Chapter Text
The wights dropped before them, a line of dominos tumbling backwards, and somehow, amazingly, stayed there. The onslaught had stopped, but Jaime’s eyes had yet to. They scanned from left to right, searching for movement, the next sign of danger, something to prove it wasn’t actually over. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it suddenly escaped him, eyes falling on Brienne to his right. She was hunched over, hands on her thighs as she looked like she was going to be sick. But sick was alive , and alive was something his fractured mind could process at the moment.
“M’lady,” a small voice wheezed to his left. Somewhere in the untraumatized part of his brain he was scolding the young squire to use Brienne’s new honorific, but this was neither the time nor the place, and Jaime didn’t think he could get the words out even if he tried. He felt the weight of Podrick’s hand come to rest on his shoulder as Brienne finally turned her head towards them, alarmed by the clink of metal coming together. Their eyes met, but what were once glistening sapphires seemed to have turned a dull blue, the life and sparkle drawn out of them by the horrors they had faced.
“Podrick,” Brienne’s voice cracked as she took a tentative step towards them, “Are you injured?”
"Not anything deadly m’lady.” Jaime observed Brienne’s sigh of relief in the drop of her shoulders and the smallest of upticks at the corner of her mouth. She tried to hide the wince of pain as she took another step towards them, but Jaime had already stuck out his arm, his golden hand finally proving some use as Brienne anchored herself to it while Jaime ushered her closer.
“And you, Ser Jaime?”
“I’m… alive,” he croaked, throat choked dry by the incessant smoke throughout the courtyard. He tried to smile reassuringly, but Brienne looked unconvinced. “Promise.” If he was being honest, he had never felt more alive than he did right now. As the adrenaline of the battle ran its final course through his veins, the aches and pains suddenly sprung to life. Jaime had never been more aware of his body, the air in his lungs as every breath shot a stab of pain in his side, the weight his legs supported as his knees threatened to buckle.
“Podrick, go see to Lady Sansa and Lord Tyrion in the crypts. Inform them that it’s over. We will be right behind you.”
“Yes, m’lady.” Pod nodded at Brienne’s command and started to climb his way over the pile of death that had formed in front of them.
“He’s a good lad,” Jaime quipped. “And oh so loyal to his lady knight.” Humor, he had learned through his years as a soldier, had the great effect of temporarily keeping the pain at bay. Brienne tried to give him a look of contempt, but he could easily see there was nothing behind it.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” The realization that they weren’t all dead had started to return some of the color to her eyes; the eyes that Jaime had silently prayed he would get to see one more time. I never want to go another day without seeing those eyes again, he thought. “Ser Jaime?”
“No.” Brienne’s eyes widened. “I mean, look at us,” he recovered, trying to keep a mental block on the pain radiating throughout his body. “We just fought an army of dead people. Or are they undead? I’m not sure the correct name for them.” That earned him the smallest of smiles, just enough to still be appropriate for the amount of death and carnage around them.
“Whatever they are,” she said, hesitantly. “I… I am glad we made it through.”
“As am I, Ser Brienne,” the emphasis on her new title rolling sweetly off his tongue. Sbe smiled again, and the thought that he had put that smile there, ultimately with some words and some brushes of his sword, was almost enough to keep him from buckling under the pain shooting up his leg. Almost .
“Ser Jaime!” Thankfully Brienne was close enough to stop him from hitting the ground, holding him up easily under his arms. Pressed against her breastplate, all he could think of was how undeserving of his own title he was, compared to her. “Podrick!”
“It’s just Jaime,” he whispered, pain in every movement of his jaw. “Just… Jaime.”
When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was the fresh air filling his nose, a welcome change to the smoke and smell of death that had been there before. The sunlight hit his senses next, eyes opening to the light filtering in through the window on the far wall. He was in a small chamber, lying on an even smaller bed, he realized. Jaime pushed himself up, only to find his gold hand missing and a burst of pain in his abdomen.
“And the sleeping beauty finally wakes,” said a smug voice to his left.
“Tyrion!” His mouth was dry and his tongue felt like it was covered in fur. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been happier to see that shit-eating grin on your face.” His brother was sitting perched on a plain wooden chair, the only other furniture in the small room besides the bed he currently occupied.
“Yes, we both live to see another miserable day here in Winterfell.” Jaime let out a puff of laughter only to immediately regret it, his side shooting in pain once more.
“How long have I…?”
“Eight hours, if that. Ser Brienne saw that the Tarly boy got you wrapped up and some northmen got you moved up here.” Brienne. Her face had been the last he saw before the pain had overtaken him, holding him close as she called for help. Not for the first time , he thought.
“Brienne, is she--?”
“Fine,” Tyrion interjected with a knowing smirk. “Less worse for wear than yourself. I had to order her to leave and go rest an hour ago. She refused to leave your side, even as she threatened to tip off this very chair, half asleep. She refused to leave my side all night , he thought, which is why I’m here at all .
“And myself?” His right leg felt stiff under the blankets, and looking down he could spot bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.
“The official prognosis? A fairly deep stab wound to your right thigh, a few broken ribs. Nothing our golden lion can’t recover from.”
“I told you I’m--” Gods it hurt just to breathe . “I’m a golden lion no longer. Grey, maybe. Didn’t we have one of those once?” Another smile filled Tyrion’s face.
“Yes, brother. Now,” he slid off the chair, “that I can confirm to the Knight of Tarth that you are indeed alive and awake, I find my job here is done, and there is wine to be found elsewhere around the castle. Shall I send some for you?”
“No, I, just… Just, give word to Brienne that I’d like to speak with her. To… thank her for saving me.”
“Don’t worry brother,” Tyrion chuckled as he opened the door to leave. “I have no doubt she’ll be here as soon as she wakes from her much needed slumber. You should get some more rest yourself, Lord Snow has announced a funeral pyre to take place at dusk.” Jaime’s head hit the pillow as he heard the door shut behind Tyrion, the events of the previous night dragging his consciousness down as the undead had attempted just hours earlier. He closed his eyes, hoping that the next time he opened them, two sapphires would be sitting there waiting for him.
Jaime was next awoken to a pleasant warmth wrapped around his forearm, gently shaking him awake. “Ser Jaime, it is time for the funeral.” Brienne’s voice was a wisp of wind over his ear, gentle and fleeting. At the recognition that the warmth on his arm must be her hand, he cracked his eyes open, just enough to glimpse her large form leaning over him before returning to her position on the chair. Upon seeing he was awake her hand withdrew immediately, but Jaime could still feel the ghost of her touch, trying with all his might to memorize the feeling.
“I told you,” he drawled, his good hand seeking out the source of heat that had so cruelly left him, “it’s just Jaime.” His palm found her knee and his fingers curled around it.
"S--, Jaime,” she corrected herself, hesitantly, “Lord Snow has asked everyone to be present for the burning of the dead. Are you well enough to make it?” Brienne eyed his hand on her knee but made no move to scurry away from the contact. Jaime used the hold on her to prop himself up on the bed.
“Of course, as Lord Snow and the Dragon Queen command.” He sucked in a pained breath as he fully sat up, not failing to notice the trail Brienne’s eyes followed down his side. “Though I should probably be a bit more presentable,” Jaime joked, eyebrows raised as he looked down at his bare chest. He hoped his missing shirt was a pile of ash somewhere, the blood and grime gone for good. His eyes turned to Brienne, her face flushed a bright pink, either at his indecency or, he hoped, for reasons far less innocent.
“Yes, of course,” she said suddenly, shooting up from the chair and leaving his arm dangling. “Lord Tyrion had some fresh clothes sent for you.” She picked up a bundle of fabric from the corner by the door and brought it over, placing it next to him. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said quickly, making a beeline for the door.
“Brienne, wait I--” She froze, fingers wrapped around the door handle. He breathed in deep, regret immediate due to the now familiar pain shooting into his side. “I require your assistance, if you’d be so kind.” Brienne turned on her heels, slowly making her way back over to the bed. Jaime rotated himself gingerly, the cold stones sending a jolt through his body as his bare feet caressed the floor. She loomed over him, but when he tried to raise himself to reach her height, the support of his right leg threatened to give out once again.
"Here,” she said, holding out her arm for him to steady himself. Her skin still held the same filth that had seemed to permanently sink into his own, but her hand was strong in his, pulling him to stand.
“Thank you,” Jaime replied, his voice soft and low. “For everything.” Brienne gave him the briefest of smiles, enough to send his heart unwillingly off to the races, before letting his hand go, grabbing the fresh tunic from the pile.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked quietly as she pulled the shirt over his head. The stiff muscles in his shoulders protested as he pushed his arms through the holes. Gods he was getting old .
“Much more alright now that I have Ser Brienne of Tarth assisting me,” he gibed. She rolled her eyes in response, finishing the ties at his shirt front. Jaime studied her quiet and methodic movements as she outfitted him with a new jacket and clean boots. As she fixed the clasp of a cloak around his neck, he was entranced by the deftness of her long fingers, performing their task with precision. Her face was tantalizingly close, Jaime thought, and with a quick shift to the balls of his feet, he could easily close the short distance between them.
“I meant it,” he whispered. “Thank you.” She swallowed and opened her mouth to respond, blue eyes swimming, but with the next breath she had stepped away. The void left in Brienne’s wake was tangible, and all Jaime wanted was for it to be filled again by its former occupant.
“Do you need help down to the gate?” Brienne asked.
“I can make it,” he responded, tentatively taking a step towards her. The first, with his left, was good, but his right betrayed him, and he was once again grateful for Brienne’s quick reflexes as she prevented his fall.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she teased, a small laugh breaching her lips. The two made their way down to the courtyard, Brienne supporting Jaime and helping to keep the weight off his right leg. They silently met up with Pod and Tyrion as they passed through the front gate. Tyrion gave the two a once-over before breaking from the stream of people to join the Dragon Queen. Jaime kept his arm wrapped his around Brienne’s back as they stood silent during Jon’s speech. With the pretense of keeping him from collapse, she surprisingly kept her arm around him as well.
“There is plenty of food and drink for everyone back in the hall,” Jon finished. “Let us celebrate our victory, but most importantly,” he inclined his head towards the pyres, “celebrate the life their sacrifice has granted us.” The crowd applauded, and Jaime was once again struck with the sheer insanity of what they had somehow survived.
“Would you like to attend the festivities?” Brienne asked, pulling him out of his reverie. They had started back towards what remained of the castle, scarred by the battle the night before. Celebrating their victory was low on his priority list; all he really desired was a warm fire, a cup of wine, and to get the weight off his injured leg. Jaime was about to tell her as much, but the Lady of Winterfell had suddenly appeared before them, motioning for Brienne to approach her.
“Lady Brienne, Ser Jaime,” Sansa greeted warmly, though Jaime felt ice piercing her gaze when she looked at him.
“Greetings m’lady,” Brienne responded, bowing only her head as she still had her arm wrapped around Jaime. “How can--”
“It’s actually Ser Brienne now,” he interjected, unable to stop himself and taking great satisfaction in the raise of Lady Sansa’s eyebrows at the news.
“Well then, Ser Brienne,” Sansa smiled. “I would be most honored if you...” she paused, eyes once again turning to Jaime, carefully assessing him and his hold on her sworn sword. “...If you and Ser Jaime would like to join me at the feast.”
“Of course m’lady,” Brienne nodded. Sansa gave the two a tight smile before turning away, quickly caught up in conversation with none other than Tyrion as she entered the castle. Jaime unconsciously slumped at Sansa’s departure, grateful for the lack of further questioning about his loyalty to their cause. In turn, however, he caused Brienne to bear more of his weight. “I can escort you to your chambers if you would like to rest, S--,” he shot her a look, “Jaime. I’m sure Lady Sansa would understand.”
Though the picture of his warm bed was enticing, the thought of being alone, of not being by her side, sent a chill down his spine. “As long as I can sit down,” Jaime quipped. “And that wilding doesn’t try and tell us again why he’s called ‘Giantsbane’.” Brienne snorted at his request, her laugh coming in sharp bursts and sending tendrils of warmth radiating from his heart down through his extremities. It was infectious, and soon enough he too found himself laughing, like it was the only thing keeping his head afloat above the death and destruction they had survived.
"I cannot guarantee the second,” she confessed, finally able to gather enough air to speak. “However I will give my utmost effort to garner you a chair.”
“But it is your duty as a knight to protect the weak, is it not?” he goaded her, reminded of their days on the road where this type of banter was the only way to entertain himself, though now, there was no malice behind his words.
“Oh shut it.” Brienne’s eyes finally gleamed once again, sapphires meeting emeralds, before she guided him along to the great hall, Jaime wondering all the while what god to thank that they had both made it through to see another day.