It was still dark yet Sansa knew the dawn was perhaps only an hour away. She was curled tightly beneath the furs, gazing at the mop of messy dark brown hair, pressed into the pillow next to hers. His back was to her, and she watched as his thick, muscular shoulder rose and fell with every breath. She couldn't resist the urge to touch his hair. Lightly, her fingers danced, petting the ends of Podrick's outgrown mane. It fanned out at least four inches from his scalp and was nearly long enough to tie at the back of his head. Just like father's she thought to herself. Just like a real Northman.
The rhythm of his breathing changed and he released a deep sigh. She pulled back her hand and waited to see if she'd accidentally awakened him. Long, silent fingers hovered just above his brown locks as she waited until it was safe to feel them again. I love you, Podrick Payne.
She flinched when she saw that shoulder tense and then smiled when he turned beneath the furs. His thick forearm caught her around the waist and pulled her flat against his chest, bringing them nose to nose. "Why are ye awake? It's still dark," he whispered, his eyes still hidden from her beneath his long lashes.
"Shhh. I don't know. I couldn't sleep."
Brushing the clumps of fallen dark waves away from his face, she kissed his forehead and then adjusted her position until he was half on top of her, their legs entwined, and his head resting on her chest beneath her chin. She pulled the furs over him up to his neck and wrapped her arms softly around him beneath them to capture him there. His breath was so warm against her breasts. His palm so firm and strong, was cupped around her hip, capturing her as well. She sighed, light-headed with contentment, and stroked his hair again.
As if drifting into a twilight dream, she felt his lips against her skin, softly at first and then more deliberate. The gentle fingers that rested around her hip, curled tightly into her skin, and then released, kneading her flesh again and again like a cat with a soft blanket making its bed. Yes, please yes she thought, as her breaths deepened and her fingers slipped into his hair. She arched her back, tying those long brown locks between her fingers, as his kisses travelled over her breasts and upward to her neck. They were wet and burning her from the inside out.
She gasped when she felt his hand push behind her hip, and easily bring her fully under him. She released his hair as he draped her long legs over his hips, knelt between them and hovered over her. "May I, my Lady?"
As silly as it always sounded to her, she loved those words. He never took her without asking first. No matter the passion or who initiated their coupling, he'd yet to assume any liberties with her. He'd changed so much over the past few months. Physically, his body had transformed into solid muscle and his strength was such that she knew he could snap a man's neck with his bare hands. He was a knight in every sense of the word, and nowhere, in her eyes, had he proven he'd always been one, more than when he was naked and about to make love to her.
She looked up into his dark, soulful eyes and touched his cheek, her other hand swept softly down over his chest, and then rested at his waist. Nodding, she pulled him to her. Permission granted.
~:~:~:~
Awakened by a tap on her chamber door, Sansa sat up in bed and shook Podrick lightly from his sleep. "Pod?"
"What is it?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
She slid from the bed and grabbed her robe, securing it tightly around her before stepping to the door. "Who's there?"
"It's the steward milady. It's Lady Brienne."
Sansa unbolted the door and pulled it open without a care that Podrick was still naked in her bed. "What's wrong? Is she alright?"
The steward glanced into the room as Podrick shrank beneath the furs. "Well, um," he stammered.
"Well what is it? Seven hells will you speak?" she shouted.
"She's gone!" the lad shouted back.
"Gone where? How can she be gone? Have you searched the castle?"
Podrick was scrambling to pull on his pants beneath the furs. "Pod!"
"Yes my Lady. I'm…could you close the door?" Podrick said.
"I want this castle and every inch of this damned mountain searched. Has Ser Bronn been told?"
"Yes milady. He's already sent out twenty men to search."
"Send twenty more!" she shouted and then slammed the door. "What if someone's taken her? What if…"
"What if she left on her own accord?" Pod asked, fastening his jerkin.
"Her own accord? Why would she leave? Why now?" Sansa rushed about pulling on her stockings and underclothes.
"Where are you going?" Podrick asked.
"To look for Brienne! She's with child! She can't be out there alone running about!"
Podrick moved in close, and waited for Sansa to stand still before taking her by the arms and then into his. "She got that message that Jaime was heading south. Love makes us take risks, Sansa."
"She wouldn't risk their baby," Sansa said, pressing her cheek into Podrick's shoulder.
"Only she could know that. She's strong and she knows herself. May I advise you to call off this search? Even if they do find her, would you have her dragged back here against her will and held prisoner? She loves Ser Jaime. She's worried about him."
Sansa sniffled. "I just can't believe she'd do this. It's so dangerous."
Podrick took her chin in his hand and looked into her ice blue eyes. "I'd risk my life to find you. I'd risk a hundred lives…no everyone in the world if that's what it took to hold you like this again."
A tear rolled down over her cheek when she blinked. "I don't deserve you."
"No, you deserve much better than me, but I do love ye more than life."
I love you the same she thought. "Don't say that!" she shouted and fell against him again.
"I'll go and call off the search. Get dressed. I need to speak with Lord Robin. Wait here for me to return and write a message to Lord Selwin. He deserves to know his daughter has run off."
~:~:~:~ There's a time jump here, only because of the distance Jaime is travelling. It's all just road and more road. ~:~:~:~
The northern banners and all those who had joined them on the Kings Road, were running out of time. As Jaime had ordered, they'd managed to stay on the trail of the Night King's army and even put down thousands of them, but their own losses were great as well. Ser Jorah estimated nearly two thousand men had fallen from their combined forces, along with horses, which they'd not wasted due to their need for meat. The Green Fork was littered with burning corpses along her banks and the earth was torn up and tilled by the hoard of Wights, at least a hundred feet wide on either side of the Kings Road, as far as the eye could see.
"They're just too fast for us," Ser Jorah said, leading his tired horse behind him as he walked beside Jaime.
"They don't eat, they don't sleep. They just keep running," Jaime replied, tying off his own exhausted steed on a tree.
"You're not giving up are you?"
Jaime turned and winced at Jorah and then lowered his head. "We've made it past the Vale. There was no sign of any of them heading towards the mountains. I know my wife and the rest are safe for now but no. I can't give up because for now isn't good enough. This has to be forever. Even just decreasing their numbers will help."
The darkness covered them quickly as they set up their camp. None of them had slept more than six hours of the past forty-eight. They'd lost nearly another hundred men. Jaime surmised they'd just given up and chose to return to what was left of their homes to wait for the end of the world. They had to stop or the Stranger would pick them off one by one or they'd lose more men every day one way or another.
"We're a day's ride from the Crossroads. What I wouldn't give for a mug of that shit juice they call ale," Jaime muttered, unpacking his horse.
"Shall I ride back and check on Brandon's litter?" Ser Jorah asked.
"No. Rest your horse and yourself. We have enough meat to last us another day or two. We don't need your horse…yet." Jaime's humor had turned macabre, and Jorah simply raised an eyebrow and turned to his own work.
The tents were raised and the fires lit. The aroma of death and roasting horsemeat rose around them. While squires watered the horses with melted snow, and gathered what little dried grass they could gather to feed them, Jaime climbed into his tent to rest. What I wouldn't give for a good steady westward wind right about now to carry that stench away, and a bath and my wife he thought, as he rolled his tattered blanket into a pillow and stuffed it beneath his head. He'd carried hot stones from the fire in his meal bowl into his small tent and placed them next to him on the ground for warmth and within minutes, fell sound asleep.
It felt as if less than an hour had passed when the horns blew calling them to wake. They'd lost more men and more horses during the cold night yet Jaime pressed on, calling them into line. "Burn the dead and let's get the fuck out of here," was his final order of the morning.
By the time the darkness began creeping up on them again, the crossroads were in sight. The horn blew, signaling more Wights. Jaime's head snapped to Ser Jorah and with a swift kick and cluck of his tongue, they were again chasing them and cutting them down. Jaime pulled back on the reigns of his horse when he spotted something moving behind the trees on the side of the road. "Wight Walker!" he shouted to Jorah and took off in the direction of his target.
Sword in hand, he galloped to the edge of the trees and then dismounted as the animal came to a halt. He crept forward into the thicket and watched as the Wight Walker led his dead horse towards the old Crossroads Tavern. Jaime waited and then stepped forward in the snow with precise and silent footsteps. Closer…closer he drew to the thing until his focus on the Walker drew his attention away from what was beneath his feet. The soft, powdery snow had turned into an iced over and brittle surface. It was like walking on sea shells and it crunched beneath his boots.
The Wight Walker spun around at the sound and drew his icy sword. Oh fuck! The element of surprise now lost, Jaime had no choice than to fight. Throughout the weeks of battling, he'd grown as sure with his left hand as he had with his right. The only problem was he was as good with his defensive moves as ever but was still lacking somewhat with his offensive ones.
You've got this Jaime. The Wight Walker came it him, swinging his ice sword. Jaime met the frozen blade high and then kicked the Walker away with his boot. The blue blade came at him again and again, hacking and slicing at him but he met that blade each time with Valerian steel and cast it off. With each ring of the blades, Jaime's confidence grew, until he had the thing fighting from back on its heels, now blocking Jaime's heavy blows. Then again, the icy crunch beneath his boots. It was slick and dangerous. He needed to get this thing back into the snow and mud or he could lose his footing. "Come on you bastard!" Jaime shouted, turning and running towards more solid ground when the worst that could happen, happened. He tripped on a root hidden beneath the snow and flew forward. Widow's Wail blew out of his hand as he went down and it slid just out of his reach. He looked back and the Wight Walker was mere feet away, his blade raised to strike. This is it…
Jaime climbed to his knees and knelt, lowering his head, awaiting the death he knew was inevitable all of his life. He did not fear it. He did not beg for his life. I love you Brienne. I've always loved you. Please survive…for me.
He closed his eyes and waited, when suddenly, he heard a screech and a high pitched squeal, and what sounded like shattering glass. His eyes flew open and he watched as the Walker fell into a million pieces and blew away, right before his eyes into the wind. "What in seven hells?" He shouted, for as the cloud of ice crystals cleared before him, he saw an angel of mercy standing before him, her sword hanging from her hand. "Brienne?"
She reached out her gloved hand and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. Follow me," she said and led him away.
