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The winds of winter were not howling outside – there was only stillness and calm in the dead of night.
It was the stillness and calm that woke her.
It was the emptiness of the bed, where the scent of him – of them, together – still lingered. But she awoke, and he was not there.
Brienne would not panic. She refused.
Yet, in spite of her resolve, in spite of the fire roaring in the hearth, a cold hand gripped her heart and would not let go. She braced herself to leave the warmth of her bed – their bed – and find him.
The cold hand tightened its grip on her heart as she saw Jaime in the courtyard, struggling quietly to buckle the saddle onto his horse. Snow crunched underfoot as Brienne approached, but he would not look at her. Her brow furrowed with concern. This wasn’t like him.
“They’re going to destroy that city.” The chill inside her chest made it difficult to speak. “You know they will.”
He grunted with effort, still struggling with the horse’s equipment. Torches along the battlements crackled as he considered her words. His silence was agonizing – Brienne could barely stand it. This was not like him at all.
Her mind raced as he stayed quiet. Say something witty, something condescending, say something insulting. Give me something – give me anything but silence.
“Have you ever run away from a fight?” He broke the long silence with an irrelevant question, and Brienne finally understood why he would not look her in the eyes.
The cold fist closing around her heart released its grip, and Brienne rushed to close the distance between them. She cradled Jaime’s face in her hands, and although his body tensed at her touch, he made no attempt to move away or stop her. At long last, their eyes met, she searched his face desperately.
“What are you?” Her voice was clear in the stillness of the night.
Jaime blinked up at her, mayhaps confused by her line of questioning.
“I said, ‘what are you?’” Brienne repeated herself, growing impatient with his silence.
After what felt like an eternity, Jaime sighed. His tension melted away as he slumped his shoulders and leaned into Brienne’s touch.
“I’m—” he cleared his throat before finishing weakly, “—an idiot sandwich.” His gaze dropped to his feet, and the faintest of smiles touched Brienne’s lips.
She caressed his cheek with one of her thumbs before she pulled him into an embrace. His arms wrapped around her waist and he sighed, again, and the warmth of his breath against her chest sent a flutter through her heart.
“You certainly are.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. “Now, come back inside. The bed’s still warm.”
Brienne lifted Jaime off the ground with one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back. As she carried him back to their room in the same manner a groom would carry a bride, Jaime mumbled under his breath: “Gods, what was I thinking?”
And together, they stayed in Winterfell until the Spring, when they officially married and moved to a nice castle somewhere to raise their eight beautiful children.
The end.