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The scent of death still permeated the air at Winterfell. The cold helped keep the worst at bay – it was one reason to be grateful for winter. And yet, death lingered.
Brienne felt it in every breath. Even sealed inside their room – her room, with no windows and no ventilation to speak of – death found a way. It crept in beneath the door and through cracks in the ancient stone and down the chimney and climbed inside her nose, making her shudder with memories of the dead. The dead walking, running, clawing, flowing over her in waves like a hideous mockery of the sea. Death had come to Winterfell, and they had beaten death back. Yet, it lingered.
She tried to tell herself that’s why her stomach roiled. That anyone breathing in death would want to vomit and cry and then vomit again. It was a perfectly natural response. That’s why her nose was raw, her eyes puffy and red, her head aching. She was surrounded by death. Anyone would feel terrible.
Yet, somehow, she had felt joy. Mere hours before, haunted by the odor of death and the memories of those who had not escaped its claws, she had known the most profound sense of contentment and well-being she had experienced since… well. In this cold castle, with death whispering through every crack, she had found true peace for the first time in her life.
It felt like a distant memory. She held it in her mind, examining it with numb curiosity. It seemed hazy, imagined, and more than once she questioned herself. Had it been but a fever dream?
No. Fever dreams did not last for weeks. Fever dreams did not last for twelve days and three hours. Twelve days and three hours of happiness unfettered. Of Jaime.
The name brought a fresh sting to her eyes and she brushed angrily at them. She gazed into the embers of a fire sputtering towards death. There were plenty of logs to hand, but she could not bring herself to follow the routine. Keep the fire alive. Keep life alive. Keep death at bay. It didn’t seem important any more. Distantly, she knew this was grief, and that the worst would pass. She had felt grief before and come out the other side. The knowledge didn’t make it any easier.
A gentle knock came at the door. It echoed like thunder through her aching skull. She stared into the dying fire, resolutely ignoring the source of the sound. Had it happened before? Her anguished mind thought it might have. But here it was again. And again. Louder, now.
In a sudden, violent motion Brienne surged to her feet, the heavy wooden chair roaring across the stone. She stood for a moment, quivering and furious, before stalking to the door and yanking it open. “What?” she snapped.
Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, merely blinked. If she was alarmed, she did not show it. But after a moment, her face softened, lines of concern appearing between her brows. “Lady Brienne? Are you well?”
Brienne stared at her, her frame still taut with anger and grief and a thousand unnamed emotions. Her mind could not grasp the fact that Lady Sansa stood at her door. Had life carried on? It had ground to a halt inside the cold, gradually darkening bedchamber. Yet, apparently, things went on as before. It was morning. Lady Sansa was dressed in her now-customary fierce yet elegant garb.
A soft voice came from the hall, just out of Brienne’s sight. “Ser Brienne, my lady.”
Sansa turned her head slightly, acknowledging the speaker. “Beg pardon?”
Podrick stepped forward into Brienne’s line of sight, his dear face creased with worry. His eyes darted to Brienne, but he spoke to Sansa respectfully. “It’s Ser Brienne, my lady. Ser Jaime knighted her before the battle.”
For a moment, Sansa’s eyebrows rose; then her face warmed into a gentle smile as she refocused on Brienne, who still stood frozen in the door trying to process this intrusion of light and sound where there had been only silence.
Sansa said, “That’s wonderful news. I can think of no one more deserving. My most sincere congratulations, Ser Brienne.” After a moment, Sansa’s smile faded and concern returned.
Brienne realized she was staring, and that she probably looked a fright. She cast her eyes to the floor, suddenly flooded with shame. She did not deserve congratulations. She deserved derision, contempt, mockery. She wasn’t strong. She was weak. Brought low by exactly the thing she had so long desired yet dreaded. The words crowded her mouth, but many years of holding her tongue, and a deeply rooted respect for Lady Sansa, kept them inside, and she stared at the floor in silence.
Dimly, she perceived a low conversation between Podrick and Lady Sansa; then Pod’s steps receded down the corridor and slim hands settled on her arms.
“Brienne.” Sansa’s voice was gentle, brimming with compassion. This kindness finally sent Brienne teetering over the edge and she burst into sobs again, violent sobs that wracked her whole frame and threatened to shake her apart. She was aware of Sansa gently guiding her back to the chair, closing the door, moving quietly to put logs on the fire. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for her to arrange the logs just so – after all, a northern girl was expert with fires – and gradually Brienne’s anguish subsided, receding back to the dull ache that had become a constant. Finally she was quiet, exhausted and feeling no better than before. But she was no longer alone. That mattered.
Sansa rose from the fireplace and moved to a side table, where a small bowl of water stood. She dipped a cloth in and walked back to Brienne’s side, handing her the damp cloth and settling into the other chair. Brienne half-heartedly swiped at her face, removing the snot and tracks of salt that encrusted her cheeks. Sansa sat quietly, watching her, waiting without expectation.
Brienne stilled, staring dully into the now-crackling fire. “He left.”
“Who did?” Infinitely gentle, infinitely kind.
“Ser Jaime. He left for King’s Landing.”
Brienne heard Sansa shift in her chair, knew she was frowning. “Why? It seemed… I thought he had chosen to remain here.”
Brienne paused for a moment, breathing through the anger and grief that threatened to drown her.
“He left for her,” she spat, casting all her fury into the flames, picturing her face burning in them.
Sansa drew in a soft breath. “Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Are you sure? It seemed he was deserving of the trust you placed in him. He served admirably in the battle, and it seems he has been nothing but kind to you since his arrival. Why would he return to her?”
Brienne closed her eyes tight against the question, the very same one that had reverberated in her skull through the night. “He said he was hateful. That she was hateful, and so was he. So they belong together.”
Sansa was quiet again, but Brienne felt her gaze on the side of her face like a brand. “Did he say the last part? That they belong together?”
Brienne frowned slightly, turning to face Sansa. “What do you mean?”
“Did he actually say they belong together, or did you fill that part in yourself?”
Brienne’s frown deepened as she held Sansa’s gaze, those green eyes so kind, despite all the horrors they had seen. Kind, but shrewd. Brienne cast her memory back to that horrible conversation, the one her imagination had been tearing apart and reassembling all night.
“No, he didn’t… he just said she was hateful, and so was he. Then he left.” Brienne paused again, her tired mind struggling with the implications of Sansa’s words. “I don’t understand.”
Sansa leaned forward. “I think that Jaime Lannister, whatever he may have been in the past, is no longer that man. I have seen the way he is with you. He clearly cares for you, and proved that with his actions in the battle. You told me he saved your life, is that right?”
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean – “
“It means he’s a good man. He risked his safety for your own, as you did for him. More than that, he fought for all of us, for the living. Does that sound like a man who would ride off to support a murderous tyrant in her bid to keep the throne? Even if she was his sister?”
Brienne clenched her fists and stared at the floor, the poisonous thoughts that had been haunting her all night clawing at her heart. “He loves her. He always has. He’ll never give her up for someone like me.”
Sansa reached out and touched Brienne’s forearm gently. “You love him.”
Brienne looked up. Sansa’s face was kind, no mockery evident. She said it like she was stating a fact, like winter is cold or the sky is blue. Brienne froze, paralyzed by the words that she had never dared even think to herself. “No, I – what I mean is – “
“You love him. When you stood in front of all of Winterfell and declared him worthy of your trust, I knew. But more than that, when he looked at you with gratitude and awe, I knew he loved you, too.”
Brienne struggled to grasp what Sansa was saying. It sounded impossible. “But he – he couldn’t possibly. He’s a lion, and I am nothing! I am worth nothing, and he proved it when he left!”
Sansa’s hand tightened gently on her arm. “Do you think Jaime Lannister would knight someone he believed was worth nothing? He knows what I know – that you are a person of unimpeachable honor, possessed of a generous heart, and one of the finest people I have ever met. He merely formalized what has always been true. You have been a knight your whole life, and I’m sorry it took so long for it to be recognized. But he did that for you. Why would he turn around and betray you for a woman he knows to be not even half the person you are?”
Brienne gazed into Sansa’s eyes, thunderstruck. All her life she had been mocked, belittled for being different, not what people wanted her to be. The idea that Jaime Lannister, of all people, would accept her for who she was, and even come to love her for it, was like hearing a foreign language.
But it also felt right. It felt right in a way she could hardly look at. It felt much more right than the sick agony that had burrowed into her belly when Jaime said those words. Sansa’s calm confidence swept away the confusion and allowed Brienne to think clearly for the first time in hours. Jaime hadn’t been pretending. He had been gentle — sweet, even, in a way he had never been before. They had spent many hours abed, speaking softly, sharing their deepest secrets, then sharing their deepest desires. It had felt natural and comfortable in a way she had never experienced. She had felt vulnerable with him, and for the first time in her life, she hadn't been scared to be.
Which was why it had hurt so much when Jaime spat his litany of self-hatred at her. She had thought they were healing together – both in body and in spirit. His rejection of his own goodness, which she believed in so deeply, had hurt more than if he had said he hated her. In her grief, she had allowed that hurt to twist her memories into the most painful interpretation of the events – if he didn’t care for himself, then how could she trust that he cared for her?
But Sansa was right. The truth was that Brienne loved Jaime, even if he could not love himself. And, unbelievably, he loved her.
Brienne blinked, refocusing on Sansa’s calm face. “Lady Sansa, do you believe Jaime Lannister has ridden south to stop his sister?”
Sansa nodded. “I believe he has.”
Brienne took a deep breath, then let it out shakily. She rubbed her face, and Sansa’s hand fell away. It was like a fever had just broken. She felt trembly and unwell, but her mind was clear once more.
“Then, I must help him.”
Sansa smiled. “Yes, you must.”
Brienne stood up, determination flooding through her body like light chasing away shadows. “I will help him. I will leave for King’s Landing.” Even as she said it, she realized it wasn’t that simple. “But my lady, my oath to you –“
“You have fulfilled your oath a thousand times over. I am safe. Arya is safe, and likely no longer needs protection from anyone. Go.”
Conflicting loyalties warred in Brienne’s gut, but she knew that once again, Sansa was right. She bowed her head in gratitude. “Thank you, my lady.”
Sansa’s voice was grave. “Thank you, Ser Brienne of Tarth. It has been an honor.”
Tears pricked at the corner of Brienne’s eyes, but they were of an entirely different kind than those that still traced her cheeks. “The honor is mine.”
They shared one last, solemn look, then Brienne turned and strode towards the door.
Sansa’s voice stopped her. “Lady – I mean, Ser Brienne. Would you like to wear something besides a robe to King’s Landing? Armor, perhaps?”
Brienne froze mid-stride, looked down at herself and barked out a laugh. “You may have a point, Lady Sansa.” She took the last step to the door, leaned out and raised her voice slightly. “Pod?”
Almost immediately, Podrick’s dark head popped out from behind the next corner. She knew he wouldn’t have gone far. “Pod! Help me with my armor.”
Pod’s face broke into a beaming smile. “Where are we going, Ser?”
Brienne felt her face glowing in response, a true smile stretching her cheeks. “To save Ser Jaime.”