A/N: I have a feeling this chapter is downright terrible, truth be told. And I apologize in advance for mistakes that might be more common than in the previous ones, because I really wanted to publish it today (which meant quicker than usual editing to 5 am and resulted in an almost completely sleepless night) to wish you all Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I hope 2018 will be better than 2017 for all of you and all your dreams will come true. May the Seven bless you!

All I want for Christmas is a review (or rather a few), so don't be shy and criticize!

Love you all,
Ana

IV

Silence Before the Storm

The road to Pod's involved fighting their way through the highly crowded corridors, which created a perfect opportunity for them to analyze the recent events. Jaime felt somewhat unclean and ashamed. He didn't regret telling her the truth, for in this new short life he wanted to be as honest with her as it was only possible, yet now he wished there had been nothing to tell in the first place. How different his current feelings were in comparison to what he had experienced upon hearing the "happy" news; how badly he now wanted to erase at least one last year of his life. One year would be enough; it was so little and so much to ask for at the same time.

Silently following Brienne he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking, what was going on in this stubborn head of hers. Did she detest him already? Did she regret saving his life?

Brienne slowly reflected on their past encounters, on his words, deeds, intentions. She hadn't judged him through the prism of his past for years, so why should she start now? He had listened to her and fucked loyalty; everything before that had become his past. He himself had made those choices and put it all behind him. A past was a past; it should have stayed there. If they all live long enough for it to become the future, then it could be a reason for further considerations. No sooner.

On the other hand... on the other hand, she felt heavy with this new knowledge in a way she hadn't known before, heavy with some kind of desolate resignation. She wasn't hurt; there was already too much pain in him to increase it with any additional suffering. Maybe she should have just tried to remain detached and distant, to focus on her duties and nothing more as she had usually been doing around other people. Maybe she shouldn't have cared so much about the amount of pain in his eyes. Maybe she should have treated him like every other human being to protect herself from harm.

But whenever her gaze stumbled upon him, a broken pile of misery, she knew she couldn't do any of that. He was no ordinary human being for her and additionally, nothing could ever be like it had been again. She didn't know why or what had changed exactly, but it certainly had. Was it the fright and despair she had experienced thinking he was dead? Was it his most noble behavior towards her home? Was it about his current condition? Or maybe... maybe she was simply tired of shuffling everything aside, of denying any feelings that didn't revolve around honor and oaths. Everyone around her suspected they were going to die sooner rather than later; if it truly was to be this way, she didn't want to die forever hidden behind the walls of her duties. She wished to feel. She wished to live.

And so she decided his recent revelation will not affect their relations. Something tried to break through to these parts of her that relied completely on honor and propriety, but it failed entirely; she had long detached herself from those old, naive and idealistic conceptions and created some new, her own, based on experience and her heart. There was nothing improper in making someone's life easier, especially if this someone happened to be much more than a usual acquaintance.

She looked at him askance, her heart squeezing at the sight of utter sorrow in his eyes when he stopped blankly scanning the floor and lifted his head, their gazes locking for a moment. She wanted to say something to make him feel better, but before she could think of the right words Pod emerged from the nearest passage, almost stumbling upon them.

"My lady!" he exclaimed, surprised at the unexpected meeting even though he had to be going to find her. "Ser Jaime," he added, bowing his head before the knight.

"Quieter!" Brienne hissed, looking around uneasily. People around them didn't seem to pay attention to anything rather than themselves, but still, they had to be more careful for the time being.

"You're looking good, Podrick," Jaime noticed, greeting the squire and making him grin. "Being lady Brienne's squire has served you well."

"You'll exchange pleasantries later," Brienne muttered, not wishing to fail Lady Stark and expose Jaime too early. "What is it, Podrick?"

"It's about Ser Bronn," Pod answered eagerly. "He..."

There were a few castle inhabitants passing them by who went right through their small gathering. Pod went silent, looking uneasily at the strangers. As the silence prolonged Jaime developed a strong wish to hurt the squire severely.

"He woke up and seems to be quite well," Pod finished when he considered it safe and smiled widely at the joyful nature of his words, content to be a bearer of good news. His smile faltered when he noticed the grim look Brienne gave him.

"Spare us the drama the next time," she grumbled while Jaime released a sigh of relief. "We're going."

They moved forward, creating a line with Brienne at the front and Podrick closing the small procession. Jaime, feeling slightly better after the news of Bronn's well-being, managed to disengage himself from all the dark thoughts that had surrounded him upon his revelations.

"You made him sad," he noticed with a smirk, gazing at Pod whose head was hanging down miserably.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, did you wish to wait longer?" Brienne asked mockingly, casting him a slightly sly smile. He returned the gesture. It was good to see him smile, even though it didn't fully reach his eyes.

"No," he admitted. "I didn't."

They walked the rest of the way in silence which was no longer hanging between them, but seemed natural and calm. Podrick's chamber was located on the outskirts of the castle where rooms were significantly smaller. After entering it they found Bronn sitting on the bed with pillows stuck behind his back, so he could comfortably lean against the wall. He grimaced discontentedly upon seeing them.

"And here I hoped I wouldn't have to look at your irritating face ever again," he muttered to Jaime, who smirked in response.

"I was worried about you too," he answered chuckling and walked further inside.

Brienne and Pod followed him. Brienne gazed around the room, having never been here before; it consisted only of a small chest and a bed, barely big enough for one person to fit in. She briefly reckoned that if the two men were to share the bed, it wouldn't be particularly comfortable or even possible, despite Podrick's smaller frame. In hers it wouldn't be like that if she and her own survivor were to use it together. She felt heat rising to her cheeks after she realized what it was exactly that she had been thinking about with a good dose of certainty, like it was a normal issue. She quickly scolded herself; wishing to feel and sharing her bed were two completely different things. She won't share her bed with anyone. Not today, probably not ever. She was quite sure of that. Quite.

"I am glad to see you well," she spoke to Bronn to release herself from these thoughts. The sellsword bowed his head in response. "We'll leave you two alone."

She gestured to Pod to leave and he quickly obeyed, smiling in farewell to both knights.

"Ser Bronn." Brienne had to express her goodbyes as well, but when she looked at Jaime she went silent for a brief moment. They weren't alone here, they should have addressed each other properly, yet she wished that intimacy she had felt while speaking his name could endure. "Jaime," she finally uttered, coming to a conclusion that Bronn was for Jaime like Podrick for her - safe.

Jaime smiled, aware of the momentary struggle she had been experiencing and satisfied it had ended the way it had.

"Brienne."

She lingered in the chamber so they could stare at each other for a few long seconds, as was already their own habit when it came to goodbyes, after which she turned around and left, closing the door behind her. Jaime's eyes remained fastened on the door, however, even after she disappeared.

"Missed you, huh?" Bronn murmured, which brought Jaime back to reality. He turned around and sat on the chest.

"She didn't have anyone to tease," he answered casually, scrutinizing the other man. Bronn's right hand was heavily bandaged while his face bore more than a few souvenirs from the recent fight. He looked pale, paler than the white sheet the bed was covered with, but at least he was alive. "You look like shit."

"Have you checked the mirror lately?" Bronn retorted and reached down to lift a mug from the floor with his left hand. Jaime squirmed when the smell of its contents hit his nostrils.

"What is it?" he asked as Bronn swallowed a sip of the peculiar liquid with a grimace.

"Maester brought it. He said it will make my blood regenerate faster and get me on my legs sooner than I would find a whore in these frozen ruins."

Jaime chuckled.

"I somehow doubt he said exactly these words."

"I can swear on my honor it went exactly like that," Bronn announced solemnly.

"You don't give a damn about honor."

"Exactly." He grinned but had to wince in the next moment as a flash of pain traveled up his right arm. "The thing's supposed to give me strength. But it tastes like shit. Even not an especially good shit."

"I don't need to explore your knowledge of various tastes of shit," Jaime grimaced. Bronn shrugged with an expression saying "it's your loss" and took another sip of the suspicious-looking, grayish and sticky substance. "What happened to your hand?"

"Knife happened." Bronn lifted his hand to his eyes and looked at it accusingly. It was shaking uncontrollably; he tried to stop it with his other hand, in the process almost spilling the contents of his mug onto the furs he had been covered with. "Hurts like seven bloody hells, but it's a good sign, or so I've heard. At least I still have it."

"I can always show you some moves," Jaime smirked, waving his left hand. Bronn looked at him grimly.

"If I'd ever wish to be the most terrible swordsman Westeros has ever seen, I'll come to you immediately."

"I'm not that bad now," Jaime protested, wishing he really wasn't that bad.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Bronn shrugged indifferently, which earned him a dark stare from Jaime. "Were you granted an audience already?"

"Only with Sansa. I couldn't have you miss the big event," Jaime smirked and adjusted the chest he was sitting on so he could find a more comfortable position for his ribs. There was probably not a single one that would enable him to breathe freely, but when he stretched himself out almost fully, his head touching the wall and his legs resting on Podrick's bed, he could get much more air. Every additional particle seemed like a blessing from the Seven.

"Brienne wasn't there?" Bronn tilted his head and Jaime had to stifle a sigh, knowing what will come next. "How did she greet you? Laid you in her chamber and spread her legs? Or yours?" he added after a quick moment of wonder.

Jaime looked at him heavily; Bronn shrugged nonchalantly and took another sip of his beverage.

"The castle is overcrowded. She had to put me in her own chamber, just as Podrick put you in his." The moment the words left Jaime's mouth he knew he had just made a terrible mistake.

"I really doubt Pod would want to do to me what she wants to do to you. His magic cock is for cunts. You two, on the other hand..." Bronn suspended his voice for a few seconds while Jaime stared at him in silent defiance. "I'd tell you to go get a room, but you already share one, so it would be a tremendous waste not to use it. You need any instructions on how to do it with someone who isn't your sister?"

"We won't be doing anything," Jaime said firmly and slowly, accenting every word separately. "Remind me why exactly have I ever cared whether you survive?"

"Because you literally cannot live without me repeatedly saving your life and I need you for this castle of mine that's still a little bit too elusive for my taste." Jaime had to admit there was a lot of truth in these words. "But maybe your female guardian will now take that job from me."

"Can we please stop talking about her?" He looked at Bronn intently, but the ex-sellsword just simpered.

"I agree, you should stop talking about her and start fucking her." He lifted his cup in a mocking toast.

"You do realize we can be killed any moment now and there are probably more important things to do rather than fucking, right?" Who am I trying to convince here? Jaime wondered. Him or myself?

Bronn frowned like Jaime had just spoken some atrocious blasphemy.

"More important things than fucking before death? Can't think of any. Besides, it's all the better you'll die soon. No regrets."

Jaime sighed and hid his face in his hand. This discussion was completely pointless. He needed to get ready for the meeting with the rulers of this part of the realm, from whom almost everyone will be hostilely inclined towards him, and instead his head got filled with a whole variety of images that were everything but proper right now or right any other moment, in fact.

Fucking her could never be right.

From the open corridor up high Sansa watched Arya fighting in the yard with Robert Baratheon's bastard son. Gendry, his name was, she remembered like through the mist. Arya had mentioned to Jon more than a few times already he should have convinced the Queen to make the boy a legit deer; Sansa suspected it had something to do with him calling himself a "lowborn" quite often when talking to the younger Stark girl.

Sansa recalled Arya's reaction upon seeing the boy again: a gasp of disbelief she had uttered, a tear of joy she had shed, a hug she had enclosed him within. It was yet another shade of her sister Sansa hadn't known. There was something about Arya when she was around him that made Sansa remember that joyful, careless girl from years back; the assassin part seemed to disappear then, letting whatever innocence was left in her resurface. Letting the world believe, even if just for a fleeting moment, that she was still the same Arya Stark of Winterfell that had left this place seven years before. But one closer look was enough to prove she was no longer that girl. Even in a fight that was no more than a play - or maybe a training, Sansa couldn't really tell - her skills were betraying her, showing a glimpse of what she had been through, what she had seen and what she had learned.

As Sansa observed her from above, Arya was fighting vigorously, always winning, sending Gendry to the ground all too many times until the boy was soaking wet from the snow he was constantly falling into. Looking at him helplessly lying in the piles of white fluff, Arya laughed the laugh of a carefree heart, the laugh of someone who lived in the present and neither dread the future nor looked back into the past. He laughed back at her despite the obvious pain he had to experience after so many falls, his eyes conveying something akin to what Sansa had witnessed moments before in Jaime Lannister's irises.

Sansa felt a sting of envy at the back of her heart, for a lot of reasons. Years ago, she had detested her sister's boyish behavior, thinking herself better for being feminine, for being the way women should have been in this realm. Now, she was catching herself every so often on wishing she was more like Arya. Convinced every issue could be dealt with by one thrust of a sword or a dagger, and hers was the hand that would guide it. Skilled in battle, perfectly prepared for whatever was about to come. Able to allow herself a few moments of carefreeness, when the worries were fading away and the people around her were all that remained.

She couldn't be carefree even for a second. She was a ruler, she had responsibilities and duties she had to live up to. She wasn't prepared for what was to come, playing the calm and all-knowing Lady of Winterfell when deep inside she felt like a scared little girl living in a nightmare both by day and by night, just wishing to find a safe shelter to retreat to with her family. Her hand would not guide a sword because those were not her ways. She had gotten embedded in the game of thrones a long time ago; but even though she could deny her participation right now, she wasn't going to. The game was power, and power was the only thing that counted in this cruel world, or at least that had been the lesson everyone had been teaching her for years. She had learned, in her own way, although she was still finding her strength. All the women surrounding her had proven to her on numerous occasions they could be strong, independent and hold their ground, being powerful and authoritative, yet never abusing their power the way Cersei had. Arya. Brienne. Lyanna Mormont. Sometimes even Daenerys Targaryen. She needed to be that strong, that powerful.

And what could be a better moment to prove her strength and believe in it herself if not this day? The game was still on and she wasn't going to stop being a player. She had to show them she wasn't a pawn that could be maneuvered around and discarded when not needed; no, she was a figure with her own moves. She was still playing and they needed to see it. Whatever was going to happen, she had to show them she was the North. And she wasn't going to stand idly by while all the important matters were decided in the Great Hall, behind the closed doors, away from her. She won't have it this way any longer.

Brienne joined her before long and for a moment they both watched the fight down below in silence.

"She is very talented," Brienne noticed with a soft, proud smile.

"Yes, she is." And so am I. "Come with me."

They walked to the Great Hall; Sansa wasn't going to wait for an invitation, so without hesitation she entered the chamber, closely followed by her protector and Podrick, who had joined them somewhere on the road.

There was a usual group of people gathered around a map of Westeros. Some northern blacksmiths, led by no one else but Gendry, had made a perfect replica of the Seven Kingdoms from steel, creating an iron table that supposedly resembled a similar object from Dragonstone.

Sansa briefly wondered what they had been doing the whole time they had been here, spending the whole days around this table, if during this period nothing had changed. The figures on the board hadn't really moved since the first time she had seen them; they seemed stuck in their places, waiting impatiently until they would finally travel north.

Waiting for the lion that will never come.

One look at the gathered people was enough to get an answer to her unasked question. Jon and Daenerys stood at one side of the map having a heated discussion, while the others anxiously tried to find their places beyond this private argument.

Sansa greeted them all, looking for a moment at the royal pair. She didn't really know what the true reason for their feud was and without the knowledge of what kind of a person Daenerys Targaryen exactly was, she could never be sure. It might have been the succession to the throne, although the brother she had known wouldn't enjoy sitting on the Iron Throne. He cared about the people too deeply to be relegated to the role of a king that had nothing to do with smallfolk and had to look at the bigger picture, always prioritizing the kingdom above the common people. No, it was definitely not for him.

It might have also been the obvious sexual tension brewing between the two Targaryens, clad in a much darker color than they could have probably ever imagined. Any incestuous relationship wouldn't be viewed in a positive light right now which had to make the whole thing dreadfully complicated.

The last reason Sansa could think of was the recent thread of connection Jon had established with the dragons, especially the smaller one, bearing the name of his biological father. But most probably it was everything combined.

"I won't have it this way." Daenerys' voice was firm and cold while her eyes were aflame as she looked hostilely at Jon. They didn't notice Sansa entering; they probably didn't see anyone except for each other.

"Dany..." Jon tried to ease her, but apparently she really wasn't going to bear any of it. She was a dragon that couldn't be tamed.

"Don't call me that!" she basically shouted at him which made him twitch.

Sansa transferred her attention towards the map in front of her. There were figures representing every force that was under their command; to her substantial distress, she discovered Cersei's forces were a good part of their army. The lion seemed to mock them from the board and for a moment Sansa saw the figures turning against their companions. In a quick vision she perceived the other pawns lying defeated on the flat surface, bursting with iron blood as the cat roared above them.

She got abruptly awakened from the peculiar reveries by the sound of someone walking up to her. Turning around, she saw Tyrion standing next to her. He cast her a soft smile and asked politely: "What is bringing you here today, my lady?"

She gazed at him for a moment, wishing she could scream her anger in his face. I told you everything before, I warned you loud and clear, but you didn't listen. Why didn't you listen? She managed to compose herself though and turned to the map again, straightening.

"You have it all wrong," she answered firmly without looking away from the board.

"We can only hope your concerns won't become true."

Her head snapped towards him as she wanted to scold him, but then she realized something. She really wished to believe Jaime, partially out of selfish reasons - she needed to be right, she needed to show them they had been wrong to disregard her, she needed them to respect her. Maybe Tyrion wanted to believe Cersei could be trusted just as badly, so he wouldn't have to admit his own sister was entirely and completely lost, without any hope to be saved. Maybe he needed her to still be redeemable.

And so Sansa answered him calmly, without anger, withholding even a small sigh: "My concerns are no longer only my concerns. They have a voice now."

He frowned and looked at her with worry.

"Where did you get this voice from?" he asked, his voice quiet. She couldn't say what he was thinking. Did he suspect what she had to say or maybe just hope it wouldn't be of any importance? He seemed to be somewhat in a state of denial, unable to see clearly, locked inside his own visions and dreams. Well, she was going to crash them now mercilessly. They all deserved it.

"Last night Winterfell welcomed two travelers from King's Landing." She realized she had a full attention of the majority of the people around and even a partial one from Jon. "They did voice my concerns."

"I'm afraid we cannot believe everything the common people from the capital have to say, Lady Stark," Varys spoke up. Without his little birds, the Spider didn't seem to be of much use to anyone other than Tyrion, lending him a piece of friendly advice from time to time.

Sansa looked at him sternly. They really thought she was still that little girl who had fled King's Landing, didn't they?

"I don't remember mentioning they were common people, Lord Varys," she said coldly, eyeing the eunuch proudly.

"You let people who could be our enemies into Winterfell without telling me?" Jon interfered, his voice surprised and disbelieving.

Silence fell in the great chamber as the eyes of every single person focused on Sansa.

"Enemies," she snorted and walked along the board, the tips of her fingers brushing the surface lightly. She braced herself mentally, both enjoying and slightly dreading being in a center of attention with such a company for her audience. "Everyone in this chamber has once been an enemy to the other, and yet here we are, united under the common cause." She picked up the nearest lion figure and lifted it to her eyes. "Besides, you gave me the full right to decide for the North without consulting anything with you, remember?"

She looked at Jon without any warmth in her gaze as he stared at her intently. In this moment she felt nothing but irritation towards him.

Surprisingly, it was Daenerys who stood by her, possibly deciding that everything against Jon was worth supporting.

"As the eldest surviving child of Eddard Stark you are the Wardeness of the North and therefore have every right to decide for the North yourself," she said, casting Jon a superior look, proving him she was the one holding all the power here. He answered with a weary look, but didn't say a single thing to disagree.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa bowed her head in a sign of gratitude. It was the first time she thought she might find some common ground with the Mother of Dragons.

"We'll still have to listen to your sources before we decide on anything," Daenerys added, looking at her people. She didn't show any signs of concern, unlike the rest of them, who were mostly exchanging anxious glances and looked saddened or angered by the idea of betrayal.

Like I haven't been telling them since the moment they came here with their merry news.

"I wouldn't expect anything else, Your Grace."

The moment of bonding between the two women got interrupted by Tyrion.

"Tell me, my dear Sansa..." His voice was now much more cautious and wary than when he had spoken to her moments ago. "How would we know if we should trust some strangers claiming that my sister is a treacherous cunt?" He gazed at her for a moment, then walked towards a table where the vessels with wine stood. Since coming to Winterfell he had returned to his old drinking habits, for reasons unknown to Sansa. "Which we all already know, by the way?"

"I never mentioned they were strangers," she answered calmly, her gaze fastened on his back as he started to pour himself a cup of wine.

The process of pouring almost transformed into spilling as his hand froze middle-air. He turned around abruptly, a few driblets of wine dropping onto the ground from the vessel in his grip. There was a wide constellation of feelings written in his face and eyes as he stared at Sansa in tense anticipation, waiting for a confirmation and finding it in the slightest nod of her head. He uttered a short gasp of both disbelief and joy as he put the vessel back on the table and leaned against it with both his hands, visibly overwhelmed by relief. Watching him Sansa managed to forget they weren't alone in the great room until Daenerys spoke.

"His brother is here?"

Sansa turned to look at her; the Queen was shifting her gaze from her Hand to Sansa, cautious in some slightly menacing, but calm way. Jon's eyes widened in disbelief. He visibly wanted to interfere, already opening his mouth when he suddenly decided against it. In the current situation his voice counted for nothing and it wasn't an exaggeration to think this way. He would better remain silent to not enrage the Dragon any more than he had already done.

"Yes. Ser Jaime and Ser Bronn arrived yesterday."

Tyrion laughed merrily from above his table, then turned around and his gaze fell onto Daenerys. The calmness and seeming indifference in her features made his stomach twirl and the smile fade from his face as he realized the situation didn't look bright for his brother. For a moment the Queen and her Hand engaged in a wordless conversation in which Tyrion's eyes were begging for a chance, for forgiveness.

Brienne exchanged an anxious glance with Pod; she didn't know the Dragon Queen, so she couldn't in any way predict her actions. Hope was the only thing left. And of course her word, even if it would count for nothing for the foreign Queen.

"Your Grace..." Tyrion started finally, but Daenerys turned to Sansa the very same moment, not allowing him to continue. His eyes fell onto the floor as dread took over his heart.

"We may speak to them now," the Queen said or rather ordered, still expressionlessly, yet the more trained ears heard a threatening note somewhere in the seemingly neutral words. These weren't Brienne's ears, as she generally didn't perfect in reading other people's emotions, yet she still sensed the dread in the air. However, both Sansa and Tyrion heard the menace in the command. Sansa hesitated for a moment before passing it further, but she didn't have much of a choice. She looked at Tyrion who gazed at her with resignation. He felt that if he tried to fight now it could only make everything even worse.

The dragon's den awaited the lone lion with bad news and a lot of sins on his shoulders. It couldn't end well.

Feeling confidence fleeing her, Sansa turned to Brienne and Podrick. Pod would gladly go there himself, but Brienne didn't intend to let him go alone, without passing her own words of warning to the two knights, so without even waiting for the command to be verbalized she nodded and gestured to Pod to follow her.

"If Ser Bronn isn't able to come, let him stay," Sansa added before they left the Great Hall, hoping she still had some power left to order a thing or two. She decided that she probably won't find a common footing with the Queen. Maybe a successful communication with rulers simply wasn't her thing.

Tyrion frowned and glared at her almost demandingly.

"Why wouldn't he be able to come?" he asked.

"They had a misadventure on their way here." Sansa felt her stomach tighten at the reminder of the last night's events. Misadventure. What a lovely way to put it.

"What kind of a misadventure?"

Sansa looked uneasily at the people around her; they were waiting for her to answer, some with interest, some with weariness. She sighed and with a heavy heart started telling them the story of the Northmen's downfall, feeling personally ashamed of the acts of her own people.

After a brief hesitation Brienne knocked on the door to Podrick's chamber and without waiting for an invitation came inside. Pod realized everyone had already managed to forget it once had been his room; he followed his knight inside pondering where he will be sleeping the next night.

Jaime quickly got to his feet which made Bronn roll his eyes. Brienne needed a moment to find her voice after letting herself look into Jaime's eyes a moment too long, worry taking hold of her.

"The Queen wants to see you," she announced, her gaze shifting between the two men. Jaime nodded, feeling not for the first time this day he wasn't ready for that conversation and probably will never be. He remembered the sack of Highgarden, the fire of the dragon, the death of his people, the eyes of the beast as it wanted to burn him alive...

For a moment he couldn't recall what exactly he was doing here. There were much quicker and probably more pleasant ways to die than traveling the majority of the Seven Kingdoms in a freezing cold, being almost slaughtered by the cannibals and finally ending his road lethally punished by Daenerys Targaryen for all the wrongdoings he had committed. For all his sins.

Sins. This one fucking word that had traveled with him for so many long years, casting a shadow over his every action, a shadow he had never been able to lose. But maybe that was exactly why he was here - to lose this shadow. To lose the stain of sin. But before he could get rid of it, he had to confront it first. Confront Daenerys Targaryen and Brandon Stark.

He gazed up at Brienne; she was talking to Bronn, from time to time casting him looks full of concern. It was quite obvious something had already gone wrong. Maybe the sentence had already been made; it didn't matter now, though. He was here and despite everything he still had her in his corner - it gave him enough strength and courage to face every dragon this land could spit out. Suddenly he felt he would be able to do everything with her at his side. He will tell them the whole truth and try to be humble. He won't show defiance. There was no point in it and besides, that was not why he was here. He had to obey if he wanted to stay and he did want to stay, so defiance was not an option.

"I am going." Bronn's annoyed voice brought him back to reality.

"But the maester said it's dangerous to move after the potion," Pod tried to protest, but he got quickly silenced by Bronn's dark stare. The ex-sellsword sat at the edge of the bed carefully avoiding leaning on his right hand and straightened up, or at least tried to, which didn't fully work out the way he was expecting.

"I'm not going to sit here and wait until I'm brand new and shiny. Do you think they will wait?" Pod wanted to ask which "they" he had in mind, the dead or the commanders in the Great Chamber, but Bronn didn't give him a chance to speak up, continuing: "I don't. I'll rest when I'm dead, or when I'm awfully rich, and I'm not there yet."

Jaime mouthed "it's pointless" towards Pod, who sighed with resignation.

"Besides, one day they'll come and tell me - we have a castle to spare, but with the deepest regrets we have to inform you your request for it has been denied. If you were there and then at the right time, you would prove worthy of one, but you weren't. They won't fuck me over like that. I'm going."

Brienne frowned and looked questioningly at Jaime, who just shook his head in a "don't ask" gesture. She didn't seem satisfied with such an answer though.

"A castle? Is it all you care about?" she asked. Jaime already knew Bronn well enough to know his reply.

"At the moment?" the ex-sellsword enquired.

"At any given moment."

He pretended to think about the possible reply before finally answering: "Money. Fuck. Wine. Good fight. That would be it. Not much and yet still beyond me."

"You'll get a lot of at least one of these soon," Jaime noticed. "If we survive today, which is probably unlikely."

Brienne shot him a hesitant glance, but didn't say anything.

"As I said, I'm not there yet." Bronn got to his feet with severe difficulty, stood still for a moment and immediately stumbled backward after taking one unsteady step. To prevent himself from falling he leaned on his wounded hand, which resulted in a series of curses leaving his mouth.

Pod quickly moved forward to aid the knight, which only earned him a grumble: "Fuck off, Pod."

He did fuck off, although remained in the small enough distance to react quickly if needed.

They waited silently until Bronn gathered his strength, straightened up and, using the support of the wall, wobbly walked towards the door. Pod shadowed him quite closely, partially in awe at the titanious efforts the sellsword had to endure, partially in worry as he remembered the maester's warning which Bronn had so carelessly chosen to ignore. He knew he was surrounded by the best warriors in the whole Westeros and desperately wished to be like them. A knight or a sellsword, it didn't really matter; they were fighters, trained to endure pain and hide weaknesses that might arise, to just grind their teeth and move on, to lock any frailty in the deepest corners of their minds where it could no longer affect them. Bones broke like matches, blood drained like water; it couldn't matter though as they had to rise above it all and continue their missions, tasks, jobs, assignments, because that was what they were here for. And for money, fame or castles, in some cases. He wished he could be equal with them one day.

As they left the chamber, moving in Bronn's excruciatingly slow pace towards the Great Chamber, the tension in Brienne grew some more until it was almost unbearable. Yet for the majority of the road she didn't know what to say, how to speak her mind, how to communicate everything or at least something of what she wanted to convey. And so they traveled in silence. The cold stone walls seemed to look at them angrily, at the intruders that had no rights here in the North, as threateningly as the Dragon Queen had.

Finally, Brienne could stand it no longer.

"Jaime." She grabbed him by the arm to make him slow down so they would stay a little bit behind the other two men. He looked at her with a question in his eyes. She should have let go of him and passed him these words of warning she still didn't have figured out, but she couldn't. Words got stuck in her throat as she felt the concern squeezing it tight, just as her fingers clutched his arm tighter.

"What is it, Brienne?" he asked, his heart speeding at the extent of worry in her sapphire irises. He didn't have to ask, but it was so natural when he saw her hurting he couldn't stop the words.

And she realized he already knew.

"I will vouch for you," she promised without answering his unnecessary question.

"No, you won't." He smiled sadly at her and gently disengaged himself from her fingers, releasing them one by one; even though her hands were gloved, the touch almost seemed like a caress, tempting her to intertwine her digits with his and never let him go, never let him go there, to his public execution. "Promise me you will not."

They were dreadfully close to the end of their journey, the end she didn't want to reach. Was she to become the one who will walk him to his final judgment? To his death? Was it to be the end?

How could she live on with such a perception?

"I will promise no such thing," she answered stubbornly. He gazed at her wondering why this strong, intimidating woman would ever want to endanger her good name for someone like him when Bronn abruptly cleared his throat.

"Are we going in or are you planning to continue your game of stares until the dead find us here?"

They both stepped back involuntarily, only now realizing they had stopped walking and had just been standing really close to each other. They looked at Bronn absentmindedly, without noticing he was paler than the whitest shade of pale. Jaime became aware he did not let Brienne's hand go entirely, still holding one of her fingers. They both seemed to cling to each other, like that could save them from any harm that would want to come their way. Like they would protect one another even if it would mean sacrificing a lot. They both knew they would.

He forced herself to let go of her and she immediately felt like she was deprived of something deeply needed.

"Whatever happens, know it was an honor to know you," he said, looking at her solemnly, and then walked away to join Bronn at the door leading to the Great Chamber. Brienne remained in the same place, frozen, until she heard the door being opened.

She stiffly followed the men inside, praying to the gods to let him live.