Now sober, they take their time making love. With no maidenhead to worry about, Jaime makes his personal mission to pleasure Brienne in all the ways he can think of, eager to show her the truth of his words.

At one moment, he murmurs "beautiful" as he kisses her freckles. She goes utterly still, and he sighs, mentally cursing himself for all the times he called her otherwise in their early acquaintance. "I mean it, you know," he whispers, kissing the underside of her left breast.

She shivers at his kiss, but otherwise remains tense. "You don't need to give me pretty words," she whispers back. "I've already accepted your love and your proposal."

He raises his head to look her in the eyes. "Have I ever lied to you?" She shakes her head. "Then what makes you think I'm lying now, of all times?" He kisses her before she can answer, pressing his chest against hers and savoring her lips until she melts underneath him. Only then he retreats. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he says, "and you've… grown on me."

She nudges his arm. "I'm serious," she replies.

"So am I," he counters. "No, I did not find you beautiful when we first met, although I also did not find you as ugly as I made you think I did. Regardless… Part of falling in love with someone is finding beauty in every flaw." He can scarcely remember why he once deemed her ugly. Her features may be unique, but they mix together in a breathtaking way.

(Especially when there are no clothes between them. Brienne's naked form highlights her beauty in ways he did not think possible for a woman. He doesn't think he'll be able to find any outfit suitable for her when she is so gorgeous in her nameday suit.)

Her eyes run around his face, looking for… something. Whatever it is that she finds, or doesn't find, makes her smile. "I believe you," she announces quietly.

Smiling back, he kisses her deeply, soon resuming their lovemaking.

This morning, not only does he wake up before her, they are not on opposite sides of the bed. Instead, their legs are tangled, and he has ample view of her sleeping face, of her chest rising up and down. Greedy and selfish, he leaves open-mouthed kisses on her neck until she wakes up with a gasp that makes him lose what little restraint he had.

Only after she shouts his name does he greet her. "Good morning," he purrs, kissing her collarbone.

She hums. "I could wake up every morning like this," she admits.

"You will," he promises, rising up to kiss her lips. "Soon." If it's up to him, she will fall asleep every night tired after being pleasured and will wake up every morning to more pleasure. On lucky days, he'll lure her to bed after lunch as well.

Cersei's body was never this addicting. He could go weeks without her and not bat an eye, even at the peak of his lust. With Brienne, the mere idea of spending a single day apart from her threatens to make him puke.

"I must speak to Lady Sansa," she tells him when they break their kiss. "As her sworn sword, I cannot marry without her consent."

He doesn't like the idea, but knows it's a necessity. Brienne is safer in Winterfell if she remains sworn to the Starks, and he has no intention to wait until said protection is no longer necessary to call himself hers. "We will speak to Lady Sansa," he replies, tracing her chest bone with his fingers. "I must make my case and use all my wit to convince her I'm a good choice for you."

"I love you," she says, solemnly and casually at the same time somehow. His heart skips a beat. "I love you, and I choose you, and that should be enough if she trusts me as she claimed when I vouched for you."

The memory of his mock trial makes him kiss her all over again, and he nearly loses himself in her touch—until he remembers something else that must be discussed. "Tyrion will ask Daenerys to let me in her next war council meeting," he says.

She blinks, and it seemingly takes a while for her to fully understand his words. He inwardly grins at that; he made her lose focus. "Because of last night?"

"Yes," he confirms, rolling himself off her and pulling her close in an embrace. "Up until now I thought myself the one person she cared about—that still lived, at least. I was even thinking of writing her a letter—under someone's supervision, of course, as to not raise suspicion over me—asking her to surrender and spare her life… and her child's."

She frowns. "Is she pregnant?"

"Supposedly," he replies, "and she says it's mine. Frankly, I've doubted both of her claims of late, but… well. I was going to put in on the letter anyway. But alas, sending Bronn to kill me shows how wrong I was about her assessment of my person." He grimaces. "I'd rather try Daenerys Targaryen out than let Cersei on that cursed chair."

She rests a hand on his cheek, caressing it with her thumb. "Are you sure this isn't revenge?"

"I'm sure. I've known Cersei is a terrible queen for… well, since she was crowned. But, even if I'm no longer in love with her, she's still my sister. I wasn't overly fond of the prospect of killing her, even if indirectly. I still am not. Her assassination attempt fred me from such guilt, however." He sighs. "I do hope there is a chance to save the baby, though, if there is indeed one."

"You could ask Lord Bran," she suggests. "Surely he can see if she is pregnant right now."

He frowns. "I could, in theory, but I don't think it's wise. Not after… well, you know."

She nods slowly, and suddenly he's overcome with gratitude. This woman knows all of his worst sins, including shoving Bran out of a window and killing his own cousin—actions that tie both as his cruelest and dumbest acts, in hindsight—and still loves him. One could argue loving someone is not a choice—hells, he told her that once—but she also acted on that love. She gave him her maidenhead and gleefully accepted his proposal. She saved him from death by dragonfire and shielded his back during the Long Night.

He doesn't deserve her love, but who does? All he can do is thank whatever gods graced him with such a miracle and hold on to it until his dying day.

"I could ask for you," she says, taking him out of his daydreams.

He shakes his head. "No, this is my burden to bear, not yours. I'll be a man about it and ask him."

"We are to get married soon," she says softly. "Your burdens are mine as well."

"Not yet," he replies, kissing her soundly. "But soon, indeed."

As they dress up, she asks him, "Why do you no longer believe Cersei's claims she is pregnant with your child?"

He sighs and glances away as he laces his breaches. "My first doubt was whether the baby was mine." He is not eager at all to talk about sex with his twin to Brienne, but she asked, and he owes her answers. Besides, if they are to get married, his past with Cersei cannot be ignored for long. "I only laid with her once after her coronation. Not out of real desire, mind you, but mostly because I feared how she'd react if I said no."

He feels her hand touch his arm and looks to see her eyes wide and sad. "I'm sorry you had to go through it," she says sincerely, and he falls a bit more in love with her for that.

"Thank you," he murmurs. Then, a little louder, adds, "She tried to convince me we'd be able to be together out in the open. I didn't believe her, nor did I care if she was being honest—we had just lost our last child, I couldn't care less about whether we'd fuck in the open or in the shadows."

"Was she honest?"

"No," he replies easily. "Not long afterwards, Euron Greyjoy showed up swearing alliance in exchange for her cunt. She did not even blink before saying yes, and I could scarcely be bothered about it. The only thing that stopped me from being relieved was Euron's taunts about getting the queen for himself and how he'd do it better because he had two hands."

He pauses for a breath, and she comments quietly, "I don't mind that you have only one hand."

His heart skips several beats at that. No, she didn't; in fact, last night she reacted to his stump almost as strongly as she did to his hand. "I know," he replies quietly, smiling. "And I love you even more for it." He can't resist kissing her then, although it's a light touch on her lips. He sits down on the bed to lace his boots. "Anyway, either of us can be the father and, as far as I know, Euron fucked her more than once. If there is a baby, it's more likely to be his than mine."

She sits beside him. "Why do you suspect there isn't?"

"The timing," he replies instantly. "Too convenient. I wouldn't put it past her to lie about it to keep me in line if she suspected I wasn't as devoted to her as I used to be. And… by the time I left, her stomach was still flat. I remember her previous pregnancies; she always showed early." Okay, she had put on some weight over the years, but still. When he saw her bare, he found her slim enough that she'd show early as usual. "Well, as you said, I can try to talk to Bran Stark and ask him about it. It solves many problems. I can sense Tyrion is hesitant to attack her full force and lose another nephew or niece. Neither of us is happy with the idea of killing an unborn innocent."

She caresses his cheek, and he turns to look at her. "If she is pregnant, and they manage to save the baby… I could raise them with you. Whether you're the father or not."

He kisses her again, more deeply this time. "You're amazing," he breathes out as he breaks the kiss. "I imagine Yara Greyjoy will want the baby if they're Euron's, but, if they're indeed mine… You'll be a wonderful mother."

She kisses the cheek she just caressed, and he can feel her tiny smile against his skin. He silently vows to make her smile every day, for as long as he's allowed to live.

Brienne timidly allows him to hold her hand on their way to breakfast, and he doesn't hide his smile at her consent. His joy seems to be contagious, as she smiles back at him.

They are late, of course, so there isn't much left. No matter; they are in a hurry to eat anyway. They break their fast in silence, and Jaime focuses on his food to avoid getting too distracted by her eyes—yes, he is that much of a besotted fool.

He reaches for her hand on their way to the solar Sansa Stark usually is in the mornings, but Brienne says no this time. "We must be careful," she says quietly. "She may not like that we show up at her door holding hands."

His jaw clenches at that, but he can't argue. Like it or not, Jaime isn't exactly 'someone dear' to the Starks. Lady Sansa made it clear when he arrived: she blamed him for his actions and those of his House, regardless of whether he approved of them or not. Just like her father, she never bothered asking anything, only judged.

(He may have aided Brienne to rescue her, and she may have allowed him to stay as her guest, but he is in no way obliged to like Sansa Stark.)

They find her writing letters to gods know who. She raises her head and greets them with a nod and a polite smile. "Lady Brienne. Lord Jaime. May I help you?"

He glances at Brienne, who gives him just the tiniest of smiles. Let me handle this, it seems to mean, and of course he does. "Ser Jaime proposed to me last night, my lady," she begins. "I've accepted, but, as my liege lady, I need your consent as well."

She's kind about it, but he feels warm at the fact that she made it clear that she isn't asking Sansa's consent because she values her opinion to the point it would change her mind. No, it's out of obligation only; she wants to marry him, no hesitation on that.

Lady Sansa straightens her back and glances at the two of them. "I'd like to speak to Brienne privately," she states.

He makes a point to kiss Brienne's cheek before leaving.

Brienne gets out rather quickly. "Don't worry," she whispers as she kisses his cheek. "She is just concerned about me. Now go, she wants to talk to you as well."

He nods, planting a quick peck on her lips before going inside. As much as it irritates him that Sansa thinks Brienne would be coerced into marrying him, he has to appreciate her concern; it means she cares about her sworn sword as a person, and for that Jaime can't really be frustrated.

"Please have a seat, Ser Jaime," she says, gesturing at the chair across her. He obeys and waits for her to talk. "Brienne claims your proposal is born out of love."

He raises an eyebrow. "According to my brother, my feelings for Brienne have been written on my face since I arrived."

She narrows her eyes. "Well, do forgive me for not being so trusting when you sired three children in your sister's womb."

"Sometimes," he says slowly, "people fall out of love with each other, my lady." He crosses his legs. "I am not going to explain how my relationship with Cersei crumbled. It is fairly obvious that it did, otherwise Tyrion and I would not have come to you last night reporting an assassination attempt on her orders."

For a while, she stays silent, studying his face. Just as the silence grows uncomfortable, she says, "I know Cersei. Maybe not for as long as you did, but I do. She likes to play games, twisted ones. Who's to say this wasn't some wicked move to let you think she still felt something for you? Who's to say you are not in the game?"

Seven Hells. "It may be a game on her part," he says, although he doesn't believe it, "but not one I'm eager to play along. I don't take murder lightly, my lady. Even if she somehow didn't mean it, which I doubt…" He sighs. "I can see your real question. You wonder whether I'll leave Brienne for my sister. You're pretty sure I will, eventually." He lifts his chin. "You don't believe me capable of loving Brienne. You don't think I'm willing to be good, for her sake or anyone else's. You don't see me as a person, only another limb of the Great Lion of Lannister."

She flinches and opens her mouth to reply, but he isn't done. "I did bad things. I have my sins to atone for. I won't deny it. Brienne knows all of them, better than you do. Come to think of it, your mother was also aware of them, and even though she judged me, she trusted me to fulfill my oath to return you and your sister safely to her arms. You've seen this very oath fulfilled—as best as possible anyway—you've seen me honoring my pledge to fight for the living, and you still find me unreliable. Somehow, I doubt Catelyn Stark would be so judgemental in your place.

"Everything Brienne said when I arrived is true. I lost my hand in an attempt to save her from rape—thank the gods it worked. In King's Landing, I discussed ways to get you out and, when you disappeared, I gave her fit armour, a Valyrian steel sword, a horse and a squire to go looking for you. There are many more things I did for her, and countless things she did for me beyond vouching for me here. If you want the full story, feel free to ask her. I won't disclose it to you without her permission, and frankly, neither of us owe you the story of how we grew to love each other despite our circumstances.

"Yes, I fought your father in the streets. Yes, I fought your brother in the riverlands. I won't apologize for any of these things. However, I did not execute your father—that wasn't even Cersei's idea, it was all Joffrey. You should have known it better than me, since you were there. I did not help orchestrate the Red Wedding—I wasn't even aware of it until Brienne and I arrived in King's Landing. I am not responsible for what my father, my sister, my son or my brother did, just as they are not responsible for my actions. You'd do well learning that if you are to be Lady of Winterfell. If you let entire Houses be defined by one person's behavior, you'll turn them into your enemies, and soon you'll have no allies left."

He clears his throat and relaxes against the table, taking a deep breath. There is a real chance his words and tone will make Sansa deny Brienne's request to let them get married, but he's had enough of everyone's nobler-than-thou attitude towards him. Your brother showed more compassion than you, and I crippled him. He didn't even have to explain himself to Bran; he did it himself, and in better words than he had available at the moment. If the boy he pushed out of a window can be forgiving, Sansa, who he never directly wronged, should not be this harsh.

Eventually, she sighs and speaks up. "I suppose I owe you at least the benefit of doubt, instead of distrusting you right away." She shakes her head. "I've already told Brienne she is free to marry you if that's what she wants. Besides, marrying her is the least you could do after taking her maidenhead—"

"I didn't take anything," he snarls. "Nothing she wasn't willing to give."

At that, Sansa grins. "She told me something similar," she notes. Her grin falls. "But I must warn you, though: if you ever hurt her, in any way, consider yourself unwelcome in Winterfell for as long as I draw breath."

And there it is again, the genuine concern. "Good to know we share an unwillingness to see Brienne hurt, my lady," he says, allowing himself a grin of his own. "We have a deal."

She blinks, probably surprised at his reply. "Good," she agrees. "Then we're done here. I told Brienne already you can use the sept in Wintertown for the wedding, and our old one was never rebuilt. Ah," she exclaims quietly, "I received news from Tyrion that you'd join us in the next war council meeting."

He lets himself smile a bit. "Thank you," he replies as he stands up and leaves.

Brienne is waiting for him outside and asks how it went. He grabs her by the waist and kisses her before answering, "Oh, it went well."

He and Brienne part ways when she goes looking for Podrick, so he decides it's time to look for Bran Stark. He finds him roughly at the same place they talked when he arrived, but it's the young man who greets him first. "I was wondering if you'd ever talk to me after the battle."

He stops in front of him. "Is there anything you wanted to tell me?"

"Nothing specific, no," he replies. "I just wondered if you'd come after our last talk. After what I said."

He mentally goes through what they talked about. "I have to admit," he says eventually, "I left our meeting a bit confused." Bran raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to elaborate. "First, you said you were no longer Bran Stark."

"You heard me in the war meeting," he replies. "I called myself the Three-Eyed Raven, did I not?"

"Yes, but it meant next to nothing to me. I had to ask Brienne about it, and even she failed to give me details. All we knew was that you were the Night King's primary target, because of whatever powers you have—powers neither of us understand."

Bran tilts his head. "The Three-Eyed Raven is an entity, so to speak," he begins. Jaime sits down on the snow across the young man, sensing this will take a while. "Many have worn its mantle over history. I'm just another one, though I'm the first to have come south of the Wall—then again, none of my predecessors had access to wheelchairs or someone able to transport them.

"As the Raven, I can see everything about the past and present in Westeros. Some legends claim me to be the most powerful greenseer, but, by definition, I'm not one. Greenseers see the future, which is outside my domain."

Jaime frowns. "You sounded very prophetic when I talked to you."

Bran (or the Raven, whatever) chuckles. "It's how I talk nowadays, as the Raven. It always carries a rather ominous voice, even if impassioned." He glances up for a moment, then back at him. "You know how we try to predict the future based on history?" He nods. "It's the same for me, but, since I have access to all of history, my guesses should be better than average. But I didn't know whether we'd come out of that battle victorious or not. There were prophecies of chosen heroes, but we won without any of them. Well, it isn't important. What I'm trying to say is that, when I asked you how you knew there was an afterwards, I meant it. I didn't know, so how could you?"

"So you weren't trying to predict my death."

"No. You could have died, of course, but your odds were as good as any other fighter, I think."

Jaime hums. "What about Bran Stark? Is he still inside you, or—"

"He is," he replies instantly. "I didn't steal his body. We're sharing, but… it's always a delicate balance." He glances away. "My predecessor was Bloodraven. You remember him from history lessons, don't you?"

"Of course. I suppose he got lost beyond the Wall because he became the Raven, then?" He doesn't think the Targaryen bastard was supposed to have lived so long, but it's not like he understand all this magic to evaluate its side effects.

"In summary, yes. When Bran found us, we had long reached a balance. Bloodraven was the one who spoke up most. But… I had to enter Bran's mind rather abruptly, because the cave we were in was attacked by wights. Finding balance with my new host is always hard, but the way it happened to Bran and me… We also had no time to find our way around together, because I was needed as the Raven here. For many reasons, even ones that had nothing to do with the Long Night." He sighs and looks back at Jaime. "I hope we can find it after these wars are all over."

"What is in store for you?" He asks, genuinely curious.

"My bets are someone will try to make me Master of Whispers, especially if Varys somehow dies. I'd like to stay in Winterfell for a while longer, for Bran's sake, then go back to where the Three-Eyed Ravens belong: north of the Wall, in close contact with the Children of the Forest."

"Does Sansa know about it?"

"No. You're the first I'm talking to about this."

"Why? I'm not—"

"Consider this a display of trust," he says, more gently this time. "A display of forgiveness. As the Raven, I am not entitled to forgive you for a single thing; in fact, I'm bound to thank you, for granting me a new host. It is Bran Stark who forgives you now. It is him who understands why you did it."

Startled, he stands up, trying to find words to reply to that. "What does… what does he think of me?"

"That you are a good man who made mistakes. Not so different from most people who walked through this realm."

The answer is so, so simple, and yet he finds it hard to believe. "Is that all? I'm—Bran Stark is one of the people I wronged the most. A few good actions cannot erase the bad I've done."

"It doesn't," he agrees, "but the bad actions don't erase the good deeds either. This isn't about how many bad things you did and how many good things you did. That's not how it works. Leave the past behind and commit to do good. It's what we all should do, every single day: wake up with a resolve to be better than we were yesterday."

He doesn't say anything else, and Jaime doesn't know to reply to that, until he remembers his true purpose to come here. "I hate to change the subject after such wise counsel," he says, "but there is something I'd ask you to check for me."

Raven Bran doesn't seem to mind it. "If it's within my power, I'll do it."

"I want to know whether my sister is pregnant," he replies. "She's supposed to be showing by now."

The young man raises his eyebrows and nods. "I'll have an answer right before the next war meeting."

"Thank you," he says quietly before leaving to find Brienne.