Battles aren't really my forte, so unfortunately, I'll be glossing over much. This should not be more than three chapters.

For JaninaM8. She knows where I'm at with this stuff.

It wasn't loud…but they all heard it.

And they stopped.

Tyrion's voice was the first. "Perhaps it was a different call."

But Brienne stood, and nodded to Podrick.

The rest of the men stood now, and with a few chance glances, they left to join the ranks.

Tyrion took Jaime's arm. "Don't do anything stupid. You're always doing stupid things."

"Was I the one who killed my father on the shitter?" Jaime returned.

"No. But you were the one fucking your sister, believed every word she ever uttered, and then saved a woman from inevitable rape, only to lose your hand in the process."

He stole his arm back. "You'd be wise not to mention that to me."

"Which part?" Tyrion's voice was calm.

And Jaime's face was blank. "All of it," but he smiled. "With any luck, I'll see you before long," and he left.

"May the gods smile upon you," he said, his voice echoing slightly.

He looked back, offered a curt nod, then left.

Jaime hastened through Winterfell, his breath coming fast. He needed to gain access to the left rise, and find Brienne. He would fight beside her, and save her if he could.

He touched the Valarian Steel of Widow's Wail. He knew he stood a small chance of survival, but it was better than no chance. But what was driving him now, what he thought about on his long journey North, was not only becoming a better person, but righting some wrongs. He desperately wanted to correct things that had been done with or without malintent. He felt used by Cersei. A pawn in someone else's game, always.

And one person who treated him with goodness, with truth, was Brienne of Tarth. And when she vouched for him, his heart welled, and he thought that he'd never be the same.

Because he likely felt kin to her for some time.

But now she declared to everyone, his enemies, those who hated him, that he had honor. Something he never considered he had.

"Thank you," he took his gloves from his page, bundled up best he could. He needed to retain fluid movement because of his handicap.

And out into the night he went. His breath misting in front of him, he moved passed the Dothraki, the Unsullied, the Northerners. All people he had never met, or else had fought against. And now they were on the same side.

He moved still further, hoping that he was able to witness the advance himself…he didn't want to get stuck in the back, for not only were you then blind…

…but there would be little chance of finding Brienne.

The horn sounded once more and the panic rose. He began to run.

…There! "Podrick!"

Pod turned, and smiled a bit.

"Where is your lady?" Jaime came to a halt beside him, scanning the crowd.

"Ser Brienne is there, giving out her last orders," Pod canted his head to his right.

He swallowed, finding her. But Jaime kept quiet, and found his place in the ranks. The horn sounded again, and an arrow flew overhead. He couldn't tell from his vantage point if it had come from Winterfell's battlements or not.

He looked out into the white expanse, and his mouth fell.

There they were, slowly advancing. On the ground at his feet was a shield…and as he looked, everyone had one.

Black. Dragonglass.

They weren't huge, nor were they magnificent. But they were armored with the stuff, and that gave him an even better chance. He was a warrior. He had fought.

"Ser Jaime," she sided herself next to him. "They're advancing."

He looked at her. "I see that."

"Raise your shield when they get close," and Brienne looked at him. "Stay behind me."

And he remembered how, in the bear pit, he had ordered her to stay behind him. "No," he replied.

"Are you refusing your command?"

"I am. Because I intend to be next to you," he took the shield with his right, golden hand, and fumbling a bit, secured it. Then looked at her. "There is no place in this world I'd rather be at this moment," he nodded, and smiled.

She swallowed. Nodded. There was no time for sentiment, for when she looked again, they were upon her.

The dead fell in small numbers. The living were better prepared than they had thought. Jaime had struck down dozens of them, Brienne even more. He did not waver in his resolve…staying near her, never straying far.

And then another horn sounded, and when he looked, a giant was mere feet away from her. He gasped.

"Brienne!" he yelled, running over to her.

He pushed her out of the way just as the wight giant kicked him in his back, and he fell, losing his consciousness as he did.

She turned, looking to see if the giant was going to do any further damage, but he moved on. She crawled over, Oathkeeper still in her grasp. "Ser Jaime," she breathed.

A wight barreled down.

She smote it.

"Jaime, wake up…" she felt for a pulse, suddenly terrified. But it was there. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Come on," she lifted his lifeless body and swung his left arm around her neck. "Cover me. I'm taking him in," she called to one of her charges.

"Are you in need of help, Ser?"

"No! Mind the line!" she dragged him toward the castle, and for the first time, realized the state they were in.

It wasn't as bad as she had expected. She wondered how many more were waiting in the forest beyond. "This hand…" she muttered, looking at the golden digits extending from his sleeve. It must add ten pounds of weight to him. Though she uttered not a complaint, for it was because of her that he wore it. She winced and kept going.

The wights had not penetrated deep. Winterfell, over the past hour or two of the battle had remained relatively unscathed.

This worried her.

She went in. "Help!" she called, and a few women came over. "Get something to carry him."

"What happened?"

"Kicked in the back by a wight giant. He's still alive," she watched as they put him on a stretcher and lifted him, taking him into the castle.

Brienne swallowed. "I need to get back," she told one of the guardsmen. She looked up along the battlements. "How many more, do you think?"

"No way to tell, miss. But the numbers are thinning."

"Do you know if their King has emerged?"

"Not that I've heard."

Brienne nodded, then left.

The night was still ringing with the sounds of screams, of the dead rising, but less and less of them were emerging from the expanse.

Brienne thought that they must have missed something, and that they'd need to reconvene, assuming most of the Northerners were alive.

She assumed her place once more, and struck down three with one swipe of Oathkeeper.