Based on events during Episodes 3-4 of GoT Season 8

(Also includes flashback from Episode 5 of GoT Season 3)

It took a whole day and night for the dead to be gathered and moved to the burial site outside the castle. During this time, the surviving fighters at Winterfell were split into three groups, which rotated in a cycle – those receiving treatment for their wounds from the maester and his helpers, those who were given time to rest and wash, and those who were helping clean up the castle grounds (inside and out) and move the bodies of the fallen.

Although they stuck close to each other's side whenever they could, Jaime and Brienne didn't get much chance to talk, and certainly not privately. Brienne felt overcome with guilt after discovering that Lady Sansa's life had been in danger down in the crypts, and so tried to stay close to her side until Sansa insisted that Brienne get her wounds seen to. Jaime, meanwhile, stuck close to Pod; the poor squire was feeling rather low, as many of the friends he had made whilst training for the past few weeks had perished during the battle. Once they had finished helping move some of the bodies, Jaime and Pod then headed down to the communal bathhouse to wash away the blood and mud that had dried onto their bruised, beaten skin.

The bathhouse wasn't as grand as the one at the Red Keep, but not as dingy as the one Jaime remembered from Harrenhal, and there were plenty more tubs, already filled with various soldiers cleansing themselves. Pod helped Jaime remove his armour – after all, he was the one who had fetched out an appropriate suit for Jaime and fitted him into it yesterday before the battle, so it only seemed right for him to carry on acting as his squire as well as Brienne's. Once the two newfound friends had stripped down, they found a tub, away from the other men who were eyeing Jaime warily. Evidently they didn't know what to think of him now – they hadn't wanted him here, and yet Jaime had taken command on top of the battlements and they had followed him. Though the northmen were reluctant to admit it, Jaime Lannister had been a great help in the battle.

The hot water stung at Jaime's wounds the moment he climbed into the tub, but he felt his shoulders untense immediately as he sat down. He and Pod remained silent at first as they scrubbed away and washed their bodies clean.

'Did Brienne ever tell you she and I had a bath together once?' Jaime said to Pod after a while, his tone casual.

Pod looked up at him in shock. 'Sh-she what?! You and Lady – sorry, Ser – Brienne had a bath? In the same tub?!' he said in disbelief.

'Hm-hm,' Jaime said smugly, amused by Pod's reaction. 'When we were being held at Harrenhal. I'm assuming she told you of our journey back to King's Landing together.'

'Yes, she did. But…not with all the details, it seems,' Pod muttered, still looking rather appalled as he returned his attention to one particularly bloody scar on his arm.

Jaime looked down at his stump, floating beneath the steamy water. 'Does she tell you many things about her past life?'

'You know what Ser Brienne's like, milord, she doesn't like to talk about anything personal,' Pod replied, but then he paused thoughtfully. 'She talked to me about Renly Baratheon once – the time he danced with her at the ball, to stop those other boys from laughing.' Pod stopped when he saw the look on Jaime's face. 'She didn't tell you about that.'

'No, she did not.'

Pod smiled sympathetically at him. 'Perhaps she was embarrassed.'

'Perhaps. I'm ashamed to say she probably associated me with those boys who laughed at her,' Jaime said heavily, sighing. 'I used to treat her like a joke as well, when I first met her.'

'Well she is…an unusual woman. But she's extraordinary. I couldn't ask for any better knight to be a squire to, and I have you to thank for that, Ser Jaime,' Pod said gratefully. 'She's trained me well and she…she's also been like a mother to me, in a way.'

Jaime smiled. 'I can see that. It's very clear the pair of you would give your life to save each other.'

'And so would the pair of you…if you don't mind me saying so, milord,' Pod added hastily, and Jaime chuckled.

'Of course not, you can say whatever you wish to me, Pod.'

Pod looked up at him, stunned. He felt bad for having pre-judged this man. He felt an urge to reprimand the other squires he knew for speaking so ill of Jaime.

Jaime then bent his head down as he became suddenly fascinated with the bar of soap in his hands. 'Did Brienne ever speak much about me? During your time together, when you were searching for Lady Sansa?' He said it very quietly.

Pod hesitated. He wasn't sure whether he should say. But then again, what was the harm? He, Jaime and Brienne were all friends and on the same side. The three of them had survived something horrific at each other's side, changing their dynamic forever to something closer and more trusting and familiar, and there was no coming back from that.

'Yes, milord,' Pod murmured eventually. 'She mentioned you quite a bit, as a matter of fact. You were always on her mind, I think. Don't tell her I said that though,' he added, grimacing.

Jaime swallowed. 'No doubt she had sordid tales of the many disgusting insults I threw at her while we were forced to be in each other's company.'

'She did tell me about that, yes,' Pod said slowly. 'But she also told me that you lost your hand to protect her, and that you came back for her and jumped into a bear pit with no weapon, even though it delayed you getting back to Queen Cersei. Even though it risked your life. And she told me how you looked after her in King's Landing while she was grieving Lady Stark, and you kept her from harm. Just as you kept us both from harm at Riverrun, when you let us escape that time.'

There was a silence as Jaime slowly looked up at Pod. He blinked rapidly.

Pod smiled reassuringly at him from across the opposite side of the large tub. 'She told me she missed you.'

'She really said that?' Jaime asked, his voice wavering slightly.

'Of course, milord. Why would I lie?'

Jaime shrugged. 'I could imagine Tyrion putting you up to it,' he said, and they both smirked in amusement.

Pod considered him for a moment, then realised he could hide his concern no longer. 'Forgive me, Ser Jaime, but…sharing a bath with a noblewoman like Ser Brienne…was that…proper?' he asked anxiously.

Jaime grimaced. 'No, I suppose it wasn't. But most of our time together in the woods wasn't exactly 'proper',' he said, and he chuckled at the look on Pod's face. 'Oh don't worry, Pod, it was just a bath, nothing happened.'

Oh, but something had happened. Something momentous, something pivotal that had changed the foundation of his and Brienne's relationship forever…

The steaming water was murky but warm and comforting, and despite the doom and gloom of Harrenhal's fortress, Brienne was pleased to be here in the grimy bathhouse, away from the dangers of the woods and Locke's brutal, sadistic behaviour. Away from Jaime Lannister.

She frowned to herself as she remembered the sound of his yells from merely an hour before, coming from inside the chambers of a man named Qyburn, who was acting as a maester. No doubt the man had been using whatever ghastly means to try and stop the infection from spreading on Jaime's stump. Her concern over the matter rendered Brienne quite confused. After all, she didn't remotely like Jaime; he was the Kingslayer, after all. And yet the painful treatment he had been receiving today for his unsightly wound had left her secretly worried. Did he deserve such agony? Brienne wasn't sure. She wasn't sure about most things anymore.

Brienne was so preoccupied scrubbing away at the muck and dirt dried onto her arms that she didn't hear the two men arrive at the entrance to the bathhouse at first. It was only when Jaime spoke, his voice echoing slyly around the chamber, that her head jerked up in alarm.

'Not so hard. You'll scrub the skin off,' he said, though she couldn't tell if his tone of concern was mocking or genuine. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

Brienne glared up at him from the bathtub. Even stood in the shadows, he looked terrible. He was weak and ill. But that still didn't stop her from being annoyed with him; she had been wanting some peace and quiet. Jaime's presence never allowed that.

'What are you doing here?' she asked disdainfully.

'I need a bath,' Jaime replied wearily, kicking off his shoes, and Brienne shot him a wary glance.

In truth, he'd only been inspired to go for a wash when he'd asked about Brienne's whereabouts, having been concerned that she might have been cornered or trapped somewhere in the castle by Locke or one of his men so that they could finish what they had started with her in the bushes the other week. But he should have known better – Brienne could take care of herself, and besides, the Boltons seemed determined to treat them both better now that they were here, to make up for their mishandling on the road. The moment he'd been informed that Brienne was in the communal bathhouse, Jaime had realised what a good idea it was to cleanse himself of the marks of this dreadful journey so far. Well, not all the marks – his stump wasn't exactly going to heal itself and grow back a hand. But still. Deep down, he just wanted to spend some time with the person with whom he'd shared a horrific experience. And he didn't chastise himself for that.

'Help me out of these rags,' Jaime muttered to Bolton's manservant who had shown him the way to the bathhouse.

Mortified, Brienne kept her eyes averted as Bolton's man helped Jaime disrobe. She tried to concentrate on scrubbing away at her arm, but she couldn't…not when she could hear the sound of Jaime's clothing falling to the floor.

'Now get out.'

Brienne looked up tentatively as Bolton's man hurriedly left up the stone steps, leaving her and Jaime alone in the bathhouse. She watched as Jaime unlaced his breeches with his one hand. Her eyes fell on the slight hint of muscles trailing downwards beneath his stomach. Jaime looked up at her as he slowly pulled his trousers down, curious to know what she was thinking. With a nervous judder in her heartbeat, Brienne looked away and proceeded to scrub her arm more gently, trying not to register the sudden tension that had filled the steam-filled air in the room.

Jaime paused for a moment, gazing over at her in the tub. The water rose to the top of her chest, and he was glad to see her skin looked clean and unbloodied now. Without saying anything, he began to walk over towards her. His slow pace embarrassed him; he had once been able to strut and swagger around as he pleased, but now he was practically doddering, his walk feeble and weary.

Shocked as she realised that he intended to join her, Brienne stopped scrubbing at her arm and tried to move away. 'There's another tub!' she protested, flustered.

'This one suits me fine,' Jaime replied suavely.

His nudity didn't bother him in the slightest, but he knew it unsettled Brienne, and that amused him. Brienne was greatly irritated as she moved as far away as she could from him to the far corner of the tub; why did he always insist on doing anything he could to make her uncomfortable? She couldn't help but glance up at him as he neared the tub and clambered into the hot water; after all, she had never seen a naked man like this so close-up before. He was beautiful but skinny and dirty, his body weakened by fever and confinement. She could make out his ribcage through his chest.

Exhausted, Jaime sat down at the opposite corner of the tub, and he glanced over at Brienne from beneath his long curtains of greasy hair. She was hugging her knees, holding herself close in a little ball with her head bent down, as if trying to protect herself from him. Jaime felt a strange rush of sympathy; she'd been more traumatised by Locke's attempted rape than she'd previously let on.

He sighed. 'Don't worry,' he reassured her, as she glared at him irritably. 'I'm not interested.'

He groaned in pain and closed his eyes as the water stung at the wounds all over his broken, defeated body. Brienne moved uneasily, though she felt herself relax, despite the bizarreness and improper nature of their situation. She didn't often trust a word that came out of Jaime's mouth, but that was something she did believe. There was no way a man like him could ever be attracted to a woman like her. Even looking as he did now, there was no denying that he was remarkably handsome. She wondered what he would like normally, with his face clean-shaven and his hair cut, wearing shiny armour. Brienne looked away, blinking rapidly; she didn't want to imagine that. She couldn't imagine that.

Jaime held his infected stump out of the hot water, fearing that the pain would be too much and not wanting to embarrass himself in front of Brienne. Even he could admit to himself that he was feverish and weak from the loss of blood…not to mention exhausted from the pain of Qyburn's treatment that had both mentally and physically drained him. He felt almost close to collapsing.

'If I faint, pull me out,' Jaime murmured, his words almost slurring with the effort it took him to speak. 'I don't intend to be the first Lannister to die in a bathtub.'

'Why should I care how you die?' Brienne asked coldly, frowning over at him.

There it was again – that sheer contempt she had for him, clear as day, even after all they had been through together. It angered Jaime to the point that he couldn't understand. He was used to the judgements and the cruel remarks and the hateful scowls, he had been for almost two decades now. So why did it bother him so much with her, of all people?

'You swore a solemn vow, remember?' he pointed out loudly, and Brienne averted her gaze. 'You're supposed to get me to King's Landing in one piece.'

Brienne's eyes fell to the bandaged stump he held above the water…a permanent mark of the price he had paid for defending her honour. She felt a lump rise in her throat.

'Not going so well, is it?' Jaime went on mockingly, and Brienne glared at him, the burning look in her eyes a warning. 'No wonder Renly died with you guarding him-'

She was in such a state of rage that she didn't even think; Brienne launched up to her feet and stood, naked, before Jaime, sending a huge ripple of water cascading towards him. Jaime's eyes widened in shock as he stared up at her, lost for words.

Brienne suddenly felt braver than she had felt in a very long time as she glared furiously down at the man who had insulted her yet again in the worst possibly way. After all the psychological torture and physical terror they had been forced to endure together, after all Jaime knew of Brienne's devoted love and service to Renly, he had finally pushed her over the edge. She no longer cared that she was naked. Let Jaime bully her about her appearance, it didn't bother her anymore – she'd heard it enough from him, and so many others, plenty of times before. For the first time, she felt herself putting aside those deep and painful insecurities about her body, and in that moment she realised her power as a woman. Here she stood, proud and enraged, with no armour and no sword, without her needing to exert the more masculine elements of her strength and personality to prove herself.

She had shamed this despicable man into silence, and in doing so she felt feminine for the first time.

Jaime's lips parted as he gazed up at her with wide eyes, not knowing where to look. He struggled as he tried to say something, but then thought better of it. No words could make up for his behaviour and endless insults towards her. Unable to help himself, he felt his eyes fall away from the outraged frown on her face to her body. She was quite toned, with muscles rippling down her flat stomach, and her arms were in good shape. But it was the womanly curves of her waist and breasts that surprised him the most; her body was much more feminine than he'd assumed it would be. Mortified by his train of thought, he glanced back up at her face, at the way she stood tall and proud with her head held high, at those great blue eyes warning him not to dare mess with Brienne of Tarth ever again. He was suddenly glad that she couldn't see beneath the steamy water.

Ashamed, Jaime's face fell and he looked down, trying his best to avert his gaze from between her legs as he did so. He felt overcome with guilt and regret. He couldn't bear to see the hatred in those beautiful eyes of hers, even though he knew he well deserved it.

I can't keep this up anymore, he realised.

He swallowed. 'That was unworthy. Forgive me,' he said in a quiet yet sincere voice, still unable to bring himself to meet her eyes. 'You protected me better than most-'

'Don't you mock me,' Brienne said, her voice barely a whisper as her nostrils flared.

'I'm apologizing,' Jaime said, and he looked up at her.

He realised in that moment that he hadn't just lost his hand while on this journey with Brienne. He had lost his ego as well. And he was desperate to finally have someone on his side, even if it meant removing the golden-lion mask he had relied on for so long. He couldn't have less in common with Brienne, but here they were, arguing as normal, and naked in front of each other. He wondered if, deep down, they held a great affection for one another, and just didn't realise it. He somewhat doubted it – particularly in her case. She was looking at him like he was nothing more than horse shit that had got stuck on her bottom of her shoe. And he had to fix that. He couldn't explain why, not even to himself, but he had to try and fix it.

Jaime gazed up at her with tired eyes, his face scarred and bruised, and suddenly Brienne pitied him. 'I'm sick of fighting,' he murmured, the look in his eyes earnest as his lips trembled slightly. 'Let's call a truce.'

'You need trust to have a truce.'

Jaime hesitated as he stared down at the water, resenting the scornful tone of her voice. 'I trust you,' he admitted eventually, and he glanced back up at her.

Brienne was stunned and confused to hear him say such a thing, but it was true. Inexplicably, he felt like he could trust this woman more than he had ever trusted anyone his entire life. He'd even thought that the two of them had formed some sort of bond since Locke had captured them both. After all, they had been to hell and back, and throughout that time they had both defended each other from Locke and his men, and spoken to each other at night about personal matters they hadn't spoken about to anyone else, if only to distract each other from the nightmare they were both living.

And yet, after all that, he could see even now that Brienne was still judging him. Still loathing him. And he didn't want that at all. Although he hated to admit it to himself, he had come to admire Brienne greatly, and he so desperately wanted her approbation. But it was a lost cause; he could see it in the look of contempt Brienne gave him as she slowly sat back down in the water, her eyes never leaving his. She had chosen to sit opposite him this time, not far away hidden in the corner of the tub – she was no longer afraid or embarrassed. Only Jaime remained vulnerable now.

'There it is. There's the look. I've seen it for seventeen years on face after face,' Jaime muttered bitterly, his voice frail as she averted her gaze; she looked almost guilty. 'You all despise me. 'Kingslayer'…'Oathbreaker'…'Man without honor.''

The last title he'd been given hurt him most of all, almost as much as Brienne's lack of response. She couldn't deny what he had said. All she could do was look away uncomfortably and avoid his penetrating gaze as he glared at her from across the tub, considering her thoughtfully.

'You need trust to have a truce,' she had said.

Strange as it was, he trusted Brienne, not just because he needed to, but because they had risked their lives for one another, to keep the other safe, and because he'd felt able to open up to her on those cold, depressing nights in the woods when he'd felt like there was no point in carrying on living. He understood her as his peer, and he knew that deep down she had already started to see a side of him that he had always kept hidden from everyone…everyone but her. And he was right – even though she didn't like to admit it openly, Brienne knew now that Jaime's notorious deeds of the past weren't all there was to him. And yet, despite knowing this and despite everything they had been through together, she couldn't see past the one basic fact that had plagued him for most of his life. He was still the Kingslayer in her eyes. He was still a bad person, a monster. And Jaime couldn't stand the thought of Brienne seeing him as a monster anymore. Her opinion was the only relevant one, the only one that counted right now…and it was one that Jaime hoped he could change. All he had to do was make that first step in gaining her trust that he so desperately yearned for.

Jaime gave Brienne a scrutinizing look through his drooping eyes; she was still avoiding his eye contact. He made his choice then. All he had left was his deepest, most guarded secret. Perhaps, if he hadn't been so worn down by trauma, pain and the sheer heat of the water, Jaime wouldn't have decided then to reveal to Brienne the truth behind the story of his past…the truth that no one, not even his family, knew in its entirety. But he was so very tired. Tired of her contempt. Tired of their bickering. Tired of keeping up his façade.

And so, in that rare moment of vulnerability and honesty, Jaime began his tale.

Swallowing slightly, he looked at his stump. 'You've heard of wildfire?' he asked her.

'Of course,' Brienne replied quietly, keeping her eyes away.

Her shoulders were tensed up. She wished she could just vanish to anywhere else in the castle, anywhere but here so that she wasn't forced to listen to this man moan and ramble on nonsensically while naked in the bath with her. She was too mentally drained to deal with Jaime Lannister today.

Jaime seemed unperturbed by her attitude. 'The Mad King was obsessed with it,' he went on, his voice weak and fragile. 'He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blackened and blistered and…melted off their bones.'

Brienne felt herself untense as she realised that Jaime wasn't about to go off on one of his usual self-pitying rants. This was something serious. She adjusted her position uneasily in the tub, not quite sure how to react.

'He burned lords he didn't like, he burned Hands who disobeyed him, he burned…anyone who was against him,' Jaime said, and he raised his eyebrows over at Brienne. 'Before long, half the country was against him.'

What am I doing? he asked himself. Why am I saying this? I shouldn't talk about this.

But still, something in him urged him to continue. 'Aerys saw traitors everywhere. So he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city,' Jaime said, and, in spite of herself, Brienne glanced over and met his distressed gaze. 'Beneath the Sept of Baelor and the slums of Flea Bottom. Under…houses, stables, taverns. Even beneath the Red Keep itself.'

Jaime was frowning over at her, practically shuddering as the memories came flooding back to him; she was frowning back, but not in the way he was used to. She looked to be deeply unsettled by what he was saying. He felt like perhaps he had already said too much, but it was late for him to stop now; he had bottled up the story for too long, and it was practically let loose and beginning to tell itself.

'Finally…the day of reckoning came,' Jaime said heavily, and his voice wavered slightly. 'Robert Baratheon marched on the capital after his victory at the Trident. But my father arrived first, the whole Lannister army at his back, promising to defend the city against the rebels.'

His voice was full of scorn. Brienne had never thought of him capable of speaking about any member of his family in such a tone. Where was his Lannister loyalty?

'I knew my father better than that – he's never been one to pick the losing side. I told the Mad King as much. I urged him to surrender peacefully,' Jaime said, almost imploringly; it was crucial that Brienne understood this. 'But the king didn't listen to me. He didn't listen to Varys, who tried to warn him. But he did listen to Grand Maester Pycelle…that grey, sunken cunt. "You can trust the Lannisters," he said. "The Lannisters have always been…true friends of the crown." So…we opened the gates and my father sacked the city.'

He was bitter when he said the words, and it wasn't until the last sentence that he forced himself to look up at Brienne and meet her intense gaze.

Why am I telling this woman? he asked himself again. He couldn't come up with a reasonable answer, only that he knew that this needed to be said and that she was the only person he felt he could say it to.

Brienne continued to listen with bated breath, and despite the warmth of the water she felt herself shiver at the look in Jaime's bloodshot eyes. She could see that he was feverish and lightheaded, and that it was costing him everything to relive that terrible day, but there was something also beseeching in the way he was looking at her. Through all his despair and pain and exhaustion as he told the story, he was begging her for forgiveness.

'Once again, I…came to the king…begging him to surrender,' Jaime whispered earnestly.

His face was scrunched up in torment, as if he might burst into sobs at any moment. He was only realising in that moment just how traumatised he still was from the most horrific event during his youth. Brienne could see the tears beginning to well up in his eyes as he forced himself to go on in an increasingly unsteady voice.

'He told me to…bring him my father's head.'

He had never looked more broken than he did as Brienne gazed pitifully upon him now. He shook his head wearily, as if trying to shake away the mental images from those darkest hours that insisted on coming to the forefront of his mind every single day and night.

'Then he…turned to his pyromancer. "Burn them all," he said,' Jaime went on, his voice breaking, and he gave a little shudder as a single tear rolled down his bruised, bloody, scarred cheek. '"Burn them in…their homes. Burn them in their beds."'

Brienne's face had fallen in horror, appalled and deeply shaken by what she was hearing. It made her feel almost nauseous as she watched Jaime's despair unfold before her very eyes as he relived the memory of that day, stripping away every mask he had worn for so long, dissolving like the dirt on his skin.

Jaime looked up at her bitterly through tear-filled eyes. 'Tell me…if your precious Renly commanded you to kill your own father and stand by while thousands of men, women, and children burned alive, would you have done it?' he demanded in a faint voice, his tone sharp and challenging. 'Would you have kept your oath then?'

Brienne felt her eyes glisten with tears as she swallowed, unable to tear her eyes off him. He was almost shaking with anger and anguish. Guilt and shame washed over her as she finally understood. He had been deemed by most people – herself included – a dishonourable man for doing what she now knew to have been a brave and noble thing. All this time she had been condemning Jaime for something she herself would have done had she been in his position.

She watched him now as his face fell and he stared wide-eyed at the steaming water, almost shocked with himself for how much he had said, how much he had clearly been holding back – not just from the world but from himself. He glanced to the side, hardly able to process what was happening. This was the last conversation he'd ever been expecting to have with Brienne of Tarth while naked and ill in a bathtub.

'First, I…killed the pyromancer,' Jaime murmured, while Brienne watched him and exhaled deeply. 'And then when the king turned to flee, I…drove my sword into his back.'

He glanced up at Brienne's silently shocked face…the only person ever in front of which he had allowed himself to show some vulnerability. She was stunned and breathless by the horrifying words coming out of Jaime's mouth. But mostly she was dismayed by all the suffering Jaime had been put through…and all the disrespect she had shown him since the moment they'd met, all because of the true price of the oaths he had taken.

'"Burn them all," he kept saying. "Burn them all.",' Jaime whispered, and he barely repressed a sob as he turned away and closed his eyes. 'I don't think he expected to die, he…he meant to…burn with the rest of us and…rise again…reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies to ash.'

Jaime let out a deep breath, exhausted. He was expressing feelings and memories that he had never expressed to anyone, not even to himself. The pure, vulnerable real Jaime that he had hidden deep inside had finally been resurrected, and it was draining him.

'I slit his throat to make sure that didn't happen,' Jaime went on in a quiet, pained voice, as he squinted back at Brienne through tired, bloodshot eyes, before resting his head back against the stone of the bathtub edge. 'That's where Ned Stark found me.'

Though the heat and rising steam was making him dizzier with each second, he glanced tiredly through his drooping eyelids to look at Brienne's expression, which had suddenly softened into something earnest and sympathetic. It was as if he had finally cut through that thick armour of hers. He could see it dissolving before him.

Brienne's voice was a lot calmer and softer than he had known before when she finally spoke. 'If this is true,' she said, and Jaime groaned as he inclined his head towards her, relieved and yet also desperate for her to confirm that she did indeed believe him, 'why didn't you tell anyone?'

Her voice was controlled and yet sad, as if she was fighting back tears. She didn't understand; Jaime didn't want the world to know the truth. He wasn't sure if he would ever want anyone else to know – even if they sympathised with the impossible situation he had been faced with, did he deserve their forgiveness and respect? After all the bad deeds he had done in his life since then? He certainly didn't think so.

But he wanted Brienne to know. He wanted her to know who he really was, underneath that mask he wore. He couldn't explain why, but he did.

Jaime sighed and breathed deeply with his eyes closed as he struggled to think of the words to say. He was trying hard not to let his dizziness overwhelm him, but it was too hot in this chamber, far too hot.

'Why didn't you tell Lord Stark?' Brienne asked him slowly.

'Stark? You think…the honourable Ned Stark…wanted to hear my side?' Jaime asked weakly, his voice bitter and defeated, and Brienne felt her chin quiver as she gazed at him despairingly, wishing she could spare him from this agony. 'He judged me…guilty the moment he set eyes on me.'

He was delirious, but Brienne could see why he was so enraged. The self-righteous Ned Stark had automatically assumed Jaime to be a scheming young traitor who had killed Aerys for his own ends, and treated him with disdain without having any understanding of the full facts. Just as Brienne had done. Just as everyone had done. Only now was Brienne truly beginning to see the turmoil Jaime had been forced to endure as a result of his selfless decision to do whatever he could to save the innocent.

Jaime sighed deeply, his eyes almost rolling back as the dizzy heat from the steam hit him once more, and Brienne felt her lips begin to tremble as she watched him struggle.

'By what right does the wolf judge the lion?' He quietly roared the words, the enormity of his trauma finally overcoming him. 'By what right-?'

Brienne's wet eyes widened in alarm as he could keep upright no longer; his weakened, fevered state, along with the stress of relating the tale, had drained him too much. As Jaime collapsed towards her, Brienne reached out with her arms for him without thinking.

She caught him just before he hit the water.

'Help, help!' she cried out to the steps of the bathhouse, and she looked down at the poor, broken man in her arms. 'The Kingslayer!'

Jaime struggled to stay conscious as his head hung back over her elbow, groans of pain emitting from his mouth while he stared up at her face, looming above him and filled with anxiety as she held him. Although grateful for the gentle touch of her secure arms enveloped around him, he couldn't help feeling a little dismayed; even after he had spilled his heart out to her and explained why he had done what had needed to be done, she had still called him 'Kingslayer'.

'Jaime,' he murmured to her weakly, his voice barely a whimper. 'My name's Jaime.'

Brienne could hear the despair in his breathless voice, and it filled her with yet more guilt. She gazed down upon him as she kept him afloat, not caring that she was holding him against her bare breast, and tried to shush him soothingly so that he could get his breathing back to normal.

'You're right. I'm sorry,' she murmured to him, her voice wavering slightly. 'Now just breathe. Everything's going to be all right, help's coming. Qyburn will see to you.'

Jaime exhaled deeply, feeling like he might cry again just for the way Brienne was embracing him at his most vulnerable moment. He had never yearned for the soft touch of a woman's arms so much before. And, for some reason he couldn't fathom, he was glad they were not Cersei's arms holding him right now.

Sure enough, all too soon there came the sounds of hurried footsteps as Qyburn and one of Bolton's men came running down the steps into the bathhouse. They both came to a halt, looking rather stunned, as they caught side of a naked Brienne, holding a naked Jaime in the tub against her bare chest.

'He collapsed,' Brienne explained to them both, her voice ringing loudly and urgently across the chamber. 'Help me get him out, will you? He needs more treatment-'

'What he needs is sleep and milk of the poppy, but the man has refused this,' Qyburn said shortly, but nevertheless he and the other man came walking over to the tub.

'Brienne,' Jaime murmured urgently to her, his voice too quiet and strained for Qyburn to hear as he approached; Brienne leaned down closer to him. 'Don't leave me. Please. Not with them.'

Brienne leaned away, met his imploring gaze, and nodded as she squeezed his shoulder. 'I won't,' she whispered.

A sigh of relief escaped Jaime's mouth as Brienne felt his shoulders finally relax in her arms, and he lost consciousness.

She carefully dragged Jaime over to the side of the tub and pulled him up to where Qyburn waited at the side. Her eyes poured over his face and body, taking in all the various injuries, marks and scars. The water had not managed to wash all the dried blood and mud away, and there were still ugly black and purple bruises on his chest from where Locke and his men had beaten him senseless in the forest. Before, she had not cared but now, suddenly, she was filled with concern and sympathy for his many wounds.

'You can let go of him now, Lady Brienne,' Qyburn said, frowning at her.

Brienne gazed down at Jaime's tear-streaked face. 'I-I can't.'

'You must,' Qyburn insisted; she reluctantly released her hold of Jaime as Qyburn barked instructions at the other man to find Brienne something to cover herself up with.

The man left and returned within moments with towels for both her and Jaime, along with a few more men to help Qyburn carry him out of the bathhouse. By the time Brienne had clambered out of the tub and wrapped herself in the towel, they had already set off, with an unconscious Jaime forced upright between two men as they kept his arms firmly around their shoulders.

'Look after him. Please,' Brienne said urgently to Qyburn as he made to follow them.

'We'll do what we can,' Qyburn said, though his tone and expression was doubtful. 'His stump is…well, it was infected and the severity of-'

'Just do what you must. Make sure he's all right.'

Qyburn tilted his head at her, confused. 'I'm surprised you care, my lady. I thought you were his captor.'

Brienne hesitated for a moment, then recovered her expression. 'Not anymore,' she said firmly. 'Let me know when he's awake.'

'As you wish, my lady.'

He bowed his head at her and walked away. Brienne watched him go, conflicted.

'Don't leave me. Please. Not with them.'

Swallowing, Brienne then rushed after them up the steps. 'Wait,' she called, and Qyburn halted and turned back around to face her. 'I'm coming with you.'

'My lady?' Qyburn said, alarmed. 'But…you're not dressed-'

Brienne looked down at her towel. 'Have some clothes brought to me if my nakedness offends you,' she said, unbothered, as she walked up to join him.

Qyburn looked rather uncomfortable. 'It really would not be appropriate, he might need further treatment on his injury and it wouldn't be pleasant for a noblewoman such as yourself to witness such-'

'He asked me not to leave him,' Brienne cut over Qyburn sharply.

Qyburn considered her for a moment, taking in her stubborn expression, and then sighed in defeat. 'Very well,' he said heavily, and a strange smile appeared on his face. 'You're a loyal person, Lady Brienne. I can't criticise you for that.'

He led their way out of the bathhouse and along the corridors towards his maesters' quarters. It took Brienne a few moments to realise that he meant that she was loyal to Jaime. And he was right. Only this time, Brienne was not ashamed to acknowledge such a fact. She and Jaime were almost kindred spirits, in a way; Brienne could see that now. He had sacrificed his reputation, something tantamount to a highborn warrior born into a powerful family, all for the good of the people. He was a man whose honour and duty to the innocent had been more important to him than anything else. So yes, Brienne was loyal to Jaime. And she knew she always would be from that moment on.

~ Present Day ~

When Jaime woke to find the blurry outline Pod's anxious face above him, he was confused at first. He hadn't slept in so long – not since he'd arrived here at Winterfell the other day – and his exhaustion after the strain and trauma of the battle seemed to have completely wiped his mind clean for a moment. As his eyes focussed, it all came back to him.

Groaning, he slowly sat up on the small, hard bed. Although Lady Sansa had graciously allowed Jaime to set foot into her home without having him executed, thanks to Brienne, she hadn't been as generous in the accommodations she had provided for him. Admittedly, they had hundreds of people to find lodgings for, so Jaime could hardly blame her for allocating the smallest and dingiest of the castle's spare guest chambers to him. He was grateful for anything at all, when he would have been perfectly happy finding space on a bed of straw in the stables. Anything just so that he could get some well-needed rest.

'This had better be worth waking me up for, Pod,' Jaime muttered warningly, yawning.

'Ser Jaime, the ceremony is due to start soon but I can't find Ser Brienne,' Pod said, his brow creased with worry. 'I checked her chambers, she's not there, and I've asked Lady Sansa but she doesn't know-'

'Calm down, we'll find her,' Jaime said reassuringly, getting out of his bed at once. 'I'm sure she won't have gone too far.'

Once Jaime had dressed, they split up, with Pod to search one side of the castle, and Jaime to search the other. It didn't take long, however, for Jaime to locate the missing knight.

The library was empty, all but for Brienne, sat with her back to the open doorway as she looked around blankly at the fallen bookcases and knocked-over tables and pools of blood and remaining bits of bone crumbled on the floor. Like all the other rooms in the castle, it needed cleaning up – a job that would no doubt take Brienne and the rest of Sansa's household days, possibly even weeks, to complete.

When Jaime stepped tentatively into the room, she didn't look up. He wondered if she recognised the sound of his footsteps, or if she was just too exhausted to be her usual alert self.

'Are you hiding from us?' Jaime said softly.

Brienne looked round. A smile momentarily flickered on her face at the sight of him, but then her face fell back to the miserable expression she had been wearing for the past few hours. Jaime tilted his head at her, concerned. Her hair had been washed and her face was no longer splattered with blood, which was something, but she looked empty inside.

'I just needed a moment to myself,' Brienne murmured, looking down at her lap.

'Would you like me to leave?'

Brienne hesitated, her chin quivering slightly. 'No.'

Sighing sympathetically, Jaime slowly walked over to her. He grabbed a nearby chair that had been turned over and dragged it over to place beside hers. When he sat down, he glanced at her in concern; an unnerving array of red and purple bruises covered her face and hands. He assumed there were more all over her flesh beneath the tunic and breeches she wore.

'Pod told me the maester said there wasn't too much damage done?' Jaime said, watching her uncertainly.

'I just needed a few stitches on my stomach, that's all,' Brienne replied, twiddling her fingers absently. 'What about you?'

'Strangely, I got off lightly compared to most.'

Brienne looked at him then, confused by his tone. 'Why do you sound so surprised? You're Jaime Lannister, remember.'

But Jaime grimaced. 'I try not to remember that, actually.'

'Whatever do you mean?' Brienne asked, frowning.

'Being a Lannister isn't my proudest achievement. The name no longer brings me glory,' he said heavily, 'only pain and hatred for all the things I've done for my house.'

Brienne tilted her head at him sympathetically. 'You're too harsh on yourself. The bad things don't define you, Jaime,' she said softly, and Jaime felt his heart glow inside; he still wasn't used to hearing her address him without his title, and it felt nice. 'You've done good as well, remember. And you should consider your efforts in the battle here a very proud achievement.'

'I do. And I have you to thank for that,' Jaime said gently, and the two shared a smile…before Brienne's eyes began to well up, and she tore her gaze away from his; Jaime's face fell. 'Brienne, why are you so sad? We won.'

'We did…but not without losses,' Brienne replied, and she sniffed. 'Lyanna Mormont was killed.'

'Ah,' Jaime said, understanding, and he sighed. 'She was…the young girl, wasn't she? Feisty little thing.'

'I was very fond of her. Don't ask me why, I-'

'I don't need to ask. She was strong-willed and tough and resilient and spoke her mind, from what little I saw of her. She was you. I'm guessing she was exactly what you were like at her age,' Jaime said, and he found himself imagining a teenage Brienne; the thought made him smile. 'I wish I'd known you earlier in my life. Perhaps things would have turned out differently.'

'But then none of the things would have happened that led you here,' Brienne pointed out. 'Perhaps the gods have some plan and it's all meant to be this way.'

Jaime tilted his head, considering her words. 'Maybe you're right. Maybe the gods are on my side, for once,' he said thoughtfully, and he gave a dry chuckle. 'I wonder how long that will last.'

Brienne attempted a weak smile. Jaime inched closer to her and hesitantly placed his gloved hand over hers. He knew it wasn't just the young girl's death that had affected her so. This had been her first battle, after all, and a battle like none other Jaime nor any other knight had experienced before. The corpses of all who had perished the other night would no doubt claw their way into their nightmares for years to come. Brienne had been one of the bravest of them all out on that battlefield, but even she sometimes struggled to keep her guard up. Jaime could empathise with this better than most; he had been in that dark place himself years ago, and if Brienne hadn't been there for him during that time, he would have sunk further and further down until there was nothing left for him to climb back up for.

'I'm very sorry about Lyanna, Brienne,' Jaime murmured.

Brienne gave a shaky nod, unable to look at him as her lips trembled. 'She was so young,' she whispered, fighting back tears. 'Too young to die like that.'

Jaime gazed at her for a moment, at a loss with what to say, until he remembered the inspiring words Brienne herself had spoken merely the other night in the great hall in front of the hearth.

'At least she died with honour,' he said.

Touched, Brienne looked up at him then, her eyes wet and pupils dilated. She was close to breaking.

Jaime tilted his head sympathetically, wordlessly reassuring her. It's all right. I'm here.

Brienne gave a great shuddering breath as she let the tears fall, and it was almost a relief as she leant into his open arms and wept on his shoulder. Jaime held her close, glad that he could hug her at last without anyone watching or without any bulky armour getting in the way. They stayed like that for a few minutes while Brienne nuzzled her face into his neck and cried, and Jaime stroked her back soothingly.

She was alarmed by her uncharacteristic behaviour; aside from perhaps the time when she had heard of Lady Catelyn's death, Brienne had never cried like this in front of a man, and she had certainly never been held by one in such a way. A few years ago, she knew she would have bottled it up and put on a brave face to the outside world, for all she'd depended on to prove her worth was her tough, masculine exterior. It was a relief for Brienne to know now that she no longer needed to prove any point. She knew her value, as did Jaime, Pod, Sansa, and so many other people here at Winterfell. She felt at home and truly herself at last, and she was finally free to let herself be vulnerable from time to time, to express whatever emotions were playing on her mind, and to seek solace in the embrace of the man she loved. This realisation was almost blissful to Brienne, and soon the tears stopped and she felt herself relax in Jaime's arms.

'Better?' Jaime murmured softly.

Brienne nodded as she slowly leaned away from him. 'Hmm. Is it time?' she asked. 'Is that why you came to fetch me?'

'It is, but…we can stay a bit longer if you like,' Jaime offered, tilted his head at her in concern.

But Brienne was wiping the tears away from her cheeks. 'No. Thank you, but…we should be there,' she said, giving his arm an appreciative squeeze. 'I want to pay my respects.'

Jaime nodded. 'As do I.'

They both rose from their chairs, and Brienne picked up the fur cloak that she'd left over the back of her chair; Jaime held his hands out for it. Brienne hesitated, but then let him drape the cloak over her shoulders. As they left the library together and headed out into the freezing wintery air to join the rest of Winterfell's residents outside the castle walls, Jaime cleared his throat and brought up the subject that had been pressing on his mind rather anxiously since Tyrion had mentioned it to him yesterday.

'Brienne, I…will you be attending the feast later this evening?' he asked, as they walked across the messy remains of the courtyard.

Brienne groaned. 'I think so. You know me, social gatherings aren't my sort of thing, but…Pod really wants to go. You will be, won't you?' she asked, and he couldn't help but notice a hopeful tone in her voice.

'Err, I wasn't going to,' Jaime replied unsurely, 'I'm not sure if I'm still welcome here-'

But Brienne grabbed his arm and rounded on him, her expression stern. 'The dead are defeated. We lost people in the fight, but those who have survived need to celebrate. Everyone,' she said sharply. 'We fought together, remember?'

Jaime gazed at her for a moment, and a smile broke out on his face, a heart-warming smile that made Brienne's heart race. 'Then…y-yes. Yes, I will attend,' he said resignedly. 'May I join you and Pod?'

'Of course. We would love to have you there with us,' Brienne replied, smiling.

They both looked at each other with a flustered expression on their faces as they let that word hang in the air between them. Love. It made Jaime feel almost giddy at the thought of tonight's festivities.

'Speaking of Pod, I'd better find him and let him know I've found you. I'll be back soon,' Jaime said, moving to step away, but then he held back and his hand closed around her wrist. 'You're sure you're all right?'

Brienne looked up at him, dazed by the concerned expression in his eyes. 'I'm fine now,' she reassured him, and she smiled gratefully at him. 'Thank you.'

Smiling back, Jaime gave her a quick nod and then hurried off to locate Pod, who was no doubt still anxiously hurrying around the castle calling out for Ser Brienne.

Brienne joined the large number of smallfolk and fighters alike as they assembled together and walked out onto the battlefield, which had been swept clean of debris, and all the bodies of the fallen had been piled onto dozens of funeral pyres. She was so taken aback by the sombre sight that it took her a few moments to register what a group of northern soldiers nearby were talking about.

Until she heard his name. Well, not his name – far from it, in fact – but the name associated with him. The name that made Brienne's blood boil.

'-Yeah, I saw the Kingslayer helping them this morning, what the hell is he still doing here?'

'He should fuck off back to where he came from-'

'We're meant to be honouring the dead, this is no place for an oathbreaker-'

'My lords, forgive my interruption,' Brienne said sharply, as she marched over to them, 'but you speak of a great knight, who fought valiantly in the battle the other night and practically saved all your skins up on the battlements.'

The three men exchanged a glance before lowering their heads. They looked ashamed.

Brienne held herself up proudly as she glared down at them all. 'And as for your talk of him being an 'oathbreaker' – Jaime Lannister slew a tyrannical, murderous king who threatened to burn the capital and all its people to the ground, because he cared more about the safety of innocents than of his own reputation,' she said loudly, rage and passion burning in her, and the soldiers' lips parted in shock. 'He saved the entire population of King's Landing from destruction, and got nothing back in return, only hatred and cruel remarks and unkind nicknames for all the years that followed.'

A short silence followed. A few other people nearby had stopped to listen to her words, but Brienne didn't care. It was time they knew the truth. It was time they stopped treating Jaime with such disdain and contempt, as she had once done. It was time for Jaime Lannister to be set free.

'So I will personally fight whoever here dares to call him 'Kingslayer' ever again,' Brienne went on in a commanding voice. 'His name is Ser Jaime, and you will give him the respect he is owed. Is that understood?'

The northmen looked up at her, flustered. 'Y-yes, Lady Brienne,' they all chorused at once, their voices suddenly scared and timid rather than the gruff intimidating bellows from before.

Brienne smiled at them. 'Actually, it's Ser Brienne now,' she said, and with that she walked off through the northmen to find Jaime and Pod, leaving a crowd of stunned onlookers in her wake.