Brienne's pregnancy was soon to reach its third moon and a slight baby bump was starting to show. Her breeches and tight tunics did almost nothing to hide the little swell. Sansa had tasked the castle seamstresses to make new clothes for her friend, more loose fitting in order to last for the entirety of the pregnancy. Sansa herself had taken upon herself to sew up a few garments, including Brienne's and Jaime's wedding attires.
The first day the couple realized her stomach was rounding, Jaime had knelt and kissed it and spoken nonsense to the baby inside, to Brienne's amusement and eyeroll.
Her armor had remained unused since the Long Night, but she cleaned and oiled it regularly to prevent it from gathering rust. It was very special to her because it was one of Jaime's gifts and allowing it to get ruined because of negligence would be like losing a huge part of herself. It had accompanied her and saved her life in multiple occasions.
She missed her warrior days, but she wouldn't trade her present happiness for anything. The only spot in her joy was the answer she feared her father would send after her letter had flown to Tarth a few days ago. She wondered if he'd already read it and what he would be thinking of her. To her relief and gratitude, Sansa had fulfilled her promise and sent her own message to lord Selwyn, explaining everything from her own point of view. If the queen in the North herself came in his daughter's defence and offered more context to the actions he might judge harshly, there could be some chances that he would be sufficiently appeased.
One thing she was determined about was that, with or without her father's consent and blessing, she was going to marry Jaime. They loved each other and were expecting a child who needed to be born into marriage so as to have the right to its father's family name and its parents' ancestral possessions in Casterly Rock and Evenfall. For as much as lord Selwyn would break her heart by denying her marriage plans if it came to that, nothing would make her act differently. Brienne couldn't bring herself to believe her father would reject his grandchildren even if he never truly forgave her.
She tried to hide her nervousness while they waited for the raven from Tarth. A useless effort it seemed, as Jaime sensed her trepidation and performed little gestures to soothe and brighten her mood.
In the meanwhile, the most unbelievable news had traveled quickly to Winterfell. Bran had been elected as the new king of Westeros. The first Stark in history to sit on the throne of the Red Keep. Which, by the way, was the iron throne no more. Drogon had melted it before fleeing Westeros forever, carrying Daenerys' corpse with him.
The new throne had been carved in wood and had a simple design to symbolize humility and the will to serve. A necessary change in times of great changes.
Come to think of it, that the council of great lords and ladies had chosen Bran wasn't a hare-brained course of action. The young Stark and three-eyed-raven was wiser than any other person and had accumulated the memories of the world. And he was devoid of nearly all human emotions (except perhaps for compassion) and passions, which so often clouded reason. Who better than him to rule? He sounded like the ideal candidate, in truth. No countries or kingdoms in the whole world had ever known such an impartial leader.
A thrilled Sansa had commented them that Tyrion had been able to pull the strings smartly to tip the scales in Bran's favour. Not that he'd encountered strong opposition, and whatever weak arguments some other interested parties had presented, were quickly discarded. Most lords and ladies had voted for Bran. Who, in retaliation for Tyrion's campaign to promote him as king, had named the younger Lannister as his Hand. Jaime joked that his brother could hardly complain and, anyway, if he had survived being Hand to Joffrey (a cruel and sadistic useless brat) and Daenerys (who ended up as mad as her father), this third appointment was a peace of cake.
With all traces of threat to the kingdoms removed (Euron had been mysteriously killed, his fleet dispersed, and the remains of the Golden Company that hadn't turned tail had been easily wiped out), new times of an unprecedented peace were spreading hope everywhere. Even in the dead of winter, people looked forward to the days to come.
In addition, the North had been warranted its total independence. From then on it wouldn't depend on the centralized crown of Westeros, nor would be submitted to it. Bran and Sansa would be equals and both kingdoms would be allies on the same level. Their disposition to give aid and support each other would be based on their duty to work for the good interests and needs of the realm. They would work hand in hand to ensure the realm's prosperity and wellbeing.
For the first time in centuries, maybe millennia, a true peace looked like something genuinely feasible.
Sansa was also thrilled for another reason. Her cousin Jon would soon visit Winterfell on his way to the Wall. They had grown very close and Sansa missed him. Jaime pointed in private to Brienne that the young Snow (or ex-Snow, as Jaime always jested about the confusing change of surname) was too serious and righteous to his taste, to which Brienne retorted that she was just as righteous, but he, unrepentant, had replied that her nice ass redeemed her. Brienne had stuck out her tongue at him and made a rude raspberry sound. Jaime had cackled until his stomach ached and Brienne punched him on the arm with enough force to leave a nasty bruise. His cackles had turned then into cries of pain and muttered complaints. Such a baby, she had declared trying her best to ignore him and hide the big smile on her lips. They went on with such antics for a while, until they ended up on bed making love between incontrollable bursts of laughter.
After that, they slept soundly the whole night, and Jaime needled Brienne once more for being a sleepyhead and waking up later than him, what hadn't ever happened in their eventful trip from the Riverlands to King's Landing or in his previous stay in Winterfell to fight for the living and seduce a certain stubborn kickass blonde. She retorted that she would gladly switch roles and lend him her progressively heavier belly and with it the baby to deplete his reserves of energy. He kissed her playfully and assured that the big belly would look much more beautiful on her than on him. Arse-licker, she replied, and their merry bickering went on until they both headed to breakfast and the training yards.