It was another cold morning in Winterfell. Gendry stood at his work bench, shivering occasionally as he mounted the dragon glass axe heads onto their wooden hafts. The forges lay dark and cold, all the pins, nails, and hatches having been made, and all their iron and steel used up. Most of the people in Winterfell were being herded up to head South down the Kingsroad away from the site of the battle now that it was clear the armies of the Crownlands were not marching North. The blacksmiths had been conscripted to defend Winterfell instead of fleeing with the rest of the commonfolk. Their strong arms and experience swinging heavy objects is now more needed than ever. Not that Gendry was complaining, of course. It was always in his head that he'd stand and fight just like he did North of the wall.
"You done my staff, yet?" Came a familiar voice, making Gendry jump. He looked up from his work at Arya Stark, standing with her chin high, hands tucked behind her, a cheeky little smile across her face. Gendry chuckled.
"I'll get to it just as soon as I'm done another thousand of these." Gendry answered, picking up a dragon glass axe just like the one he made for the Hound. Arya inspected the little axe and laughed, taking it in her hands and wheeling it around over her shoulder, throwing it with more power than Gendry thought such a small girl could muster. The axe head stuck into a wooden post with a thunk, scaring the daylights out of a craftsman who was leaning up against it.
"They seem strong enough." Arya remarked, turning back to Gendry who looked at the axe in the post, quite impressed with the throw.
"So I take it you're going to be fighting?" He said, trotting over to the axe and wiggling the handle up and down until the dragon glass blade came loose.
"Yup. I heard you got drafted, as well." She replied, tilting her head and giving Gendry a smile. "You nervous?"
"A bit." Gendry admitted, going back to hammering rivets into the unfinished spears. "I did some fighting against these dead men not long ago."
"You fought the dead men?" She inquisitively prodded, leaning against the workbench and trying to look Gendry in the eye.
"Mmhmm." He mumbled, picking up a spear and tapping the dragon glass tip against the wall.
"What were they like?" Came Arya.
"Terrifying." He grumbled, trying not to dwell on the flashes of gnashing teeth and deathly howls in his mind. Arya rolled her eyes.
"Oh come on. You can do better than that!" She taunted, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "What do they look like? What do they smell like? How do they move? How hard are they to kill?" Arya asked giddily like a child, a her face stretched with an excited toothy smile.
"Look, I know you're looking to fight, and you think you're not afraid of anything." Gendry leaned towards her, looking her in the eyes. "This is different from sticking a sword into a raper's belly. This is death." He paused. "You wanna know what they're like? Death. That's what they're like." Arya scoffed.
"I know death. He has many faces." She stated, staring Gendry in the eyes, dismissing his air of caution. "I look forward to seeing this one."
Jaime leaned against the cold stone wall, the frosty air biting his lungs with every breath. He used his one good hand to keep his thick cloak wrapped tightly around his body. Decades of service in King's Landing had left him completely unsuited to such harsh winters. He looked through the open gate, watching all the common folk packing up and heading South as commanded by Jon Snow. No doubt many of them would freeze, starve, or succumb to illness on their journey. His heart twinged with sorrow at their helpless despair, and he scowled at the thought of Cersei betraying her word, how her self-centred strategy could cost the lives of millions. As a sister, and a lover, Jaime could ask for no better woman, but as a person... He just wished she could see the bigger picture.
The kingslayer spotted a short hooded figure waddling out from the dark entrance to Winterfell keep, a bag over his shoulder, the hand of the queen's pin on his coat. Jaime casually walked into his path and looked down at him with a smile.
"I suppose your queen has ordered you to join the retreat?" Jaime assumed. Tyrion looked up at him, the scarred face hidden by his thick beard and cloak. The dwarf pulled down his hood and nodded.
"Our queen. Odd, really." Tyrion remarked. "After all the ear fulls of failure, inadequacy, and threats, she told me that I am far more useful alive." He began strolling alongside his big brother towards the castle gate. "That girl from Narth, Missandei is close friends with Daenerys Stormborn." Tyrion stated. "I spoke with her not long after your session in court."
"About?" Jaime asked, looking over his shoulder for any signs of Varys or his little birds.
"I told her I was worried for my own safety. That Queen Daenerys was going to take Cersei's betrayal out on me, since I had already made poor strategic decisions in the recent past." He explained, voice unshaken, which surprised Jaime. "Missandei said that Daenerys wears her harsh, cold demeanour like armour so that her enemies can't take advantage of her true self, which she describes as soft and gentle."
"Soft and gentle? I'm meant to believe the woman who burns men alive is soft and gentle?" Jaime scoffed, shaking his head and sighing, remembering the Goldroad, where his men's armour melted off their shoulders, and who's bodies burned to ash before him from the dragon fire.
"Apparently she weeps for them. That she only shows her softer side when in private with the ones she trusts most, like Missandei of Narth and Jorah Mormont." Tyrion paused for a moment. "I've seen her deeds across the Narrow Sea. Her enemies suffer immensely, but her love for the innocent people in the world sets her apart from the average ruler. She's like you in that regard."
"Pff." Jaime chuckled. "Even if this is true, I'm not here to serve her. She's not my queen." The two walked through the open gate onto the road, refugees and labourers nearly bumping shoulders with the two brothers. Tyrion grabbed Jaime by the cloak.
"Shh! I wouldn't say things like that here!" He looked up at Jaime with concern, whipping his head around looking for soldiers, but none were visible. "Maybe you view her as such yet. But you've already committed desertion for her sake."
"For the realm's sake." Jaime corrected, standing aside the road away from the crowd of people. "I suppose we might not see each other again."
"That's twice you've said that." Tyrion said. Jaime nodded with a frown across his face. "Hopefully not the last time."
"Those things. The dead men. If what they say is true, and there are hundreds of thousands of them..." Jaime paused, a chill running up his spine. "I don't think I'll be walking away from this one."
"I've thought about it. Fighting alongside you. The last heirs of Casterly Rock, dying in a fight to defend Winterfell of all places." Tyrion laughed and shook his head. "Father would have a stroke." The two shared the laugh, though Jaime's seemed a little less hearty, not fully forgiving his little brother for Tywin's death.
"Well. You must live on to serve the realm after this mess is dealt with." Jaime stated. "You're mind is of no use if you're dead."
"With my performance as hand of the queen, I've come to believe that killing a few dead men and then dying myself would be a better service than continuing to live." Tyrion admitted.
"From all accounts I've heard, you did tremendously as hand of the king in father's stead." Jaime rebuked shaking his head, finding Tyrion's defeatism quite unbelievable.
"Perhaps then." He sighed, looking down at his feet. "I've never quite been the same since that night you released me." Tyrion explained, nodding and curling his lips, eyes squeezed shut. "If you fall in battle, then I will have nothing. Nobody else has ever loved me. All of it was goat shit... I realized that after..." Tyrion trailed off for a moment. "I realized that after Shae told her lies at my trial. Nobody has ever loved me aside from you, Jaime. Without you, I'd have nothing." Jaime was silent for several moments, eyes darting back and forth, and a cold sweat forming on his brow.
"That's not true." Jaime replied shakily.
"Of course it is. Why do you think I drown myself in drink? Without you, I'd have no connection to the world, and no reason to go on." Tyrion took the leather canteen of wine off his belt and took a sip.
"No I mean..." Jaime backed away and looked Tyrion in the eye. "About nobody loving you apart from me as a brother. That's not true." Tyrion rolled his eyes.
"Oh come on, Jaime. Think! You know how father felt about me, you know our sister has always hated me, I never knew mother, and the other Lannisters always avoided me." Tyrion scoffed. "And Shae? Lover of gold, betrayed me when all I wanted was to ensure her safety. Tysha? My first wife? Whore. But you know that." Tyrion ranted. Jaime's lip quivered.
"Tysha..." Jaime muttered.
"Yes. Tysha. The whore you hired." Tyrion pouted.
"Sh-she wasn't a whore." Jaime sighed, his heart sinking as Tyrion's face shifted.
"What are you talking about?" Tyrion lifted his head and glared Jaime in the eye.
"Listen." Jaime knelt down to speak with his brother face to face. "I should have told you this before. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it..." He awaited Tyrion's response, but nothing came. "I didn't hire Tysha. She wasn't a whore... That was... That was just something that father made me say." Jaime admitted. Tyrion was as silent and still as the grave. "That night those rapers attacked. That was real. Tysha falling in love with you. That was real. Your marriage. That was real, too." Tyrion took a slow step back, face twitching.
"Wh- what?"
"When father found out that you, a Lannister, had married a lowborn girl... Well... He was furious." Jaime explained, a tear rolling down his face. "He ordered his guards to seize her, and that's when he had her raped in front of you." No tears flowed from Tyrion, just a ghostly pale face. "He hounded me for days to lie to you, to say I hired her to make you a man. And well... I obeyed him." Many moments passed silently, the wind ruffled Jaime's hair and threatened to freeze his tears, but Tyrion looked as if he'd seen a ghost. The dwarf stumbled backwards, turning towards Winterfell and striding to the castle wall, unleashing a furious punch against the stone bricks, followed by a horrible crack. The punch was so hard that Jaime genuinely couldn't tell if it was Tyrion's bones that cracked, the stone wall, or both.
"Tyrion..." Jaime rushed towards him. "You had love. It was real! She might still be out the-"
"Get away from me!" Tyrion scowled, a hellish glare piercing his brother, his teeth bared.
"Y-your hand, though." Jaime looked at it with concern, trying to reach for it, but Tyrion pulled away.
"Don't touch me!" Tyrion stepped away from his brother, growling at his mere presence. "If there's any life I value less than my own right now, it would be yours!" He turned his back and stomped away, not bothering waiting for his carriage. Jaime watched with tearful eyes as his little brother made his way South on the King's Road on foot along with the smallfolk.