Only a few crimson embers remained in the fireplace, flickering in the darkness.
Jaime drained the last of his wine and prepared to add wood to the fire.
Brienne rose as well and put her heavy mail back on.
When the cold metal touched her skin, she became the indomitable lady knight of Tarth once more.
"Thank you for the wine."
Brienne's voice was still stiff, but her blue eyes held a little less wariness and a little more warmth.
Jaime said nothing. He simply leaned back in his chair and watched her tall figure disappear through the door.
Silence settled over the room again.
Watching the sparks in the fireplace on the verge of dying out, he felt for the first time that this frozen hellhole might not be quite so cold after all.
So this was what it felt like to be understood.
A week later.
In Winterfell, the clash of blades rang out without pause.
Using only one hand, Jaime drove a towering Umber guard back step by step.
His swordsmanship was no longer as elegant and dazzling as before. Instead, it had gained a ruthless precision.
Every stroke targeted a vital point.
Brienne stood nearby, her gaze intent on the figure twisting and darting across the yard.
Since that night, a strange understanding seemed to have formed between them.
Without much conversation, they sparred here every day.
Jaime pushed himself to improve with a frenzy that bordered on self-abuse.
And Brienne had become his finest sparring partner and... witness.
"Hey, ugly woman."
Jaime kicked his opponent to the ground and leaned on his sword, panting heavily as sweat dripped from the ends of his golden hair.
"You're next."
Brienne said nothing. She simply drew her sword.
Just then, a deep, rough horn blast sounded from the