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Brienne’s memories of leaving the battlefield were fuzzy. She’d been aware of both Podrick and Jaime escorting her inside the keep, of moving through the halls with her until she reached her assigned bedchamber. Thankfully that part of the castle hadn’t been damaged or breached, though the neatness of the chamber was jarring after all the carnage she’d just left behind.
“Help her clean up, make sure she’s checked for injuries,” Jaime instructed Pod quietly. “I’ll make sure someone sends food and bath water for you both.”
Pod murmured his agreement, and Jaime gave her one last, penetrating look before he walked to the door.
“And Pod,” he added, pausing just before he left, “well fought.”
Pod’s smile could have lit the room, but for Brienne it seemed colder after Jaime had gone. She sat on her bed and looked down at herself, at the dirt and gore that caked her armor. Her limbs were trembling with exhaustion and her whole body felt hollow, but she noted these things from far away.
Why do I feel so strange? she wondered. I should be celebrating but…
The detachment lingered as Pod helped her out of her armor. He checked her for injuries and discovered nothing worse than superficial cuts and ugly bruises. There was a gash in her head that made him frown, but she assured him it had been a glancing blow and that heads always bled a lot. She had escaped any true harm, thanks to Jaime.
Has anyone ordered his bath water? Made sure he’s had something to eat? she thought as she checked Pod over in turn. Her squire was even better off than her, though he was favoring his left arm and had a slight limp.
“Ser Jaime is fine, Ser M’Lady,” Pod told her, as if reading her thoughts. “And Lord Tyrion will check in on him, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” Brienne replied, and her heart lightened a little. “I’m sure you’re right.”
But all through her bath, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Tyrion had somehow usurped her place, and she fell asleep still wrestling with that uncharitable thought.
==
The next morning, scrubbed clean and—for the first time in weeks—dressed in every day clothes under fresh furs without the bulk of armor on top, Brienne felt the beginnings of euphoria stir inside of her. She was impossibly, gloriously alive. There was hot food on her trencher, Pod was at her side and glowing with health, and both Stark girls were safe in Winterfell at last. The fighting might not be over, but what they faced next was human and many leagues to the south. Today was a day to celebrate, and it seemed that many in the castle felt the same. Everywhere she looked, people were smiling and laughing. Sorrow lingered around the edges: the battle hadn’t been without its casualties, after all. But for the moment, each breath seemed unexpected and sweet.
Brienne ran her eyes over the crowd again, though the empty place at her right should have been all the confirmation she needed. Jaime wasn’t in the Great Hall. Tyrion had confirmed Jaime’s good health that morning, but she hadn’t seen him yet.
“Ser,” Pod asked as he filled his goblet with dark ale, “when do you think Ser Jaime will leave?”
Brienne stopped scanning faces and shot her squire a look. “Leave?” she repeated, feeling dumb with shock.
“The battle’s over. Lord Tyrion says he’s afraid he’s outlived his usefulness in Winterfell.”
She knew her mouth was gaping open, but her brain couldn’t seem to work out how to shut it again. Where would he go? Not back to King’s Landing, not after—not after—
But he’d kept his promise. He’d fought for the living. Brienne’s word was still his shield, but if Queen Daenerys decided to strip him of that thin protection, it was well within her purview. If he left Winterfell without anyone’s knowledge or leave, she certainly would. Yet how long could he be expected to linger? He had no place here, and no one save Tyrion seemed eager to give him one.
She shoved herself away from the bench. “Excuse me,” she said to Pod, and then she was moving swiftly out of the Great Hall and toward Jaime’s quarters.
When she knocked on his door, it took him a moment to answer. She heard a thump and then his footsteps moving toward her, and suddenly she was afraid he wasn’t alone in there. It was certainly possible that he’d been eager to celebrate his survival with some willing Northern girl, and the thought alone was mortifying enough that she felt her cheeks heating even as the door swung open.
He was tousled and obviously fresh out of bed, but blessedly alone.
“Lady Brienne?” He tilted his head in confusion, and his voice was husky with sleep. He immediately moved aside so she could enter his room and she took a few steps in, feeling suddenly unprepared for this conversation.
“Ser Jaime,” she said. She knew her forehead was wrinkled with worry but she couldn’t relax the muscles. Then the question burst out of her: “Are you planning on leaving?”
He’d only just closed the door behind her, and his expression was perplexed as he turned to face her.
“Leaving?”
“Pod said—Lord Tyrion implied that—that—you think it’s dangerous to stay.”
“It was dangerous to come in the first place,” he replied, and she could see that he was still trying to figure out what she was doing here as he stepped closer.
“Yes, but now you’ve kept your promise. Your purpose has been achieved,” she pointed out. “You have no reason to stay.”
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
“No!” Brienne wanted to shake him. He was being deliberately obtuse because he liked to tease her. Only he looked genuinely out of his depth as they stared at each other. “It would be extremely foolish to leave now. It would ensure that Queen Daenerys would never trust you again.”
“Ah, so you came to talk me out of it. Well, mission accomplished, Lady Brienne,” he said with a strange smile. “I have no intension of leaving.”
All the fight went out of her, and now she was the one confused. “Well…well, good,” she said, lamely. “But that’s not why I—”
She snapped her lips shut around her near-confession as her cheeks heated up again.
“No? Why did you come?” he asked, moving around her to pick up the golden hand on the desk in the corner. He began strapping it on, not meeting her gaze. There was a strange energy about this encounter: he seemed frustrated or unsatisfied, and her nerves were jangling, making her wish she could flee.
She nearly gave into that impulse. The door handle was in her hand when suddenly, a fresh wave of resolve swept over her. They had survived, not only together but because of one another. And before that, he’d come all this way to fight beside her in spite of his sister’s wrath and the scorn of Queen Daenerys. He’d shown great courage and fortitude…now it was her turn.
She let go of the door handle and spun to face him. He looked up from his prosthetic, and it struck her then how vulnerable he seemed, all sleep-tousled hair and wary green eyes. He had left himself open to her the same way he had in the baths in Harrenhal and again the training yards just two days ago, when he’d asked to serve under her command.
“I came to tell you that I love you,” she told him a little too loudly, trying not to panic as she felt her defenses crumbling away. “And to say that I hoped you would stay, but I’d understand if you felt you had to leave.”
Jaime was blinking at her as if she’d just told him she’d decided to retire her sword and take up embroidery. She watched him open his mouth, then close it. Then he swallowed hard and opened it once more.
“Brienne,” he asked, very seriously, “am I dead?”
“What?” That certainly hadn’t been the response she’d been expecting. He reached out and grasped her arm, his fingers surprisingly tight but not enough to hurt.
“Did I die? Yesterday, I mean. Did a wight kill me on the battlefield?”
“No,” she said slowly. “No, we survived. You weren’t even badly hurt. Unless…did you hit your head?”
“No,” Jaime replied with a grin so wide it must have hurt a little. “No, I didn’t,” he repeated, and then he began to laugh. She’d never truly heard him laugh before and it startled her. She found herself smiling at the sound automatically, though her anxiety was still making her feel jittery.
“What is it?” she asked, tentative but relieved that he seemed happy.
His fingers relaxed on her arm, and his thumb began stroking gently back and forth as he pulled her closer.
“I love you, too,” he said. “As for where I belong, well…my place is at your side as long as you want me there.”
She felt a tremor run through her. “Truly?” she asked.
He smirked at her, a little incredulous. “Hasn’t it been obvious?”
She flushed and his smirk turned into an affectionate grin. “And here I thought it was after Tyrion told me I was embarrassing him with all my boyish pining.”
She wrapped her arms around him, tentatively at first but then tighter as he returned her embrace. She had been afraid of expressing her love for so long, but now she found it was easy: it was like going home after a very long day and finding the fire lit and food on the table.
“Tarth,” she said. “We should go to Tarth.”
“Very good, my lady. I find I’m fond of sapphires,” Jaime replied, and laughed when she rolled her eyes at him. Then she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that was easy too.