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Ned and Catelyn have planned this Sevenmas at Winterfell so meticulously that Brienne almost wonders if she is living inside a finely crafted snow-globe.

Holly, ivy, and mistletoe hang from Winterfell's every wall, making the castle a cornucopia of life in the middle a never-ending winter. Wassailers are knocking door to door, singing songs of the Long Night, and the children ask for stories and sweets. Old Nan obliges, and every time Brienne goes to see Little Robb and Little Sansa in the nursery, their nursemaid is telling them tales of giants and grumpkins, her face alight with a gummy smile every time the children laugh.

All in all, it is the perfect Sevenmas... except for one small detail.

Jaime isn't here.

"My father wants me to come home for Sevenmas," he had said several weeks ago, in the little flat in King's Landing he and Brienne shared which was the only place that had ever truly felt like home to her. "For the whole of Sevenmas."

Brienne had frowned.

"Are you not going to come to Catelyn's with me?"

They've done it together every year for the past four. When Brienne first moved to King's Landing to become a social worker, her mentor Catelyn had taken her under her wing, and when she had realised that Brienne's dad spent every winter on a cruise of the Summer Islands with his latest girlfriend, she had invited her up to Winterfell for the season. Being naive, Brienne had expected a small family Sevenmas - just tinsel, toys, and naff party hats - but soon discovered that Catelyn's husband was from the most important families in the North, and a Stark Sevenmas was an event that made magazines. Parties, galas, polo games, and services at the sept littered the calendar, and Brienne was rushed along in the great flurry of events, barely keeping her head. Even though the hustle and bustle had been a little overwhelming for her to begin with - she did not quite know how to appear natural when hobnobbing with the elite - that first year, Catelyn and Ned made her feel welcome.

"It is wonderful that you are here," Catelyn had said, patting her hand, "and I hope you feel at home."

"I do, Cat. Thank you for inviting me."

While Brienne had had a good time, in truth, she had felt a little out on a limb. As Cat had been busy playing hostess, there had been nobody for Brienne to naturally latch onto, and she had felt like a tired bird, desperately trying to find a branch to rest on.

But that had all changed the following year when Catelyn had invited Jaime.

"We need to take a selfie, wench... yes, stop complaining. You look gorgeous. I want a picture to remember you by. Say Cheese!"

Given that he seemed a golden-haired, golden-skinned, green-eyed, obnoxious pretty boy with a sneering attitude and a playboy's eye for the ladies, Brienne did not know what to make of him immediately. Catelyn knew Jaime from the social set - as Tywin Lannister's son, he was a well-known society face - but he was not quite the empty vessel Brienne had been expecting. He was caustic and rude, yes, but there was also something that she thought intriguing about him, something she couldn't quite name. As he had been abruptly allocated to her by a tremendously busy Cat, Brienne had suddenly found herself in charge of some pouty arm-candy who kept jokingly suggesting they might get drunk and have a cheeky snog in the wine cellar.

"Come on, wench! It would be fun," he had suggested multiple times, even though Brienne did not remotely understand what would be fun about copping off in the basement with a guy who was only propositioning her for the lolz. "I could stand on a barrel of beer if it made you feel less self-conscious."

"It would not be fun," Brienne had replied, even as she tried to ignore Jaime's perfect rosebud lips that had somehow ended up dangerously close to her neck. "It would be ridiculous."

"It's Sevenmas. Ridiculous is fun!"

Despite her refusal to snog him, Jaime had taken it all very lightly, and spent the rest of the week following Brienne around - to the godswood, to the shops, to the sauna. On the big day itself, he had thrown a little strop when he had not been seated next to Brienne, but rather three seats down and across the turkey, and did not relent until Vayon Poole had surrendered his seat beside Brienne and Jaime had stolen his spot.

"I hope he's not annoying you, but I didn't know who else to put him with," Catelyn had said apologetically, when she passed Brienne the camembert sprouts.

"It's no bother," Brienne had replied, watching Jaime with suspicious eyes, who was over by the punch bowl pouring himself a drink. When he had noticed her staring, he had held his glass up in a kind of mock Cheers. "He's weirdly... interesting."

After Sevenmas itself, Brienne had thought that Jaime would get bored of her and find someone else to chat to, especially when all the younger people went clubbing down in Winter Town in the days leading up to New Year's. However, despite his fame and his beauty, it had seemed Jaime was less interested in the eligible young Northern girls in designer dresses who threw themselves at him under the disco lights than Brienne in her ironically ugly reindeer jumper.

"Wench, does Tarth really have sapphires? Or were the rumours just a comment on your eyes?"

"Wench, you really should let me burn that jumper. It is hideous. You could share my shirt. I'd let you."

"Wench, why are you drinking that salted caramel rum? It tastes gross and it will be less fun when I kiss you under the mistletoe."

While at first Brienne had felt a little unsure of what to make of this Jaime Lannister and his jokes about kissing, she eventually worked out that he wasn't serious, he just enjoyed winding her up. It had all been part of his weird sense of humour. So, when his insinuations got too much, she just gave him a withering look, and then changed the subject. She had not wanted to lose his company over the fact that she found the idea of kissing him genuinely arousing, while to him it was a jape. Normally, Brienne was not one to get ill-advised crushes, but Jaime was pretty, smooth-talking, and totally disinterested in her, making him entirely her type. While he had the demeanour of a feral tomcat on heat, and there was a sweetness and sincerity to him most people missed because they were too obsessed with his pretty face and his money, and she enjoyed his distinct lack of artifice.

She had decided to keep hold of a good thing, now it was in her grasp.

"Are you sure you don't want to kiss me, wench?" Jaime had asked as they stood under the fireworks on New Year's Eve, the bright colours reflected in his oddly hopeful looking eyes. "I'm a great kisser. I've had good reviews."

She had raised her eyebrow at him, smiling. "I need these reviews in writing, or they don't count."

"Or you could just take my word for it and kiss me?"

Before Brienne had been able to say yes or no to Jaime's odd, unexplainable offer, the countdown to midnight had started, and she could pretend that she hadn't quite heard him.

"TEN!"

"What do you think, wench?"

"NINE!"

"Wench?"

"EIGHT!"

"Brienne?"

"SEVEN!"

Since the start of the countdown, Jaime's arm had somehow curled around her waist, and it felt good and warm and nice. However, at the same time, Brienne's heart had been racing because she refused to fuck up what might turn out to be a promising friendship with a man she had stuff in common with because of a stupid, ill-advised New Year's kiss. Even if Jaime had had good reviews, Brienne herself did not have a whole lot of experience, and she was not yet willing to be vulnerable with him and admit it.

"SIX!"

"Hey Brienne, have you got someone to kiss?"

Snapping her head around, Brienne had spotted that Edmure - Catelyn's younger brother - had sidled up beside her, a hopeful look in his eye. Although he had a reputation for being a bit of a wet blanket, Edmure would be a safe New Year's kiss; there would be no danger that Brienne would catch very annoying, very unwanted, very unreciprocated feelings with him.

"FIVE!"

"It's okay if you already have," Edmure had said, glancing at Jaime. "If you and Lannister..."

"FOUR!"

You and Lannister. Although she and Jaime had been joined at the hip for the past week, the idea of them being thought a pair by other people sent a shiver of fear up Brienne's spine. She did not want to be so publicly disappointed when it transpired that Jaime was only teasing her, or that he had a girlfriend back in the Westerlands. Shuffling out from Jaime's grip, Brienne had smiled at Edmure, thankful he had come to her rescue.

"No, Jaime and I weren't going to kiss. He's just cold. That's the only reason he's cuddling up to me," she had said, wanting to play the whole thing down.

She had tried to ignore the way Jaime's smile fell.

"Brienne," Jaime had hissed, "I–"

"THREE!"

Moving away from Jaime, Brienne had walked towards Edmure and put her hands on his shoulders. She had stared at his lips, in an effort not to think of the perfect pout that Jaime was now probably wearing behind her.

"TWO!"

"Happy New Year, Edmure."

"ONE!"

Closing her eyes, Brienne had leaned in for a kiss. Edmure's mouth was wet and warm, and the way he had pressed his lips against her showed that it had the potential to be a good kiss, but Brienne had still pulled away as quickly as possible. Edmure was a nice guy, and she was happy he had offered to kiss her, but she wouldn't want to kiss him at length. There just wasn't a spark there.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

As the fireworks crackled overhead, Brienne had turned away from Edmure with a smile, searching out Jaime at once. She didn't have to look very far; he had been standing about three feet away, with his tongue down Catelyn's mess of a sister's throat.

After that weird New Year's Eve, Jaime had abruptly stopped making jokes about kissing Brienne. He had been a little distant on New Year's Day, leaving Brienne suddenly confronted by the sad thought that, in a few days’ time, she was going to have to go back to King's Landing and pretend that this weird closeness that she and Jaime had fostered over the last week had never existed. However, her confused feelings had been quickly disrupted when Jaime came to join her in the taxi that was taking her to Winterfell Airport, slipping into the backseat while she was negotiating with the driver.

"I'm looking for a place to stay in King's Landing," he had said, as if she hadn't already mentioned over the turkey that her housemate Pia was moving out to live with her boyfriend in the New Year. "You wouldn't happen to know anywhere, would you?"

His pretty smile had been infuriating.

"As you well know, I've currently got a spare room, but I am planning on eventually moving a housemate in... so you can stay for a month, tops, until you find somewhere else... or go back to Casterly, or wherever it is you come from."

But he hadn't gone back to Casterly. One month had become two, and then two three, and suddenly Jaime was less a slightly bemusing inconvenience, and more her housemate and her friend and her everything.

A few days into his sojourn in her flat, they discovered they had the same taste in sword and sorcery movies and were soon spending every weekend at the indie cinema in Flea Bottom snuggled up together with an enormous bucket of popcorn. They started going to the gym together, Jaime taught Brienne how to bowl, and she took him to laser tag. When she had been mugged in July, it had been Jaime that had come to the rescue, even though it earned him a few broken fingers. She laughed at his jokes, and he played with her hair whenever they watched films together, and by the following Sevenmas - which she once again spent with Jaime at Winterfell - Brienne had been so in love with him that she couldn't quite put it into words.

As she had been tongue-tied, she had not told him that she loved him that year.

And she had not told him that she loved him the next Sevenmas, either.

Or the Sevenmas after that.

As the silence becomes routine, they never kiss on New Year's - they both always find someone else - but they continue to spend most of their time together, and never talk about what they mean to each other outside sharing a flat. Even though on paper their relationship is nothing significant - an ephemeral, unimportant thing - it feels so wrong without him here.

"I'll come for a few days," he had said, as if any planned separation over the holiday season was nothing, "but I can't stay beyond Sevenmas Eve, and then I'll won't be able to come back for New Year’s."

Brienne had nodded, trying to pretend that a cavern had not just opened up in the centre of her chest. She could do Sevenmas without Jaime. It would be no biggie - at least, it wouldn't be if she told herself enough times.

"Why?"

He had turned to look at her, his green eyes strangely haunted.

"My father wants me to go public with Arianne."

"Oh."

Like Catelyn and Ned, Jaime was from one of the oldest families in the Seven Kingdoms. The Lannisters were rich - über rich, Richie McRich, Richard von Richington rich - and Tywin Lannister used his three kids as pieces in his constant game for power and prestige. Cersei, Jaime's sister, had been married off to Robert Baratheon, the Chief Executive of Baratheon Industries, and Tywin was angling Jaime's brother Tyrion up for one of Olenna Tyrell's granddaughters. Arianne Martell was Tywin's choice for Jaime; beautiful, glamourous, and ambitious, she would make the perfect wife of the heir to LannCorp, and Jaime had seemed to agree.

"Arianne is coming to the Sevenmas Eve party, then will be spending the whole day with us on the big day itself... and we'll announce our engagement at the Lannister Gala on New Year's Day."

Brienne had nodded, trying to appear nonplussed, but her mouth had betrayed her.

"But you don't even know her."

Jaime had shrugged. "That doesn't matter. She's from the right social circle, she's got the right connections... and it would make my father happy. That's the only thing that is important."

Brienne had carried around that uncomfortable truth for weeks; all that mattered to Jaime was his father's approval and LannCorp. The whole time she had known him, Jaime had worked in the King's Landing office, but had thought he had been trying to get some distance from his father by not returning to Casterly and hanging around Brienne until she had agreed to take him in instead of living in a swanky apartment daddy had bought for him. Fleetingly, she wondered if he had used her as a human equivalent of a home for stray dogs while he was at a loose end.

"You didn't think that last Sevenmas," she had replied. "Your dad threw a fit when you told him that you weren't going back to Casterly for the big day but were going to spend it with me, and you still came to Winterfell and had a fun time and said you didn't care what your father thought."

"Yeah, but things are different this year."

"How?"

Jaime had not answered immediately but mulled over his words. It was quite unlike him; he was usually one for quick quips, barely thought-out jokes, and inappropriate comments, so this contemplative silence had been almost disturbing. It had made Brienne worry if he was seriously ill.

"I've been thinking about what I want... in life... in general..." he had said lightly. "I don't want to spend another four years waiting for my dreams to come true... when I know they are futile. Arianne may not be the love of my life, but she is my chance at a wife, a family, and children. Is it wrong to want those things? Even if the rest of the picture is not perfect?"

More than anything, Brienne had wanted to ask him why he felt his dreams would not come true. He was Jaime Lannister, her beautiful, kind, shithead best friend. He deserved all his dreams to come true, and for dreams he didn't even know he had to come true. In spite of his easy tone, she had felt the heavy weight of sadness behind his words, and imagined she heard his heart breaking. For a moment, she had considered telling him how much he deserves, how much he is loved, but then she decided such sincerity would not be wanted.

"I suppose it is just a matter of weighing up what you want," Brienne had said, choosing her words carefully. "Dreams are good, and they can be a wonderful thing to aim for... but if you don't think they are going to come true..."

"They're not. I know they're not," Jaime had said, not quite looking at her.

"Then maybe choosing something that is not your dream but has the chance to make you happy is a good thing."

Jaime had nodded, seemingly unable to straightaway find the words to answer her. In the following silence, he had lifted his hand to his hair and ruffled his fingers through it. Brienne momentarily wondered what it would feel like to touch sunlight.

"Then I should marry Arianne, shouldn't I?"

Although it hurt her, Brienne had managed to pull an answer from some wounded part of her heart that would both soothe him and prevent further injury to herself.

"If you think it is the right thing to do for you."

He had thought it was the right thing to do.

That's why he's not here in Winterfell for Sevenmas with her.

Sevenmas Day creeps cold through Brienne's bedroom window.

Catelyn has put her up in one of the tower rooms in Winterfell, and it is finely decorated with satins and silks. If Brienne were not a guest, she would feel like she is staying at a luxury hotel. There are even little unwrapped soaps for her personal use in the bathroom.

Yet for all her room's luxury, Brienne does not want to get up.

It is early. She feels cold. And Jaime is not here.

Rolling over onto her side, Brienne pulls the covers close around her and squeezes her eyes shut. If she concentrates hard enough, she will be able to pretend that it is still the previous morning - Sevenmas Eve - the last day she and Jaime had together before he had left for Casterly Rock.

His flight had been in the early afternoon - about one o'clock - so Jaime had been able to spend the morning with her. Brienne had been planning on getting up early to make the most of it; she would revel in every last second of being the most important person in Jaime's life, because she had known that now Arianne had entered the frame, everything was going to change. However, Jaime's definition of early had turned out to be very different from Brienne's. Around five in the morning, when the darkness had still blanketed the castle, there had been a timid little knock on Brienne's door that pulled her sharply out of her fretful dozing.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, wench," he had whispered from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?"

As Brienne had squeaked her approval, Jaime had flitted inside the room like a shadow dancing against a wall. If she had not been so alert, the following day she might have thought she had dreamed his presence in her bedroom, and that what had transpired afterwards was only a longed for vision.

"What are you–?"

Yet before Brienne could finish her sentence, Jaime had gently shut the door behind him, conquered the few paces that separated him and her, and climbed into bed beside her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The bed was fairly small, so his presence under the covers meant that they were automatically pressed up against each other - body to body - closer than they had ever been before. If it had not been too early for Brienne's brain to be fully working, she might have kicked him out, but he had felt so warm and smelt so good that she couldn't quite bring herself to do it.

"Wench," he had murmured, bringing his arms around her waist, "I'm so cold."

"You don't feel cold."

In response to her assertive statement, he had tangled his feet with hers. "Feel my feet. They are freezing. And now you have a duty to warm me up."

Before Brienne had been able agree or disagree, Jaime had nuzzled his nose against her neck and put his weight half on top of her in a way that was both close and comforting and irritatingly arousing. Feeling as if her chest was going to burst open at the confused mix of emotion congealing in her heart, Brienne had rested one hand on Jaime's back and the other on the nape of his neck. He had hummed contentedly against her skin.

"Brienne?"

"Yes?"

"You know I'd let you do anything you want to me right now."

If he had been any other man and she any other woman, Brienne might have believed him, yet in that moment she could not bring herself to. Squeezing her eyes shut and picturing his fiancée, she had known this was just a last-minute attempt on Jaime's part to scratch an itch while he could, while he was still a free man with the nearest available woman. A natural urge. Just as she had known his comments about kissing her that first Sevenmas had been nothing but an example of his awkward sense of humour, she had known this new offer could never be something serious given where he was now standing in the landscape of his life - on the crux of marriage, children, and a permanent commitment.

It breaks her heart how much she wants those things with him.

"Just let me hold you," she had said, trying not to choke on unsaid words. "If you are going to leave in a few hours... just let me put my arms around you."

Jaime had looked up at her with those astonishing green eyes of his, his golden hair tumbling around his face, and if Brienne had been braver, she might have kissed him. In the early morning light, he just looked so goddamn kissable. But in her heart of hearts, she had known she could not do it. Brienne was not the type of person to steal another woman's man, even if that woman barely knew the man in question.

It's not as if I could steal Jaime anyway, Brienne had thought, as Jaime's lips brushed against her neck in a tortured echo of a kiss, even if I were the type to stage a robbery.

Jaime had agreed with her suggestion, but not in words. To answer her, he had just rearranged the way they were lying until he was entirely on top of her, his hips cradled between her thighs, his face buried in joint between her shoulder and neck. Wrapping her arms around him, Brienne had pulled the duvet over them both, then entangled her fingers in his soft, golden hair.

The moment she had touched him, Jaime had made a little sound that almost sounded like a whimper. "Wench," he had murmured into her skin, as light as a kiss. "Wench."

"Shhh, Jaime. I'm here." 

For the next few hours, Brienne had pretended to sleep, but it was impossible given that she wanted to remember every single second spent in Jaime's arms. She had clung to the feel of his hard chest against her breasts, and the indent his hips made in her thighs, desperate to press them into her memory so she could relive these moments again and again when he was married and sleeping in another woman's bed.

She had tried to ignore her heart beating wildly in her chest.

She had tried to ignore that he was half hard.

She had tried not to cry when he kissed her on the cheek, slipped out of their embrace, and told her he had a flight to catch.

On Sevenmas morning, she tries not to touch herself thinking of how close she and Jaime had been the previous day.

She fails.

"Brienne! Brienne! It's SNOWING!"

Overwhelmed with excitement, six-year-old Robb Stark almost careers into Brienne when she emerges from her bedroom on Sevenmas morning, bleary eyed and trying to think of anything other than the fact that Jaime is gone and won't be coming back.

"We're at Winterfell," she laughs, wanting to hide her grief. "It's always snowing."

"No! This is much more snow than usual! Come see!"

Grabbing her fingers with his little, six-year-old hand, Robb pulls Brienne down the corridor to the turret that corners the castle. There, Brienne finds a huge window that almost gives her a panoramic view of Winterfell - of the bailey filled with a Sevenmas market, of Winter Town beyond, and the grey shadow of the Wolfswood in the distance. Robb is right, there is a lot of snow; the whole landscape is covered in so much snow it looks like an iced Sevenmas cake, with all the houses and little people made out of marzipan.

"Can we go and build a snowman?" Robb begs, his big blue eyes wide. "Please?"

In spite of her heartache, Brienne grins as brightly as she can. It is impossible to say no to Robb with his button nose and his big eyes, especially when he looks like the only ray of sunlight in the middle of a snowstorm. "Okay, Robb," agrees Brienne, knowing she has no choice but to cave into this sweet little kid, "but we'll have to go check with your parents first."

Rather unsurprisingly, Ned and Cat are fine with Robb going out to play. The Stark kids have been up since the early hours and have already opened their stockings, so Ned and Cat seem pleased to get the kids off their hands for a little while so they can prepare to play host to the huge number of guests that will be coming later. Armed with their permission, Brienne takes Robb and Sansa into the bailey, and helps them build a little family of snowmen.

"This one looks like Daddy!" laughs Sansa, as she draws a little frowny face on the dumpy little snowman she has built with delicate fingers.

"And this one looks like you, San," beats back Robb, pointing at a slightly lopsided snowman Brienne was halfway towards building.

As Sansa's bottom lip juts out in childish hurt, Brienne rapidly changes the subject in order to keep everyone smiling. "Now, now, Robb, play nicely," she says. "Why don't we build a mini-Winterfell for the snowmen to live in?"

Although she had expected building snow Winterfell to be as easy as constructing sandcastles on the beach, it turns out that the turrets, towers, and crenellations are a little harder to erect than they first appear. Brienne tasks Robb and Sansa in collecting the snow for the walls, while she plans the exact layout, but once she has the blueprints in her head the fiddly work begins. As a light smattering of snow falls around them, she and the Stark children begin the fiddly work of building Winterfell in the castle's shadow.

As she tries to build Winterfell's kennels with slightly cold hands, Brienne's mind drifts to Jaime. He has not messaged her to tell her that he has safely arrived at Casterly Rock, and she has not prompted him with a line of saccharine emojis. Such a silence is quite unlike them, as ever since they have moved in together, there has been a stream of near constant messages every moment they are apart.

Jaime:             I'll be back from the business trip on Sunday, wench. Missing you already.

Brienne:          I miss you too.

Jaime:             I'll bring you some of that whisky you like - wilding, not Northern.

Brienne:          You know me so well <3

Sure, a lot of them are memes and stupid jokes, but those messages bring comfort to Brienne because she knows that Jaime is safe, and that he is thinking of her.

Those messages are for Arianne now, she thinks, as she carves a little door into the front of the snow kennel. I can't have those pieces of him anymore.

Although the rest of Sevenmas Day is great fun in the company of the Starks, Brienne cannot help but feel haunted by the one person who isn't here. At eleven o'clock, the followers of the old gods go to the godswood, while Brienne joins Catelyn in the sept. She is not religious, but she enjoys the music and peace to be found in service, so she is only too happy to take up her place on the pews and meditate with the music and incense. While her friend clasps her hands in prayer, focussing her mind on the Seven, Brienne uses the contemplative ambience to think about the only person she wants to dwell on.

Jaime, her love.

She thinks of his smile, and the way it lights up when she tries to meet his sarcasm with a joke of her own. She thinks of the time she had come down with the flu and Jaime had happily nursed her back to health. She thinks of how it felt to be cuddled up to him yesterday morning, his face buried in her neck.

She hopes he feels he has made the right decision for him.

She wants him to be happy, more than anything.

The rest of the day is a whirl of presents, good food, and copious amounts of alcohol. The Starks have nearly thirty guests in attendance, so Brienne once again finds herself lonely in the crowd, a little like she had that first year. She tries to get into the spirit as much as possible, which is made much easier by Robb and Sansa's infectious excitement; they wrestle over crackers, and attempt to read out their Sevenmas jokes with the stilted, childish reading skills, and Brienne spends most of the afternoon humouring them. The moment everyone tucks into their second course, it finally stops snowing, and some faint sunlight starts to peak through the windows.

"After dinner, can we have a snowball fight?" asks Robb, his eyes alight with joy.

Ned chuckles. "Your mum and I will have to manage the tidy up, but I'm sure Brienne will go with you if you and Sansa want to play."

Snapping his head around a breakneck speed, Robb turns to Brienne. "Can we go have a snowball fight? Please. Please."

"Yeah, please can we have a snowball fight?" chimes in Sansa.

"Okay," smiles Brienne, "after we've finished eating, and after presents, then I will take you and Sansa out for a snowball fight."

"YAY!"

Of course, eating and presents take a long time. Given that Rodrik Cassell tells the longest stories, and that Edmure has got a present for literally everyone, it is starting to get dark by the time Brienne can take Robb and Sansa out for a snowball fight. The two kids can't really make very big snowballs, and their aim is terrible, but they are quite good at sneaking up behind Brienne unawares.

"I got you, Sansa!"

"No, you didn't Robb! You missed!"

"Well, let's get Brienne together!"

Armed with a small snowball - not big enough to hurt either Robb or Sansa - Brienne hides behind a small wall in the bailey and tries to land a couple of shots on them. When they run too far away, she vaults over the wall, and quickly goes in search of them. From within the shadows, she can hear Robb and Sansa giggling.

"Where are you?" she says teasingly, pretending not to notice the two small children attempting to hide behind the old well. "Oh, where are you? I'm coming to get you! I'm–"

Brienne never gets to finish her sentence, because right at that moment a giant chunk of snow and ice comes slamming into the back of Brienne's head, knocking her to the floor.

"OH SHIT!" cries a deep, masculine voice that definitely does not belong to six-year-old Robb, but Brienne has no time to identify it, as her world explodes in a whirl of pain; she has scraped both her palms and knees on the ground, and her joints had been jolted by the sudden impact. But worst of all is her head, which is throbbing dangerously, stars dancing before her eyes. She reaches for the back of her head to touch where the snowball had hit her, and just feels a mush of ice, snow, and wet hair.

"Brienne!" calls Sansa, running to her side, all childish fear and nerves. "Are you alright?"

"No," she groans. "My head hurts."

"Jaime! You shouldn't have thrown that monster snowball! You've really hurt Brienne!" chides Robb, having scampered over from his hiding place with his sister.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt her."

Dazed and confused, Brienne does not quite realise that Jaime is actually here, that he's not at Casterly Rock and this isn't a hallucination until he kneels down beside her and puts one comforting arm around her shoulders.

Her whole body comes alight at the contact.

"Oh gods, are you alright?" he asks, voice even more panicked than Sansa.

"No! I think I've got serious concussion! What were you thinking?"

Jaime flinches at her sharp tone. "I saw you all playing, and I wanted to join in. I haven't had a snowball fight since Cersei, Tyrion, and I were kids... and that is a very long time ago."

Her mood softens immediately. She knows that Jaime has had a weirdly stilted childhood in which affection was something to be bought and love a prize, so she does not begrudge him his desire to join in the games. What she does resent him for, however, is that he has barged his way in on her Sevenmas Day without notice or proper warning armed with a monster snowball, and now she has a thousand questions she doesn't even want to think about in the present of two small children and with her head throbbing painfully.

Luckily, Jaime changes the topic entirely.

"Robb, Sansa, would you mind going to find an ice pack and some painkillers?" he asks. "Or, if you can't do that, find an adult who would help you find some."

"Yes, we can do that!" says Robb, grabbing hold of his sister's hand and making to leave.

"Wait," interjects Jaime. "Is there somewhere I can take Brienne to sit down? Somewhere near?"

While Robb screws his face up in confusion, Sansa gestures over her shoulder. "The library is just through there. You can stay there until we come back with the medicine."

"Thank you," says Jaime. "We'll meet you both there in a moment."

Before Brienne can say a single word about this plan, Robb and Sansa run off in search of ice packs and paracetamol and leave her alone in the snow with Jaime. His arm feels heavy around her, but he is also warm and close and protective, and looking at her with such concern that she feels a splotchy blush bloom across her cheeks.

"Jaime, what are you–?"

"Before any of that, let me get you to the library," he says. "Let me get you out of the cold."

Given that he is offering to be her knight in shining armour, Brienne lets Jaime help her to her feet and then direct her inside. With every step, he keeps his arm around her, his body almost feeling like a cloak draped around her shoulders, and he mumbles apologies to her all the way to the library.

"I'm sorry, wench. I didn't mean to hurt you. You know I would never intentionally hurt you, right?"

"Of course," she says, even though she doesn't quite believe it. He had left her to go and propose marriage to Arianne Martell, after all. "You don't need to keep apologising."

"But I do. I really do. I—"

"No, you don't. I know you didn't mean to hurt me... so everything is fine."

At her response, Jaime gives Brienne such a grateful little smile that she almost feels as if she should turn away and never look at him again. He has this amazing ability to shine like a star, and nearly blind her in the process.

Once they reach the library, Jaime walks Brienne over to one of the chairs by the reading desk and makes her sit in it, then goes in search of one of the little blankets that Catelyn keeps in here for when she reads. As Jaime looks for the item in question, Brienne just watches him suspiciously, wondering why on earth he is back here when he should be off at Casterly Rock, getting engaged to a woman he hardly knows.

Brienne gets to her feet, unable to bear the tension.

"I think Cat keeps the blankets on the middle shelf of the third bookcase over," she says, taking a step towards it. "I can get it if you–"

Once again, Jaime does not let Brienne finish her sentence.

"No, you should sit down, Brienne, and let me get the blanket. It was me who lobbed a snowball at the back of your head, after all, so I think I can be the one to do all the heavy lifting. Take the weight off your feet. Let me look after you."

Infuriatingly, he is smiling at her again in the way that makes her feel a little dizzy. Knowing lovesickness and her already thumping head are a recipe for disaster, Brienne sits back down in the chair, and does not object when Jaime retrieves the blanket and then comes to wrap it around her shoulders. Once he is standing before her, his green eyes are fixed intently on her.

She cannot bear this awkwardness a second longer.

"Jaime."

"Yes?" he answers, tentative.

"What are you doing here?"

Jaime pauses for half a heartbeat, and in that quiet moment, Brienne sees a characteristic flash of vulnerability in his eyes that he usually tries to keep hidden. It disappears by the time he replies to her question, and it is replaced by the familiar jocularity that she knows he often uses as armour. "Has your memory failed, wench?" he teases. "Brienne... you've been whacked on the head with a snowball, and I brought you in here to recover. Do you remember? Do you need me to call an ambulance? Do you remember your name? Your birthday?"

Irritated, Brienne pulls a face. "You know what I mean. Why are you here in Winterfell, and not off at Casterly Rock with your father, your siblings, and your new fiancée?"

Jaime shrugs, almost nonchalantly. "When I landed in Lannisport, I didn't even leave the airport; I just turned right around and flew back here. I'd realised something."

"What?"

When Jaime looks at her, his faux nonchalance disappears and is replaced by an oddly intense expression.

"That it is not fair for me to marry someone when I'm in love with someone else."

Brienne tries not to roll her eyes, but it is difficult when Jaime says something that should be completely fucking obvious to anyone with half a braincell.

"Well done, genius," she quips, emulating the mocking tone he usually adopts. "You really need to write a book with insights into the human psyche like that. The Revelations of Jaime Lannister - it will be a best seller."

He pouts and folds his arms across his chest. Although it is a ridiculously childish pose, Brienne still finds it intensely appealing. It annoys her how much she loves him. "Do you really have to ruin everything?" he snaps. "I'm trying to have a moment here. I'm trying to be truthful."

"Why? How can I help you with any of this?" She doesn't mean to sound so annoyed, but suddenly she is furious with him. Jaime flits around as if nothing truly matters, even when it feels as if he is repeatedly pulling her heart out of her chest and smashing it on the floor. "One minute you are telling me you are off to announce your engagement to Arianne Martell, and the next you've abandoned your family to fly all the way up here to inform me that you are in love with some random girl. So, I'm sorry if I'm not going to let you have your moment."

"You are so rude sometimes," he pouts.

"Rude?" splutters Brienne. "Me? Rude? Have you taken a look at yourself? You abandon me for Sevenmas, then the second I'm actually having fun without you here, you decide to brain me in the head with a block of ice, then swoop on in and bitch about your love life! I'm having a nice time, Jaime. Just let me continue to have a nice time."

Not wanting to hear anymore of Jaime's drama, Brienne gets up from the chair, suddenly deciding she would rather be anywhere but here listening to Jaime's alternative view of reality. However, before she can leave, Jaime grabs hold of her wrist and holds her fast.

"Don't kid yourself that you are having a nice time without me."

Even though her skin is burning where he is touching her, Brienne still finds the strength to scoff. "Your arrogance truly has no rival, Jaime Lannister."

"And neither does your stubbornness, Brienne Tarth," he shoots back. "I know you were upset with me for going off to spend Sevenmas with Arianne, and I know you've missed me... because I've missed you... so please can we just talk about this?"

"About what?" she thunders, attempting to pull her wrist out of his hand.

Unfortunately for her, he just grips on tighter, then pulls her closer and lets his touch turn soft. Because she is a weak woman when it comes to Jaime, Brienne leans into it, and ends up holding her breath when his eyes drop to her lips for the briefest of moments.

"About the fact I can't marry Arianne when I'm in love with someone else."

Brienne holds herself very stiffly in an attempt to stop herself crumbling, even though she wants nothing more than to sag her shoulders, curl into a ball, and weep. Jaime can hurt her so very easily - so easily and unthinkingly - with the truth. "You should tell this other woman," she says thickly, her tongue almost sticking to the roof of her mouth. "If you love her so much, you shouldn't be complaining to me about it. You need to go and find her and tell her how you feel. It will make angering your father worth it... because you'll be with the woman you love."

She had expected Jaime to come back at her with more complaints - that this mystery woman was down in King's Landing and the train service had gone down, or that he'd only been able to get a plane ticket to Winterfell and now had to find a private car to get him down to the capital, so was planning on throwing himself on Ned and Cat's mercy - but to her surprise, he doesn't. He takes a breath, as if to calm himself, then steps closer to Brienne. His free hand comes to rest on her hip, and it sends a spark of want darting under her skin that almost makes her shiver.

Gods, she hates how weak he makes her feel.

"Wench... that's what I'm trying to do."

She stops trying to escape from his grasp and goes limp in his arms.

"What?"

He tilts his head to one-side, causing his golden hair to spill onto his shoulder. As moonlight kisses his perfect skin, he looks like an angel, lost and lonely and full of longing. Glowing like a stained-glass window in a sept, Jaime is so beautiful Brienne finds it almost difficult to look at him. Her love for him is just too much sometimes, and it turns stinging rather than sweet.

"Brienne," he says, in a tone so tender it barely sounds like him. "I'm trying to tell you that it is unfair for me to marry Arianne when I'm in love with someone else."

She swallows, her throat dry. Has that snowball to the back of the head given her a serious brain injury? Because from where Brienne is standing, it seems like... it seems as if... as if Jaime wants to tell her...

"Jaime, are you saying–?"

"That I'm in love with you?" he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth like a droplet of water crashing to the depths of a waterfall. She has never seen him so desperate. "Yes, Brienne. That is exactly what I am trying to say. I love you, and I can't marry Arianne because it would be unfair to her, because she will never be you. She never could be you. And I only want you, not anyone else."

"Jaime, I–"

"I can't be with her because I'm yours, totally and completely yours. I've been yours since you drank all that salted caramel rum and refused to kiss me under the mistletoe, then kissed Edmure fucking Tully on New Year's instead."

Barely able to comprehend what Jaime is saying, Brienne finds herself babbling.

"Wha–?"

As usual, he doesn't let her get a word in edgeways.

"I've been yours since you weren't instantly enamoured with me the moment we met, like every other woman always is."

"Jaime, please–"

"I've been yours since you wore that awful, hideous reindeer jumper to a nightclub, and didn't care when the bouncers considered kicking you out for it. I've been yours since you let me follow you to King's Landing like a lovesick puppy, and I was yours when you took me in like I was a stray dog who needed some nurturing. I was yours when I punched that dude to defend your honour, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I was yours when I threw myself at you yesterday morning, in the vain hope that you might have kissed me and told me that you loved me and begged me not to go, and I've been yours every second inbetween. Every moment. Every hour. Every day. Only ever yours."

Somehow, during their conversation, Jaime has dropped to the floor and is now kneeling before her, all penitant and pilgrim. To an outsider, it would look as if Jaime were praying to her or proposing marriage.

"And I know you don't feel the same way about me, Brienne, but I couldn't claim I wanted to marry Arianne in front of a big crowd of my father's corporate sponsors when you were all the way up here unaware of how much I love you, of how I belong to you, of how loved you are. I refuse to live a lie anymore."

Even though Brienne has spent Jaime's entire confession frozen in stillness, she feels as if she has run a hundred miles. He is gazing up at her with those sinfully pretty eyes of his - admiring, pleading, desiring - but for once his beauty is not scary, nor intimidating, nor a blight on what could otherwise be a happy and fulfilling relationship. In fact, she barely sees it.

She just sees Jaime, in all his adorable, complex chaos.

"Jaime, I–"

"Please don't, Brienne," he says, his voice cracking as he gets to his feet. "I don't need to hear you reject me. I don't want to burden you with the duty of rejecting me. I just wanted you to know that my love is all yours, and you don't need to return it for you to have it. It is yours, it always will be, even though you just see me as a friend... even though I never had a chance."

Brienne wants to say something to counter that absolute misreading of reality, but she feels as if she has been tasered, and anything that comes out of her mouth will just be gobbledygook in the face of the poetry that Jaime has just said to her. Yet while she can cope with a moment of silence, Jaime seemingly cannot, as he brings his hand to her cheek and cups it as if she is something precious.

"I'm going to chase up Robb and Sansa and see if they have found that ice pack," he says. "I'll be back in a minute. You look after yourself and don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, okay?"

Without her saying a word, Jaime leans forward and presses a quick kiss to her uncovered cheek, and it happens so quickly that Brienne cannot bring herself to mount any coherent response before he has left the room, leaving her in a stunned silence.

Jaime loves me? she thinks, the very idea a kiss and a slap all at once.

Feeling dizzy, Brienne backs herself into the reading chair by the desk, knowing that if she stays on her feet for much longer she will collapse. It is not because of how close and convenient the chair is, but the thought that Jaime - her Jaime, my Jaime - is in love with her, and has dumped his fiancée and flown halfway across the country in order to tell her.

... and the blow to her head by a mutant snowball, of course, but that is another matter.

Taking a ragged breath, Brienne rests her hands on her thighs. She doesn't know what to do. Part of her wants to get up and go in search of Jaime, to ask him to sit down and explain to her in plain Common Tongue why the hell she is now seemingly lost in the midst of one of her wildest fantasies. Another wants to never get up again. In the face of what Jaime has said to her - his sweet, wonderful confession - Brienne finds it all very difficult to compute. The way he has spoken almost seemed as if he has risen in love with her, as if the mere fact of his adoration had given him the feeling of flying rather than falling. To Brienne, this news is very strange, as that is exactly how she feels about him too. Loving him is not a descent but a climb, and every step towards him has made her weary heart soar.

Does he want everything I have long been dreaming of? she wonders.

She is still trying to steady herself when Jaime returns to the room with an ice pack and a glass of water.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted the small children with the emergency medical supplies," he smiles. "They got distracted by a group of carol singers outside." Making no mention of their previous conversation, Jaime puts the glass of water on the desk and then retrieves a pack of tablets from his pocket. "Take two of these, it might make the headache go away. If it is really that bad, it might also be a good idea to take a nap."

"Th-th-thank you," she stammers, obeying him with shaky hands.

As Brienne pops two tablets out of the packet and swallows them down with a sip of water, Jaime tightens the blanket around her shoulders and watches her with an unreadable expression. She is about to say something - to beg him to stop confusing her - but then kneels in front of her, ice pack in hand.

Her eyes go wide in surprise.

"What are you staring at?" he asks, bringing the ice pack up towards her head. If she lets him go much further, she will be sheltered with the arc of his body, as if they are in the middle of a dance. Knowing she cannot let it get that physically intimate before they have talked, Brienne grasps his hand wrist to stop him putting the ice pack against her. If this vision is a consequence of her head injury, she certainly does not want to make it go away, so stops him putting the ice pack against her head. And if this is all real, she wants to concentrate on him, not her bruises.

"Jaime... can I just ask you something?"

"Of course," he says, putting the ice pack down. "Anything. What do you want to know?"

She takes a deep breath. Brienne has always been a person who holds her feelings close to her chest, so it is difficult to get her truth out. And for all that she tries, she will never be as poetic as Jaime, who can wield words like a sword.

"Well... um... did you end things with Arianne?"

"Yes," he says, putting the ice pack down on the desk. "As I said, I don't want to be with anyone but you, and if I can't have you... well, I'll just have to find a way to be on my own."

She nods, his honesty searing her skin.

"Did it make your father mad?"

"Furious, he's said he's going to rewrite his will and leave everything to Cersei."

"Oh."

It is not that she ever thought Jaime truly wanted his father's money or business empire, but the idea that she might have had some role in causing Jaime's estrangement from his father hurt her rather deeply.

"Jaime, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean–"

He waves his hand in the air like a conductor, dismissing her apology before she can even get it out of her mouth. "Don't try and blame yourself for this, wench," he says. "It has nothing to do with you. It was my choice not to marry Arianne, not yours. I'm happy I made this decision, even if we are not going to be together. It's not your fault that my father is a dickhead."

She nods, then steels herself.

"Can I just say something quick? Before we both end up on the wrong page?"

"Of course," he says, looking slightly confused. "Anything."

"I wish you would stop saying we are not going to be together," she says in a rush of feeling, which overtakes her in an instant, "because I love you so much, and the idea that you believe that I could never reciprocate your feelings is flat-out breaking my heart."

The following few seconds seem to last an eternity, as Jaime looks up at her with those freshly mined emerald eyes of his, his sharp intake of breath the only sound in the world. Brienne wants to reach out and touch him, to hold his face in her hands and behold him, but she also needs him to be the one to take charge now. He needs to know he can have what he wants.

He can have her.

"You want me?" asks Jaime, choked.

"Yes." Brienne does not want to waste one more second pretending otherwise. "And I more than want you. I love you. I want to be with you. I don't want to let any more time pass without you knowing that."

As Jaime eyes glitter in the dim winter light of the library, Brienne momentarily thinks he looks as if he is about to cry. In all the years she has known him, Jaime has never cried, so to see this sudden well of emotion from him at the thought that she reciprocates his feelings is enough to make her cry too. Wanting to soothe him, she brings both hands upwards, and cups his face devotedly. Jaime immediately leans into her palm and the sight almost makes her laugh with joy.

"I don't know when I started loving you," she confesses. "I think I was in the middle of it before I truly realised, but I was heartbroken at the thought that you might settle for Arianne. I want all your dreams to come true, Jaime. I want you to be happy."

"You are my dream, wench. You," he gasps.

Her thumb catches on the corner of his mouth in her desperation to touch him.

"Kiss me," she begs. "Please. I can't wait anymore. I want–"

He does not let her finish. Standing up on his knees, Jaime pulls her close and kisses her, without a hint of shame or fear. Melting into him, fireworks dance behind Brienne's eyes, and the stupid, sentimental part of her imagines that they are back in that first New Year's Eve, and she had chosen not to be so scared. As one of Jaime's hands goes to her hair, he parts her lips with his tongue, and soon she is groaning and panting through her nose and desperately trying to keep up, even as the intimate sensation of his tongue caressing hers makes her almost dumb with want.

"Brienne, Sansa told me that you had been hurt, and I just wanted to check... oh."

Pulling back from the kiss, Brienne looks over Jaime's shoulder to see Catelyn hovering at the door, a look of benign amusement on her face.

"I'm sorry... I'm interrupting something," she says, trying to beat back a smile.

As Brienne urgently wants to get back to kissing Jaime, she wants to find something polite to say to Catelyn to get her to go away, but Jaime beats her to it. "Yes," he concurs. "Brienne and I have wasted enough time these last four years."

Catelyn lets out a little laugh. "Yes, you have."

Grabbing hold of the doorhandle, Catelyn goes to leave, but before she does, she has one last thing to say. "We are planning games around the fire in about an hour," she informs them, "but if the two of you have more important things to do... Ned and I will completely understand."

Brienne blushes as Catelyn closes the door, and the sight of her embarrassment clearly makes Jaime chuckle. "Oh wench, I wonder what those more important things could be?"

Turning her gaze back to him, Brienne's mortification melts away at the look of utter joy in his eyes.

"Maybe it is me telling you how much I love you."

At once, Jaime's expression softens.

"Can we go up to your bedroom, so I can hold you while you say it?"

Brienne smiles.

"Yes, my love."

He grins so brightly that it outshines the sun.