Chapter Text
Jaime woke up feeling cold all over.
He supposed, on balance, it was just as well he could feel the cold. It meant that he had not turned into a wight overnight.
He glanced at Brienne’s shock of pale hair and long eyelashes brushing her cheeks above the edge of the traveling cloak, in which she was wrapped up tight as a sausage. She slept still as the milky light filled the forest. In a moment, Jaime would get up and start a small fire, so the wench would wake up to at least a vague suggestion of warmth.
He could have been lying in a silken bed in King’s Landing. He could have been wearing a white cloak still and had his sister warm him.
On balance, as he lay in the middle of the winter forest and watched Brienne sleep, Jaime vastly preferred to be where he was.