He spent his days preparing for the battle to come and his nights huddled in the far corner of the barracks trying to avoid speaking to anyone. He'd heard Tyrion had tried to track him down but Jaime had actively avoided his brother. Despite their sudden reunion in King's Landing, feelings of anger and resentment still burned in him at the memory of how their father had died. Tywin Lannister had been a hard man, for sure, but he hadn't deserved that. Jaime wasn't certain how he would react upon seeing his little brother again, and so he erred on the side of caution. Best not to anger the Dragon Queen further by harming her Hand.

Those that did come to see him were few and far between, and none of them had been her. Hers was the only face he longed to see, if only to gaze upon eyes that didn't immediately condemn him just for existing. But Brienne stayed away, and Jaime told himself that it was her duties that made it so rather than any conscious desire on her part. Probably for the best, he told himself. He'd already risked so much by coming here; better her reputation and honor not be marred by his presence.

As he settled into a routine, Jaime found that his natural charm and charisma did, in fact, win some people over. They weren't much, hedge knights and hardy smallfolk, but it was nice to have a small group he could at least trust not to kill him in his sleep. They even managed to share tales at meal time, the young men eager to hear about Jaime's glorious battles during his time in the Kingsguard. He was careful not to mention anything too controversial, lest he be labeled a rouser. He kept it mostly to the minor battles, those moments when his blood sang with the thrill of victory.

It was on one such night that a small group of wildfolk from the other side of camp finally made their way over to gaze upon the infamous Kingslayer. Their leader, a rather robust ginger with wide eyes and a long face plopped himself down right next to Jaime mid-meal, almost upending the bowl in his hand.

"So this is the sisterfucker," he proclaimed loudly. "Here to throw yourself at the dead in shame?"

"No," Jaime refused to rise to the bait. "I'm here to fight, same as you."

The wildling laughed uproariously as he turned to his men. "Same as me, he says. This southern cunt thinks he's the same as me. Me? I've killed hundreds of crows, and gone up against the dead at Hardhome and Eastwatch. Tell me, Ser Jaime," he sneered, "how you could even kill a lamb with that." With his good hand holding the bowl of stew, Jaime had no defense when the other man suddenly reached out and gripped the stump of his right arm. He winced against the stab of pain that lanced through him but didn't flinch.

"Let him go, Tormund."

Jaime startled at her voice, and his bowl tumbled to the ground, spilling its contents on the muddy sludge around the fire. Brienne stood just at the edge of the firelight, her tall frame covered neck to toes in mail and fur. Her cheeks and ears were red with cold, but her eyes were fierce as they stared hard at the wildling and his men.

Tormund, for his part, looked almost flustered at her sudden presence. He scrambled to his feet with a broad grin, his arms outstretched. "There she is! My big woman!"

Something dangerous and brutal flashed across Jaime's mind and he stood abruptly. Tormund didn't seem to notice. The wild man took a step toward her as though expecting an embrace, or at least a friendly pat on the back. Instead, Brienne checked him with her shoulder and he slammed into the wall. Undeterred, Tormund regained his balance and brushed himself off.

"I enjoy a woman who isn't afraid to throw her weight around. We've got time for a tussle or two in the yard before second watch."

"How many times must I tell you," Brienne enunciated slowly, as though Tormund were a small child. "I'm. Not. Interested."

Tormund just grinned. "Until next time, my lady." It was clear from his rather awkward bow that he was mocking manners rather than trying to emulate them. Then he was gone, hustling away amid the rabble of his wildling friends. The area was eerily quiet after their departure, and Jaime realized that everyone else had fled as well. He wondered if that had been because of Tormund's arrival or Brienne's.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, Jaime inclined his head. "Lady Brienne."

She returned his formality with one of her own. "Ser Jaime." Then, because she couldn't seem to think of anything to say, she added, "How are you?"

Jaime chuckled. "I still have my head and I haven't been fed to one of those flying beasts yet, so it's a good day." She seemed upset by his words, and Jaime felt that oh so familiar flicker of something in his gut whenever her brow furrowed just so. "What troubles you?"

Her eyes caught his then, and he saw the truth of her next words in them. "You," she told him plainly. "I am worried about you."

That drew a full laugh from him, and her brow furrowed further. "Your concern is touching, my lady, but unworthy. I am lucky to still be alive, it's true. But beyond that…" he let his words trail off, unwilling to voice what he believed to be true. It would be a miracle if he survived the first skirmish against the dead, much less made it out of the other end of this war alive.

Brienne stepped forward, a strange look in her eye. "You can't say that. No matter what happens, Ser Jaime, please promise me you will not be rash." Then as if realizing how she sounded, she drew herself up. "Your experience on the battlefield will be sorely needed if we intend to win."

Jaime had no doubts that the former King in the North would leave him to rot in the snow before allowing him to command any northern troops. Not that those northmen would listen to him anyway, no matter what Snow said. Jaime's only hope was to keep his head down long enough to maybe do something good before the Stranger came for him. But he knew Brienne wouldn't hear it, and so he acquiesced.

"As my lady commands," he intoned. "I promise I have every intention of fighting tooth and nail to survive. But the odds are not in our favor. Surely you have seen that?"

She nodded. "Those dragons will certainly even the field."

"And yet rumors say the Night King has one of his own." Jaime had heard the men talking about it the other day. One man claimed to have survived the assault at Eastwatch, and the way he recounted the devastation of the ice dragon had made Jaime shiver from more than just the cold.

Brienne glanced around uncomfortably, as though just realizing they were alone. She cleared her throat and took a step back. "I should let you finish your meal," she said. "I am glad you are here, Ser Jaime."

Like most of their conversations, Jaime could hear everything she wasn't saying and it warmed him better than any fire could. Though tenuous and fragile at times, Jaime knew without a doubt that whatever he and Brienne shared was something wholly unique and precious. He also knew she was more skittish than a wild foal and let her retreat for now. "I am glad as well, Lady Brienne. Until next time."

"Good night." She disappeared into the darkness, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts.