Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

- 1 -
JAIME

There were so many times throughout the Long Night where Jaime should have been pulled under by the endless tide of living corpses.

Brienne had said they would be relentless. She’d barked it at him and the others enough times that it should have stuck, but in Jaime’s experience, a relentless opponent was one still bound by human limitations. Wights were given to no such constraints. They did not tire, did not doubt, did not even seem to feel pain as a human might. They were quicker than any opponent Jaime had ever faced, and even with two working hands, he would have been at a disadvantage.

With just the one, it should’ve been a slaughter. It might have been, had Brienne not pushed him to abandon the lifetime of graceful, tourney-ready training he’d received and instead forced him to act on instinct and survival alone. Every time he made use of his full weight, of the muscles he’d developed in his left arm, of the savage fury dwelling deep within him, he found himself able to cleave through whole groups of the dead, where before he would have surely been overwhelmed.

Her training was keeping him alive, and--not to be outdone--Brienne was doing an admirable job keeping him alive on her own, too. He could recall being attacked from behind, his left arm pinned, his right unable to manage the dexterity or strength needed to rid himself of the monster--for what else could he call it--that was rending his back, his shoulders, his neck. Others joined that one persistent opponent and he’d been brought down, swallowed by that sea of decay. Darkness closed all around, and Jaime had been sure that was the end.

Then he’d heard a fierce yell, followed by another. The wight that was doing everything in its power suddenly stopped, its blood flung across Jaime’s form. He saw Oathkeeper first, slashing down in a brutal arc, cleaving limbs and heads, not stopping until there were no more wights upon him. Jaime stared up, wide-eyed, and saw Brienne standing there, scarcely back-lit by the too-distant fire of the dragons.

She thrust a hand out to him and he’d taken it, ignoring the searing pain in his back or the sharp ache of a right shoulder that felt dislocated. He wasn’t untested, and despite his lack of familiarity with their opponent, Jaime was no stranger to fighting through his own pain and fear. So he’d given her a nod he wasn’t even sure she’d seen, then he’d gone back to it.

It wasn’t the last time she’d personally saved him, but it also hadn’t been only her doing the saving. He’d seen her get swept under, forced back much as he had. Terror ran like ice through his veins and Jaime hadn’t thought of his own safety. He’d drawn upon strength he hadn’t been sure he’d possessed, cutting through the dead until he’d seen her, a wound opened on her face, blood staining her skin. He’d hauled her to her feet, saying nothing. There wasn’t time, and this certainly wasn’t the place.

It’d been like that for hours, coming in waves. They fought side by side, never more than a few feet from one another. Jaime looked after her blind spots just as she looked after his. And in the lulls, when they’d been forced to fall back, neither had said a thing beyond hoarse orders given to fear-stricken soldiers who could no longer tell which way was up. Jaime saw countless numbers of those men die. Their bodies were what allowed a retreat… and they were ultimately what created their greatest obstacle, spelling the end for him and everyone else.

He’d been on the battlements, having very nearly succumbed again. His own sweat and blood were blinding him, the soot from the fires making his eyes burn, the stench of the dead infecting every part of him. He and Brienne fought back to back, their movements so in sync he would have sworn they’d trained together all their lives, had he the space to appreciate such a thing. As it was, they’d kept each other alive, kept Pod alive, but it hadn’t been enough.

They’d been hemmed in, near the end. The dead scrambled over one another to reach, and there was only so far to retreat before their backs were literally pressed against the wall--all three of them. He could hear Brienne’s yelling, something almost animalistic, growing more and more desperate, while Jaime himself had fallen deathly silent.

That was the end. He was sure of it. Ice-tipped claws raked across his armor, pain blazed through his body, but soon it would all be numb. All he could hope for was that he would be the first to go. He didn’t want his final moments to be spent hearing the agonizing, soul-rending sound of Brienne’s death.

Just when Jaime had made peace with it, just as his muscles had nearly given over to exhaustion, it all ceased. Hundreds, thousands of bodies crumpled before them, all around them. He was still pressed against the wall, Widow’s Wail held out before him, the blade dripping with blood and viscera. He’d expected another surge, for that last, horrible stand to be made against them… but it never came.

Slowly he’d looked over, afraid of what he’d find. But she was still there. Still alive. Wild-eyed and shuddering with every breath she took, her blue armor practically black. He started to reach out, feeling as though he might collapse at any moment. But her attention had been drawn to a pained grunt beside them, and so too had Jaime’s. Podrick did collapse, another body in the heap of them at his feet.

Brienne’s voice scraped across her throat as she commanded him to help. Jaime was already in motion, his own pain, his own exhaustion forgotten. For all he knew, they were the only three people still alive, and he didn’t intend to let it become just two.

“You don’t get to abandon your duties, Podrick. Your knight still has need of you,” he said, his own voice barely recognizable. Dark blood seeped around Pod’s chestplate, the puncture plain to see. He grunted, the jolt of pain in his shoulder nigh unbearable as he fought through it to help Brienne pull the young man back to his feet. “We have to get him to the Great Hall.”

It was a wonder he’d even remembered what they were told beforehand. If any survive, bring them to the Great Hall, and may the Gods have mercy on all the rest.

- 2 -
BRIENNE

Brienne had remembered briefly thinking that an army of dead men lead by spectres from folktales was unbelievable. There had to be some other explanation for what Lord Jon believed, what the men of the Night Watch and the wildlings believed.

What doubts she had over the existence of such creatures had ended in the Dragon Pit. She had trained herself, and these men, to fight against these creatures as best she could. Despite knowing, despite having seen that single wight that day, it could not prepare her for the wave that crashed over them.

Nightmarish was too kind a word for their approach, terrifying barely began to touch it. Brienne had felt the fear growing in the men around her, shouting through her own fear, finding all her strength of bravery for them to hold their ground as the dead crashed over them.

Nothing made sense after that moment. There was no reprieve to take stock of damage, death, or even awe when the dragons’ flames touched the battlefield. She hacked, chopped, sliced her way through the bodies, thankful for the valyrian steel of Oathkeeper for its ability to make the creatures stay dead.

Despite the chaos, despite the cold dread, she could feel Jaime fighting near her. Oftentimes, she’d catch a glimpse and if she had a moment to think, she might have been proud of him. Pride would have to wait. Pride was something for the living to worry about.

There were many moments of desperation. She had been barrelled over at one point, feeling crushed under the weight of writhing, murderous bodies. Even as fear lanced through her she fought, struggled, and howled into the night, not willing to give up.

Jaime had saved her then, hacking them away as if they were the tangled roots of a tree surrounding her. A hand up, a meeting of eyes, and no more before they were back to defending themselves.

Pain was a constant, but she fought on through it, finding some hidden strength either in the fear or the heat of battle. Blood dripped into her eyes, leaving a red haze in her vision that was not just the flames on the battlefield.

Retreats, reinforcement, orders yelled through a raw, scraped throat. Dead littered around them, and it was hard to tell the soldiers from the creatures by the time they had made their way inside.

In the closer quarters inside the castle walls, she could feel him more keenly. Could hear the air keening as Widow’s Wail moved at the same time as Oathkeeper, sister blades singing their song of violence upon their enemies. He was at her back, he was at her side, he was in front of her. A tumultuous dance, lacking grace, but each of them knew the steps, moved with the other to defend and compliment.

If this had been a normal battle, there might have even been songs written about them. But it was not a normal battle, and most who saw them would not see the light of dawn.

Somehow they had moved into the lower levels again, perhaps retreating from an advance, or just looking for a moment to catch their breath. But there was no time for that, no time for breathing or thinking. Just fighting, constant fighting, and her sword, his sword, Podrick’s sword, hooking into rotting flesh as a new wave crashed over and through the barricades of Winterfell and pressed them into a wall.

Firelight burned orange, and then there was a great crash, with blue flame occasionally erupting from somewhere unseen, casting an eerie light across the bodies piled onto the ground and outlining the living ones still fighting. Still fighting. Still. Fighting.

Her legs wanted to give out, she could feel how unsteady they were and it was possible the only reasons she was still upright was because of the stone behind her. The ground shook, the wall shook, and she feared that soon it would give way, leaving her to crumple to the ground and die in this mass of bodies.

Brienne did not give into that fear. A rage burned in her heart. She would not die here, she refused, and she screamed again, hacking at the dead that threatened to overwhelm her even though her arm, her shoulder sent pain lancing through her at every movement. That rage only grew hotter when she could not hear Jaime. She could still feel him, could still hear the sound of his sword swinging, but as she used the last of her voice to rail against this doom, she thought for a moment his silence meant that he was giving up.

And if he was giving up, then it would be up to her to cut through every last one of these wights to get to him and knock some sense into him.

And then…

Everything stopped. The bodies crashed on top of each other, and she still hacked and hacked until her vision cleared enough to realize that they were no longer attacking, they were no longer moving.

Slowly, she lowered her sword, breath coming out of her in quick icy puffs visible in the air in front of her. Cold steam rose off her overheated body, sweat made her cuts burn. The rage was gone. Icy fear gripped at her as she turned to her left, dreading to see what might remain.

She was shaking, she realized. And when they caught eyes, there was a wave of relief that hit her and nearly knocked her to her knees. He lived. She saw Podrick next to him, and he was breathing and alive. And for a moment everything seemed like it was actually going to be okay for the three of them.

Until Podrick fell over.

She said something, not even hearing the words, only knowing they were a plea and she stumbled over the corpses to where he had fallen. Jaime was closest and was already saying something as they pulled Pod up. There was so much blood on all three of them, and she was in no mind to actually see what had caused her squire to falter.

Jaime said something about the Great Hall, and she only nodded, her throat feeling like she had swallowed glass. They carried his weight between them, the young man moaning in pain. It wasn’t easy getting over the mounds of dead, but finally after a few stumbles they actually made it onto solid ground. There were others alive, she could see their breathing in the air, saw the stupor in some eyes even as they passed them by. Pod came first. Tend to Pod, then come back for the others.

The Great Hall was silent as they moved inside. Not even a fire in the hearth. But cots had already been put out, preemptively awaiting the wounded in battle. A little sign that showed how much hope had been left before the battle enjoined. They settled Pod on a cot, and she began looking him over, finally realizing he had been struck through. The wound seeped instead of poured, but it was deep in the side of his abdomen.

“Help me get his brigandine off,” her voice was barely a rasp and she started undoing ties and buckles. “We need to at least bandage it, then head to the crypts for your brother and Lady Sansa.”

Her exhaustion showed in her words, as quiet as they were. Their task was not done. Check on the crypt, make sure they were alive and safe, then they would need to check for the wounded. The dead would have to be dealt with later.

A few tears slipped out of her eyes once they had her squire’s armor off, pushing up the padded shirt underneath. Jaime had found bandages somewhere, maybe at the other end of the hall, Brienne wasn’t sure. They wrapped it as tight as possible, and Brienne put her hand on Podrick’s shoulder. “We’ll be back soon, and with a maester if the Gods be good. Hang in there, Podrick.”

- 3 -
JAIME

Jaime was all-too-familiar with the sounds that ended a battle. The wailing, the weeping, the death throes that begged for mercy that would not come. There was always a cost, even for the side that won, and it was no different here as he and Brienne climbed a veritable mountain of corpses--freshly dead and otherwise--to get Pod to the Great Hall.

What was different was just how quiet it all was. Jaime heard the scrape of armor, the crumbling of stones that still fell, the distant, shuddering sobs of those who remained. But on the whole, the entirety of Winterfell was deeply subdued and he couldn’t be sure if it was because so few lived, or because none of them had actually expected to.

It would have been unsettling, had Jaime given himself the opportunity to feel anything beyond the need to keep moving; to remain on his feet because if he stopped for one second, he was sure he was going to collapse. He could see it in Brienne, as well. He could see her making a mental list of what needed to be done, just as he had. That list was unending, and he suspected one or both of them would drop before making significant headway. Anyone else would have done so already and felt no shame in it, but they had a duty to uphold--an oath that had been made when they both swore to fight on behalf of the living. And while the Jaime of just a few months’ past might have scoffed at that, he couldn’t manage that level of cynicism now. Not when they’d lived, despite every indication that they shouldn’t.

So he worked on that list right alongside her, getting Podrick to the nearest cot, his fingers oddly steady as he helped Brienne remove the boy’s brigandine, her squire’s dark red blood staining the padding below. The wound was deep, though it was clotting already. He might not bleed to death, but if they couldn’t find someone to properly treat him, he would succumb to the fever soon enough.

“We need to at least bandage it, then head to the crypts for your brother and Lady Sansa,” Brienne said, her voice a fraction of what it should be, sounding as if someone had taken a blade to stone.

Jaime sucked in a breath, feeling every rush of emotion he’d thus far denied himself beyond the fleeting relief that they were still alive. The crypts should have been safe, yet something had made the newly dead rise again. What if it was the same for the long dead? What if they would be forced to wade through countless corpses of innocent men, women, and children to find his brother among them?

He’d known it was a possibility, but he’d expected himself to die well before Tyrion. He’d hoped not to see it--not to be tested in such a way, when he knew he would crumple. He was close to it now, but Brienne’s iron resolve--even as her eyes shimmered with tears--kept him standing and focused on the task of fetching bandages, along with one of the thick furs from a pallet near the far wall.

When he returned, there were tracks running through the blood that stained Brienne’s cheeks. He met her gaze briefly, lips parted, but said nothing. He would be her strength if and when she needed it, as she was for him. Right now, she was still standing on her own two feet, held together by what Jaime suspected were rather fragile bits of string, but held together nonetheless.

“Easy now,” he said, helping to prop Pod into a sitting position so they could bandage him. His face was more ashen than Jaime was comfortable with, but his pulse was still strong and he was still breathing as well as could be expected.

“We’ll be back soon,” Brienne gripped his shoulder, “and with a maester if the Gods be good. Hang in there, Podrick.”

“Remember what I said. She’ll be very cross with you if you abandon your duties now.” Jaime might have reached for something lighthearted, but he didn’t quite make it. Instead he gave the boy a single pat on the cheek, certain Pod had saved he and Brienne both at least a time or two, as well.

Adrenaline was beginning to leave him, and he could feel an agonizing lethargy attempting to supercede it. Jaime kept breathing, kept moving, kept his mind keenly focused on the task at hand. Pod was as stable as they could make him for now. They needed to get to the crypts, which was surely a daunting task at present, but a task nonetheless.

He looked up at Brienne as she rose to her full height, her grip returning to Oathkeeper’s pommel. She was more resistant to this than he was, despite being less battle-hardened. She was better at continuing on simply because she had to, and Jaime would not insult her by asking if she was fit to go on; if she didn’t need the same care she’d insisted upon Pod having. She was still standing, as was he. There were others worse off, and he knew she would not allow herself to rest until she’d done everything she could to aid them.

A truer knight has never existed, Jaime thought with no small amount of awe.

They left the Great Hall, coming across others who were dragging half-dead survivors to their one and only salvation. Jaime gave what instruction he could as they continued on, but he kept pace with Brienne, kept himself standing, and tried not to dread what they might find in the crypts.

Others worked on the entrance to the crypts, clearing away the corpses the blocked the outside, attempting to pry open the heavy doors from where they were obviously barred. They lent their aid, and as senior authority of the men presently assembled, Brienne gave orders with what little was left of her voice. Jaime reinforced them, and when one of the men seemed overwhelmed, he pointed him in the direction of something useful.

All of it to keep from truly processing the horrors that awaited them. Near-mummified corpses were strewn about the tight corridors, the stench of decay overpowering his senses. The bodies of women and children were torn apart, Jaime’s stomach lurching at the sight. His steps hurried, and at some point he was calling out his brother’s name, certain he would find him in a similar state.

But Tyrion stood beside Lady Sansa, an obsidian dagger clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white. His expression held more than Jaime could ever wish to decipher, his eyes not truly focusing until they lifted to him.

“Jaime.” For a very long moment, he said nothing else, then, “That was, in retrospect, truly the worst plan I have ever had the displeasure of making.”

Jaime’s laugh came out in a heavy, forceful exhale, and before he was even aware what was happening, he dropped to his knees, his armor and scabbard clattering against the stones as he pulled his brother into an embrace that was far too tight. Tears stung his eyes, tracked down his cheeks, and he felt Tyrion clutch at him in return, silent but for his shuddering breaths.

“Come up with something better next time,” Jaime said as he pulled back.

“If there’s a next time of this, you might as well just hang me from the parapets.”

It soothed something inside of him, to know that even now, Tyrion could crack jokes. Though they’d made it through the battle, through the Long Night, Jaime still had not allowed himself to think there would be anything beyond it. But with that level of normalcy, perhaps there could be.

Clapping his brother on the shoulder, Jaime rose to his feet with teeth gritted, pain seeming to echo through his bones just as quiet sobs echoed through the crypts.

“You’re certainly not looking the part of the golden lion now,” Tyrion said, a deep furrow between his brows.

“I’ll live,” Jaime said, not finding the energy to downplay his injuries, and perhaps finally beginning to believe that he would live.

“It looks as though we both will, surprisingly enough.” A cautious expression crossed Tyrion’s face, but to his credit, he didn’t hesitate to ask, “and our Queen?”

“I don’t know,” Jaime admitted. “Alive, last I saw, but that feels like years ago now.”

As he spoke with his brother, he kept Brienne in his peripheral. Even now, it felt deeply wrong not to have her nearby. Residual battle instincts, perhaps, but he wasn’t willing to stray far from her, and when he heard Lady Sansa charge her with aiding the wounded, Jaime marked off another item in his list.

“I can escort the maesters to the Great Hall,” he offered, his gaze cutting to Brienne, “I’ll rejoin you as quickly as I’m able. The faster we can see to the wounded, the better chance they will have.”

And if she somehow dropped before he did, or otherwise buckled under the weight of all that had happened, he needed to be there, as he knew she would be for him. Even more challenging, he needed to get her to realize that at some point she, too, would have to be counted among the wounded.

- 4 -
BRIENNE

Brienne barely heard what Jaime was saying to Pod. Right now it was one foot in front of the other until they found Lady Sansa, alive or dead.

She could hear people moaning in pain, could smell the stench of death and offal as they moved through the courtyard to where the entrance to the crypts were. Other people were beginning to move, dragging the wounded, and Jaime thankfully was the one to give them words of guidance. Brienne was afraid if she slowed, even for a moment, that she would not be able to continue walking.

Pain radiated in her head, in her chest, her shoulders. She was sure she had broken ribs, the blood all over her face, still seeping slowly down from her forehead was a reminder that at some point before the day broke, she would need tending to.

But not until she reunited with her charge, not until the worse wounded were brought into the Great Hall. Not until her body finally decided to stop moving. She had a job to do, and she would see it through.

The bodies piled up in front of the crypts was unsurprising, but there were already people here trying to make a path to the doors. That was surprising. More were alive than suspected, and as some men seemed to falter in their duty, she and Jaime both bolstered them to continue on, helping drag corpse after corpse until they could finally enter the crypt.

The scene within was worse. It was one thing to see fighting men and women laying dead on the battlefield, but in here ancient bones lay next to murdered women and children, and she felt her throat tighten. They had been defenseless in here, just a tomb for them to perish in.

Brienne’s eyes darted around, looking for any sign of Sansa or Tyrion, or anyone living. The focus helped her keep her stomach. Jaime started calling after Tyrion, but Brienne had no voice to call for her Lady.

They found them not long after, Tyrion and Sansa close to each other, a group of survivors behind them. Both of them holding pointed dragonglass. Jaime went to Tyrion, who took a moment to speak, but somehow found it in him to try for levity.

Brienne stood before Sansa as Jaime and Tyrion embraced. She did not kneel, afraid that if she did she may not making it back on her legs. Inclining her head, “I am glad to see you safe, my Lady.”

Sansa looked at her, then over at the brothers’ reunion, hearing Jaime’s answer about the Queen. Her eyes looked up to Brienne, taking her hand and standing, “Arya? My brothers?”

Brienne shook her head, wishing she had taken a moment for the barest sip of water, her throat raw, “No word or sight of them yet, but there are plenty of wounded and living in the courtyard. Some have already been guided to the Great Hall.”

Sansa seemed to take this in, a slow nod. Something small passed between her and Tyrion before she turned towards the other survivors in the crypt. “Maesters, you know now is the time for you to get to work. Those of you that are not wounded will assist in tending to those who are. I want fires in every hearth still standing.”

“Lady Brienne, continue the search for the living and wounded, and see that they are directed to the Great Hall,” she had her orders, and was about about to turn when Jaime spoke up and caught her eye.

As he committed to taking the maesters to the hall, she took a moment to actually see him. He was alive, yes, but one arm was hanging oddly, muck and blood smeared across his face. She knew she couldn’t look much better. Brienne only gave a nod at his words, beginning to stride towards her duty. There was a part of her that wanted to tell him to have the maester’s look after him before returning to her, but she hoped it was something obvious that he should do. That and to make sure they took care of Podrick.

Once Brienne was at the top of the stairs, she started directing all the able-bodied living to assist her in her efforts. She found herself combing the courtyard, moving corpses when she thought she saw movement, finding the barely living buried under the mountains of dead. With each one, she called a man over. Each one gave her hope that the losses weren’t as bad as they seemed.

She was pulling up a young man who’d been pinned by falling debris, his arm was crushed, and he was wailing in pain. Brienne closed her eyes and gritted her teeth at the noise, tamping down the part of her that wanted to tell him to quit screaming. Pain flared behind her eyes, and when she was sure she would drop the man, Jaime was suddenly next to her, helping her carry him.

Brienne moved mechanically after that. Find someone alive who needed help, get them back to the great hall. Jaime followed after her, helping her when she needed it, finding someone else to help when she didn’t.

She had no idea how long they did it, her and Jaime collecting the wounded, issuing orders for those wandering knocking them out of a stupor. But as they began making their way down the corridor towards the outside again, she had to stop and brace herself against the wall. Every part of her was shaking, pain radiating through her body, and she dropped to her knees.

“I just need a moment,” Brienne could feel his eyes on her as he knelt beside her, but she kept her eyes on the wall, pressing her wounded forehead against the cold stone, “Just a moment to catch my breath.”

- 5 -
JAIME

The task of escorting the maesters to the Great Hall felt like a strange mix between a death march and a rescue mission. Perhaps it was the number of bodies he directed them to step around, or the people who were trapped and calling for help that he was forced to take note of, but otherwise put out of his mind until this task was complete. There were others helping, of course, but Jaime had placed himself in charge of something, and he carried out his duty with the silent, stalwart resolve of a lion leading his pride to more survivable lands. His back was rigid, his gait steadier than it had any right to be.

At least until that duty was complete. As the maesters got to work, Jaime could feel himself faltering. Paws that had seemed so sturdy moments before began to throb every time they touched the ground. His legs buckled, his proud countenance sinking under the weight of an endless night. He was utterly exhausted, and there wasn’t any part of him that didn’t ache; didn’t yearn for a dreamless rest in a wide, soft bed after the delicious, cleansing properties of a steaming hot bath.

But there was no one yet alive who had the luxury of such things--especially not Jaime Lannister. So he swayed on his feet but ultimately remained standing, ignoring the agitated roar of pain that pounded through his head. He brought one of the maesters specifically to Pod--a perk of being the one to escort them--and waited as the man looked him over. The bitter scent of healing herbs stung Jaime’s nostrils, and Podrick’s fitful groaning was none-too-pleasant, but he was reassured again that the boy would live. So long as the wound was kept clean, he would recover.

“Ser,” Pod called out to him as he started to leave.

The hand that clutched his arm was a surprise. Jaime wouldn’t have expected the squire to still have the strength. He certainly wouldn’t.

“Don’t let her work herself to death,” the young man croaked.

Jaime’s expression softened, and he gave a solemn nod. “I swear it.”

He found her attempting to do exactly that. Her face had gone deathly pale beneath the caked-on sweat and blood and viscera, her mouth contorted in a grimace as she attempted to lift a man who should’ve been unconscious, for the betterment of all involved. Jaime said nothing. He simply moved to the man’s other side and helped Brienne carry him to safety. He did the same for the next, and the next, and the next, their faces and afflictions blending together, the orders they gave all seeming to follow a script they both knew the words to.

It was never as the songs might describe it. There was no valor in this. It was mechanical--two individuals relying on their training and a vague sense of purpose to get them through when truly nothing else would. But it was not infallible, and as they started back outside, he saw Brienne buckle and sway like a mighty ironwood fighting a losing battle against a raging winter storm. For as sturdy as she was, there was only so much she could physically endure, and seeing her near-collapse almost brought Jaime down, as well, but for the vow he’d made to Podrick.

And to himself.

“I just need a moment,” she insisted, even as he knelt beside her, “Just a moment to catch my breath.”

Her breathing was measured--the deliberate breaths of someone who’d most likely broken a rib or two. She was shaking enough that he noticed even through her armor. And he suspected there would be more signs of pain and fatigue in her features, but she kept her face from him, stubbornly closed that window and acted as though she had any hope of him leaving her be.

His hand rested upon her shoulder, his arm across her back as though he intended to shield her from something. “And here I thought the entire world as we know it had changed in an instant. It’s good to see you are as stubborn a wench as ever I have known.”

Here, at the edge of the world, Jaime still sought out some old habits--familiarity she wouldn’t balk at, because on some level, he knew she expected this of him. And for the time being, they were alone in this hall, which led him toward a more recent familiarity.

“Brienne.” Her name was softly spoken. Not patronizing, not pitying. It was said with the weight of someone who found himself in a similar position. “Your lady charged you to see to the living and wounded. That includes yourself.”

He wouldn’t tell her she would be unable to save anyone further if she dropped of exhaustion or fell unconscious from pain. She knew that. No doubt she’d seen people she admired do the same, just as he had. Just as he was right now.

When she protested again, Jaime changed tactics, finding--as ever--an endless font of energy when it came to debating her. “I swore my service to you, Ser. If you will not take time to see to your wounds, then by my oath, I must.”

His green eyes fairly sparkled as he said it, but for as much amusement as there was glittering behind those words, there was a sincerity in them, too. He’d broken so many oaths. Even if it took the last of his energy, Jaime refused to break this one.

“Come away from the corridor, at least,” he urged, offering a hand to help her to her feet if she wished it.

Jaime suspected the crowded Great Hall was not a place where she would permit this. He also wasn’t certain he could even make it back there at this point, though it wasn’t a distance that would have seemed in any way significant before now. He ducked instead into a smaller, half-crumbled hall, long since abandoned from the looks of it.

“I’m going to fetch supplies,” he told her. “Don’t think to run off and continue on without me. I found you amidst a sea of death. I can manage it again.”

He disappeared only long enough to fetch a large jug of water, clean cloths, and bandages from the Great Hall, only a little surprised to find she hadn’t slipped out while he was gone. Jaime knelt on the stone again, the distant warmth beneath more soothing than it had any right to be. Wetting a cloth from the jug, he wordlessly began to clean the grime from her face to better see the most obvious wound, his touch perhaps more tender than it needed to be, but thorough just the same.

- 6 -
BRIENNE

When his hand touched her shoulder, she flinched from the slight shock of pain. Brienne willed herself to relax enough that hopefully he would not have noticed it. That’s when she felt his arm resting lightly above her upper back. She dared not look at him, not until she found her bearings again.

And then he used that damnable nickname for her he so loved, and she choked on a laugh before groaning from the pain in her ribs. “I plan on continuing to be stubborn, there’s still much to do.”

Jaime said her name in a way that under any circumstance would have either had her staring at him or fleeing from him, but right now, she couldn’t do either. The stone felt good against her too hot face, her legs did not want to work.

“My wounds can be tended once we get everyone inside who cannot carry themselves.” She had told him she intended to be stubborn. There were men dying out there, likely men she had commanded into battle this night, who would not survive til morning if someone did not find them. Brienne would not abandon them when they had survived the battle.

“I swore my service to you, Ser. If you will not take time to see to your wounds, then by my oath, I must.” When he spoke, she finally turned to look at him, perplexed. There was something mischievous in his look, but his voice was rather sincere. She was beginning to shake her head no, and stand on her own again when he interrupted that quiet refusal.

As much as she wanted to get back to work, maybe a moment to deal with her more pressing injuries would give her a second wind. Silently, she nodded and took his hand, letting him help her up. She followed him a bit numbly as he led her into a smaller, abandoned hall. The hearth was cold, but the room overall was not as cold as outside thanks to the hot springs that ran through the stones of Winterfell.

She found a bench when he mentioned supplies, only half hearing him when he told her to stay put. Another shuddering breath and she felt the exhaustion trying to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes just briefly, hoping to stave it off until Jaime returned, but the visions that danced across her eyelids were not things she wanted to remember right now. The clawed skeletal hands, the bright cold blue eyes of their attackers.

Her chest felt tight, and it took her a long moment to catch her breath again. In her panic, she stripped off her gloves, shaky fingers working to at least loosen the breastplate’s hold on her. When her hands would not cooperate she let out a frustrated cry that sounded little more than paper shuffling in the wind. Another moment to try and gather her wits, and her mind turned to Jaime. Why wasn’t he back yet, had he gotten waylaid when trying to return?

Brienne tried to listen for anything that might indicate the dead had arisen again, but all she heard was the faint moans of the wounded and dying. Her trembling hands turned back to trying to work on the breastplate, sure that she would lose all breath if she did not at least loosen it. Finally, she got two ties loose, and she felt more at ease.

When she brought her hands to rest on her knees, she saw her fingers stained by blood. Was it hers? Or was it blood from those she had carried, or the dead she had fought? There wasn’t much light in here, perhaps her mind was playing tricks. She really should start a fire in the hearth, Jaime likely expected her to have handled that much while he was gone.

Then he returned, and she wanted to say something, anything. Ask him to start the fire. Ask him to take off her breastplate, which she was sure was going to need repair at this point. Anything to break out of this cold panic that was settling into her.

But no words were found, and Jaime knelt in front of her after setting the supplies down next to her on the bench. Brienne did not look up at him, at first, but as he began to clean her face, she finally lifted her eyes to his. He looked like hell, and she was sure she looked worse. Even so, she still thought him beautiful, just like he had been beautiful when half dead at Harrenhal. His touch was soft, soothing, and she soon found that she had relaxed. Didn’t feel so trapped in her armor. There was a slight wince when he got closer to her head wound. Brienne couldn’t remember how she got it, but now that it was cleaner it burned fiercely.

“Is it bad?” Likely it was just a split in the skin near her hairline. At least she hoped. Her whole head hurt, but the pain from it radiated as he cleaned, no matter how tender he was being. “Ah, leave it alone for a moment, please.”

He hesitated, and she swallowed, “Tell me how deep it is while you help me out of my breastplate. It’s dented in, making it hard to breathe.”

So were the ribs that were likely broken, but she did not mention that. Not yet. They would have to be dealt with later by a maester.

- 7 -
JAIME

Jaime hadn’t noticed himself having too much trouble breathing. He’d almost certainly cracked a rib, or at the very least bruised one, but while his breaths came somewhat shallow, they never outright stopped. Until she lifted her eyes to his. There was so much there and Jaime felt the impact directly, like a brilliant burst of dragon fire alighting his heart. It was relief, mostly, that made something twist inside of him. Relief that they were both somehow alive. That she was somehow alive, and would stay as such if he had any say in it.

“Is it bad?”

The closer he came to the laceration, the more her body tensed. Jaime was as careful as he could be, but he needed to see, and that meant wiping the cloth over red, swollen skin. She hissed and drew away from him.

“Ah, leave it alone for a moment, please.”

A quip might have followed, but Jaime no longer had the energy for it. He’d evidently devoted all of that to just getting her to stop for a moment. He still thought it, of course. How she would likely have scoffed at him and told him to stop behaving like a child were their situations reversed.

Of course, that was the Brienne of years ago who’d been sharp with him because he’d been nothing but thorns to her. He didn’t know what this Brienne would say. His hand stilled, but before he could answer properly, she was already directing him.

“Tell me how deep it is while you help me out of my breastplate. It’s dented in, making it hard to breathe.”

His lips quirked just so. Perhaps he did have a little energy left after all. “You must truly be desperate to ask me for help. Surely you remember how lacking my dexterity is.”

Jaime could manage most things now, though he’d had to be helped into his armor before the battle. No doubt he’d have to be helped out of it, too. Perhaps they could trade, though permitting her to do that would also permit her to see how wounded he was in turn, so it would have to wait until she was properly cared for.

Setting the cloth aside, he began to work on the ties and buckles, many of which she’d loosened already. He tried to be quick with it, using his gold hand to brace against the plate as he worked. “It will have to be stitched,” he finally said, “and it will likely scar. When you’re ready, I’ll need to do a better job of cleaning it.”

She didn’t need to survive the battle only to succumb to fever and delirium in this wretched place.

Jaime was methodical in his task, focusing on that rather than the cruel scenario of Brienne dying after the fact. This work was somewhat soothing, and in a way it reminded him of squiring for Lord Crakehall. In every other way, it was nothing like that. He found it strangely intimate to remove pieces of the armor he’d gifted her. One pauldron, then the other. The loosened chestplate--an effort that took both of them--then the arm guards. He wanted to remove the rest of it, to check for hidden wounds, but she’d not asked that of him and so Jaime’s attention fell to the padded shirt she wore beneath, searching for obvious punctures. While there was plenty of blood, he couldn’t see anyplace that had been fully penetrated.

“Better?” he asked, gaze lifting to hers.

His hand moved to her side, and perhaps it was hypocritical for him to feel he could do that, but could not remove the rest of her armor. That touch had an immediate purpose, though, as Jaime felt the shuddered rise and fall of her breathing.

“You’ve broken a rib or two,” he said, trying to control his own strained breathing.

He moved just above her abdomen, where he could better feel the effect of each inhale. A silly thing to even do, when all he possessed was the training in how to dress wounds afield, but he’d seen enough maesters do it, each of them grumbling about punctured lungs. Not that he had the slightest idea what that would sound or feel like, and he was making himself more anxious just checking.

“There’s enough bandage for me to wrap it, but this shirt will need to come off first,” he said, gesturing to what was more or less another piece of armor.

In truth, it would be best to wrap it with no interference from clothing at all, but the chances of her allowing that seemed even more unlikely than their odds of surviving this night had been.

- 8 -
BRIENNE

“You must truly be desperate to ask me for help. Surely you remember how lacking my dexterity is.” Brienne’s face pinched. Of course, he only has one working hand. How could she expect him to help when she had two working ones, despite both of them trembling enough to cause her to fumble with simple tasks.

“I…” I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I need your help. It could have been any combination of those things, but when he started to help as she requested, her voice died. Brienne shaky hands went and loosened and undid what she could, her eyes casting down again.

When he finally told her the condition of the cut, she gave a faint nod. Stitches could wait, but she would allow him to clean it more once they completed their current task. Which he was doing a much better job than he would likely give himself credit for. Piece by piece, that which was restricting access to her breastplate was removed and laid aside. Each one made her breathe just a little bit easier.

Finally, the metal cage was off and she nearly slumped forward from the relief of it. Brienne could see him looking at the bloodstains on her padded shirt. His green eyes caught hers, “Better?”

“Yes,” she said as soft as she could.

Brienne expected him to go back to cleaning her face then, going after the wound that needed attention. Stitches usually meant a scar, another scar to mar her already ugly face. Jaime had other plans it seemed and his hand moved to her side, at her lower ribcage. She sucked in a breath and instantly regretted it. Pain lanced through her and her breathing labored. For a moment she forgot all about being shocked at the personal boundary he had crossed and rationalized it as him needing to check her for more injuries.

When he told her she had broken ribs, she almost laughed. Likely would have if it wouldn’t have caused more pain, “I could have told you that.”

Yet, he didn’t stop touching her, hand moving to check the extent of the damage, and she stared at his face, brows pinching together. And then he mentioned wrapping them and removing the padded shirt, and she stared even harder at him, as if she wanted to see exactly what he was thinking. But then she noticed other things too. His own exhaustion, the way his breathing was a bit stuttered too.

When he mentioned wrapping her ribs, she shook her head, “Wait.”

His armor was leather and plate, and still thick. His right arm was hanging oddly, as if his armor was the only thing keeping it from hanging limp. The weight of his gold hand seemed to pull on it more than it should, but there was no puncture mark in his armor. She reached forward and placed a hand on his right shoulder, attempting to feel its state through the leather and beaten metal pieces attached to it. His face instantly reacted, and she heard him suck in a breath before she saw his jaw tighten. To his credit, he did not pull away from her touch.

“Seems I’m not the only stubborn one.” She eyed him cautiously, bringing her hand back. “Is it dislocated? It’s hard to tell through the leather.”

When he affirmed it she huffed a little, wincing herself afterwards and took his arm in hand. “You should have told me. Come, let’s get it back in place.”

Her other hand moved to his other shoulder to guide him to sideface. Once he was in a better position for it, she manipulated his arm as little as was necessary to get it aligned, “Ready?”

When he gave her the go ahead, she moved quickly to get it back in place, using what little strength she had left for it. Once done, she slumped against his shoulder for a long moment, trying to ignore how much the jostling had bothered her broken ribs.

Throughout most of this post battle haze she had just been going through the motions, doing what must be done, keep her head clear of everything else. But after this, after being in such close proximity to him, those thoughts of duty were interrupted with a spark of joy.

“We lived.” She said softly into his pauldron, along with something that could have been a laugh, “We’re alive.”

- 9 -
JAIME

She was becoming more alert again, more aware. Jaime could see it when her eyes narrowed slightly, a furrow between her brow. He wanted to reach up and ease it with his thumb. Brush it away as he had much of the grime on her face. He knew it was meant for him, and while the prideful creature that he was quite liked her regard, he suspected she was about to shift the focus to him instead of herself.

He was proven right when she reached out to touch his shoulder. Jaime grimaced, his teeth clenching, breath hitching in obvious pain. He tried to steel himself, to affect a more neutral expression, but he knew he’d already lost the battle.

“Seems I’m not the only stubborn one. Is it dislocated? It’s hard to tell through the leather.”

“If I say no, will you leave it be?” There was a ghost of a smile on his lips. He reached up and settled a hand on the shoulder. Carefully, but it was tender just to the touch. “It is. I don’t remember when exactly it happened, but I can tell you it wasn’t pleasant.”

It wasn’t truly a debilitating injury though, in the grand scheme of things. The gashes on the back of his neck burned more, would likely be more susceptible to additional issues, but a dislocated shoulder on a handless arm was nothing to worry over.

Worry she did, though, taking his arm in hand. “You should have told me. Come, let’s get it back in place.”

“There were more pressing matters than my inability to use a,” he grunted as he turned to the side, facing away from her, “mostly useless arm.”

Jaime’s breaths came quicker, more labored as he prepared himself for what was to come. When she asked if he was ready, he let out a huff of laughter that made his chest hurt. “No. But do it anyway.”

He’d been taught from a young age to hide his pain. Jaime could distinctly remember being scolded by his father for crying after skinning his knees raw from a fall on the rocks. He’d been five, at the most. He was no longer that boy, but still the lesson lingered, along with every lesson that reinforced it over the years. Many of those given by Cersei.

Pain was a weakness a lion couldn’t afford. But Brienne had already seen his deepest pain, both the physical and the emotional. One had been a choice. The other had not. This time was a choice too, he supposed, though it seemed like less of one when she began to manipulate his arm. Jaime held his breath, letting it out in what was half a groan, half a growl as the joint was forced back into its socket.

The pain faded soon after, though, leaving behind a warmth that flowed through his body like a gentle stream winding its way through a sunlit glade. That warmth glowed even brighter when he felt the weight of her slumped against him, her head resting against his newly-set shoulder. In that moment, there was no pain. Whatever had flooded his body and his mind felt strangely euphoric, and even more so when she spoke.

“We lived.” Her words were soft, the strained exhale of a laugh following, “We’re alive.”

Perhaps it was a post-battle high. All of those intense, survival-fueled emotions coming to a head. He might have told himself that once. He likely would have convinced himself of it, too. But there was more in those words for him than a simple affirmation that they’d both managed to escape the inevitable for another day. Those words were a heavy door that was slowly opening to reveal an unknown future. A future Jaime hadn’t even allowed himself to consider until just moments before that horn sounded.

He was alive. They were both alive. Now what was he going to do about it?

The answer came in a rush of euphoric certainty. He had to twist his body at an awkward angle to reach out his hand, but even that only elicited the barest hum of pain. He cupped what he could of her face, palm resting against the warm skin of her jaw. Another affirmation of what she’d said, and a reminder of just how badly all of this could have gone.

Jaime refused to think of the icy blue eyes that would surely haunt his nightmares for years to come. Instead he thought of sapphires, finding himself blissfully lost in them when she lifted her head from his shoulder, confusion and caution and something else written across her features that he wanted to nurture.

So he did. Leaning forward, leaning up, he closed the distance that remained and touched his lips to hers.

- 10 -
BRIENNE

Maybe it could be attributed to being absolutely delirious from being exhausted and in pain, but she felt truly happy in that moment. Podrick was wounded, yes, but with the maesters treating him he had a good chance at living. Despite the amount of pain she was in, she was glad to be alive.

Most of all, Jaime was alive.

Frustrating as he might be, she felt her heart flutter at the thought. Her mind thought of the moment before the horns sounded, the quiet moment when they were alone after he had given her the greatest gift. The way he had looked at her.

They had lived. They had kept each other safe again.

Brienne felt him shifting and took another stuttered breath, intending to pull back. No doubt he would want to finish cleaning her head wound, and she might have even let him drag her to the maesters at this point. She knew she wouldn’t have the energy to continue on after this, her body feeling heavy from everything it had been put through; everything she’d done.

His hand touching her face brought her movement to a stop. It wasn’t a simple touch in the slightest, she could feel the full warmth of his calloused palm against the length of her jaw, his thumb resting on her cheek. Finally, she lifted her head fully from his shoulder, his hand never leaving her face, and took in the sight of him. There was something soft in his eyes, a glimmer of something she had seen before, that thing that she tried to ignore every time it made an appearance.

It frightened her, thrilled her, and confused her all at once. What if she was wrong about that look, maybe he was just trying to help her in some way again; get her back seated properly on the bench. Jaime Lannister was most certainly not interested in her.

As if he heard that thought and wanted to thoroughly disagree with it, she watched frozen as he moved towards her, leaned up, and kissed her.

She blinked, unable to do anything for a fraction of time. His lips were warm, moving slowly, uncertainly against hers. His beard, grime and all, tickled her face.

Brienne knew she had hesitated too long when he began to pull away, a searching and almost sad look in his eyes. That would not do.

She chased after his lips, pressing harder to them, daring to want something for herself. Daring to believe that maybe, just maybe this wasn’t some game he was playing. That this wasn’t just some post-battle comfort for both of them. That perhaps she was wrong that someone couldn’t want her.

It was awkward. She knew it was, but didn’t care. She’d never kissed anyone before, but she kept her lips to his, her hands moving up to clutch at his collar as if he would disappear like smoke if she didn’t. She wanted it to be real, needed it to be real.

His lips moved against hers, and she tried to follow his lead, eyes shut tight now, as she felt her emotions well up inside her.

- 11 -
JAIME

It would’ve been wrong to say everything changed in that moment. For Jaime, everything had changed some time ago. Set into motion when he’d had no choice but to see what Brienne truly was and who she could be. Kissing her was just… acceptance of those changes. It felt almost inevitable, and yet impossible that it should be happening at all.

There was every chance he should be dead now. Or still in King’s Landing, steadfastly devoted to someone who’d only ever used that devotion against him. But he was very much alive, and he was here, and those things were more than enough reason to ignore the fear that’d kept him from doing this sooner.

Her lips were chapped, but warm. Soft. His kiss was achingly gentle despite how long he was beginning to realize he’d wanted this. But… there was a problem, one Jaime became keenly aware of, his heart sinking as the reality of it finally reached his conscious mind. She wasn’t responding. She seemed utterly frozen, and while he could have accepted that for a few moments, he felt every single heartbeat that passed with only him moving his lips.

A crushing feeling came over him, all that uncertainty he’d tried to push aside having its say now. He’d been wrong. What he thought he’d seen in her eyes, that glowing affection… it was just an appreciation of what he’d given her. The things she’d done for him were just a matter of honor and oaths.

Any love she felt for him was that of a friend and comrade--nothing more. Why would she feel anything more? He’d broken nearly every vow he’d ever made. One decent decision couldn’t make up for a lifetime of honorless deeds. And that wasn’t even counting the fact that he was old and broken, far past his prime. Even if she could forgive all those things, the last and only lips he’d ever kissed had been his own sister’s. Of course she didn’t want him.

Jaime pulled away, searching her eyes, wondering just how much he’d ruined in the span of a few seconds. She wouldn’t feel comfortable around him anymore. She might dismiss him from her command entirely, and then where would he be? She--

She wasn’t letting him fully retreat. She followed him, and her lips pressed firmly to his, and suddenly Jaime’s mind went blank, cleared of all the thoughts that managed to invade in mere seconds.

It wasn’t perfect. To his knowledge, she was completely inexperienced and he had only one person to draw from. They were both battle-weary and covered in blood--Jaime more than her now. There wasn’t a coherent push and pull behind it, for it was at one moment a grasping desperation, and the next moment an affirmation that glowed as brightly as the sun.

But there was something beautiful in the clumsiness. The pieces fit together despite it all, and he felt more centered than he had in… he didn’t even know how long. It felt like there was nothing for him to lose. So he threw himself wholeheartedly into that kiss, his hand moving up to cover more of her face, to feel more warmth beneath his fingertips, three of them on her cheek now while the other two rested against her jaw. He shifted so that he was turned toward her more fully again, his lips parting just enough to trace his tongue over the seam of hers. It wasn’t insistent. He showed more restraint than he perhaps wanted to. But it didn’t feel right to make outright demands--not of her.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t prepared to coax and encourage, though, and when her lips finally parted, he slowly deepened the kiss, a soft sound of pleasure catching in the back of his throat when he did so.

- 12 -
BRIENNE

Brienne had no idea if she was doing this right, but he didn’t pull back again and his fingers were touching her face, and oh, something blazed hot right in the center of her chest. It was validation, it felt like being seen after all those longing looks between them.

Every one of those looks had a fresh meaning in her mind now. As far back as Harrenhal, when he left her in the chambers that were her prison. Always those looks when they said goodbye to one another. And those looks growing more earnest and more intense when he came to Winterfell.

I came to Winterfell because…

No. He had told her why he came and just because she wanted it to mean more, did not mean it actually did. Brienne had admired him, loved him though she tried to ignore it for far too long, and it felt like some girlish idiocy to overanalyze everything he had ever said to her.

Even so, more words that he had said still came to mind.

It’s yours. It will always be yours.

He was so warm, and the room so cold, as if just being this close to him was all she would ever need to survive the winter. Hot breath, coarse beard, and soft lips, now she knew why people did this. It was like drinking too much wine.

When his tongue pressed to her lips, it was a shock, but not one she pulled from. He was slow, but not overwhelming, and she let her lips part for him. If she was drunk on it before, she was completely gone with this. Tender, hopeful, as if every movement of his mouth against hers was seeking consent.

She tried to match him, tried to begin learning this odd and beautiful dance. Then Jaime made a noise in the back of his throat that made a shiver run down her neck and all the way down her spine. A moment later, she was making a similar noise and her hands, still shaky moved up his neck, and finally settled on cupping his face, her thumbs smearing through the grime on his cheeks.

Her eyes burned. Tears were not something she allowed herself often, even though she had allowed a few to fall when she was worrying over Podrick. But here, she was happy. It almost felt like the gift he had given her earlier this night. As if he was bestowing some new honor on her. As if saying she was worthy of more.

Finally she let her eyes open again, knowing they were shining, but not caring. Brienne had wanted too much, and never expected to receive. And now that she began to better understand what she was doing, even if she was still stumbling through it, she tried to take charge herself, mouth crushing against his harder. Pouring as much as she knew how into it.

He had to know, he had to see how much it meant to her.

- 13 -
JAIME

The noise she made in response, the feeling of her callused hands on his face made the moment feel all the more real. Jaime no longer felt like he was drifting, no longer feared he was liable to wake up at any moment only to realize he'd never made it off that battlefield. Her strength tethered him, just as it always did. And when she began to make her own desires clearer, taking what she wanted from him, he felt a flutter behind his breastbone, as though he were a boy again and this was the first time he'd ever been kissed.

In a way, perhaps it was. There was a mix of soft and hard to Brienne that he'd never experienced before. Much more of it was soft. More than anyone expected of her, he was sure of it. More than even he expected, despite knowing how tender her heart was. The hardness came in how eagerly she kissed him back, how she gripped him as though she was about to lose him, how she became more and more confident and expressive the longer the kiss lasted.

And all Jaime wanted was more. More of this. An eternity to bathe in this endless sunlight.

For now, he took what he could get. His hand moved into her hair, fingers threading through the short strands. His right arm came around her, gently resting against her back, still distantly conscious of the fact that he wasn't whole and keeping that gold hand and the stump beneath from touching her. Cersei tolerated the false hand, but she'd been utterly disgusted by what was left behind. She--

No. There was no place for Cersei here. No comparisons to be made. Brienne was something else. She always had been, even when he'd tried to ignore that bright spark. If he wanted this, if he wanted her, he was going to have to leave the rest of it behind.

It won't be that easy.

The thought struck his consciousness like the ring of steel. There was something bitter in it, and Jaime pushed it away, making himself more present in the moment, further deepening that kiss even as his lungs burned.

There was only so far he could push himself, though. At some point--far too soon--Jaime had to break that kiss and draw back from her. He took in a few ragged breaths, his gaze casting up to her, a smile on his lips he could scarcely contain. Pushing himself up a bit more, Jaime pressed his forehead to hers... then instantly regretted it when she sucked in a breath.

"Sorry," he said quickly, pulling away, his face pinching with concern as he looked at the gash on her forehead. "I can clean it now. Or you can let me take you over to the Great Hall and I suppose I'll let myself be seen to. So long as you will."

- 14 -
BRIENNE

It was a little surprising to Brienne how long someone could kiss without breathing. Sure there were moments of short breaths through her nose, but her lungs still burned as he pressed back, his mouth hungry on hers.

It felt like something had broken. Not something she particularly wanted to fix. Like a wall between them had shattered and things were finally pouring into and over them. It was hard to think of guarding her heart, or her reputation, during this magnificent moment.

But people needed air to breath, and when he pulled back she took in a great draught of it that caused her to groan from both the loss of his mouth and the pain in her ribs. Despite that pain, she was smiling. Not as brightly as when he knighted her, but only because she was near exhausted.

Jaime was leaning forward again, and she nearly wanted to laugh, pulling one arm around her midsection to hold her ribs, the remaining hand staying clutched to his face. She wanted to keep feeling his warmth, and she thought for a moment he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he did something much sweeter, and much more painful.

She clenched her jaw, but no matter how she tried, she could not prevent the hiss of pain, or her eyes watering from how the wound burned. He was already apologizing before she could reorient herself.

"Sorry. I can clean it now. Or you can let me take you over to the Great Hall and I suppose I'll let myself be seen to. So long as you will." She blinked, watching him for a moment as he spoke. The moment had been broken but it was not destroyed, and after a small span of silence she let out a giggle.

A hand came to her mouth, and she giggled again, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t think either of us are in the right condition to do this work for one another. We should probably go see the maesters.”

Not that she wanted to part from him, or this private moment. It was still sinking in what happened, still sinking in that he had kissed her and for a bright moment nothing else in the world seemed to exist.

The door to their little sanctuary suddenly scraped against the floor, and Brienne’s head whipped towards it. Was someone looking for them? A quick shot of the possibility of the dead returning once more saw her hand going to her sword. It was one of the women from the crypts, a serving girl she had seen working around Winterfell.

Brienne felt heat rising under her skin as she realized how close she and Jaime were still and she met the young woman’s eyes. For her part, she dipped her head at them both, “Just here to check the hearth, my lady.”

Brienne watched as she moved into the room, keeping her eyes to the floor, and headed to the hearth. Looking to Jaime, her face pinched a little, “Come on, let’s head back to the Great Hall.”

- 15 -
JAIME

While Jaime certainly acknowledged he was a prideful and arrogant creature, even he didn’t believe he truly knew the depths of this woman, as much as he wanted to. Oh, he knew her better than anyone else--of that he was certain. But there were sides of her, small facets he hadn’t yet seen.

The girlish giggle she let out was one such facet, and while he wasn’t exactly surprised, he was entirely delighted, a broad grin tugging at his chapped lips.

“Are you laughing at me, Ser? Do you dare besmirch my honor in this way?” His eyes sparkled like dark, glinting emeralds as he said it, that smile still firmly in place.

He wanted to kiss her again, but knew if he did that, they’d never make it to the maesters. They’d likely both just collapse in this freezing hall. Brienne shared the sentiment, and he was prepared to tease her about how distracting he evidently was when the door opened.

Acting on pure instinct, he put distance between the two of them. There was a physical ache to do it, and an ugly bitterness in him that he even had to. It took several moments for Jaime to realize that bitterness was centered around one person.

Cersei. The reason he even had that instinct was because of her. Because they couldn’t be caught. For as much as the Targaryens had carried on in that manner, it would’ve been ruinous to his family. To her. Or so she’d always said. He’d never wanted it to be a secret. Never wanted to feel shame over it. Some part of him still didn’t.

But from the time he was a boy, he’d learned to keep up public appearances as much as possible, and that included not being seen with Cersei in any position that could be considered indecent.

When the serving girl spoke, Jaime did feel shame. Brienne wasn’t Cersei, and there was nothing about this he wanted to hide. Unless… she wished it. He’d do it again. He’d hate himself for it, but he’d do it if he had to. She was a knight now. Lady Sansa’s sworn sword. Surely she couldn’t be seen with the likes of him.

Of course, she hadn’t pulled away. He had.

“Come on, let’s head back to the Great Hall,” Brienne said, her voice more subdued.

Jaime pushed himself to his feet, his whole body aching as he did so. He’d never thought of himself as too old to do anything, but he felt it now. A younger man, a man who was more whole might still be out there on the battlefield, pulling others to safety. He’d be lucky if he could even make it back to the Great Hall.

Still, he offered to help her up. Very awkwardly. His hands hung in the air beside her, unsure of what to do. But it was an offer.

He took measured breaths as they walked, steam curling in front of his face. He should tell her. Explain himself. Say something. But what was there to say? Oh, sorry I acted like a spooked horse back there. I’m so used to fucking my sister it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t have to instantly separate from kissing someone else.

Jaime’s fingers curled into his palm. That was sure to go over quite well. He kept the words to himself and kept his focus on getting to the Great Hall, his gaze drifting to her during the short walk. Even once they’d made it, as they checked in on Pod and were taken under the care of separate maesters, he caught himself looking for her. That mask had fallen back into place, and she was ever the dutiful knight again.

Silly to think he’d caused that by not saying anything, but it nagged at him nonetheless. There were so many times when he wanted to leave the cot he was sat down on, go over to hers, and explain every messy, horrible thing that was inside his head.

But he didn’t. Not while he was being treated, and not when he was shooed away to make space for those more injured than he. All he could manage was to seek her out, to look her over and ensure the maesters had done their job, then to ask:

“Do you have further need of me, Ser? If not, I’d ensure you made it back to your quarters in one piece, before I retire to the barracks.”

- 16 -
BRIENNE

Brienne hadn’t missed him skirting back when the woman had entered, but she did her best not to react outwardly. She failed of course, a slight lift of her brow, her eyes searching his as she told him they should go get tended to.

He seemed far away as she looked at him, as his thoughts had turned so far inward to a place that was nowhere near the happy moment they had just shared. He stood up finally, and for once she found his face entirely unreadable. If the girl had not been there, dropping wood on the ashes inside the hearth, she would have asked him what he was thinking about.

Which was a strange thing to think, as it wasn’t something she would normally do. Brienne had learned long ago not to ask questions when the answers to them could hurt. Despite the strangeness that clung in the air between them now, he was offering his hand to her.

Taking it, she rose with his assistance, one arm still clutching at her ribs. The chestplate and other bits of armor they removed still sat on the stool. Brienne had never left her armor somewhere where she could not easily access it, but she knew they were in no shape to carry it, and Podrick was in no shape to fetch it.

She’d just have to hope that it would be there when she returned.

Brienne let her hand linger in his for a moment, remembering rather vividly how easily they had both been touching earlier, and how quickly he had pulled back when someone saw them. So she dropped her hand once she was steady on her feet, and they both moved out of the room in silence.

She felt naked, being half armored, as if being seen like this would show how much she had opened herself up in that room. How she had taken and been given something that was very special to her. But perhaps it was just something that occured in the moment. Something that wouldn’t be repeated. If it was a single instance, she would hold to it, cherish the memory, and try to carry on as if it had not happened. Jaime was too quiet, and her tongue felt heavy in her mouth as they made their way into the Great Hall.

Pod was doing well enough, thankfully, but then she and Jaime were separated for treatment. She responded to the bandaging and words of the maesters mechanically, trying to find a center again. To retreat behind her everyday face, the one who prized her honor and oaths above all. It was hard to do, especially when she’d lift her eyes to where Jaime was in the room and find him looking at her. Still indecipherable, or perhaps it was, and she just wouldn’t let herself try and figure it out.

Brienne had been given instructions on avoiding certain tasks while her ribs were healing, and it frustrated her. She knew she would try to do them anyway on the morrow. There’d be too much to do and not enough people who were able. It was easier to find those thoughts, of what was going to need to be done, work she would need to be part of, than think of other things.

Those other things came calling a few moments after she had been cleared to leave.

“Do you have further need of me, Ser? If not, I’d ensure you made it back to your quarters in one piece, before I retire to the barracks.”

“I think I’m…” able to find my own way, she had started to snap, but allowed herself to look up at him. Was he as tender as her that her denying him this would hurt him? Heaving a soft sigh, she simply finished by saying, “Alright.”

She stood without his assistance this time, easier now with the bandages tight. Moving to the back of the hall, not waiting to see if he fell in stride with her. He did of course, almost like a squire, though much closer than any squire would attend.

There was a worry that her quarters would be part of the ruin, but as they moved deeper in -- stepping over corpses of the wights that had found their way inside the castle -- they found much of the interior was still standing strong.

Her head was still held high, though she kept glancing at him, hoping he would say something. Anything. Her words were still stuck in her throat, questions she feared unvoiced. Instead, the state of the castle tumbled out, “The destruction seems limited at least, but the defenses will take some time to rebuild.”

- 17 -
JAIME

She could very well have refused him. She likely should have. Jaime had little idea what he was even doing, and he was all too aware of the message it might send. Rumor would spread just from the lone serving girl who'd discovered them, and the people in the Great Hall who noticed him being unable to look away from her, and anyone on the battlefield who saw him no more than a stone's throw distant...

What does it matter?

She wasn't Cersei. The fact that Jaime had to keep reminding himself of that seemed like a failing on his part, but she wasn't. Anyone who was going to shame him over his interest in Brienne was someone whose counsel he didn't care to hear. She's too ugly for you. Too mannish. Too abrasive. Hardly a lady at all.

She was too honorable. Too just. Too good for him. Those were the real problems. A touch of naivete lingered in her, too, though much of it had been swept away by the winds of winter, after the deaths of Renly and Catelyn.

Still, Brienne accepted his offer, and from the subtle softness in her gaze, he guessed he'd been seen for the selfish little creature he was. Walking her back to her chambers had nothing to do with her current state of health, and everything to do with the rapidly unravelling state of Jaime's mind.

They walked the tight corridors that were made tighter still by the many corpses still littering the way. He was numb to it now, to stepping over them and moving aside. Emotion would return on the morrow, when all those bodies had to be dragged to a pyre, but for now Jaime was too tired to think much of anything about them.

He said nothing, lost inside his own thoughts. For though he could find nothing for the dead, he still seemed to have the capacity to feel things for and about the living. At least a few of them.

“The destruction seems limited at least," Brienne said, breaking the silence with--of course--talk of logistics, "but the defenses will take some time to rebuild.”

"There are men enough for it, I think. But you're right. I expect Winterfell won't be fully repaired for a year hence."

Amusement stirred in him, but he did his best to tamp it down. She'd misread it, he was certain of that. No doubt she'd find him irreverent, and perhaps he was, but this time in a very specific way as he recalled their conversation in the practice yard.

Another conversation where he'd been unable to say anything terribly useful.

Rather than dwell on that, he said, "Lady Sansa handled herself very well."

It seemed cruel to say her mother would be proud, so Jaime left it unsaid, wondering when exactly he'd begun to pay so much mind to his words. His father had always taught him to wield them as a weapon, but never once to care who he might wound with them. That was from... Brienne, he suspected.

By the time they'd arrived at her door--at least he assumed so, as she'd stopped--Jaime had run out of innocuous things to say. Nerves coiled in his stomach as he wondered, again, what he was doing here. He didn't deserve to be here. Didn't deserve her.

But the thought of returning to the barracks and trying to find rest amid the moaning of men who were as troubled by nightmares as he was... disconcerting, to say the last. Especially considering the fact that every time Jaime closed his eyes, Brienne's were replaced by ice.

In that moment, he knew exactly why he'd asked to accompany her. He could have said it, of course. Anything from I don't think I can be alone right now to I don't want to be parted from you.

Instead, what came out was, "You know, it's a very long walk back to the barracks. I'm close to collapsing already, and you've got floor space to spare, I'm sure..."

- 18 -
BRIENNE

He agreed with her, even giving his own estimation of the time it would take. While Brienne didn’t want to think of the next possible war coming for them here, that timeframe worried her. It was a worry she would need to let go for now, at least until the next war council.

Jaime brought up Sansa, and Brienne nodded, sparing a side glance his way. “She did. She’s weathered quite a few nightmares so far.”

She wanted to say she hoped it didn’t turn her as cold as winter. Sansa rarely shared her warmth these days, affected a cool and calculated mask for everyone. It worried Brienne, but she hoped once the Dragon Queen left for the south, Sansa’s smiles would come more easily.

Silence drifted between them. Her mind drifted to that moment again, and how warm she had felt. It had been nice -- no, better than nice -- but confusing, especially after having the time to distance herself from the moment. Hope and fear were seated firmly in her chest because of that kiss, and she wasn’t sure if she liked that very much.

The walk was short, but it felt like the corridor stretched further away the closer they got to her door. She paused in front of it, turning to him. His expression was pensive and guarded, and she lifted a brow at him.

"You know, it's a very long walk back to the barracks. I'm close to collapsing already, and you've got floor space to spare, I'm sure..." the expression that crossed her face at that statement was a mix of befuddlement and amusement.

It took a moment for it to soften into something else. He wasn’t asking to bed her, he was asking to be close to her in his own awkward way, of that she was absolutely sure. They had just traversed the Hells together hours before, and the nightmares that would conjure would better be faced together like they had been on the battlefield. Propriety be damned if anyone saw him go into her rooms. Yes, she was a noblewoman, but she had never been one for conventions.

That and Brienne wanted him close by. She told herself it was because it would allow them to be better prepared for another attack, but she wasn’t being completely truthful with herself.

She opened the door, giving him a gentle nod to him. Once he was inside, she followed, closing the door. The room was dark, the only heat coming from the springs that moved through the floors and walls of the interior. The air was still bitterly cold, and instead of speaking to him right away, she went to rekindle the hearth. A few logs, a bit of tinder, and a few shaky strikes at the flint brought a small amount of light into the room.

“It’s too cold to sleep on the floor, Ser,” she said softly, with a touch of nervousness. Which was ridiculous, for they had spent many nights back to back when prisoners together in the Riverlands. Perhaps it wasn’t so ridiculous, though. Things had changed with that kiss, were changing now, even if part of her was clinging to pretending they weren’t. So instead of thinking too long about the implications this situation might have, she focused on doing what needed to be done.

Using a bit a tinder from the hearth she lit a few of the candles in the room, before moving over to the stand she had for her armor. Bending over was frustrating, pain sketching through her chest as she made to loosen the remaining bits of her armor.

“I’ll help you with yours in a moment.” the bit of strain in her voice evident. “And then we can share the furs as if we were sleeping on the ground again.”

- 19 -
JAIME

There was suspicion in her eyes, and rightly so. He should not have asked what he did. In truth, he didn’t ask at all--that was how much of a coward he was in this moment. It took a great amount of stubbornness not to avert his gaze. But as he was already looking, he saw her expression soften.

It’s dangerous to give me the benefit of the doubt, wench.

Years ago, she would have believed the worst of him. But even that hadn’t lasted long into their delightful journey through the Riverlands. Now she might only believe that he was trying to have a laugh at her expense. Or finding some inept way to bed her that… honestly did not sound so far from the truth when he thought of it, nerves coiling in his stomach.

The part of him that wished to be near her to stave off the nightmares was pleased by the change in her expression. The rest of him was inclined to check the hall for passers by before he stepped inside, just in case. And there certainly were passers by, but most were either servants rushing about, or men who were dead on their feet and would scarcely have taken notice of the Mother herself welcoming them to her bosom.

So Jaime stepped inside, heard the heavy door shut behind him. The silence of the chamber was deafening, and he held to the sound of her boots on the stones as she moved about, readying the fire. Unsure what to do with himself, he began to unclasp his cloak and crouched to spread it upon the floor.

“It’s too cold to sleep on the floor, Ser.”

.He kept his humor pulled tightly around him as if he wielded a shield. “It’s too cold to sleep anywhere.”

He was prepared to resist, but the floor was another obstacle when he inevitably woke in the middle of the night, delirious with panic. It was better to see her directly, as soon as his eyes opened, than wonder if the nightmares were true.

Standing once more, Jaime draped his cloak over the back of a chair and watched, at a loss as she began to unclasp her armor. She was having difficulty with the lower pieces, but it took him far too long to react to the why of it.

“I’ll help you with yours in a moment.” she said, sounding as if pain had robbed her of half her breath. “And then we can share the furs as if we were sleeping on the ground again.”

“Because that was certainly a highlight of our combined existence,” he said reflexively. He was too tired, and it took him a moment to realize how that could be read. “I will try to be slightly less miserable this time.”

Rather than stick his foot any further in his mouth, Jaime crossed the room and knelt down, his eyes on his task as he focused on reaching the armor she could not. Once her greaves were unclasped, though, he could not seem to keep himself from looking up at her. It was a strange reversal of the previous evening. Or several evenings ago. He couldn’t recall how time functioned any longer.

“Pity Ser Arthur beat you to it,” he said, realizing he was making no sense whatsoever. If he hadn’t been a knight, he could never have knighted her. If he hadn’t been a knight, there was certainly no world in which he was worthy of being knighted by her.

And what would she be knighting him for? Killing his king? Abandoning his queen? Somehow managing to survive an endless night by virtue of her proximity to him? Or perhaps he was to be knighted for his adequate skills at kissing. Perhaps he could have a title that rivaled the Knight of Flowers.

Gods, he needed to sleep.

Jaime stood, already fussing with the ties of his brigandine, fully knowing he would be unable to pull them loose with one hand. After a time, he let her help him, staring down at her in the stupor he’d evidently entered. She was being surprisingly patient with him, though the underlying tension and frustration was impossible to ignore. And Jaime didn’t miss the single, solitary time her gaze strayed to his lips, a blush stealing across her cheeks.

It would be wrong to kiss her here. In the privacy of her chambers, Jaime wasn’t certain he could stop before he made a complete and utter ass of himself. And, to be fair, his current level of exhaustion was far more likely to see him end up on the floor than tangled in those furs with her.

“Pod looked well,” he said awkwardly. “Bit more color.”

- 20 -
BRIENNE

“Because that was certainly a highlight of our combined existence,” his retort came swift, enough for her to rise from where she had bent and give him a look of concern. When he continued, his tone had relaxed, “I will try to be slightly less miserable this time.”

“Only slightly?” There was a barb ready to fly out of her mouth, feeling suddenly tense at his words. It would be unbecoming considering all they had gone through, so she took a deep breath through her nose, watching him as he approached.

When he knelt, her eyebrow lift, but he made quicker work of her armor than she would have, even though his eyes remained lifted to look up at her while he did so. It was odd to see him like this, as if he were her squire and not her equal. It had stunned her so much she hadn’t even tried to wave him off.

“Pity Ser Arthur beat you to it,” he said in a way that only confused her more, and she lifted a hand to… do what exactly? Rest it on his head? His shoulder? Offer some sort of absolution? But his tone had been jesting hadn’t it. She took a step back after a moment with no idea what to do with how he was acting.

Thankfully, he was done with helping her with her armor. Instead of moving to help him with his, as she had promised, Brienne ended up staring at him for a long moment. Eventually, she moved over to help, the perplexed look still on her features as she did so. She did everything routinely, efficient but at the same time making sure to take care in case he had some hidden hurts.

But this close of a proximity made her thoughts stray again, and made her wonder if his strangeness was because of what had happened between them earlier. The confusion changed then, still uncertain, but her eyes kept straying to his face, his lips, and she felt her skin flush as she thought about how lost they had been in each other even if it had been so brief.

Euphoria at being alive was the best explanation. There likely would not be any other way she would seem desirable to anyone. Brienne flinched as she thought it, knowing it false, despite the years it had been drilled into her by men who could not see her as anything but someone to be tamed or someone who was a threat to them.

It was Jaime he broke the silence again, and she realized she had made nary a sound since he had helped her with her armor.

“He did. Hopefully his recovery time won’t be long,” it sounded more prudent than she meant it. Yes, they’d need the help, but Pod, despite his more casual personality, thrived when he had something to do with himself. “Being bedridden might make him more stir crazy than I would be. He did well tonight.”

She finished with his armor, the pieces in a neat pile since she did not have another rack to place them and stood back, putting some distance between them, “There, all done.”

She turned and moved to the water pitcher on the stand. It made a thunking noise when she picked it up, the water inside nearly completely frozen. She was able to pour a small amount into a cup, and she took a sip of it before offering it to him, a shy smile on her face. “Better than wine.”

- 21 -
JAIME

It felt like some small victory for her to admit she had trained Pod well enough for him to conduct himself well on the field and off. Of course, she hadn’t actually admitted that, but Jaime would allow himself to believe she was taking the credit. He simply wouldn’t tell her as much. She couldn’t argue with him if he never voiced the words.

Likely a wise decision overall, considering how often he found himself arguing with her. But a lion without a growl was nearly as useless as a lion without a paw.

Jaime did, however, keep his mouth shut as she finished with his armor. He needn’t go on about Arthur or Pod or any other absurdity any longer. He’d end up speaking of Cersei at some point, not even by choice, and that would hardly be a good decision for either of them.

He waited until she put some distance between them and focused on another task to swallow, running his hand over the front of his tunic as if it were a fine doublet to be smoothed down. He’d yet to return to his rooms, so the garment was ill-fitting. Clean, though, and warm enough. Certainly better than being caked in frozen blood and shit.

“Better than wine,” she said, offering him a cup of water.

“In that it was likely stagnant water before it froze and has perhaps had the chance to ferment? Yes, I agree.” That smile was something he was not eager to chase away with his sarcasm, though, so when Jaime accepted the cup, he added in a quieter voice, “Thank you. Did you get enough?”

He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip before handing it back. Better than wine was far from the truth, but it felt somewhat like sharing a wineskin. Lack of sleep had certainly made him feel as though he’d had a fair amount to drink. Or perhaps the miserable northern waters truly were fermented. Perhaps he would survive the dead only to succumb to the grim fate of shitting himself to death.

Now there was a lovely thought.

Jaime looked down at the floor again, at a spot before the fire. There was a rug there that looked… possibly more comfortable than sleeping on top of a sopping wet direwolf with brambles stuck in its matted fur.

“I really don’t mind sleeping on the floor. There’s… an appreciable difference between sleeping on the ground together in camp and sleeping in a bed after…” He cleared his throat, swallowing again. “Something other than the endless sniping that was taking place back then.”

- 22 -
BRIENNE

“In that it was perhaps stagnant water before it froze and has perhaps had the chance to ferment? Yes, I agree.” Did he always have to turn to something sarcastic? Usually that bite was reserved for something that annoyed him, and she wondered if her quiet confusion had done so. Yet, his tone softened considerably just a few seconds later, “Thank you. Did you get enough?”

“For now. I doubt much more would make me ill, but it’s too cold for my liking really,” Brienne felt as if she was beginning to ramble a bit, and instead placed the cup on the table once he had passed it back to her. If he wanted some more, he could take it himself.

When she looked back at him, his eyes were scanning the floor. Had a rat crawled in while they were talking? Her eyes moved to follow his gaze, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. Then he started acting strange again. Which was absurd. He was the one who requested to sleep here, and she knew for sure from the way he was acting that it wasn’t to try and steal her honor.

“I really don’t mind sleeping on the floor. There’s… an appreciable difference between sleeping on the ground together in camp and sleeping in a bed after…” Brienne gave him her are you fucking kidding me stare, “Something other than the endless sniping that was taking place back then.”

“Unless you plan on keeping me up all night with insults and japes, then there’s nothing wrong with you sharing the bed. You’ll be warmer and better rested,” It was logical, they both needed to be at their best, and him sleeping on the floor he would definitely not be at his best.

So she gave him a moment to process what she said before crossing her arms, and taking a step backwards towards the bed. Whether or not he was coming, she was going to get under those furs soon, and he could be ridiculous if he wanted.

Though, that nervousness seemed almost fearful. Was he afraid of her? Or of something else? She stopped walking, her head tilting just a fraction to the side as she watched him. Gods, what was even going on in his mind. When they weren’t talking, they seemed nearly in sync, but conversation when it wasn’t about battle was like tripping over every root in a forest.

“What are you afraid of, Jaime?” It was nearly brusque, but more to hide the fact that her own nervousness was returning. Surely, he didn’t care about appearances? She certainly didn’t. So what else could it be?

- 23 -
JAIME

“Unless you plan on keeping me up all night with insults and japes, then there’s nothing wrong with you sharing the bed. You’ll be warmer and better rested.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he answered quickly, a bit of that snarl to his voice, half-hearted as it was. “I am perfectly capable of projecting my japes and insults, as you well know.”

That one step backward made his heart trip over several consecutive beats. There was nothing remotely inviting about the way she was looking at him, beyond the invitation to stop being a damn fool and sleep in a place where he’d be more well rested. But as the shadows from the firelight played across her features, Jaime could imagine it.

She was a maid still, yes, and could be shy under certain circumstances. There was certainly a naivety about her. But it felt to Jaime that she would not always remain meek and in need of a man to “overpower” her, as he’d once joked. Perhaps that was merely the desire of a broken man, wanting her to want him back, but he had proof of it now, did he not? A bit of guidance, a chance to see she was not being led into mockery, and she became something closer to that warrior she was on the battlefield.

And thoughts like those were precisely why he should sleep on the floor. He knew he was too tired and thought too highly of her to try anything at all, really. He knew he’d likely stumble over it just as he was stumbling over this ridiculous move of chivalry now. But it felt… necessary, just the same.

He couldn’t answer why, yet Brienne asked, and so he tried.

“I asked to stay here because every time I close my eyes, I imagine never opening them again,” he admitted, remembering how close he’d come to that reality. “Or I imagine that when I do open them, we’ll be back on the battlements and I’ll be staring down at your lifeless corpse amidst the pile, right at the moment when your eyes open again. I don’t want you to be a ten minute walk away when I inevitably wake in the middle of the night and need to know it was just a dream. I don’t want you to be beyond my reach, because not having an immediate answer to that question…”

It might very well be the thing that killed him.

The floor would accomplish that well enough, however, and it wasn’t truly what she was asking, though Jaime was somewhat glad to have unburdened himself of it. Better now than in the middle of the night.

“As to the rest of it…” He stepped toward her, though even he wasn’t sure as to why. Perhaps some things needed to be said in closer proximity. “You are my commander here, Brienne. You are respected as you should be. You are a knight. And I ill like the title of ‘Kingslayer’s Whore’ being conferred upon you here. It was bad enough in the Riverlands.”

- 24 -
BRIENNE

He answered her, and had he been anyone else it would have been a thorough answer. Well, at least the first part of it. Her expression changed when he got the part about that particular monicker that had been long left behind.

It was just one more thing added to the many names she had been given that were unkind, so while it did occasionally cast a crack in her walls, it was not something that quite stung when falling from the lips of people who didn’t know any better.

Brienne crossed her arms while she looked at him, starting with the easier of his replies, “That I understood. It’s the very reason I agreed to let you stay here tonight. Better to make sure you’re breathing when you’re not far away.”

She gave a brief sniff afterwards, almost wanting to ignore the rest of it entirely. Yet, it wasn’t something she could ignore, especially when he closed the distance between them a little. “I am all those things, yes. I am a knight because of you. If someone wants to make an assumption about what I am, and call me that particular insult, they’ll already have made it. You are in my room, and unless someone wants to come barging in, they’ll make their assumption about what’s going on behind my door.”

Tired of standing, and even more tired of the debate, she sat on the edge of the bed and swiped a hand across her face. It caused a wince when she inadvertently moved across the bandage on her forehead, and she gave a light snort of a laugh afterwards. Looking up, she shook her head a little, “I’m not going to force you, but you’ll be nearly useless tomorrow if you sleep on the floor. I ask, as your friend, that you not do that to yourself, and as your commander, to please consider everything that needs to be done tomorrow.”

With that, she pulled the furs down and slid under them. It took a moment to get situated, but when she did, she was lying with her back to him. He’d need to make the choice, she wasn’t his mother. Brienne could only hope he’d make the better one.

- 25 -
JAIME

“I am all those things, yes. I am a knight because of you,” she pointed out, and Jaime had to work hard not to scoff. “If someone wants to make an assumption about what I am, and call me that particular insult, they’ll already have made it. You are in my room, and unless someone wants to come barging in, they’ll make their assumption about what’s going on behind my door.”

She was right, of course. The rumors had been baseless before Harrenhal. It was difficult for skeptics to say he wouldn’t bed her after that, and undoubtedly more difficult now, if not impossible in Jaime’s eyes. But then, it had never been about him. Calling her “Kingslayer’s Whore” was always meant to make a mockery of Brienne, not Jaime.

He wasn’t interested in discussing the nuance of lazy insults, though, and neither was she. He watched as she sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as she accidentally brushed against the bandage.

“I’m not going to force you, but you’ll be nearly useless tomorrow if you sleep on the floor. I ask, as your friend, that you not do that to yourself, and as your commander, to please consider everything that needs to be done tomorrow.”

Damnable woman. He couldn’t ignore either of those pleas--and they were pleas, as much as he’d never known Brienne to beg for anything. She wouldn’t force him, and she wouldn’t ask again. But she would be disappointed, and perhaps that was enough.

Also, it was fucking freezing, and Jaime’s entire body was sore, so the choice not to sleep on the floor was easier than he’d let it be.

He let out a dramatic sigh, though, just for good measure. With his scabbard placed aside, Widow’s Wail resting near its mate, Jaime moved to the bed and sat down upon it as gently as he was able. He pulled off his boots, biting back a groan of pain as he did so, then lay down, getting under his side of the furs.

It would have been more respectable to turn away from her, as well, but Jaime remained on his back for a moment before turning onto his side to face her. His gaze moved over her back, her shirt pulled taut at the strong, broad line of her shoulders from the way she was laying. He watched her breathing, taking comfort in it, though not as much as he wished.

Reaching out tentatively, Jaime’s hand hovered above her shoulder. He withdrew it, thinking himself foolish, but moments later he’d returned it, and let himself touch her. His hand rested there, between her shoulder and her back, finding more warmth and reassurance from that than what the fire or the furs offered.

Slowly, Jaime slid himself closer, until there were only a few inches between her back and his front. He didn’t breathe for a moment, waiting for her to shrug him off, to ask him what he was doing, like before. When she didn’t, he moved his arm so that it could settle loosely about her, and ducked his head to rest against the warmth of her upper back. He didn’t say a word--he wasn’t entirely sure he could--but he felt markedly better about… nearly everything, or at least everything he allowed to touch him in this room.

- 26 -
BRIENNE

He didn’t say anything, which was good. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold back any retorts even if she wasn’t looking at him. Only gave out a sigh that sounded like a petulant child, which gave way to him sitting on the side of the bed.

It was strange to feel the movement, and she scooted over a little in case her large form was taking up too much room. When he groaned, she almost turned, but he was soon shuffling under the covers.

Despite knowing that he wasn’t going to do anything untoward, it didn’t make her less nervous now that he was in the bed with her. She shut her eyes, expecting that after a few moments, him sliding to one side so his back faced her. And for a long moment that's exactly what she believed happened. Until she felt his hand touch her. It was just a simple touch, as if he was seeking to make sure she was real. Still, it made her stop breathing for the moment, wondering what exactly he was doing.

Brienne knew it was foolish. She trusted him, but hadn’t some part of her also hoped for something else to happen? Despite fatigue, despite the pain they both were in, perhaps some girlish part of her had hoped he might kiss her again. Make her feel like she was something more than a warrior, more than a knight.

Then Jaime moved closer, and she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. It was soothing to feel, sharing warmth. They’d done that plenty when left without a tent in the Riverlands, though it wasn’t quite so intimate as this. She finally allowed herself to breathe as he moved his arm to settle over her and wondered at the fact that his head was pressed against her.

Perhaps Brienne wasn’t the only person in Winterfell that felt touch starved and in need of comfort. Which was her own fault, she knew. She’d been the one to keep up her walls, not wanting to entertain the thought of that giant brute of a man who looked at her with a combination of lust and awe.

No, she had no interest in Tormund or the way he looked at her. She let out a soft sigh, knowing that the only person she wanted to see look at her like that was currently nearly spooning her. She lifted a hand and entwined her fingers with his despite the fine tremble snaking through her. Would he reject it?

“Goodnight, Jaime.” she said softly, hoping that this would be enough for them both to sleep soundly.

- 27 -
JAIME

He'd never been permitted to sleep at Cersei's side; to wake with her in the morning. Once his cock was soft, she had no more use of him. When he was younger, Jaime distinctly remembered begging her. It was shortly after their mother had separated them, and he'd never felt such suffocating anxiety as when he was forced apart from his twin. He'd needed her there, just to feel her warmth, to see the rise and fall of her chest and know that she drew breath. Because if she did, that meant Jaime must, as well.

For as young as they'd both been, Cersei had still seen the practicality of the issue. If they were caught at that age, there was no way to defend it as simply the curious nature of twins. She would be disgraced and her prospects would suffer. Even then, she'd been acutely aware of the fact that she was at a marriageable age and no man worthy of her would tolerate a wife who allowed her brother to despoil her.

Jaime had wanted comfort alone, but he'd learned the hard way never to seek it from her. The room always still smelled of sex when he left, tucking his cock into his breeches and going about his business as if it wasn't slowly killing him more and more each time.

It was a strange thing to realize such "normalcy" was never to be a facet of his life again. Each time he'd gone back to Cersei, he'd faltered, even when he swore to himself it was the last time. She was an addiction. She always had been. But rather than focusing on the fleeting moments of euphoria, Jaime now saw the staggering numbness, the delirium, the complete loss of self he'd permitted at her hand. And his own.

In Cersei's mind, she was nothing without him. He'd believed that once, too. Even on the ride from King's Landing, he'd questioned himself. What was he without his twin? He could not breathe, could not exist without her near, and yet he had. By the stubborn, infuriating will of another woman, he'd done just that in the Riverlands, and again here in Winterfell.

Will I ever stop thinking about her?

Cersei did not belong here, in this quiet stillness and warmth, when he could feel Brienne's broad form beneath his arm. Yet he feared she always would be here, carried with him in his mind if not his heart. He truly was a broken man, and so arrogant to think he had anything to offer the only other woman whose bed he'd shared. He was worth more as a man when he'd been caked in his own shit for a year, drenched to the bone, half-starved and wasting away, yet still all too capable.

The fact that he'd somehow survived the Long Night seemed incidental. He would put it down to fear, adrenaline, and the wench's insistence that he not simply lay down and die. Even now if she could hear his thoughts she would likely shove him out of bed and tell him to arm himself. She'd never tolerate that spiral of misery and worthlessness in anyone, least of all him.

That was just part of the reason it was so clear that he didn't deserve her, even as a friend. The Gods truly must have had it out for the girl, cursing her with such a wretched--

Her hand sought his. Not the delicate, dainty fingers of his former lover, but the thick fingers of a warrior curling around his own. Her hand was still a touch cold, though here beneath the furs it warmed in time, and Jaime fought back a fervent panic that beat like a caged bird in his chest.

He didn't know how to do this. These tender affections, things he'd craved for so long but had given up on ever getting. Perhaps it wasn't even affection. Perhaps it was just a way to ground herself after the battle. One more tether to keep her in the present instead of the past, should she wake from a nightmare of what might have been.

Jaime shut his eyes tight, his face pressing against her warm, broad back. They both smelled of sweat and death, but Jaime's senses had been dulled to it many hours ago. She was breathing. She was here. She was... Not his, by any stretch of the imagination. One kiss didn't make her that, and Brienne of Tarth would never belong to any man. She wasn't pushing him away, though. She wasn't tossing him out to fend for himself, and that was enough.

"Goodnight, Jaime," came her soft words, spoken on the edge of sleep.

His fingers laced more fully with hers, but he said nothing else of it, nor did he dare moving in the slightest. He was almost scared even to breathe.

"Goodnight, Brienne," he returned, and though the urge to protect himself with some manner of quip was strong, he let it rest as it was, allowing blissful unconsciousness to claim him moments later.

***

He woke twice in the night, in measures of the exact state he'd feared. First he'd just been disoriented and afraid. It took a great effort to open his eyes, so Jaime had been certain he was dead. Once he'd realized that wasn't the case, a worse fear hit him--that he was the only one to survive.

Fortunately he'd kept his senses enough to feel the warmth against his own body. At some point he must have drawn Brienne closer, or perhaps she'd done that herself. They were flush with one another, hands still linked. He remained awake for perhaps an hour afterward, just listening to the rhythmic sound of her breathing, letting himself be soothed by the rise and fall of each inhale and exhale.

The next time hadn't been so peaceful.

In his nightmare, he'd been taken under by the sea of the dead, suffocating beneath them. Jaime thrashed violently, feeling his arms pinned down, then his legs. There was weight above him and he tried desperately to push it away with his limited strength.

"Jaime!" someone yelled in a firm voice, though there was an edge of panic to it. "You're safe. I swear to you, you're safe. Just listen to me, look at me."

It still took him what felt like an eternity to realize it was Brienne speaking to him. It was her weight atop him, too. Her pinning him down, ensuring he didn't hurt himself. He must have been more active in his sleep than he ever thought to warrant such a thing, but there was an odd comfort to it as he looked up into worried sapphire eyes.

And because no Lannister had ever learned when to hold their tongue, he said, "This is quite the pretense to find yourself astride me, wench. You might have simply asked."

"Seven take you, Jaime Lannister," she growled at him, shoving him into the mattress before she rolled off of him. "The next time this happens, see if you don't end up on the floor."

He'd caught the hint of a blush in the dim light, the hearth having burned low again. Instantly regretting so many of his choices, Jaime decided to do the honorable thing and rose to add more wood to the smoldering embers, waiting until the logs caught.

He stood nearby, contemplating that wolf pelt on the floor again. Brienne was watching him nearly the entire time.

"I am not having this argument with you again. Come back to bed or don't. It matters little to me."

He knew that was a lie, but he let her have it. He also conceded that there was no valor in being a fool now, and so he slipped under the furs again, laying beside her. The intimate contact of earlier felt as if it would be unwelcome now, and Jaime knew he only had himself to blame.

"I'm sorry if I worried you," he finally said, staring at her back.

He saw her shoulders tense when he began to speak, then relax just as quickly. She let out a soft sigh before saying, "Go to sleep, Jaime."

And so he did, his eyes closing, those nightmares suppressed at least for a few hours until the day--and all its tasks--greeted them.