Jaime was miserable. He fought the urge to ride back to her hourly. He'd never expected to be back on the road to King's Landing so soon, and never without Brienne. Bran had said they'd be stronger together - so long as the swords were together, he'd said. But how could either of them be safe anywhere near the capital with Cersei still in possession of it?

At night, alone in his tent, he dreamt of his wife. Lord Alten had supplied Jaime with his own furnishings including a cot big enough for two and, in the mornings he would wake, sensing that Brienne was there beside him, but just out of his reach, the scent of her seeming to linger wherever he went. A few days out from Winterfell, the nightmares returned - A sword slicing through his thigh as he bled out on a stone floor, Cersei's laughter ringing out. Tyrion's mirthless grin as his head was severed. Brienne collapsing against the Winterfell gates, a spear in her side.

Torture. Just like those first weeks after he'd sent her away from King's Landing, dreaming that Locke had found her, the bear's claws raking across her skin again and again. Or those months after news of the northern battle had arrived. Wine had dulled most of those nightmares, but he could still remember the first time he'd closed his eyes and seen her body trampled into the mud and riddled with arrows. It had kept him awake for three days afterward, until Bronn started seeing to it that Jaime slept between his drunken binges, lest he make good on his threats to pitch himself from the battlements.

On the road north she'd been with him in fits, often just the feel of her hand in the crook of his elbow or clasping his shoulder, but every time he would turn to hear what she wanted to say, she'd be gone, and he'd wake up exhausted, but determined to press on further and faster, willing himself to ride through the night to get to her before the dead could.

Traveling with companions this time alleviated some of his waking stress. Gendry and Arya didn't seem keen to speak to one another often, but with Jaime between them they'd all settled into a pattern of easy enough conversation and activity. At night, however, nothing could subdue the terrors, like both a mental and physical manifestation of his guilt. He would wake up with a strangled cry, her name always on his lips. But the air was cold with her absence. It was excruciating.

So break in

Brienne rode at the head of the column for over a week without issue, speaking to no one. At night she put up her tent far enough away from the others that she wouldn't be noticed, but she stayed close enough to still hear the chatter of the camp and keep from feeling too isolated. Every evening she would wash herself with heated water from her meager fire after the sounds of carousing had died down, then wrap herself in her cloak and lie on her bedroll in the dirt under the dark tent, missing the luxury of their clumpy uncomfortable straw mattress at Winterfell, and craving the easy comfort of rolling into her husband's arms for warmth. Winter still lingered so there wasn't much grass to be had, but at least she was not sleeping in drifts.

Gendry and Jaime paraded up and down the column thrice each day, as routine as a changing of the guard. He had slipped into command mode, instructing Gendry and overseeing the small company. But when he'd turn away from the men, he looked as dejected as she felt. Brienne kept to the middle of the pack while riding, and had to slouch with her shawl around her head, Oathkeeper strapped to her back so as to not give her away. It wasn't a comfortable position but it was necessary. Just a few more days, she thought. She needed to put just a little more distance between them and Winterfell, and then she could hold him and lose herself in him.

On the tenth day, she was confronted.

Arya has spotted the tall woman with her hood pulled tight sidling into the ranks on that first day, but she knew better than to get between the two knights. If she said nothing, Brienne might make it all the way to King's Landing without being discovered - if she stayed on her horse. Once Brienne was on foot, her disguise was much less convincing. So Arya kept an eye on her.

But then she spied Brienne's unmistakable figure sneaking about the supply carts at dawn that morning, lighting on a particular barrel and tapping on it before making sure it was repositioned into the dead center of the cart. Arya cocked a brow at her from a distance. Jaime was still donning his gear, and Gendry was watering his horse, so she knew she wouldn't be missed for a few minutes. She followed Brienne back to her tent and watched. The woman sat on a log beside her fire and scrubbed her face with her dry hands, pushing away her exhaustion.

"Not sleeping well either?"

Brienne started and jumped off the log in a crouch, reaching for Oathkeeper which she'd wrapped in her shawl and laid by the fire. "Arya…" she hissed. She looked around, making sure no one else was watching.

Arya had a curious smile on her face. Brienne looked at her, defeated.

"He can't know, Arya. Not yet."

"Your husband? He doesn't. Not yet. He spends too much time riding to the back of the column and looking longingly north to see what's happening at the head." Brienne sighed and sat back down. "...but he'll need to know soon."

"I had intended to wait a while longer."

"He's been having nightmares."

Brienne nodded. Jaime was prone to them, and she knew he'd often had nightmares when they were apart. "How do you know? Has he told you?"

The younger woman shrugged, "He wakes half the camp calling your name."

"How...how do you know it's that?" She asked, creeping up her register. Her husband was a passionate man - perhaps his vocalizing had been simply the result of seeking his pleasure for himself. Though the idea that he would call her name even in her absence ignited that fire in her belly that she tried to ignore. Arya raised a brow at her and looked at her head to toe. "He was at Winterfell with you for nearly two moons, Brienne. I imagine there are few who wouldn't know the difference."

Brienne blushed scarlet to her roots for the first time in weeks.

Arya chuckled at the blonde's discomfort. "It's alright, you weren't alone. The only reason no one heard me and Gendry is that we were in an outbuilding."

"Arya!"

"I think the hay on the armory floor probably dampened the sound a bit, too."

"Arya."

Arya smiled. "Have I made you feel less miserable?"

"Yes and no," she said, looking down at the weapon in her hand. "I still think it might be too soon."

"Three days," said Arya, turning to leave her. "We pass the Twins in two, then Riverrun. We'll make camp there for a night. Sansa wrote ahead to my uncle Edmure and he's expected to add some men to our cause."

"Arya, Jaime and your uncle—"

"I know. He mentioned...It was a time of war, Brienne," the diminutive Stark said, echoing Jaime, "...and allegiances change. My uncle will do it for Sansa. And if not," she shrugged, "I'll make him."

Brienne looked sidelong at the younger woman. "You frighten me sometimes, Arya."

The wolfling grinned and turned tail.

Break in

Arya had been correct. They made camp on the banks of the familiar fork as the sun set three days later.

Jaime removed his cape and hung it from the peg in the corner. Every day the air seemed a little warmer. If it kept up, Kings Landing would be like a furnace when they eventually arrived. He thought of Brienne, safely ensconced in the wintry chill of the north, and the hairs on his arms stood up on end as if he was being watched.

He spun around, half-hoping to see Brienne standing, framed in the light of the entryway as she'd been two years before; even if all she did was touch his shoulder again, even if he could only hold onto her arm while their tears fell silently, even if all she did was berate him for some damn idiotic thing he'd done, at least she would be there.

But the only shape in the entryway was the combined shadow of a bickering Gendry and Arya. Jaime rolled his eyes and moved to join them. They would cross the trident in a few days, and Gendry would be moving ahead to Storm's End. And then maybe there would be a little more peace and quiet in the ranks. He had grown to like the new lord of the Stormlands. He might not be a born leader, but he took criticism well, and he had a quick mind. He was an able thinker, except when it came to the youngest Stark girl. Their constant pattern of silence and squabbling reminded him of himself and Brienne - of those first few months on the road with him in chains. And he couldn't help but smile at that.

Brienne watched from the camp as Jaime left his tent with Arya and Gendry and rode off to meet Edmure at the castle gates. As soon as she was sure there was no one to observe her, she gathered up her saddlebags and stole into Jaime's tent to await his return.

"My men have been preparing," said Edmure in greeting to the party from Winterfell.

"When I last saw you," he said to Arya, "you were but an infant. But you have your father's look about you, and your mother's ferocity, if I understand your sister correctly."

Arya's eyes shone as she watched her nervous uncle skeptically.

"We'll only camp here for the night," started Jaime, "will you be ready to leave at dawn?"

Edmure turned his eyes to Jaime, looking him over. A few weeks ago, he would have liked nothing more than to push Jaime Lannister into the mud with his heel and make him beg for his life. But he would never breach guest right. And he knew better than to defy a call to aid the dragon queen.

"My men will be ready, Ser Jaime, but I won't be coming with you. My wife is near her time again, and she has little family left, save me."

Arya hid a dark chuckle in a cough that went unnoticed by the men.

"Very well," said Jaime, "tomorrow then."

"I would be glad to welcome you into Riverrun for the night, Ser. It's a large keep - I can have as many rooms prepared as you might require."

"No thank you, lord Edmure. I should stay with my men. We've still a long journey ahead. May the seven grant your wife an easy birth."

Edmure nodded at his would-be enemy.

"Might I explore the castle, my lord uncle," Arya asked too sweetly for Jaime's taste.

"Of course. My home is yours, Lady Arya."

For once, Arya did not retort at being called a lady.

"Come, Gendry. Let's head back. Lady Arya can find her own way."

Arya smirked at Jaime and started wandering the corners of the hall.

Jaime and Gendry both offered Edmure a shallow bow, and made their way out of the hall. As Jaime walked away, his thoughts flew to Brienne again. She had taken her tea religiously and had begun to bleed the night before he left Winterfell - part of the reason they'd made their final overtures in the bathhouse. He knew he hadn't left a babe in her belly, but the reminder of his abandonment of her reopened a wound all the same - the torture of not knowing how she was faring today, at this moment, mixed with the cold comfort of her certain safety far from here.

When they returned to the camp, Gendry dismounted and offered to see to Jaime's horse, his breath mingling in the air with the visible snorts from his mare. Jaime gave the lordling a nod and wished him a good evening before retiring to his tent. He knew he should go and sup with some of the Stark men, but he was too consumed with his thoughts to make for good company. Gendry was a good lad - he would make all the necessary apologies and a show of good faith to the men while Jaime consorted with his ghosts.

The inside of the tent was dark save for a warm cast of firelight from one end where the men where dining and singing into the evening in the next tent. Jaime removed his armor slowly and hung it on the pegs. He fingered his sword, pressing his palm against the steel as if he could make her feel his touch through it. He stifled an angry sob and removed his boots, then his gold limb, and finally his linen shirt which he'd taken to leaving untied at the top without her around. He rubbed the dust from his face as he approached his cot, hot tears stinging his eyes as he sat on the edge. Finally his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he felt the loneliness of his empty tent crowd him.

Brienne laid in the dark barely breathing, her bags tucked under the cot. She'd thought that when he came in he might light a torch or candle and see her, but he hadn't. He'd only come in and stumbled through the dark until he was sitting where he was now - inches from her, painfully close. And she was afraid to startle him.

"I'm sorry," he said into the darkness. And for a moment she thought he knew she was there, but then he shook his head. "I sound like a madman talking to myself. But it feels like you're right here with me, like I could reach out and… I'm sorry, Brienne. I'm so sorry. I should have stayed. We could have had… I'm so sorry."

He settled himself down on the cot and pulled quilt over him. He'd gotten so used to the sensation that she was there with him, that he barely questioned the warmth of the bed.

But to Brienne the warmth of his body so close was like standing inside a hearth, and she could not go on not touching him any longer. She had to make him know that she was there. And she had a promise to keep.

"I love you, Jaime."

Jaime chuckled and the cot vibrated under him. He sighed at the dark tent before turning onto his back with his hand and wrist on his chest, eyes closed, muttering, "I miss her so much I'm beginning to hear her voice when I'm still awake."

Foolish man, how she loved him.

She reached over and slid her hand into his. His eyes flew open with a gasp. He stared at her fingers as if trying to understand their tangibility. He followed the length of her arm until he was staring into her oceanic depths. He whispered her name, and then he was on top of her, fingers laced with hers, pinning her arm over her head and crushing her mouth with his. When they finally broke to breathe, he released her hand, stroking down her arm until he reached her hair. He closed his eyes tightly. "Gods, if this is a dream...if this is one of my nightmares, let me wake before you steal her from me again.

She cupped his face with both hands. "It's no nightmare. I'm here. You never left me. You never left me behind. I've been riding with you this whole time. The longest two weeks of my life…I'm here, I'm safe." She kissed him earnestly, and he finally opened his eyes again, relishing the sight of his wife naked and wanton beneath him.

He pulled away to kiss down her neck, his hand dropping to her hip, squeezing as if trying to convince himself of her existence. "What of your oath? What of Sansa? Tell me you haven't forsaken your honor for me," he whispered to her heart.

"She sent me after you. And Tormund-"

His head shot up, "Tormund!"

"He helped," she said gently, kissing his furrowed brow and shifting her hips beneath him so that she could run her bare leg up and down the side of his breeches."We're stronger together, Jaime. They knew that. They sent me with you because they knew that we could protect each other… they made me realize that I couldn't let you face her alone." She cupped his face, "separating us is what Cersei would want. Why give it to her?"

He sighed into her neck, feeling his cock stirring against her impossibly soft thigh through his breeches. "Flaunting our marriage won't make her any less murderous...she won't give up." He dragged his lips across her scars, unable to not touch her, and then lowered his head to pull one of her taut nipples between his teeth.

She moaned as he bit down, his tongue teasing her, his hand creeping toward her center. "Neither will we...I won't let her win, Jaime." His fingers finally reached the juncture of her thighs. "Gods, I've missed you," she cried, arching her hips against has hand, the fabric between them coarse and wonderful against her skin.

She gripped his hair and forced him to pull his mouth away and look up at her. He stared up into her eyes hungrily. "Our first night together you told me...you wanted the whole of the north to know that I was yours."

Jaime felt a growl rising from his chest and he slid his fingers into her, reiterating his claim.

She moved her hands to his shoulders and rocked into him, meeting his thrusts. "I want Cersei to know that you are mine."

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.