Important note: This chapter takes shortly after Meera has left Winterfell, many days before she gets captured. Explanation will follow sometime in the story.

Jaime stood before the Heart Tree, pondering. After having heard how much time Brandon spends in the Godswood, by this very tree, in particular, Jaime decided to discover what was so particular about it. He had never given two shits about the Seven or whatever people thought of them, and he assumed the Old Gods of the North were no different to him. Staring at the carved face, his presumption was confirmed.

Yet still, he kept gazing at the face, just as it gazed back at him, its haunting, bleeding eyes and gaping mouth indefatigably judging him. It had found the truth, the one he was after. Those eyes stood witness to many atrocities throughout history, Jaime believed, the ones he had committed too.

'There are things you regret more'

Whatever those things could be, Jaime could not see. Tossing Brandon out of the window was what sparked all the fight between the Lannisters and Starks, an eventual war. Had he not done it, the world would still be standing, the Stark family happy and content as Wardens of the North. It was and would be the greatest misdeed of his life.

He took a look a down into the small pond before the tree. While the water on the edges was frozen, the vast majority of it was clear as one would imagine it in the summer. It was even giving off damps, indicating the heat. Until he had experienced it himself, Jaime had not believed that Northerners would be able to use hot springs from the earth to heat up their walls. He attributed this way of thinking to Cersei. When Jaime then jokingly addressed the truth of the matter to her, she'd gotten angry.

He bent down and bit off the glove on his left hand, keeping it between his teeth as he stretched out to touch the water. While he definitely believed that the water was warm, it still gave his body a shock when his fingers realised it indeed was.

While exiting the Godswood, his walk was disturbed by the constant fear of sighting Brandon being rolled in Jaime's direction. That boy served as a permanent dread to him, as the slightest word from his mouth could have him killed. But death, or whatever fate awaited him, was far from the actual punishment; that honour belonged to the maddening length he had him wait without even giving hints as to what would happen. It was excruciating, but Jaime believed Bran to be aware of this, just to make him suffer more prior to his inevitable execution. For all his bravado considering his lack of fear of death, it was not true. Not entirely. One thing was not knowing what would happen to himself beyond death, another was not knowing what would happen to Brienne. In his past, he'd say that he only loved fighting and his sister. Both of these had been taken away from him. Upon not having much else to think of in the time since he left King's Landing, she'd filled most of his everyday thoughts. During wondering about her, even daydreaming like a little boy at times, he'd come to realise that he had never loved her, nor had she loved him. Not truly. Never having loved or been with any other woman than his Cersei, he couldn't have known. But he had only ever thought himself to love his sister, or at the very least just fucking her. In the end, her beauty was nothing compared to that of Brienne's.

The very guards who had initially halted his entrance of the Godswood now frowned upon his exit. They'd asked him of his intentions, and had it been up to them, neither would have allowed him to enter. They'd argue he didn't belong at Winterfell, least of all the Godswood itself and that he should be lucky to still be alive and not rotting in a cell. He supposed they were right.

While Jaime was used to being hated, even despised, although rarely this openly, it had worsened as of late. When Brienne had last visited him a few days past, she had for once had something half interesting to tell. It would seem that shortly following Meera's departure to the Neck, Arya Stark had quietly and unnoticed left Winterfell overnight. Along with her, she had taken the blacksmith, Gendry, whom Jaime seemed to recall for some unexplained reason. He'd heard, both from passing servants and Brienne, that the two could often be spotted together – some even suspected, Brienne did so too with regret, that they were more than just friends, but Jaime didn't blame them one bit. How could he?

In any case, it would appear the reason behind the sudden flight was due to some unspecified plan coming from the ruling couple of Winterfell – Littlefinger and Sansa. He had begun to dislike Sansa, even though she was proving to be a competent ruler – far better than any of the kings and queen he himself had served. She was preparing for winter, securing food and shelter for everyone she was able to, even beyond Winterfell and its nearby surroundings. But in spite of this, Littlefinger continued to be at her side, advising her on probably nearly every matter. That she did not realise the true nature of the man had Jaime baffle, and he wasn't in doubt for one second that the slimy man was somehow behind Arya leaving Winterfell. The Stark soldiers had seemingly joined Jaime's outlook on this, blaming Littlefinger for it as well.

"You heard that Lady Meera has been taken captive? It seems Lord Stark was informed by the Crannogs."

"I don't even know why she left Winterfell in the first place. I heard some saw her crying."

"Heard that one as well. You believe it?"

Two guards were speaking by the exit of the corridor Jaime was currently walking through. As he overheard their topic, Jaime leaned against the wall and did his best to listen.

"'course. Don't you?"

"Yeah yeah, it's just… I don't see why."

"She's a woman, they're more prone to cry."

"I mean, she'd been with Lord Stark for gods know how long. Surely something happened for her to cry."

"It's none of our business anyway."

"It is now."

"You think they're gonna send the two of us down to save Lord Stark's Crannog girlfriend? As if. There are knights runnin' 'round this castle and you think they'd trust us with that task?"

"I didn't say that. It's just… Lord Stark's worries are our worries, right? I hope Lady Reed is returned. For his sake, at least. Her own too, of course."

"If it makes him happier." He held a short pause. "You think he'd rather have her or his sister back?"

"What kind of question is that? I don't know! How could I?"

"Just a thought, calm it. Don't put too much into it."

"I don't, but I never understand why you ask such stupid questions. It doesn't matter to us. Those are his own considerations."

"I think it's Lady Meera."

"Shut up."

"Think about it: he didn't go all distressed when Lady Arya left Winterfell, as he did with Lady Reed."

"Why do you care so much for his preferences?"

"I'm just saying that he's asking to have Lady Meera rescued, not his sister."

Brienne hadn't told him that. Surely she would have, had she the opportunity. This had to be recent. Unconsciously, he stepped closer to the guards.

The same soldier continued: "Hold on. As Lord Brandon wants Lady Reed back, shouldn't Queen Sansa want her sister back?"

"Don't you ever quit? It was probably her own decision to do so."

"I think it's that fucking slimy cunt who's behind, he's always creeping at Quee-"

There was a clear and loud 'clonk' when metal was knocked against another hard substance.

"Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong! Nothing good will come from it whatsoever. Nothing but conflict."

"You're always so fucking scared of any disturbance. Sure, I don't know what's actually going on, but I'm telling you, Littlefinger had something to do with it. No fucking wonder Vale soldiers are wandering all over the goddamn place all of the time."

Suddenly the obedient soldier was pushed roughly so that he was now standing right in front of the entrance, visible to Jaime, and he to him. Immediately, the two gained eye contact, making Jaime freeze for a short instant. In a feeble and knowingly futile attempt to appear innocent, something Jaime had never practised nor done before, he started walking forward, as if he was just strolling by casually. The soldier pointed suspiciously at him.

"What are you doing there, Kingslayer?"

The other soldier stepped forward from the side. "You spyin' on Stark soldiers yeah?"

Jaime wanted to avoid confrontation. "I didn't know Lady Meera needed rescue."

"Doesn't matter to you, does it? You'll be dead before long, Kingslayer. Perhaps it was you who made Lady Arya leave Winterfell?"

"And how in all Seven Hells should I have done that?"

"One can't be too certain with Lannisters. Who isn't to say you're cooperating with Littlefinger, to aid your sister?"

It took immense restraint to not shout an angry outburst in response, but he managed. Instead, he firmly began walking forward, heading straight into them. As he expected, they didn't allow him to pass. One of the two grabbed him determinately.

"He'll order you executed soon enough," he whispered. "I expect the best you can hope for is hanging."

"You'd be lucky to get that." The other said, walking up close to him. "I think he'll make you suffer in front of your girl, what's her name… Brienne? Yes, Brienne the Beauty. Imagine her face when the life leaves yo-"

"I thank you for your insight." He smiled sarcastically, taking great care of not showing anger. Some Northerners really were stupid. "May I pass now?"

"I don't think so. Where are you going?"

He wasn't quite of that himself. When he realised that Meera had been captured and was in need of rescue, he hadn't exactly felt grievous. He was sorry that she had been, of course, she did seem loyal and was indeed likeable, but she hadn't meant anything to him. Not much did any longer. His sister, his brother, children, father, the Kingsguard - all of that was behind him now, left at King's Landing. Only Brienne did he care for, and luckily, she was also the absolute only person he could trust with anything. Dependable persons were scarce in the capital; something he'd imagined was different up North, the home of the ever honourable Ned Stark. But with Arya's departure, it had dawned on him that maybe King's Landing wasn't the only place filled with people mistrusting each other. He started to question his own idea of Winterfell and the Starks, and the more he did so, the more he came to the realisation that aside from Brienne, Sansa couldn't count anyone either. She might believe she can, but anyone but her was able to tell Littlefinger did not share her interests. But neither could Lord Stark himself, and with her sister and loyal bodyguard both gone from her home, Sansa's situation seemed precarious. Though it sounded ridiculous, perhaps Jaime was one of the lucky ones in that aspect. It all was eerily reminiscent of the capital, of all the deception. Such things didn't belong in the North. But the king of deception seemed firm in his intention to change that.

"To Queen Sansa." He decided. He couldn't tell her the truth of Littlefinger, but he could warn her, tell her that she could do every bit of ruling without him whispering in her ear.

The soldier looked confused. "And what are you going to speak to her about?"

"That's none of your concern."

"If it isn't then I wouldn't know what fucking is."

"I'm sure she'd love for you to have me forcibly tell everything I have to say to some random soldier supposed to be standing guard. Or am I wrong?" Jaime quickly shot back, silencing him. "Now, if I may pass?"

"Didn't know you Starks were starting to ally with Lannisters all of a sudden!" a voice behind him shouted, just as the Stark guards were making way for him. Jaime turned to see who had spoken, seeing i was a couple of Vale soldiers approaching them. Now standing just by them, he followed his comment up. "But I suppose we all must do necessary evil from time to time."

"That's fucking right yeah, no wonder I hear that from you."

"Matt, please not now." The other Stark soldier tried to pull his arm, but Matt broke free from it. The face of the Vale soldier who had spoken revealed something reminiscent of excitement.

"Only difference is that you're doing it all the damn time."

"And by that you mean…?" he answered, clearly just fishing for more.

"You know what. Littlefinger. He's causing nothing but trouble for Winterfell."

"We're just following our, and your, queen's orders. You're not any different in that regard."

"Knock that gobshite off, will ya? Now listen here. Arya Stark didn't leave for no fucking reason, and I promise you, your little slimy lord had something to do with it."

"If you're so confident in your case, I think you should go talk to him right away, see how he takes it."

"Yeah, I'm not that dumb alright. Maybe you should go tell Queen Sansa what your lord's doing?"

The Vale soldiers' expressions suddenly turned from light-hearted to serious at the question. "And what do you suggest we tell her?"

"That's for you to decide, but maybe you could begin with why Lord Baelish sent away her sister?"

Hands were placed on hilts and handles of swords on both sides as silence dominated the scene, only interrupted by a slightly howling wind. "You don't honestly believe those rumours, do you? I thought you just said you weren't dumb."

"She is your queen, after all. Don't you think she deserves the truth?"

"What truth is there to tell? We could tell her many things, but none of them would make it clearer why Lady Arya left Winterfell. No, it would make much more sense for you to confront our queen's advisor with those peasant rumours of yours."

Before the soldier could answer, Jaime broke in. "Maybe I will."

All eyes were directed at him, but he had brought that on himself. He instantly regretted having said the words though, but not for his own wellbeing – that was beyond salvation at this point. It was Littlefinger's implied threat he was worried about, and the person it would affect.

"What is Queen Sansa of the 'North' going to do with the words of her brother's would-be murderer, eh?"

Jaime slowly stepped closer to him, hoping it came off as somewhat intimidating. Tension was rising on both sides, both parties most likely wanting to pull their swords right here and now. Snow fell into the soldier's already covered hair, which's length itself was covering half of his angered face. "I don't know, but I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

"Kingslayer!" a voice could be heard calling in the distance. Jaime turned his head to see who it was - "Lord Stark wants to see you."

The surrounding soldiers were just as confused, and shocked, as Jaime himself was. The most likely of things was that Brandon had finally decided on his punishment. Jaime felt an unsettling jolt of fear and nervousness going through him at the thought. The others made way as he walked towards the messenger who had called for him, but he peripherally managed to hear one of them saying they looked forward to his head on a pike.

The guard in front of Lord Stark's chambers, which weren't really the room in which Ned had slept during his reign, so they weren't 'The Lord's Chambers', was eyeing him with hostile wary. Jaime was just then answering the order he had given, unsheathing his sword and handing it over before entering. The guard didn't wait as much as a second to rip it aggressively from his hands as soon as he could. At this point, Jaime had stopped cared about such minor hostilities. As a matter of course, Jaime had to open the door himself.

To be greeted with anything but cold stares and disdainful scoffs was all he expected from beyond the door, or even anywhere else in Winterfell. And although this was true in the case of Sansa, sitting in a ladylike fashion on a chair beside the large bed of Brandon, her icy expression eerily reminiscent to that of his sister's, it wasn't the boy he had once crippled who judged him with hateful eyes. The Lord was lying on his bed, torso resting on a bunch of pillows so that he was sitting up, and covered in fur blankets from the waist and down.

His eyes glistened, reflecting the candlelight clearly enough for Jaime to see it numerous feet away from him. His right hand clenched around the blanket covering him, unsettled and eager in their movement. Until now Brandon had seemed distant and uncaring, even to those supposedly close to him, but seeing his hand tremble slightly and him breathing heavily while wearing an almost nervous face, made Jaime question that notion. It could hardly be called desperation, but the manner the eyes of Brandon switched from his sister to his culprit was unmistakable. His death sentence had come, he was sure. Jaime went on his left knee in front of the two. "You summoned me, my Lord?"

"Stop playing games, Jaime. Rise." Sansa ordered. He answered without question. "My brother has come to a decision about you."

Jaime's heart stopped, his limbs froze. Death had finally caught up with him. He turned to Brandon, whose face wasn't filled with the expected hate. Despite this, it did not stop Jaime from trembling so much that he was unable to muster anything but a fearing, anticipating face as an answer. Sansa looked at her brother for him to speak.

His eyes dug straight into Jaime's. "You'll be executed for your crimes on the morrow."

He had hardly expected anything but that. It was time for him to go, after all. He just hoped that Brienne wouldn't be too angry with him. Hopefully, she'd be able to live happily as the honourable bodyguard he could never be. "Shall I go to the prison cells myself or will I be lead?"

"You will be lead. There are guards waiting to follow you there." Bran stated, but not in the plain and cold tone he usually did. He hesitated with the sentences, but Jaime couldn't be bothered to dwell further on the oddity. Instead, Jaime turned his back on the two Stark siblings remaining at Winterfell without a word.

It all felt distant, unreal to accept that the end was coming to him so soon. Before he lost his hand, he had not given death as much as a thought, much less confronting himself with the idea. Even in battle death would ever threat him, not even in captivity amongst his enemies. He knew he would survive, he had always done so. The words of his father came to his thoughts: "Your mother's dead. Before long I'll be dead. And you. And your brother. And your sister. And all of her children. All of us dead. All of rotting in the ground. It's the family name that lives on. It's all that lives on. Not your personal glory, not your honour. But family."

He was wrong. The Lannister family wouldn't live on, it was all dead, and if his brother didn't make an heir, it would be long forgotten to the history books of others. The truth of the Robert Baratheon's children would be unveiled at some point, firmly consolidating his family as the villains of history. It almost pleased him, imagining Cersei tossing herself over in her grave because of it. But Father had been wrong in more than that. Personal glory, or the lack of same, did indeed live on. Sure, it mostly served the family name, but songs would be sung of the traitorous sister-fucker Lannister, the Kingslayer.

The Stark family couldn't live on. Its members were incapable of carrying on their legacy. Obviously, the two women couldn't. It would have to be Brandon to do the job, but Jaime himself had made sure that wouldn't be an option. As if the end of his own house wasn't enough. Unless Sansa did as his sister and ignored every convention established, House Stark seemed doomed as well. Even though he didn't believe in either, he prayed to both the Seven and the Old Gods that she wouldn't. Before opening the door, he returned to face them again.

"I suspect this is the last I'll ever speak to either of you."

Bran's eyes dilated, and he nodded slowly. His teeth were clenched behind his lips, and he was breathing actively through his nose. He pushed himself backwards so that he sat more straight.

"I hope she'll be brought back." He continued, nodding at Brandon. "For your sake, if any's."

"Arya can manage her own." He answered unconvincingly.

"Arya isn't the one captive."

Brandon stiffened at the remark, with Sansa casting him a brief worried look. All three in the room became unsettled, and Jaime quickly regretted having said it.

"What do you care?" Brandon spurted.

"As I said. For your own sake, if any's. She seemed nice." Jaime attempted to end the conversation with, sensing the rising tension in the room. He turned to the door, but Brandon interrupted him.

"That does not answer the question."

"Right, I don't care. I don't have anyone to care for any longer. The only one I do can handle herself far better than I'll ever be capable of again." He burst out. "Do you really hate me that much? After all these years? That you can't accept a single supportive remark after you've just sentenced me to death? I don't hate the man who chopped my hand off. Not anymore. And I'd be damned if I were to see the day when Starks hold grudges when Lannisters don't. That's not what I saw in your father.

"You're right. I don't care for Meera. But I've nothing else to care for but House Stark now – it's why I gave you my life in the first place. I don't know her, not you, nor Sansa, but I still pray that she is returned to Winterfell."

Both of the siblings, Sansa moreso than her brother, looked shocked – he hadn't realised he had been close to shouting when he spoke. Jaime quickly mumbled an apology.

"You don't need to apologise." Sansa excused him. She looked at Bran, who nodded approvingly, though still shaking. The boy was uncomfortable. "You said your life was ours to do with as we pleased. You promised us your loyalty."

"I did, and still do."

"How would you prove that to us?"

Jaime furrowed his brow in confusion. "I've just accepted a death sentence."

"It's easy to be killed. You don't have to do much yourself." Bran harshly said with a tone of disdain.

"What do you want?"

"What would you do to prove your loyalty? How can we benefit from that, the loyalty of the Kingslayer?" Sansa said, provoking him.

"Whatever it is you require from me." He answered. None of the two said anything in reply, forcing thought through his mind. He started to study the face of Brandon, the Lord of Winterfell. Despite unable to move his legs, he was clearly unsettled. Something was wrong. Perhaps it was the capture of Meera, the departure of Arya, or the fact that Littlefinger controlled half the garrison of his own home. Plausibly a combination of all three things, but it slowly dawned on Jaime as he narrowed his search. It was quite obvious, in fact.

"Let me rescue Lady Meera. Let me risk my life for her, for House Stark. I beg of you, give me that much."

There was a knock on the door. A voice had begun to speak when it was immediately halted by Brandon, saying: "Let him enter."

Sneaking through the door came Littlefinger, his smug smile on his face and wearing his neat robes. "I hope I do not disturb too much, my Lord, your Grace. I heard that Jaime had been called to your chambers… I see it wasn't wrong."

"No, your arrival was as timely as it was uncalled for." Brandon spoke.

Littlefinger bowed deeply. "I deeply apologise, my Lord. I shall leave if it is wanted of me."

"No, stay. You can help."

"Help, my Lord?" He asked, smiling and taking a seat. "I recall it was your decision what to do with the Kingslayer."

"We have decided." Sansa stated, looking him dead in the eye. Littlefinger simply hinted that he expected her to go on. "Bran wants to see his promises proven. Lady Meera means a great deal to my brother."

"And it pains me ever so much to hear of her capture." Littlefinger turned his eyes to Bran. "My Lord, say the word, and dozens of Vale knights will give these outcasts what they deserve."

"Good. I want you to do that." Bran said. He then nodded in Jaime's direction. "But he is to come with them."

Littlefinger evidently chewed on the idea, leaning back into the chair while stroking his beard slightly. "That does sound fitting. When will they depart?"

"On the morrow."

"I will have my men ready by then." He rose from the chair and went to the door. His smile was unnervingly satisfactory. It never hinted anything good if Littlefinger seemed pleased about it. But there was no going back now. The decisions were made and it could all just go one way now. Littlefinger bowed and took a leave.

With silence dominating the room, Jaime had this one chance, just this once, to warn them both about him. He stood and went to kneel before Sansa, looking up at her. He lowered his voice to a whisper as if he feared Littlefinger would hear him through the thick wooden door.

He searched for words, and to his surprise, neither of them appeared annoyed. What he wanted to say hadn't really been thought through, and even the simplest of warnings would immediately endanger Brienne – he had not forgotten the threat. "Littlefinger is… Not trustworthy."

"I already know that, Ser. Everyone knows that."

"Drop the Ser. I don't want to be remembered as one." He firmly proclaimed. "I don't care if you just know; you have to do something about it too. I don't know… I can't say too much. Don't allow him too much space. It will help no one but himself. I know it's not worth much from the Kingslayer, but take my word for it. I have no reason to want you harm."

Brandon studied him, Sansa was suspicious. It was clear that Lord Stark had found his words, or at least something, interesting. "He's right. Pay heed."

Jaime rose. "If Littlefinger seems pleased by something, it's never good." He then went to the door, only having one person on his mind.

"Jaime." Bran said hastily. Jaime looked at him and saw his unsettled face. "Goodbye."

He had not slept well. In fact, he wasn't aware if he had even slept at all, as he now stood on the southern wall, embracing his predicament. The morning wind was easy, as was the snow which came along. The North seemed colossally vast, something he'd noticed on his journey to Winterfell. Jaime experienced a quiet solace to be found amongst the endless, grey hills and plains. Now he was venturing into it once again.

They were both aware he knew she had walked up to his side, but neither spoke for a minute or two. Instead, they glared at the endless depths of the North.

"I'm glad you're going after her." She said, breaking the silence. "They'll appreciate it here."

"Perhaps Sansa will." He said and turned, taking a look at Winterfell behind him. "But the rest of this castle won't."

"You don't think Lord Brandon will acknowledge when you bring her back?"

"Not counting on it."

"He will." She stated firmly. She stepped closer to him, unsheathing her sword and presenting the hilt to him. Jaime stared confusedly at both her and the sword, before shaking his head, refusing. "Take it."

"It's not mine."

"It is. You need it more than I do."

"That sword won't be of any use in the hands – hand - of a dismembered ageing bodyguard. It belongs to you."

"That's exactly why you need it! It's Valyrian steel, it'll make you safer."

"What is the name of that sword?"

"Oathkeeper."

"And what is its oath?"

"To bring Sansa and Arya back to Winterfell, which it has fulfilled."

"Safely. But Arya isn't in Winterfell, and I'd hardly say that Sansa is safe."

"I can keep her safe with any sword – but you don't know what you're meeting."

"I'm not taking the sword. It's yours. It belongs at Winterfell, where it can do its duty and keep its oath." He said, pausing. "It has no purpose with a Lannister, an oathbreaker least of all. No, I have other promises to discard, other vows to break now. And that sword will have no part in either."

Defeated and convinced, she slowly sheathed the sword. "You won't break your vow. You'll get her back with you. Promise me that."

He stared her directly in the eye. "I promise. But only if you do the same."

Underneath her serious expression, Jaime sensed her smile. He realised that her smile was so enthralling she didn't even need to show it, in order to be beautiful – for in his mind, she always did.