The evenings at Winterfell were colder without Jaime.

Brienne wrapped her cloak around her. She'd settled into a new routine of late by necessity, one that allowed her the solitude of her thoughts that she required, but embracing her new normal.

Put your lighter in the air and lead me back home

Sansa had seen to it that Brienne had that freedom. The lady of Winterfell had been very kind, ensuring that her bannermen knew Brienne's title and position, and guarding her against their open censure, even though their words could affect her little. Brienne often wondered now which one of them was truly protecting the other.

Sentry duty was a task that Brienne could perform without concerning herself with the sensitivities of others. She could sit on the parapet and hold court with only the stars - the same stars that she knew oversaw all of Westeros from Winterfell to Dorne, and from Casterly Rock to Tarth. Even King's Landing was blessed with the same view. The latter left the bitterest taste in her mouth, for it had swallowed so many of her happiest memories.

She thought often of the garden paths that she and Jaime had sometimes walked in the late afternoon while he recounted how Bronn had out-maneuvered and beaten him using his own hand, or the wry smile he'd greeted her with the first day that Bronn had let him spar with a real sword, giddy as a boy.

She recalled how, in the early months of her stay there, when summer seemed to still linger, they'd once silently walked the stone steps in twilight down to the beach that led to the foot of the red keep, those same stars peeking out from the darkening sky, and it had felt as if they were the only two beings for miles save for the fireflies that danced across the grassy dunes.

It had been friendly, nothing else - that was what they each told themselves independently. Two people struggling to make up for having been awful to one another for the entire first year of their acquaintance. Two people who to an outsider seemed to have little in common, but who had suffered much together, and who were both quietly seeking something like forgiveness.

After Joffrey's murder she had assumed that their weekly walks were at an end. Sansa had vanished, and with her any hope Brienne had of gaining her trust. She'd planned to make her exit quietly and go in search of Arya. But she'd still not been able to secure new armor for herself, and with Tywin Lannister on the war path and Jaime's brother Tyrion in chains, she knew not to make more adamant enquiries lest she bring down suspicion on herself or Jaime.

So she'd been surprised when Jaime had accosted her at the stables three days after the wretched event and practically dragged her by her sleeve to the spot on the bay where she knew he usually sparred with Bronn, and insisted that they continue their fight from the bridge – the one they'd been engaged in just before they were taken by Locke and his men. The last one Jaime had fought before the loss of his sword hand.

"I need to forget," he'd said. "I need someone who isn't going to harass me, or try to jest with me, someone who won't hold back." She bested him twice that afternoon, but by the time the sun began to set behind the keep he'd found his rhythm and finally knocked the sword from her hands. When she yielded, he thanked her and pressed her hand before walking back to the yard with her, side by side.

When it's all said and done and follow where the air goes

Within a couple of weeks, he started to seem more like himself again, more able to laugh at least. Their sparring continued but there was something more guarded about him that Brienne couldn't place which she tried to attribute to his mourning, but it didn't quite fit. He'd begun insisting that they meet at dawn, separating before the sun reached the yard. Then he'd started enquiring after her security - whether she'd sensed anyone following her of late, whether her chamber door was being locked at night. She'd noticed no one, but after that she would sometimes see his steward seemingly keeping an eye on her from a distance when she was outside the walls of the guest quarters.

One morning, shortly before she left the capital, she woke early for their assignation and found him asleep outside her door. When she woke him, he'd insisted that he'd not been there long - he'd simply been kept up by nightmares elsewhere and decided to wait for her, but she suspected that he'd actually been trying to guard her door.

Two days after that, he'd sent her away.

She'd been puzzled when he'd asked her to meet him in the stables instead of their normal sparring ground, and was surprised still when he escorted her up a secluded stairwell that lead into the keep. They wound their way up what must have been the stairway for the servants, encountering no one, and arriving finally in the White Sword Tower.

When he revealed the armor he'd had made for her, having carefully estimated her measurements and somehow convinced the armorers to create something in that color, she knew it was a good bye before he even said the words. And when he secreted her out of the tower in her new armor and carrying the magnificent sword he'd given her, and led her down a shady lane to a rendezvous with Bronn and Pod, she realized that it was not just a good bye. It was an escape. He was the only man from whom she would have accepted that kind of protection at the time, and she knew then that she would never see him again. Or so she'd imagined.

With distance and time and continued denial of her feelings, saying good bye to Jaime had only gotten more difficult after that.

When Declan came to relieve her of her duty on the wall, she was relieved. The night had turned bitter, and she wished to be back in the warmth of her chamber.

When Tyrion had left Winterfell with Daenerys, their party heading for White Harbor to begin the long trek to Dragonstone over the icy sea, he'd suggested that Brienne and Jaime be moved together to the chamber he was vacating. Sansa had been scandalized and told him that it would be deemed indecent, but Tyrion had only laughed at her.

"It'll be big enough for the two of them," he'd said, "and the walls in that wing are thicker. Perhaps everyone would get a bit more sleep?" He hadn't been so cavalier as to look at Brienne then, but if he had he would have seen her neck and cheeks ripen like a berry. Sansa had scoffed at her former husband, insisting that she still didn't trust the Kingslayer and wouldn't want him so close to her own chambers.

But Tyrion put that to rest as well, sidling up to Brienne as if taking her side. "But you do trust Brienne," he'd said, "and she loves him. If you're so concerned with foul rumors, then do something about it, but don't pretend that it's about your lack of warmth toward my brother. You're the lady of Winterfell. It's your choice. But if you're going to insist on forcing them to marry to save your own name, then I only ask that you summon a septon now and make them to do so before I leave so that I may give the groom away."

There'd been no argument after that. And Tyrion, much to his chagrin, did not get to give the groom away.

But they'd moved to that chamber. And they'd been happy.

I hear you night after night calling out my name

Brienne walked down the winding hall that lead to the East Wing, her steps echoing in the dark. They'd gotten word that Tyrion and the Queen had reached White Harbor just that afternoon, the signal for Jon and his men to head south on the Kingsroad. They would leave in the morning and take with them all of the men that Brienne had taken to training each day, and Pod was insisting on going with them, with her blessing.

After today, she would have less to occupy her time or thoughts, there being few Stark bannermen who'd be staying behind, and fewer still who required training. Sansa had offered to find the knight some other occupation, but Brienne had demurred, asking for a little more time before she picked up another brood of squires.

It was very late when she finally made it to her chamber. The fire burned low, a result of her long absence on duty. She fed the flames, then shed her furs. She kicked off her boots, setting them tidily along the wall. Her jerkin folded and put aside, she stepped out of her breeches and let the heat of the building fire stroke her legs. With a sigh she removed her shift and climbed into her bed, the fabric beneath the furs cold and uninviting.

And I'm finding myself running to meet you

She pushed herself to the center of the bed, pulling the furs around her until she felt the warmth start to seep deeply enough into her bones that she could stretch out her limbs. Just as she was getting comfortable, she felt an arm creeping around her middle - an arm that ended at the wrist. It hooked up from her waist, settling between her breasts as if pointing to her heart.

"You didn't feed the fire," she admonished.

"It gets too hot in here."

"That's not going to work every time, Jaime."

"Is it working this time?" he pressed into her.

She pushed her elbow back at him playfully, but he squeezed her tighter.

"Why did I let you trick me into this again?"

"It was no trick, Brienne. After my brother left I realized you were all I had in the world and I begged you. It took a couple of days to wear you down, but eventually you gave in, remember?"

"No, I think you must have tricked me into it," she teased, "I don't think I could have been compelled of my own accord to say yes to someone who cared so little for keeping my chamber warm."

"That's strange," he said, with a chuckle, his left hand sliding up the pillow and stroking her hair, his voice warm and gravely in her ear, "I recall you saying 'yes' quite fervently and often yesterday after the ceremony, and I think we kept it quite warm." He nipped at her ear and she snorted, turning over to face him.

She sighed into his neck as his arm rested on her hip. He could see that she was exhausted, her hands barely able to reach for him. Tomorrow was the first time she wouldn't need to train all day and then stay up til moonfall on the wall. She could rest, duties cast aside for one day. He would have his wife all to himself.

Her eyelids began to droop, and he nudged her with his nose, "When do they leave?"

"An hour after dawn. Jon wants to give the snow a chance to soften before they set out."

"Shall I wake you so that we can see Podrick off?"

She smiled slightly, her lashes fluttering, and nodded, curling up against his shoulder.

"Are you worried about him?"

"He's very capable."

"We could still petition Sansa to let us go with them if that's what you wanted."

I didn't want to escape

She stared sleepily up into his green eyes and pressed her lips to his chin. "No. He'll be alright. I should remain with Sansa until we know that there won't be further danger. And you're safer with me." She was starting to fall asleep now, and he stroked her arm with his wrist.

"We're safer together," he whispered, "wherever we are." She smiled and hummed an assent, sinking into sleep against him. He kissed her forehead and let himself fall asleep to sound of her heartbeat, watching the firelight dance on the jewels of their twin swords, propped together against the hearth.

From the bricks that I laid down

A/N: I do not own Game of Throne or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's Game of Thrones or George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.

Did you honestly think I would do that to y'all? C'mon.