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After the Boltons and Freys’ defeat, the residents of Winterfell only hoped that, for the upcoming winter, they could enjoy a little of the peace they had not seen since Lord Eddard departed south.
However, that was not meant to be, as was shown by the consecutive new occupations they had to endure. First of all, by King Stannis, his southerners —some of whom were Red God worshippers, determined to burn the godswood— and warriors from the northern hill tribes —threatening said worshippers with murder if they dared to fulfill their wish. Second, the Dragon Queen, with three dragons, a Dothraki horde, and an army of Unsullied, all of them barely able to withstand the cold. And last but not least, Jon Snow —allegedly resurrected by a Red Priestess— and a host of Wildings, immemorial enemies of all that the North represented.
The reason for this singular gathering: a Second Long Night. The mythical Others, wights, and ice spiders were on their way from the Lands of Always Winter to obliterate humanity. Old legends of death were coming alive –pun not intended.
One may say they have more than enough to keep them all in a state of anxiety and tension. That nothing else could be worse or surprise them.
Enter one Ser Jaime Lannister, former Kingsguard, now Lord of Casterly Rock —the Kingslayer himself.
“Why are you here?” King Stannis asked. He presided over the court in the Great Hall. The place was packed to the brim, and the hostility was palpable.
“I was told any help was welcome.” The Kingslayer answered with an insolent smile, while his eyes were searching the room.
The Westerland’s bannermen that accompanied him weren’t as good as their Lord in hiding their unease.
“Who told you that?” Jon Snow continued the questioning when King Stannis started grinding his teeth. Between shivers, Queen Daenerys seemed to be considering which of her dragons she could use to burn the Lannister man.
“The Lady Lannister, of course,” he answered.
“Our sweet sister is not here,” Tyrion Lannister said —the Dragon Queen’s advisor’s voice was loaded with hatred.
“Why would you think I’m talking of her?” his brother replied, undeterred, stopping his search to fix his gaze on the short man.
Variations of “The Lady Sansa?” and “Is she still married to the Imp?”, along with insults of “Oathbreaker,” “Sisterfucker,” and other more creative expletives, erupted from every corner of the room. However, they died down when Lady Sansa entered the hall.
Escorted by a fearsome-looking Sandor Clegane and the Lady Brienne, she approached the Kingslayer, holding a tray loaded with bite-sized pieces of bread and a recipient with salt.
“Welcome, Ser Jaime. We’ve been waiting for you,” she said, a mischievous smile illuminating her generally unexpressive face, and presented him with the contents of the tray.
“My Lady, it is good to see you returned home,” he bowed and greeted her. He relaxed for all to see, and then, he took a piece of bread from the tray, pressed it against the salt, and ate it. The significance of the gesture stunned all those present.
“Sansa! What are you doing?” Jon Snow cried, breaking the silence provoked by her actions.
“We are not Freys,” she said, moving on to the men in Ser Jaime’s entourage.
If Lady Sansa had caught everybody by surprise, Ser Jaime provoked a collective jaw-dropping.
He approached a blushing Lady Brienne, looking at her as if she hung the moon, took one of her hands with his flesh and blood one, and interwined their fingers.
“I’m glad to see you are well, my Lady Lannister.”
“I told you I would keep my name.”
“I know, but I like the ring of it,” he said, stood on his tiptoes —she was taller than he—, and gave her a peck on the lips.
“But she’s so ugly,” someone said after a couple of heartbeats, followed by a smack and a yelp.
“Shut up, you idiot!” Wilys Manderly’s voice boomed. “The last one who insulted the lady in his hearing lost half his teeth.”
“You shouldn’t hit people on my behalf,” the Lady Brienne reprimanded her husband, though without any fire behind her words.
“Why not? You have more honor in your little finger than everyone combined here.”
“I heard he helped her rescue Lady Sansa,” another person yelled.
“I was there,” said Lady Sansa, still walking among the Westerners.
“He saved her from a bearpit in Harrenhal,” commented someone.
“I heard she was naked,” added a second.
“I wasn’t naked.” Lady Brienne’s blush intensified.
“Of course not, my love. Only I can see you naked.” Ser Jaime’s smile transformed from adoring to cheeky.
“Jaime!” She shrieked and covered her mouth with her free hand, while her astonishing eyes grew impossibly large. “Why would they say that?”
“Soldiers get bored; they like spicy gossip,” he told her. Then he directed to the audience, “My Lady Brienne was wearing an awful-looking pink dress. And to be fair, if those shits hadn’t given her a tourney sword, she could have dealt with the bear by herself. She was magnificent.”
“You saved me!”
“I just jumped in. You should have seen her....”
“Jaime!”
“For fuck’s sake. Not this shit again,” Sandor Clegane interrupted them and walked away, grumbling as he left the hall, all eyes on him.
An awkward silence settled after the doors were closed.
After giving his wife a lengthy kiss, Ser Jaime broke the spell, causing more than one person to jump.
“One would think his time among the Silent Brothers would’ve taught him patience. But he's right. Time is of the essence. So, where do you want us?" he asked the baffled members of the high council —needless to say, the most confused being Tyrion Lannister.