They sat across from one another by the Heart Tree.
Brandon Stark, Jaime thought. Me pushing you out of that window was what caused the collapse of the Kingdom. Arya had wheeled Bran out here as he had commanded, and had told Jaime to come with him. Jaime felt out of place, here. Unwelcome. He did not belong here, not in the sights of the Northern gods. He could hardly look at the boy; a man, now, truly. But he forced himself to. He let out a shaky breath
"I remember everything now," Bran told him, his voice eerily calm. Jaime felt his stomach writhe.
"I've heard," he replied. His mouth was dry with anxiety.
"Did you think about the consequences?" asked Bran.
The consequences. When had Jaime ever thought about consequences? A man of action, that's what Cersei had called him when he had set Tyrion free, no regard for what comes after. "I did not."
"You asked me how old I was."
"Ten," Jaime said quickly. Bran nodded.
"I was ten years old." Bran's voice had a strange, dreamlike quality. "So young. Carefree. I climbed so well, back then." His eyes were blank, staring directly at the Weirwood, his eyes tracing the vein-like roots that pulsed with red sap. "Every night after my fall, after you pushed me, my mother cursed the gods for what they had done. After I woke up, I cursed whatever had befallen me to the seven hells." Emotion welled in his dark eyes. "I was crippled for life, and for what? A secret."
Jaime's breath was caught in his chest. He couldn't breathe. "I can never take back what I did, Brandon," he choked. "I will never be able to repent for what I did to you. The grief it caused your family, the grief it caused you…"
"The grief," Bran laughed softly. "You took away everything that I wanted to be. I wanted to be a knight."
Jaime closed his eyes tightly, shaking. I can't do this, one part of him cried, but the other part knew he had to. "I haven't spent a day where I don't think about it, when I don't regret it," he said. It was trivial, it was useless.
"Regret," said Bran. "I don't regret it. Not anymore." He paused, looking up at the crimson leaves. "You have no idea what you created when you pushed me through that window, Jaime Lannister." He reached up slowly and took a leaf in his hand. "I am more powerful than I ever was, before I lost my legs." He looked at Jaime, dead in the eyes, Stark brown meeting Lannister green. "I may not walk anymore. But I can fly."
Jaime thought he'd misheard. "I… I don't understand."
"You don't need to." Bran smiled gently. "I hate you for what you did to that boy who climbed. I hate everything it stood for. You will always be the man who crippled. But now," Bran closed his eyes and inhaled the cold air, "I am more than that ten-year-old could ever have been." He crushed the leaf in his hand.
Did the fall make him simple, too? Jaime thought, his heart sinking. "I'm sorry," he said flatly. What else could he say?
"I know," said Bran. He looked at Jaime's stump, covered in a flat, unfilled glove. "You lost your hand."
"Yes. The gods heard your prayers." This boy was brave. Braver than I ever could hope to be, thought Jaime. "I will do whatever it takes, Brandon, to atone for what I have done. I give you my word. Anything."
Bran's face was blank. "I will never thank you for what you did to me Never. But I thank what it made me capable of." He paused. "This, all of this. It doesn't matter anymore. Not when we are all likely going to die within the moon's turn. You will fight with my brother and the northerners against the White Walkers," he stated, a known fact. "That is all that we can want. All that we can hope for."
Jaime nodded. "I will." Jaime looked at the snow falling around them. "I… I swore an oath to your mother. She was… so strong. I swore to protect your sisters." He felt his voice trembling, but he didn't care, not here. "For the oath I swore to her, for the grief I gave you, for the loss I caused… I will protect you, too."
"No one can protect anyone, anymore. No one can protect anyone from their enemies if the enemy is death." Bran's face was emotionless. He wheeled himself closer to the tree. Jaime knew it was time to take his leave. He couldn't expect anything more.
"Thank you, Brandon Stark. And I am sorry." He bowed slightly. "I will always… be sorry."
Jaime began to make his way back to the courtyard to continue helping with the weapons; Arya and Brienne had finally let him start helping with training the older men. As he crunched through the snow, he heard Bran call out his name.
"Jaime," his voice echoed.
Jaime turned around, his entire body coiling in guilt.
Bran wasn't looking at him. "Burn them all."
Jaime's knees buckled. He stared at Bran, not comprehending. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. How could he… Jaime felt bile rise in his throat. He nodded once, turning swiftly, clumsily. His breathing was shallow and fast as he left.
He stumbled out of the Godswood and could hardly see through the swirling mixture of guilt and relief and hatred at himself and confusion and sorrow. Jaime dissociated, and realised that this threat, this army of the dead, they were here. His eyes were blurred and he felt old, so old and so scared. He didn't feel like a knight. He didn't feel like anything. He was going to die soon, and he didn't care. Did he?
He realised that somehow, he had managed to get through the ice and sleet of Winterfell to the guest hall. The sounds of metal clanging and people talking and wind howling all melded into one rush of noise. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"You alright?" he heard a familiar voice ask. Bronn.
"No," Jaime replied. "We are all going to die soon." He shook Bronn off, and went into their room.
Night fell.
A tentative knock on the chamber door.
"Go away."
A sigh. "You're missing the feast," Tyrion's voice came from outside.
"If we're going to die anyway, might as well die with a full belly." Bronn's voice joined Tyrion's.
"I said, go away."
He couldn't see them, but he knew that Tyrion and Bronn were sharing an annoyed look. "You want to go hungry and perish instead of dying fighting? Come on, you're not called Kingstarver," Tyrion pushed. "Stop being so glum and instead, come and eat and get drunk off your head and be merry for what could be the last time. Bran Stark didn't seem angry or upset with you."
Jaime groaned. "Don't talk about him right now," said Jaime. Can't they leave me be for once? "I'm not being glum, I'm contemplating," replied Jaime. He wasn't afraid of dying, he never had been.
"You've never contemplated anything a day in your life," Tyrion scoffed. "Why start now? We have a few days to keep organising battle plans and we have been working day and night on weaponry and training. This is our last chance to…"
"I haven't got much time left to contemplate, I'm trying to catch up."
He heard both sigh. "Well. Guess we'll have to go then," said Tyrion. "With your golden hand."
"That Tormund Giantsbane is more of a laugh than you right now, Kingslayer." He heard their footsteps as they turned to leave.
Jaime scowled into the darkness. That fucking Wilding. Jaime rapidly opened the door, where Bronn and Tyrion were heading out the archway, wrapped up in their furs with rosy cheeks.
"Fine," he granted. "Give me my hand back and I'll come with you. Be merry."
The Great Hall was filled with Unsullied, Wildings, shivering Dothraki, knights, men of the Night's Watch, Starks, and more. On the raised dais at the head of the hall sat Daenerys, beautiful and radiant as she laughed at something Davos Seaworth had said to her, Jorah Mormont and Missandei.
Next to Daenerys sat Jon Snow, who looked as glum as Jaime had felt. His dark hair was down in loose curls. Jaime caught eyes with the King in the North, and nodded once. He could tell Snow felt like time was being wasted, but also knew this was what was best for everyone. One night before everything goes to horse shit.
"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and join my queen," said Tyrion. Bronn looked at Jaime and shrugged.
"Guess I'll go fuck myself, then." He wandered towards a huddle of Unsullied, holding his cock.
Jaime snorted, and looked around. Sansa and a pretty Wilding woman holding a babe were laughing ribaldly like children as Varys onlooked, smiling. Bran and… a fat… Northman? Jaime hazarded a guess, were conversing quietly in the corner.
Jaime felt reasonably confident now that it seemed like he had two hands again under his gloves. The cold touch of the gold on his wrist was a sore reminder of Kings Landing. He had a pang in his heart as he thought of Cersei, wondering if she was safe, if she was healthy.
The tables were lain with food, nothing like Kings Landing's sumptuous delicacies, but hearty stews and dense breads and pheasants. The trestles were packed with people, of all ages and races, their voices loud and a cacophony of languages and accents and songs and laughs and it made Jaime smile, despite everything.
Then his eyes fell on her.
Her blue eyes were bright, her dour face solemn and pale nested in her furs as she listened to the conversation between the Dothraki horselord across from her and Tormund Giantsbane, who sat beside her. Very close beside her. Can't believe Tyrion thought that stupid notion, thought Jaime. Thinks he knows my feelings. What a jape. Jaime snatched a mug of ale that sat on a nearby barrel and downed it in one swallow.
Jaime felt his legs carry him towards that trestle, squirming his way through the mass of warm feast goers. Brienne was seated between Tormund and another Dothraki, and looking minorly uncomfortable.
Jaime tapped Tormund Giantsbane on his vast shoulder. "Mind if I sit here?" He gestured to between Tormund and Brienne, who were quite literally rubbing shoulders. There was no space whatsoever.
"Har!" Tormund boomed, "no room! Apologies, knightling." His face was as ruddy as his hair, and the Wildling's eyes glistened with the sheen of intoxication. He put his huge, rugged hand on Brienne's shoulder. "She's probably already sick of your face, eh, my beauty?"
Brienne locked eyes with Jaime. "There's no room, Ser Jaime."
Jaime shrugged. "Oh well, we'll make room, then, shan't we?" Jaime hoisted a leg over the trestle, captured between Brienne and Tormund, who protested weakly as he shoved his way in. After some wriggling and bumping and "apologies" directed at Tormund, Jaime was a bit too snugly sitting between the pair.
"Last night before Daenerys leaves," Jaime lifted a mug of ale to his lips. His tongue was looser than when he had arrived. "Last night before we leave to begin the attack. Are you scared, Lady Brienne?"
Brienne's eyebrows were knitted together in confusion. "Well, of course."
"I fought them north of the Wall," Tormund butted in, looking past Jaime with irritation. Jaime leaned forwards to try and block his annoying red beard, but Tormund leaned backwards and said it from behind Jaime's back. "I killed a fucking heap of the bastards."
Oh, for fuck's sake, thought Jaime.
"I know, you've told me," said Brienne, her eyes amused. "You, Jon, the brotherhood and Mormont."
"I'm not scared of dying, though," said Jaime. "Not of dying. Just of seeing them. Do you remember at the Dragonpit? When it lashed out at us?" He smirked at Tormund. "Oh wait, you weren't there, were you?"
Tormund laughed. "No, I was at the wall when the Ice Dragon broke it down. Survived by the skin of me teeth. Beric and I thought we were fucked, but we were strong enough to survive…"
Jaime turned to Brienne, ignoring Tormund. "I talked with Bran Stark today."
Brienne's eyes widened. "Was it…?"
"It was difficult. But I think he forgave me," said Jaime softly, his voice almost silent under the sounds of the feast. Brienne still heard him.
"I'm glad," she said, her eyes meeting his. He felt warmth pool in the pit of his stomach as he looked at her, and saw their past- is that a woman, those had been his first words about her. Their first swordfight. Sapphires. Hand. Harrenhal. Bear. Oathkeeper. Fuck loyalty. It all emptied out of his eyes into hers and left him bare and afraid. Her lips moved as if she was about to say something, but she was interrupted.
"My beauty," bellowed Tormund, "may I challenge you to a duel?" He squeezed out from between the Dothraki and Jaime, getting unsteadily to his feet. Gods, he's in his cups, thought Jaime. No one was paying any attention to him besides the Dothraki, Jaime and Brienne.
The four Dothraki all cheered. "Lajat! Lajat!" they cried, Jaime assuming it meant "fight" in their mother tongue.
Brienne huffed. "No, Tormund, not now," she said. "We have been practising for days…"
Tormund went and helped her up from the seat. Jaime stood up, too, jeered on by the Dothraki. He'd better not, he thought. Gods be damned, if he harms her… Jaime's mind wasn't thinking about White Walkers and Ice Dragons anymore. He didn't notice that Wildings and a few Unsullied and Northerners were watching this too, intrigued.
Tormund took Brienne by the arm. "I want to fight for you," he said huskily. "I'll fight for you by fighting you. Will you grant me the pleasure? Our last night…"
Brienne swallowed, her face reddening. "I don't want to be… sore for the trek North from sparring, Tormund…"
Tormund put a hand up to cup her face. "Aye, you'll be sore after you've been with me, but not from sparring. I'll fuck you all night long if it's the last time…"
Jaime's golden hand met Tormund's cheekbone with a sickening crunch, and all the smiles died at the sound. Jon Snow, who had been laughing and holding Daenerys's hand, stood up in shock. Brienne's eyes were wide with horror, as were Tyrion's.
Tormund spat out a gob of blood. "Can't take a fucking joke, can you?" he said, squaring up towards Jaime. "Aye. I'll fight you for her. Last night alive, might as well make the most of it."
"There will be no fighting for anyone," said Jaime, dangerously soft. "The Lady Brienne does not need your ginger minge to make her last normal evening enjoyable," he growled.
"What is happening here?" Jon Snow stormed up to the pair, Tyrion following suit. Snow's dark eyes concerned and angry simultaneously. "You injured my man, Kingslayer."
Jaime scoffed. This must've been a jest. "He was being dishonourable towards Brienne!" he realised his voice was the loudest.
"I was only telling her what she wants to hear," snarled Tormund.
"Enough, both of you," snapped Jon. He looked around at all the onlookers, who were open-mouthed. Daenerys and Sansa were standing side by side in shock. "Keep eating, everyone. This is a trivial matter." He looked between the pair. "I'll have no more spats. Winter is here, and there is no time for it. Brienne has no time for either of you, clearly." He gestured around them.
Brienne had disappeared.