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“So,” Tyrion said as he leaned against Jaime’s door frame. He crossed his arms and gave his brother a speculative look that held just a hint of mischief. “When are you going to tell her?”
Jaime glanced at his brother. He’d been buried deep in a book. Reading had never been a favorite pastime—not showy enough, Tyrion had said once—but the battle had left him exhausted and he had few matters to attend to in Winterfell. The volume was a somewhat fantastical history of Bran the Builder, but what had really caught Jaime’s attention had been the illuminations. There were many amusing illustrations in the margins, and it kept his mind off other more serious considerations.
“Tell who, what?” he asked. Tyrion gave him a slightly incredulous smile as he stepped into the room. He shut the door and took a seat on Jaime’s bed.
“When are you going to tell your lady knight you’re in love with her?”
Jaime snapped the book shut. His eyes narrowed as he regarded his little brother, knowing he’d have to word his answer very carefully if he was going to avoid giving Tyrion any more ammunition.
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Mayhaps because you are in love with her, and because you’ve both survived almost certain death, and because you’re not getting any younger.” Then, when Jaime started to open his mouth to protest, he continued: “You’re never more than a few paces away from her. You look at her as if she’s the one that makes the sun rise. You can’t seem to control your limbs around her, and you forget everyone else whenever she looks at you back. She looks at you more than you think, you know, though how you could miss her glances with the way you stare is a great mystery to us all.”
“Ah.” Jaime ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the book in his lap. He swallowed and asked, “You all?”
“Well, Pod and I, though I believe Lady Sansa has noticed as well.”
“Wonderful.” Had he truly been so obvious? But of course he’d been. He hadn’t really tried to keep his admiration and affection for Brienne a secret, he just didn’t want to spook her. He’d seen her responses to Tormund’s ardent stares and he hadn’t wanted to make the same mistake. His idea had been take a page from her book: he knew she was out of his reach, but he wanted to give her anything it was in his power to give. If that meant caring for her from afar, so be it. That would be enough.
Only it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. Whenever Brienne was near him, especially now that the Night King had been defeated, he could feel the pressure building up in his chest. If only he’d learned a little restraint in his life…
Tyrion watched him fuss with the book in his hand. “Jaime, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Being in love with Ser Lady Brienne speaks highly of you, and I don’t think you’d be rebuffed.”
“You know better than that,” Jaime replied, pouring all his bitterness into the words. “You said it yourself, I’m old. Old and crippled. I pushed a boy out of a window hoping to kill him. I’ve spent my life dedicated to one of the worst monsters to ever sit on the Iron Throne. I watched my children die and then made another one with that same monster. Coming to Winterfell was the right decision, but it’s far too little and it’s probably too late. I doubt Queen Daenerys has had her last word when it comes to me now that I’m no longer needed to fight the dead.”
Tyrion sighed. “She’s not her father, Jaime. And she has other concerns, such as marching south to reclaim her throne.”
“Yes, and she has no reason to trust me when it comes to Cersei. No one does.”
“I do.”
Jaime’s head snapped up and he looked at Tyrion in shock. His younger brother shrugged, then shoved himself off the bed and wandered over to the small table where the wine flagon was.
“I do,” he repeated. “Jaime, you rode away from Cersei in one of her greatest hours of need. You walked away from me when I was talking about her—to make puppy eyes at your extraordinary knight, if I remember right. A year ago—a few months ago—I never would have believed either of those things to be possible. And even then, I wasn’t completely sure the break was a clean one until I watched you knight Lady Brienne.”
The cherished memory made Jaime smile to himself, and Tyrion gestured at him with his now-full goblet. “This is what I mean. You’re besotted, you idiot.”
“You know she’ll go south. Lady Sansa might not like it, but Jon Snow bent the knee and was made Warden of the North. When he calls his banners for Queen Daenerys, Winterfell will have to follow. And Brienne will go with them.”
Tyrion took a sip from the goblet, made a face, then swallowed a larger gulp. “You’re not going south? I didn’t think the North suited you all that well, brother.”
“It suited me better than I thought it would, I admit. And like I said, I doubt your queen will trust me in her battle against Cersei.”
“So what is your plan? Will you ride south and join our sister again, defend the throne and our House against the dreaded Dragon Queen?”
Jaime’s throat went dry, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he thought, fleetingly, of his unborn child. Tyrion watched his brother’s fingers tighten around the book he still held until the knuckles were white, and then there was a long sigh. The older man’s shoulders relaxed, and though there was pain in his eyes when he opened them, the resolve that had brought him up here had not failed.
“No,” he said at last. “I won’t go back. I understand what has to happen. Daenerys isn’t the queen I chose, but I know…I know Cersei can’t…”
Tyrion didn’t make him say it. “Will you stay here, then?”
“I suppose I’ll go…I’ll go where Brienne goes. Even if it’s south, even if it means…”
Tyrion walked closer and clasped Jaime’s arm, offering him meager enough comfort. Still, his older brother smiled down at him.
“You’ve placed your trust and loyalty in the right hands, Jaime. I’m glad Brienne has won your heart. She certainly has no intention of using it against you.” Then he offered his brother the goblet before adding, “Now, back to the original question…when are you going to tell her all this?”
Jaime groaned into the goblet as he drank, and Tyrion chuckled and patted his arm.
“Time’s wasting, brother. And while you’re doing that, I may look into having a new banner designed for you. An old silver lion under a golden sunburst…yes, I think that will suit nicely…” he mused, skipping out of Jaime’s reach when his brother tried to shove him. “Go! Before I tell her for you!”
==
Go, Tyrion had said, so Jaime went. He wandered through Winterfell’s yards and halls, marveling at the damage and the fact that he’d somehow survived the carnage. He would not have, without Brienne.
Brienne. Try as he might to stay focused, his mind wandered to her over and over again. It snagged on her name, on the memory of her eyes, on her unflagging courage and honor, on her strength—
He sighed. Tyrion was right, he was besotted. And he had no intention of being separated from her again, even if it meant trailing after her as a hedge knight. Even if it meant—and his heart contracted at the thought—fighting in the battle against King’s Landing for her.
He had known on the long ride to Winterfell that he needed to accept what might happen if he survived the battle against the dead. At first his anger had made it an easy decision, but as his temper had cooled and long miles stretched before him, he’d had time to think. Walking out of King’s Landing that day had meant more than just keeping an oath to fight for the living. It had meant choosing to leave behind everything that had once given his life meaning. It meant acknowledging that he would have a role to play in his sister’s demise.
He’d faltered twice, but in the end he kept moving in the right direction.
He didn’t think he could kill Cersei. Even assaulting the city was going to be difficult, knowing that victory would mean her death. Putting a Targaryen on the Iron Throne didn’t exactly sit well with him either, but his brother would be with her.
And through it all, he would be with Brienne.
He found her in the first place he should have looked: Lady Sansa’s solar. Lady Arya was there too, along with Gilly and baby Sam. They were discussing how best to deal with Winterfell’s repairs and how long they could support the remaining refugees. All of them seemed to understand that they would shortly be following Jon and Daenerys south, but there were many non-combatants that would stay behind, and arrangements for their survival had to be made. Sansa and Arya were arguing about which of them would march south with their remaining forces, but Jaime suspected Sansa would let Arya win in the end.
He straightened up, smoothed down his jerkin and furs, and knocked on the open door. When the room’s occupants turned, he bowed.
“Forgive me, my ladies. I was wondering if I might have a word with,” and he grinned, remembering Tyrion’s use of her honorifics, “Ser Lady Brienne.”
Sansa smiled at the titles and glanced at her sworn sword. “You have my leave, if you wish,” she said. Brienne hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth between her lady and Jaime, and then she nodded.
“Thank you, Lady Sansa,” she said, then she swept out of the room to join Jaime. He gestured for her to walk with him, and then steered them toward the Godswood. Bran would probably be there, but it was a large wood and the best place for privacy in the packed stronghold.
“Is something wrong, Ser Jaime?” she asked as they stepped out into the snow and made their way through the gates to the weirwood grove.
“At the moment? No, not at all,” he replied. “Has Pod recovered?”
“Faster than I have. He’s young, all he needed was a little sleep and he was back at full strength.”
Jaime made an envious noise. “I remember those days. But I’m proud of him, he fought well. He was able to survive thanks to your training,” he added, glancing at her.
Her cheeks pinkened but there was a glow in her eyes. “Mayhaps in part, but he was a good pupil. He has plenty of his own skill.”
They were quiet again for a few steps, though Jaime could sense Brienne’s growing anxiety as he drew her deeper into the trees. For all her new, hard-earned and well-deserved confidence, she still seemed unsure of how to proceed when it came to him. He knew the feeling: his heart was racing in his chest, and his remaining palm was so sweaty that he was inordinately grateful that his hand was gloved. When they were a fair way into the grove and he was certain they were completely alone, he stopped and faced her.
“I need to speak with you,” he said, grateful that his voice didn’t shake. She watched him carefully.
“Yes,” she agreed, “you’ve said that already.”
“Of course, yes…I did.” He felt as though his heart was going to escape his throat and fly away. He was sure he looked stupid, that she could see how his hand shook, but this was another point of no return and he had no choice but to move forward.
“Are you well, Ser Jaime?”
“I’m old,” he said, the words bursting out of him before he’d had a chance to plan what he meant to say. “I’m old, I’ve done terrible things, I have no lands or titles, even the clothes on my back were given to me.”
Brienne’s anxiety was being replaced with confusion. She ran her eyes over his furs and leathers and furrowed her brow.
“I’m not sure I understand what—”
“What I’m saying,” he told her, and now his voice was shaking a little, “is that I have nothing to offer you, except myself.”
The look of dawning understanding and disbelief on Brienne’s face almost destroyed his courage, but he took a deep breath and pressed on.
“I love you, Brienne. I don’t expect you to love me back, or to accept the suit of someone with nothing to give you, but I hope you’ll…I hope you’ll allow me to stay by your side, until the fighting is done.”
He stared into her eyes as he said it, but as soon as it was all out, he dropped his gaze to the floor. He wasn’t sure he could watch her try to let him down gently. He heard her shuffle, saw her hands clench and unclench as a few seconds slipped by in silence.
Then he felt her touch: strong fingers, tilting his face back up, then a flash of heartbreakingly blue eyes before the warm, tentative brush of lips captured his full attention. Her mouth was trembling over his and she’d squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but that one touch gave Jaime the only answer he needed. He lifted his hand, cupped the back of her neck, and deepened the kiss until her confidence grew. Suddenly what had been soft and unsure was grateful and greedy. They were both shaking with relief, and for the first time since he’d arrived at Winterfell, Jaime felt warm all the way down to his toes.
“Jaime,” she whispered, looking a little dazed as they broke for air. He was certain he had the exact same expression on his face, and he could feel a wide grin stretching his cheeks even as he tried to think of something to say.
“Is…would Tarth be enough?” she asked. “It’s small, not important, but it’s beautiful and…”
The human body, he decided, had never been meant to contain such joy. “It’s more than I deserve,” he replied, “and it would be my honor to…are you proposing to me, my lady?”
Brienne was red all the way to her ears, but she was smiling when she nodded. Jaime touched his forehead to hers, then pulled her down for another kiss.
“In that case,” he said, “I accept.”