"Who goes there?"
Jaime raised his arms, his golden hand carefully concealed beneath his riding glove. He realised, giddily, that the Winterfell guards did not recognise him; donned in a humble riding shirt and breeches, a cloak of rabbit pelt around his person, he could have easily passed for a wandering Northman. Bronn, on the horse behind him, was dressed identically.
"A friend." Jaime dismounted his horse as they reached the gates. "An ally."
The guards looked at one another dubiously. "Name?"
"Bronn of the Blackwater," Bronn interceded, appearing next to him. "This here is Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer. Lord Tyrion's brother."
Jaime turned to Bronn, his face incredulous. What the fuck are you doing? The two guards balked at one another, then looked back to the pair. Their eyes skimmed over their lowly garb, their cropped hair and their wind-chaffed faces. The left one narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "If you're… if he's the Kingslayer, where's his golden hand?" His eyes lingered on Jaime's handsome features, the hint of gold in his hair.
"A bad jape, men. I'm not the Kingslay-" responded Jaime, when Bronn grabbed him by the hand and twisted it the entire way round, eliciting a small popping sound. Jaime closed his eyes and sighed as Bronn waved at the guards with it. The guards froze.
"Right. That's sorted. Lord Tyrion 'ere?" Bronn asked, ignoring Jaime's glare. "I'm starving. We're fucking cold, men, let us in."
"Why the fuck would we do that?" the guard on the right's voice shook minutely. Jaime could tell it wasn't due to the cold. Gods, my reputation precedes me. Oathbreaker, oathbreaker, man without honour. He snatched his hand off Bronn, walked back to his horse and shoved it into his saddle bag with a withering glare Bronn's way.
"Because, lads," Jaime yelled over his shoulder, "we are here to fight for the living. Fetch the King in the North. We will answer to him, and him alone. Send him out here and we will show you mercy." He sauntered up to the pair, and smiled a cutting Lannister smile. "Lady Stark, too. Sansa."
The guards looked at one another hesitantly, but nodded, clearly intimidated. The heavy wooden gates closed behind them as they shuffled back behind the walls of Winterfell. Jaime looked at Bronn.
"Why?" he asked simply. "Just… why?"
Bronn shrugged. "They'd have found out eventually. Tyrion's here. What's the point in hiding?"
Jaime sighed, his breath a puff of mist in the icy air. He shook his head. "Jon Snow, Sansa and Arya Stark aren't my concern. Bran Stark is here. You know, the little boy I crippled for life. That is a minor issue, don't you think?"
Bronn shivered, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. "Not my problem. You're a cripple now, too. They'll be right."
"They'll be right? I…" Jaime was interrupted by the creaking of the gates being opened. Bronn and Jaime straightened their posture. "Take off your hood," Jaime hissed.
The gates opened, and the King in the North stood before them. His dark eyes and hair were a shocking contrast to the snow that fell, but he looked as if he belonged in the lands of always winter. His face was severe, scarred and masculine, but his eyes were kind.
Beside him stood a tall girl of surpassing elegance, her recognisable Tully hair and Stark-pale skin hauntingly beautiful in this harsh environment. They looked formidable besides one another, but strong. Jaime had always thought himself and Cersei looked beautiful and threatening, but the hidden kindness, no; that had never been their strong suit.
Cersei. Oh, his heart ached for her, his entire being ached. Jaime had questioned himself the entire ride north, asking Bronn if he had done the right thing, if he had made the right decision… could he do this, truly? Abandon that which he had devoted his entire being, his entire life to? Why, oh why did her love come with such cruel conditions? She had willingly elected to send the entire continent to their dooms, all for that stupid chair. All for her pride. But he missed her, gods, he missed her. Every night he would picture her green eyes, so much like his, as he went to sleep; but slowly her face waned from his mind's eye
His love for his sister was an iron ball, wrapped around his ankle. He pushed her beautiful face out of his mind, and looked to Jon Snow.
"Kingslayer." Jon Snow did not smile. "We had not expected you so soon."
Jaime smirked. "I had not expected to be here so soon… King Snow. King Jon? Snow King?"
Sansa Stark looked Jaime in the eyes. "We are not going to listen to japes, Ser. Winter is here."
Jon ignored Jaime's jibe. "You are here with Cersei's troops, we gathered," he said. Bronn and Jaime shared a glance.
Jaime swallowed, his mouth dry. "There has been a… complication."
Jon and Sansa looked at one another. "A complication," Jon stated.
"Aye." Bronn tutted. "A pretty big cunt of a complication."
"We should have seen that she would do this," Sansa said to Jon as they stood in the main hall, around the trestle table on the raised dais. Jaime and Bronn stood across the table from them as they warmed themselves by the hearth, their teeth clinking as they shuddered. Jaime's southern blood could not fathom how Tyrion dealt with this. Tyrion. His stomach twisted like a knife had pierced him through the abdomen.
Only Jon Snow and Sansa knew they had arrived so far; Jaime's eyes had searched for her immediately as they passed through the gates, her pale blond hair and vast, muscular figure in that blue armour, but she was nowhere to be found. He did not ask where she was. His gaze had then searched for Tyrion. Where was his little brother and his dragon queen?
"How do we know we can trust you, Lannister?" asked Jon Snow.
"Lannister." He laughed, a puff of air through his nose. He nodded in Sansa's direction. "My vow to Lady Catelyn was to return Lady Sansa and Lady Arya to their home. Sansa is here because of my commands." And so he spoke, and so he spoke. Jaime had doubted he would not be turned away at the door; I am further than I intended to be, he reminded himself. He would barter his way through this. Make Tyrion proud.
"Aye, she is, Kingslayer. But…" Jon began, when Sansa took his arm, her blue eyes boring into his. Jon shut his mouth, and Sansa stepped forwards, her head held high.
"I am grateful for your vow to my mother, Ser. But I am also here, safe, in my home, because of Theon Greyjoy. I am here because of Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne. And I am here because of Jon." She looked to her bastard brother, smiling gently. "I understand you are affiliated with Brienne," affiliatedand having you send her has truly saved me many times. I thank you for that. Truly. But… your past crimes…" Sansa's forehead creased, "… Bran…"
Jaime swallowed. "Bran." He tasted that name on his tongue. Had he ever said it out loud? Not the "Stark boy," or "Ned's son," but Bran, a boy of ten, an innocent who had stumbled across a dangerous infidelity.
"Don't say his name," said Jon, his voice darkening. "You have no right."
"Jon," said Sansa gently.
"No, I understand." Jaime shuffled uncomfortably in his furs. His stump itched incessantly. "Not a day goes by that I don't regret pushing your brother from that window. Not a day." Jaime had never thought this day would come, so he did not know what to say. That were Tyrion were here, he would know how to apologise, how to make amends. "I had hoped my vow to Lady Catelyn might have…" he was lost. "I don't know. Earnt me an ounce of virtue."
Sansa and Jon were silent, watching him. Jaime looked to Bronn for guidance. Bronn nodded, urging him to continue. Jaime breathed in shakily. "I am a changed man." He lifted his stump. "I have received whichever gods punishment. Tyrion can vouch that I have better intentions. Brienne can vouch for that. I was distrustful. I will never be able to give Bran his legs back, but I can fight for the living. I can protect him as well as Brienne protected the girls under our oath. I offer up my sword to the north. Bronn and I will fight with you and Daenerys."
Silence. Jaime exhaled, and drew Widow's Wail. "Valyrian Steel. You said it can kill these creatures."
Jon took a step forward, examining the blade as Jaime held it. "Where did you get this?"
"It was forged from your father's blade. Brienne has the other."
Jon looked up at Jaime. "This is made from… Ice?"
Jaime nodded. "It was Joffrey's wedding gift." He looked to Sansa. "I'm sure you remember, my lady."
Sansa's eyelids fluttered. "Widow's Wail." She paused. "He shredded Tyrion's book with it."
Jon shook his head. "We have more than enough dragonglass for weapons now." He looked to Sansa, who stood up a bit straighter. She bobbed her head once. "We can set aside our enmities. But aye, you can never give Bran what you took from him. That is one thing you cannot forget. The North Remembers. However, you are a renowned swordsman, and the enemy is here. You would do well to stay out of our way, but you will fight for us." Jon Snow's dark eyes met Jaime's, solemn. They flickered to Bronn. "Pod spoke highly of you, Bronn. You may stay as well."
"Pod with the magic cock?" Bronn's face lit up. "Good lad."
"You will be granted suitable rooms in what used to be the brothel," said Jon, ignoring Bronn.
Jaime gave a minute, humble bow. "My thanks, Jon Snow," he said. In what life could he have ever imagined thanking the bastard of the north? Jaime did not know. Jon nodded curtly, and promptly walked to the door. He hesitated at the threshold, the wind ruffling the fur on his cloak.
"Stay away from Bran, Lannister." His words were clipped and dangerous, his eyes unforgiving. Jaime gave a small nod. Sansa following behind Jon, her movements like a blade through silk.
"Lady Stark," Jaime called after her. He had to know.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Yes, Ser Jaime?"
"Where is your protector?" his voice trembled slightly.
Sansa's face softened. "She is training the children in the yard with our sister, near the Godswood."
Jaime smiled. "Thank you, my lady."
He could hear her before he could see her.
"Try not to lunge," she stated firmly. "Your opponent will aim straight for your eyes."
A gaggle of northern children clutching haphazard dragonglass weaponry were organised in three parallel lines, one consisting of the tallest children and teens, one of medium height, and the shortest. Facing the shortest line was a lithe, pale girl with short dark hair and large grey eyes that screamed Stark. Arya, Jaime thought. She had fulfilled their vow. His eyes panned across to the opponent facing the second line. It was none other than Podrick Payne, who suited the winter no more than Jaime himself.
And then, there she was.
He had turned this moment over in his mind each night on the way north. When it was not Cersei's face that he dreamed of, it was hers, and when it was not hers, it was Cersei's. He stood by the dog's kennels that he had once found Tyrion near, and waited. He thanked the gods Bronn had gone in search of food; he could not face his jests, not now.
"Hyah!" Arya Stark leapt gracefully towards her young opponent, her feet as light as a cat's. Her movements were as sleek as she was, but Jaime could tell she was holding back. Jaime was in awe of her; he had not seen a Westerosi fight like this before.
The practise continued for only a few minutes before Brienne told them it was time to rest. All their noses were red and running, their teeth chattering despite their exercise. They all sighed gratefully, and hurried for the warmth of the great hall. Arya slunk away behind them, but Pod stayed beside Brienne.
Brienne was out of breath and red-faced, but she remained in the sparring yard, wiping down Oathkeeper. Snowflakes turned her blonde hair translucent, and Jaime could not help but speak. "Nice sword," said Jaime, leaning against the wooden structure of the kennel casually. He was anything but casual.
Brienne's head spun towards him, and her stupid blue eyes turned stupidly soft and it made Jaime stupidly angry that she looked so sad. He smiled at her, his face moving, unbidden, into an expression of pure, utter relief. Thank the gods, she's still breathing this godforsaken air. They took the sight of one another in, analysing for injuries, for thoughts that could be read on their faces.
"Ser Jaime," Podrick broke the silence amiably, bowing slightly.
Jaime blinked, then smiled at the lad. "Oh, Podrick. It is good to see you are well. The North is treating you kindly, I'd hope?"
Pod shrugged. "It's cold, is all, m'lord. But I can't complain about the company," he said.
Jaime looked back to Brienne. His stomach clenched for some incomprehensible reason that he did not recognise. "Can't you be glad to see me at least once, Brienne?" He cocked an ice-encrusted eyebrow. "It's disheartening when you look so scandalised every time I show up."
The corner of her wide mouth quirked upwards, but it vanished as soon as it had appeared. She took a careful step towards him. "You're here."
Jaime looked at his feet, frowning. "Am I? You sure?"
"Cersei…"
"She isn't sending troops north. She lied to you all, she lied to me, so I'm here. There's nothing more to it." Jaime's jaw clenched, a hard lump forming in his throat. "She's Aerys reborn. We will speak no more of it." His heart was heavy.
Pod's sparring sword fell from his hand, and Brienne blanched. "No one is being sent from the capital to fight the enemy to the north?" she asked.
Jaime shook his head.
Brienne's lips pursed, and she shared a knowing glance with Podrick, who nodded and followed Arya and the children.
Once he was out of sight, she took a step closer to him. "But you came anyway," Brienne continued. "Does the king know you are here?" her voice sounded exactly as it always had. The comfort that her honourable, honest tone gave Jaime surprised him. Or it didn't. He did not know.
"Yes, he does. I could hardly sneak past the gates, could I?"
They had begun to walk side by side through Winterfell, their steps falling into synchronisation. The people of Winterfell were busy, be it forging weapons, sewing cloaks, plucking fowl, preparing for the battle. Brienne's blue armour looked like the ice of the great wall in the overcast wintry light. Her skin was weathered, her hair a mess of blonde straw, her lips chafed. She looked radiant.
"You fulfilled our vow," said Jaime, as he stopped her besides the great hall. "I saw Arya."
Brienne looked downwards, ever humble. Her eyelashes had snowflakes on them. "She's an extremely talented fighter. Braavosi training," she said fondly.
"She is skilled. As is Sansa, I believe." Jaime paused momentarily. The silence that came next was deafening. How could he not have anything to say to her? After all this time? He was proud of her? Of them? He was grateful? Ecstatic?
"I… I am glad to see you, Brienne," he said.
Brienne's face lit up in a soft, hidden smile. "I… and I am glad to see you, Ser Jaime." Ser Jaime. Still so formal, and she's cleaned vomit out of my beard while I rotted in chains. Her face hardened again. "I am sorry about Cersei."
"Don't," warned Jaime in a low voice. Brienne's face twitched. "I'm sorry. But please… just… don't, Brienne." He did not want to look at her expression anymore. "I don't want your pity. I'm sick of pity."
"Good," said Brienne. "Because you won't find any here."
I've missed you, he wanted to say. The words rested on the tip of his tongue. Then the sound of a horn blew, twice, and the clanging of the bell tower rung out around them. Everyone in the yard looked up.
"What does the horn mean?" Jaime asked. Brienne had already begun walking in the direction of te main hall.
"The Wildings have returned," she called over her shoulder. "With others."
The sound of a dragon screeching sent shivers through Jaime's body. They were here.