The weather became colder each day that passed, if this was even possible, and the days became shorter. The endless nights were pitch-black. The moon and stars were veiled by the thick layer of clouds that was responsible for the almost uninterrupted snowfalls. And their days lasted only a few hours, during which the pale sunlight hardly managed to pierce the clouds.
During the days that followed, Jaime spent his time helping to prepare for the Great War, shivering despite his thick layers of clothing, and trying to ignore the whispers behind his back, the barely concealed scornful stares and his agonizing feelings for Brienne. Continuing to spend his time with her and to share her room didn't make things easy for him at all, but Sansa had instructed her to keep an eye on him at all times. During the day, or rather during their waking periods, her squire Podrick was almost always with them, and Jaime used his presence to discuss, jest around and try to appear as casual as possible. And when they went to bed, he was often so exhausted and numb from the cold that he fell asleep as soon as his head touched his pillow. But despite this feigned casualty, the grim atmosphere of the castle and the gloom of its inhabitants, the cold and the seemingly neverending darkness, the dread filling the air before the impending fight against legendary and nearly invincible creatures and their army of dead men, he savoured each and every moment he had the chance to spend in Brienne's company. To prepare for the end of the world at her side let a fire burn within him that warmed him from the inside, more than any hearth or additional piece of fur ever could. His blood boiled in his veins when they trained together in the yard of Winterfell. His heart began to race whenever they brushed against each other when they helped in the stables, carried boxes full of dragonglass, patrolled on the battlements or simply walked in the corridors of the castle. And rage consumed him whenever he heard the disdainful mockeries some Northern men or others made about her when they were taking their meals in the Great Hall. He couldn't bear to see the look on her face from hearing these remarks and he hated to see her hurry to empty her plate to leave the hall as fast as possible.
"Don't bother with them, Ser Jaime. You don't need to get into more trouble on my account, in your situation. I am used to such remarks." That's what she had told him one night, when he had got up from his seat, decided to make them all shut up. He had slowly sat up again, nodded in agreement while still staring at the soldiers, and he, Podrick, Brienne had quickly finished their meal in silence. But he hadn't stopped observing her, as discreetly as he could: sadness was clearly visible on her face and he couldn't help but feel a painful twinge of sorrow at this sight, as well as an irrepressible desire to use his golden hand to break some jaws.
They arrived several days later. The snow had just stopped falling, and Jaime et Brienne were using the temporary lull and the absence of fog thanks to the wind to train some young Northern people with sword fighting in the main yard of Winterfell. The sound of a horn resounded all over the castle and everyone stood transfixed on the spot when that sound was followed by a monstrous roar, filling the air and the skies. Jaime's heart skipped a beat, hearing that terrifying sound again. He would never be able to forget it after this fateful day on the battlefield, on his way back from Highgarden. His eyes immediately turned to Brienne and they nodded to each other: she, too, had understood that Daenerys, her army and her dragons had arrived at Winterfell.
While each and every occupant of the castle was rushing to the gates and to the battlements to witness the arrival of these long-awaited reinforcements and to see the dragons with their own eyes, Brienne and Jaime stood behind, taking their time to sheath their respective swords and stare silently at each other for some time, a moment that Jaime wished he would never have to interrupt. But Brienne had to stand at Sansa's side when the Lady of Winterfell greeted the Mother of Dragons and they ended up following the crowd, walking side by side, still in silence, not needing to express with words what they were feeling at that exact moment. Jaime didn't need to, at least: Brienne's gaze, both determined and full of compassion, was enough for him to know she would stand at his side when he would have to face Daenerys. After all, he had stabbed her father in the back, and she probably wouldn't have forgotten it… although, in Jaime's mind, these events seemed to have occurred ages ago, almost in another lifetime.
He barely heard the cries of the crowd and the sound of the wings cutting through the air, or the loud noise the dragons made while landing before the gates of the castle. He only heard the sound of their valyrian steel swords, clanking in the scabbards at their side as they were walking.
Oathkeeper and…Widow's Wail… I'll bloody have to think about another name…
He only heard the crunch of the footsteps in the snow, rhythmically accompanying his. The cold winds of the North could blow, the merciless dragons and their fierce mother could wait for him, beyond those gates. Brienne was at his side, and there was no other place in the world he could ever wish to be.