strong, and incredibly deliberate with their movements. It was very similar to fighting Brienne, he thought, just much scarier. At least he knew how to deflect such blows. He couldn’t get many good strikes in, but he was defending himself well for now. He figured at least he could keep one Walker occupied, and prevent it from ganging up on one of the other humans.

Jon was the only one who had fought a Walker before. He had one of them already on its toes. It was only a matter of time before he pierced its icy heart with Longclaw. Jorah was also holding his own, having at least seen the White Walkers before. He however had two Walkers slashing at him. Masses of wights were beginning to make their way into the edges of the area as well.

Brienne and Jaime fought side by side. Three Walkers had targeted them. Brienne dealt a devastating kick to one though. It seemed dazed, and was on its knees, trying to get back up. As he was fighting, Jaime saw Arya arrive to the courtyard. She stared for a moment, taking in the scene she was witnessing. Jon saw her too and yelled for her to keep going. Jon then killed the Walker he was fighting, and chunk of wights, which were quickly approaching, fell to the ground. There were still plenty more though behind them. He then went after the Walker Brienne had knocked down. By this point, it had seemingly recovered, and was unleashing its power in a devastating manner onto the former brother of the Night’s Watch.

Jaime struggled. He was getting older, and his left hand would never be as good as his right. It had haunted him all night, but it was here he made a mistake. His parry was just off by a few inches. The Walker’s blade was deflected, but not totally. It sliced into his calf, and he yelled out in pain. Brienne turned her head, horrified at the sound. She abandoned whatever stroke she was taking, and re-maneuvered. Jaime’s left hand, wielding his sword, had fallen from position due to the shock of his injury. The White Walker before him smiled as it raised its ice weapon, ready to plunge it into the Kingslayer. Brienne was faster though. She stabbed Oathkeeper into the Walker’s side, through his ribs and into his chest cavity. The Walker’s body froze for a moment, and then shattered. Another fraction of wights collapsed.

Jaime’s eyes went wide though. Brienne had ignored the Walker she was fighting in order to save him. Now the ice demon was about to bring its weapon down on Brienne’s neck. Jaime couldn’t let that happen. He lunged with all his power, despite his injury, and haphazardly thrusted his sword around Brienne into the direction of the Walker. It pierced the shoulder, and managed to stop the momentum of the creature. Brienne spun around and chopped the Walker’s legs of at the shins. Jaime did the final deed and plunged Oathkeeper’s twin into the Walker’s chest. It shattered, and another group of wights fell with it. Unfortunately, the still threatening amount of wights was upon them now. Jaime and Brienne fought desperately through them to get to Podrick, who was still frantically defending himself from the Walker he had been matched up with since the beginning.

Jon was still bitterly fighting his second Walker, but Jorah managed to shatter both the White Walkers who had targeted him. He looked severely injured, with excessive amounts of blood running over his head and into his eyes, and out between sections of his armor. He evidently still had strength and will to fight, as he was viciously slashing through the onslaught of wights, making his way to Daenerys. The Dragon Queen herself had picked up a dragon glass weapon, but was barely holding her ground as she defended herself.

Brienne stabbed the White Walker attacking Podrick. Jaime limped as he spun around, doing his best to slay the surrounding wights. It didn’t even seem to matter how many Walkers they killed, the wights that fell with them were simply trampled over by ones behind them, most likely directly connected to the Night King himself.

Jorah made it to Daenerys and valiantly began defending her. They both fought for her life. Jorah was slashed, clawed, and bit repeatedly. He even used his own body as shield so that Daenerys would be unscathed, taking several stabs to his own person as a result.

Jaime and Brienne ended up literally fighting back to back. There was nothing else they could do. Podrick had fallen to the ground, but they could still hear him screaming, fighting with all he had left. One moment to help him would probably mean their own death. Jon desperately tried to take steps towards the Godswood, but for every wight he cut down in his path, it seemed two more appeared in his way.

The undead soldiers began clinging to Brienne’s arms. They weren’t even clawing, just trying to hold her down her and slow her strokes. If it persisted, it would only be a matter of time before a wight lunged for her throat and she would be unable to stop it.

“They’re holding my arm down!” yelled Jaime in a panicked tone. It pained Brienne to be so close to Jaime and not be able to help him.

Nothing is more hateful than failing to protect the one you love.

Brienne jerked violently, attempting to dislodge the undead clinging to her. She managed to get her left hand free, and began using it to strike the wights that clang to her sword arm. Suddenly one of the undead grabbing her froze. She easily pulled its hands from her forearm and tossed it aside. Then, the wight behind it froze as well, and so did every other soldier in the army of the dead behind it. They all froze in their places, trying to move, but unable.

It only lasted for a second though. Then, they all collapsed into piles of bones. The sound of falling wights traveled across Winterfell. The group of survivors listened to it half in disbelief, half in relief. Then there was nothing, just the sound of their own labored breathing. It was over.

Brienne took a few steps forward and then turned, looking around at all the fallen wights. She ended facing Jaime.

"The Night King must be dead," she said.

"They did it. They killed him," added Jaime.

"Thank the seven,” said Podrick. He pushed the remains of a wight off from on top of him.

Brienne walked swiftly over to Jaime and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. He returned the act of affection.

"We survived," he whispered.

Brienne sheathed Oathkeeper before taking Jaime's shoulder and guiding them both towards Podrick. She helped him up and brought him into another embrace. The three of them somehow were alive, against all odds.

They looked around and saw Jon was still standing too. Daenerys was weeping over Jorah, lain on the ground. Jaime assumed the worst for the old Mormont.

Jon, Brienne, Jaime, and Podrick went into the Godswood to see what had happened. There they saw Theon, slain at the edge of the forest, and Bran and Arya under the central Weirwood tree. Arya explained that with most the White Walkers distracted, she was able to sneak inside and kill the Night King. Jon looked up towards the sky, and sighed in relief. Dawn began to crack across the eastern sky.

The group then made its way towards the crypts, as that was the agreed meeting point should they prevail. Daenerys went with them too. As they walked, Jaime surveyed the damage as the group traversed across Winterfell. The destruction in some areas seemed minimal, just a few broken roofs. Other parts though were completely obliterated.

At the crypts, they found those inside had already began to exit. Ser Davos and the Hound were also there. Those who were inside the crypt looked quite shaken. Jaime found his brother and knelt next him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The Night King raises the dead, and we put those who couldn’t fight in a crypt full of dead Starks. What do you think happened?”

“You don’t mean…”

“Stupid. Stupid. How could I be so stupid?”

“Well it looks like you’re all mostly OK?”

Tyrion sighed, a bit exasperated, “Mostly…”

Brienne spotted Sansa. The Lady of Winterfell was helping an old woman up the steps out of the crypt. Brienne caught her gaze though. A hint of relief washed over Sansa to see her sworn still standing. They nodded to each other, indicating the feeling was mutual.

When she got the chance, Sansa ran to her family, and the Starks all hugged each other. Tears were shed. Bran appeared disaffected by it all, but it seemed he was always like that anyhow. Jon looked extremely shocked to see Sam alive too, but just as happy. Brienne had never seen the gloomy Jon smile as large as he did when he hugged his friend.

Sansa was the one to ask the question on many people’s minds. She placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Did you kill the Night King?”

“No.” he replied.

There was a moment of confusion among those who were in the crypts. Sansa turned to Queen Daenerys, and in her body language, asked the same question she had just asked Jon.

Daenerys’s eyes were still wet with recent tears, yet she spoke with composure. “The Night King was immune to Drogon’s fire. Arya Stark killed the Night King with her valyrian steel dagger.”

A look of realization crossed Ser Davos’s face. He recalled his own witnessing of her abilities earlier in the night. “Is it true?” he asked Bran.

“It is,” Bran replied.

Sansa suddenly looked around hurriedly, with great concern in her eyes. Then asked towards the collective group, “Theon?”

Jon just shook his head. Sansa closed her eyes, trying to stifle the tears, but was unsuccessful. The ironborn prince was certainly not the first nor the last to have tears shed for him in the following hours.

Jon Snow ordered that they all rest and take care of the wounded. They would begin gathering the dead and creating funeral pyres later. They all needed time to recover, and with the Night King gone, there was no threat of further resurrection of the dead.

Back inside the Castle, Jaime was sat trying to dress the wound he took to his leg. He winced as he attempted to roll the bottom of his pants up in order to examine the injury. Blood had dried in and around his wound, making his clothing stick. Pulling it off was agitating the cut. He had known far worse pains in his life, but it still hurt. He just had to get through it.

Brienne watched him from the other side of the room. He almost had his pant leg above his calf, but he was still struggling. Jaime sighed as he took a deep breath. Brienne walked over to him.

She knelt and began to take the pant leg from Jaime’s hands.

“What are you doing?” he protested.

“Helping you. Someone should.”

“Most the people here in Winterhell hate me,” Jaime complained.

“Don’t call it that. And they don’t hate you. It’s just the way of the North.”

“What, to not treat the wounded who defended them?”

Brienne locked eyes with Jaime as she tore the clothing free from where it was matted down to Jaime’s leg. Jaime winced.

“They are slow to trust outsiders. And look around,” she gestured behind her, to others in the room, “There are a lot of wounded. And a lot of dead to deal with. You can’t blame them for taking care of their own first.”

Brienne wiped the blood from Jaime’s wound. “You think they’ll come around?” he asked.

“You defended their home. They will. Just like I did.”

“Just like you did? Are admitting you’ve come to enjoy my presence?” Jaime smiled and raised his eyebrows.

Brienne smiled a bit too. “Barely tolerate is a more accurate description.”

She finished wrapping up Jaime’s calf with a cloth bandage.

“Thank you Brienne,” Jaime said, “for everything.”

Chapter Text

It took several days to gather the dead. The masses of wights outside Winterfell were burned where they fell. Jaime was astonished to see just how many of the deadmen never even made it past the walls. There was no way they could have defeated the army in a fair fight. He then thought that there was nothing fair about an army of reanimated dead people either though. The wights that had made it inside Winterfell were unceremoniously stacked into piles and burned by Dragon fire. Those who started the battle on the side of the living were given proper sendoffs. Pyres were constructed just beyond the main gate of Winterfell.

Brienne stood near the Starks as everyone gathered to pay their respects. In the weeks preceding the battle, Brienne had spent every waking hour preparing the left flank, and training any person old enough to wield a weapon. They were good men, and a few good women too. Some more children than anything else. Brienne saw too many of their faces among those draped across the piles of wood. None of them deserved this fate. All ought to be next to a warm fire in their homes, with their families and loved ones around them. She considered that it very well could have been her out on one of the pyres. Brienne thought of her father, and how he would have reacted to a raven, bringing news of her death. It was difficult to imagine the pain it would cause her dear father. Her father, the Evenstar, had taught her to fight and vouched for her worth. It had been too long since she last saw him.

In the time since she left the Sapphire Isle, Brienne had a few times entertained the thought of abandoning her post and returning to Tarth. The days searching for the Stark girls, and after both had rejected her services had tempted her the most. On those nights she found herself looking at her golden sword though. Oathkeeper. She had to fulfill her oath to Lady Catelyn, for she was honor bound to do so. Her sense of duty compelled her to stay on the current path. The lion on the pommel reminded her it was for Jaime too. Those were the reasons that kept her from her father and childhood home.

Brienne thought on her father, and the fathers that would never see their children again because they were lain before her. She found a bit of relief in the fact that she had no children of her own to worry about their mortality. Her thoughts were interrupted by a hand though. It was Ser Jaime's only hand, his left, taking her right. He saw her grief, her distress. It was on everyone's faces, but he only felt the need to comfort Brienne. His fingers slipped in between those of Brienne's and he gave a soft squeeze. He'd barely been in Winterfell a few days, but he had been in many battles. He knew Brienne's pain. She did not push Jaime's hand away, but took accepted it instead. Brienne glanced over to her right, to look at Jaime. They locked eyes for a moment, but then Jaime looked away, back forwards to where last goodbyes were being said.

With the dead mourned and lit aflame, Winterfell then set to the task of preparing for a victory feast. The castle was a bustle with a great level of activity. Barrels of wine were pulled up from the cellars, makeshift kitchens were hastily constructed, and the Great Hall was filled with as many tables and benches as it could fit. Sansa was overseeing most of it. She had felt quite helpless during the battle, but these were things she knew about. She needn't bother Jon about any of it as he had done enough for them all. Her sworn sword, Brienne had also done enough in the battle, serving as a commander. Despite this, Brienne was at Sansa's side asking what she could do to help. Rest, the Lady Stark told her. Brienne refused, so Sansa asked her to check on her sister.

"Arya?" replied Brienne, "Surely she doesn't need checking in on."

"I haven't seen much of her the last few days. Just let her know myself and Jon would be happy if we saw her at the feast tonight."

So Brienne set off to find the younger Stark girl. She sent Podrick to look at the armory and stables, and she herself first went to Arya's quarters. As she had expected, Arya wasn't there. Brienne did find Arya at her next stop though, the training yard. Just a few days had passed since the young girl had saved all of Westeros, and yet she was still set on improving her combat abilities. No one else was there, satisfied with the fact they survived the Long Night.

Brienne watched Arya dance with her sword. The movements were light and quick, with spinning in the footwork. It suited the weapon she used. After a few moments, Arya noticed Brienne. She stopped her practicing and took a few steps towards her.

"I heard they made you a knight," Arya said. "Before the battle."

"Ser Jaime conferred the honor."

"I once wanted to be a knight. My father told me women couldn't be knights. I can't think of a person more deserving though."

"The honor is nothing compared to what you did. You killed the Night King."

"Do you want to know how I did it?" Said Arya teasingly. Brienne cocked her head slightly to the side before Arya continued. "Do you remember when I returned to Winterfell, and I first asked to train with you? You grabbed my hand with this dagger." Arya pulled it from her belt, gave it a twirl and handed it hilt first towards Brienne. Brienne took it.

"Yes, I do recall the moment. You dropped this dagger only to catch it with your other hand. I had my sword at your throat, and you that dagger at mine."

"I did the same thing," Arya said, gloating a bit. "When I went for the Night King, he sensed me coming. Grabbed me by the neck and by my hand with the dagger." Arya nodded to the valyrian steel blade in Brienne's hand. "I dropped it and caught it in my other hand, just as I did against you. And then I plunged it into his chest."

Brienne looked down at the blade in her hand. She tested it's weight by bobbing it a few times. "The weapon that killed the Night King," Brienne said with a bit of awe in her voice. She gave the weapon back.

Arya resheathed the dagger and raised needle. "Did you come to train?"

"No. Your sister sent me to look for you. She wants you to know there will be a feast tonight, and she hopes you'll be there."

Arya lowered her sword and laughed. "Feasts aren't really my thing."

"I figured not."

As it would be, Arya did turn up briefly for the feast. She attempted to slip in quickly and grab some dinner. Daenerys, or one of her people, did spot her though. The Targaryen Queen gave a toast to honor the hero of Winterfell, the girl who fell the Night King. Brienne noted that Arya disappeared not much long after. The younger Stark girl did not care for the sloppy spiritedness of those who drank too much ale and wine. Brienne could understand the distaste for feasts. She loathed most the ones she had attended, always feeling like an outcast. It occurred to Brienne though, that at the current celebration, she did not feel that way. Among Wildlings, Dothraki, and Unsullied, she was hardly an oddity. Here in the North, it was not too unusual for a woman to take up arms. The women of bear island were proof of that. The northmen and Knights of the Vale had even accepted her as a commander. She was sure not every man in her flank was content with that, but enough were. Terror like that of the Army of the Dead could quickly put priorities and in order. Among the Wildlings, it was fight or die for all. They didn't bat an eye at women wielding weapons. Tormund had made a point of telling her that several times, especially after he found out she was the first woman knight. He meant well, but Brienne still found his nature strange, and at times a bit shameless. A product of his experiences, she surmised.

Jaime sat across from Brienne at their table. He had known Brienne for quite some time now, and nearly the entire time he never saw her smile. She was always so serious. Now, in the past few days he'd seen her happy and grinning twice. Once was when he had knighted her, and now again here at the feast. He found it a bit funny when he considered the most fear inducing moments of their lives had also occurred in these last few days. Her smile was beautiful, he thought. Seeing her happy, made him happy. He was proud of her. He didn't really know why. He had really little to with Brienne's successes, he thought. Yes, it was him who knighted her, but she had earned it herself. He was just doing what ought to have been done years ago. Jaime found himself suddenly hyper aware of his own thoughts and feelings. He tried to sort through them. It was obvious to himself that he cared an awful lot about Brienne. Every time there was close call during the battle, his heart jumped. It pained him to even think about something terrible happening to her. The only other people he had ever felt similar to was his family. The thought surprised him. He loved his family despite their flaws. Cersei and her wicked ways, Tywin with his ruthlessness, and Tyrion as the murderer of their father. Perhaps he loved Brienne too, not because of shared blood, but because of who she was?

He stared at Brienne when she wasn't looking. Her eyes truly were astonishing. The smile looked good on her. Jaime took a deep drink from his goblet, as he forced his thought back to reality, back to the current conversation. He couldn't think about this right now, and what it meant. He just wanted to enjoy the present moment. Only the seven knew how long it would last.

Jaime caught Brienne's attention and nodded. "It's time," he said.

Brienne nodded back. They had discussed this earlier. They both got up and walked towards the front of the room, synchronized on either side of the table. Brienne took her sword belt off and kneeled before the head table. The hall quieted some, but a good many people were still talking. She held Oathkeeper horizontally, presenting it to those seated above. Jaime did the same.

"Lady Stark," said Brienne.

"Lord Snow," said Jaime. There was a pause. "These swords were forged from the steel that made your father's great sword, Ice. We offer them back to you, so that the blade may be reforged."

Sansa and Jon exchanged looks for a moment. Lady Stark was the first to speak.

"Our father can not be brought back from the dead. Our family's sword ceased with him." Sansa looked at Brienne. "Ser Brienne, you have protected myself and my sister, and served our family with that sword."

She turned to Jaime, "And you." It was the first time she didn't address him as Kingslayer, "You rode North alone to defend Winterfell and the living."

Jon thought for a moment. He pulled Longclaw from his side and laid it on the table before him. "This sword was given to me by Lord Jeor Mormont. I tried to give it back to his family, but Ser Jorah insisted I keep it. I must insist the same. There is no reason one house ought to have three valyrian swords. Keep them."

"Many thanks Lord Snow," said Brienne.

"And as well to you, Lady Stark," added Jaime.

The two knights reattached their weapons to their waists. Before they could return to their seats, Jon pointed to Brienne's sword. "You call it Oathkeeper, do you not?"

"Yes, I do," she said.

Jon looked toward Jaime, "And you? Does that one have a name."

Jaime paused as he thought how to answer. "Joffrey called it 'Widow's Wail' for the brief time he had it. Not really a good name, so no, it doesn't."

"Be sure to give it a good one then."

Daenerys looked peeved. Twice now Jon had deferred to the Kingslayer. She considered that perhaps the woman, Brienne of Tarth, deserved to keep the sword, and so he couldn't refuse both. Still though, it stung, and boiled her blood inside to see the Kingslayer here, smiling, drinking among the feast goers. She understood why her father was known as the Mad Queen, and why he had to be deposed, but she would rather Jaime Lannister just not be here.

Jaime began back to his seat at the lower tables, and Brienne for a moment moved to follow him. She paused though in thought, and then said, "There is one more thing I would like to do." She pulled Oathkeeper from its sheath and called, "Podrick, please come forward."

Her squire looked shocked for a moment, but quickly put his drink down and came to the front of the hall. He faced Brienne, and gave a small smile. He had a suspicion of what was going on, but it still didn't seem real to him. Podrick waited for Brienne to make her intent clear.

"Kneel", she said, and he did. "Podrick Payne has been the most loyal and dedicated of squires in the seven kingdoms, to both Lord Tyrion and myself. In the Long Night he proved himself in valor and martial ability, worthy of the title of Knight."

Brienne placed Oathkeeper on Podrick's right shoulder. "In the name of the warrior, I charge you to be brave."

She lifted her sword over Podrick's head and rested it on his left shoulder. "In the name of the father, I charge you to be just."

Brienne moved the sword back over to her squires right. "In the name of the mother, I charge you to defend the innocent."

Finally, she raised the sword up from Podrick, and pointed it the ground between them. Podrick looked up at his mentor as she uttered the last words, "Arise, Podrick Payne, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.” Applause filled the Great Hall.

Over at their table, Jaime sat with his brother. He watched Brienne knight her squire.Tyrion clapped louder and longer than anyone else for Podrick. The boy had saved his life, and once refused knighthood, the very thing he wanted, out of loyalty. He was pure of heart, and would be an excellent knight, a true knight. Jaime recalled when he had first sent Brienne and Pod off together. When it happened, he doubted he would ever see them again. That was how it felt, a final goodbye. Never in 1000 years would he have ever thought their story would wind up like this.

Tyrion turned his attention from Podrick to his brother. He had noticed the way his brother looked at Brienne of Tarth. He had not mentioned it, as he was still waiting to see what type of admiration Jaime had for her, and how deep it went. Jaime had never seemed to care about anyone other than their own family, however he seemed quite emotionally invested in this woman. As long a Tyrion could remember, Jaime had loved only Cersei. It was difficult to imagine him feeling similarly to another woman, but yet there was so clearly something between the two. Few, if no others saw it, but Tyrion had spotted Jaime taking Brienne's hand earlier at the during the funeral pyres. Was is respect between knights, or something more? Tyrion aimed to find out. To get more information out of his brother, Tyrion began prodding his brother about ancillary topics.

"So that sword," he asked, nodding to the one at Jaime's side, "It is one half of Ice, and she wields the other?"

"Yes," Jaime said. He knew what his brother was doing, but he did not want to talk about feelings he himself still wasn't sure about. "It needs a name, as Jon Snow said, do you have any suggestions?"

Tyrion thought for a moment. As much he wanted to prod his brother, he had always considered himself clever, and a clever person ought to be able to give a good name to a sword. "You battled the White Walker's and even killed one right? Why not call it White Walker's Wail."

Jaime frowned. "There won't be any more White Walkers, and half the realm still thinks they are nothing more that fairy tales."

"Winter's Wail?"

"No. I would still rather it be completely different from the name Joff's gave it."

Tyrion could understand that, so he offered another suggestion, "Icebreaker? It does parallel the other swords name nicely too."

"Kind of insensitive to the Stark's, don't you think?"

"You're being awfully picky," Tyrion complained. He went into thought, mentally conjuring more options. Brienne and Podrick returned to the table. Jaime told them the names Tyrion had come up with so far. Podrick suggested Winterender, but it still didn't feel right to Jaime.

"I want something that is less about fighting and destruction, and more about what you fight for, justice, peace... love, whatever it may be."

"So what do you fight for?" Tyrion asked.

"All sorts of things. I just try to do what my heart tells me too."

Brienne had been thinking quietly about a name for her weapon's twin. After a moment, she said, "Winterbreaker. You told me you came because you promised to fight for the North."

Podrick added to suggestion, "I think it needs to be more poetic though. What about Windbreaker. You know fighting the Winds of Winter?"

Everyone began nodding. It was the best suggestion they had yet. Tyrion added, "And it's symbolic of your choice too. Your whole life, the wind has pushed your sail in one direction, and when you came here, you went against it."

Jaime had a moment of realization. Tyrion's words had set off a rapid train of thoughts in his head. He nodded. "That's it. That's the spirit I want captured in its name. I'm calling this sword Pathfinder. I strive to fight for what it righteous and honorable. It can be difficult to know what that is though, and Gods' know I've made mistakes. When I left King's Landing to come here, I knew that was the right choice though, the right path for me."

Tyrion smiled and picked up his wine goblet, "Here's to doing the right thing, difficult as it may be, and here's to Pathfinder."

"Cheers," said the other three, and they all took drinks. It was the start of a long evening of drinking and laughter.

Brienne never cared much for wine or ale. She was wary of drinking, as it dulled the senses, and could make you act foolish. She had more than once limited the amount Podrick was to consume at an inn during their journeys together. Seeing how much the imp drank, despite his small stature, she understood why her squire did not think much of one or two mugs of ale. In her time in Renly's, and then Robb Stark's camps, she was careful to never participate in the drinking festivities. She had heard terrible whispers and bets behind her back, some concerning herself. There was an abundance of danger associated with the chance that a sleazy sellsword realized she was off guard. Here though, she felt at ease. She was among friends. She let herself have a few drinks. It allowed her to show another side of her, one that wasn't the normally shown extreme seriousness. Tyrion told a few jokes, and Brienne laughed out loud. She could not remember the last time that happened. She noticed Jaime looking at her, smirking at her smile. She blushed and pretended she didn't notice when their eyes met. They both did.

An emotion, a feeling, she had for Ser Jaime that she had pushed far down bubbled at the surface of her consciousness. No, she said to herself internally. That will never be meant for you. She pushed it back down and told herself to enjoy the night as it was, in the company of people who respected her. A thought though, appeared. She had once never thought she could be a knight, and had denied herself that possibility, yet Jaime Lannister had proved her expectations wrong there. Could it happen again? Was she limiting herself by assuming these doors were locked? Another thought told her she couldn't be so fortunate twice in a row. In her past, life had first hand shown her how bitterly unfair it was. Before she could quite sort out all her thoughts, the Wildling Tormund approached.

The red haired beast of a man had been drinking heavily all night. He had spilled quite a bit on himself, and his fur tunic was evidently soiled because of it. He waved his horn around dramatically, spilling more on himself and the floor around him. Luckily, most feast goers had realised to avoid his splash radius.

He smiled tremendously at Brienne and raised both his eyebrows. "Brienne," he slurred, "It is a good time to celebrate. I am good at celebrating."

The implication was clear. Tyrion tried not to laugh at the Wildling's proposal. Brienne blinked slowly, then put her hand on Oathkeeper at her side. This seemed to only excite Tormund though. His grin impossibly, yet somehow grew bigger. To his dismay, Brienne announced she was returning the sword to her quarters, alone. She got up and went on her way. Tormund for a moment pondered whether or not he should persist, before taking a few steps in her direction. Jaime was already there though. He patted the Wildling on the chest, and shrugged his shoulders. Tormund slinked off disappointed, yet again failing to seduce his big woman.

Jaime too decided to return his sword, now newly named, to his quarters. The festivities were getting wilder, and he planned on having a few more cups of wine. He wanted to make sure Pathfinder was safe and secure. Valyrian Steel and gilded with gold, it attracted the eyes of dishonest men. He surmised that Brienne surely felt the same way about Oathkeeper. Jaime smirked as he walked through Winterfell, guessing her exit was also good excuse to escape Tormund too.

Jaime had to walk a bit on an open outside battlement on his way to his room. It sobered him some, but not all. Just enough to let his thoughts flow clearly without inhibition or distraction. It chled him down to his drawers. For the return journey to the Great Hall, he grabbed a thick northern cloak that had been provided for him. On his walk back, he saw Brienne out on one of the walls too. She had sought the cold night air for clarity as well. He joined her as she looked out over Winterfell.

"Look at us," he said, "We were always fighting on different sides, and now here we are. We fought together for once."

Brienne didn't seem to cherish the present as much as Jaime. She knew it would have an end eventually. Their goodbyes always made her heart feel like it sunk into her stomach. She waited a moment before asking her next question, one she was dreading, "Will you be heading south to King's Landing now, to defend Cersei?"

Jaime took a deep shallow breath through his nose. "I don't know where I'll go. Cersei almost killed me when I left. I don't think Daenerys will allow me to return to Casterly Rock either." Brienne was now looking directly at him, and him at her, rather than the openness above the Winterfell. He paused before continuing, "I take it you'll be marching south to take King's Landing with the Northmen and Daenerys."

"No," Brienne said to Jaime's surprise, "I serve Lady Sansa and she has not asked me to. She won't either. She doesn't trust Daenerys."

"Surely Sansa would rather the Dragon Queen than Cersei though? My sister wanted her dead."

"Sansa wants an independent North. No more Kings or Queens to demand Stark heads."

Jaime thought of Ned and then of Brandon and Rickon Stark, and then finally the last Targaryen to sit on the iron throne. Jaime had known him well, as Mad Aerys had kept him close to keep his father Tywin in line. Daenerys was not like him though. She was no saint, Jaime had seen that personally at the Battle of the Goldroad. But there was intent in her fire and blood. Aerys saw enemies where there were none, and simply just liked to see people burn. Cersei was like the Dragon Queen in that way. She did whatever was necessary for self preservation. He found himself oddly indifferent in terms of who he would rather see on the throne. He could see situations in which both took his head, or let him be.

Jaime didn't say any of this though. He found himself more concerned with other thoughts. A light snow was beginning to fall. It was soft and powdery, and sparkled in the moonlight.

"You will be here in Winterfell then?" Jaime asked. The light fell of Brienne in the most beautiful of ways. The slight blue of the icy snow complimented her eyes. Seven, they were truly astonishing, he thought, not for the first time that night.

Brienne replied softly, "Yes. I will be here in Winterfell." She noticed the way Jaime was looking at her. It made her nervous and unsure.

The possibilities before him flooded Jaime's mind. One possible path in particular elated him. The way it stirred his gut into a fire, it made his earlier thoughts and confusion clear. "I think I ought to stay in Winterfell too then. Here is the only thing I desire." The words barely felt his own, because he seemed to say them without thinking. It was his truth though. He paused a half moment before abruptly putting his lips to Brienne's. She did not reciprocate the kiss though. Fuck, Jaime thought as he pulled away. I'm a drunk idiot.

"I apologize..." he said quietly, "I thought that you..."

He trailed off without finishing his sentence. It was evident to Brienne what he meant.

Brienne was also struggling with her words. Jaime had just confessed that what he desired in life was in Winterfell, immediately after she had declared that she herself would be staying in Winterfell. She had a half second where she forgot to breath. She was unable to fully process Jaime's words before the kiss caught her by surprise.

Brienne managed a trail off sentence of her own. "No... I didn't think that you..."

There was a long moment, full of confusion, regret, and mostly a need to make things clear between them. Jaime spoke softly, "We both seem to be doing a lot of thinking. We best let each other know what that is."

Jaime went first. "I want to be with you," was all he said. It was exactly what Brienne needed, a clear declaration of his feelings. Jaime knew of the mockings Brienne had endured in her life, and he recognized the error of his ambiguity and haste moments before. He corrected that, for her.

Brienne had a partial look on shock on her face. The dreams she had pushed away for so long, that she denied herself, came to her with the force of a rip current. It carried her to a foreign place, the emotions drowning her. Her eyes watered over. She put her hand on Jaime's neck, near his jaw. With the fur cloak, he looked like a real northman. The touch pulled her to the ocean's surface. Her thumb stroked the corner of his mouth, almost on the lips that we're just on her own. She could still taste a lingering of him, and wanted nothing more for them to be back. She glanced at where her hand and Jaime's face met, and Jaime's eyes followed, before both sets of eyes returned to each other. There was was nothing but genuinity behind Jaime's eyes. It let her breath again.

"Since we bathed together in Harrenhal," she said, "there hasn't been a day I haven't thought of you."

Jaime's eyes were as shiny as Brienne's. For a moment there, he thought he has misread Brienne's affection for him. She pulled his head towards her own, much slower this time. This kiss was relief to both of them. It had been a long time since Brienne had been kissed, and the first time that wasn't a cruel jape. The elation was like that when Jaime had knighted her. Maybe it wasn't necessarily the knighting or the kiss itself, but that it was him doing them that made her feel this way. Jaime pulled Brienne closer to him, chest to chest. He could feel her every breath, both at on his lips and against his own body. He could feel his own heart flutter, and he swore he could feel Brienne's too. It was pure ecstasy. In the distance, through the silent cold snow, he could hear drunken singing from Great Hall: Hands of gold are always cold, but a woman's hands are warm.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: The Decision

The chill of a night in the North sent Brienne and Jaime back into the Great Hall. A few feast-goers had left by this point, but there were still enough to fill the room with noise. Brienne had an arm clutched around one of Jaime's as they made their way back to a table. They sat on the same side this time, noticeably close. A girl came by and gave them both mugs of ale, which were sipped on slowly.

The two had certainly spent a lot of time together during their journey to King's Landing, but conversation was always damped. Jaime had rather maliciously questioned Brienne about her past, but she gave very little information and didn't care much about anything he had to say. When they were taken by Bolton men, they did talk some, but it was mostly about their being captured and the capturers themselves. At Harrenhal, Jaime had bared his soul, the most influential part of past though. Still, there was so much that was unknown about the other between them. Even after Harenhall, things seemed so awkward because of the newfound mutual respect. Without insulting her, Jaime didn't know what to say to his Lady Knight. And Brienne was never much of a conversation starter. At King's Landing, they exclusively talked of business, Sansa Stark, and honoring oaths. Since then, they had very little time to each other. Caught up in the siege of Riverrrun and the Long Night, there was no time to ever discuss the little things in life.

The two quietly talked to each other for hours about those small things. Jaime asked Brienne how she learned to fight. It actually surprised him that it was something he had never learned after all their time together. Brienne told him how she would go fight the boys and be beaten, so her father finally said that if she was going to do it, she might as well do it right. He was a knight himself, big, tall, and strong, and he taught her everything he knew. Lord Selwyn of Tarth. Jaime knew of him and his reputation. Not much, but he knew he was regarded as a reliable and fearsome fighter in his youth.

Brienne wanted to know what Jaime's childhood was like, what a happy, or at least happier than her own childhood was like. He recalled stories of chasing Tyrion through the tunnels under Casterly Rock and jumping of the cliffs into the sea at near Lannisport. Brienne could say the same, but at the ocean cliffs on Tarth instead. They shared memories of their mothers, both lost when they were young. Jaime told Brienne of his time as King's guard for Aerys. He was still a boy really, and how there were squires older than him that gave him resentful looks. One had poured even poured a resin into Jaime's armor. Jaime challenged the squire, and was making a fool of him until Barristan Selmy stepped in and put a stop to it. The envious looks remained, but the squires didn't dare sabotage his equipment afterward.

The evening went on and soon the Great Hall had calmed in energy. There were a few people slumped asleep at their seats, mugs still at their fingertips. The cheering and singing had subsided, and most people left were having quiet conversations among small groups. By this point, Jaime and Brienne were practically whispering into each other's years so those across the room didn't have to listen to their endless storytelling. Jaime put his good arm around Brienne's torso. He kissed her on the cheek, and it felt so liberating to him, to show even the smallest amount of affection for the woman he loved in public. Brienne just blushed and tried to hide a smile as she gazed at him. Soon the hall was emptying out, so Jaime walked Brienne back to her quarters and they both went their separate ways for the night, to sleep off all the food and ale.

Winterfell was slow to rise the next day. A few weren't seen at all, sticking to their bedchambers to nurse the aches in their heads. Brienne was not one of these. She went to the training yard in the morning, and just before the sun reached its zenith, sought out Lady Sansa.

"Ser Brienne, how are doing today?" Sansa asked upon seeing her sworn sword approach.

"A great deal better than most, it seems. I have a request on behalf of Ser Jaime."

Sansa narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering what the Kingslayer could have to ask of her. "Go ahead."

"He asks to stay in Winterfell while the other armies march south."

"Hmm... I thought he would be returning south as well. To fight for his sister."

"He told me as much that Cersei threatened his life when he left."

Sansa sat and rapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "Her cruelty has no limits, even to her own family." The Lady Stark then bobbed her head to the side slightly and added, "Though I suppose I always knew that, considering how she treats Tyrion." Sansa had witnessed it firsthand during her time in King's Landing.

Sansa sat in silence for a few moments contemplating her decision. Allowing him here to fight the White Walkers was one thing. It was part of the truce made at the Dragon Pit. He had a ridden North to fulfill his promise, and Winterfell was obliged to allow him to do so by providing quartering. The Kingslayer did fight with them against the Night King, but he had also wronged and fought against the Stark's in quite severe ways. Sansa trusted Brienne though. She didn't fully understand why, but her sworn sword clearly had a certain amount of respect... and affection... for the one handed Lannister. Sansa wasn't sure if it was the wine, but she swore she recalled seeing the Kingslayer plant a few kisses on Brienne late in the prior evening.

Lady Stark also considered that Daenerys would again, not be thrilled about the Kingslayer being welcomed to quarter in Winterfell. She didn't want to spite the Dragon Queen simply to do so, but she also felt it necessary to assert the independence of herself and the North. With Brienne around, he seemed rather harmless.

"I am inclined to let him stay," said Sansa. After all, it was better than one more man fighting for Cersei.

Brienne flashed a quick smile, unable to suppress it.

"But I do wish to speak him before I decide," added Sansa.

Brienne was a bit unsure of this, but she didn't protest. It was a reasonable request.

"I will send him your way.”

"One other thing," Sansa said, "I know Ser Jaime knighted you and prevented you from being raped, but I have to admit I don't quite understand why you are so keen to defend him. You have never gone back on your word and always act honorably, and he's ...well, he's Jaime Lannister."

Brienne could feel her mouth and neck tighten for a moment. She did her best to explain it. It wasn't just the threat from the Bolton men, it was also the bear pit and King's Landing too. She also told Sansa the truth about the Kingslaying, and how he was judged guilty the minute Ned Stark saw him.

"I think more than anything," added Brienne, "He was the first Knight to see me as an equal. Most my life, I've been sneered at for being a woman who carries steel. A few have accepted me, but not without regarding me as odd or freakish. Jaime is a flawed man, I know that. But he was the first to respect me for who I am and what I'm trying to be."

Sansa nodded. The Kingslayer was never her most hated Lannister. That title had always belonged to his sister. It seemed though that he was far less sinister than she ever gave him credit for. Their conversation later was going to be interesting, she thought. Brienne then gave leave to her Lady.

Out in the Weirwood forest, Davos and Tyrion were taking a stroll, sharing a conversation. The cold helped clear their aching heads. They were sharing their experiences as Hands to a monarch. The conversation eventually slipped to that of the Red Woman, and her Lord of Light.

"She knew there was imminent danger here in the North," said Davos, "She brought Stannis up here, believing he was Azor Ahai, the one to defeat it. Still when he died, she then proclaimed Jon Snow to be the prince that was promised."

"It wasn't him who saved us all though," said Tyrion.

"Exactly. I don't understand this Lord of Light stuff. I've seen its work. Shadows that kill, Dead men resurrected, and weapons lit aflame, but those priests are still are wrong about so much."

"Perhaps the power is real, but the source of it isn't all what they say it is."
"Are you saying it's all deception?"

"No. They probably believe everything they are saying."

"So that's it? There is no Azor Ahai? No Prince that was promised? Just false promises to keep people coming back."

"And coppers in the red priests' purses, no doubt," added Tyrion, "At least there are men like yourself, actually out there willing to fighting for the living, against the Long Night."

Davos saw Tyrion sighing with those words. The dwarf had felt rather useless during the battle, and much like an idiot for not seeing the dangers of the Winterfell crypts. "You’re too hard on yourself," said Davos. "You fought at the Battle of the Blackwater. Sent me and Stannis's forces back limping."

Tyrion pointed to the scar across his face, "And look what that got me."

Suddenly Bran interrupted the conversation. A northman had wheeled him out there per his request. He spent most his time there. "I heard you talking about Azor Ahai."

Both Davos and Tyrion were jumped a little, surprised Bran had arrived so silently, without them knowing.

Tyrion considered that given his experience with the supernatural, perhaps Bran knew about the truth behind the Lord of Light. So he asked.

"I can see many things," said Bran, "but there are some things that can’t be seen, by anyone. I do not have the ability to see what gives the red priests' their power any more than I can see what gives a dragon their breath of fire."

"And your...power?" asked Davos, "Do you know where your own... abilities come from?"

Bran nodded and then looked around at the trees in the Godswood. He lingered and stopped at the great weirwood at the center. "The Old Gods. It's the blood of the first men in me, all the Starks. The three eyes raven chose me though, to pass on his knowledge to."

Davos raised his eyebrows. He didn't know what to say to that, so he looked to Tyrion.

"It's not often I get straight answers when it comes to religious matters. You really are quite useful," Tyrion said, as he gestured to Bran.

Bran smiled ever so slightly, "And as for Jon. He may not be Azor Ahai, but he does a part to play in the future."

Davos just nodded, accepting that there would be things he wouldn't understand until they were at his doorstep. "I don't know who or what brought back Jon from the dead, or why for that matter, but I saw it with my own eyes. I believe it was for a reason."

Hundreds of miles south, a goblet sat on the balcony on the red keep. Wine, a Dornish red, was slowly poured into it. Cersei was enjoying the moment. She lifted it to her lips, and savored the taste, the feeling of it. When her twin had left, all traces of him followed. The blood soaked sheets she woke up in the next morning were proof of that. She had always been fond of wine, but since that day, even she had to admit she had been taking indulgence in it more often. How could she not? Another child of hers, lost. A brother and lover had left her. She would set things right though. She always did. Look at the fools who had claimed to walk in the light of the seven. The idiot sparrows. They were nothing but ashes now.

Snow fell from the sky, a light dusting, a few flakes, landed on the railing of the balcony Cersei was standing at. She looked north. Perhaps all her enemies up in that bleak place were already gone, having killed each other. The thought delighted her. If not, the sellsword Bronn would be near Winterfell by now. Qyburn had warned her he might not be reliable, but she didn't care. At least he was gone. He had started off as Tyrion's man after all. Perhaps he would surprise her though, and bring back the heads of those who had dared stand in her way and tried to take what was hers. Not everyone's allegiances could be bought with gold, but sellswords tended to be the type who were. Hopefully Jaime would see then, that she meant it when she said 'No one walks away from me.' He would never dare go behind her back or leave her alone again. If he didn't see that, then Bronn could bring back his head too.

In Winterfell, Jaime was facing judgement from another woman. He had been standing there, hands clasped at the belt, feet slightly apart, waiting before Sansa in her office. The guard had definitely announced his arrival, yet Sansa was diligently continuing to write whatever it was that demanded her attention. After a few moments, she finally put the quill down.
"I hear you want to stay in Winterfell," she said.

"Yes," he replied bluntly, "You requested words from me about it? I assure you I won't be picky about what room you put me in. Interior would be fine, but I do prefer a window so that I may let in some of this fine fresh northern air." It was very cheeky. He very well knew this conversation was not to be about his choice of quarters.

Sansa tilted her head to side, lips pressed closed. She was not amused. "I wonder why you did not come to me yourself and ask."

"I am no fool. You trust Ser Brienne. You don't trust me."

"Hmph," said Sansa before continuing, "You're right that I don't trust you. I have little reason to. You threw Bran from a tower. Tell me, would your Lord father have given accommodations to the man who pushed his child from a ledge?"

"If it was my brother who fell... perhaps," said Jaime with a shrug.

Sansa was again, not amused. "You attacked my father in the streets of King's Landing. You fought against my brother in the War of the Five Kings." Sansa was becoming scornful, "Why, why should I trust that you are not up to some trickery. After all, it was your family that orchestrated the murder of my brother and mother while under guest right.

Jaime had planned to play this meeting light, and steer conversation away from confronting his family’s and his own pasts. He should have said something about how the Starks were now given the opportunity to show him how guests ought to be treated. He couldn't though.

By what right does the wolf judge the lion?

"I attacked Ned Stark because your mother took Tyrion prisoner, for sending an assassin to kill Bran." He said it through his teeth. "You know that you be false. Who was it again that you executed for starting the war between our houses? And I had nothing to do with that mess of shit at the Twins. I had been captive, pissing myself in the mud for over a year."

Sansa did not back down. She stood from her chair to stare down the Kingslayer eye to eye. "You still pushed Bran from a tower, in attempt to kill him. And then you jest about, just mere minutes ago, as if you hadn't crippled him."

Jaime swallowed hard. He acknowledged his arrogance was not doing him any favors. He tried to speak in a more diplomatic tone. "I make no excuses for myself there. I apologized to Bran. He didn't seem to bear me any resentment. He said he would have never become the three eyed raven if I hadn't set him on that path."

"Yes he told me," said Sansa. Jaime was a bit surprised at this. "You've talked to him so you know Bran is not really Brandon Stark anymore. He may not care, but I do remember all the attacks and slights on House Stark. The North remembers."

Jaime held his chin up. He knew who he was. He knew what he had become too. "The North remembers does it? Does it remember a few days ago when I fought to defend it? Does it remember when I armed and armored Brienne to find and protect you? Or what about when I took Riverrrun without leaving a pile of Tully corpses?"

Sansa recalled the report Brienne had brought back from Riverrun. Her sworn sword had made it quite clear that Jaime did indeed take the castle with as little bloodshed as possible. Sansa had never met her great-uncle, and of course wished he hadn't died, but it seemed he could have walked away alive if he hadn't been so stubborn. Her mother always said he was fiercely uncompromising, sometimes to the point of flaw. It occurred to her that Brienne was like that as well, stubborn as could be. It then dawned on Sansa that Brienne would never break her unyielding stance on the value of honor. Brienne favored the Kingslayer not despite his dishonors, but because she believed Ser Jaime was deep down, and honorable and good man. Sansa made her final decision and relented.

"You have done horrible things, but you have done good things too. I see why I ought to give you a place here while the Last War in the south is fought.”
Jaime smiled, and graciously bowed his head. Sansa continued though, “What I don't understand is why you want it. Some say you forsook your house and family to come north. I say Tyrion, your brother, was here, and fighting this war was fighting for them too. Staying here now, that is forsaking house and family. Siding with neither with your brother or sister."

Jaime chose his words carefully. "Tyrion murdered our father and Cersei is... Cersei.” Jaime gave pause for a moment. “I know you have every reason to mislike my sister, but might I add, I don't see you enthusiastically cheering for our Dragon Queen either."

Sansa smiled dryly. Ser Jaime was evidently not a stupid man. "Cersei wants me dead. The Northern forces will march south with Daenerys. As for you, you could go anywhere. Why stay here?"

The arrogant wise talker in Jaime wanted to say that his legs just couldn't bare another trip, especially from somewhere as far from civilization as Winterfell. Like before though, he found he could not bring himself to say the easy careless words. Gods, he had really changed, he thought to himself. Honesty sometimes required vulnerability, but he demanded it of himself now. There was only one thing to say.

"Brienne."

Chapter Text

The Wildings decided they had seen enough of Winterfell. The armies were gearing up to head south, and it was not a place for them. Everyone was starting the next chapter of their lives, and so Tormund intended to lead his people in theirs. Jon offered them the keeps to the North that were decimated by the Army of the Dead. For centuries the Wildlings had wanted for the more fertile lands below the wall, and now they had a piece it.

“I won’t kneel to you,” said Tormund, “But I will embrace you as a brother.” He held out his arms to Jon.

Jon accepted the invitation. “Be good,” he said to the Wildling, before Tormund moved on to the next of his goodbyes.

“Lady Stark,” Tormund said suavely. He took her hand and kissed it like he was a southern gentleman.

“Thank you, Tormund. For fighting with us. I know the Starks haven’t always been kind to those beyond the wall.”

Tormund shrugged, “I didn’t want to die.”

Brienne tried to avoid eye contact with the wildling. She hoped he would pass her bye, but she was not that lucky. Without words, Tormund gave Brienne a bear hug, much like the one he had just given to Jon. Brienne didn’t quite return the gesture, but did give him a gentle pat on the back.

“You know where I’ll be,” he said with a wink.

Jaime was watching from a far, on top of one on Winterfell’s walls. He wished he could hear what Tormund was saying to Brienne. He then saw Jon call his Direwolf. It seemed that Jon was handing over the beast to the red haired man. The Wildlings then departed to their new life. The small crowd of people seeing them off dispersed. Jaime had plans to spar with Brienne and Podrick afterward, so after seeing Brienne start heading that way, he too followed.

Jon and Sansa lingered by the gate though. Jon looked up towards the battlements where he saw Jaime walking over them. He nodded in that direction.

“I heard Ser Jaime is staying here.”

“Are you opposed?” asked Sansa.'

“Nay. It’s just astonishing how much everyone’s changed since we were all here last.” He was thinking about when Robert came north to ask Eddard to be his Hand.

Jon continued,“I’ve been beyond the wall and declared a ...King. You’ve become a leader father would be proud of. And Arya killed the greatest monster in this world. He's different too." Jon was thinking of how Jaime, back then, had mocked him for planning to join the Night’s Watch. It was hard to imagine that the Jaime here now was the same man.

Sansa though, was thinking about how has been with Cersei then. The thought left a revolting impression in her mind. Jon was right though. The man had changed. It crossed Sansa’s mind that Ser Jaime’s change of character was coincidental with the introduction of Brienne in his life.

“Bran, he’s changed a lot as well,” said Jon, “Speaking of that, we need to go to the Godswood. He and Arya are waiting there.”

Sansa wasn’t sure why they were all meeting there, but she went along without complaint. After all the years apart, she didn’t need a reason to be with her siblings.

At the training yard, Brienne was instructing Podrick in the art of defending oneself against multiple enemies. Jaime had graciously volunteered to be the second enemy Podrick was to face. He was doing well parrying, preventing himself from being struck with the practice swords, but he was also being forced to back step quite a bit. He became determined to stand his ground. When he did though, Jaime took an opportunity and knocked him to the dirt.

“This isn’t fair,” bemoaned Podrick, “You’re both accomplished knights!”

“Podrick,” Brienne reminded him, “You are a knight.”

Jaime added, “And I only have one hand!”

The former squire got back on his feet, and nodded his head to the side, acknowledging the truth of it. He dusted his pants off, and raised his sword again. This time he was able to defend himself while still keeping most his ground. He still wasn’t delivering any solid strikes, but that wasn’t his goal at this point.

Podrick did get a swing in a Jaime, but the Lannister was able to step back and avoid any contact. Brienne had unfortunately, misjudged Jaime’s movements and slammed her shoulder into him accidentally as she went in for a strike.

“Bloody woman,” Jaime cursed, “Did you learn that move from the Wildling?”

Brienne lowered her sword and turned to Jaime, “You seem quite jealous.”

There was a pause between them. Podrick lowered his sword too, just before Brienne and Jaime broke into smirks, eyes stuck on each other. Podrick’s own eyes flitted from Jaime to Brienne, and back to Jaime. He was a bit unsure at what exactly he was seeing, but couldn’t help but think back to what Bronn had told him outside the command tent at Riverrun.

“Well, let’s get on with it,” said Brienne, gesturing towards Podrick. Her and Jaime took their weapons and turned to attack again at the same time. Podrick hastily brought his weapon back up, a bit in a panic, to defend himself once again.

---

“Tell them,” Jon said. Arya and Sansa turned their attention toward their brother sitting below the great weirwood.

Bran made no hesitations. “Jon is not our brother.”

“Yes, he is,” said both Sansa and Arya in sync.

“No. He’s not even our half-brother. Jon is our cousin.”

Arya looked to Jon, confusion on her face. It was Sansa who put it together after a few moments.

“Lyanna,” she said softly.
Bran continued, “Rhaegar and Lyanna were secretly wed by the High Septon himself. Jon’s friend Samwell Tarly came across his diaries and saw that he recorded it. I saw it with my greensight too.”

“Father,” said Sansa, “he never told anyone, did he?”

“He couldn’t,” said Arya. “What do you think King Robert would have done if he had known?”

“Father would have never let him,” said Sansa.

“Exactly,” said Arya, “There would have been another war. All over a baby.”

“Hey,” Jon said, “That baby would have been me!” He smiled a bit. He missed his little sister, and joking around with her. He had been conflicted about telling his sisters his secret after talking to Daenerys, but even since he found out, he knew he would have to tell them. His gut instinct was right. This felt right for them to know.

“Could you imagine if you had white hair?” Arya asked laughing.

“Poor father. He probably would have been up every night fretting about when someone would put it together. That or shaving my head every other day.”

The talk of white hair, Targaryen hair, put Sansa into a more serious train of thought. “You are a Targaryen,” she said. There was moment of silence.

“Not just a Targaryen,” said Bran, “The rightful Targaryen heir. As the son of Rhaegar, even more than Daenerys.”

“Does she know?” asked Arya. The tone of the conversation turned swiftly back to that seriousness. Jon nodded.

“What has she said about it?” asked Sansa.

“She wanted me to keep it a secret. I don’t know about everyone else yet, but I knew I had to tell you two.”

The wind blew through the Godswood, rustling the tops of the trees. Jon looked at them, followed by his cousins.

“You would make a good King, you know,” Sansa said after a minute.

“That might be true, it might not be. I’m not keen on finding out.” He turned to Arya, “You jest about my hair, but it’s true, I have more Stark in me than Targaryen. My place is here, in the North.”
Sansa and Arya said nothing. Jon continued, “Besides, it’s her army and dragons that will take down Cersei. The North could never do it on its own, even with the Knights of the Vale.”

“You could have the Wildlings and the Stormlanders too,” Sansa added.

Jon furrowed his brow, “Dorne and the Iron Islands are with Dany too, you know. Plus I cannot say for sure Gendry would fight for me. It was her who made him Lord.”

“Gendry would fight for us, you,” Arya said with a confidence her family noted. After a second, she then added, “Brienne is also from the Stormlands. Her family has sway there too.”

Sansa cocked her head, “If Cersei were to be removed, we might even be able to get the Westerlands behind us with Jaime. He’s technically their Lord.”

“Is he though?” asked Arya. “Isn’t he a Kingsguard?”

“He was removed by Tommen. Either way, the Gods know he has more sway than Tyrion there. They all know he killed Lord Tywin.”

Jon interrupted a bit angrily, “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to fight Daenerys, ever. Father – Eddard, kept my parentage a secret to keep the realm from erupting into civil war after deposing a mad tyrant. It’s exactly the same. I’m not going to let that happen now either. If I really am the rightful protector of the realm, then it’s my duty to let Daenerys rule in peace.”

Sansa thought to herself, that if they knew the truth, Dorne and the Iron Islands might back Jon’s claim too. Serving Daenerys, Dorne had lost nearly its entire ruling family. Revenge against Cersei was something they both wanted too. With Theon gone, Sansa was less sure about the Iron Islands, but perhaps Yara would remember he was a brother to both of them.

It was Arya, though who would have the last thing to say in regards to Jon yielding his claim to Daenerys. “Would she do the same for you?” she asked.

Jon did not answer. He stared down at his boots in the snow, and blew air out his lips.

It was Bran who broke the awkward silence. “You should tell them your name. Your one given at birth,” he said.

“Aegon. Aegon Targaryen.”

---

Later that evening, Jaime and Tyrion rode out to an inn beyond the castle's walls. They followed the King's Road south, enjoying the chance to get out into the countryside. Tyrion would be riding out in a few days with Daenerys and the armies that followed her, and the brothers wanted some time together. The inn was in the midst of a grove of ancient trees, some with girths so large two horses could stand head to tail across them. The two made themselves comfortable in a quiet corner of the tavern room.

Jaime nursed a mug of ale while Tyrion indulged in a preferred wine.

"Brother," Tyrion began, "I've been hoping for years that you would see Cersei for what she is, and decide she wasn't worth it all. I'm proud of you."

Jaime just shrugged. "It was bound to happen eventually," he said nonchalantly.

"Could have been sooner," Tyrion teased.

Jaime took a long sip of his drink and stared down at the table. Deep down he felt somewhat ashamed over the circumstances of his leaving Cersei. Nearly everyone in the Seven Kingdoms would agree he should have never been with her, or at least left her long ago. In addition to that, Jaime hated that he left her when she was pregnant with his baby. He was trying to be a good man, but what kind of good man leaves his unborn child? It was one thing to come fight against the Army of the Dead for the living, but now he was failing to return to that child as well. He wished he never made the child with Cersei. Then, he would have to qualms about his new path in life. Gods, he would have to tell Brienne about this eventually too. The life Jaime had run from bound to catch up with him eventually, and it made him sulk into his chair.

Tyrion was never one to let a conversation die, so he continued to speak. He could tell the topic of Cersei was depressing his brother, so he switched to something that he hoped would bring Jaime into a brighter mood. "So tell me about this Brienne of Tarth," he said.

Tyrion had captured his brother’s full attention, and Jaime sat back up straight.

"That's Ser Brienne," Jaime said, the corner of his mouth turning up.

"Yes. Ser Brienne of Tarth. Tell me about her," Tyrion demanded.

"I've never met anyone like her. You've seen her, she's a woman as tall as Robert Baratheon! Probably as strong too. She had a terrible childhood, constantly barraged because of how she looks. And yet, I know of no person with more good in them. She's never broken an oath, honorable beyond all reason, a true knight in all the sense." Jaime paused for a moment before adding, "There's no one like her, only her."

"It’s good to hear that. I thought all the true knights were dead with Dayne and Hightower," said Tyrion. “No offense,” he added towards his brother’s direction.

Tyrion thought back to that day in the Dragon Pit. It seemed years ago. It was a day with many, many, important happenings, and he had until now overlooked the fact that Brienne of Tarth had stomped up to Jaime and told him to fuck loyalty. This was the reason Jaime really left, Tyrion thought. His poor brother couldn't bear to disappoint her by breaking his promise, and he just happens to be running towards her too. Tyrion neglected to say anything else. It was something Jaime already knew.

Suddenly, a thick bolt thudded into the wood beside Tyrion’s head. Both brothers jumped to look where it came from, and found Ser Bronn of the fucking Blackwater looking down the barrel of a crossbow at them. Jaime instinctively put his hand on Pathfinder, even though it was no use at the current moment.

“We’ve got to chat,” Bronn said.

“Seems we do,” said Tyrion.

“Put that thing down,” demanded Jaime.

Bronn shot a bolt, and Jaime felt is skim by his head it was so close. “Not until I get what I need,” said Bronn. He promptly reloaded.

“And what is it that you... need?” asked Tyrion.

“Your sister wants your head. I need it for the castle she promised me.”

“I promised you a castle once too, you know.”

Bronn pointed the crossbow down, and reached around to grab a bag he had attached to his belt. He walked over to Tyrion and smacked him in the face with it. It was a bag full of gold.

“You’ve broken my nose!” cried Tyrion as he held his bleeding face.

“Your sister pays in advance, too. The only reason that I haven’t plugged you full of bolts yet is that she’s a real cunt and...”

“I once promised you if anyone offered to betray me, I’d double it.”

Bronn smiled cheekily. This was seemingly much better than what he had originally intended to say. “Yes, yes. That exactly.”

“So what did Cersei offer you exactly, a castle and some gold?” said Jaime, “How do you intend for us to double a castle?”

“Oh is it ‘we’ now, brother?” said Tyrion.

“I admit, I have no castles to give away," said Jaime.

“Anyway,” said Tyrion. He thought for a moment, before pointing to the roof and smiling. “The Twins?”

Bronn smiled, “That’ll do for me.” He sat down with the two brothers and bid the server to bring him some wine.

Bronn took some of Tyrion’s meal and began obnoxiously eating it. “Your sister,” he said to Jaime as he pointed at him, “has completely lost it. I mean, she was always nuts, but now, oof.”

“What do you mean?” Jaime knew Cersei might not have taken him leaving well, but he had to know more.

“She thinks the Stark bitch –-“

Tyrion reached up and covered Bronn’s mouth. “Not in here you talk like that about the Starks. The dwarf looked around and decided no one had noticed, before taking his hand away.

“She still thinks the girl poisoned Joffrey. And tried to poison her too back when you brought that dead thing.”

Jaime huffed, “I told her that was Olenna!”

Bronn put his hands up. ”I’m not arguing with you. It’s what she thinks. Believes they conspired together or something. Wanted me to kill her too, and that woman who protects her. You know, the one who showed up at Riverrun.”

“Brienne?” said Jaime. He was at the edge of seat, full of concern, eyes wide with suspense.

“Aye, that one.”

Tyrion look a long sip of his wine.

“Brienne? Why Brienne? She hasn’t done anything to Cersei except… bring ME back to her.”

Bronn shrugged. “You took off to go fight up here because of her. Anyone can see that.”

The blood was gone from Jaime’s face. The thought that Cersei had sent a sellsword to kill Brienne chilled him. He knew Cersei had always despised Tyrion, especially after he murdered their father. But Brienne? She was the most innocent person he knew. He could only think, what if there were others sent to kill her? His hands were restless against the table top.

Bronn noted the way Jaime was reacting. He cocked his head, “So you are fucking her, then? Always with the blondes you are.”

Jaime only acknowledged the comment with a scathing glare.

“Not fucking... yet,” Tyrion added cheekily.

Jaime got up. “I have to get back to Winterfell,” he announced.

“Oh come on,” Tyrion said as Jaime put on his fur cloak, “Don’t leave me here with him!” He gestured to Bronn.

As Jaime walked across the room, Bronn then yelled “Don’t worry, I’ll get the Imp back safe!” He then laughed heartily as one handed Lannister exited.

Jaime zoned out as he rode back to Winterfell. It seemed without conscious effort he found himself outside Brienne’s door. He just needed to know that she was okay, that she was safe. He held his hand up in a fist, a few inches from the wooden door, unable to knock though. He built up the courage though, and gave it a slight rap. He didn’t hear anything.

She’s asleep. Of course. I know this.

Jaime paused a moment to listen more, before heading down the hall. Brienne was fast asleep, when she awoke for a reason unknown to herself. She woke easily now, as it was necessary from the time she spent on the road. Who knows what thieves might try to take while you sleep, or worse. It was best to awake easily. Brienne relied on her instinct, her gut feeling, and it told her to go to her door. As she opened it, she peered out into the hall and saw her Jaime about to turn onto the next hall.

“Jaime,” she called out. He turned on a dime and returned to her.

When he was close, he said, “I just wanted to see you.”

Brienne was a bit confused by this for a moment, but she admitted to herself she had no complaints. She didn’t need a reason to enjoy Jaime’s presence, even as it was quite late. “Come in,” she said.

Jaime abided and followed her into the room. Brienne shut the door behind them. The room had a grand bed, much bigger than the one provided to Ser Jaime, and a table and two chairs as well. One of them had Oathkeeper hung about it, and Jaime sat down there. He tilted his head slightly as he watched Brienne move a few items from the other chair.

Brienne reached up to grab a water skin she had hanging from a high nail. Jaime noted how she was in night clothes, the light and loose tunic riding up when she reached out. He couldn’t help but notice the bare skin of her abdomen peeking through for a half second. His torture did not end their though. She leaned over at the table as she poured herself a cup. Jaime could not help but leer at the point of the V in her collar, where he caught a glimpse of her small breasts.

“Would you like some too,” she asked looking up. Jaime averted his eyes, but not too late for Brienne to notice.

“Yes... that would be nice.”

Jaime took his and gulped it down quickly, while Brienne sat and sipped hers slowly. Nothing was said between the two for a few minutes, though they both wanted something to be said. Jaime could not find himself willing to tell Brienne what he had discovered that evening. With Bronn bought out, there was no need for her to ever know. It was the only thing he could think about though.

Finally, Brienne broke the silence. “You’ve still got your sword on.”

Jaime nodded. Brienne put her cup down and placed a hand on Jaime’s left thigh. Jaime said and did nothing, as Brienne paused there for a moment. She slid her hand across his waist to the other side where the buckle was. She undid it and Pathfinder fell to the floor with a clunk. Jaime leaned over and picked up the sword, all while refusing to break eye contact with his Brienne.

He stood and turned away for a moment to rest his sword belt and Pathfinder on the back of the chair, alongside Oathkeeper. He found Brienne standing with him. He reached out and held her by the shoulder. He stared into her eyes, and he saw the wanting. He felt it too. She grasped him back, holding his upper arms. Before either knew what they were doing, they were kissing. It was soft, slow, and tender. Jaime lingered on her lower lip, as he pulled his head away for a moment. He didn’t want to, but he knew he would have to if he ever wanted to get their clothes off that night.

Jaime fumbled trying to undo the buttons on the front of Brienne’s shirt with his one hand. Brienne took his hand, and gently brought it back to his side. She then began tackling her own shirt. Brienne made no show of it. She swiftly had every button on her own shirt undone, before setting onto Jaime’s. He stared down at the strip of unclothed skin in-between the two halves of Brienne’s tunic. It teased him, and so he pushed one side away with his hand, and slid his fingers over to her breast. Brienne jumped ever so slightly at his touch. Jaime knew this probably a first for Brienne, so he did not think on it much. She was as soft as any woman, he thought. As he explored, he felt the scars of where the bear from Harenhall had torn her open. He then realized Brienne was done unbuttoning both their shirts, so he pushed hers off, then shimmied his own off.

Brienne took Jaime’s right arm with both her hands. She undid the straps that held his gold gilded prosthetic, and slipped it off. She held it in her left hand rather casually for a moment, inspecting it, before setting it aside. Jaime pulled Brienne back towards himself as he kissed her once on each side of her face.

Brienne still holding his right arm, put it in-between them, so they were both looking at it. The sight didn’t bother Jaime much anymore. It was the way everyone else looked at it, with pity in their eyes for him that he didn’t like. Brienne never looked at him that way because of his lost hand. While the rest of his arm was a pleasing tan color, the last few inches of his forearm where ghost white, with a bit of pink on the end. It was always covered by the gold hand. Brienne kissed the nub of Jaime’s forearm. He had lost it defending her honor, it was the least of thankyous she could pay to the limb. Jaime felt inspired by this, and so he planted a series of kisses from Brienne’s breast up her chest and onto her neck, following the marks from the bear. They were both left scarred from their journey together, but stronger too.

Brienne ran her fingers through the hair on the back of Jaime’s head, and pulled him in towards herself. Their bodies were as close as could be. Brienne could feel Jaime pushing his hips into hers, and how his body clearly craved hers. It stirred desire in her, and she reciprocated the action. Before long, Jaime was guiding the both of them towards the bed. Brienne laid down on her back and Jaime straddled her from above. He smiled in humor as he realized they had stripped their shirts off very quickly, but had neglected to remove any clothing from their lower halves. He didn’t care though. He just wanted to kiss Brienne and feel her body against his own. Brienne must have had similar thoughts, as she began to dig her index fingers into the waistline of Jaime’s trousers.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

He rested half on his right elbow and half next to Brienne in order to set his left hand free. His legs still remained intertwined with his lady’s. Brienne felt his newly free hand sneak ever so close to her most intimate parts. He stared carefully into Brienne’s arms, waiting for any sign that this was too much. He could not lie, he would be partly disappointed if she stopped him, but he could not bear to do anything that would make Brienne uncomfortable. If he ended this night simply sleeping with her in his arms, he would be happy. Brienne made no sign for him to stop though. In fact, she seemed to welcome the contact as he touched her through the clothing. His fingers slipped up to the waistline, and then below. He found his lady to be slick already. As he did his work, Brienne’s short breaths in reaction to his touch only encouraged him to venture further.

The whole affair was getting him quite excited as well, and it was evident by the way his manhood was pressing against Brienne’s thigh. Brienne once again pulled at the waistline of Jaime’s trousers. She wanted to know what it felt like, especially from him. This time Jaime did not protest. He kicked off his pants from his feet began unlacing Brienne’s. Only moments later, they were both there in bed, naked as they days they were born, together.

They had both seen each other in the bare flesh before, at the baths in Harrenhal. Jaime had also rather rudely, had never bothered to conceal himself or give warning when taking a piss during the first part of the journey to King’s Landing. This was so much different, and understandably so. Brienne did not have womanly hips or indulgent breasts, but she was oh so strong, and it suited her. Her abdomen was taught, and Jaime couldn’t help but run his fingers over the individual muscles on display. He loved the way they reacted to his touch, and how they moved with every breath she took. She had thick powerful thighs, and Jaime thought of how with him in-between them, she could very well grip him and throw him to floor with ease.

To Brienne, Jaime was a god. He had always been astonishingly handsome in all ways, but now she was seeing him for what he was, without all the dirt of his life covering him. She watched as the muscles in his arms twitched and flexed as he ran his arms over her. She couldn’t help but caress his shoulders. Her hands slipped to his back as she pulled him nearer again. As the kissed, she took note of the muscles around his shoulder blades and neck as well. Jaime’s 40th name day had come and gone some time ago, but he was in a better physical state than many younger men.

The time had come though. Jaime kept unyielding eye contact with Brienne as he positioned himself. She moved with him as well.

“Do you want this?” he asked. He had to be sure.

“As much as you do,” she responded.

Jaime slowly put himself into her, knowing she was a maiden. He heard himself gasp a little. He felt like the Lord of a 1000 Kingdoms. Jaime began to move, thrusting in and out. He switched to a rolling like motion. Brienne seemed to enjoy that, as he heard her let out a light cry of pleasure. She wrapped her long legs around him, and seemed to pull him deeper with every stroke. Jaime quickened his pace, and soon enough he heard Brienne moan his name as he felt her insides contract against his cock. He felt himself about to climax too, so he pulled his member from Brienne before spilling onto her thigh.

Jaime collapsed onto Brienne, his head on her chest. For a few minutes, they just lay there listening to each other’s breathing. He then looked up, at Brienne, and found her meeting his gaze. She smiled, and he smiled back before they wrapped themselves up in each other under the blankets. The North was bitterly cold, and they would need each other to keep warm.