Jon Snow's tent was no warmer than Jaime's own.
Davos had lead them over through the sleet, and were greeted by Jon Snow, Daenerys, Grey Worm, Beric Dondarrion, Ser Jorah and Tormund, who were huddled around a brazier inside the tent. Jaime avoided the Wildling's glinting eyes. We have problems that are greater, he told himself. Much greater.
Not greater than the weight of Brienne's head on his shoulder, a part of his mind whispered.
"Lady Brienne. Lannister," Jon Snow nodded gruffly, turning from the flames. Jaime did not expect any sers. "We hope the trek was not too harsh on you," he said, looking to Brienne. That didn't surprise Jaime either.
Jaime shrugged. "It was harder on my arse, to be sure," he smirked. Davos and Tormund snorted, but no others laughed. "I will grow accustomed, Snow."
Jon Snow nodded, then looked to Brienne. "And you, my lady?"
"I have endured worse, your grace," Brienne replied solemnly. Jaime noticed Daenerys give the knight a soft smile.
"You are a talented fighter, from what I've heard from Jon," said the dragon queen. Jon, Jaime thought. Not his grace, not the king in the north. Much more… informal. He had noticed how they moved around one another, like they were stars in some strange orbit. Jaime supposed he could not particularly blame the two youths. Strong, beautiful usurpers, they almost seemed to match. Almost. Jaime could see that Daenerys clearly wanted to be a ruler- mayhaps like her father, mayhaps not. Jon Snow seemed to carry the weight of his title as a burden.
The smell of smoke and ash was particularly strong in this tent, and Jaime realised that both Jon and Daenerys had smears of ash and dust on their necks and faces. The trials of dragons, Jaime supposed.
"You must teach me to fight in one on one combat," continued Daenerys, interrupting Jaime's analysis. Brienne smiled at that. Jaime crossed his arms. He just wanted to go to his tent and try to stay warm. Jon Snow sensed his frustration and coughed.
"We have called you here to inform you of tomorrow's plans," he said. "Tomorrow, you will all wake, break your fasts quickly, and we will continue north easterly towards Eastwatch by the sea." He paused, avoiding Jaime's eyes. But…? Jaime thought. "However," Jon continued, "Tyrion and Bronn, who are camped some leagues from here, will be leading a separate vanguard directly north, to Castle Black. We sent Dothraki envoys to inform them, and they have agreed to do so."
Jaime's heart sunk. "Then I will go with him," he said rapidly. He felt Brienne move closer to his side, and felt her hand grab his heavy woollen sleeve. He looked at her, and those stupidly wide blue eyes made it look as if she had not meant to grab his arm. The thought of how warm and solid she had felt in his arms only minutes before floated through his mind. She shook her head, beseeching him. He shook her off, and she lowered her arm, hurt. Don't do this now, wench, he thought.
"You can't, Lannister," said Jon Snow, looking somewhat uncomfortably between Jaime and Brienne, "I know it is hard, believe me, I know, but we need our best fighters where the brunt of the attack is, and that is at Eastwatch." He made eye contact with Jaime. "He will have Bronn and many others with him."
"Believe in him," said Daenerys, somewhat begrudgingly but with a warm undertone for Tyrion's sake. "He could probably talk the dead out of killing him."
Everyone gave a chuckle at that, despite the situation. Jaime clenched his fist, taking a breath. Be safe, little brother, he willed, I know you can protect yourself, but fuck, don't die. When Jaime looked at Daenerys, he could see she was also concerned, a crinkle of worry creasing her smooth brow. "Why?" asked Jaime simply. Not only was his little brother, who he both loved and resented, perhaps heading to his death directly north, but so was their close friend. "Why send them north?"
"Tormund's men at Castle Black and the Shadow Tower have given us word of breaches similar to the one at Eastwatch. They are smaller but no less dangerous, and are giving way to the wights and their leaders. We are safe for the time being, as we have not come across any on this trek yet, but we must remain vigilant, as they can attack at any moment. Tyrion and Bronn's vanguard will aid in the protection of the wall." The King in the North's dark eyes looked around the small company in the tent. Jaime's stomach turned at the thought of Tyrion fighting White Walkers. You underestimate Tyrion, he told himself, he has survived Cersei.
"Daenerys and I have flown Drogon and Rhaegal over Eastwatch's breach, and have attempted to take out as many of these walkers as we can; their fire is not infinite, but we killed as many of the fuckers as we could find," said Jon Snow. That explains the stink of smoke and ash, Jaime thought. Jaime trusted that Jon Snow knew the right path to take, but his worry for Tyrion was a knot of chains in his gut.
Jorah Mormont clenched his gloved fist. "Viserion?" he asked Daenerys directly, searching her eyes. For fuck's sake, thought Jaime, turning his head towards Brienne. All of them have names? He cocked an eyebrow at her.
Daenerys' stern mask slipped away momentarily. She shook her head minutely. "I got them to call out for him. But… there was nothing. I doubt he would recognise me, since he's…" she trailed off. Her voice was sad, and Jorah and Grey Worm shared a mournful look. Daenerys gazed into the brazier's flames and Jaime was suddenly mesmerized by her; not in any emotional sense, he knew that; but the shimmers in her silver hair and eyes seemed to call and reply to the fire. He looked away when he felt Brienne's blue eyes on his again. When he looked at her, she looked away.
Jaime returned to his current situation, and lifted his golden hand, as if he were asking his septa a question in his childhood lessons. Jon Snow nodded at him.
Jaime cleared his throat. "You rode these dragons and burnt a portion of these dead men," he began, waving his heavy golden hand around, "well and good. So… why not go and… well, burn them all?" he choked a bit on those last three words, thinking of Bran Stark's eerie farewell. "You have these magical creatures that can melt ice with their own breath, for fuck's sake. These are ice men. I'm no Tyrion, granted, but isn't that the most logical and tactical approach to this battle? Seek all of them out and just…" Jaime gestured to the brazier.
Jon Snow shuffled uncomfortably. Daenerys inhaled patiently, if not a bit exasperatedly. "It's not quite as simple as that, Kingslayer." She said the name scathingly, and Jaime had to bite his tongue. Don't anger her, he reminded himself, remember the Tarlys. But Jaime was not afraid of her.
Jon Snow took a step forward. "It's a difficult idea to…"
"The Night King and his army, if you didn't know, Kingslayer," interjected a new yet vaguely familiar voice, as deep as honeyed thunder, "can create new soldiers as quick as they like, from existing corpses. The dragons can kill as many as they can for the time being; but once these White Walkers find more cadavers, and they will; they will bring them back."
Jaime's eyes moved to Beric Dondarrion. He frowned. "You seem to know an awful lot about this, Dondarrion."
The side of Beric's uncovered eye crinkled, warping the eyepatch on the other. "You could say I have experience."
Jaime's stomach quivered in a cold, unfamiliar way. He looked back to Jon and Daenerys.
"You cannot find all these soldiers," stated Brienne suddenly. Jaime felt his stomach fill with affection for her, and appreciated her stalwart presence at his side. With you here, he thought, I am not so alone in this dreary place. The thought of their shared hug kept him warm. For now, at least.
Daenerys' sour expression softened at Brienne's voice. She shook her head. "There are so many of them," she sighed, "and they just keep coming back. They are coming from many chinks in the wall."
"For every one they burn, ten are made. I still find it hard to believe myself," said Davos Seaworth.
"If you'd been where we've been, Onion Knight, seen what we saw, you wouldn't find it so hard to imagine," rasped Tormund Giantsbane, slapping Davos on the shoulder. Ser Jorah nodded in agreement.
Jon Snow walked away from the brazier, deep in thought. "They've already dispersed down the east side of the continent, towards the Last Hearth and Karhold. We tried to get most of them, and succeeded to an extent. It seems they could reach Winterfell at any time, and we are but a thousand leagues East of it."
The tension and fear in the tent warped and grew. Jaime felt his stomach tighten with dread, unlike any he'd felt in battle. "So this… Night King," said Jaime, "you can't find him?"
They shook their heads. "He could swoop down and take us all at any moment. That is why Daenerys and I will be alternating standing guard for the night, as well as Grey Worm and his Unsullied. As will the Dothraki, and a number of my northmen. You will all serve your time as guards on this journey, but I'd recommend you all get some rest tonight, as any night could be our last. When morning comes, be ready to leave as soon as possible. Try your best to stay warm. We will leave at sun-up. "
Jaime was trudging through the dirty brown sludge of snow and ice back towards his tent when he heard heavy footsteps fall in beside him. Too heavy.
"You'll be all alone tonight in the cold, won't you, princeling?"
Seven fucking hells. Jaime stopped and turned towards the voice, and Tormund Gianstbane's ruddy beard glimmered in the light of the giant fire and the moon. "I'm tired, Giantsbane. Is it an apology you want?" he asked, gesturing towards the bruise the shape of very hard fingerprints on the Wildling's cheekbone. "Because I do apologise. It was unbecoming of me."
"Un… becoming?" Tormund frowned quizzically.
Jaime groaned internally. He searched for another word. "Impolite," he tried. "To hit you."
"Har!" boomed Tormund, his beard sending out small snowflakes in every direction. "I don't give a fuck that you hit me. S' the spirit of the chase, isn't it?" they were walking side by side now, and it made Jaime uncomfortable. "I said some things that weren't so polite towards the big woman, due to me' wildling blood. I can see she wants me, though," he purred. "All women want to become women in all ways eventually. I can give her anything better than she's ever had."
She's never had anyone, Jaime thought. "The chase?" he spat. "Are all you wildlings so…"
"Wild? Aye," Tormund responded, "but we get what we want. And I know exactly what I want," He slammed a giant hand onto Jaime's back. "And I want her."
Jaime made a disgusted sound. "It's pretty fucking obvious you do, judging by how you spoke to her at the feast. Why are you telling me this, Giantsbane? It's freezing, I'm tired, and we must get up at dawn on the morrow. Go back to your tent, fuck a wilding girl instead," said Jaime, shaking his head.
"None of my kind so sweet to look upon as her," said Tormund wistfully. "To touch a smooth, muscled thigh…"
He lifted his chin to meet the Wildling's eyes. "If you so much as touch Brienne when she does not want you to, believe me, a slap with a golden hand will not be the end of it," he snarled.
Tormund lifted his gloved, furred hands. "Ye' can join us in our tent, f'you like. We do what we have t'keep warm, eh?" he winked. "Put that other hand to use." His immense figure turned and began to walk away, heading further than Jaime's own tent.
Jaime balked, and couldn't stop his feet from following Tormund. "What do you mean, our tent?" he had watched as Brienne trekked back to her tent, and it certainly wasn't near Jon Snow's, which would be where Tormund's would be. Wouldn't it?
"Mine and the big woman's," said Tormund. "We all got to have someone to keep us warm once winter comes, and it's here, isn't it?" he guffawed. "I'm kissed by fire, lucky- luck enough that I get to share with her. Maybe there'll be more than just keeping warm." And with that, Tormund Giantsbane spun around and left in a flurry of Wildling furs.
Jaime inhaled the cold air, and turned heatedly towards his tent.