Jaime had been moved from the second level of the dungeons to a more comfortable cell in the towers of Traitor's Walk. He had been allowed some liberty in moving about King's Landing, but was kept within sight by a pair of large Dothraki guards. As Brienne made her way up the steps of the tower to see Jaime she cringed to see the Arakhs they wore, thinking that if Daenerys wanted to remind Jaime of his vulnerability then being guarded with curved swords like the one that had severed his hand would be very effective.

Brienne felt a lightness as she ascended the steps that she hadn't felt since Jaime had been captured and brought back to King's Landing for his trial. So many times she had faced losing him and her relief whenever he emerged alive from that which seemed certain to kill him always left her temporarily dizzy and feeling like together they were invincible. Even the thought that Cersei would be joining them as they made their way back north couldn't dampen her sprits.

Jaime's cell door was ajar, and she could see him within, shirtless as he stared out the tall, narrow window. Surely he had heard her on the steps, but he stayed still at the window, breathing a little fast but seeming very composed. Was he watching for Cersei? Could he see the training yard from here? Brienne felt a small catch in her breath. She took in his broad shoulders, his shining hair and his right arm that was raised to rest alongside the window. He was not wearing his silly gold hand, thank the gods. The sight of his unadorned stump always made her feel ridiculously protective of him, as if that part of Jaime was hers and hers alone. Maybe because it was the part of him Cersei had rejected when he had returned to King's Landing after his maiming, or perhaps because Brienne had seen to it that he lived through the making of it. Brienne shook her head slightly to clear her sentimental thoughts and said quietly "Jaime? Do you mind if I come in?"

Jaime turned from the window suppressing a smile. Maybe he could see Cersei in the yard? But no, this was just his smile for her, almost mocking but with an affection behind it that let her know that however he might tease her and try her she was still his closest friend. His friend. Gods how she hated those words sometimes as they rang through her head over and over. She returned his smile, giving him the same: a friendly smile, though one tinged with relief. They had spoken only briefly since his trial, but this was the first time she had seen him alone.

"You've taken your time coming to see me, Wench," he said, "have you been too busy advising my brother on the coming campaign to visit me in my comfortable quarters? As you can see the bed is small and hard, but we could make it work." His smile deepened as he watched her furrow her brow at him and attempt to look affronted. It was true that they had been sharing a bed roll for a long time, ever since he had joined her on her quest for Sansa Stark, and after they had returned the girl to the ruined splendor of Winterfell the habit had continued. Brienne had briefly tried to put a stop to it, but his very convincing arguments in its favor and her weakness of will when it came to being near Jaime had been enough to end any resistance. Besides, it was just sharing each other's warmth in these short frigid days, the only respite they had from battling the undead. It was friendly. How ironic that her relationship with Jaime was so like that of a sister, while his relationship with his sister had been anything but.

Had been, right?

Their dark days together often involved a lot of talking as they huddled together to stave off the cold, so they had come to know each other well. Brienne was fairly certain that Cersei's hold on Jaime had faded along with the scars where he had lost his hand. He would always carry the experience, but it would no longer define his life. But now, confronted with not only Cersei's beauty and their history together, the woman would also be with them, living in their world. Some of Brienne's triumph in thinking of what Cersei was in for going on campaign was shaken as she contemplated losing the bond she and Jaime shared.

Brienne gave Jaime's bed an arch look, as if in appraisal. "It is generous of you to offer, but you must realize that my own bed in the Maidenvault is twice as big and thrice as comfortable. It is also nice and warm," she taunted with a shiver as a frigid breeze came through the uncovered window.

"They put you in the Maidenvault?" Jaime asked incredulously, "The Kingslayer's whore? Brienne the Brazen, breaker of hearts and heads? The Tart of Tarth, the Babe of…" Brienne punched his shoulder, not gently, before he could continue with the long list of names he liked to tease her with.

"Yes, the Maidenvault, no thanks to you." Brienne told him. "Could you have not told those Dothraki guards that you were unable to sleep without me? You know what little gossips they are: 'Sheeth givingth up moreth than thappierth to the Kingthlayer,'" she mimicked, sounding so like Vargo Hoat that Jaime laughed out loud.

"Was your great dignity compromised, Wench? What do you care what they think?" His green eyes were alight with humor and even though he might expect her to hit him again he did not back away from her.

"Idon't care," she answered with asperity, "I grew tired of being called the Maid of Tarth long ago. I am too old and too jaded to be flaunting such a title, whether or not it is true. I simply do not care for the speculation of the entire populace of King's Landing about my reputation."

"What about my reputation?" Jaime sputtered in mock outrage, "No wonder the ladies wink at me like I'm cheap goods, theirs for the right price!" He laid his head against her shoulder and looked up through his lashes at her. She knew what was coming and had to restrain the urge to flick his ear with her fingers. "When are you going to make an honest man of me, Brienne of Tarth?"

Brienne was a little relieved that their ongoing banter had not changed, at least not yet. Would it hold when Cersei was there to witness it? She wasn't sure she could bear it if he stopped trying to annoy her. An ex-lover could tend to come between friends. Brienne drew her fingers through Jaime's hair in order to lift his head off her shoulder. For half a heartbeat he looked up into her eyes and her heart ceased to beat for that instant, resuming again in that out of kilter flutter he sometimes caused. Damn him, and damn me for wanting him, she thought.

He chewed his bottom lip briefly as he leaned away from her and then picked up the new tunic he had been about to put on right before she arrived. He held it out with his left hand for her inspection. "Behold, the silver dragon rampant!" he said, showing her the new sigil he would be wearing. She was disappointed to find the coat of arms for the Silver was not sewn to a lavender colored tunic. Brienne had looked forward to teasing him about wearing such a girly color. Oh, well.

"Put it on then and we'll go see about something to eat." Brienne said, "such a shame we won't be sampling Cersei's cooking. She would have made a wonderful kitchen maid." Brienne knew she was poking around a potentially prickly subject, but Jaime just chuckled.

"If Cersei were anywhere near the kitchen we would be out in the stables ringing a chicken's neck for our dinner." He gestured with the tunic at her and she quickly set it over his head so he could shrug into it. Brienne swept up his new cloak, which in the right light might have a purple tint to it, and settled it over his shoulders. He reached out and snugged her own cloak over her right shoulder and held out his right arm to her. She took it.

As they entered the dining hall all eyes turned to them; Brienne was used to being stared at, but she ducked her head a little anyway. She was glad she had changed into her soft brown suede tunic and trousers and taken the time to brush out her hair, so much longer now than it had been back when she had taken service with Lady Catelyn. Occasionally she found it a nuisance when she had to bind it at her neck before donning her helm, but it kept her neck warm, and though she would never admit it she liked the feel of Jaime's breath in it when he lay against her back in their bed roll, speaking of anything that came to mind. The man could talk forever it seemed, and she often drifted off to the sound of his voice. It was one of her favorite things in this bleak and dangerous winter world, and she could face fighting the Others through the long night knowing Jaime would talk her to sleep when they lay down together in the murky hours of daylight.

Being the subject of derision and stares never seemed to bother Jaime. As they entered arm in arm she could swear he seemed almost proud. He had just cheated death again after all, indomitable as ever.

Varys gestured at them from a table near the left wall and even though Jaime growled low in his throat he led them to the former advisor. "Not the Spider," Brienne whispered under her breath, "Have we not dealt with bulbous, useless spiders enough in the north?"

"Unlike an ice spider Varys is not so easily vanquished with dragon glass," Jaime suggested, "though whether a White Walker would like to ride him I cannot say."

Brienne was saved from replying as they arrived at the table of the man, his plumpness filling his silks like a river-swollen corpse. Brienne almost squinted against the brightly colored fabric Varys swathed himself in. The winter sun could not compete against such a display.

"Do try the onion stew," Varys told them eagerly "I am told that Cersei was allowed nowhere near it." If Jaime was bothered by the continued jests about his sister he did not show it. "I understand our former Queen regent has been practicing out in the yards with some of the squires." Varys whispered conspiratorially.

"They should be safe enough playing at swords with her," Jaime said lightly, "Her tongue was always sharper than even Valyrian steel."

Brienne glanced at him in disbelief. This was his second jape at Cersei's expense, but rather than putting her at ease it made her nervous. While he had never hesitated to speak of Cersei it was rarely in a humorous vein. Was he covering some sort of unease about being thrown together with his sister again? Perhaps he was afraid he would not be able to hold onto his resolve against her. Brienne knew he sometimes hid behind humor when his feelings were too close to the surface.

Ser Barristan had asked Brienne is she could take over some of Cersei's battle training, but she had not mentioned it to Jaime yet. The older knight had thought that Brienne might be able to address the differences between the techniques of male and female fighters, differences he was certain he was not qualified to work with. Brienne supposed as much as he relished teaching Cersei a lesson, watching her spar with a superior fighter, a supposed romantic rival, would be even more satisfying. Brienne doubted Cersei saw her as a human being, much less a rival, but she would do as she had been asked and teach her some basic techniques for fighting the Others. It was almost in her to pity Jaime's former lover, going into the harsh wilderness after a lifetime of ease.

Almost.

Servants brought trenchers of food to the table for them. Both Jaime and Brienne turned down the onion soup. They would be forced to eat onions aplenty in camp.

"May I join you?" said a courteous voice from behind Brienne. She looked up and was a little surprised to see Loras Tyrell. Varys moved aside and Jaime gestured for him to sit. Brienne had seen little of Loras over the years, but her discomfort around him had never eased. She accepted now that he had been Renly's lover, and he had accepted that she did not kill Renly, but on the rare occasions their paths crossed they tended to keep their distance from each other. Loras looked lovely as always, and Brienne had the sour thought that while she could best him in combat he was still prettier than her and more able to get the guy. She had long ago realized her infatuation with Renly had been somewhat girlish, that in her youthful naiveté she had fallen for a man who was unattainable in so many ways. It was not just that he was handsome and a king, but that deep down she had recognized how unthreatening his somewhat effeminate tendencies were; quite safe for an inexperienced and insecure girl to throw her heart at. She had come to know that having a mad crush on a man capable of loving a woman, just not her, was much more painful.

Jaime had never tired of teasing her about fancying Renly, or in fact any man he guessed was especially disinterested in the company of women. Now he bumped her thigh with his own and gave her a cheeky grin when Loras wasn't looking. She rolled her eyes at him and dipped her bread through the grease pooling in her trencher, not joining in when Jaime and Loras exchanged greetings. Loras would be going with them on their journey north, having only recently returned from fighting the Others as well. They had not been defending the same areas, but now under Tyrion's command they would be combining forces to prevent the White Walkers and Wights from lurching further south.

Varys tried valiantly to remain in the conversation as it went out of his league with discussions of the best materials to use when burning the undead and recently dead, and which sword cuts could incapacitate a White Walker long enough to torch them. He seemed a little pouty that Jaime had Loras' full attention and for a moment she found this amusing. Then she thought to watch Loras and decided maybe she didn't like his focus on Jaime either. Would she and Loras ever not be attracted to the same man?

She sighed and took a gulp of her wine, a beverage she had come to appreciate in limited amounts for its ability to calm and relax her in awkward or stressful situations. She could not claim any knowledge about vintages, but as the wine rolled about on her tongue Brienne found she liked it much better than the sour stuff they had been drinking when they camped, or on the rare occasions when they able to find a tavern to pass the night in. As she let the wine rest in her mouth a moment before swallowing she thought she tasted a little bit of purple plum like those that grew on Tarth, and, was that? Yes, a hint of vanilla bean, a rare treat. This wine was like a taste of summer, and the spreading warmth of that thought had her thinking wistfully of home and whether she would ever see another summer there.

She was glancing around at Daenerys' attempts to re-Targaryen the dining hall with the traditional red and black of the family crest along with her colors for the Silver (did the new Queen realize how poorly purple and red mixed?). She was admiring the artfully arranged smallish dragon skulls on the walls when she heard Jaime guffaw loudly and Loras give a happy little chuckle. Her eyes cut to them and their sparkling eyes…were theyflirting? Even Varys seemed strangely pleased. She really needed to get out took another mouthful of the wine.

Later she walked with Jaime back to his cell, followed at a distance by the Dothraki guards. Brienne stumbled a little over nothing at all and Jaime offered her his arm. "Are you drunk, my lady?" he asked cheerfully. Did he sound a little hopeful? No, that was just muddled thinking, though she wouldn't put it past him to enjoy having another excuse to tease her.

"I am not." She said with measured dignity. Oh, gods, was she? Brienne refused the offered arm and tried to get back into her no nonsense stride, but she wobbled a little. Brienne of Tarth simply did not wobble. The harder she tried to regain her dignity the more it fled from her and she felt her face flaming from the wine and embarrassment. Jaime had seen her over the years in sickness and pain, in elation when they rescued Sansa, in agonized shyness the first couple dozen times she woke up next to him, but she had only drunk too much around him a couple of times and he always made as much of her befuddled state as he could.

"Do I need to carry you, lass?" he said in mock sympathy. "I'm man enough to do it."

"You are mad enough to attempt it, you mean," she told him with a little slur.

"It would not be the first time I carried you, Wench, nor would it be the last. Remember that time the ice spider rent your thigh, or the time –"

Brienne did remember. "You are not flinging me over your shoulder and carrying me. I can walk."

"I could try to carry you like a babe in arms, if you would hold on to my shoulders," Jaime offered.

By then they had made it to his cell, to Brienne's great relief. She turned to go before he could be more ridiculous.

"Brienne?" she heard him say behind her.

"Yes?" she said without turning around.

She waited what seemed a long time before he said softly "Good night." And she made her way back to the Maidenvault and her warm but empty bed.