Author's Note: I have been enjoying the new season, but I am saddened by a serious lack of Jaime/Brienne moments. Yes, there were some good moments in episode two, but that wasn't enough! I decided I had to write about how the aftermath between them might go. Pure, pointless fluff ahead.
The Dawn
Jaime stood stunned as the countless dead bodies that had been clawing at his feet collapsed back to their motionless state. Their eyes once bright with blue light, dimmed to dark sockets in their skulls. An unearthly silence fell over the Keep, with only a gentle wind and the crackling of fire to be heard.
He glanced at Brienne. She appeared equally stunned, battered,and bruised. He wanted nothing more than to wipe her face clean of the suffering and gore adorning it. Then he looked over to his other side and was pleased to see Podrick still standing. The boy - no, man - had improved by leaps and bounds since he'd handed him off to Brienne. He was among the last standing.
And the last they were. The entire castle was carpeted with a layer of dead bodies, both long dead and now fresh. He slowly swept the grounds for survivors and found few. Not counting the long dead, were there more dead than living? It seemed that way.
The victory of battle usually was accompanied by a cry of victory, but still there was silence.
"Are you alright?" Brienne asked and he jerked his head to look at her. He gave a shaky nod and turned to Pod, who was now hunched over trying to catch his breath.
"We made it. I can't believe we made it," Pod whispered.
Jaime made to step down, but his knee buckled. He then sat back, lying his head back against the Wall, breathing.
Brienne sat down next to him, seeming to take in the scope of the aftermath.
"So many dead," Jaime murmured, shaking his head. He had never seen such a slaughter.
"We're alive. That's all that matters," she replied, but her smile was weak and pained.
As he sat there, the details materialized in front of him with the onset of the dawn light beginning to creep over Winterfell's walls or what was left of them. The entire structure would have to be rebuilt if the Starks were interested in continuing to live there.
A stiff figure complete with the white wolf of Jon Snow ambled into what was left of the courtyard and it took him some time to recognize the white beard of Ser Davos. Slowly, he saw more bodies stir among the dead. A thrill of alarm shot through him, but he tamped it down. It was clear that the Night King must be dead now that the dead lie forever still, so the only ones left to stir were the dead.
He willed himself to get to his feet and used his sword to leverage himself up, but once again his knee buckled.
"You're hurt," Brienne said, grabbing his arm.
"And so are you. Who isn't hurt?" Jaime grumbled, kicking out his right leg where he could now feel the sharp stab of pain. He could see now the slice in the armor where dried blood had encrusted the outside. He tried to shrug her off. "I'm fine!"
He made a show of staying upright and sheathed the Valyrian steel sword, but when he made to step again, he staggered.
"Quit being a stubborn ass," Brienne snapped at him and threw his arm over her shoulders. Let's find the Maester.
"My injury is hardly worth the attention. There are others who need help more."
Pod made to grab his other arm, but he pulled it away.
"I'm not invalid on that side!"
The boy ducked his head, abashed. Jaime scowled. He knew the boy - man! - meant well. Guilt gnawed at him as they started picking their way down the pile and he finally said, "That was well fought, Pod. You should be proud."
He couldn't keep from smirking at the beaming smile that lit Pod's face at the words. He may be a man, but he's still a boy at heart, he thought. It fell again as those left alive staggered into the courtyard, surrounding Ser Davos like he was their leader. Where was Queen Daenerys? Where was Jon Snow? Were they still alive? There was a plaintive, savage cry of mourning from one of the dragons that seemed far away.
He had focused almost entirely on the wights running screeching at him, noticing little else. At one point he thought he saw the undead dragon entangled with a live one had crashed into the castle. There was no way to miss the ground shaking out from underneath his feet. He'd almost fallen straight into the hoard, but thankfully Brienne had caught a hold of his collar and yanked him back.
"Ser Davos, he's wounded," Brienne said as they hobbled over.
"Nonsense! It's just a cut. It will heal."
The old smuggler gave him a long-suffering look and said, "Be that as it may, you're alive, and we need to keep everyone possible alive. Any able bodies? Let's move the door to the crypt; we need the maester."
"Are you sure about that?" Jaime asked. "Are we certain the danger is over?"
Everyone looked around nervously.
"As far as I can tell, the dead returned to being dead once the Night King's power was broken," Ser Davos said. "He must be dead and if he's dead then there is no threat."
"Hmm," Jaime grunted. "We can't have it so easy, can we?"
Ser Davos glowered.
"Don't be an ass," Brienne said, using the hand thrown over his shoulders to smack him in the back of the head, but there was little energy to it.
The old smuggler started towards the crypt, but then stopped and brushed away the hair from one of the bodies. His breath appeared to hitch and he staggered. Jaime craned to look and he stared. Young Lyanna Mormont had blood running down her mouth and caked on her face, her eyes were open and unseeing.
"She took a hit by a giant. It crushed her but she stabbed it in the eye before she died," Tormund said softly, his voice full of admiration.
Bravest damn girl the world has ever seen, Jaime thought, numbly shaking his head. He didn't remember the giant and now counted himself lucky that he escaped such an encounter.
Then Tormund and Podrick pushed the door to the crypt open. They called below to let the people know it was safe.
Jaime was appalled to find blood caking the faces of some of the survivors as they stumbled out. Tyrion himself appeared shaken and he rushed over as soon as he caught sight of Jaime, a mixture of relief and anguish on his face.
"You're hurt."
"So I've noticed."
"It's good to see you alive, brother. I feared the worst."
"What the hell happened to you?"
Tyrion grew grim. "The Starks from ages past broke from their coffins."
Jaime huffed like a bull. "Of course they did! They're dead! The Night King raises the dead! Whose idea was it to put everyone in the crypts?"
"Be nice," Brienne said, her own temper flaring. "Where else could we have sent the women and children?"
"Not in the crypt where the dead rest!"
"They wouldn't have been safe in the main castle," Ser Davos said. "We knew there was a risk, but with the Night King on his dragon, it was the only way."
Jaime glared, trying to reign in his temper. There were several moves that he would have spoken up against had he been in a higher position, but as he was the Kingslayer that nobody trusted, no one dared to rely on his experience as a battle commander. The Dothraki charge at the beginning had been the height of folly. It had simply fed the Night King more foot soldiers for his army of the dead and eliminated much needed bodies for the fight for the main castle. This Jon Snow has a penchant for making cavalry charges where none are necessary, he thought sourly, thinking back to the account he'd heard of the Battle of the Bastards.
"What happened?" Tyrion pressed urgently. "I see the fighting's done…"
"We don't know. The Night King appears to be dead. His power is broken," she said, scanning the area as though she expected the answer to appear before her eyes.
"Queen Daenerys? Has anyone seen Her Majesty?"
"No," Jaime grumbled.
Tyrion looked panicked and rushed off to speak to Ser Davos.
"Let's get you looked at," the old maester said.
Jaime sighed and pulled his leg out of each. "There are bound to be more severely injured than I. Treat them first. I'll live."
The maester hesitated, torn, then Ser Davos called, "Maester, this child is bleeding profusely from her head."
Brienne sighed. "I never figured you to be the martyr-type."
"This is hardly being a martyr!"
Brienne looked annoyed with him and then started steering him back toward the castle.
He eyed the torn down structures with distrust. "Where are we going?"
"It's been a long night. We need rest. And you need healing."
"You expect to find a room in there?"
"There wasn't supposed to be anybody inside. With any luck, the wights will have stayed out of it."
"I wouldn't count on that."
"You can't walk, so you're stuck with me," Brienne shot back.
Jaime scowled. It took some effort to get over the rubble and inside. At one point, Brienne let go of him to clear the rubble from a doorway. Together they were able to get the bulk of the rocks cleared and they stumbled there way in. Bodies littered the hallway to start with and there were holes in the roof where snow gently drifted in. He tried to imagine Casterly Rock falling into ruin and failed. It was impregnable, even by a Night King and his undead dragon. So was the Wall, he thought and shuddered.
What would his father think of this? He recalled Tyrion laughing about how disgusted their father would be if he saw the two of them siding with the Starks, but would that change his mind with the Night King and the Army of the Dead involved? Even with all of the bodies through the castle, would he still accept that the undead were capable of scrabbling over more bodies and walls to drag the living to their deaths? He was glad the Night King never got as far as Casterly Rock. He wouldn't enjoy having to face the body of an undead Tywin Lannister like the Starks had to contend with in Ned Stark.
They walked for what seemed like ages, the world unearthly silent around them as if they were the last two beings alive. Brienne got to her door and kicked it open, finding it untouched with a cold fireplace. She dumped Jaime onto the bed.
"Now you just stay here. I will find firewood."
"You need not mother me, Ser Brienne. I'm hardly a child," he replied, using her new honorific in a mocking manner.
But she just smiled. "That's the Jaime I know. For once in your life, listen to me, and stay where you are. I will find supplies."
Jaime huffed and instead took to stripping off his armor. He winced at the aches in his muscles. He didn't get far getting his breastplate off as his left arm was so tired from use he couldn't lift it above his head. He instead focused on unbuckling the armor on his legs. The cut on on his knee wasn't big but a cursory exam told him it would require stitching from the maester, which only made him roll his eyes. All the same, it was hardly urgent.
He settled back against the pillow and massaged his cramping leg muscles, as they smarted from the constant abuse of battle. He had fought in many battles in his lifetime. Most green boys presumed that battles were long and drawn out affairs, but the majority of fights were over in a matter of minutes. He had been forced to extend himself far beyond his usual stamina, the only breather being that small moment where the wights were stopped at the fire line before they started throwing themselves on it to make a bridge to cross. It was either fight or die and all Jaime had ever lived for was to fight.
He could feel himself winding down. Though the air was chill, he could feel himself sinking back into the bed, his exhaustion taking over him. He jolted awake as Brienne shoved the door open again, carrying a stack of wood.
"Lady Sansa has already started up the kitchens. Once I get the fire going, I'll get us a meal."
Jaime glared. "I can light the fire."
"With one hand?" Brienne asked.
He gave her a cold stare.
"Don't be ridiculous, Jaime! Rest! That leg is going to need stitching."
"I can wait for the maester."
"I can stitch it for you."
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You? Stitching?"
"Might as well put my stitching lessons to some use."
"If you're as good with a needle as you are with a blade..." He waved his good hand at his leg, a suggestive grin on his face.
Even in the dim light, he could see the blush spread across her face. She shifted uncomfortably and moved on to the next subject, "Do you need your breastplate off?"
"I thought I'd keep it on, to protect your modesty."
"Must you be an idiot?" She stepped over and started to pull it over his head before he could protest. He hissed as it pulled his good arm, stretching the muscles painfully there.
"What about you? The battle's done. You don't need your armor."
Her eyes widened like a cornered deer. "I-I still have to bring us our food. J-just wait there, Ser Jaime." She ducked out the door.
Her first proper battle and she roars in the face of a thousand wights, but panics at losing clothes around me, he thought with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. He took the time to peel his undershirt off, grimacing as the sheen of sweat he had collected chilled him. Then he twisted off his golden hand and placed it on the nightstand, rubbing at the sores that had sprung up with the chafing.
In no time at all, she was pushing the door open with her back, bearing two plates in her hands. The plates trembled violently and in a burst of energy, Jaime hopped up to grab one, his leg nearly crumpling underneath his weight.
"Th-thank you," she said, placing her plate down on a small table. She was breathing heavily and winced as she shifted.
Jaime honed on that flinch. "You're hurt."
"As you said, who isn't?"
His lips formed into a thin line and he commanded, "Now you get your clothes off. I need to check you for injuries."
"Now who's being motherly?" She shot back, but there was no masking the fatigue in her voice.
Despite having to balance on one leg and his fingers feeling weak with fatigue, he was able to help her out of her breastplate. He immediately lifted up her shirt enough to see her side and hissed at the ugly dark green bruise blossoming around her ribs. She shivered as his fingers ghosted against her skin, but he couldn't tell if it was from the pain or something else. He traced the outline of her ribs and felt her twitch, but nothing more than that.
"They're not broken. If you just rest, they'll heal," he said, but he continued hovering over the area, until finally placed a kiss in the center of the bruise. Her skin was dry, but smooth, and he had difficulty pulling away from it. There was no mistaking her shiver this time and he grinned.
"That's enough from you," she said, pulling her shirt down. She was glaring, but her blush was staining her cheeks once more. "We need to eat. I do have a damp towel to clean our faces."
"By all means, Ser. You first," Jaime said.
He thought she was one for sacrificing, but she did not hesitate to wipe at her face. The lingering gore felt sticky and grimy on his skin and he couldn't wait to wash himself clean in a proper bath. For now, a towel would do.
Once she was done, she tossed the towel at him and he caught it. She had used one side, so he used the other and sighed in relief as he the cold water felt clean against his skin.
"You missed a spot," Brienne said. She pointed towards his left ear and he scrubbed at it. Then she sighed and said, "Here let me get that for you. You keep missing it."
"I can get it."
Before our food gets cold!"
He relented and sat miffed as she wiped his face.
Once done, he had to make the extra effort to rise from the floor and sit at the table. They ate in silence. Jaime studied Brienne who didn't seem to notice him. Her eyes were faraway and pensive. This is her first real battle.
After his first battle, he'd been knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne. Not only had he been flush with victory but then also pride for earning his knighthood, especially at such a young age. He had never felt quite as invincible as he did in that moment. However, this battle had a far different tone and ended merely in relief and sorrow for all of the losses incurred.
"Are you alright?" He's really not sure why he said it, but he felt relief when she came out of her haze and locked eyes with him.
"I said I'm fine."
"No, I mean, this is your first battle."
"I've been in battles before."
He scowled. "Those were skirmishes. This was a battle."
"I guess I don't see the difference," she replied, but there was something in her eyes that didn't agree with her words. Besides exhausted, she looked vulnerable, unsettled. But then there had been nothing normal about that battle. No one was likely to talk about it, least of all him, so he let it drop.
"A lot more people lived than it seemed," she suddenly said. "When it ended, it looked like there was barely anyone alive, but I saw a few hundred in the hall." As if to confirm her words, they could hear shouts of instruction reach their window.
"I-I heard what happened with the Night King," Brienne said. "Theon Greyjoy and his Ironborn died protecting Bran. The Night King was ready to kill Bran when Lady Arya was able to stab him. It instantly destroyed him, his White Walkers, and laid the wights to rest again."
Jaime stopped eating for a moment to think about the situation. They had apparently been a hair's breadth from losing everything and he hadn't even been aware of it.
"I never even saw the Night King," he muttered, at first unaware that he had spoken.
"He apparently walked through the wall that he had blown open with the undead dragon," Brienne replied.
"That was clear on the other side of the castle." Jaime frowned.
She nodded, troubled as well. "I-I nearly failed."
"What?" Jaime chuckled, but was stopped abruptly by the chagrined look on her face. "What are you talking about? You fought admirably."
"I was charged with protecting the Stark girls. I am sworn to Lady Sansa. Yet the Night King nearly killed Lady Arya and Lady Sansa was attacked in the crypts. I was not there to save either of them. Maybe you shouldn't have knighted me."
He was flabbergasted. "You're saying this to me? I am the King of Oathbreakers and you have nothing to be ashamed of. You were following your orders, Ser Brienne, and they were just orders. Lady Arya is alive and Lady Sansa is alive. You can have regrets, Ser Brienne, but don't let them consume you like I did."
She smiled at that and continued eating.
Once he'd scraped his bowl clean, he stood from the chair and hobbled back to the bed, throwing himself on it. I could sleep for a thousand years, he thought as his eyelids drifted closed.
Brienne grunted. "I forgot to light the fire."
"You were too busy running away."
"I never run away."
"Are you sure? I know a retreat when I see one."
"I don't retreat," Brienne insisted. He cracked open his eyes to see her standing over him with a stubborn jut to her jaw, but still her blush was most prominent.
"Prove it then. Light the fire and come lay with me." Her face went scarlet at his words. "I mean, lay down with me!"
"Oh. W-well, alright then." She turned away abruptly to start lighting the fire. It took some doing and he was surprised to hear muttered curses as she worked, but finally she stood and he could see a growing fire in the grate. Now that that was taken care of, she eyed the bed like she was stepping into a trap.
It took everything in him not to laugh at her hesitation. She seemed unable to look him in the eye and focused elsewhere. He heard her huff and felt a pull on his pants. "Your leg still needs care."
"My leg can wait," Jaime said. He reached up and grabbed Brienne's hand and pulled her over.
She yelped and her knee knocked his injured one. Pain stabbed through him, but he kept grinning, having achieved what he wanted.
"Jaime!"
"What? The bed's warmer together."
She batted at him, climbed under the covers, and turned her back against him.
He sighed. "Come on, Brienne. I've spent the night in a cold blizzard, I don't need the cold shoulder from you."
"This is hardly proper."
"Since when did you care about proper," he replied, slipping under the covers and then turning to wrap his arms around her. At first, she stiffened against them, but as they warmed, he felt her shoulders relax. "See? Isn't this so much better?"
"You're incorrigible."
"Isn't that what you like about me?"
She blushed again. "Who says I like you?"
"I wasn't born yesterday, Brienne," he whispered into her ear and then planted a quick kiss below it.
She gasped and shifted against him, which caused him to groan.
"I could throw you out," she whispered.
"But you won't."
Brienne mustered up her courage and faced him, her eyes oddly shining. "You want to try me?"
"You would issue me a challenge? Because you should know that I never back down." He gave her a moment, glancing down pointedly at her lips. They trembled, but she remained resolute, so he planted his lips on hers. They were dry and cracked from the wear and tear of battle and the outdoors. Although she did not kiss back, she lay stiff as a board and bright-eyed, unresisting. He smirked and bent down for another kiss, this time nibbling at her lips.
She finally relaxed and he felt her react returning the pressure. A soft sigh escaped her lips and he grew more insistent, probing her mouth with his tongue. He changed his angle for ease of entry, throwing a leg over her waist. She grasped his shoulder, her fingers digging into his muscles. He moved his hand to her side -
She gasped and recoiled.
"Oh damn it! I'm sorry, Brienne, I didn't me - "
She grabbed him square in the shoulders and rolled him over her and off the bed. He groaned from where he lay on the floor and then scowled up at her.
She smiled at him from the bed. "I don't back down from a challenge either."