Jaime sat by the fire in the great hall with his brother, mired in thoughts of death. "What can we do?" He'd asked Jon – the answer had not been reassuring.
After the council was ended, Brienne had dismissed him saying she needed to check on Podrick. She was around a corner and gone from sight before he could even respond. Tormund Giantsbane had then passed him in the hall, looking like he might follow Brienne, but then got pulled aside by one of the others. Had he continued, Jaime knew he would have followed him, even knowing he might not like the end of that journey. "We're all going to die," the giant had said, then leaning past him toward Brienne, "but at least we'll die together." Jaime had wanted to hit him then, but he remembered Brienne's hushed warning and stopped himself.
And I will wait, I will wait for you
He'd wandered the halls until he'd found the kitchens where he arranged for wine to be brought up to the great hall. He wasn't about to spend his last hours in the cold, and he certainly wasn't going to be able to sleep just now. His mind was spinning. He'd been racing towards death for so long that he'd nearly forgotten what it was like to want to live, to truly want to go on living.
Getting back to Cersei, succeeding for Cersei, had always been about purpose – something his father had instilled in, no – forced on, him from an early age. Everything he did was meant to be for the family. And if he didn't succeed or never came back, it would be looked on as a failure, not a loss. It had warped his mind, he realized. Before Brienne, he'd never gone into a battle with hope – only purpose. Being apart from her seemed to sap whatever hope he had.
When he'd charged Daenerys and her dragon in the Reach, he'd thought only of serving his purpose in ending the war. He'd thought nothing of himself. Only after Bronn had knocked him into the river and he'd been sinking to the bottom in his heavy armor had he spared a thought for his life unlived, for Brienne.
He had been sitting there by the fire, sinking somewhat back into his past again, hating himself for letting his father and sister manipulate him, when Tyrion arrived carrying his own flagon.
"What a lively fete!" he exclaimed, looking about he empty room and going to set the wine down on the sideboard alongside Jaime's. He poured some into a cup and turned back to his brother, "What are we celebrating?"
Jaime stirred from his muddy thoughts as Tyrion dragged a chair over, and he shot his younger brother a sad smile, "The end of days, I think."
"Ah," nodded Tyrion, climbing onto the chair with his cup, "a personal favorite of yours, I believe." He raised his glass and took a sip.
"Not anymore."
Tyrion eyed his brother as he stared into the fire.
"I wish father were here."
Jaime shot his brother a look and Tyrion continued, straight-faced: "I would love to see the look on his face when he realizes his two sons are about to die defending Winterfell."
Jaime snorted with laughter and Tyrion smiled to himself, happy to have distracted his brother from whatever maudlin fantasies were flying through his head, if only momentarily.
"That would be something to see."
"I remember the first time we were here," started Tyrion, "the first time I saw this hall…you were a golden lion. I was a drunken whoremonger…it was all so simple."
Jaime gave his brother a sardonic smile, "It wasn't so simple," he said, staring into the fire as if he could conjure Cersei there burning in the flames, "I was sleeping with my sister, and you had one friend…who was sleeping with his sister."
"I was speaking in relative terms." Tyrion cursed himself – talk of Cersei was not going to drag Jaime out of his depression.
"Do you miss it?" asked Jaime, knowing that for him, that part of his life was well and truly over.
"Of course I miss it." Tyrion snapped.
"Well my golden lion days are done," Jaime retorted, teasing, "but whoremongering is still an option for you."
Tyrion sighed, he knew too much of the world now, he'd seen too much pain and exploitation. He could never be that man again. "It's not…things would be easier if it were." He blinked and looked back to his brother, raising his glass, "The perils of self-betterment."
Jaime smiled and raised his cup. His brother was right – running toward death would always be easier if he was able to slip back into the shell of a man he'd been, but having something to live for made that impossible.
And I will wait, I will wait for you
He raised his cup to his brother and made to drink when the doors to the hall clattered open. He turned in his seat and his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Brienne entering the hall as Pod closed the door to the wind. "Oh!" He jumped out of his seat, "My lady."
Tyrion cocked his brow at his brother, studying him, then turned to the newcomers.
Brienne's voice echoed in the near-empty hall as Jaime's eyes locked on hers and she, his, "Oh! We didn't mean to interrupt. We were just looking for somewhere warm to-"
"- to contemplate your imminent death. You've come to the right place," finished Tyrion as he got down from his chair. He turned to the sideboard and addressed his former squire who was grinning ear to ear. He could always count on Podrick Payne to enjoy his wit, "You want some of this piss? It's not bad. It's not good either."
Pod moved to join Tyrion, "Thank you, my lord."
Brienne broke the stare to admonish her squire, warning that the battle could start at any moment, but she gave in when she saw Tyrion roll his eyes. Far be it from her to keep him from enjoyment on what might be the last night for all of them.
Tyrion called over to her, "And you?"
"No," she said gently, tearing her eyes from Jaime, "thank you, I should try to get some sleep." Truthfully, she had no desire to leave. When she and Pod had departed the courtyard, she'd sought him out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Finally they'd given in to the cold and headed for the great hall where they could see that the hearth was lit. She would rather be here with Jaime than anywhere else. But she also knew that staying would make the battle to come much harder. She should go.
But Jaime had already crossed the room to retrieve an additional chair for her and was carrying it to the fire. She was there now, and he was not prepared to let her out of his sight. "You really think any of us are going to sleep tonight?" He set the chair down. "Join us," he urged.
He was right, even if she held her ground and went up to her chamber, her thoughts would likely still be here in this room, keeping her up. "Alright," she conceded to him, then looked to Tyrion, "Just a bit for me," and moved to sit in the chair that Jaime had set down for her. Tyrion approached her with a cup of wine that was nearly full and gave her a knowing grin. She grinned back sheepishly and accepted the cup. Tyrion looked past her as a voice rang out.
"Well what do we have here?"
"Ser Davos," Tyrion nodded, "join us."
Jaime looked to Brienne as Davos begged off and then positioned himself in front of the fire to warm himself, but then Jaime spotted movement behind her. The giant wildling was looming in the doorway, his eyes set on the back of Brienne's head. Jaime did the first thing he could think to do – he sat in the chair directly next to Brienne, ensuring that Tormund Giantsbane would not have the opportunity.
Now I'll be bold
The next several minutes passed strangely. Jaime wished he'd drunk more of the wine before Tormund had begun his origin story. And he wished she'd spotted the chair in the corner before the man had walked in – he would have chucked it into the cold to keep the man further away.
"They call you King Killer," the man had challenged him. He'd been entirely focused on Brienne from the moment he'd entered the room, until he'd seen her exchanging glances with Jaime; then the giant had honed in on him. He chuckled to himself at the thought.
Yes, the wildling seemed to relish talking about himself. He'd done his best to not laugh outright at him, but the glances of those around him did not help. Pod kept the straightest face, and even that was bemused at best. Tyrion and Davos' faces were both distorted in pain as they held in their laughter. And Brienne had looked back at Jaime askance several times, causing his heart to race every time with the knowledge that she found the man to be as strange as he did.
As well as strong
The wind whistled through the hall, the candles flickering. Tyrion was waxing eloquent on their impending deaths again, much to their chagrin.
"At least we'll die with honor," Brienne had countered, staring at the floor.
Jaime searched her face. Steadfast to the end. Braver than anyone he'd ever met. He felt his own fear start to evaporate, but then his thoughts were again interrupted by Tyrion.
"I think we might live."
They all scoffed at him as he started rattling off the achievements of the room. Jaime shook his head and stood up to replenish his drink.
Tyrion moved on to Brienne. "Ser Brienne of Tarth. Defeated the Hound in – Pardon me…Lady Brienne."
Jaime heard the exchange behind him and bristled when she told Tormund that women couldn't be knights. "Fuck tradition," the giant had said in response. The wildling had finally said something that Jaime agreed with. Fuck loyalty. Fuck tradition. They might all be dead tomorrow...and as far as Jaime was concerned, Brienne deserved every honor possible.
"I don't even want to be a knight," Brienne lied dismissively.
If she'd declared that she wanted to be queen, he would tear down the Red Keep itself to see her crowned. But she'd never had such aspirations. Despite what she was saying now, he knew that Brienne had only ever wanted to be a knight. And, it suddenly occurred to him, he had the power to do something about that. On the eve of all of their deaths, how could he deny her that honor? And how could he deny himself the opportunity for an inch of redemption.
And use my head alongside my heart
"You don't need a king," Jaime said in response to Tormund's most recent suggestive assertion. "Any knight can make another knight." He met her eyes. "I'll prove it."
He set down his cup and moved to the other end of the hall, drawing his sword and struggling to keep it from rattling against the stone floor as he held it out. He straightened his shoulders and turned to face her again.
"Kneel, Lady Brienne."
Brienne scoffed at him, sure that he was teasing her. He'd gone his entire stay at Winterfell thus far without doing so, it was only right that once they were drinking he would slip back into his old ways.
"Do you want to be a knight or not," he challenged her.
Her grin faded as she raised her eyes to him again. She could see that he was serious. She knew, of course, that he was right. Kings and Queens occasionally appointed knights as a matter of decorum, but in the field it was often knights themselves who bore the brunt of the work of creating the next generation. Jaime himself had been knighted by another knight.
"Kneel."
Her heart was already pounding against her ribcage as she looked to Podrick who encouraged her silently. And when she looked back to Jaime, her breath quickened. The way he was looking at her – she wanted to preserve it in her mind's eye forever. There was a patience there that she'd never seen before, and something else. She knew it couldn't quite be affection, not the way that men and women felt for each other, not the way that she admitted she felt for him whenever she saw him after a long separation. As she walked toward him, tears of disbelief building in her eyes, she recalled the look of surprise that had been on his face when she'd shown up at his camp at Riverrun – a guileless kind of open familiarity that had caused her anxieties to disappear.
So take my flesh
She took a knee and looked up at him, vaguely aware of the shifting of chairs by the fire as their companions stood to watch. She looked down at his hand holding Widow's Wail, the twin to her Oathkeeper and saw at once that his palm was sweating and he had to adjust his grip. As he lifted the sword, she focused on his other hand – the golden he wore as a result of protecting her all those years ago.
For Jaime, the rest of the world slipped away. He knew the words by heart, but the feeling in his chest nearly made him falter. The words were ceremony only - she already embodied and honored all the requirements that knighthood entailed. He lifted the sword, steadying it as best he could in his shaking sweaty hand.
As his sword brushed her shoulder, a wave of calm washed over her, a sensation akin to coming home.
And fix my eyes
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." You are the bravest, most resilient person I've ever known.
"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." Your sense of justice is my guiding light.
"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the innocent." You saved the Stark girls when no one else could.
As the sword slid off her shoulder, she looked back up at Jaime, tears pooling in her eyes.
"Arise, Brienne of Tarth. A knight of the seven kingdoms."
She rose, her eyes never leaving his. He was beaming at her with a fierce pride, eyes shining, and she felt her entire body radiate with it. She could not recall ever having been this happy before. Being named to Renly's Kingsguard had come close, surely. But that memory, like his eyes, had all-but faded as she took in Jaime's face.
A thought fluttered through her head as a smile spread across her face. It wasn't just affection that she felt for him. She loved him. She'd batted away the idea so often over the years, making excuses for her appearance, reminding herself that it would never be reciprocated, that Cersei's grip on him was too strong, or that the distance between them was too wide. Until now, she'd never put any stock her own feelings. But she was a knight now, he'd done that for her, and they would all likely be dead tomorrow – if she couldn't admit her feelings to herself now, then when? She loved him.
A tethered mind free from the lies
When she smiled, it took every ounce of control Jaime had to not close the space between them. He had never seen something so radiant. He recognized then that this would probably be the most significant moment of his life – the moment he realized that he loved her, that he had found his happiness in hers.
Everything that had come before was gone from his mind, locked in the past. The guilt and the sorrow – none of it weighed on his heart anymore. All that mattered was her.
He broke eye contact with her only when he finally noticed that their companions were clapping and shouting. Celebrating her, he realized. She was still watching him when he looked back to her, silently thanking him. He nodded, and stepped back to the group, allowing her to bask in their applause as her smile grew even more, forgetting, if only for a moment, about the approaching chaos.
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.
Thank you all for reading this longer chapter - it was enough material to be two, but I couldn't bring myself to break this scene up. Hope you enjoy!