Jaime IV

Never has Jaime missed his hand more than he does now.

His muscles are on fire from running, his face is numb from the cold, and every so often he stumbled and fell. With only one hand to catch himself with, he'd land painfully on his fingers. Brienne always helped him back up, her face red and her hair drenched with snow. They hear the dead following them, their unearthly shrieks penetrating the night sky, and it pushes them to keep going. I'm a forty-year-old man with one hand running through the wild being chased by undead monsters found only in children's tales. How did this happen? How did I end up here?

In the end, Jaime decided it was all Cersei's fault. She was the one who insisted he journey north. If not for her madness, none of this would have happened. I could've been there to protect her. I could've saved her from the Dragon Queen… instead I'm here. Gods be damned. Cersei, you fool. Tears sting his eyes, blinding him. Brienne notices, but says nothing, winded from running through ankle-deep trenches. It had taken all of Jaime's strength to drag her away from her squire. Two nights had passed since then, two nights of silence broken by Brienne's quiet sobs. She's just as distressed as I am. She doesn't want to be here. She hates herself for being alive when Sansa and Podrick have fallen. There's nothing I can say to fix that. She might as well be a stranger to me…

They find a small cave in the side of a mountain to hide inside. It's Jaime's turn to rest, so he collapses on sharp, solid rocks and exhales with relief. Standing guard by the cave's mouth, Brienne has her back to him, glaring out into the white blizzard for any sign of their hunters.

"You should come inside and rest." Jaime says to her quietly.

"No." Brienne mutters.

"They won't find us hiding in here, they'll run past us. If they see you, though, then we'll have nowhere to run. It's safer inside."

Brienne scowls, her hair whipping in the wind, before retreating inside and collapsing against the wall beside him, her armor grinding against the rock. For a while they just listen to the wind howling outside…

"It's not your fault."

Brienne slowly turns her head around and glares at him. Jaime is looking at her with a solemn expression, his face covered in sweat and dirt. He says, "What happened to Pod… to Sansa… none of that is your fault, Brienne."

"What would you know about it?" Brienne asks.

More than I care to admit. Jaime envisions Cersei the moment before she died and feels a stab of pain in his heart. Her letter still haunts him, her plea for him to return to her—she almost sounded the way she used to when they were in love… Cersei stopped loving me. She only wanted to use me for her own agenda. I was nothing but a sword for her to wield… A pawn in her little game. She got what she deserved, I know it in my heart… yet I can't get over this feeling. I should've been there for her. I should've done something…

"If you'd gone up to that tower, you would've died. All of us would have died. Instead you rescued me. I don't know why you did, but you did, and I'm eternally grateful that you did. There was no way of knowing those things would attack Winterfell. Nobody knew they were coming. It's not your fault, Brienne."

"Someone knew. Jon Snow… he knew all along and the North threw him out like he was garbage. He would've been prepared, he would've defended Winterfell."

"Then someone ought to find him and tell him what's happened." Jaime says, "If the rest of Westeros doesn't know the Wall has fallen, then everyone from Winterfell to Dorne is in danger."

"How do we find him? We don't know where he is." Brienne grumbles.

"Yes, we do. Remember? He said he was going to find Daenerys. Daenerys is in King's Landing, now ruling. Right now we're the only ones alive that know what's happening. We have to return there and—" and get vengeance for my sister "—and warn him. Warn everyone of what's happening."

"Even if we did, what's the point? Jon might believe us, but the rest of the world won't. They'll laugh at us, chastise us, maybe even hang us. We'll be called mad."

"Not if Jon aims to take the Iron Throne for himself. If he's King then the rest of Westeros will fall in line under his command. If he convinces Daenerys to join him, then he'll have three full grown dragons." The same dragons that burned my sister alive.

"We still have to make it there. With the dead on our heels, how are we supposed to travel all the way to the capital?"

"I've never known you to be one for giving up, Brienne." Jaime says, glancing at her… and he sees a single tear sliding down her frostbitten cheek. Shit…

"It's hopeless. We're already dead, Jaime. There's nothing we can do." Brienne sniffs, wiping her face off with her armored wrist. "We might as well sit in this cave and wait for them to find us."

Jaime watches her for a long time, his heart hammering in his ears. Her words cut deep, a part of him knowing she's not wrong. We're hopelessly fucked out here with only one axe to defend ourselves with against thousands of the undead… "Brienne…" He whispers, "Do you remember what you told me that night after I'd lost my hand?"

"What?"

"I was feeling sorry for myself. I had no will to live. I thought I'd lost everything… but then you told me to stop acting like such a bloody woman. I got my first taste at loss and suddenly I was ready to give up. So, I'm going to tell you the same thing; stop acting like such a bloody woman." He clamps his only hand down over hers, their fingers brushing together. Both hands are frozen and white, yet when they embrace a warmth begins to spread between them both. Brienne slowly lowers her gaze down at his hand over hers, her face impossible to read. Jaime feels a stirring in his heart he's never felt before and releases her hand—but before it lifts even an inch off of hers, she takes his hand in hers, gripping tightly for purchase… What is this feeling? Why is she holding my hand? Does she…

Perhaps it's the cold, perhaps it's the safety of their cave, or perhaps it's the swollen sense of loss in their hearts—but before Jaime knows what's happening, he's leaning in to plant a kiss on her lips…

Brienne pulls back as soon as their lips meet, her eyes wide with fear. "What are you doing?" She asks, her voice quivering.

Jaime blinks, looks down at their interlocked fingers, and tries to find the right words. "I just thought… my apologies…"

"You kissed me." Brienne whispers, her face redder than he's ever seen.

Jaime lets go of her hand and crosses his arms, feeling embarrassed and stubborn. What was I thinking? Of course, she wouldn't want to kiss me. We're friends, not lovers. I'm a fool. What was I thinking? "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I just… got taken up in the moment." I'm not even attracted to her, am I? She's bigger than me, stronger than me… yet when she took my hand… for the briefest of moments, Brienne has never looked more beautiful.

"Again."

The word is a whisper on her lips. Jaime looks up into her glistening eyes. "What?"

"Kiss me again."

She's serious… Jaime is taken aback this time, and even more so when he uncrosses his arms and lifts his hand up to clasp her cheek, pulling her head in close to his, unable to believe what he's about to do. This time she kisses him back. Her breath is raw and she smells like a man, yet Jaime can't help himself. After their lips part, he kisses her again—deeper, with more passion than before. When he releases her, she trembles and forces her lips on his, plunging her tongue into his mouth, wrestling with his. Jaime closes his eyes and remembers Cersei's kisses; how rough she could be—biting his lip to the point of drawing blood. Brienne's aren't at all like her's. She kisses like someone who's never kissed in their lives; and there's something wildly alluring about it.

Jaime's hand slides down her cheeck to her collar bone before resting on her breast plate. He frowns and pulls his lips away enough to breathe out the words, "Take it off."

She doesn't smile. She never does the entire time. It takes her a minute to remove her gauntlets, her shoulder plates, and finally her breast plate, tossing them to the rocks. She doesn't strip seductively like Cersei would, she undresses like a boy. Underneath all that armor, Brienne is still stocky and muscular. When they kiss, his hand finds her unarmored breasts, his rough fingers teasing her nipples under her shirt. A long, deep moan escapes her lips. She wants this. I never thought she would, but she does… Then Jaime remembers something that gives him pause. She's a virgin. I'm probably the first man to ever kiss her, to ever touch her this way… "Brienne." he mutters as she presses him against the rocks, "Are you sure you want this?"

She answers him with her hands, unfastening the belt around his waist… Before she can find his erection, however, Jaime stops her.

"What is it?"

"Let's slow down…" Jaime whispers, "Brienne, you've never done this before."

"I know how to do it." Brienne mutters impatiently, though she looks more unsure of herself than ever.

Jaime cracks a smile, finding her insecurity fascinating. "I know, but… let me take the lead. Rest on your back…"

Never has Jaime missed his hand more than now, climbing over Brienne's body as she rests against the rocky floor. Sweet kisses along her neck, traveling down her exposed chest, finally to her abdomen where muscles writhe with anticipation; Jaime delivers them with grace. Only Cersei he's ever been with, so he treats Brienne like a goddess; her body an undiscovered diamond that only Jaime has ever touched. He feels almost like a virgin himself, carefully pulling her pant-legs down to expose her blonde tuft of southern hair… not unlike Cersei's. Brienne quivers as Jaime gently kisses her mound, looks up into her eyes one last time for reassurance, and carefully parts her legs…

Thankfully, Jaime only needs one hand for this… and his tongue.