Author's Notes: Welcome, welcome to another new chapter of TDR! This is a long one and I hope you'll find it exciting!

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Chapter 124

Jaime XLIII

He led the men into the forest with caution. His eyes darted around the area ceaselessly, looking for any errant sounds that might signal an attack. But as was typical in the dead of winter, they could hear little save for the crunch of their horses walking through the snow. He did at least hear the occasional chirp of a bird and the rustle of wings flitting about in the trees above. Jaime thought he could hear the intermittent snapping of twigs and the brushing of a bush to the northeast of the party, which he presumed to be the wolves. Ghost, Greywind, and Bran's wolf Storm had disappeared into the woods much like they had the rest of the journey to the north and they never ventured closer. He sincerely hoped he didn't have to worry about the wildlings mistakenly attacking them.

Up at the Wall, there had been a rumbling of pleasant murmurings among his men, but now that they were beyond the Wall, the silence had suppressed their joviality. It was times like this that Jaime wished he could have someone like Cyrus at hand to cheer the soldiers, but the musician had refused to go any further north than Winterfell because the cold was apt to break his instruments. Jaime had initially accepted grudgingly, but now he was glad that Brienne would have familiar and welcome company on their journey to Tarth instead.

Benjen Stark led the way, with Jaime and Robb falling in behind him. Though Robb had been cheered by seeing his uncle once more, the forest had sobered him into a grim countenance. Much to Jaime's approval, he remained calm and his posture was straight and fearless.

Jaime did his best to echo the boy, but he had to repeatedly clench and unclench his fists to keep the blood moving in his hands. After nearly a decade of summer, he was ill-adjusted for the cold weather. He would adapt, eventually, but until then he did what he could to fend off the frostbite in his hands and feet.

When they made their camp for the night, Jaime and Addam both went through their soldiers to see how they were coping with the cold. Some already had graying fingers and toes. They encouraged their soldiers to take the time to rub their toes and hands, double their stockings, and warm themselves by the fire when their watch shifts were done.

On the first night, Jaime had gathered the lords around him to speak strategy. "We know there are more wights wandering north of the Wall. It's possible they could attack us at any moment. I want us to be prepared. The wights are merely the foot soldiers, but the White Walkers are their captains. They control hoards of the dead. If you kill one of those, all of the wights will fall. If we are attacked, it's highly likely that one is in the area, though it may not actively engage. Our focus should be on finding and killing it."

Stannis had frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Seeing as only half of our men have dragonglass daggers, it seems prudent that they each pair up with the other half that don't." Everyone had agreed and spent the time forming their duos.

The only ones who seemed unperturbed by the changes were Bran Stark, Jojen and Meera Reed, and Joffrey. His nephew never seemed to have much color in his face these days, but Jaime couldn't figure out if it was merely the cold or fear. It definitely lurked behind his eyes whenever his and Joffrey's connected, but his nephew merely nodded in acknowledgment. Jaime had made sure that he was one of the few who received a dragonglass dagger.

Their first course of action was to deliver Bran to the Three-eyed Raven. Jojen Reed had told them their path was North and that he would let them know when to divert their course, though he remained cryptic about the location. He refused to point to it on the map. Jaime had glared at the boy's back after he'd left, but didn't press the issue.

The first night beyond the Wall passed without incident. Still, the men were no less at ease and they packed their tents without the typical banter. As they continued to travel, it felt more and more like they were slipping deeper into an enchantment. The air was still, like the tension that preceded a summer storm, and Jaime couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He couldn't decide if it was the wildlings or the dead, but he kept a weather eye out all the same.

"How long do you expect until we reach the wildlings?" Jaime asked.

Benjen eyed him for a moment and said, "I suspect it will be a week before we're close to the free folk."

"A week?! I thought you said they moved in closer?"

"They're still leery of the Night's Watch and expect aggression. Mance keeps them far enough out to be safe. Better this side of the forest than the Frostfangs or the Thenn. We could be traveling a month or more before reaching those," Benjen explained.

"Bloody winter," Jaime grumbled to himself.

"It may take longer still since it's unlikely Bran's path will take us near to where the free folk are," Benjen said.

Jaime furrowed his brow. He had long been curious about the boy's powers. Back before, Jaime had marveled at the boy's ability to command flocks of birds to scout the land and even possess the likes of mammoth bears or elk, but it was unclear to him if there was more to his powers than that. It was useful, but not altogether significant. At the time, it hadn't really mattered. He hadn't exactly been on the best terms with the Starks given the revelation about his having shoved Bran out the window of the broken tower. At least that wasn't something that he had to contend with anymore.

When night fell on the second day, Jaime made a point to sit close to Jojen Reed and Bran Stark, who stared unseeing into the fire. He wasn't sure where Meera or Joffrey were, but figured they had to be nearby. He was glad at least that Bran's injury this time had left his body largely untouched. At least inside Winterfell, he had moved around it with ease and had no difficulty keeping atop a horse.

He busied himself with preparing the sausages that they were going to roast over the fire for dinner that night, but he couldn't seem to keep himself from glancing at Bran frequently.

"Is there something you wish to ask, Lord Lannister?" Bran's voice was as blue and calm as a cloudless day.

Jaime blinked at him, but then said, "Yes. Your cousin, King Aemon, impressed upon me the importance of seeing you delivered to this … three-eyed raven, which will be done. But what do you expect to learn there?"

Bran was quiet for a moment and then said, "I'm not so sure myself. Jojen says the three-eyed raven will open paths for me, though in what sense, I do not know."

"You'll see soon enough," Jojen said, his eyes never leaving the flickering flames of the fire.

"I suppose that's a question best left until you return with your new powers," Jaime said with a sigh. As master of war, it was important for him to know their capabilities, but it seemed that would remain shrouded in mystery.

"Powers? What do you mean?" Robb returned with an armful of wood and dropped them near the fire so that he could take his own seat.

Bran's expression became pained and he swallowed, but when he opened his mouth no words came out.

"When … Lord Stark died," Jaime began, giving Bran a pitying look, "you'll recall that a murder of crows then attacked Roose Bolton."

"I remember. I thought it passing strange at the time, but … I, uh, I didn't give it much thought. I just—"

"It's fine," Jaime said, making a motion to calm down. "But that was not natural."

"He's right," Bran croaked, then cleared his throat and leveled out his voice. "It was me. I commanded the crows to attack."

"You," Robb whispered, his voice a tremulous yellow. "Huh-how?"

"Warging," Jojen said. "The Starks of old used to have the ability. It's faded with time, but it seems to have re-emerged with your family."

Robb stared and then shook his head. "I thought it was just one of Old Nan's stories."

"It's real, Robb. I have wolf dreams too when I can see through Storm's eyes. Don't you?"

Robb's eyes widened and he sat back.

"You can warg as well?" Jaime asked.

"No, I thought—no, it was just a dream," Robb replied.

"It doesn't have to be just a dream. Greywind is bonded with you. If you're dreaming through his eyes, you can do it while waking. It's easiest to try when you have a moment of quiet. When I first warged, I allowed myself to relax and just … threw my mind out there and it went to Storm. It took effort to switch to something else," Bran explained.

Jaime watched them carefully. It was clear that despite their time together in King's Landing, Aemon had not yet included Robb within his circle. Given Robb's reaction, he likely might've thought his cousin mad to hear that he could see through Ghost's eyes. It was enough to make Jaime want to chuckle derisively. Another mad Targaryen King who thinks he has powers, but derived from his northern lineage. That's a twist no one would see. He considered telling them that Aemon held the same power, but though they were his family, Aemon had told him in confidence for a reason. It seemed better that they remain unaware. For now. It was likely to come out during the negotiations with the wildlings since the king insisted on attending through Ghost.

They settled in for another night and were left undisturbed. It was not a peace that was bound to last and with each passing day the tension increased. Despite being out in the wilds, the naked trees and the blowing wind created an oppressive atmosphere that continued to keep the men quiet.

After another few days of travel, they suddenly heard Jojen Reed say, "Stop."

Jaime turned around on his horse to look back at him.

"It's time we made our own way," Jojen said in a calm and level manner.

"Does that mean the three-eyed raven's nearby?" Jaime asked.

Jojen stayed silent but looked towards Bran. "It's time."

"I promised the king I would escort you directly to the three-eyed raven," Jaime snarled. "I am not about to shirk that."

"You have to," Jojen shot back. "You will not be welcome. The three-eyed raven is not meant to entertain guests like a lord. Bran will be training."

"Are you not guests then?"

"Our wants or needs will not be a priority. His focus will only be on Bran."

Jaime scowled and he opened his mouth to continue arguing, but Robb put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't. I can tell when it's fruitless to argue."

Jaime relented, but as Jojen, Meera, Bran, and Joffrey broke away to trot their horses on an eastern course, Jaime nudged his horse out of line and trotted over to them. He reached out to grip Joffrey's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "Stay safe. Do your duty. I have a feeling we'll be long gone before Bran completes his training. I will make sure the Night's Watch knows of your whereabouts and is looking for you."

Joffrey grimaced at him and nodded. When Jaime turned away, he heard a small, "Good luck, Uncle."

"Well then, lead the way," Robb said, gesturing towards Benjen.

"I fear we ran a bit too far north. Back this way." They struck out to the southwest.

Jaime gave one last parting glance to the group. He hadn't been present when Bran had reunited with Aemon, but he was curious now how the wildings would have treated him once they learned of his gifts. Aemon already mentioned how they held wargs in high esteem and Bran could warg into any animal, as far as Jaime knew.

It was too late now to convince Bran to stay with the party otherwise. Jaime sat up a little straighter and nudged his horse to retake his place beside Robb Stark.

They continued walking their way through the land. After a few more days and nights of quiet with nothing to threaten them, the men finally began to loosen up, which played on Jaime's nerves. Laughter sounded like the raucous barking of dogs and he turned around to glare at the offender every time; it made listening to the other sounds of the forest even more difficult.

"Maybe the Others haven't wandered so far south yet," Robb said in a low voice.

"I wouldn't count on that," Jaime muttered.

"I'm afraid he's right, Robb. We once had a foraging band get attacked by a group of wights just inside the treeline by the Wall. It could be that our company is so large, they don't want to test it," Benjen said.

"Rather they're waiting to test it until they have enough of their own," he suggested quietly.

"If the dead are as prolific as the king says," Stannis began, "then they're probably waiting for the manpower and the moment. Or stalking us like shadow cats, waiting to pick us off."

The conversation left them uneasy and for fear of it unnerving them too much, Jaime ended it there and silence fell over them once more.

That night, after Jaime had fallen asleep he was startled awake with a thump to the chest. His knife was out and he was snarling, ready to slice, only to be met with a glint of red eye and the winter white fur of Ghost. He glared at him.

The wolf cocked his head and once more pawed at his knee.

When his dulled wits awakened, he too cocked his head and whispered, "Aemon?"

The wolf gave an unmistakably human nod.

Jaime sighed and lowered his knife. "We've not yet made contact with the wildlings. Your Uncle Benjen suspects it will be another few days. Check back then."

Aemon stayed rooted to the spot and seemed to lean forward as if pressing on some urgent matter.

Jaime frowned over the wolf and asked, "Is this about the negotiations?"

Another nod from the wolf.

"I haven't forgotten our plan; I'm confident it will be enough to win them over."

The wolf gave a low growl, trying to be quiet.

"Your attendance?"

The wolf nodded vigorously this time.

"I'll make sure you're in attendance. Check back every two days. We won't hold the negotiations without you."

With that, Ghost turned and headed back out into the night. Jaime stared at him, wondering if he had dreamed of the encounter. "What has my life come to? Speaking to the king through the eyes of a wolf. Madness indeed," he grumbled. He turned back over and went back to sleep.

Yet the next time Aemon visited through Ghost, two nights later, Jaime was forced to yet again report that they had seen neither hide nor hair of the wildlings. The creeping quiet in the forest was starting to put him on edge. Had the Night King already slaughtered the wildings and turned them to wights? If that was the case, what reason did he have for waiting to attack. They were at least five days North of the Wall without a hope of being saved should they be ambushed by even a thousand wights.

After more than a week, Jaime asked, "Are you sure they're even still alive?"

Benjen gave a slow nod. "Yes, I believe so. I saw a scrap of torn cloth barely two days ago."

"No footprints?"

"It may have snowed since they came through."

Jaime grimaced. The weather had largely been in their favor, but on the fifth or sixth day, they had run into a light snowfall. The flurries fell thick and silent, but the wind had barely blown, making it tolerable. The trees bore the brunt of the snow, keeping most of it off the ground. The horses only had to wade through ankle deep snow. Still, the fresh powder had erased the most notable signs of life in these woods.

At one point, they came across a gate set up between trees, but the wooden door hung askew from its hinge. A ram skull adorned the top of it. Benjen had been perturbed by this and left his horse with his sword drawn. Jaime and Robb had quickly followed suit. They stumbled upon a hall of sorts, built of logs and with a low sod roof. The main door was intact but it had drifted open. Benjen had knocked on it hesitantly; when he received no response he opened it wide to a large haul that could nearly fit their group in.

"What is it?" Robb asked.

"This was Craster's Keep," Benjen said. "Lord Craster was an old, lecherous soul with a black heart. He kept his daughters here and made them pregnant. He used to house the Night's Watch until we learned that he had been sacrificing the boy children to the Others. He was executed, but his daughter-wives insisted on staying here. It seems they didn't make it."

Jaime frowned over the room. A long table and a bench had been turned over. Furs that had been used as rugs lay frozen from the chill. While he saw a variety of clothes, there seemed to be little in the way of blood.

"With luck, they simply moved on and weren't attacked," Jaime said, the words sounding hollow to his ears. However, it unnerved him that the baby boys had been left to the whims of the Night King.

"So, then, did you see the Others take these boys?"

"Yes, I did," Benjen said, looking more drawn and pale than previously.

"Should we stay here for the night?" Robb suggested. "It would be a treat for the moment to get out of the cold for even just a night."

Jaime shook his head. "The Others have been here. I mislike the idea of hovering in an area they may frequent. We should leave."

"I think I will agree with Lord Lannister on this one, Robb," Benjen said, clapping his shoulders. "It's not that it's a bad idea, but death feels close here."

Robb blinked at him. "I don't feel anything."

Jaime snorted. "We could be two old fools spooked by superstition. But if I've learned anything in my years as a soldier and a kingsguard, it's that I should trust my gut. Let's make tracks before nightfall."

Though the men were spared hearing the fate of those at Craster's Keep, they began growing restless and temperamental. One night, when the men had been playing dice, a Lannister soldier had attacked a Baratheon one, forcing Stannis to intervene. Jaime had to step in to prevent his soldier from losing his hand for cheating. Out in the middle of the woods, there was little offered in the way of punishment, so Jaime ordered him to groom every single horse. A Baratheon and Lannister soldier were assigned to watch him and ensure he didn't abuse the animals in his fury.

After that, Jaime did his damndest to control his mood and keep an outwardly neutral appearance to encourage morale. Still, the atmosphere felt increasingly close and the tension in his shoulders tightened like a wire with every passing hour. He had a feeling that the overbearing silence had little to do with luck.

One night, as they were making camp, the cold settled in deeper. Jaime felt a tickling in his mind like a long-buried memory trying to unearth itself. He turned to stare into the forest, but the circle of light in their camp merely hit the first row of trees and did not go any further. The wind blew, causing the branches to sway, scratch, and crack in the air.

Jaime turned away with some hesitation, but he whispered to Robb and Stannis: "Tell your men to keep their weapons close at hand."

Stannis eyed him and asked, "What about this night is different than any other?"

"A feeling," Jaime said after some hesitation. A crawling on my skin, the hairs standing on the back of my neck, my own thoughts screaming that something isn't quite right, he'd wanted to say, but knew it would sound even worse.

Stannis snorted. "I wouldn't think the great Lord Lannister would rely on something as fickle as one's feelings."

"You'll find, Lord Baratheon, that instinct is invaluable in a fight," Jaime hissed back. Even in the time before, he had relied primarily on his gut to direct his fighting. The sense had only sharpened over the many years, especially during the worst of the Long Night from before.

Stannis curled his lip at him and glared, but he held his tongue.

Jaime did as he'd cautioned and went around to groups of soldiers, ordering them to keep their guard up. Any without their weapons on hand, hurriedly scurried to arm themselves under his stern eyes. Whether Stannis or Robb did the same, Jaime couldn't be sure, but he knew the other soldiers took notice and more than one drifted a hand over to the hilt of his weapon.

Despite being antsy, Jaime still retired to his tent, however he remained wide awake, keeping Brightroar in his hand. He laid there for some time staring into the ceiling of his tent, feeling exhaustion creep up on him as his previous caution wore away. He stirred when he heard twigs snapping nearby. Then in the night he saw a dim outline of a shape against the canvas of his tent. He could not hear it breathing.

He sprang up. "To arms! To arms! We're under attack," Jaime shouted.

His tent collapsed behind him and he turned to see a White Walker had positioned himself to spear Jaime right through the canvas if he hadn't moved. Even as Jaime made to engage, the forest suddenly came alight with blue lights as the wights awakened. They rushed him. The first one was a freshly killed Lannister soldier who'd likely just passed on his patrol. Brightroar cleaved right through him. Another Lannister soldier with blue eyes tried to attack and Jaime slashed him with a fury that came as the memories of the previous Long Night rushed back to him.

The camp came alive with shouts and screams. Stannis barked orders but Jaime paid little attention to anything else. His focus was entirely on the White Walker, though it had started to fade back into the trees to allow its minions to face him instead. It seemed to know the power of Valyrian steel.

Kill the White Walker, the rest should all die. But there were a dozen wights in his way, with more coming up behind it. Jaime roared and ran into the mob. His blade swung and cut through each wight with ease, but more arose to take their places. At one point, Jaime was surrounded; with some frustration he cut his way back to rejoin the group.

Addam shouted at him, "Jaime, I thought you were overrun!"

Jaime was affronted. "You wound me more than that White Walker ever could."

Addam barked a laugh while slashing another wight in half.

"What do we do?" Robb shouted.

"We need to kill the White Walker," Jaime called back. "It controls the wights. When it dies, they all die!" Robb looked at him askance, but Jaime paid him little mind. "I can't reach it alone. Addam, Robb, use the men to carve a corridor through to it!"

"That will leave Lord Baratheon vulnerable," Robb said with wide eyes.

"We'll all become wights if we don't reach it," Jaime retorted.

"Men, form up," Addam commanded. After several moments of fighting, the Lannister and Marbrand soldiers formed up into a line, careful to step around the wounded and the dead.. Those with shields held them firm and those with Dragonglass daggers stood behind them, slashing at a stray hand or foot that attempted to slip through. The shieldbearers began to march forward, bowing their heads to put all of their weight behind their shields. Jaime waited for his opening and went into the crux. A wight slipped through the crack and Jaime ran him through. The blue light fled its eyes and it collapsed immediately. As Jaime slashed and stabbed, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, the men seemed to grow heartened and shouted words of encouragement.

However, the wights kept coming, flooding out between the trees. Jaime's head felt like it was being pincered and he had to swallow bile that threatened to break his composure. With the clashing of the sword, the shrieking of the wights, and the fearful yellow and violet cries of his men, he was on the verge of collapse.

Jaime took a moment to collect himself, breathing deeply. Despite the pain in his head, he sharpened his focus and narrowed it down to just the White Walker and any wight who strayed in his way. As soon as the top of the corridor opened, he launched himself into the fray, Addam followed just behind him. Without thought, he slashed and battered and skewered wights. One was cleaved across its rotting face, another the blues of its eyes went out like a candle snuffed by the wind. He allowed his instincts to carry him through the motions.

All the while, the White Walker watched him from afar.

"Jaime, you're too far!" Addam shouted.

He paid him no heed and kept going. He clenched his teeth as the bile rose in his throat, squinting his eyes against the pain that stabbed sharply through his head. A wight grabbed his arm. He violently shrugged it away, but then another grabbed him. And another. The White Walker was shrinking away as he fought to stay on his feet. If he fell, it would be the end of him.

He pinched his eyes shut against the pain, braced himself, and dropped his head like a bull and then dug in his heels and tried to take a step forward. He heard a roar. A wight loosened its grip. Jaime pushed it away, continuing to hold his sword with a death grip lest he drop it altogether. Another wight fell from him, its dying screech filling his ears and drowning his senses. He barreled forward.

The White Walker moved to counter him, but its motions looked slow and clumsy to Jaime's eyes. He bellowed and fell into it, allowing instinct to guide him. He heard and felt the familiar clang of his sword meeting a dagger, but he could see only bright blue eyes. Jaime easily sliced through the hand carrying its dagger and then ran it through. Just like that, the shrieking ceased and the dark quiet of the night fell.

Jaime hunched over, breathing heavily, his sword trembling in his hand as he struggled to remain upright. A hand clapped on the shoulder with such a weight that it nearly sent him face first into the snow.

"That'll show 'em! Fancy a southron cunt like you knowing the White Walkers are the weakness. Here we thought we were saving your pitiful asses. Mance'll be happy to know you're finally here."

Jaime straightened up and squinted into the wiry, red bushy hair and savage grin of Tormund Giantsbane. Just looking at him brought his old irritation with the man back to the forefront of his mind. He wouldn't deny being happy that Brienne was not here to be smothered with attention by the exuberant ass. Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but the pain of his headache caused him to buckle once more and he spewed vomit.

"Jaime? Jaime!"

The last thing he felt were hands grabbing him by the back of his jerkin and armor as they carefully lowered him to the ground.