Chapter 67

…

It had been nearly a moon's turn since they left Casterly Rock. Jaime was freezing and exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to return to the comfort and safety of his home and his little wife.

After their first battle with the Others, Jaime divided his men into five groups of a thousand and ordered them to fan out across Lannisport and beyond. They marched further and further from Casterly Rock each day. Jaime was satisfied that there were no White Walkers – nor any wights - remaining in Lannisport. He knew some of his men thought it was enough to secure Lannisport, and that they should return to the castle, but Jaime was not satisfied. The battle had moved to the hills outside the seaport and Jaime was determined to drive the Others from the Westerlands, if not beyond. He and Gendry were sitting by the fire, keeping watch, as were several other groups of two throughout their camp.

Jaime leaned back, staring into the fire, and thought about Sansa. He knew that she must be worried that he had been gone so long. Jaime had sent two riders back to Casterly Rock a week ago, with word that he, Edmure and Gendry were well, hoping it would comfort her. Sansa had sent back a tiny parchment with three words: I love you. It seemed foolishly sentimental, but Jaime had kept her note, wrapping it in the favor she'd given him and kept it inside his surecoat.

He hated to cause her any pain – and he hated being away from her - but he knew that he had to leave her for a little while, no matter how much it might hurt the both of them. He knew she was safe at the Rock. He'd left many soldiers to guard her. Probably more than was necessary.

Jaime knew that if he did not see to it that the White Walkers were driven far from Casterly Rock, Sansa and the children would be in danger. And it was likely to be a long Winter. He didn't wish for them to gather strength and return to attack the Rock. He knew this was the right course. Still, he did miss his wife. Jaime had never before spent a night away from Sansa since they'd married, and the distance between them ate at him. He missed holding her at night, and he missed her sweet smile and her gentle touch. And he missed his daughter. And Tommen.

Jaime knew that marrying Sansa had changed his life, but he had not realized the extent of it. He'd been in battle many times in his life, and though he'd loved Cersei, he'd never longed for her the way he did Sansa. And Jaime had never before felt that he had something to lose. He'd always thought that he would die on a battlefield, in a blaze of glory. He expected it. Almost welcomed it. Now…he had so much more to live for. He had a family and a life and a future.

Lord Tywin had never encouraged his children to form strong attachments to anyone – one another included. He'd always told them that what was most important was their duty to House Lannister. Jaime had come to love Sansa above all else, including his duty to his house. Despite that, he hoped that his father would be proud of him and what he'd done with his life in the past year. He'd done so many things to be ashamed of in the past...now he was finally leading a life he could be proud of. He was married to a good, sweet girl, who loved him. And he loved her with his whole heart. He had a daughter – a legitimate heir – that he treasured. And he was finally able to act as a father to little Tommen.

Jaime leaned back against a large boulder and considered the black-haired boy across from him. He wasn't an artful fighter, but each day, he got better and better. More confident with each victory. "Arya tells me you're from King's Landing."

Gendry sipped from his cup of ale. "Flea bottom, m'lord. I lived there until I became an apprentice smith."

Jaime nodded, not surprised that the boy was from the ghetto just outside the castle. Robert Baratheon was hardly discriminating in his taste in women. He seemed to prefer the lowborn. Jaime wondered who had paid for his apprenticeship. Certainly not Robert. He'd never shown a moment's concern for the bastards he'd left all over the Realm. "Do you…have any family left?"

"No m'lord. My mother died when I was very young. Far younger than Arya. I don't remember her."

"And your father?" He wondered if the boy had any idea who his father was.

Gendry looked at him strangely. "My last name's Waters, Lord Lannister. I don't have a father."

"You may not have known him, but you had one. Did your mother never speak of him?"

He shrugged. "I don't remember much of her, except that she had yellow hair and she would sing to me when I was a little boy. She never said anything about…who fathered me. Not that I remember." Gendry looked at him curiously. "The Hand of the King asked me these same questions."

"Lord Stark?"

"And Lord Arryn before him."

So they shared my suspicions that he was Robert's bastard. That explains how Cersei came to know of his existence. One of her spies must have given her the boy's name. "When we met, you said that my sister, the queen, had sent men looking for you with a royal warrant. Red cloaks from the palace. Do you know why?"

Gendry seemed a bit fearful. "I wasn't lying, m'lord, when I said I didn't know. I don't know. I've never done anything wrong, I swear it."

"I didn't mean it that way. I think…I may know why my sister was looking for you."

"Why?"

He wasn't sure of the wisdom of telling Gendry who his father was, but he thought the boy should know. Especially since he could die during this journey they were on. "She believed that your natural father was King Robert. And…looking at you, I think she was right. You resemble his younger brother Renly very much and King Robert…rather enjoying spreading his seed throughout the seven kingdoms. I believe that's why Lord Stork and Lord Arryn sought you out. They…were looking for the King's bastards." Jaime watched the boy carefully, wondering how he would take the information.

Gendry shrugged. "I never met the King. He was nothing to me and I was even less to him." He met Jaime's eyes, and Jaime was relieved to see that the boy didn't appear to regard him any differently. "You didn't much like him, did you?"

Jaime took a swig of wine from his flagon, and considered his response. He certainly didn't intend to admit that he hated Robert for marrying Cersei. That he was a rival for her affections. "Robert…was an excellent warrior. But he was a terrible king. And a terrible husband. At least, he was to my sister. He dishonored her every day, fucking whores right under her nose and groping women in her view. I don't know if things would have been different, had he married Lyanna Stark. The woman he believed to be his true love. I'm sorry I don't have better things to say about him."

"It's no matter…why did you tell me? That he was my sire?"

"Everyone should know where they come from," Jaime said, thinking about Tommen. He'd begun to think that Sansa was right – that he should tell Tommen that he was his father. He should know where he came from. Jaime wasn't certain how the boy would react to the news, though Jaime knew he would be happy to call Julianna his sister. And Sansa his good-mother. He does love Sansa very much. If I told him the truth, he would know that her marriage to me makes her Sansa his mother.

Jaime put these thoughts aside, resolving to discuss it with Sansa when he returned to the Rock. She knew Tommen better and was closer to him. She would know whether or not he should be told the truth about who his father was. For now, he needed to focus on finishing his task of ridding the Westerlands of the White Walkers. Then he could make a decision about Tommen.

…

Sansa sat near the window at the end of the hallway, just outside her chamber door. Julianna was fast asleep in her arms, and Tommen was asleep in her bed. The entire castle slept, though Sansa felt wide awake.

Jaime had been gone for more than a moon's turn and tonight was one of the nights that Sansa was having a difficult time getting the baby to sleep. Julianna was used to Jaime holding and cuddling her and speaking quietly to her before bed, as he always did. Most of the nights Jaime had been gone, Sansa had been able to soothe her, but this was one of those nights when Julianna was restless and would whimper and cling to Sansa as she turned her head around the room. Searching for Jaime. She was far too little to understand where her father had gone.

Not wanting to keep Tommen awake, Sansa had taken to walking up and down the hallway outside her chamber, with Julianna in her arms. Sometimes she would sit and look out the window, trying to see the torches Jaime and his men carried, as she rocked Julianna in her arms. Mostly, she would only see the large bonfires that told her they were burning bodies. She wasn't certain whether to be glad that Jaime and his men were making progress or horrified at how many had died. Though, it had been many days since she'd seen the fires or any sign of Jaime's men. Nothing since she'd sent the note to him, telling him she loved him.

Julianna had finally fallen asleep in her arms, but Sansa felt wide awake. She stared out the window, hoping she might catch a glimpse of Jaime's fires. As she stared out into the blackness, she wondered where Jaime was and if he was all right. She wondered if he was thinking of her.

Sansa heard footsteps and turned abruptly toward the sound, relaxing when she saw that it was Roslin. "What are you doing up?" she whispered, beckoning for Roslin to come and sit with her.

"I haven't slept well since they left," she confessed, looking over at Julianna. "Is it still difficult for her to sleep without him?"

Sansa looked down at the babe in her arms, tucking her legs under her body and settling Julianna on her lap, careful so as not to wake her. "She misses him. If I didn't miss him so much as well, I might feel badly that she clearly prefers Jaime to me."

Roslin smiled and shook her head. "She'd be just as out of sorts if you were gone. Do you think Jaime will send another message?" Sansa knew she wished to hear word about Edmure. Jaime had mentioned in his note that both Edmure and Gendry were well. Roslin and Lady Catelyn had been visibly relieved to know that he had not been harmed.

"I hope he will write again…though I'd rather they just return."

Roslin stared out into the darkness. "I never thought that Edmure would give me another chance. After…what happened. I'm so afraid that he was given back to me, just to be taken away. To punish me for…what my family did. For what I did."

"They will return," Sansa said. "The gods would not be so cruel as to take Jaime or Edmure from us. Nor from their baby girls."

"After all that's happened to your family, you still believe that the gods aren't cruel?"

"You sound like Jaime," Sansa said, looking down at the babe in her arms and gently stroking her cheek. "I often think about when she was born…when Jaime first met her. I confess I was...exhausted and in pain but…I watched as Julianna was placed in his arms for the first time. He looked at her and… I could see when he held her that they belonged together." Sansa looked up at Roslin. "I know that he will return."

…

"Hurry up, Kingslayer! You and your delicate southern flowers need to keep moving! We're wasting what little daylight we have."

Five weeks, Jaime thought. I've had to put up with the Stark bannermen for five weeks. Jaime wondered if the company he kept was the reason why Eddard Stark was so grim. Any admiration the Northern lords had for Jaime after his slaying of the White Walker was short-lived, and they were back to being ornery and provoking disputes. Though, he allowed, they seemed to have a bit of respect that he was fighting beside them, and not simply riding behind as Commander. It was grueling, but he'd proven himself still a formidable warrior. Even with only the one hand.

"Would you kindly shut up and ride?" Jaime asked sweetly.

"Getting a bit testy there, Kingslayer?" Lord Manderly asked with a smirk. "Real fighting – a real Winter – is nothing like the luxuries of standing guard in King's Landing, is it?"

They act as if I'm Renly Baratheon, who couldn't even lift a sword, and wasn't fit to rule over anything more than a dinner party. As if I've not been to war. As if I've not fought beside their beloved Eddard Stark.

Edmure smiled from the top of his horse, riding beside Jaime. "They're just trying to get a reaction from you."

It was boredom, no doubt. They had only encountered only one other White Walker since the one that Jaime had killed the first night. Lord Umber killed the second one and was mighty proud. Of course, nearly twenty red cloaks had been killed before the Greatjon was able to drive a spear through the thing's throat. They were now many days ride from Casterly Rock.

All of the men agreed that there were no wights remaining in the Westerlands. The large, clumsy undead were easy to track. Especially in the freshly fallen snow. For the first two weeks, it seemed they killed and burned hundreds every day. Now, nothing. It had been nearly a week since they had seen any combat.

Unlike the wights, the White Walkers were nearly impossible to track. They were so light that they did not leave tracks in the snow. It was only in the darkness that they could spot the blue of their eyes and their thin swords. But even that had not been seen in days.

"Perhaps with all of their wights dead, the White Walkers have died as well?" Gendry suggested, no doubt sharing Jaime's feelings that they had been riding for days with no action.

"I don't think so," Jaime murmured as he dismounted. "We may as well camp here for the night."

"How far into the Winter are you planning to take us, Kingslayer?" Greatjon umber groused as he dismounted.

"I thought you Northerners liked the snow? You should be quite pleased that your cold, grey North has followed here."

They were all tired and in ill-humor. The groups had divided further as they continued their march, and Jaime was currently leading 500 men, who began to make camp for the night and negotiate who would take the first watch, and who would sleep.

Jaime heard the eerie whinny of a horse – not quite real – and knew they'd been led into a trap. He turned to see that they were surrounded by half a hundred White Walkers. Some gracefully slid from their mounts, while others remained atop their undead horses. Each held the same icy blue sword, their eyes beaming an intense ice blue light.

The archers scrambled to notch their arrows, but it seemed the Others had expected that, and those on horseback charged them in the confusion. Jaime could hear the sound of ice cracking as some of the arrows hit their marks, sending half the riders flying from their mounts as smoke poured from where the arrows had pierced them.

But the archers could not get all of them at once, and the survivors were merciless, taking the heads off as many archers as they could, before they were able to reload. After the first attack, the White Walkers circled around Jaime and his men to rejoin those of the Others who were on foot.

"Burn them!" Jaime called out. They could not waste a moment, less the White Walkers bring the dead red cloaks back to life as wights.

No less than thirty men had fallen, and Jaime's men wasted no time setting them aflame with their torches. It only took moments for the corpses to be consumed, and the smell of burning flesh was sickening. The fire kept the White Walkers back, but they would only burn for so long. And Jaime wasn't there to hide from them, he was there to kill them.

"Prepare to charge," Jaime called out, pulling the dragonglass sword from his belt.

"Jaime, if we wait behind the flames, they might leave," Edmure proposed.

"To what end? So they can trap us again and kill another thirty men? Let's finish this." Jaime raised his voice to address all of the men. "Make this the final battle of this war…this second Battle for Dawn! This is a battle for our lives. For the lives of all of Westeros. For our wives and children's futures," he shouted, looking pointedly at Edmure. "While you may be fighting beside someone you consider an enemy - the Others are an enemy to us all! We'll not let the creatures of Winter take over Westeros. We'll not let them kill us! Charge!"

Jaime boldly charged toward the remaining forty-odd White Walkers, who charged toward him in response. Though he never looked behind, Jaime was confident that his men were following – both on horseback and on foot. A voice told him he was being reckless, but he pushed the thought aside. I have to end this. We're so close to success. Jaime knew this could be his last chance to prove that he was still a warrior.

He slew two Others, as the melee spread out among him, both screams and the loud cracks of ice which signified dragonglass cutting through one of the White Walkers, filled the air. Despite the freezing cold, Jaime felt hot as the blood roared through his veins and the thrill of battle overtook him.

He approached another White Walker, which slashed at him with its sword. Jaime jumped back, out of his reach, before engaging again and found that smoke and a horrible cracking sound filled the air each time their swords crossed. He lunged forward, stabbing the Other, and a loud crack filled the air. Steam poured from the wound, but the White Walker pressed forward, slashing at Jaime again with the narrow blue sword. He felt a wave of cold slice through him. So cold it burned before he plunged his sword into the White Walker's chest, twisting it as the cracking sound filled the air. It was so loud Jaime had to resist the urge to cover his ears. He shoved the Other backwards, his sword still protruding as steam flowed from the wound, and the Other began to melt away.

Jaime turned and saw that his men were winning the battle. He saw that Edmure and Addam were trying to kill one of the Others, and another was approaching them from behind. Jaime charged forward, pulling the dagger at his waist and plunging it into the back of the white walker's neck, another horrible crack filling the air.

White Walkers covered the ground, steam pouring from them as they melted away to nothing but milky glass bones. Jaime surveyed his men and saw that there were a few minor injuries and many deaths. It appeared nearly all of the Northmen had survived. He saw that Edmure and Ser Addam were unharmed. Jaime had difficulty slowing his breath and pushed aside the thought that he may be getting too old for this type of thing.

"We'll begin our return to the Rock tonight," Jaime called out. He looked over at the Northerners. "I'll not forget how bravely you all fought. When the thaw comes, I'll allow you to go North. With enough supplies to ensure you make it there." Gendry walked over to Jaime, leading both of their horses. "Survived, did you, Gendry? That's good…Arya would not have forgiven me if I returned without you."

As the boy gets closer, he sees that he is gaping at him. "M'lord…" he began, a panicked look on his face.

"What is it?"

Edmure and Addam had walked over to them by now, and the two men immediately moved towards Jaime, grasping his arms as if they expected him to keel over at any moment. Jaime looked down and saw that when the White Walker had slashed at him, he had not been as successful in jumping out of the way as he thought. The thin, glassy sword it carried had sliced right through his armor and leathers, and blood was seeping out, nearly covering his abdomen. He'd seen the damage those icy blue swords could do and supposed he should be grateful he wasn't sliced in two.

"We have to get him back to the Rock. To the Maester," Edmure said, calling for the sparse medical supplies they had on hand. The two men Jaime had brought with them who were trained in caring for injuries had been killed during a particularly bloody battle with the wights.

"It is four days ride, Tully," Jaime muttered, as the adrenaline of the battle wore off, and pain began to set in. Not only across his side but his entire left leg burned with pain. He reached down to touch his leg and saw that his armor had been sliced through there as well and blood covered his hand. He could feel the blood running down his leg, inside the armor. "I suppose we should leave now. And hope I don't keel over before we return to the Rock."

…

Wow – over 800 reviews and over 300 followers. Thank you all so much for the comments and encouragement. It makes it very easy to continue to write the story and to update on a regular basis.

One question I meant to answer last chapter that have been mentioned in the comments: I haven't decided if Bran and Rickon are going to stay dead or not…I keep going back and forth on it, because I could make it work either way with my overall plan for the story. Regardless, it will be a ways down the line before it's addressed.

Next Chapter: Jaime tries to get back to Sansa alive