Author's notes: Thanks for reading, guys! Another chapter fresh off the printing press. Please forgive any typos. I did give it a quick read through before posting. Thanks for reviewing and reading! Much appreciated!

Chapter 11

The unpleasant sound of steel hitting bone seemed ever present. No matter how many corpses he ran through with his Valyrian steel sword, the dead kept coming and each and everyone of them had burning blue eyes. He didn't have to swing his sword with much skill. Every swipe cleaved through a rib cage or a hand.

Jaime tried to look for the others, but all he could see were an endless wave of dead bodies. Widow's Wail cleaved through skeletons like a dinner knife through butter. Bronn's familiar goatee, with flaps of rotting skin hanging off his face popped up and Jaime was cutting through him almost before he had the chance to recognize him. He cried out in surprise and leapt back.

More familiar faces started cropping up. Ned Stark appeared and he could swear there was something accusatory in those brilliant blue eyes. He lopped Ned Stark's head off again, coincidentally, and he ducked away to get from those judgmental eyes. Robert Baratheon was another, and then Catelyn Stark, Robb Stark, his father, the Hound. He cut through all of them, but he could start feeling the burn in his left arm.

He could see the Night King in the background, standing casually on a drift of snow and his army continued its inevitable march forward, pushing Jaime back through the knee high snow. Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Petyr Baelish, Varys, Olenna Tyrell and every member of her family, every single enemy from his past seemed to rise up and try to pull him down with him.

Then Brienne was in front of him. His eyes widened upon seeing her. The sapphire blue of her eyes was now an even more vibrant blue, with the greater part of her jaw gone, but he was already swinging his sword. He cut her torso in half, somehow easily slicing through the black armor he had given her.

"No," he screamed, trying to reach for Brienne, but a hundred dead hands were grabbing him, pulling at his clothing, pinning his arms. "Brienne!"

"You should've listened brother. For it is I who control the dead."

The Night King had carved a path through his army, but instead of a man, it was Cersei, smirking down upon him. She picked up Oathkeeper. It gleamed in the cold light and then she raised it up and stabbed him through his stomach.

Jaime Lannister jolted awake in Winterfell, sweat pouring off his body, his stomach muscles clenched in agony. Bile rose into his throat. He wasn't going to be able to stop it, so he looked for the chamber pot. A hand held it out to him and he snatched it up with his left hand and proceeded to empty his stomach into it.

"I thought you might be needing that."

Jaime looked up to see who had been the timely person to hold out the chamber pot and froze. His eyes grew wide and his blood ran cold. Brandon Stark was parked next to his bed in an odd chair with wheels. He never would've been able to recognize the boy were it not for his clear Stark features and the fact that he was clearly bound to a chair now. Much like Ned Stark's eyes in his dream, they seemed to pierce through him, as though they could read his very thoughts.

Jaime tried to open his mouth, but words were not forthcoming, but he refused to shrink back. He knew he was going to have to face this as soon as he stole his horse north. It was now time to be judged for his worst sin. He lowered the pot to the floor and said, "Lord Stark."

"No." The response was so terse, Jaime flinched. "I am not a lord. I can't be a lord. I am the Three-Eyed Raven."

"What does that mean?" Jaime asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It means that I can use the Weirwood trees to see the past and even parts of the future. I use ravens to see the present."

Jaime drew back, staring at him warily. He remembered a few weeks ago when the wolf pack saved his life and he thought the Starks might be closer to gods than actual mortal beings. Now he was convinced.

"So then...you know."

"That you shoved me out of the broken tower? Yes, I know."

"It was a monstrous thing for me to do. Nothing will make up for what I did to you, but if you will let me, I will apologize and do whatever you ask in penance. Unless, of course, you'd prefer I be beheaded by your brother."

Brandon chuckled. It lacked mirth and Jaime shifted uneasily at hearing it.

"When I was studying under the Three-Eyed Raven, the first thing I sought to discover was who crippled me. I became obsessed with you. I saw the day you got knighted. I saw you take your Whitecloak at Harrenhall. I saw when you asked your brothers if you should intervene on behalf of your queen to prevent her from being raped and the apall on your face when your brothers said you couldn't. I saw you kill the Mad King Aerys. You saved a whole city that day and all you received was scorn. My father was wrong about you."

Jaime became paler and paler as Brandon droned on. He cast around for something to say, but what could he say? This boy who was two and twenty years his junior just gave a summary of his life's story, touching on the most poignant and private moments that he had shared with fewer people than he had fingers. "Please stop," Jaime finally said, but Brandon kept going and he couldn't look away.

"My father's assessment bothered you. You began a downward spiral and let your arrogance get the better of you."

"You don't know me," Jaime snapped.

Brandon gave him a small smirk. "You're right. I don't, but I have watched you. You shoved me out of a window and then you injured my father. There end the last of your terrible deeds. You then languished in my brother's prison and on the way back to King's Landing, I saw Bolton's men take your hand."

Flashing back to the memory of that night, a white hot sympathy pain flared through his stump and he subconsciously rubbed at it.

"It was easy to follow your transformation from there. You're not the same man who pushed me out of that window."

"What does it matter if I have changed? I did the crime, I should get a fitting punishment."

Brandon shook his head. "You've been punished enough by the loss of your swordhand. Everything that you ever were. Besides, it'd be difficult to punish you for something out of your control."

Jaime cocked his head at him. "I'm not sure what you're getting at. I pushed you."

"Did you? See, if I hadn't been pushed, I would've gone to King's Landing with father's party. Then I would've been caught up in the war in the south. Whether I would be killed in your sister's initial attack or whether I got out like Arya, it would lead to the same result: I would have been unable to fulfill my destiny to become the Three-Eyed Raven. You pushing me out the window assured me that I would stay on track. It was meant to be."

A combination of fear and anger suddenly bubbled up in Jaime. "No! No one guided my hand! I did it!"

Brandon gave him a warning look, just as someone knocked on the door, and King Snow came in. "Bran, what are you doing here?"

"I just came to tell Ser Jaime about how important he is for the battle against the Night King. We need all the able-bodied men we can get," Bran replied.

"Well, it's time for supper." Jon glanced up at Jaime. "The maester informed me of your condition and suggested you take your meals up here in the foreseeable future until your fever abates. You're also not allowed to leave this room without Lady Brienne escorting you." If Jon expected an answer, he never received it and eventually left.

The youngest Stark's words were running through his head on a loop. It was meant to be. He tried to think back to that day he had pushed the boy out the window. He remember Cersei being horrified. Maybe in hindsight his lack of initial guilt or sympathy was a rather worrisome sign. Was he really so controlled by lust that no other emotion could hope to occupy any other space in his thoughts?

There was another knock on his door and it opened without him saying anything again.

Tyrion walked in bearing a tray of food for both of them. Jaime was brought back to the present by his entrance and only then just realized he was rubbing at his stump in a thoughtful manner. Tyrion, of course, saw the action and raised his eyebrows at him.

"Come, brother, it's time we sup. You're looking better."

"Hmm," Jaime hummed in acknowledgment. He no longer felt so exhausted from lack of sleep that his head felt foggy and adrift as if it at sea. His sweat from his earlier nightmare had turned cold and caused him to shudder, while sweat still beaded on his forehead from the fever that still held him. He noted that while his brother had whine, he only had water, and for once he was grateful for it. The maester seemed to feel that he had graduated from broth and stew and now sent up a plate of pork and greens. He dug into it with gusto.

Tyrion seemed to study him for a moment as they both ate and then he said, "I passed Brandon Stark - "

"I don't want to talk about it," Jaime cut off immediately. He had a feeling the boy's words would haunt him for the rest of his days and he really didn't want to hear Tyrion's philosophizing about it. The thought that anything may have controlled his actions chilled him to his core.

"Very well, then why don't we talk about Lady Brienne?" Jaime gave Tyrion a sideways look. "I obviously haven't seen you and Brienne together much, but even back before Joffrey's wedding, I thought you were awfully close. That doesn't seem to have changed. Do you know what happened when you arrived here?"

"No, I don't."

"Why Brienne offered her room to you."

"She told me that."

"Did she also tell you that she just about stepped over King Jon's orders? He didn't give the order to move you to her room. She simply said it, picked you up, and started heading there without an order."

Jaime's fork hovered halfway toward his mouth, staring at Tyrion incredulously before he remembered the food and ate it. Brienne didn't even wait for her King to give an order regarding him? He knew that King Jon was a tough, well-respected, but amicable man. He could think of no other King that wouldn't at least throw someone in the cells for not giving them deference.

"She removed your clothes, even when the maester got huffy with her about it. Clearly, your wellbeing was at the forefront of her mind, her loyalty to her King be damned."

Jaime was touching the spot on his forehead she had kissed earlier this morning before he realized it.

"You care for her. I have no idea what could be going on in your head that would take you from Cersei to Brienne."

Jaime's temper flared again. "Don't even mention our sweet sister again. She's not even in the same league as Brienne."

"That you would rate her so highly is interesting. Have you decided on when you're going to tell her of your feelings?"

"She deserves better," Jaime mumbled. "I'm a crippled, old knight with shit for honor."

"And yet you're the only one who has treated her with respect."

"Not initially."

"You do now. I can think of only two other people here in Winterfell, who isn't in leadership that seem to have high regard for her. Tormund Giantsbane, a wildling who is on the wall, and the Hound. While she does seem to have garnered some respect, I heard that the nicknames Kingslayer's Whore and Brienne the Beauty are still thrown around."

Jaime narrowed his eyes at Tyrion.

"Love is a fickle thing, brother. I have the unfortunate habit of loving women who are wholly unattainable to me. You have the good fortune of loving someone who actually returns your affections." When Jaime continued to remain silent, Tyrion went on, "The last thing we need is for me to sound fatalistic, but brother...it could be the end of the world. I suggest you enjoy what little time you have left."

Jaime regarded Tyrion for a moment and then glanced over at the closed door. "Is she standing guard?"

"She is. And with any luck, she has listened to our entire conversation," Tyrion replied, looking a bit smug. "When we are done, Podrick will be by to relieve her so that she may eat her supper."

Jaime sighed and finished what little food was left on his plate. He didn't have much of an appetite, but he had to put on weight, so he forced himself to eat at every opportunity it was available for him.

Tyrion spent the rest of the time telling vague stories of his adventures in Mereen and how he came to be in service to the Dragon Queen. When he had learned that Tyrion had found himself in service to Daenerys Targaryen, he had been a little mixed. He wanted to feel betrayed, but after his sister's and father's campaign in the trial to get him killed or at least exiled to the Wall, he couldn't necessarily blame his brother for making the best of a bad situation.

There was a knock at the door. "Sounds like Podrick's back. Nice speaking with you, brother. We should do this more often."

"You know where I am," Jaime replied flatly.

The door opened and Brienne stepped through, bearing a plate of her food. When her eyes fell on Jaime, a blush spread across her cheeks, leading Jaime to believe that she had indeed heard their conversation. When the door shut behind Tyrion, Brienne asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Jaime said. "I appear to have caught up on my missing sleep, my lady." While he still shivered from the fever, he felt alert in ways that he hadn't in nearly a month and it felt to him to be a promising sign that perhaps his recovery would be swift.

"Good," Brienne replied and set her plate down at the table Jaime was sitting at. "I'm sorry to eat in front - "

"I don't know why you're explaining yourself to me. You need to eat too after all."

"I trust your sleep was restful?"

Jaime frowned at her. "Weren't you at the door?"

She hesitated a moment and then nodded.

"So then you know…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. She had heard his nightmare, she had heard his conversation with Bran. She was one of the few who knew he had thrown the boy out the window. Why she seemed to trust in him when he monstrously tried to kill a child, he wasn't sure. And she likes you, his mind taunted at him. She had carried him to her room even though her reputation for being a maid was at stake. She hadn't hesitated to hold him while naked. Last but not least was the kiss she had planted on his forehead.

She was looking at him with curiosity in her eyes and he decided to let her eat and said, "Anything interesting happen while I was asleep?"

"No. Just the same as it was the day before. King Jon and Queen Daenerys are still trying to outline the best strategy for facing the Night King. We haven't had any word from Castle Black nor Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. It could just be ravens aren't surviving the cold or…"

"Something worse." Jaime shivered again, but it had nothing to do with his fever. His thoughts cast back to the nightmare he had earlier in the day and how he'd sliced through Brienne before he realized what he was doing. There was no denying the way his heart had plummeted in his chest and it made him queasy just thinking about it.

"Are you alright? You're looking a little pale."

"I'm fine," Jaime muttered.

"Let me check your head." She was suddenly next to him and she placed the back of her hand on his forehead.

He sighed in relief. Her hand was cool and dry and was like a balm on the heat emanating from his head.

"I think your fever must've broken while you were asleep. Still warm though." She made to step back, but Jaime had caught her hand in his. He brought it lower and placed a delicate and chaste kiss on the back, nearly cradling it to his cheek, his eyes were closed.

They stayed like that for a few moments before his eyes opened and he looked up at her. Another blush was spreading across her nose and cheeks and he smiled at how innocent she looked. Then he said, "I apologize for my behavior earlier today. You were only trying to help."

"No, it's alright. I may have been a bit...tactless in what I said. I know you meant well."

He wanted nothing more than to grab her and kiss her properly, but it didn't feel right since he was still sick. Reluctantly he let her hand go. She seemed disappointed, but she didn't say anything and moved back to finishing her meal.

The night was still young and Jaime insisted that they do something other than sleep. "I won't have any more muscle if all I do is lie in a bed."

"You can't train in the yard!"

"Then let's do something else. How about a game of Cyvasse?"

"I didn't know you played."

"I don't. I'm terrible at it, but it's better than sleeping at this point."

"I find that difficult to believe. It's a game about strategy and I know you're a good commander."

"Perhaps I will surprise myself."

She sent Podrick for a Cyvasse board and they started playing. Although his interest in the game had increased since he had become a commander, his mind wasn't into it, and Brienne wiped the board with him in spectacular fashion all three games.

"Well played, my Lady."

Brienne scoffed. "You weren't even trying."

"Mayhaps I wasn't, but it was vastly more interesting than standing at the window and watching other people train."

"Well, it's late now. Are you ready to retire?"

"I think so."

Yet more clothes had appeared for him. It made him wonder if the servants at Winterfell were ghosts, because he never saw them except when they were explicitly called for. He changed quickly and was surprised at how soft the night clothes were. He turned around to find that Brienne had been as swift to change as him for a woolen nightshift. He was almost disappointed. Brienne put another log on the fire and joined him in bed. He reached for her to pull her closer.

"Ser Jaime, really…"

"I think you can drop the 'ser' part," he whispered and planted a kiss on the skin between her neck and her shoulder. He felt her shiver, but whether it was in desire or the cold, he couldn't be sure. She fumbled around for a moment before she found his hand and squeezed it. He smiled against her back.

They drifted off. At one point, Jaime turned over in his sleep, but neither of them overly stirred. The fire crackled merrily in its hearth, ensuring that the warmth filled the room and slowly started to die, lowering the light.

Neither one of them stirred when the door slowly creaked open.