Brienne made her way briskly to her chambers, a modest sized room, disturbingly untouched. Hard to believe the carnage outside when a sight so untouched as this stood within Winterfell's very walls. Her bed was made, and bath in the centre beginning to be drawn by a young girl. Her sudden ungraceful entrance startled the girl, a Northerner, who could not have been more than 12 years of age.

"Oh! Excuse me, m'l-… Ser" she stammered, standing up briskly, abashed. Her face was bright red on her pale but pretty complexion.

"No, my apologies. I startled you…" Brienne apologised, setting down her sword which she had not parted with all day. Keeping it held to her as habit, having to convince herself she was safe.

"The name's Alys". That was the name of the Karstark girl. Brienne had seen her body being dragged from the Godswood. A blank snow white face with the same striking red hair of Sansa. Brienne involuntarily shivered.

"Thank you, Alys".

"S'alright, Ser" she grinned, carrying a pot of hot water from the fire and pouring into the tub. The girl had a kind face, but with eyes of grey steel. "So it is true, yer the Knight".

"Oh… well, a very recent title" Brienne replied, a little unsure how to respond.

"I had heard rumours in the kitchen today. When I first saw yer, I thought yer were a knight" Alys responded, getting up from her crouched position. "Is there anything else you'll be needin'?".

"Ah, no, thank you" Brienne muttered, a little distracted, but giving as much of a smile as she could manage. The girl curtseyed and left, the door a little ajar.

Brienne staunched over to the door, bringing the weight of her body against it to close. She sighed, shaking, but nimbly trying to unstrap her armour which held her prisoner. Her hands, stiff and cold, struggled, despite all the years she had brandished the armour. A striking dark blue that could not be seen in this light, caked in soil and blood. It had been weighing her down for most of the day but she could not bring herself to remove it until now. Her muscles were screaming, her legs shaking at her to collapse. This task would've been easier with Podrick.

She managed, hands still violently shaking, to unbuckle the straps. She flinched as she drew her underclothes over her head, a sharp sting burning above her right breast. She looked down, seeing blood leak from a cut, almost like a hand clawed across her chest. It looked much like the scar left from the bear.

Her inhibitions were so numbed she barely recalled much else as she gingerly sank her body into the tub, not caring if the water was scalding her skin. She let herself close her eyes, trying to shut out the visions that danced in front of her; falling bodies from rooftops, a dragon firing ice, young Lyanna Mormont's mangled body lying on the ground, cold blank eyes staring back at her, the strangled cries of the men at her back as their throats were ripped out.

x

Jaime, slower than he was used to, struggled to keep up and soon he was lost, a maze of stone corridors, trying desperately to follow Brienne. By the gods, why am I following after her like some lost pup?

He knew he must've looked pathetic, and frankly he would've laughed at himself too. But now was not the time. He didn't really know why he wanted to see her, only that sitting any longer with anybody else seemed torture, particularly when he knew after all this he still wasn't a popular man. All he knew was that he needed to see her, really see her.

"Kingslayer" he heard from behind him, an unfamiliar voice. He turned. Arya Stark, the girl – well more woman- herself. "Sorry – force of habit" she apologised, although didn't sound the least bit sorry, a small smirk dancing in her large eyes. Jaime stuttered, almost a little caught off guard, since his current agenda did not involve talking with possibly the most deadly woman in all of Westeros, considering she killed the bloody Night King and saved all of their asses. But she looked invested in talking to him for some reason.

He studied her, noticing how fluid her strides were, quiet as a mouse. He began to see how she got past all of those White Walkers in the godswood in the first place. He had never spoken with the girl. He had seen her once in a fleeting moment when he first visited Winterfell, all those years ago. A completely transformed woman from the keen-eyed girl he glanced past. But he was every bit a changed man too, so to speak.

"Lady Arya" he bowed, knowing fully well she did not prefer the title but his stubborn ass had to bite back at her intentional greeting somehow. A beat of silence passed, and when she did not speak he felt it his place to carry on. "I believe Westeros owes you a great debt".

"One I'm sure the Lannister's would be all too willing to pay. 'A Lannister Always Pays Their Debts', is that how the motto goes?... Oh, forgive me, I never cared to listen to Sceptor Mordane's dull drones during needlework lessons. 'Hear Me Roar', that's it right?" Arya mused, a slight prickle in her tone which set Ser Jaime on edge. It was hard to know what the girl wanted. All the while she thought out loud she slowly stepped closer and closer until they were no less than a metre apart.

He knew she wasn't looking for an answer there, so she carried on. Something then switched in her demeanour, a softening so to speak. "I believe I owe you one too" she said with a lower voice. A debt, he clicked, was what she was referring to. "If it weren't for you my sister would not have had the protection she needed when she first arrived back in the North".

"You misunderstand. It was not my doing that led Brienne to your sister, I only armed and armoured her so she could fulfil your mothers oath. I had not part to play in her staying for so long" he replied quickly, forgetting until he said it that maybe bringing up Arya's late mother wasn't the wisest of moves. The Lannisters send their regards. By the gods, their history was so fucked up.

He saw her bristle for a short second, hitting a nerve at the mention of Lady Catelyn. A slight glimmer in her eyes, of what looked like tears, but it was gone almost as soon as it began. It made Jaime realize for the first time since seeing her that she was a girl of no more than 18, who had lived through the worst of it yet against all odds came out on top. He understood why Brienne admired the girl so.

He knew he wasn't a Lannister now, where it counted. As much as he would protect his family, the ones he loved, he would never wish on anybody the atrocities her mother, brother, a sister-in-law endured. All of his life he wished to please his father, a real Lion. Would protect to his dying breath the legacy of his house. But never could he have had the backbone to execute was his dear father and sister have conjured.

"It's curious. A Lannister arming a soldier to protect his sworn enemy". He was walking on thin ice and he could feel it. "Why did you wish to fulfil the oath, even after all that happened?". He knew he could be nothing but honest to Arya. She would see right through him otherwise.

"Initially… it was to save my own skin. Seemed simple enough. A trade-off; my safe return to King's Landing, to my family, for the safe return of the two Stark daughters to theirs, who, at the time, I had assumed to be tucked neatly within the walls of King's Landing" he began tentatively. "But once… I - … I couldn't let what happened to your family -… even at the hands of my own…" he stopped. He wasn't getting his point across in the deft way he had planned. "Lady Catelyn was an honourable woman. Although I couldn't do a thing about what happened, couldn't stop what had already transpired… I could at least try to undo some of my House's wrongs". He couldn't hide a thing from Arya, and she knew it. She was startled by the glisten in his eye. He couldn't act that out.

He wouldn't even meet her eye and she actually felt a strange sense of pity for the man, despite it all. Maybe what had transpired had made her realize what was important and what could be left in the past. She knew what happened to her brother, to the sister she never met, their unborn child, and her mother… it was not by the swift hand of this man.

"Thank you" she whispered, startling Jaime. Silence. He looked up and from that small glance he could see a look in her eye. An understanding. He let out a shaky sigh of relief.

"I… I have something which I think you should have" Jaime suggested hesitantly. She looked down to see him unstrapping his sword, a hilt with bright red stone – Lannister red – and the sigil of House Baratheon. The Kingslayer unsheathed it and lay it out before him, balancing with his hand. A wooden hand, she suddenly realised. She'd heard mutterings when she walked in the halls the previous day of the Kingslayer's arrival, and the story of how he lost his good hand. If she was honest, it was that story which compelled Arya to approach him in the first place, uncertain of what to make of her supposed sworn enemy when she heard Brienne vouch for him.

"Valyrian steel" she noted, but not reaching out to take it. The girl almost seemed unimpressed. "I've already got one of my own" and in a heartbeat she whipped out a small dagger of her own. A beautiful craftmanship, Jaime observed.

"Forgive me… it's just simply by right this sword belongs to your family". Arya drew her dagger back into its sheath deftly, and looked up, a question in her eyes.

"This sword – Widow's Wail – a fucking awful name really, was a wedding gift from my father to Joffrey". Jaime forgets for some time that Joffrey was his blood. His son.

He really was a cunt. Olenna Tyrell's ghost whispered in his brain.

"I met your father once". This perplexed Jaime.

"He made no mention of you".

She grinned, satisfied, reminiscing of another time. "No he would not have. He had no idea it was me. Think of it. The most valuable hostage to the war against the Starks right under his nose, and he never had a clue". Jaime had to laugh, even only slightly. It didn't matter now anyway. "Was his cupbearer in Harrenhal. He mentioned youmore than once. Said you struggled to read for a time".

Jaime's demeanour softened, for some unknown reason. He got lost off his train of thought and thought to bring the topic back on track before he lost his way.

"This sword…It was re-forged from your father's sword, Ice… it's twin is Oathkeeper. Brienne wields it. It was mine once, but I gave it to her so she could find and protect Ned Stark's daughters with Ned Starks sword. Poetic, really". At this point Arya hesitantly took hold of the sword. Finely balanced and almost half the weight of her father's sword. A lot lighter. She was so little at the time when she held her father sword when he wasn't looking, so she supposed Ice was a grander sword since her arms were so weak. Jaime studied the girl, so mesmerised by the sword and continued. "This was gifted to me, but it was never within my rights to wield it".

"No" Arya spoke, after some silence, startling Jaime. She handed him back the sword, a distant look in her eyes. "Perhaps it wasn't within your rights to wield it."

Jaime bristled.

"But as I said… I've already got one of my own. Besides, it would be wrong for me to part one half of my father's sword from the other".

Oh.

Like the wind suddenly blew through the dark corridor, Arya was gone with it in an instant like she was never there. Jaime was left unsettled and with a lot more questions than answers.

x

Brienne heard a sudden knock at the door, caught in the middle of her bath. Not sleeping, more trying to silence the nightmares playing over and over, more wishing to think of nothing. "Just a minute" she called, startled. She gingerly rose her way out of her bath, and attempted to make herself decent. She grabbed her underclothes, hastily pulling them over and scampered quite ungracefully towards the door. When she swung it open she was caught off guard. She did a double take and before she could think her mouth blurted "Jaime".

That's the first time she's simply called me Jaime. It made his heart sing.

"Come in" she managed, a frown knotted across her clean face. His was still covered in grime. Davos was right, they did reek. He walked in, without a word, pacing back and forth, standing rigidly tall from his armour he still brandished. He didn't speak like she would've expected the Jaime of old to do, so she took it upon herself to muster something, despite her numbed brain. "What are you doing here?".

Always one for words Brienne, she chastised to herself. Although, what could she do when he was studying her so severely, eyes never leaving her face. Why did he often gaze at her so? It was a gaze too strong for her to match.

"I wanted to check up on you" he replied lamely, now standing as if he was unsure what to do with his hands. What on earth has gotten into the poor man?

"I'm alright".

"Good".

"You?".

"Yeah".

Jaime nodded, not sure what else to do in that moment, and paced his way over to the fire, left hand tracing the bannister. He was hunched, and from what Brienne could see in some degree of pain, even if he was trying to hide it. She silently walked across the room to him, but carefully, like she were trying to corner a scared cat. She wasn't sure what she was really doing in that moment. But she couldn't bring herself to care in that moment. She was just so tired she wanted to cry.

She stepped into his space, and for a moment Jaime was entirely unsure what compelled her to come so close. She always kept such a distance from him that the second she was breathing the same air as his he was left breathless, stomach turning. Her hands, he noted, were shaking, despite the heat that radiated from her tall figure. They reached gently to his shoulder, and methodically she began unstrapping his armour. Not a word was spoken but the air hung with many questions.

What in the gods name am I doing?

What in the gods name is she doing?

He let out a shiver, against his control, hoping she didn't catch it. She probably did notice, curse it all. What on earth has gotten into you? It was so quiet you could hear blood drop to the cold stone.

He didn't protest as her hands gained some control and unhinged the armour from his body, suddenly dropping to the floor, a weight lifted off his screaming muscles. He stepped out slowly, almost not wishing to break the immense spell they both appeared to be under. I hope I wasn't the only one who just experienced whatever the fuck that was.

With a finality in her sigh she turned quickly, pacing to the other side of the room, wanting to create as much distance as she could from him. Probably the smell, he mused. Or I've scared her.

A thing that terrified Brienne about Jaime is that she could not hide from him. As much as she would wanted to at the best of times, she simply could not anymore. Their relationship – whatever in Seven Hells their fucking relationship was – was past the point of beating around the bush. It was, ever since she told him to wake up from his spell he'd been under for some time. Fuck loyalty. Moving away from his proximity was the wisest thing she could do, considering the state she was in.

"Brienne" he whispered, an agonizing sound to her eyes. "I need to thank you".

"I – er… don't understand what for, Ser Jaime".

Ah, back to the titles. Jaime felt as if he had taken two steps backwards. She was putting her walls up again. He thought for a second before he caught a glimpse of the rare woman, agonized, in pain, haunted by what they'd lived through.

He didn't know when he thanked her, why he wanted to thank her. It simply felt like the thing to be said. He attempted to inject a bit of light in his words despite how thick the air seemed with tension. "Well, we'd be here all day if I listed all of the reasons".

A short breath of laughter escaped the woman. Now that was something he did not expect. His eyes widened in amusement, almost smiling, but controlled his emotions as he looked up. There was something behind her amusement that seemed simply off. Not herself. A fragile storm. As if behind the smile there was a sob wanting to break free. His heart ached at the sight.

"Brienne, I'm serious". He took a step closer, and she matched by taking a step away from him. Blasted, stubborn wench. "I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for you". Her demeanour was unreadable, a swirl of emotions written as plain as day on her pale face.

She really could not take his severe gaze. So serious. So cutting. Times like this she much preferred the days when the only look he would point her way was a sneer. But this look-…this look, made her so angry. She knew what he was when he had a sneering joke behind every one of her questions, an upturned lip, a quick cutting comeback.

Nowadays he looked at her as if she hung the moon. What a fine joke.

Her guard was so high, her shoulders raised as if somebody were about to come out and attack her. She looked terrified, exhausted. "I only did what I would do for anybody else".

She regretted her choice of words as soon as they slipped. She couldn't think straight. Her day was already an utter chaotic mess. She could not process what one word meant from the other. Could not tell you what had transpired in the past 12 hours. Could not even tell you how many men she had to pile on the mountain of bodies. But their faces, staring up at her blankly, she could remember those, every time she shut her eyes.

Oh for fucks sake, Jaime's voice in his mind flared. Now it was his turn to be angry. Stubborn bloody woman. Her words cut through him, more than he thought her words ever could. But he brushed it off as quickly as he could, like they were sparring and she simply jabbed him on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, we don't have to…" he whispered, trying a new approach. Her eyes, glued to the floor, for a moment of weakness shot straight to his, as if an arrow pierced his armour. It sucked the air clean out of him. "I-… I will shut up. For once, I'll shut up. You talk – or don't". He tried again, taking a step across the room, and to his utter relief she didn't step back that time. He didn't stop until he was not a metre in front of her, and with a gentle hand, trembling against his will, guided her to rest her weary legs on the bench next to the fire. He gingerly sat down, trying to hide his wince as he crouched to the other end of the bench, ignoring the sharp stinging pain of a gash in his right leg. It wasn't a deep cut. I'll live.

With each second of silence that passed she began to slowly unravel. She yielded. Exhausted with building up her walls. This was Jaime after all. She trusts this man with her life. She said so in front of a crowd of people, to Queen Daenerys herself. Why was it so much harder when it was just the two of them?

He saw her shoulders slouch some more, and with that he knew he had her right where he wanted her to be. He didn't expect for her to say anything. He would take the mere sight of seeing her alive and breathing, heart still beating, as a true miracle.

"I didn't think I would live to see the dawn" she whispered, a broken gravel in her tone. His heart gave another silent pang.

"Nor I". She looked up to study his face, a sadness in her astonishing blue eyes. I'm glad you're here. They sat in companionable silence, looking back down to their hands when the others gaze became too much to handle. Against her will, her bottom lip began to tremble, and she sucked in a large breath of air, trying to supress the raw emotion. Much to her dismay Jaime heard. It was too bloody quiet.

He immediately reached across and took her right hand in his left. He'd never dared to hold her hand before. He always thought the action would scare her away. But he didn't see the Brienne he was so used to seeing in this moment in time. He wanted to try something new. Be a friend to her. Soothe her as if she were a new-born cub. Quite frankly, he'd never been in this position before. He never had this with Cersei. She was always so hardened, rebuking his every attempt to get a glance inside her raw emotion. Bristled whenever he attempted to soothe her.

He wasn't sure which was a more painful truth; knowing Cersei arguably never gave him the love he so willingly served her, or not knowing how to stop Brienne from feeling so anguished. He felt utterly useless.

They sat in heavy silence, the cracks of woods splintering in fire breaking the quiet every soften, and the light howl of the wind paving around the crevices' of Winterfell, a shell of a fort. So vulnerable. Not the strong, tall, proud figure it was.

Much like Brienne was right now. A shell of herself.

The very moment he chose meticulous words to break the silence, a knock at the door, much to his dismay, beat him to it. He gritted his jaw, frustrated that the spell was yanked away. Brienne rose quickly, as if burnt by wildfire, wiping at tear streaks he hadn't noticed ran down her face. She glanced quickly at him, an unnervingly unreadable expression on her face. Her walls were back up once again.

"Come in" she declared.

In walked the leader of the Unsullied – or what was left of it. A severe man. Grey Worm.

"Apologies, Ser Brienne" he began, a thick eastern accent.

"It's quite alright" she smiled. A fake smile, Jaime observed. "What can I do for you?". So duty bound, Brienne. Jaime almost would've rolled his eyes had he not clocked the sharp glance the soldier sent his way.

"I came for the Kingslayer. Queen Daenerys requests his presence with the small council".

Brienne's heart dropped. Jaime sighed.

Before Brienne could ask why - she knew why, Jaime thought shrewdly – Jaime placed a silencing hand on her shoulder, nodded to the Unsullied soldier, and silently began following him out. He turned back and passed her a small smile. "Brienne, rest. You look tired". Baffled and left dumbfounded out of a proper reaction, he left the room before she could form an intelligent response. She stood there numbly for a few minutes. Rest, Brienne.

She walked over to her bed, warm and inviting at first glance. The one thing her body compelled her to do. As soon as she lay down though, it was an entirely different story. Her mind could not switch off. So now she wasn't tired.

Fuck him telling me what to do. I'm not going to let this fool get himself killed by talking bullshit about honour, justifying himself to a woman who would relish his slow death. I saved his sorry ass too many times for it to happen.

"Oh for fucks sake" she sighed, with a finality, and began to quickly dress herself in her underclothes properly, hands shaking. "Not on my bloody watch".

Ah thank you again for the incredible support on my first story! It really means a lot that you're loving and following it. I really could not stop once I started writing this chapter. I hope I did the characters justice. Idk this is definitely the way I imagine an interaction between Jaime and Arya would play out… but a girl can dream. I adore those two characters and they have a really neat tie in that I felt needed to be addressed. Bless Jaime, always trying to redeem himself. Tywin would be rolling in his grave!

Up next…. Jaime faces off the dragon queen… now that there is an after he never thought would be there AND Brienne tries her best to save her dumbass man.

Update should hopefully be within the next couple of days. Need to prioritise some of my Uni work at the moment. In the meantime… I'll be a nervous wreck waiting for next weeks episode…