As the northerners and Unsullied left the hall, Jaime found himself alone with his pile of armor. He picked it up and placed it on a table and sat at the bench where Brienne had been seated only moments before. He ran his fingers along the grain and considered resting right there. The hall likely wouldn't be needed again until supper and he would be in no one's way there. Clearly no one was going to seek his company. Even Brienne had walked away. His experience in the field, not to mention his very recent experience of sleeping wherever he could for an hour at a time on the ride north, had prepped him for just this. He was about to mold himself a pillow, when he heard a gentle cough behind him.

Whipping his head around he found two men watching him, one more bemused than the other. The stoic one was Podrick Payne, the latter a weather-beaten man he'd seen at Jon Snow's side in King's Landing.

"Well met, Pod."

"Ser Jaime," responded Podrick, offering him a half-smile and a nod. "This is Ser Davos Seaworth, Hand to Lord Snow." Davos clucked at the squire and nodded to Jaime, "not sure I can call myself Hand now that the knee of the North has been bent, but I do like to keep myself useful." Jaime liked the man immediately. He had a frankness about him that put him at ease, and Jaime was glad to know him.

"Well then, are you here in your official capacity, my lord hand?"

"Aye, In a way. Lord Snow didn't wish to make a fuss in front of the ladies so he asked me to make sure you found a berth. Can't have you sleeping in trees or ditches as you're accustomed."

Jaime offered a wry smile, "Is that Lord Snow's way of keeping an eye on me?"

Davos grinned. "Any other king and I'd say yes. And I've known my fair share. But in this case, no I believe his priorities are elsewhere." Jaime nodded and gathered his armor before following Davos as he left the hall and headed up a set of stone steps with Podrick in tow. Yes, Jon had seemed distracted just now, but this attention to his guests' comfort – if Jaime could be called that – was admirable.

When they reached the landing, Davos gestured to a chamber two doors down. "You'll be just there, and I'm - he turned and looked down the other end of the hall, searching - well fuck me if I know, I'm down there somewhere. Podrick here knows how to find me if I'm needed, I'm sure." Jaime looked curiously at Podrick who only nodded.

"Thank you, Ser Davos. This is very kind."

"Ach, don't thank me, I make no promises about that bed in there," he said, starting back down the stairs, "might make your ditches look damn cozy!"

As the older knight disappeared, Jaime turned to Pod with an upturned brow, but the squire had already gone to open the door. Jaime followed him and found the chamber rather cold and stale. The sight of the bed, humble as it was, immediately made his eyelids droop, but he wasn't ready to sleep just yet.

Pod lit the fire expertly and fed it while Jaime removed his boots in silence. Finally, as Jaime settled into the chair and loosened his jerkin, he turned to the squire who had just picked up Jaime's armor and was preparing to arrange it on the other side of the room.

"Podrick, leave it. I'm sure you're needed elsewhere. What of your lady?" he asked as casually as he could muster. That lady had just saved his neck, and he was anxious to know her state of mind.

"She's advising Lady Sansa." Pod shrugged. "And Ser Davos asked for my assistance as someone who was acquainted with you."

"You mean someone who didn't want me dead. Yes I don't suppose he had many options."

Pod grinned fully, "Don't worry, Ser Jaime. You still have a few friends here."

Jaime smirked at the boy – no, the boy was now a man. He'd been just grown when he'd saddled Brienne with him. It warmed him to think that after all this time he was still loyally following her around. Brienne had managed to keep all of his gifts to her on that departure. Her armor, he'd noticed, was scuffed and dented in places, but it had kept its color and she'd seemed to radiate with watery light.

So break my step
And relent

"Ser Jaime?"

Pod broke into Jaime's sleepy reverie. He didn't remember having closed his eyes, but when he opened them he found the squire standing over him holding a thin fur bundle in one hand and a flagon of wine in the other.

"Ser Jaime, I hope this will be enough – we seem to be short on blankets, but between this and the fire you should be alright." No doubt, Jaime thought darkly, we'll have more than enough to go around by the time this battle is over.

Jaime offered him a sleepy nod. "Pod, I've been sleeping out of doors for a month. I have no doubt of this being an improvement."

Pod nodded and laid the fur across the bed. "Ser Jaime, may I ask why? You had every comfort in the capital – why ride north with so little, especially when you know that the odds of this battle are not in our favor? Why come at all?"

Jaime regarded the squire and then leaned forward conspiratorially, "All those who care for me, few though they are, are here ready to face death together. I've made the mistake of staying behind before. I could not do it to h-…I could not stay idle. I have the chance to fight on the right side for once in my cursed life." He looked at his feet, stretching his toes and feeling sleep creeping in. "How could I not?"

"I'll be proud to fight by your side, Ser Jaime." Jaime smiled.

"I'm looking forward to seeing what you're made of, Podrick. By all accounts, you've come a long way."

Podrick smiled and threw another log on the fire, brushing his hands on his trousers. "Will you be needing anything else, Ser Jaime? I should check in downstairs." Jaime shook his head, a sad smile playing on his lips.

"No Pod, go on. Go to your lady."

Pod nodded once and saw himself out. Jaime stared into the fire and sighed. The heat made him feel parched but his limbs felt heavy. He stood and slowly moved to the corner of the bed. A few more steps and he would have the wine in hand. But he wasn't going to make it. He sank to the bed and drew the blanket up to his waist before he lost his grip on it, slipping into a deep and terrible sleep.

After supper, Brienne heard an expected knock at her door. "Enter, Pod."

Pod entered the chamber and nodded at her.

"Well?"

"Still asleep, my lady. He seems to be having fitfull dreams," added Pod with a curious glance, "shouting a bit. But he does not appear ill."

Brienne nodded – "Good. Thank you, Pod. I shan't require you in the morning," she said, hinting that he might be more useful elsewhere.

"Yes, my lady. Good night." Pod closed the door behind him and Brienne was alone again with her thoughts.

When he hadn't appeared at supper, she was at first unconcerned – perhaps he'd gotten himself lost in the castle. But when the queen seemed to notice she'd panicked. She'd asked Pod to first check the stables to confirm that his horse was still there. It was. That was good – it meant he hadn't run off either back to Cersei or to his army's secret camp – something Daenerys had voiced a concern about behind closed doors. Brienne had given her word that he was in the north with good intentions, but convincing the dragon queen was not easy, and his absence from the hall that evening seemed to signal something to the suspicious queen that didn't sit well with Brienne.

When Pod had returned from the stables, her panic was replaced with anxiety that roiled in her stomach - he'd ridden long and hard through the early winter – he could be ill. She recalled how the fever had hit him at Harrenhal, how helpless he'd been then. She couldn't' stand the idea of having just saved his life only to have him die of a cold brought on by his at-times idiotic gallantry. After debating whether to check on him herself she finally sided with decorum asked Pod to go to Jaime's chamber, which unbeknownst to her had lay directly across from her own. When Pod had disappeared across the hall, she'd silently cursed Davos for it.

Knowing that he was not ill was a comfort but fitfull dreams, as Pod had put it, were not a good omen. On the road from Harrenhal to King's Landing he'd had a few nights like that. She'd had to wake him to keep him from drawing unnecessary attention from passersby. He'd never told her what he'd been dreaming of, but she'd gleaned enough to know that it seemed to be a kind of recurring dream of dead kings and a warrior with a glowing sword. He'd never suffered those fits on the road before losing his hand, so she'd assumed that they had been brought on by the trauma. With the battle to come that meant that these dreams could only get worse.

She sat in her bed, knees drawn to her chest, and watched the fire burn down for a long time, listening.

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 Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.