How long had it been? A month? It felt longer than a month. He had lost track of the days long ago. Ever since he'd been forced to take refuge in an old tavern for a few days after a struggle with a clad of traitors to the throne had left his left leg wounded. He grinned to himself as he reflected how bizarre it was for him to be labelling other people traitors to the crown. He was the most traitorous of them all. Abandoning his sister and unborn child to go and fight a foreign battle. Word of his betrayal must not have gotten around yet otherwise those men would have probably greeted him with open arms and a tankard of beer.
His journey to Winterfell was almost over now. He was almost at the border separating white harbour and the neck. He reflected upon the last time he'd been in the north. The far-out, barren looking north. He remembered being immensely bored by the plainness of the landscape, and the hostile paupers that dwelled there. Now however he felt something quite different. He wasn't sure really how to define it. He guessed 'free' was the most appropriate word. All his life he'd felt tied to something, constricted. Perhaps kings landing? Maybe the distance between him and the place explained his new-found sensation of liberation. But no. It was more than that. It had been his name that had dragged him down. Lannister. The title had been an anchor tied to his ankle for as long as he could remember. His unwavering loyalty to his family. The conflicting priorities of family duty and moral compass. By forcing Cersei to relinquish her power him and fleeing from her, he had also managed to flee from all that had tied him down. This northern armour was a bit bulky, a bit scratchy, it was true. But he'd get used to it.
He rode through the hills, alone, doing his best to steer clear of the kingsroad. He may not be wearing Lannister gold but many in the north knew his face now, ever since he'd been held prisoner up here. With every mountainous hillock that he overcame, he half hoped that the view he received once at the peak would finally the reveal the castle of Winterfell. Ever since his departure the ecstasy of rebellion had been rearing up inside his stomach. Now that his arrival was drawing ever closer however, he was growing anxious. He was disliked by many there, he was aware of this, but his anxiety was not due to this. It was a good sort of anxiety, the type that excites, gives you butterflies. He wanted to see Brienne. Ever since their brief reunion at the meeting he'd been regretting wholeheartedly his attitude towards her. He should have greeted her more warmly. He should have showed her some sign when she confronted him that he had wanted to join her. That he would heed her words and try and persuade Cersei to help the north. But he had been too much of a coward. He had sensed Cersei's penetrating glare boring into the back of his head and he had frozen. Staring into Brienne's large, questioning blue eyes. He recalled in a painfully vivid image the hurt that had flickered through them when he'd delivered that unintentionally blunt, 'and tell her what,' and stalked off. They shouldn't have ended things like that. She had deserved better treatment. He was also anticipating with great fervour his inevitable reunion with Tyrion. Cersei was right, he'd always pitied their brother. But he'd always loved him too. As she never had. They were the last lions now, after all. The last lions, coming to join the wolves and the dragons and fight alongside them.
He kept riding long after dark that night. He continually told himself just a few more minutes. Just this hill. And then I'll find somewhere to rest. But he never did. Long into the night he trekked. Though navigation was tougher in this blackness it also meant that it was extremely unlikely for his journey to be impeded by other men. Before he knew it the sun was beginning to rise again over the hills. He was tired, exhausted, and extremely hungry. This northern armour had been quite a tight fit when he'd first managed to buy it cheap from one of the towns he'd passed. Now though the outfit hung over his shoulders, weighing them downwards and cutting into his bones. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper filling meal. That was another thing to look forward to at Winterfell. If Snow and the Dragon queen permitted him access of course. His weariness was beginning to take its toll on him. Every now and then he'd feel his hands accidentally slacken, and his eyelids droop. But he forced himself to stay alert. A mere couple of hours after sunrise however he was something to make him forget complete about his lack of sleep.
It looked much more beautiful than he remembered. Modestly perching there after all it had endured. The nail-biting weather, being burnt down. And Winterfell still stood, strong as ever.
For ages Jaime just stayed where he was and stared at it. A powerful feeling was surging through his veins like wildfire. Here, he was not the Kingslayer. He was the warrior that had chosen to do the right thing. He was a man with honour. Of course the guards disagreed. He wasn't surprised at all when, upon being informed of who he was at the gates, they exchanged meaningful looks and eyed him closely.
'If you really are who you say you are,' said the larger of the two in a gravelly, lumbering voice, 'why the fuck should we let you through.'
'I've come to help fight the northern threat,' he replied coolly, 'I take it there's room for a one-handed Lannister in the army against the night king?'
They mumbled stupidly to each other before agreeing to go and get Jon Snow. Jaime watched them leave, amused. he wasn't going to wait around for Snow to allow (or potentially deny) him entry. He walked through the gates.
He wandered slowly, timidly into the courtyard. He felt strange, like a lost child. But at the same time he felt right. For the first time in as long as he could remember. Men were going about their work and duty without sparing him a glance. His armour meant he could just blend in with the rest of the northerners. Surely someone would recognise his face before long though. He hoped he would find her before he attracted too much unwanted attention. Sure enough, no more than a minute later, the most familiar of noises met his ears. It was the grunt of someone lunging in combat. He knew it so well, because that was the noise she'd made when fighting him that one time. In an almost dream-like state, his feet carried him to the source of the voice. A small clearing, where one could easily train with a partner. He stood in the shadow of a wall, just out of eyesight, and peered over at the three people before him. Podrick Payne, looking just as much like a loyal pup as he ever had, sitting in the corner polishing some armour. In the centre of the area, Arya stark. Boy, she looked different to how had done during her brief residence in king's landing. She fought better too. She was quick, slick, better even than that camp dancing master that she'd been obsessed with. Not quite as skilled as her current opponent though. Or maybe Jaime was just biased. He watched in awed admiration the two women train together, each one responding to the other's movement with cat-like vivacity.
He observed them both. Well, he observed one of them in particular. And despite the teeth-chattering cold, something warm and comforting flushed from his head to his toes. Here she was. And here he was. With no family duty or honour tearing them apart. It took a long time for him to pluck up the courage to make his presence known. Now that the moment was here, he wasn't sure exactly what he ought to say. He knew he wanted to say a great deal. He waited until they'd bid their final blows and ended their session in a delightful display of skill and aptitude, before emerging out of his hiding place.
They didn't notice him approaching initially. Podrick was the first to spot and to recognise him. He was about to open his mouth, but Jaime didn't want his arrival to be announced to Brienne by someone else. As she stowed Oathkeeper safely away, he said in a carrying voice, 'I would applaud, but…' and held his golden hand slightly aloft in explanation.
Brienne had turned round at the first sound of his low, playful tone. Just one second ago she'd been blazing with all that feminine ferocity he'd grown to adore about her. Now however she was even more at a loss for words than he was. That concentrated crease that had been embedded on her forehead during training smoothed out at once, and her eyes grew wide, as if she could hardly believe what they were telling her. He forced himself not to blink as he looked deep into her eyes with his own. Right there and then, they were the only two people in Winterfell. The only two that really mattered. Arya, Podrick, the working men, the overhead voyeurs, they didn't exist. Not in that moment.
'Hello, Lady Brienne,' he muttered softly, but still so she could hear.
Brienne gulped. she had not been expecting this. Jaime. On his own. This soon.
From behind her Arya kept her clutch on her dagger tight, in case she need use it. She surveyed Jaime through narrowed eyes. The brother and former lover of Cersei Lannister, the final person on her list. She didn't trust him one bit. Jaime had guessed this but it didn't bother him much. Whatever the reason was behind her hatred for him was probably well deserved.
Unlike Arya, Podrick was better able to read the situation and realise the tension between Jaime and Brienne for what it was. He exited the scene, followed by a reluctant Arya.
Brienne hadn't taken her eyes off Jaime. Shaking her head slowly, she whispered in a tone much hoarser than intended, 'what are you doing here?'
Jaime shrugged and said truthfully, 'I've come to fight.'
'And the rest of the Lannister army, where are they?'
Jaime smiled sadly. It was the second time he'd been asked this. He was saved the obligation of providing an answer when someone new approached the two of them.
'Well, well, well, if it isn't the Kingslayer.'
Jaime looked round. Any other person and that name would have annoyed or embarrassed him. But when it was uttered so playfully from the lips of his own brother, he could not help but respond with a sheepish little grin.
'Can we be expecting our sister to arrive shortly too? I would say I'm looking forward to the reunion but…' he bit his lip cheekily, 'that would not entirely be true.'
From behind Tyrion Jon Snow approached. He seemed much less enthusiastic about Jaime's arrival. Once again Jaime could hardly blame him. Last time they'd met he'd been a condescending twat, mocking Snow for joining the night's watch. Since then Snow had become lord commander, united both watch-men and wildlings, formed an alliance with the mother of Dragons and won many great battles. He on the other hand, had fallen prisoner to the Starks, lost a hand, seen a drastic deterioration in his fighting skills, and had yet again betrayed the monarch he'd been serving. In fact Jaime felt quite embarrassed approaching Snow.
'Ser Jaime Lannister,' said Snow, face quite impassive.
He held out his hand for Jaime to shake his left hand. That had been deliberate.
'I think you need to come with me,' he continued, raking his eyes down Jaime's profile, taking in his new armour.
Jaime looked at Tyrion, who gave him an encouraging nod, before following Jon without a word. Brienne followed. She was aware that, out of everyone in Winterfell, only two could sincerely vouch for Jaime's honour as a fighter and an ally. One was Tyrion. The other, herself.