"Oh, Fuck Loyalty!" Brienne demanded, grabbing Jaime's arm in an attempt to make him understand. Jaime turned, disbelief coloring his expression.

"Fuck Loyalty?" he repeated, nearly unwilling to imagine such a phrase coming from Brienne of Tarth.

"This goes beyond houses, and honor, and oaths. Talk to the queen." She pleaded, unwilling to break his steady and intense gaze. She needed him to understand. She was breaking inside. All eyes were on them, most markedly the penetrating scrutiny from Cersei.

"And tell her what?" he snapped, but with a hint of despair in his voice that would certainly haunt Brienne for nights to come. He turned and walked away, trailing after his sister. And Brienne broke.

…

The ride north was a confusing one. Podrick rode alongside her and provided endless drivel about swordsmanship, the coming war, and his anticipation to return to Winterfell. They had parted from the King of the North and the Dragon Queen the day before, but the turn of events still had her head spinning. From what she had heard and seen of Cersei, this woman had a vice grip on Jaime's will and a mad glint in her eyes. "What in god's name could Tyrion Lannister have said to that woman?" she muttered to herself. The Queen had changed her mind within the span of an hour, and had sworn her assistance to the North. It was too good to be true.

"Should we set up camp? It's nearly dark." Podrick asked, snapping her out of her deliberations.

"There's an inn a few miles north of here, we can stop there for the night and have a hot meal. Once we're north of Winterfell, there will be nothing but want of the sort."

"Aye, m'lady."

After what seemed like a lifetime, Cersei gave the slight nod that shattered the ghost of a former love, his loyalty. The sound of the unsheathed sword behind him rung in his ears; he could feel his heart in his throat. The abomination that remained of the Mountain towered behind him, ready to carry out a swift sentence for his ruthless Queen. Suddenly, Jaime felt as though his armor was fifty pounds heavier and dragging his body to the ground. It took every effort he could muster to keep himself grounded, to stop his head from swimming. He had long felt his sister was slowly distancing herself from reality. He had a brief hope that the horrific beast, the dead man walking, snarling its decaying jaw in the direction of any sign of life, had shaken his sister to her core. He had hoped, he had thought, that she had come to her senses. For so many years, he had been the shame of the Lannisters, oathbreaker, King Slayer. And here, now, his sister was going back on her word to support the North in the war against the dead. At least a hundred thousand, the Targaryen girl claimed. He could hardly fathom the scale of the army, the army of men that would only continue to grow upon further victory. Something had to be done.

"I don't believe you." He spit, turning to leave. She didn't call after him. He continued to walk. He didn't look back.

Snow was starting to fall on King's Landing. A cold was seeping through the city that invigorated and numbed Jaime all at once. He barely noticed he was leaving until he was outside of the city walls. He couldn't refuse the North; the fight waiting was a war where Lannister meant next to nothing, houses bore no meaning, and loyalties were made to the living. He covered his gold hand with a glove, took hold of the reigns, and rode his horse north. He had never felt more free in his life. He had finally paid his debt.

…

The inn was dimly lit but warm against the winter night. Brienne led Podrick into the dusty hall where the promising smell of fresh bread and hearty soup was drifting by a roaring fire. There were only two other travelers visiting the inn, two older men, one asleep at the bar and the other warming his feet by the fireplace. Brienne sighed a small breath of relief, remembering the tense procession the day before and thankful for a reprieve. Podrick left her at a table in the corner of the hall while he retrieved their dinners. Brienne glanced around, grateful for the absence of stares from fearful men or certain red-headed wildlings radiating a wanting desire that frankly, was disturbing. She shuddered and returned her focus to Podrick, who was just sitting down with two steaming bowls of stew, bread, and a pitcher of ale.

"You're going to have a difficult time staying on your horse, Pod, if you finish up that drink." Brienne said, ripping off a bite of bread.

"Lady Brienne, all due respect, but after seeing a dead man walking, I think we both need a drink." Podrick raised his eyebrows and lifted his glass, and Brienne smirked, allowing a hint of mirth in her expression. She refused and shook her head; Podrick shrugged his shoulders and went on drinking. His large swig of ale was short-lived however, as he immediately coughed up his drink at the sight of an unexpected guest in the doorway.

Brienne turned to follow his gaze, hand quickly moving to Oathkeeper, her valerian steel sword. She didn't expect the previous owner of that very sword to be standing, covered in mud and a light dusting of snow, before her with a wild look on his face.

"Ser Jaime?" she asked. He appeared to stumble a bit as he walked forward, and she worried he would collapse. He dropped his hands onto their table, sat down quickly, and without speaking, held his head in his hands. Podrick knew well enough to not to be concerned that Jaime Lannister had just barged into their quiet inn.

"'I'll go get another stew." Podrick excused himself, leaving the two sitting alone.

After a few moments of silence, Jaime finally looked up to meet the piercing stare of Brienne, a stare he had only seen just yesterday but it still felt like years.

"Ser Jaime, how long have you been travelling? You look absolutely exhau-"

"Fuck Loyalty?" Jaime interrupted, with the same crease in his forehead he had yesterday. "In all my years, I've seen Kings and Queens fall, houses destroyed, famine and plague, and now recently, dragons and dead men make an appearance in the same fucking day, but never, never would I have though, I'd ever see the noble Brienne of Tarth yelling to fuck loyalty like she had lost her mind!"

"I apologize for my vulgarity, but I thought given the situation-"

"Fuck Loyalty! Just like that. Fuck the only damn thing keeping me in King's Landing, the last strand of faith I had that I was doing the right thing. Fuck the whole damn thing!"

"Ser Jaime, you must lower your voice-"

"Fuck!" Jaime yelled, slamming his gold hand onto the table with a dull, metallic thunk. He returned to cradling his head, refusing to look at her as he said the following words.

"She lied." He nearly whispered.

"Who lied?" Brienne encouraged.

"Cersei. She's not going to fight with the North. She will be fighting the North."

They paused.

"She told you this?" Brienne leaned in, desperate for him to look up.

"She nearly killed me." He muttered.

"But… aren't you…" Brienne struggled to find the appropriate words to ask about the incestuous nature of his relationship with his sister. It wasn't exactly a topic she favored bringing up.

"Cersei and I are different people from before. I fear for an iron throne with her in it."

"She intends to fight the North as they fight the dead? Why are you telling me this? I will have to share this with Lady Sansa, who will surely inform the King of the North and the Dragon Queen."

"You won't have to do that."

"Of course I will, I'm representing Lady Sansa-"

"No, you won't have to, because I will be riding North with you. I will tell them myself."

Brienne didn't have an immediate response to this.

"Is that acceptable, Lady Brienne?" he asked, finally looking back up. The wild look he had previously had been replaced by steely determination.

"How did you know Podrick and I were staying here?" she asked.

"Honestly?" he smirked, the first hint of a smile she had seen on his face in years. "I stormed into at least four other inns before I got to this one." He reached for Podrick's ale and finished off what remained in his glass. "So, what's for dinner?"