The day Jon would drop by Winterfell on his way to the Wall, Sansa was eagerly waiting for him. Her two remaining siblings and her former half-brother turned cousin were scattered everywhere again after months living together under the same roof, and Sansa couldn't get truly used to the separation. She was a true Stark, more than a Tully. Like the wolf in her house's sigil, she thrived when her pack was whole and united. When each one went their own way whatever the reason, she felt more lost, emptier. But Sansa had gained a strength most girls of her age didn't reach in a lifetime, and she could cope practically with anything. It was mostly that she felt a bit lonely without her family around. Neither Brienne nor anyone else in the castle could fill that void. Brienne understood that very well. The death of her own mother, her twin baby sisters and his eldest brother had left her terribly alone. She marked that series of tragedies as the brutal end of her childhood and with it, her true happiness and innocence. They had taken a great part of her with them. Her father retreated into his shell, as unattainable as the moon, and Evenfall was never the same bright and cozy home again.

Brienne wondered if something else ailed the queen's soul. As if she didn't carry overwhelming burdens already. Sansa had confessed one time that the nightmares about Ramsay, Joffrey, Cersei, Littlefinger and the Long Night often plagued her dreams. The poor young woman endured traumas terrible enough to have destroyed any other one in her place. Brienne had tasted her own share of misfortunes, but she considered herself as lucky in comparison. After all, her family had died by bad luck, not sadistically murdered like Ned, Catelyn, their sons Robb and Rickon, their daughter-in-law and their stillborn grandchild. She hadn't been raped thanks to Jaime's intervention, whereas Sansa... Brienne shivered imagining what she had suffered at Ramsay's hands. There had been no Jaime to save her in time. Brienne again felt a stab of guilt. If she hadn't gone to kill Stannis in order to avenge Renly, she might have found a way to save Sansa before Theon did and spared the battered girl a few nightmarish days in hell. She had confessed that with shame, but Sansa didn't hold any grudge against her. Brienne couldn't have guessed the extent of the depravation the Boltons were capable of.

But no matter how much Sansa assured Brienne wasn't to blame. The knight felt it was one of her failures. Sometimes Jaime's harsh words in the bathtub at Harrenhal mocking her for having failed at protecting Renly's life rang so true she deemed herself too unworthy of owning Oathkeeper. Of having been anointed as a knight. Of calling herself a warrior.

Those were some of Brienne's worst nightmares, along with those where Jaime never returned to her and she got the news that he had died with Cersei, his true love, both crushed by the destruction of the Red Keep. Thus fulfilling his twin's sick design: born together, dead together. Whenever she woke up from that specific dream, she had to touch Jaime, asleep next to her, to check he was truly there.

As a consequence of her brutal abuse, Sansa was frightened of a man's touch. Brienne knew as much. One didn't need to be greatly observant to realize that the young queen avoided men's contact. Well, except perhaps for a certain Lannister. The tale of how they had both sought refuge behind a tomb in the crypts was quite moving. Sansa had told her that she had grabbed the dragonglass dagger Arya had given her and Tyrion, with a look of admiration, had kissed her hand. Sansa wasn't a fighter and was almost paralyzed with terror. Tyrion was barely a fighter himself, but both had taken a breath together and he had preceded her when they had ventured out of their hiding place, him walking before her with the intention of protecting her and serving as a human shield in case any creature attacked them.

Sansa remembered that scene with deep fondness and Brienne wondered if Tyrion had managed to graze her heart. Until her escape from the Boltons and Littlefinger's execution, her dealings with many men since her ill-fated stay in King's Landing had been a cause for her to feel invaded, manipulated, harassed and brutalized. Tyrion was one of the scarce exceptions.

Who knows, perhaps if life had allowed them more time together in different circumstances, maybe they might have connected in a deeper level. Perhaps this was a second chance. But Sansa still felt insecure and wary of men and besides, Tyrion was lots of leagues far away and the king's Hand no less. There would be rarely any chance to explore a possible relationship.

But Brienne adopted the determination to keep attentive and help her friend when Sansa felt ready to take the step. If love was meant to be, there was always a way. Brienne believed it after being a skeptic during all her adulthood.

Jon arrived past noon, accompanied by a couple of young men and Ghost, his giant and completely white werewolf. The magnificent beast looked almost otherworldly with his pristine fur and uncanny red eyes.

Sansa cried out in joy and ran to the gates. Jon jumped down from his horse and met his cousin haflway in a bone-crushing embrace. They remained wrapped around each other for a few minutes at least, with Sansa weeping on his shoulder and him stroking her hair gently.

Brienne and Jaime were among the attendants of the welcoming committee, which basically consisted of the whole castle staff and armies and recruits. Everyone felt a deep respect for their former king and warden of the North.

"I still think that boy is too serious. He has the perfect profile for the Nightwatch. He must be delighted to go back to that frozen dump," Jaime whispered for her ears only.

"Shut up," Brienne snapped in slight irritation mixed with amusement. How cheeky and annoying this man can be, for the gods.

As soon ans Jon let go of Sansa, a crowd of people stepped forward to greet him warmly. He hugged a few men, shook hands and patted shoulders until he came close to the trio formed by Brienne, Jaime and Pod. Knowing smiles were exchanged and more hands were shaken and shoulders clapped.

"Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime, Pod. You all look well." His dark eyes lingered on the visible swell of her stomach. It wasn't very much prominent yet, but enough for anyone who had known her before her pregnancy noticed at first sight if they were observant, and Jon certainly was. And moreover, she was approaching the fourth moon. By them, it was nearly impossible to hide a prominent belly unless one wore loose dresses, what was not her case. "I see congratulations are in order, Sers," he added with a warm smile, looking alternatively between the two of them.

"Thank you" Brienne said politely, while Jaime nodded in acknowledgement. She wisely didn't add any title, as Jon currently had none, and he didn't care for such formalities anyway. He stubbornly wished to be called just Jon Snow of Winterfell. Prince Aegon Targaryen was a total stranger to him. Brienne didn't attribute his rejection of his birth name to a lack of respect on his part for his father. He simply couldn't come to change a huge part of his identity for a father he hadn't met. That place belonged to Ned, the uncle who had claimed him as his own son to protect him from Robert's wrath, earning his wife's lifelong jealousy and Westeros's belief that the honourable Eddard Stark wasn't as honourable after all.

Brienne remembered vividly how Jaime had taunted lady Catelyn, chained to that post, his arrogant facade in hateful display. How he, a man without honour, had boasted about his fidelity to Cersei, whereas Ned, such a model of honourability, had cheated on Catelyn at the first chance. Brienne recalled painfully the lady's hurt look and how she and Brienne herself had restrained themselves with sheer force of will in order not to behead him right that moment. She made a mental note to raise that topic later with Jaime. They had never discussed it and she sensed it was something he wasn't particularly proud of, especially after discovering that Ned hadn't been unfaithful after all, and not just that. He had kept the secret at all costs, triggering Catelyn's pain and resentment towards the innocent child, and enduring the whole realm's malicious judgement.

Sansa joined the group and Jon pointed at his traveling companions. "Allow me to introduce my friends. They are Cory and Lem, from King's Landing. They are willing to join the Nightwatch."

Both boys bowed awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of royalty and nobility. Jaime volunteered to break the ice. It seems most puns and jokes here involve ice.

"Nice to meet you, lads. How bad it was in King's Landing to prefer a lifetime service of near starvation, severe frostbite and the delightful company of a bunch of black furred asses day and night?" Brienne stepped on his foot hard, stabbing his big toe with the edge of her heel. His boot did little to cushion the not so subtle and painful silent scolding.

Cory answered with blunt honesty. "We were born in the poorest brothels at Fleabottom. We ate rat meat when we couldn't catch dogs or cats. And when even rats proved impossible to find, garbage could look like a feast. So aye, we prefer a damn fucking place where we eat decent food every day and people don't call us slumdogs."

Jaime nodded in approval, wiggling covertly his sore big toe . "Welcome to the North, then."

"Thanks, m'lord," both boys said simultaneously.

"Not a lord. Just a knight, and not a very good one at that," he corrected with dry humour, raising his golden hand to mark his words.

"Jaime," Brienne started to protest at his self-deprecating joke.

"Wait, you're the Kingslayer?," Lem inquired, wide-eyed. "You were the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard? I saw you arounf the city a few times."

"Not so glamorous as it seemed, I assure you" Jaime replied. "Anyway, that white cape was an annoyance. Capes slow you up in fights. Lessons number one and two when you fight: Never wear anything that draws a target on your back and that your opponent can get hold of easily."

"Then why do the Kingsguard wear it?," Cory asked.

"Because they're pompous fools, most of them," Jaime retorted, shrugging.

Brienne decided to end the conversation abruptly. "Well, we're glad you've volunteered to engross the Nightwatch's ranks. They need brave men."

Or dudes crazy enough to choose freezing their balls.

"Thanks, m'lady," they addressed her, in awe at her height. It was a look she was sadly familiarized with.

"She's a knight too," Jaime added with a note of pride in his voice. Brienne blushed.

"Really? Well, I'm not surprised, m'lady, Ser," Lem stated. "You look like one hell of a knight."

Brienne smiled. The boy's clumsiness with her title reminded her of Pod. "I try to do my best," she replied modestly.

"She's she best in Westeros at present," Jaime affirmed firmly, glancing sideways at her. "She fought hundreds of living corpses in the Long Night. Thanks to valiant people like her, you won't have to meet the Night King ever." Brienne rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. "We wish you good luck, future brothers of the Watch," she inserted.

The boys bowed and joined Jon, who was following Sansa into the castle.

"And that's the glory of the Nightwatch," Jaime needled out of earshot of the newcomers.

"Oh, be quiet, please. You give me headaches."

"Want me to help you get rid of them?," he offered suggestively, walking by her side towards the main hall, where lunch was going to be served.

She stomped to remind him of his still throbbing big toe.