Winterfell's Great Hall was as noisy and crowded as it had ever been as dinner was served that evening, and Jaime was glad of Brienne's presence, her broad, solid frame, her astonishing blue eyes and her staunch belief in him comforting to him in this wolves' den. The Stark children had accepted him readily enough after he had arrived, told them of his sister's deception and her plans, then admitted to attempting to murder Bran Stark, who, now that he had become the Three-Eyed Raven, as he had emotionlessly informed Jaime, seemed to have very little interest in holding grudges for sins committed against him long ago. Nevertheless, whispers of kingslayer, oathbreaker, and sisterfucker still passed the lips of the Northern lords when they thought he would not hear.
As he finished his bowl of tasteless stew, Jaime watched Brienne survey the hall, and he could tell that the watchful gaze of his brother from his seat beside Daenerys Targaryen at the opposite side of the room, Bronn's knowing looks from across the table and Podrick's disapproving scowls at the sellsword now and again from Brienne's other side had not escaped her notice, and she was becoming steadily more uneasy as the evening wore on.
He pushed his bowl away and stood, offering his arm for her to take. "Shall we take our leave, my lady?" he asked her.
She moved to stand as well, nodding gratefully. "Yes, I'd be glad of a chance to stretch my legs."
She took his proffered elbow, and they both resolutely ignored Bronn's suggestive expression, inclining their heads politely to him and Podrick before excusing themselves from the table.
They wandered the corridors of the keep for some time in silence, and Brienne seemed content enough with following Jaime wherever he led her.
Their walk eventually took them up to the battlements, the bitterly cold winter wind blowing in their faces, snow dusting their hair and heavy fur cloaks. The tension which had been growing between them since Jaime had arrived became palpable, neither of them quite managing to look each other in the eye. They both instead pretended to look out over the battlements, even though the darkness and snowfall rendered any attempts to admire the landscape – if there had indeed been anything at all to admire in the barren North in the first place – utterly pointless.
Strangely, although in a few short years, he had lost his sword hand, his last parent, his children and lover, his relationship with his brother was irrevocably damaged, and it seemed as if the world as he knew it was collapsing around him, ever since he had ridden out of King's Landing, Jaime had felt lighter and freer than he could ever remember feeling.
And without the shadow of his illicit relationship with Cersei hanging over him, he could no longer find an excuse to ignore his mounting feelings for Brienne, or hers for him, which were plain to see although he knew that she, too, had been attempting to quash them.
Brienne stiffened beside him, breathing deeply as if she was preparing to face a particularly fearsome opponent.
"Jaime, I—" she began, and then her brilliant blue eyes went wide as she realised her mistake. Jaime, she had called him. Not Kingslayer, not ser, just Jaime. She stumbled back several paces, as if she was afraid he might strike her. "Ser Jaime—I'm sorry—I didn't mean—" she stuttered. He silenced her with gentle fingertips on her cheek. That was his Brienne, always hiding her vulnerable heart behind a shield of honour and duty. His lips turned up in a rueful smile, and he let out a little sigh.
"Brienne," he said quietly.
He traced her cheekbone lightly with the pad of his thumb, dropping his eyes to her lips, making his intentions plain and giving her the opportunity to refuse his advances if she so desired. For all her distress a moment prior, she hesitated only slightly before she gave an almost imperceptible nod.
His mouth met hers, and he heard her make a little sound in the back of her throat. His kiss was chaste, a pressing of closed lips against closed lips, making a request, not a demand, and she responded tentatively, moving her lips lightly over his.
After a moment that was all too brief, he pulled back, his fingertips still resting on her face. As soon as he broke the kiss, she bowed her head and turned it away from him so he could not read the expression on her face, but her breathing had become shallow and quick and he could feel her body tremble. She had not, however, made to step away from him or move her palms from where they had come to rest lightly on his chest.
Jaime turned his own head to affectionately nose at her temple while he waited for her to gather herself, settling his hands on her waist. She looked up, eyes shining, and pressed her lips together firmly. Jaime was surprised to find her stepping forward to close the small gap between them, encircling him in her arms and pressing her face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Her body was warm and firm against his, her arms just as strong and gentle as he remembered them being when she had held him that first time, what seemed like ages ago now in Harrenhal's bathhouse.
He returned the embrace, softly stroking his flesh hand up and down her back, then moving upwards to play with the ends of her pale blonde hair and massage the base of her scalp while he drew her even closer with his other arm.
They stayed like that for a while, and Jaime reveled in the newfound intimacy between them before drawing back once more. "Jaime," he said. "My name is Jaime."
"Yes."
"I love you, Brienne. I have loved you for quite some time."
Her chin trembled. "I love you, too…Jaime."
Their lips met for the second time that night, and while their first kiss was innocent and gentle, this one was intense and passionate, and it spoke of their deep longing for one another.
Brienne did not keep her hands still this time; her fingers were stroking his beard and combing through his hair, and they were both breathless when the kiss ended.
Jaime watched as a broad smile graced Brienne's lips, making her eyes sparkle and transforming her homely face into something almost beautiful. Her long fingers came to her mouth as a high, girlish giggle escaped her, and Jaime could not help but laugh with her.
The Night King and his army of the dead would eventually come, and they may not survive to see the spring, he knew, but this moment of pure joy with no feelings left unspoken between them was all the more precious for it.