A/N: It was supposed to be the shortest chapter, but during editing it transformed into the longest as far. Well... In my defense, I can only say that I love long chapters. Plus, you'll probably notice I don't stick to one POV for a scene from this chapter on. That's because I always have the need to show the emotions fo every side and I just can't keep them unwritten, hope you don't mind.

I still can't believe how much fun I have writing this story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

Winter has already come to my place, so I can now relate more to the poor people of Westeros, yay! (I hate winter.)

Enjoy!

III

The Truth You Need to Hear

The first thing that reached his consciousness was warmth, or rather a notion of its blissful embrace. He felt it spreading pleasantly throughout his body which welcomed it like some old friend he had already forgotten had ever existed.

Then he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw once his vision cleared was a head of yellow hair and just like that he knew he was home.

He didn't realize he had just regarded Winterfell, or rather her, as home.

She was sitting on the chest near the foot of the bed, busy cleaning a sword, his sword. She had to sense his gaze on her as in the next moment she lifted her head and their eyes met.

"You're awake," she noticed calmly, putting the sword aside. Her face didn't show many emotions, yet he saw a flicker of something in her eyes, the blueness of which he had sometimes wished he could forget, before she averted her gaze. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse." He smiled bitterly. "You of all people should know it."

He used his elbows to change his position into half-lying half-sitting. The bed he found himself in was hard and uncomfortable, like practically everything in this wretched cold seclusion. But it was also warm, so warm, probably thanks to multiple furs he had been covered with.

He had no idea how long exactly he had been unconscious, but apart from hunger, slight pain and being a little numb, he felt excellent, like he had slept for at least a few days. The bones in his face hurt, as did his whole right arm and his chest every time he was taking a breath. But it was nothing compared to what he had once been through. And compared to the fact he had somehow managed to reach his destination alive.

Brienne watched him carefully as he was getting acquainted with his body afresh. He looked at her and felt gratitude flooding his whole being.

"You can't even begin to imagine how glad I am to see you," he said quietly speaking the sheer truth. Her expression didn't change, still being peculiarly stern and tense.

"I can't say the same about you," she answered and his spirits sank immediately. She straightened on her chest and looked down at him, her face firm and serious, the same as the tone of her voice was. Yet, her eyes were telling a completely different story, revealing concern and relief she either didn't want to or simply couldn't hide. This blueness had always been a mirror of truth, it wasn't able to lie. "I wasn't pleased to see you lying lifeless on the floor of some gods forsaken inn. Or to think you were dead."

Something flipped in his heart at these words. He was slightly surprised to hear her say so straightforwardly what she had been feeling and it probably disconcerted her as well, for she turned her gaze away, confusion present on her face. But she wasn't blushing, not yet at least.

"So you are glad to see me well," he countered with an apologetic smile.

"I suppose I am." One corner of her mouth went upward and for a moment they were just looking at each other. As her expression softened Jaime could now see practically everything she had been experiencing these past few hours - worry, relief, sadness, joy - not only in her eyes, but also in all her features. Her irises were screaming it all loud and clear as they gazed into each other, and for a few seconds he hoped they could get past what had happened in King's Landing without ever having to talk about it. But then she looked away, her big blue eyes he had missed so much no longer available for him to stare into, and he knew he had to face it. She deserved words of apology.

"Thank you for coming when you came," he said sincerely, the words awkward and unbalanced. Thank you for saving my life, as you do so often without even knowing, he thought. She responded with a gentle smile. He didn't give her time to speak, continuing. "And I'm sorry." There were no simpler words to put it, yet somehow he knew they would be enough.

She looked up at him cautiously. Something changed in her gaze as she saw the devastating remorse in his eyes and heard it in his voice.

"For what? Almost dying?" She smirked, pretending not to know what he was talking about. The atmosphere loosened significantly, which probably was her point.

He chuckled.

"Dying wasn't exactly a part of my plan." He took a hurtful breath to continue, but suddenly a thought struck him, causing him to curse himself for being such an ungrateful bastard. "How's Bronn?"

"Alive," she answered after momentarily hesitation that made his blood freeze. "But not out of danger yet. He has to waken first."

Jaime closed his eyes heavily, shaky breath escaping his mouth. Guilt scraped at his heart, demanding his undivided attention.

"It isn't your fault." He heard her quiet voice trying to comfort him. It couldn't work though; she had good intentions, but it wasn't the truth. Bronn might have followed him only and entirely for the sake of the overdue castle, but all in all it had been Jaime who had taken the sellsword on this journey. "You didn't answer what you were sorry for," Brienne reminded him, apparently trying to swerve his thoughts from his companion. He had to obey, grateful for the distraction.

"For Dragonpit." He looked at her and thought for a moment that was just what she wanted to hear. He could say a lot about it, but somehow nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Any gesture of kindness would cause Cersei to send the Mountain on you? No, it just wasn't right. She would say there had been no reason for concern, because she would have handled it. "You were right from the start," he added instead, quieter, in a way admitting his defeat.

It was enough; probably, as he had suspected before, the apologies alone would have been enough. She smiled, but it wasn't a token of self-satisfaction. It was a sign of genuine contentedness that he had finally seen the truth and set his priorities the way they should have been from the very beginning. Somehow, she didn't need him to say it, she just knew he had already done it.

"Fuck loyalty, right?" He smirked.

"Fuck loyalty." She agreed with a soft chuckle.

For a moment they were just gazing into each other's eyes in silence. What truly needed to be said had already been said; now they could allow themselves a few seconds of just enjoying the company. It was enough for Jaime to forget about everything else - about Cersei, the Great War, Bronn, the Golden Company - as he was just drowning in the blueness of her eyes. He could stay like this forever.

Brienne was the one to break the moment.

"I promised lady Sansa I'll come for her when one of you awakens." She stood up abruptly.

"Sansa?" Jaime frowned. "Not the Dragon Queen or her wolf pup?"

"I don't serve them but Sansa and Arya," she reminded him. "Besides, lady Stark asked me not to tell anyone about you just yet."

"Auch, troubles in paradise?"

Brienne looked at him with a lenient smile.

"Think about what you're going to say to her," she said, wishing she could reveal more, but knowing that she couldn't yet tell him about Jon Snow's true heritage. There will be time for it, or at least she truly hoped so. "Weigh your words carefully."

He nodded, being painfully aware the Starks had plenty of reasons not to let him stay, even after hearing the truth, even despite him pledging his sword to the living. To the North.

"Will you stay? To hear what I have to say?" he asked, hope and slight plea slipping into his voice uninvited. He wanted... no, he desperately needed her to know everything as soon as possible. He would start now if he thought she wouldn't be conflicted about choosing to hear him out or to go find Sansa, as was her given assignment.

"I will if I only can," she answered and turned to the door quickly, to avoid his eyes. "I'll tell someone to bring you something warm to eat."

And then she was gone, leaving silent emptiness in her wake. Jaime stared at the door for a moment, wondering. Had it really happened or had he just dreamed of her, which would not be the first time he had done so? Somehow, it felt real. Her eyes, much bigger and bluer than in any dream. Her soft smile that made her face brighter, the smile he had always felt he was stealing from someone it should have belonged to, someone worthier than him. Her gaze that both scolded him for his wrong choices and conveyed joy from his arrival, wordlessly. All too real for it to be just a dream.

On the road to Winterfell, he had thought he would receive from her a slightly cold, semi-kind greeting, and nothing more. He had additionally convinced himself he had taken the North for his destination only for his honor and survival of the living, but now he slowly started to realize it might not have been the whole truth. Even if he couldn't have let himself think about receiving anything more, just a smile for example, he had hoped for it deep down. And subconsciously, he had also been coming here for her.

Maybe if he only got the imagined polite, yet distant greeting, the waves in his heart would be calm. But nothing was like he had envisaged it, including the cannibals he had definitely not taken into consideration, and the waves weren't calm, threatening to break on the stony shore and drown him. His heart reminded itself and him in the process of something he hadn't experienced since their meeting at the siege of Riverrun. He hadn't let himself feel these things in Dragonpit, because it would have been too dangerous for her. But now...

Now the waves battled, two conflicting points of view trying to prevail. The first one was telling him that now she was among her own. Now they had only days or weeks to live, probably, for the chances of survival in the face of such a dreadful enemy seemed to be really scarce. Therefore, now there was nothing to lose. He could let himself remember. And he could let himself feel.

But the second one was much more cautious. It didn't matter that she was among her own, feelings had always been as dangerous and sharp as Valyrian steel blades. He knew something about it; he still wore the scars. Feelings were much better kept at bay, in the safe confinement of the heart. Yes, they should have definitely stayed hidden. He just shouldn't look into her eyes for long. Or remain in her presence in general.

Sighing, he fell onto the bed and groaned as his ribs cried out.

Brienne would love to hear his story as soon as possible, but she had promised something to her lady and as always she was going to keep her word. She had to find Sansa, even though the only thing she wanted was to stay with Jaime in her own room and just... and just be there with him. For once without any immediate threat hanging above their heads, without any conflicting duties they had to put first. There was only the Great War now; no oaths, no houses, no sides. Just the Great War.

And even though it was supposed to be the greatest and most disastrous war in the history of mankind, she felt in peace.

The castle, clad in the daylight, was much more lively than during the night. All kinds of people bustled about, gathering to receive new weapons made of dragonglass, to learn how to fight, to beg for another portion of food. Passing them, Brienne briefly wondered about Manny the innkeeper, who had probably got forgotten in the midst of much more important matters. Winterfell hadn't been so alive since Eddard Stark had gone south, or maybe not even then. Which was slightly morbid in light of the fact that soon, as it was the second point of defense against the White Walkers, it might become an empty ruin or a massive tomb. It was only a matter of days before they travel north to the Wall and leave Winterfell to either await their return or its own turn in the fight.

Brienne herself didn't believe all those gravely spoken predictions. She had hope for victory, for survival. Nothing was ever lost if there was still some fight left and there was a lot of fight in these people.

She found Sansa in one of the smaller halls which was now adjusted to receiving the Northmen. To her slight surprise, Brienne discovered she just walked into a discussion concerning the events of the last night. Not the arrival of Jaime and Bronn, of course, but the cannibal issue. She spotted Manny standing in the corner of the chamber, probably already accused of cooperation given the hostile glances the Northerners were casting towards him. Seeing him Brienne felt a sting of guilt. This had been her yesterday's task, not attending to her heart's desires. There might have been a duty she had failed. But, even though she felt a touch of shame, she knew that if anyone took her back in time, she would have behaved in exactly the same way.

"My lady," she said loudly enough for Sansa to hear, nodding her greeting to the gathered heads of northern houses and the lady herself.

"My ladies, my lords, you will have to excuse me now." Sansa smiled and stood up. There was something royal in her, authority radiating and influencing everyone around; it made Brienne wonder whether Catelyn Stark had realized her daughter would really grow up to be a queen. Not of Westeros, but of the North, which for the Starks was probably much more important. "There are other issues I have to attend to."

The Northmen bowed their heads in respect as Sansa walked past them with a gentle smile. Brienne noticed she wasn't the only one who felt admiration towards the young lady. She hadn't known Eddard Stark, but she suspected his lords had had to look at him the way some of them were now looking at his oldest daughter. At their leader.

Sansa walked out into the corridor and Brienne followed her.

"Ser Jaime is awake," Brienne announced after making sure they could speak freely.

"Good," Sansa answered, her voice firm, already prepared for whatever conversation she was about to have. "Lead me to him."

As they walked the long and noisy road back to Brienne's chamber, the Lady of Tarth pondered on the right words to use if she would be put in the position of having to defend Jaime's rights to fight for the living. She had already told Sansa once or twice that he was no longer the man he had used to be, but it might prove not enough in the current situation. Strong arguments were needed. She felt slightly nervous again. She caught herself thinking with complete confidence that the alliance was over and they came to announce just that, while nothing was yet set in stone. Yes, he had mentioned fucking loyalty and had told her she had been right all along, but she could have read it the way she wanted to, not the way it truly was. Hope and her utter faith in his sense of right and wrong might have clouded her judgment. Maybe they simply had gone so ahead of their army that it didn't arrive yet but will soon. Maybe everything she considered crucial now will not even be necessary if they had come here on behalf of the Queen. Maybe.

She knew one thing for sure - she just wanted to hear what he had to say, as soon as possible, because both her head and her heart now hurt too much not knowing what to think or feel. She needed concrete facts, not just suspicions or predictions. She needed the truth.

Having eaten everything they brought him, Jaime had nothing else to do but follow Brienne's advice and wonder how to put his story right for his sister-in-law. Or rather ex-sister-in-law. He had never truly wondered about it, but now it turned out to be a good topic to take his mind off everything that was hanging above him. Could his brother and Sansa still be married, concerning she was now technically a widow? Had their marriage been annulled so she had been able to wed the Bolton bastard or had it just been assumed that since Tyrion had been a fugitive and a traitor it automatically crossed him out of the list of spouses? Did they know the truth themselves?

But all in all... did they even care, in the midst of everything that was happening? Did anyone care about anything apart from wars, dragons, wights, Iron Throne and so on?

He sighed, his thoughts involuntarily subsiding into the Brandon Stark's pit. Focusing only on why he had been coming here he had carefully avoided the subjects that might have caused him to just turn around and choose Cersei as the lesser evil. Because here was Brandon Stark, thrown by him from the window. Because here was Daenerys Targaryen, orphaned already in her mother's womb because of him. And he would probably have to abase himself before them so they would let him stay. It was not the most joyful perspective.

He closed his eyes and tried to steer clear of the thoughts of the impending reckoning. There was a lot of things he would like not to consider right now, not when he was still slightly doubting he was really here, alive. Instead of dwelling, he looked around the chamber he had found himself in. It was harsh, cold and dark, as everything here in the North. The bed was the most prominent furniture, substantial enough to fit even three massive Northerners. There was also a little stone table with his golden hand on it, a hearth with fire slowly approaching the end of its dance, the chest, a closet, a few hangers on the wall with cloaks and a stand with an armor. Her armor.

He frowned. Had she put him in her own chamber? There was no way to know for sure, as the only personal things here were the armor and her sword that had been leaned against the wall next to his own. The two swords reunited, both with each other and the place they belonged. Looking at them Jaime felt a notion of completeness, of fates meeting their ends. Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail - he had to change that name finally - together again, inside the walls Ice had once served. If there was such thing as justice, some godly one had happened here.

Breaking free from the swords, he examined the chamber again, this time not only with his eyes, engaging other senses as well. It had to be her room, he thought, as it somehow felt with her. Her scent, her honor, her determination. Everything.

He smiled to himself. There probably was a very sensible reason she had made such a decision; nevertheless, he felt warmth spreading through his heart. She had saved his life, cared for him and put him in her own bed. That was just delightful, making up for every misadventure along the harsh road to Winterfell.

A sound of the door being opened took him completely by surprise; analyzing Brienne's protectiveness over him he had managed to forget what he had been waiting for. But when he saw the Lady of Winterfell, who didn't resemble the Sansa Stark he had known, everything came rushing back.

"Lady Stark," he greeted her formally, standing up and bowing his head. His ribs reminded him immediately they won't appreciate any abrupt movements in the days to come, broken as they were. He was a master in hiding both physical and mental pain, though. Pain had been his best friend for the majority of his life. Besides, a few broken bones were nothing compared to, for example, losing his hand.

"Ser Jaime," Sansa reciprocated the gesture, her face stern and gravely serious. She looked just like her mother, although prettier and more capable of making hard choices. Knowing what kind of a woman Catelyn Stark had been, that was saying a lot.

"I would offer you to sit, but it is your terrain." He smiled softly, hoping to make a good initial impression. Never in his life would he have thought that one day he will be humbly groveling before Sansa Stark, especially not out of his own free will.

"It is. This is my home and my kingdom." She stated it as some supreme truth no one in their right minds would ever dare to undermine. "You are currently under my protection. Everything you say or do might make me reconsider and change my mind on your staying here."

She sat down gracefully on the chest, gesturing for him to sit down as well. Brienne placed herself next to the door, leaning against the wall.

"Thank you for..." Jaime started, suddenly unsure of how to continue. His eyes found Brienne, who smiled reassuringly, trying to send him enough courage and honor to let just the right words flow. He needed that, he needed her here to keep him on the right path. He would probably manage not to swerve even without her presence, but with her around everything was easier, much easier. "...granting me the benefit of the doubt."

Sansa nodded with unchanged expression. In this moment she reminded him more of Eddard Stark than her mother - diplomatically polite, composed posture with honor above anything else. The Tully wolf, truly. She had come a long road since he had last seen her - a sweet summer girl whose dreams had been shattered; broken but unbent, still naive and innocent. There was nothing left of that girl in the eyes of the woman sitting in front of him.

"We've come here to warn you," he started again, looking Sansa straight in these blue, cold eyes of hers. She needed to see his intentions were clear. "And to fight for you, if you would have us. Cersei..." he stopped, his eyes dropping to the stone surfaces around them. For a moment he felt like they were surrounding him tightly, suffocating him, demanding things he was not able to give. Demanding the truth he had told only Bronn, but Bronn was Bronn, and this was Sansa Stark. Speaking it out loud for her ears to hear will make it all real finally, will break the bubble of denial he had sometimes found himself creating. There already was no turning back, but saying the words will seal some decisions forever, closing one door while not necessarily opening any other.

Sansa gave him a moment seeing the obvious struggle he was going through. Cersei's image from years back appeared in his mind, smiling, inviting, tempting. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.

No.

"Cersei tricked you. She was never going to lend you her forces for the fight with the dead," he said in one breath, opening his eyes abruptly. He looked at Sansa again as the image of his sister blurred and faded away, leaving nothing in its wake. Fading one last time.

Brienne noticed he had said "her" forces and not "ours", and smiled contently. She was proud of him.

"She plotted with Euron Greyjoy to deceive you all," he continued, now completely steady and calm. "He didn't abandon her, that was just a perfectly conceived deceit. She sent him to Essos, for twenty thousand men of the Golden Company."

Sansa's composed posture wavered.

"The Golden Company?" she repeated incredulously, shocked.

"Yes," Jaime confirmed. "The money from Highgarden enabled her to pay off the debts to Iron Bank and do so much more. They are her allies now." Because of me, he thought bitterly, but didn't say it aloud.

Brienne anxiously visualized the road to Essos Euron Greyjoy might have taken. There was one lonely island, lying exposed on the brink of the Narrow Sea, completely vulnerable if faced with an enemy of such a scale. Then she remembered the disdain and hate in the Queen's eyes whenever they fell upon her. She felt her legs go weak as the terror spread throughout her like a wildfire.

"My lady," she said, barely managing to keep her voice steady. She had always been strong, both physically and mentally, but it was her father's life now that was at stake, her island's future, almost everything she had ever held dear standing at the edge of destruction. It might even be too late now; it could have already been ravaged, her father slain, her people suffering torture while she was here, safe inside Winterfell's walls. She should have fought alongside them, it was her duty. And if they had died, she should have died with them. "I need to send a raven to my father. I..."

"There is no need." Jaime looked at her with an expression she couldn't identify, nor cared about at the moment.

"What are you talking about, I..." she started angrily, but he cut her off again.

"I've already done it."

For a moment she froze, feeling like time suddenly stopped, then she got completely overwhelmed by the wave of emotions that flooded her.

"What?" she asked quietly, her throat dry, her eyes wide with hope and disbelief. Had he really done such a thing? For her father and her island? Or rather for her entirely?

"I stole a raven before leaving King's Landing and sent a message to your father," he explained, looking at her in a way that gave away a lot of his feelings. Hope, longing, devotion and... and something else, something she wouldn't dare to name even in her most intimate thoughts. "I owed you that."

She forgot all the words. With slightly opened mouth she just stared at him, feeling gratitude in such enormous quantity she didn't think was possible to experience. But there was not only gratitude. She wanted to thank him by expressing everything she was feeling at the moment, she wished to give him the whole world, even if it was not within her grasp. But not a single word left her mouth as they gazed into each other silently, their eyes having a discussion that required no words.

Sansa let them stay in this state of rapture for a moment, knowing full well they had simply forgotten about her presence. Finally, she cleared her throat, which made both of them look at her, although Brienne's gaze was absent as she seemed too lost in her own thoughts and feelings to focus on the outer world. Even though Sansa had never seen her lady knight in such a condition, she wasn't surprised - if someone told her that her father had been saved by the efforts of that person, she would wish to grant them their heart's desires without as much as a second thought, because it would be the happiest day of her life.

"What did you write to Lord Selwyn, Ser Jaime?" she asked, now fully convinced that love the man sitting in front of her felt towards his brother and apparently lady Brienne was more than enough to consider him redeemable. She had just been a witness to something special and it made her heart sting, even though she would never admit it to anyone, not even herself.

"I warned him about Greyjoy and the Company, summarized the current political and military situation, and urged him to come to Winterfell and pledge his sword to the North," he answered, his eyes shifting from Brienne to Sansa. "Now there's only a question whether he believed me."

"I'm sure we're both grateful to you," Sansa said diplomatically, looking briefly at Brienne. "We could definitely use Lord Selwyn's forces. There will never be enough men in this war."

Brienne couldn't believe her own ears. Not only might her father have been saved from the dreadful fate of being slaughtered by Euron Greyjoy and the Golden Company, which could not be an easy or pleasant death, but he might also be on his way here. She hadn't seen him for years and the idea of meeting him, not to mention fighting by his side, was more than she could handle. She tried to regain her usual composure, but she had never felt graceful in a field of emotions, especially not when they were coming in such an abundance and with a substantial intensity. It was too much.

At the same time, Sansa was thinking about Theon. What did it all mean for his mission to save his sister? A certain death, probably. Her heart sank a little at the realization.

"Cersei might not wait in King's Landing until the enemy comes to her," Jaime said, returning to the main subject, although still gazing at Brienne from time to time. She seemed to have found her footing, but still looked agitated and moved.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from her," Sansa answered bitterly. "She'll probably attack us from the south as we fight the dead in the north."

Jaime imagined the slaughter that would commence and decided it was quite a possible scenario.

"Probably yes," he agreed. Sansa allowed herself a small sigh, then quickly regained complete self-control and looked at him firmly. The conversation was over, the moment of judgment just came. He felt like her eyes were assessing his soul, weighing his intentions and words against the sins of his past.

"I do believe you," she said finally. "And I would have you fight for the North, but first you have to repeat your story before the Dragon Queen to get a place in her army fighting for the living."

Brienne inhaled deeply, glad her young lady behaved rationally and didn't crash her hopes. She hadn't been wrong to put her faith in Sansa Stark.

Jaime nodded, knowing without a doubt it will go much worse with Daenerys Targaryen. But the first step was already behind him and it lifted some of the weight from his shoulders. Even within the pack of wolves, the lonely lion could remain unbent. Or maybe he just wasn't as lonely as he had previously thought.

"Tyrion will probably vouch for you," Sansa added like she was reading his mind. "And she greatly values his opinions."

"If she proves to be half as generous as you, that would still be much more than I expected," he said sincerely, his eyes serious and grateful as he looked at Sansa. The visit was over, so he stood up and bowed his head in respect. "Thank you, Lady Stark."

Sansa granted him a restrained smile and stood up as well. Brienne, having a sensation of waking up from a really peculiar dream, watched them and felt like she was reuniting two pieces of her long lost family, being proud of both of them. She also both hoped and dreaded Sansa would leave her alone with Jaime; they needed to talk, yet she feared the consequences that might inadvertently arise from such a conversation.

"Stay here until I send for you," Sansa added on parting. There had to be a shadow crossing Jaime's face, because she frowned and asked: "What is it?"

Jaime hesitated for a moment, but decided to be straightforward. He owed that to the friend who had saved his life numerous times already and might have just sacrificed his own because of the mission the knight had hauled him into. Or rather for the castle he had been promised, Jaime thought absently.

"I would like to visit Bronn if that's possible," he answered carefully. Sansa saw a genuine concern in his eyes; it would be cruel not to let him go and he himself had never been cruel towards her. And so she nodded her consent.

"Wear a hood, I don't want you to be recognized too early," she warned him and turned towards Brienne. "Walk with him to ser Bronn and come find me later." She headed for the door, but before leaving she looked at Jaime and said gracefully: "I do hope he will be alright." She had heard both Lannister brothers owed their lives to the sellsword-turned-knight and she truly meant what she had just said.

"I'm sure he would appreciate it." Jaime knew Bronn wouldn't give a shit about Sansa's concern for his well-being or lack thereof, but it was the right thing to say.

Sansa departed from the room, leaving them in a tight silence. Brienne felt uneasy, unsure of what to do, what to say, how to thank him, for nothing seemed to be enough in her mind. Jaime glared at her amazedly as in this state of confusion, gratitude and happiness, bathing in the winter sun that seeped through the window, she looked like some godly creature which his eyes were unworthy to gaze upon. Both of them didn't know what could befall now. Some good old bickering might loosen the atmosphere, but something undoubtedly had changed and there was probably no coming back from that line. Their relation transformed once and for all quite unexpectedly; they got thrown into a deep water without prior warning and the water now threatened to drown them both.

"Ser Jaime..." Brienne was the one to start, the words coming out with severe difficulty as her throat resembled some dornish desert.

Jaime grimaced.

"Don't you think we could finally drop the formalities? Considering everything we've been through..." He let his words hang in the air for a moment as a reminiscing smile appeared on his lips. "And let me inform you we are on the same side now, for the first time, in case you didn't notice."

"I did notice." She smiled at him weakly, but momentarily grew serious again. She should have told him no, because it was improper considering they were neither related nor married, and just gone on. She could ignore his words and simply continue, repeating the "ser" before his name so he would remember not to cross the unspoken line the next time. Or... Or she could just agree, tasting his name on her lips without his title like it was the most intimate act that had ever occurred between them.

A memory stirred in her mind, as vivid as it had been only yesterday and not years ago.

Jaime. My name is Jaime.

When she looked at him again, she was already quite positive that "proper" had never been a good word to describe their relations.

"Jaime, I..."

"Don't." He walked up to her and looked her in the eyes. She felt her heart speeding - he was definitely too close considering her current overflow of emotions. He experienced the very same thing and awkwardly took a step back. He couldn't gaze into her eyes from such a small distance, it seemed... dangerous, in its own special way. Like being too close to her meant the same as standing on the brink of some vast abyss where there was no control or restraints, no notion of what was proper or acceptable and what was not. "I didn't do anything noble enough to deserve anything you were going to say."

There was an abundance of thoughts rumbling in his head, but he didn't let them out. The room seemed to be filled with things they had wished they could have said for years already, but had never done it and probably never will; things they feared that once they got out, there will be no stopping them and the consequences might be dire. They both felt they had no right to change the other's life like that. And so they dreaded to speak the utmost truth aloud, their common senses taking charge of their hearts.

"Anything noble enough?" She looked at him incredulously, her eyes wide. "I'll be forever grateful for saving my father and even if he didn't believe you, I'll be grateful for the sheer trying." She really thought her father had believed whatever Jaime had written to him; she had mentioned all the good deeds the Lannister knight had executed towards her, so Selwyn Tarth should have been at least open-minded about the prospect of trusting this one particular lion. "So don't tell me..."

He couldn't see these feelings in her eyes, he just couldn't, because they were breaking him apart, the knowledge he didn't deserve any of that cutting him to pieces. He had to stop the voices shouting in his head, he had to stop whatever was going on here, happening so quickly he could barely breathe, which probably would be difficult even without a few broken ribs.

"Cersei's with child," he burst suddenly, his face showing nothing but pain. There, he ruined the moment once and for all; it will never come back, not like this, not with this absolute trust and devotion in her big blue eyes, because nothing will ever be fine again. She will know he was not the person she considered him to be, because she had to know. He had never been that person and will never be, that was the sad truth he had come to know, and now so will she.

She looked at him entirely confused. It was too much of everything in too little time. Yesterday at the similar hour she wouldn't have thought he would ever leave his Queen, and yet here he was, having traveled a long and dangerous road to finally fight for the right side; here he was, evoking all these peculiar emotions she wasn't even able to name which she had felt only around him; here he was, telling her his sister and lover was pregnant, surely with his child. It was too much to fathom.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his.

He could tell her everything he had thought before. He could tell her he owed her the truth, he owed her his life, he owed her everything. He could do that. Yet, he knew such words wouldn't come in isolation and some others would follow that neither of them was prepared to hear or say.

"Because I thought you needed to know," he just answered, his throat so dry he thought he wouldn't utter even these few words. Don't push it, he begged her in his mind which found this confrontation much more challenging than yesterday's encounter with the cannibals, even though not so deadly.

There was a moment when he just gazed at her and she could truly see inside him. He was lost, broken and vulnerable, but in such a different way than the one she had already seen. Something in him begged for forgiveness, while something else entirely vehemently tried to prove her he was not worthy of it.

She stared back at him speechlessly; the words failed her, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours.

"Let's go find Bronn," he whispered, turning his back on her as he could stand this look she was giving him no longer, these mesmerizing eyes of hers filled with uncertainty and misunderstanding as she frowned, trying to find her stand in all that, trying to come up with the right answer, with anything.

What was he expecting her to say? Or rather would like her to say as she doubted he expected anything right now from life in general, and especially not from her. That's fine? I don't mind? I forgive you? You should forgive yourself first?

But she neither knew what she felt nor thought there was anything to forgive. She wasn't his betrothed to take it personally; she had always known about his incestuous relationship, therefore it wasn't even surprising. So why didn't she know what to say? Why didn't she just casually comment on it like it was nothing for her? Why didn't she even truly consider what she could tell him, but focused on the pain she had seen in his eyes, the pain that had somehow spread to her heart as well?

Jaime felt like an idiot. Once again he thought that Cersei had been right and he was the most stupid Lannister. Maybe his deed had been tremendously foolish and much too personal for their relation, whatever that might be. But the last thing he would ever want to happen was to lie to her or let her trust him in a way he definitely didn't deserve.

"I think it's a good idea," she finally answered, knowing she won't find her footing when they were the only two people in a room. She suddenly wished the matters of the heart were as easy and straightforward as being in a combat - fighting had its rules, movements, simplicity. The game of feelings had no rules and somehow, unnoticeably and without her knowledge, she had become a player.

Jaime looked blankly around the room; almost automatically he approached the swords, gave Brienne Oathkeeper and secured his own weapon, doing everything wordlessly. His gaze fell on his golden hand, waiting for him on the table, cleaned from all of the yesterday's blood. His stump immediately reminded him he wasn't ready for it, sending a shiver of pain through his right arm. No, he had to leave it be, at least for now. Still without words, Brienne handed him a cloak with a hood and her fur he had got acquainted with the day before; he had no choice but to take it, being careful not to gaze too long into her eyes, feeling like he intruded into her privacy as the material embraced him tightly and his brain reminded him it had done the same to her body countless times, which evoked a lot of sensations he still couldn't let himself feel towards her.

Then they left the chamber and started walking silently through the crowded corridors without looking at one another, lost in their own worlds and thoughts.