Jaime stood conspicuously besides Bronn and Pod as the Wintefell gates were opened. The screeches of the dragons echoed above them, and as Jaime looked up to the hazy winter sky, he could see the shadows of the great beasts swirling in the mist. Jaime was immediately thrown back into the battlefield, the fire that engulfed his soldiers, the dry ash of their remains, and the water that infiltrated his lungs at the bottom of the Blackwater Rush.
Bronn looked up. "I hope that one doesn't recognise me," he pointed to the largest of the two silhouettes that loomed ominously. "Fucked him up."
"Me neither," said Jaime. "But more so, I hope that one doesn't." He nodded towards the open gates.
A long, silver-blonde braid that matched her silver-white coat marked her as the Targaryen girl. Jaime had gotten a look at her when he had charged her on the most recent Field of Fire, but he could see now that she was strikingly beautiful as she marched over the icy mud beneath her. Behind her followed another beautiful woman, foreign, with curly dark hair that framed her head like a laurel, and with her a stoic faced foreign man with a helmet.
Jorah Mormont, as recognisable as ever, led Daenerys's army through to their Winterfell abodes, but it was clear they struggled with the icy cold more than Jaime and the other Kings Landing-born men. Their blood was accustomed to the Meereneese sun and the unforgiving desert of the Great Dothraki sea. This would make them drop like flies, even if Jaime's army had not been able to. He was not sure he desired such a thing anymore.
"Those fuckers again," mumbled Bronn. "At least they didn't have a good look at us on the battlefield. We'd be fucked otherwi…" Bronn trailed off as Tyrion came through the archway.
Jaime's stomach lurched when he saw him. He heard a sharp intake of breath from both Bronn and Podrick as well. Tyrion's beard had grown out, so thick and dark he hardly looked like a Lannister. His hair was longer and unkempt, and he wore a doublet of fur that revealed the emblazoned dragon sigil, and what more, his hand of the queen brooch.
Arya and Sansa stood with Jon Snow between them as they greeted Daenerys's liege. Brienne stood, a silent steed, next to Sansa. Brienne's face was expressionless, until her blue eyes flickered over in Jaime's direction. He gave a small smile, taking in her face again. He'd missed the wench, to be true, and their constant arguing and her stubbornness and bull-headed loyalty. without the ghost of his sister haunting him.
Jon Snow took a step forward, and his scarred face warmed as he embraced the Dragon queen. They shared some soft words, her silver hair complementing the black of his own as hey conversed. They pulled away from one another when Arya gave a small cough. Sansa bit her lip as to not giggle. They were still just Cat Stark's little girls.
Jon shook his head at Arya, then turned towards the people of Winterfell. "Northerners! Winterfell!" his powerful voice demanded the attention of all his loyal subjects. "This is Daenerys Targaryen. She will-"
"…Rightful Queen of the Andals, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea-" a soft voice interjected. Daenerys turned and grinned at the dark-haired girl. The serious man's face beside her broke into an amused grin.
Jaime raised an eyebrow at Bronn. Bronn shrugged.
"Do not fret, sweetling," Daenerys giggled, "Jon does not need to introduce all that."
Jon smiled at the dark girl. "My apologies, Missandei," he chuckled. His face grew serious again. "Northerners, this is Daenerys Targaryen. She and her host will help us face the coming storm. With her, she has her army of the Unsullied and the Dothraki. Her advisors are Missandei of Naath, Grey Worm and Ser Jorah Mormont. Her hand of the Queen is Tyrion Lannister," he announced.
The gasps and hushed whispers of the people were enough to show that perhaps Lannister was still not a desired Northerly name.
"Yes, yes, it is I, the Imp of your nightmares," Tyrion's voice sung over the suspicious garbles. Jaime could not help but smile at the sound of his witty tone. Daenerys shot a glare at him, but Jaime could tell she was mildly amused. "I am not your enemy, friends. I am here to advise both Daenerys and your King in the North."
Jon Snow and Daenerys nodded in agreement. "Lord Tyrion is as wise a man as we could hope for. His name does not mean anyone should treat him with disrespect." He felt Jon Snow's eyes skim over the crowd, falling on Jaime. A warning.
Tyrion was not looking at Jon Snow, though, or Daenerys. His eyes were fixed on Sansa Stark. He did not speak as he walked with purpose towards her. Brienne stepped forwards, her face bewildered, but Sansa put a hand on hers and stopped her. As if Sansa had predicted it, she knelt on the snow and embraced Tyrion gently, without speaking. The whispers and murmurs quietened.
Their interaction did not last long. Tyrion pulled away and they returned to their respective monarchs. Jaime looked at Arya's face; it was emotionless, but her eyebrows were knitted slightly. Brienne wore the exact same look. Jon seemed comfortable, presumably because he knew Tyrion.
"Queen Daenerys," Sansa she stepped back into place beside Jon, but her eyes were searching, almost desperately. "Where is Theon Greyjoy?"
Daenerys looked to Jorah, who stood on her left. "He has gone in search of his sister, who was taken captive by their uncle," she said softly. Sansa nodded, but her eyes were devastated. Jon looked between her and Daenerys.
"We… we welcome you to Winterfell, my Queen. We will feed your host in the Great Hall," said Jon Snow. Jon's eyes moved over his own people, fixing his gaze on Jaime once again. He had every reason to distrust Jaime, yet it irked Jaime nevertheless. If he could trust blindly, why could they not?
Tyrion's eyes followed the direction of Jon's, and his and Jaime's eyes met.
Jaime swallowed. Little brother, he thought, I've missed you too. Tyrion paled, but the rest of Daenerys's host continued to pile into the great hall. Tyrion hesitated when his eyes fell on Podrick and Bronn.
"Tyrion?" Jaime heard Daenerys's gentle voice call from the entrance to the hall.
"Go in, Daenerys," he said, not looking at her. "I have some debts to pay."
"… then we were sold to the fighting pits of Meereen, and there she was, and well, I had a lot to drink and I said some words and here I am now," Tyrion continued. Jaime was silent. The sound of the wind echoed through the godswood, where the pair were sat across from one another near the warm springs.
"I thought I could never forgive you," Jaime said in a low voice, "For changing sides."
Tyrion smiled. "For betraying the mother of madness?" his words came out in fog. "For following a stronger, gentler queen?"
"Gentler? She almost killed me," spat Jaime.
"You almost killed yourself, you mean," rebuked Tyrion. "I saw you, I was on the hill. You charged at her! She had Drogon with her, for gods sake!"
Jaime scoffed. "It has a name? A bloody name?" he asked incredulously. "Tyrion, she burnt my entire army with it!"
Tyrion opened his mouth to say something, but he let the silence hang between them. He looked at Jaime. "Yet you're here anyway."
Yes, I'm here. To save us all. "Cersei… wasn't sending troops."
Tyrion blinked. "Can't say I'm surprised."
"You're the first who hasn't been." They both rose from their seats on the rocks, and took each other in. Jaime knelt and held Tyrion close. "Don't leave me again," Jaime whispered.
"Never," replied Tyrion. He looked at Jaime's stump, then gestured to his hand of the Queen brooch. "Now, you see, we match, I have a golden…"
"I should've kept you away from Bronn as soon as you came in," Jaime shook his head. It was then that the loudest, bawdiest laugh since Robert Baratheon's reverberated from the courtyard. "My gods, what was that?"
Tyrion chuckled. "That, Jaime, was someone you'd be best to stay away from."
They walked to the courtyard and were greeted by a hoard of Wildlings, clad in furs and armed with clubs. Jaime was in awe of them. He inspected them all, their muscular, tall forms and their bearded faces, when his eyes fell on the reddest hair he had ever seen, and a matching fiery beard.
Across from him was Brienne, tall and glorious, who had an expression of utter exasperation on her face.
"That there is Jon's Wildling…" Tyrion searched for a word, "… ambassador. Tormund Giantsbane."
Jaime's stomach twisted with… was it anger? … as he saw this Giantsbane make a suggestive gesture at Brienne. "Ah."
"He's a brilliant fighter, if Mormont and Jon Snow are to be believed. Fought for the King Beyond the Wall, then agreed to bring his Wildlings south of the Wall to fight for Jon." He looked up at Jaime, then to the Wildling. "He's quite benevolent, clearly."
Jaime nodded tersely. "I'm sure."
Tyrion looked up at Jaime, his lips quirking upwards. "They'd fit together well, don't you think? Tall, rugged warriors."
Maybe they would, Jaime thought. Brienne deserves some happiness in her life. "Perhaps."
Tyrion looked between them again, then coughed. "I need to return to my queen. Don't do anything stupid, brother. She doesn't know you're here, yet." Tyrion turned in the direction of the Great Keep, and Jaime nodded, unhearing.
Brienne's face was pinched in a frown, and the Wildling wasn't leaving. Jaime strode past the coarse, bellowing pack of Wildlings and stood beside Brienne, looking this Tormund Giantsbane in the eye- they were of height, though Tormund was built like a barrel.
"Ser Jaime," said Brienne, surprised, "I…"
"Are you harassing Lady Brienne, Wildling?" Jaime enquired, his voice dangerously soft. He looked to Brienne. "Is he harassing you?"
Brienne's forehead creased. "It's nothing I can't handle, Ser," she replied evenly. She almost seemed annoyed. "He is simply…"
"… telling a woman how magnificent she is," said Tormund. Jaime snorted. Tormund looked Jaime up and down. "Watch ye'self, sellsword, and mind ye' own shit. I ain't harrassin' no one." The Wildling's voice was as coarse as his beard. "Except you, maybe."
Jaime's body coiled. He did not know why he was feeling this rage, but he could not control it. It was akin to his reaction to Robert with Cersei, but also completely different. Stop while you're ahead, he told himself, but the words tumbled out. "I am Ser Jaime Lannister, of Casterly Rock. Watch your words." Jaime wanted to kick himself for revealing this, but he couldn't stop himself.
The Wilding roared with laughter. "Har! The sisterfucker!" he guffawed. "You're handsome, aye, a soft southern princeling. Come on then, pull your cock out, give us a…"
"Tormund," said Brienne. Tormund shut his mouth, shrugging. Jaime looked at Brienne, uncomprehending. Surely not, he thought, searching her face. Her eyes bore into his, and he knew he should've stayed where he was. This was not his place. He had no right, but his stupid Lannister pride had reared its ugly head.
"Watch yourself, Wilding." Jaime's mouth twisted into a snarl, but before he could speak, Brienne interjected.
"I am having no trouble with Tormund Giantsbane, ser. However, I must return to Lady Sansa," she said, staring at Jaime coolly, then looked to Tormund, whose eyes were fixed on her massive form. It gave Jaime a bad taste in his mouth. "Ser Jaime, if you would escort me."
Tormund looked wistfully after Brienne as they left. As they walked away from the courtyard in the direction of the Great Keep, Brienne avoided Jaime's eyes. "A Wildling? Brienne of Tarth with a Wildling?" Jaime asked in disbelief.
"I'm not with him, Ser," she replied, "and he wasn't harassing me."
"It looked like he was being… obscene to you," Jaime retorted. "I thought maybe…" what did you think, idiot?
"That I needed help?" she stopped and looked at Jaime, her eyebrows knitted together. "I can handle myself, Ser. You know that better than anyone."
Jaime ran his hand through his cropped hair. "Ser, ser, ser. Have you forgotten my name, Brienne?" Jaime knew he was being irrational. He assumed his anger was built on a protectiveness, but the twinge in his gut that he tried to push away he recognised, but he didn't want to put a name to it. Has she forgotten everything?
Brienne shook her head, huffing. "If you want to integrate with the Northerners, that includes the Wildlings. You can't let your… Lannister blood…"
"I know, I know. I was concerned for a friend's wellbeing, nothing more." And it was the truth, wasn't it? "I don't know why I bothered," he mumbled under his breath.
Brienne sniffed at that. "Well, thank you, Jaime." There it was. His name on her lips. Her voice that had brought him back from the seven hells. "I must go and find Sansa and Arya. The Great War is coming, and you'd best make yourself… useful. Daenerys will find out you're here soon." Her voice shook slightly.
Jaime looked at his stump, void of the golden hand. "Useful."
"Jaime." Her voice was gentle.
"Alright. I'll train one of those groups. I'm better than Pod at fighting, even with my left hand."
"He's better than he was." Brienne rolled her eyes. "I… I don't care what you do, Jaime. Just…" she paused, "don't do anything stupid." And with that, she left to find the Stark girls.
Jaime sighed. Winter really was here.