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The sky was dark with storm clouds and death. The battlefield outside Winterfell was a sea of frozen corpses, the living and the dead locked in a final, desperate struggle.
Jaime Lannister fought with everything he had. His sword was slick with blackened blood, his body aching from wounds he barely felt. He had taken a gash to the side earlier, a spear had torn through his leg, and his golden hand was now dented and useless. But he pressed on.
Because if he stopped, he would die.
And if he died too soon, she would be alone.
Brienne fought beside him, carving through wights with relentless fury. Every time Jaime faltered, she was there. Slashing, blocking, shoving him forward.
But then it happened.
A White Walker stormed towards Brienne, ice-blue eyes locked on her. She turned just in time to parry, but she didn’t see the second one behind her.
Jaime did.
Without thinking, he lunged.
His Valyrian Steel sword plunged into the White Walker’s chest, and it shattered into ice. But the second one’s blade found him first, piercing through his side, sliding between his ribs.
Jaime gasped, stumbling.
Brienne turned just in time to see him fall.
“JAIME!”
She slashed the remaining White Walker in half with Oathkeeper before catching Jaime as he crumpled to the ground.
A shockwave was felt throughout the battlefield. White Walkers shattered to ice. Wights collapsed. The Night King had fallen.
They had won .
But Brienne wasn’t looking at the victory. She was looking at Jaime, his blood staining the snow.
“Hold on,” she begged, pressing a hand to his wound. “Help will come.”
Jaime coughed, blood staining his lips. His vision blurred, but through it all, he saw her.
Brienne.
His fierce, noble, beautiful Brienne.
His lips curled into a weak smile. “Bronn once asked me…how do I want to go?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Jaime…”
‘Jaime. My name’s Jaime’ When he collapsed in that tub at Harrenhall. In her arms.
He lifted his trembling hand, brushing a bloodied knuckle against her cheek.
“I wanted to die… in the arms of the woman I loved.”
Brienne’s breath hitched.
Jaime exhaled shakily, his body growing colder. He gave her a small, knowing smile.
“Thank you.”
And then the light in his eyes faded.
Brienne let out a choked sob, pulling him close.
She had never cried on a battlefield before. Never allowed herself to. But now, with Jaime Lannister lifeless in her arms, the tears came freely.
Tyrion Lannister stumbled through the battlefield, his breath ragged, his legs aching. His Dragonglass dagger was still clutched in his trembling hands, though he barely remembered using it. His eyes swept the field of corpses, bodies of men, women, and wights alike frozen in death.
Somewhere among them, his brother was fighting.
Please be alive, Jaime.
The thought ran through his mind again and again, like a desperate prayer to the Gods he had never truly believed in.
Then he saw him.
Not Jaime, Podrick.
Tyrion nearly collapsed in relief.
Pod was wounded, his armour dented and spattered with blood, but he was alive . His sword was still in his hand, though his grip on it was loose, the exhaustion setting in.
“Pod!” Tyrion breathed, hurrying toward him.
Pod turned at the sound of his name, his eyes widening. “My Lord-”
But he didn’t get another word out before Tyrion pulled him into a tight, unexpected embrace.
“You’re alive,” Tyrion muttered, patting his back before pulling away to look at him. “Thank the Gods! Tell me you didn’t do anything too heroic.”
Pod let out a tired, breathy chuckle. “I survived, My Lord. That’s heroic enough.”
Tyrion laughed too, a brief moment of light in the overwhelming darkness. But then he remembered why he had been searching.
“Where’s Lady, I mean Ser Brienne?” he asked, his smile fading. “And… Jaime?”
Pod’s face fell. His grip tightened around his sword.
Tyrion’s heart clenched.
“Podrick...” he said, quieter this time.
Pod said nothing. He only turned and started walking.
Tyrion followed, his steps growing heavier with every stride.
Then he saw them.
Brienne was kneeling in the snow, her broad shoulders trembling. And in her arms…
Jaime.
Lifeless.
Tyrion’s breath caught in his throat. His vision blurred.
He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees beside them.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He could only stare at his brother’s still face. His golden hand was streaked with blood; his armour was dented and broken, but the hilt of his sword still wrapped in his fingers.
Jaime had fought until the very end.
Tyrion clenched his jaw, his grief boiling over into anger.
“You stupid, stupid fool,” he rasped. “You always had to be the hero, didn’t you?” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. “I told you not to die on me! But no, no , you had to throw yourself into one last damned fight.”
His fingers dug into the snow beside him. He sucked in a shaky breath, his anger crumbling.
“But then you…” he whispered. His vision blurred with tears. “You wouldn’t have been the man, the brother I’d known if you didn’t.”
Tyrion reached out and placed a hand over Jaime’s chest, over the place where a lion’s heart had once beat.
“Goodbye, brother,” he murmured. “You died as you lived; recklessly, bravely, and for someone you loved.”
And then, finally, he broke.
Tyrion bowed, pressing a hand to his face as sobs wracked his small frame.
Brienne, still holding Jaime, closed her eyes, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks.
Pod knelt beside them, silent, grief-stricken, his gaze fixed on the man who had once been his mentor, his leader.
For a long time, none of them spoke.
They only grieved.
The Great War was won.
But the price had been steep.
And in the quiet stillness of Winterfell, beneath a sky heavy with grief, Jaime Lannister rested at last in the arms of the woman he loved.