A/N: *creeps out from under a rock* Hello everyone. I know it's been... ages, years, centuries, eons, whatever. I am still shocked myself at how long it took me to come back to this fanfic. And I am forever grateful to you readers who have kept liking, reviewing, and even PMing me (and I apologize to all those whom I have not answered, I have read it all, but I didn't really know how to reply), expressing your interest in the fic even when I was gone from it for so long, not knowing how to move on from where I left off.

Perhaps to offer some context as to how this awfully long break came about... it started off as a genuine writer's block that grew to be the earthmother of writer's blocks. And then private life just kept adding on tops. Things in my family were not going well, things were not panning out for me at university the way I hoped they would. While I have kept active as a fanfic writer, I found it for most of my WIPs incredibly difficult to pick up the pen (or rather, to open the word document) again. And just recently, shit hit the fan with a tragedy in the family that still has my mind derailing more often than I would like it to. I'd assume that this only ever added to my writer's block, writing about family when that is what is challenged me in real life, amounting to a task for me I did not find myself overcoming any time soon.

However, in early celebration of the "Finish It February" challenge hosted by my life saviors on JBO, a place full of wonder and support, which truly helped me a great deal in times such as these, I somehow managed to bring myself to make a step forward with this WIP in particular.

I will send ahead what I also wrote in a good number of comments: Part of the reason why I fell down the writer's block hole was that I came to a point in the story where I had to make some choices (title has it) regarding the progression of the fic, the kinds of decisions you cannot take back or overlook anymore, really. However, I decided to keep true to my original idea, even if it may seem even more utopian than this whole fic grew to be by now. I suppose I just have to follow the path I have chosen till the bitter end, because that was the story I set out to write in the very beginning of my JB shipping career, and I do hope that you will bear with me even if it is a bit of geographic and logistic bending over backwards to make all of that fit somehow.

So yeah. Here we are and I hope that this chapter won't prove to be a disappointment after such a long hiatus. I will not make any promises about updating soon because at this point of time, I just don't know how my mind will progress and process. I will keep trying, I will keep writing, that is what I can assure you for certain.

Much love!

Brienne glances up at the sky, which is painted in fuzzy, gray and white stripes, the clouds' shapes almost indistinguishable, fading into one another until only one mass remains hanging above them, weighing down on their heads as though the gray mass was made out of lead.

After they received the letters proclaiming both hope and danger at the same time, leaving them hanging in a strange sort of limbo, the three left Queenscrown on the very next day when the sun was yet to rise above the mountains.

She still doesn't know how they are supposed to find them, even though Brienne spends almost every thought on just that matter. It's as though they were searching for one particular snow flake in a raging blizzard. They know it's there, but it is obscured by all other snowflakes, all ice and masses of white and gray, and then taken away by the strong gust almost knocking them off their feet, leaving them blind and without a sense of direction.

While they remain hopeful that Tyrion and the others made it to the Wall, the three talked about how they could no longer be sure of it. Sansa pointed out that, knowing Arya, she may have suggested moving through the Wolfswood, and that Tyrion may have listened to her advice because he is not as familiar to the secret passageways as a local like the boyish girl happens to be.

"Arya's spent half her life, if not more, out there, eating wild berries and making swords out of twigs. She always loved the woods. My sister knows every crevice and every creek there, I am most certain of it. If the woods meant any protection, Arya likely would have suggested to go there," was what the young woman told them as they had stale bread before heading out in search of their loved ones caught up in countless snowflakes.

Jaime added that if they went to shore somewhere close to Bear Island, it may have been necessary to move down South a bit so not to have to take the mountain pass, which would prove to be particularly risky with a newborn in tow. That also would have allowed for them to shake off possible tails after them. If they were indeed discovered, moving in unexpected ways is what may well play to your advantage after all.

However, that also would have brought them dangerously closer to Winterfell, from where the three barely managed to escape. And Brienne can tell that one thing from experience: being on the run with a newborn child is not making matters any easier. Jaime and her had that all the while until they crossed paths with Tyrion again, and she doesn't even want to imagine what could be now that there are more people, more possibilities, more snowflakes threatening to drown them in endless white.

What if…

A caw rips Brienne out of her thoughts, back to the gray sky hanging barely above their heads.

Curiously, the ravens are now their steady companions on the voyage to somewhere in the nowhere. They left them with as much corn as they could muster for the animals, but the birds left the food unattended and instead flew high in the air, occupying the space of grayness above them, flitting across the sky as though they were daggers of obsidian, cutting right through the gray mass threatening to fall on their heads.

Just today, the crows started to push ahead, as though they meant to give direction instead of just following their lead, as though they were trying to show them something that they could not see.

And perhaps even more curiously so, they found themselves tailing the birds, because apparently, they have no clue where to go looking for the snowflake they are craving for most. So why not follow the creatures that have at least a broader view than they do down on the earth, treading through heavy snow, which has the horses go at a very slow pace.

"Normally, I'd suggest we'd go to some inn and ask questions, but that may just as well call attention to them – and us," Jaime says, pulling Brienne out of her thoughts, though he, too, is bound to watch the ravens cutting across the sky. "Needless to mention that they are rather scarce around here anyway."

If their journey ever since Massey's Hook proved anything to Jaime, then it is that no matter how well your plan may have been prepared in advance, something unpredictable will happen anyway, something to knock you right off your feet, to leave you tumbling, stumbling, falling. While at the same time, that new perspective, lying in the mud, face-down, may be your one way to find a new approach, another path that you cannot see from where you once stood, looking around without direction, not knowing who you are or to where your life is headed.

Sometimes you have to fall to rise again.

Though Jaime is not yet sure how they are supposed to rise above the bulky snowbank before them, obscuring any clues of where to find the people they want to protect, have to protect at all costs, no matter the effort, no matter the price to pay.

And that is the problem.

"We have no other choice but to go looking this way, hoping that the tails are not yet on their trail," Brienne replies curtly, glancing at Sansa, whose eyes are not bound to the sky, but linger on the area of the woods she mostly looked at only from a distance while still younger, to spot her sister somehow, anyhow.

"Maybe we went wrong somewhere?" Brienne finds herself asking before she can keep her mouth shut. The tall woman rather doesn't share her insecurities so long they are on a day of mission. That tends to tear people down – and they can't afford to be torn down, they cannot afford to be demoralized, to let sadness and fear keep their feet still. They have to keep their heads high, so not to drown in the snow, to catch even the smallest sign of what is out there, waiting for them to be found.

"Maybe they moved the other way after all," she continues anyway.

Because, yet, even she can't deny herself that those doubts are nagging her, bite into the soles of her feet as they walk through one snowbank after the next, only to discover more snow, but no sign of life hiding behind it. Brienne wished she had her strengths up as much as it may require in times such as these, but she is exhausted, and she is afraid, something that Brienne was only ever taught again once Gurion became a part of their lives and she was reminded that fear for themselves is also the fear for their loved ones.

"Maybe," Jaime exhales, white clouds wafting around his chapped lips. "I'd suggest that if we find nothing here today, we should head in direction of the Wall…"

He squints his eyes as a snowflake gets blown against his eyeball, melting right to the touch with a burning sensation. "I don't know. I always thought it was tough finding Sansa. However, with her, we had at least an idea to where she is headed. With them… we can't be that sure anymore, we can't be sure of much of anything, actually."

It's a gamble, a game, and the costs are far too high to place a bet on the lives of the people under their protection, all know that, and yet, they have to keep playing this game, because there is no alternative.

Brienne nods her head in agreement, swallowing thickly. "Right."

One of the crows above them starts to caw loudly once more, as though the bird meant to disagree.

"That one is a particularly vocal member of the flock," Jaime snorts, his eyes resting on the black bird fluttering above them seemingly to get their attention. "I always have the feeling the bird's scolding us. And I will say I don't quite like being scolded by a bird. It's enough that you do that all the while, woman."

"Maybe he is scolding us indeed?" Brienne replies, also looking at the bird.

"What makes you think it's a he?" Jaime frowns.

Brienne rolls her broad shoulders. "He complains like a man."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head, some snowflakes falling off his hood in the process. "The Gods may show mercy. We are relying on complaining and attention-seeking birds to help us find friends and family… Well, and the Hound, if he is still with them."

"If he is, that is what gives me a bit more confidence in their safety. Ser Sandor is a good fighter. And of course there is Pod," Brienne replies, trying to hold on to that, even though her fingers are numb from the cold.

"I hope the squire learned fast. He's going to need whatever skills he was able to gather beside from helping my brother to another cup of wine to fend off whatever enemy may come their way now," Jaime comments, offering Brienne a mild smile. "But he had a good teacher, so I am rather confident on that account. Which is more than I can say about the rest."

The birds start to caw in unison.

"Now they are all complaining that we don't go fast enough? Remind me that they won't get any corn when we resign for the day," Jaime grumbles, raising his left wrist against the sky once, if only to hit back at the birds in some way. Considering that the crows are the only things moving forward, Jaime reckons he is just using them as an outlet for his own frustration for being unable to make that one step they want to take so very desperately to come forward, closer to where they need to be.

"And you think that this will keep them from complaining?" Brienne huffs.

"True again. So… off we go again, the crows command it," Jaime snorts, giving his horse the spurs. "Are we still on the right track, Lady Sansa?"

"I think so," the young woman replies, holding on tightly to Brienne's back as their horse also starts moving again.

Ever since they set out from the tower, Sansa has been trying her best to think like her sister, to determine the path Arya likely would have suggested to the others. However, she is not her younger, boyish sister who acted more like a wolf than a lady most of her time. Sansa doesn't know the woods the way Arya does. Needless to mention that her little sister is no longer the same girl she was back at Winterfell, tossing food at her during a banquet. Just like she is changed, so will be her sister.

We will be two different people once we meet… if we meet…

So maybe there is no way for her to know Arya's path any longer, no matter how hard Sansa may try to envision herself being that wild child who's felt more at home in the lands around Winterfell than within the constraints of its walls. And that thought in itself is more than disheartening.

Sansa allows her eyes to drift up to the sky, which only ever seems to move thanks to the big snowflakes raining down on them. But otherwise, the world appears to stand still. It feels as though they are not moving forward, no matter how far they travel, no matter how far they go.

And perhaps that is the truth of it all – they are not making any progress. They aren't coming forward. They stand still.

Sansa holds on a little tighter to Brienne, trying to find a small comfort in the strength this lady knight emits in all the ways that the young girl believes she couldn't ever possibly. It is during moments such a these that she feels particularly foolish for always having belittled Arya for wanting to swordfight, not dreaming away to castles and gallant knights to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the great halls of another castle, into marriage and child rearing. Looking at Lady Brienne, having studied her for quite some time now, Sansa had to realize that if Arya could grow to be a woman the likes of the lady knight she holds on to right at this moment, there would be absolutely nothing laughable about it, there would only be a reason to bow to her and pay her due respect.

And where does that leave me? Sansa wonders. Having dreamed away for far too long to find herself a prince, a king, whose gallant looks belied his cruel ways even though Sansa should have seen them long time ago, already by the Trident, already during the feast – where does that leave her role in this game? Where does that leave a girl who didn't see past her own foolish, girlish dreams of being a queen, wearing fine silks, bearing the king's children, hold court and work on her stitches with golden threads?

In the end, she was the fool, and her little sister had a kind of wisdom that Sansa only ever learned to see now that her eyes are obscured by snowflakes slapping against their face: That you can be more than one thing, that you can be more than one aspect of yourself. You can be a lady and a knight. You can be the Kingslayer, a man without honor, a man who has caused her family a great deal of grief, her little brother in particular, but at the same time, the man chasing across the Seven Kingdoms to come find her in an inn, far away from home, at the risk of his – and perhaps more importantly to him – Lady Brienne's life, because there is no doubt in Sansa's mind that Ser Jaime rather would give his own life than put Lady Brienne's at risk, and yet he does, because Ser Jaime means to repay some of the debt he feels he owes them, a debt he perhaps also means to repay himself. You can be a man whom the likes of Sansa should naturally despise and be mistrusting of, having any reason for it, and at the same time be the man whom the likes of her find trusting in times such as these, without hesitation, without questioning or second-guessing.

You can inhabit these places all at the same time, Sansa came to realize ever since travelling with those two unconventional knights. You don't have to settle for one.

And so the Gods will, Sansa hopes that she, too, will find her place, that she will find another place to occupy than the one she used to take refuge in before to dream away and do her needlework, if such a future is to be granted to her, that is.

She has to open new doors to discover what lies behind them, or so it appears.

However, as of now, they have to find the one door leading back to the one part she now knows belongs to her – her family – and that of Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne.

Because sometimes it takes a thousand miles to travel, a thousand tears to shed, before you realize that the one thing you were missing, the one space you wanted to occupy, was open to you all the while, and you just neglected the chance of walking inside, to find the candles lit, and someone telling you softly to come inside.

And even if not, you have to keep trying until that stubborn girl on the other side lets you in anyway. Because she is home the same way the rest of her family is and was.

And so they ride on, their traces washed away by the fresh snow falling heavy and fast to cover up the horses' steps, and Sansa tries her best to take strength from that, for pushing those doors open still ahead of her.

Winter has come indeed.

The day continues to be dipped in gray, only ever interrupted by the crows calling out above their heads, as the three try to fend off the cold and the even colder thoughts evading all of their minds in all sorts of shapes, one a more threatening shadow than the other, sometimes combining, collecting, until they mean to swallow them, but then a horse whinnies, a crow shrieks, and they are back to white snow and the way ahead.

When they lightly gray sky starts to fade to darkness, Jaime is the one to speak up first, "I think it's time we head another direction. Seems like they are not headed this way after all."

"We should seek shelter for the night somewhere," Brienne answers, barely moving her jaws apart. It feels like giving up at some point, the fear clutching at her, taunting her that if they kept going just a little further, made one more step, they'd see that one snowflake they are looking for, while at the same time she is anxious to keep going that way for much longer all the same. If Tyrion and the others are headed another direction after all, they are only putting themselves at risk, only ever seeing strange figures the snow draws into the thin air.

"Right," he agrees, nodding his head slowly. "Once we make camp, we should go over the maps another time. Maybe Lady Sansa has some epiphany which path they may be taking."

He offers her a feeble smile the young girl returns in equal measures.

It's the best they can do, as it appears. Trying to anticipate, trying to think like the others think, walking parallel in the hope that by doing so, they will somehow get closer, which may remain futile after all – because parallel lines don't ever meet.

"We should hurry up," Brienne says, squinting her eyes against the ice crystals falling into her big blue eyes time and time again, obscuring her vision. "The wind seems to pick up. We might get another storm tonight."

"I don't fancy getting caught up in a storm," Jaime agrees, somehow trying to keep his voice light, though it's worn down by the heavy snow anyway, leaving his laughter hollow, muffled by the thick snowflakes dancing around them tauntingly. "We have enough of that by now."

Jaime and Brienne give the horses the spurs to direct them in roughly North-Eastern direction. They saw a small clearing that way earlier that may prove to be a good place to make camp for the night before chasing another storm on the next day.

They retrace their footsteps on the thick layer of snow covering every stone, every stretch of grass that may once have been there when Winter had not yet come, which are getting increasingly filled up with the heavy snow already.

The loudest crow seeking attention starts to caw again, seemingly to make his discontent know that they no longer follow this bird's command.

Jaime shakes his head. That must be a male for certain, Brienne has the rights of it. That one is far too much into whining.

He already opens his mouth to lament about that very circumstance, when suddenly the other black birds start to join in, their combined shrieks almost deafening in the three peoples' ears. While the crows' contours are increasingly swallowed up by the approaching darkness of the night, Jaime can still see the three ravens above their heads, almost forming a bundle of blackness, their wings fluttering wildly, upset about something – or just intent on driving them insane with their behavior.

Who knows? Maybe they are magical tricksters after all. Tyrion would probably know about such wondrous tales from the North… if he were here so I could ask him… if only, if only…

"If they continue at this rate, I will use my crossbow on them," Jaime grunts. "I can't have it that we get caught by the tails thanks to some crows not knowing when to keep their beaks shut."

All three crows shriek in unison all over again, as though they understood what he said and now meant to protest. And all three humans stuck on earth, not granted wings to fly away with, tear their gazes up to the birds occupying the space they cannot ever reach.

"I think we've gone mad, following the ravens' call," Brienne huffs. "Those three seemingly have a mind of their own."

"… Or maybe not," Sansa says faintly, her voice trembling, eyes widening. Jaime turns his gaze to the young Stark girl, noting that her eyes are no longer bound to the sky, but the ground. He pulls on the reins to make his horse turn around, which it does under much whinnying.

"Hush now," he mutters, tapping the mare on the side of the neck to make the creature calms itself. Jaime squints – the snow is falling heavier by the minute passing – trying to catch what may have gotten the birds upset, and have Lady Sansa stare in that direction, unable to tear her gaze away.

At first there is only a small sound, barely audible, like the crunching of twigs as they break under the weight of freshly fallen snow too heavy for it to bear.

But soon, the small sound ebbs into a shout carrying over the snowbank that continues to shift shape until it takes it, claims it, overtakes it.

"We're here!"

"We're here!"

"We're here!"

Jaime turns to Brienne to say something, though she already turned around to glance in the same direction, too, her big blue eyes focused on what lies in the direction they almost left neglected if not for a bird's lament.

"Am I… am I imagining this?" Brienne asks, blinking repeatedly, trying to make sure that it's not just shapes the snow is forming to mock them.

"If you are, then so am I," Jaime says, biting his lower chapped lip, not caring for the bit of coppery taste of blood on his tongue from where crack in the skin formed.

"And I," Sansa says, swallowing thickly.

The missing snowflake turns into an orange dot, then two, then flames flickering in the strong gust.

Fire and ice.

Ice and fire.

The three dismount the horses, their feet sinking into the snow all the way to the rim of their leather boots, the birds above their heads all the while cawing, shrieking, fluttering, as though to remind them to stay, stay, stay.

And then, figures of snow turn to shadows, and shadows morph into bodies, people, horses, and a wooden carriage.

"We are here!" the shout keeps cutting through the snow, open up a path.

"Is that…," Brienne asks breathlessly.

"It's them," Jaime answers breathlessly, his eyes fixed on what keeps gaining shape in front of them.

"They are here indeed," Sansa adds.

Jaime can feel Brienne's gloved hand wrapping around his wrist, as though to find some stability in him to keep her upright, a kind of reassurance that this is real the way that they are real, became real over time. Jaime stands wordlessly by her side as the orange lights are right before them and reveal a newly opened door that they almost left neglected in the snow.

"The God of Wine and Tits shall be damned!" Tyrion's voice rings out as clear as the sound of ice breaking.

Sansa, Jaime, and Brienne, still perplex, just stand there as the dwarf hops off the carriage, or rather sledge, almost sinking into the snow all the way to the waist, but judging by the way he moves on through the snow no matter the hardship that poses, there is about as much desperation in him to move forward as it is in the three people standing by their horses, still not believing that the crows showed them the way to the door they have been looking for in heavy snow for what felt like an eternity stuffed into a single snow storm.

"You don't expect me to carry you, do you?" the Hound huffs, standing beside him, waving at young Podrick to keep his distance from him, as the squire holds up the torch that send that orange beacon of hope across the snow, right up to the searching party consisting of a lady knight, a Kingslayer, and the oldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark.

"Even dwarves have a minimal sense of dignity," Tyrion snorts as he starts to wade through the snow, his eyes already set on his brother who seemingly forgot how to move, and that even though they spent days and weeks now doing just that, moving, never standing still, always on the run. And now? Now Jaime can't seem to move a single finger. Even his ghost hand won't move.

"We didn't expect to find you here, but then we saw you approach, so we took a chance and shouted out. But what, by the Seven, are you doing here? You should long since be by Queenscrown, if not the Wall already," Tyrion goes on to call out as he manages to get on top of a layer of snow to walk more freely.

"We were at the tower, but you weren't there. Then we got the letters you sent," Jaime explains, his lips barely moving as he speaks, surprised with himself that he can't bring himself to move. He is paralyzed.

Is this happening?

Is this real?

Or did we all catch snow fever – if such a thing even exists?

"And then you just strolled around trying to spot us?" Tyrion snorts, amused. "That doesn't sound like a very solid plan, I am afraid, dear brother."

"We followed the crows," the older man replies, his eyes drifting to the sky above, only to find it empty.

"The crows I sent? I didn't know they were bloodhounds now, too. Curious breed, that is," Tyrion says as he covers the last bit of distance. He looks at Jaime from head to toe. "You need to shave."

Jaime's body decides to move at last as he sinks to his knees to pull his brother to him, almost knocking him back into the snow. Tyrion's smile fades from his lips as he holds on tighter as well. No matter his smartness, his brother is the one sibling Tyrion cares about in this world, and for Jaime, he has nothing but love to spare.

From the corner of his eye he can see Sansa – in the flesh. And while Tyrion would like to express his gladness over her health right at this moment, he can see by the way she looks right past him that it's not him Sansa wants to talk to first.

But you don't have to be a smart man in order to see that.

"Arya," Sansa breathes, the word barely audible as she sees the young girl with unruly, rather short hair, wrapped in a heavy winter coat with fur hanging about her shoulders, looking not very much like the girl she last saw at King's Landing and sent away over some stupid fight that was not worth the misgivings they gave another thereafter.

We are no longer who we used to be, Sansa thinks to herself, standing in the snow, transfixed. And yet we are here, right at this moment.

Arya stands there, perplex, and for a tomboy usually so certain of herself very much at a loss when she sees a flash of auburn flapping in the wind that the young girl saw the last time on a podium, short before her world ended for a moment as her father lost his head, betrayed by all, missed by many, but never forgotten.

Because I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and…

Sansa stops in her tracks, a few steps away from her sister, still trying to determine if this door is real and if she can cross it, whereas Arya can do nothing much but look at the sister she thought for the longest of times she'd never see again, and doesn't know what to do with now that she stands before her.

The two girls stand there for a longer moment, just looking at one another, as though to make sure that this is real, that this is happening right at this point in time, and not just a fantasy about to flit away like birds do whenever they take leave in the vastness of the sky.

It is Sansa who moves first, covering the distance between them with fast and long strides, which irritates Arya only more, likely not expecting her sister to move boldly when she was hesitant and reserved towards her, to say the very least, the last time she's seen her.

"Arya."

Sansa goes to her knees and does what should seem normal to most other people, but apparently is not when fate has parted you, has torn familial unions to shreds and pieces to scatter all around the continent, leaving only just their past to hold on to, the name they share.

The boyish girl stands perfectly still at first, eyes wide, breath hitching, white clouds drifting around her parted, chapped lips.

"I'm so glad to see you again. To have you back," Sansa cries into the fur wrapped around Arya's shoulder. "So, so glad."

Arya swallows thickly, perfectly at a loss, only ever remembering for a moment her father's face, back at King's Landing, telling her that they have to keep together, that they are sisters, that they have to be there for one another.

And now, they are together, it appears.

"Seems like you found me," the younger girl says, barely moving her lips apart.

"Seems like it, yes."

Arya tightens her grip on Sansa's shoulders, a reflex seemingly far deeper embedded than all the foolish things that were left standing between them before their father died and they parted without ever having a chance to say goodbye, to close that door. Though perhaps that is the fortune in it – that the door remained open all this time, so that they can now meet on the threshold to walk across… together?

"You stink of horse piss," Arya says, laughing nervously, her eyes shining with wetness.

"And you of moldy furs," Sansa laughs, pulling her a little closer, threading her gloved fingers through her sister's now rather short hair.

To think that their argument was so heart-felt back in the day. Right now, it feels like the smallest of snowflakes, taken away by the gust around them.

All seems so meaningless safe for this moment.

Some doors closed, but for that, others opened.

And Sansa finds a new resolve in herself to be sure to keep in those rooms, and have her family right in it.

Brienne meanwhile, found her feet firmly on the ground, unable to move, focusing on all but breathing right at this moment. She is deadly afraid to move, as though that could burst a bubble wherein there is a short-lived happiness at last. They didn't have a lot of it ever since she took off from King's Landing. Their path was marked by hardship, sacrifice, and danger.

And now… they are just supposed to have run into them?

Brienne never thought of herself as a lucky person. Misfortune seemed much closer to her than fortune ever was. Even the moments of joy such as Gurion's birth or reconciling with Jaime had a bitter aftertaste due to the danger looming above their heads in dark shades of gray.

What if she moves too fast, too abruptly, and the world collapses, only for her to wake up on her horse, having dozed off for a moment, due to exhaustion, surrounded by ice, but no fire, cold but no warmth, only just Jaime and Sansa, but no one else?

Brienne whips her head around when she sees a presence beside her, seemingly having gone ignored by her as she kept staring firmly at Tyrion, then Sansa and Arya, trying to determine whether this is an illusion now or not.

"Good to see you back," a woman's voice rings in her ears, and it is only now that Brienne starts to comprehend that the person before her is Shae, and that in her arms is a bundle that contains her whole world. "He's glad to see you, too, I am sure."

And that is the moment Brienne stops caring whether this is an illusion or not, a short-lived dream or madness. Her gloved hands stretch out, out of reflex, shaking, though not from the cold. However, the moment on she feels the familiar weight in her arms, Brienne's limbs go still, and she can finally breathe again.

While she thought for a moment there, gripping Jaime's arm previously, that she would just collapse, she finds her feet steady now, back in balance after she found herself out of it for so very long.

She balances the bundle on one arm to take one gloved finger into her mouth to pull it off, not caring when it falls into the snow, not caring about the cold biting against her exposed skin. Brienne just has to touch his face to be sure, and once she can feel the heat radiating from the small body in her arms, she knows it real.

Tears freely fall down her cheeks as she keeps stroking Gurion's small face with one finger, tracing the shapes she tried her best to memorize the night they had to part from him. He grew quite a bit since the last time she saw him. He has more hair now, already sticking out of the hood firmly wrapped around him to fend off the cold, looking like a golden halo in the dim light of the torches. However, his eyes are still the same, her eyes and Jaime's, both combined in that small being, which gurgles at her as though she was never gone.

And perhaps, one of these days, you will forgive me for being away from you for so long, she thinks to herself quietly.

Brienne can feel heat pressing against her side, though this time she doesn't have to turn to know that it's Jaime beside her, having gotten back up to enclose the other side of Gurion. And this time, she can feel his hand against her arm.

"This is real, right?" she asks hoarsely, still fearing for the shift, the tilt to happen, leaving her to wake up what seems like a dream after all, too good to be true.

"Even if not, I wouldn't care," Jaime says, pressing against her a little tighter.

If that is snow fever, he will live with it till his last day.

"Me neither," Brienne admits.

"Let me assure you of that one thing, yes, this is real, and real cold. I don't think we can all hallucinate it at the same time," Tyrion says, offering a gentle smile, before he turns his attention around. "If so, that would be quite a discovery the Citadel would have to investigate in their studies."

"Lord Tyrion!" Sansa now almost squeals, surprisingly high in spirit all of a sudden. She trudges over to him, taking his hand to give it a not very gentle squeeze. "I am so glad to see you alive. Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime informed me about what happened by the ship and thereafter, but… it's quite another thing to see you in the flesh."

"Same for you, Lady Sansa. I am most glad," Tyrion says, tapping his small left hand on the back of hers, feeling earnest relief wash over him that his daring plan, up to this point, proved fertile. Because Tyrion spent night for night going over the possibilities of what could go wrong, and there were still so many things that went just the other direction of what he estimated, making even a clever and cunning man the likes of Tyrion Lannister afraid that all his planning was for nothing, that he is apparently not as smart as it takes a man to be to free Lord Eddard Stark's daughter from the clutches of a man whose ambition and appetite for power seems far greater than most would make out when coming across Petyr Baelish for the first time, to ensure the other daughter of Lord Eddard Stark does not run off alone in search for whatever it is that she is so desperately craving by running and fighting with her sword, and keeping alive his nephew, keep him safe, and that even though Tyrion cannot pride himself being a gifted swordsman. He is a gifted spokesman, perhaps, but Tyrion realized rather painfully that you apparently cannot talk yourself out of every situation the way he once believed it possible.

And yet, here we are…

Shae moves up to Sansa to pull her close to her once, wordlessly, not allowing many emotions to show on her face as she speaks, "I hope no harm was done to you?"

"No, Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime got me out in time," the younger woman with auburn hair answers, knowing by now that Shae is the kind of person to keep her emotions guarded.

"Good, or else I would have had to go to Winterfell myself," Shae says, wrinkling her nose.

"We already feared that you had been brought all the way to Winterfell," Tyrion says, chewing on his lower lip. "I went over those very variables a lot on our journey, and had you been stuck there… things would likely look different now than they appear to be at this moment."

"No, right before Winterfell, Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime got me out. At an inn about a day's march from… well, home. Or what remained of it ever since the Boltons hoisted up their banners of the Flayed Man there," Sansa answers, feeling dread and anger wash over her for a moment, but then she reminds herself that this is a door they yet have to cross, but that it can wait at least a while longer.

"Later on our journey, we went to a tavern to spend the time. We heard quite a few rumors spread over ale and stew that the Boltons were less than pleased with Littlefinger turning up there empty-handed," Tyrion chimes. "It's never good to turn up without a present you had promised."

"Though sadly there were no news yet of him having gotten skinned alive," Shae grumbles. "No less would he deserve."

"All in due time, my vengeful lady," Tyrion chuckles. "In my experience, the likes of Littlefinger stumble a few times before they fall off the ladder, down to the very bottom."

"That better happen far sooner than later," Shae huffs, hugging her chest against the cold. "Though I'd probably enjoy it more to have something to do with it myself. I'd rather take part in pulling that ladder away. If not worse."

"How'd you do that, woman?" the Hound huffs. "I think it takes more than a maid to achieve that."

"I am not a maid, I am a whore, and as such, I learned a trick or two," Shae retorts.

"But now you are my lady," Tyrion reminds her with a grin.

"That is beside the point, so shush."

"Ser Sandor!" Sansa then calls out, turning her attention to the knight who, against the odds of his harsh nature, saved her in King's Landing more often than most people will ever know.

"Little Bird. Seems like I keep getting caught up in your family's business, no matter what I try to stay bloody well out of them," he snorts.

"I do believe you will be rewarded for it in due time," Tyrion argues.

"That better be fuckin' so. Your sister's been driving me even more insane than you ever did. And you already had at the point that I wanted to just leave you to your destiny," the man with facial scar huffs.

"Hey!"

"Don't act surprised."

"You don't get to insult my sister. Only I do," Tyrion insists, chuckling.

"See, and that's why I am glad I don't have children, particularly daughters. You only ever give me trouble," the Hound grumbles, pulling the collar of his coat a bit further up.

"I told you that you could go, Clegane," Jaime argues, not bothering to look at the man, his eyes idly focused on the small bundle containing so much more than words can even begin to fathom.

"But the dwarf has solid coin in contrast to you," Sandor argues. "And I reckon staying the hells away from King's Landing, as far as possible, is still a better plan than camping out in the Riverlands, waiting for someone to murder me in my sleep."

"Such a charitable man you are," Tyrion laughs.

"I didn't ever say that I am."

"And regardless of the fact, you trained the squire on your own behalf," Tyrion points out, nodding at Podrick, who still stands there rather motionless, not yet knowing what to do, who to talk to, and how.

"Someone had to do it. Poor example of a squire, aren't you?" Sandor scoffs, pushing Pod against the shoulder, almost knocking the young man over in the process. Pod desperately tries to hold up the torch straight, so not to have it douse in the snow, or worse, catch fire on him.

"M'lady Brienne trained me as well as she could, even though she was with child already," Pod insists as he gathers himself again, holding his chin up high.

"Yeah, and that speaks more for her than it does for you," Sandor snorts.

Podrick already means to reply something, but that is when he sees Lady Sansa approaching, waddling over the already partly trampled down snow. He is surprised, if not shocked, when the young woman takes a hold of his free hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "It's such a relief to see you, too, Podrick. The last time we saw one another, I was so afraid that they had gotten you on the ship and killed you."

"Still alive and breathing, m'lady Sansa," Podrick answers stiffly. "Still up for a fight."

"And don't listen to what Ser Sandor says – he is like that all the time, trust me, I know," Sansa says, simply allowing herself to sink into that moment of happiness and relief. "Tough and coarse on the inside… but deep down, there is a bit of good on him that he despises."

"For that you are in dire danger, you are in a jovial mood, Little Bird," the older man with facial scar huffs.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Sansa argues, finding herself smiling in all earnest in what feels like a small eternity of itself.

Because truth be told, why shouldn't she? Sansa saw people she believed were dead, sees them right before her, can touch them, grab their hand when she thought they were drowned in the sea, buried in the earth, if not worse.

She is reunited with her sister, she found her sister. What does it matter if it's amidst snow and ice? What does it matter that she will have even more blisters the walk still ahead of them?

A while back, Sansa likely would have bothered. She is actually quite sure that she would have lamented about the hardship, about being forced out of the space she saw herself occupy for the rest of her life, but now that she traveled with Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime, Sansa came to realize that those are all but small misfortunes, small pains that pass soon, wound that heal and may even leave some scars, but that bear on meaning, that mean something, that mark the path she has come, has travelled with her own feet, instead of letting others take the lead in her own life. And this moment here will soothe any pain out of her for a long time, of that Sansa is certain.

How did Father say? We need one another, and that is plain as day true.

It just took her a thousand miles to learn it, but now she knows it by heart, and won't ever forget again, of that Sansa is most certain.

"I still cannot believe that you just followed some crows," Tyrion comments, looking at his brother who remains still occupied with his son in the bundle, standing next to the woman he grew to love, and truth be told, Tyrion would find any other reaction unrealistic. That was actually the one thing he was certain of – that this would be his brother once they were to meet again, with Gurion in tow.

"As though we had much better ideas," Shae scoffs. "Don't act so smart. We were lost half the time, if not more often than that."

"What? We trusted young Lady Arya's judgment," Tyrion argues, laughing, getting carried away by the mood as well. "A local who knows the lands, who knows of the weather conditions and secret paths that remain hidden from strangers the likes of us. I found that a rather solid plan indeed, my lady."

"And see where that got us," she snorts, nodding to the sledge behind them.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sansa asks with a grimace, now turning her attention in direction of the sledge, whereas Tyrion and Shae exchange a look she is unable to read fully. Sansa frowns, turning to her sister, who is quick to avert her gaze, the same way she did when her mother caught her doing something she shouldn't have done.

Something is definitely not entirely as happy as one could make this reunion out to be.

Jaime and Brienne, while still vexed on having their son between them, also turn their heads at the sudden silence spreading all around them, knowing that such silence rarely means something good to happen.

"What is the matter?" Jaime questions. "I thought this was supposed to be a short-lived moment of joy before continuing down the road of damnation."

"Jaime," Brienne says, her voice filled with urgency.

"What?" he asks, rather wanting to swallow every image of his son finally back with them, but she urges him again. "Jaime!"

He tears his gaze around, which causes him to frown deeply, trying to make sense of what is before him, on the edge of seemingly becoming part of their future now, too.

"The numbers don't add up here, or am I wrong?" Jaime asks, scrunching his nose. He counts the heads again, and then another time just to be sure.

That is not the number of people he had in mind. While they had to fear for fewer to arrive, there are suddenly… more.

A young girl hops off the sledge, wrapped in heavy furs and quilted skirts, standing about as tall as Arya.

Jaime stares, his mouth standing white open.

"That is…," he mutters, and Brienne completes, "Shireen Baratheon."

"Stannis Baratheon's daughter," Jaime completes, to somehow make it real inside his head. He can't remember the last time he's seen the girl, but she is most definitely one of those people he didn't believe to see in a lifetime again. Because the last time he saw her, Robert was still alive, Cersei was still the King's wife, Jaime was a man of the Kingsguard breaking oaths and keeping secrets, and the war had not yet broken loose.

Just how is that possible?

However, shock is soon overtaken by the urgency of needing to know what that is about, and thus he shouts, "Brother! Explain this to me RIGHT NOW!"

"That is a long story…," Tyrion says, rubbing over the back of his head with a nervous grimace, just the way Jaime remembers him to do it ever since he was even smaller and his older brother caught him doing something forbidden around Casterly Rock.

Though Jaime is fairly convinced that what brings about this gesture that survived from childhood apparently does not relate to a broken hobbyhorse or having slipped out into the libraries at night when he should have been in bed all along.

"Well, the way to the Wall is not exactly short, you may recall, so we will have some time to spare to have this I believe rather necessary conversation," Jaime snaps. While his mind is still all over Gurion, he senses danger coming, which only makes Jaime hold on tighter to his son, fear clutching at him even at a moment as joyful as this one should prove to be.

But apparently, trouble just never leaves us alone, no matter how much time we spend in the ice desert where your one companion for the longest of times proves to be a whiny crow.

"It's her fault!" Tyrion argues vehemently, pointing at Arya.

"Whoa, snitch," Arya scoffs, staring daggers at the dwarf beside her.

"Really?" Jaime makes a face, turning his attention to the young girl with dark hair and apparently rather dark thoughts, for all he can remember. Jaime knows he should not be surprised that this girl is as wild as a wolf and does whatever she sees fit, but it nevertheless strikes him that she can just stand there, arms crossed over her chest with puckered lips, rolling her shoulders, as though this was a trivial matter like breaking an heirloom or tossing food at the older sister, as Sansa had told them one time sitting by the fire.

"Now what?" Jaime demands.

"I rescued her," Arya answers simply.

"From whom? For what I see here, you hold a politically and strategically very unwise hostage," Jaime argues, trying his best to contain his anger, his eyes all the while setting on the young girl who just stands there, looking at them, not daring to speak just yet. "As in… a hostage important to people who want us dead along with the Boltons, the men of the Vale, and whatever royal armies Cersei still has chasing after us. So truly, how did you save much of anything with kidnapping Shireen Baratheon?!"

"I came on my own accord," the young girl with one face covered in ridges of gray argues, though her voice is rather weak. She bows her head, licking her lips.

Jaime lets out a sigh. Why does he always end up having to talk sense into children apparently not his own? So the Seven will, one of these days, he will have to do the same with, but Jaime is not entirely sure whether his quest of finding Sansa had cleaning up after two more children not his written in the fine print.

"Lady Shireen," he says, turning to her. "That makes no difference in the eyes of your dear father, as you are likely aware."

"That bastard can go beyond the Wall and toss himself right off of it for all I care," Arya pouts. "He and his red witch can go try to light a fire North of the Wall, see where that gets them with their stupid Red God to whom they are busy to make sacrifices to."

"Tyrion, translate. Now," Jaime demands through gritted teeth.

"We had to take a detour to shake off our tails after we left the ship meant to take us as far North as we could manage. So we went through the Wolfswood, upon Lady Arya's suggestion. We stayed at a tavern at the outskirt of the forest, meaning to make our way up North to meet you at Queenscrown once the weather was suitable enough again for travel."

"And what happened with this sound plan?" Jaime questions.

They can't mean for this, can they?

Just how many political outlaws, hostages, enemies to the Crown, and what not, are they supposed to take to the Wall as part of their rescue mission before they even get there? At this rate, half the populace will ride for the Wall, following after them. Which would prove contrary to their cause of a secret rescue mission.

"Lady Arya happened, after we had left the last inn behind us and headed into the Wolfswood. She's slipped away from the camp one night as we all laid sleeping," Tyrion replies. "She is… quite good at that."

"Why would you do that, though?" Jaime asks, turning back to the boyish girl.

"I heard people talking about Stannis and the Red Witch being close to Winterfell when we were at one of the inns," Arya answers. "They were not far from where we were by the time."

"… To take Winterfell," Jaime adds with a grimace.

Father, Mother, Crone, whoever, please don't let that be true. Just make her say that it's all just a joke. Please!

"Yeah," she affirms.

"So… you go to that man, meaning to take back the castle you call your own and that is currently held by your enemies? Do I get that right?" Jaime demands.

That girl must have lost her wits along the way here, Seven Hells.

"You think he'd give it back to us?" Arya huffs. "Or even if… free of charge? Because if you do, then you are dumber than a girl who knows nothing about politics."

"Perhaps. It's not like he doesn't have a castle already. It's the Throne he wants," Jaime argues. "Stannis would have demanded your family's loyalty, certainly, but that is not even the matter. The matter is that you kidnapped his daughter and that means the Boltons will keep feasting at Winterfell's tables, all the while chasing us, whereas Stannis's men will also chase us. So you do realize that this causes a problem… far greater than the mere possibility that Stannis Baratheon may demand something in exchange for a castle he has not even won back yet!"

"I wasn't after him or her," the young girl with dark hair argues.

"And yet, that is the two people you ended up interacting with in ways that you plainly shouldn't at a time that would require of all of us to keep as quiet as we can, Seven Hells," Jaime insists.

That simply can't be. Please let that be part of the snow fever…

"I wanted to see if Gendry is with them," Arya mutters, bowing her head this time.

"And Gendry is…," Jaime questions, rolling his stump at her.

"My friend. The red bitch's taken him away back when we were with the Brotherhood in the Riverlands," Arya answers through pursed lips. "They sold him to her. And she took him away. Only the Gods know what that bitch's done to him. I had to go see whether he was with them after all!"

"So you wanted to go looking for your friend and when you couldn't find him, you went ahead and stole a princess instead?" Jaime scoffs, his lips curled into a smirk that is not at all earnest, because this is no joking matter.

This is a disaster. The kind of disaster they cannot afford at this point of time, not with tails chasing us, hounds on their trail, and the fear of being caught their companions all the same.

"I went in there in the midst of the night. No one was going to catch me," Arya argues, shaking her head.

"Right," Jaime scoffs.

"I know how to sneak through camps unseen. I have learned that from the best," Arya insists.

From the First Sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel.

Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow…

Just like the cats in the Red Keep kept flitting through the darkness unseen, unheard.

"And I don't care, I only care for how we moved from you looking for your dear friend to stealing Lady Shireen from her father who is not really known to be a benevolent kind of man," Jaime says, but then turns to Shireen for a moment. "No offense."

"It's alright," the girl replies meekly.

"Gendry wasn't there. They didn't take him with them. I don't know what they did to him, but he wasn't there," Arya goes on to explain, feeling the familiar pain she suffered back in the camps just as strongly. She dared to hope that she would find him, but no such luck. Instead, she stumbled over dark secrets and a young girl instead of the young man she came to find instead.

"So I wanted to go back before anyone could realize me gone," she adds.

"And then…," Jaime scaffolds, finally waiting for the explanation that connects the young girl seemingly chasing what could well be her little sweetheart to her kidnapping Stannis Baratheon's daughter for some damned reason beyond his comprehension.

"I came by Stannis' tent. He was there with that witch. They've been talking about the siege. They couldn't march with their armies. The storm's too heavy to move in from that front. You already saw how hard it is with just two horses, imagine that with an entire army. Taking an army there is suicide right now. We could keep moving because we came from the other side, and that was already tough enough," Arya begins to explain.

Jaime rolls his left wrist at her, gesturing at her to continue. "So?"

"I thought that maybe they'd have something to say about Gendry, but they only ever said that they… something about blood sacrifice, so I fear that…," she stops, but then catches herself. "Doesn't matter. They started to talk about her."

Arya nods at Shireen standing there, shuffling her feet as much as the heavy snow allows her to.

"I overheard what Stannis wanted to do with her, so I followed your advice," Arya continues.

"And what advice would that be? I can't seem to recall that I told you to kidnap Stannis Baratheon's daughter when you are on the run yourself," Jaime snaps. "I am actually quite certain that I never told you that."

"No, but you advised me to start protecting people," the young girl retorts, narrowing her eyes at the curious, sometimes honorable, oftentimes dishonorable knight.

"And from what do you think did you protect Lady Shireen by stealing her from her own kin?"

"He wanted to kill her," Arya then says, determination heavy in her voice. "That is what I protected her from."

"Kill her. His own daughter," Jaime repeats, not quite believing what he hears, or what he sees, as his gaze wanders over to the girl with the facial scar whose mimic holds all but one message "all of what you hear is true."

"He's killed his own brother," Brienne says, barely moving her lips apart, her eyes fixed on young Shireen who clutches ever the more at her coat, chewing on her lower lip as she fights for composure.

"But it's still quite another leap to kill one's own child," Jaime argues. "Renly… he was a political enemy at least. You know what I mean. I can't begin to think that he would consider his own daughter such."

He turns back to Arya. "And you are you sure you didn't mishear it?"

"I heard it and I saw it," the young girl insists. "There was a pyre. They built it in the midst of the night, so she wouldn't know. Just like the witch's ordered for it. She took measurements once she was out of the tent, she saw to it that all was ready for a fire to be lit the coming day. And Stannis daughter was meant to be led to that pyre – to pay the blood sacrifice meant to turn the tide in the war. Like they maybe did it with Gendry, for all I know."

Arya looks to the side, shaking her head. The young girl doesn't want to let the thought happen, let alone allow others to see her distress, but to her surprise, her older sister is suddenly by her side, squeezing her shoulder wordlessly, a gesture she can't remember having witnessed in such a long time.

"… I heard it, too. When Lady Arya told me to come with her. She took me to the outside of my father's tent. They… they said it. My father, he… he said it. I heard it from his mouth, his lips. He said that they should prepare the pyre. He said it, I heard it, and my heart knows it true even though I would rather not," Shireen says, tears falling from her eyes this time.

"Was I supposed to leave her, then, you tell me?" Arya scoffs.

"You never should have been there in the first place," Jaime retorts.

"I wasn't planning on it! And you really don't get to go on about that after what you did to Bran. Let's be honest with one another, ser, you never should have been there either, or else this would have been prevented," Arya retorts.

"You know the girl has a point," Tyrion whistles.

"You shut your mouth," the older brother snaps.

Arya shakes her head. "I went away so that it'd only be me if they had caught me looking for Gendry. I didn't put your child at risk. I am not that kind of person. I just wanted to see about my friend… and once I was there… I found someone in need. Be it a princess or a peasant. I've seen enough boys and girls my age pass because of politics and faith, I wasn't going to see it happen another time. I did as you said, and I want to think I did right by that – I started protecting someone instead of simply planning the murder of those who harmed us."

"But they are going to come after us, and then not just you and I will be in danger, but so will be your sister, so will be Gurion – and Shireen," Jaime argues.

"They wanted her dead, what does it bother them? She's gone for good," the girl scoffs.

"Well, they wanted her dead for a purpose. You prevented that purpose from being fulfilled. So either they are going to come after us to fetch her, or finish that which they started," Jaime tells the dark-haired girl, his mind already starting to paint all those taunting options now suddenly their future. He grew somewhat prepared by now for the dangers coming from Winterfell and the Southern regions, but to have Stannis Baratheon now actively against them as well? That is a risk that is ever the more threatening to an already endangered future.

"I… I didn't mean to cause trouble," Shireen says, barely moving her lips apart as she speaks. "She said I could come with you, to the Wall. I was there before, and Arya said they are headed there anyway. I liked it there well enough. They had nice books, and maybe Sam and Gilly are still there… or perhaps Ser Davos. He was supposed to head to there to gather forces…"

"Do I have to know those people?" Jaime asks, frowning.

"No, but they are my friends," the young girl answers, seemingly trying to hold on to memories as much as she can in times such as these. "And in case of Ser Davos… far more than that."

"Well, so what now? Does the Kingslayer want to leave her here?" Arya challenges the older man through narrowed eyes. "And live up to his bad reputation or what?"

Jaime shakes his head with a grimace, answering promptly, "Of course not."

"Can never harm to ask," Arya snorts.

"I chased a thousand miles to find your sister. Do you sincerely think I'd abandon a girl now that she stands right before me?" Jaime retorts.

There may have been a time when he himself wouldn't have been too sure how to answer that question, but now? He couldn't be more certain.

As it appears, he changed after all, and hopefully more into the man Jaime wants to be in the future, for the sake of the people under his protection, for the people he loves.

"… No," Arya answers simply, knowing the answer true even before she says it aloud. While a part of her will likely always hate him for what he did to Bran, another part, the young girl knows, will remain indebted to the man who saved his sister at the risk of his own life and that of his loved ones.

So the young girl tends to think she owes this man that bit of credit after all.

"I do appreciate it that you do not think that lowly of me," Jaime scoffs.

"You gave me any reason to," Arya replies, but then adds peaceably. "But you give me other reasons now as well. Seemingly, the world is making us do a lot of bad things… but also the good."

"So… you won't send me away?" Shireen asks hesitantly.

"No, Lady Shireen. If you want to go to the Wall, then that is where we will take you. If your father wants to fetch you, he'll have to come through the gates like any other visitor of Castle Black. And I tend to think that he won't fight at Winterfell and the Wall at the same time," Jaime tells her. "At least I hope…"

"I don't mean to cause any trouble," she argues.

"I know," Jaime assures her. "You just want to live, like any other. You just want to be with the people who care about you, like any other. And it's sad enough to think that this person is apparently… not your father anymore."

"Thank you," the girl mouths, her words barely audible, but then she lets her gaze wander to the tall, blonde woman standing beside Jaime who remained mostly silent throughout the fight between him and Arya.

"And what of you, m'lady? Do you want to see me gone?" Shireen asks.

While she did not travel with these people for very long, Shireen listened carefully for what they said about the ominous knight and lady knight they were meant to find and meet. She caught up on some stories, in particular those relating to her uncle's death. While her father never admitted to having seen about Renly's execution, the night outside his tent brought something to fall and crumble in the young girl, leaving her with no chance but to open her eyes to the possibility that her father is not the man she thought he was.

Because when she turned around, there was a pyre, the shadow reaching all the way to the hem of her dress, taunting her, trying to pull her closer, away, her father's voice deafening her, until the girl dressed in boy's clothing held out her hand to her and told her that she could come with her if she acted quick.

And so Shireen did.

And if that is the truth, and her father indeed saw to it that his own brother died for his own ambitions, then the woman sworn to Renly's protection may well have objections to staying close to the girl whose father ordered for his execution.

"No," is the simple reply slipping from Brienne's mouth as she holds on to the bundle holding Gurion a little tighter. "We are all headed to the Wall. That is the end of it for me. And I think it'd be for the best to seek refuge for the night now. The storm is picking up and we cannot allow ourselves to be buried by the snow."

The others watch as the tall woman turns around abruptly and simply starts to walk in direction of the tree line off to their right, all the while keeping her son close to her. Jaime sucks the inside of his cheek into his mouth before turning around as well, grabbing the reins of both their horses before catching up to her.

"We shouldn't waste our time, now come!" he calls out over his shoulder.

"You heard the man. And that may be the first reasonable thing I heard that whole damn day," the Hound comments before starting to wade through the snow after them as well.

The rest of the group soon gathers as well and starts towards the tree line promising protecting from the cold and unforgiving winds blowing from the North, and above their heads, unknown, three crows disappear into the night, following the call from the North, to where they are meant to go, meant to be all along.

Thankfully, it doesn't take the group too long to find a place to spend the night, a small clearing proving to be a rather good protection from the harsh winds hissing as they slap across the snow.

A fire is lit and for a moment, it almost seems like any other night Brienne, Jaime, and Sansa spent in the woods, huddled over by the flames, hoping for a better future to reveal itself by morning's rise, trying to leave their doubts and insecurities to dance with the shadows looming behind them.

However, it's truly nothing like it used to be.

Nothing is the way it used to be.

And the future became even more fragile than it was in both Jaime's and Brienne's wildest imagination or darkest vision.

Yet, they find themselves clutching on to that fragile future as they hold on with all their mind to the fragile present in a bundle, the one true promise of a future that matters to them, looking at them with bright eyes, as though the world was not nearly as frightening, as threatening as the adults all make it out to be.

"I somehow can't seem to take my eyes off of him," Jaime comments quietly, letting the fingers of his left hand dance over the heavy layers of wool and fur, almost hesitant now that he was reminded of the fragility of this their world. "I didn't think I'd see him today, and yet… here he is."

He lets his gaze wander to Brienne, who remained almost painfully silent ever since she spoke to Shireen to assure her of their support, her big blue eyes transfixed on their little cub, rocking back and forth gently, to the rhythm of the boughs swinging in the winds.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. "Brienne?"

The blonde woman tears her gaze around to him, as though she only took notice of his presence right at this moment, and Jaime doesn't even have to wait for an answer, since it is in the big blue orbs that captivated him what seems like a small eternity ago now.

"Can you… can you take him for a while?" Brienne then asks in turn, which has Jaime's frown only ever deepen.

"… Sure," Jaime answers slowly as she picks up Gurion from her lap to place in his arms, the movement to balance his son almost instantly returning to him, Jaime notes for a moment. "Hello there, little cub."

"I will be right back," Brienne tells him as she gets up. She brushes some snow off of her coat before walking away from the fire, towards the trees framing the clearing. Jaime's gaze follows her all the while, well aware that something is wrong with the woman whose heart he can almost feel beating right beside his whenever she is too far gone.

Jaime looks back at Gurion, who only ever gurgles gleefully at him, the way he seems to do far more often than one would think, considering their situation.

"You don't come to know what your Lady Mother is up to, do you?" he asks, but the baby only ever puckers its lips.

"That's what I thought," Jaime chuckles, before getting up himself, in the same motion pressing a kiss to the child's brow. He walks over to Sansa, who is sitting close to her sister, upon her own insistence, trying to create closeness where distance ruled for far too long.

"Lady Sansa, would you mind taking him for a while?" Jaime asks, nodding at the bundle in his arms.

"Oh, not at all!" Sansa says rather enthusiastically. "I didn't get to take a good look at him yet anyway."

"Then it's high time that you get to know one another after all," Jaime says with a smirk, handing the bundle over to her. Sansa takes Gurion into her arms rather expertly, rocking him back and forth in her arms. "He is so perfect."

"He snores," Arya comments, chuckling, tapping her index finger against the furs. "You will surely grow to be an annoying little lion, won't you?"

"I bet he will be a fine, gallant knight in the future," Sansa argues, smiling at the baby, reminding herself that this little life was born against the odds of the hardships they encountered, against the odds of the terrors that awaited them on the ship meant to Tarth, though it never reached the shores of the Sapphire Isle.

Because that little baby is the proof that you can be both, that you can be more than one thing, a lady knight and mother all the same, a Kingslayer and loving father all the same. And that in itself gives Arya a bit of hope after all.

"You always think that," Arya huffs, rolling her eyes with a grin tugging at her lips. "That one is certainly an adventurer. Look how far he's come! And he's not even one year old just yet."

Knowing Gurion thus in good hands, Jaime dares to tend to the more urgent business, which is the woman he just keeps chasing, no matter how close they actually are.

Because he always will.

Because Brienne and Gurion, that Jaime knows by now, are his one sense of direction, his way ahead.

Jaime spots Brienne kneeling, her back to the camp, somewhere where only little light from the fire there makes it way past the trees. Oathkeeper is propped up against the tree in front of her.

"Brienne?"

"Is Gurion…?"

"He is with Sansa and Arya, likely having the time of his life with all the attention he is getting. Don't worry. I suppose the little girl is actually rather fond of him even though she tries to act like she is not enchanted with our little cub. But he has his father's charm after all," Jaime means to joke, but he can see at once that it falls flat on Brienne as she keeps glancing at the sword that came to mean so much between them, its rubies and gold glistening even in the sparse light.

"What is the matter with you, for real this time?" Jaime demands to know, motioning closer. "For that fortune came to us travelling on a crow's wing, you seem rather… downcast, I daresay."

And Jaime would want Brienne to simply be happy, if only just for the one night of happiness of being reunited with their family and friends – and some unexpected visitors.

"We are blessed, I know that. Arya, Gurion… they are all back with us, though earlier the day, we thought we wouldn't ever find them heading this way, if not for the crows," Brienne says, her eyes still transfixed on the blade. "This is a great fortune, greater than I ever thought possible."

"But?" Jaime asks, but then goes on to suggest, "It's about Shireen, isn't it?"

Her lack of reply is actually answer enough for Jaime.

"Do you regret it that we decided to take her with us? You know you can say that to me. It'd be just between us," Jaime assures her. While he knows that the woman is too true and too honorable for her own good at times, Jaime is also aware that it can sometimes be such an ointment for the soul to simply let out all the bad thoughts, the ones you try to keep hidden, let out that bad blood, so to forget your shame and self-blame, if only for a moment or two.

That one time in the baths of Harrenhal? It made Jaime travel lighter ever since.

The time he confessed his love to Brienne and she took him back? That gave him wings for a moment or two, and Jaime would like for Brienne to feel a little less weight on her shoulders, too. While they are so very strong, can carry so much, he knows about their fragility all the same, her fragility, which normally stays hidden underneath her armor and strong physique.

"I don't regret that, no. I couldn't ever. She is only just a girl. She can't help it that her father is a murderous, treacherous, corrupt, dishonorable man. I'd never hold that against her," Brienne says, shaking her head. "I never could. Never."

"That's what I thought. So what upsets you that you can only ever look at Gurion as though we were about to say goodbye again?" Jaime asks, this time kneeling down beside her to look Brienne deep in the eyes, knowing that they will tell him the answer even in the dim light of the campfire and the moon hiding above the canopy dancing in the strong gust.

"This is Stannis's daughter," Brienne begins, not daring to look at him just yet.

"Well, yes, apparently?" Jaime frowns, trying to understand.

Brienne looks at the sword, tapping the flat of her hand against her flat chest.

"No, you don't… it's… I hate this man. The Gods know I do. I hate him for what he did to Renly, and in what fashion he's done it. I despise him with every fiber of my being. And the Gods know how heavy that weighed on my heart," Brienne says, her eyes fixed on Oathkeeper. "I swore it. I swore that I would avenge him. Not on this sword but another, but I made that pledge, to kill the man who cut my heart in half as his shadow cut through Renly's armor in that tent."

"And now no longer?" Jaime asks quietly.

"Now my heart weighs ever the heavier because of it. Because now I see his daughter, good and sweet and kind. And she is a daughter who would have mourned her father, had I gotten a chance to avenge Renly. And I didn't even think about that while I made that pledge. I didn't think about the loved ones he would leave behind. So what does that make me?"

This time she looks back at Jaime, her eyes pleading for an answer.

"Considering what that man was about to do, the grief you would have caused her then may well have saved her life all the same," Jaime tells her, hoping to offer Brienne a bit of reassurance, a bit of comfort. "Being one myself, I can say that one thing for certain: Stannis Baratheon is not a good man."

"Even if so… He has a family, he has goodness in this world, and… and the more I think about it, the sicker I grow. Because he has that goodness, right before him, right within his reach. Gods know what I would have given to have Gurion right by my side all the while we were separated," Brienne says, shaking her head. "And he killed his own kin, and now meant to kill another? His own one living daughter? In my hatred I almost forgot that he had a family, too, I will admit it. I thought about nothing but killing him, and I wasted no thought on what that'd mean for her."

She nods in direction of the camp where Shireen and the others are busy talking.

"I didn't, the Gods know it true, but now… now I see what her own father meant to do to her. It's one thing to mean to kill your brother opposing you, as much as that pains my heart to admit, but… but your own daughter, a child born from your blood, your flesh, your soul… I… I just don't know how you can do that," Brienne mutters. "I would rather die than sacrifice Gurion. I would rather die than see any harm being done to him. That is… that is natural… I thought? But what this man meant to do… that is not what parents do. How could he? How can he mean harm to such a sweet, young girl? How can he?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm the wrong man to ask that question," Jaime says nervously. "You know what I was willing to do to a boy not mine, just to keep my secret, only because… as Ara rightly pointed out, I was where I should not have been and had to hide the evidence."

And that guilt will forever weigh on his shoulders alone, Jaime is aware, but so the Gods will, the time will come that he will find a way to repay at least some of the debt he owes the dark-haired boy whose legs he took at the price of seeing his family protected, no matter the costs, no matter the sacrifice.

"But would you have done that thing if it had been Gurion?" Brienne asks.

A while back, she never even would have allowed that thought, but the journey with Jaime taught her some many things, including that sometimes protecting your loved ones means committing an act of disgrace, dishonor.

Because we make choices, and not always do they serve the good, not always do they leave your honor intact. Sometimes, the choices you make are impossible, sometimes they are not, and you still end up making the wrong one, but by the end of the day, Brienne wants to think that it's the totality of the choices you make that determines whether you are a good person or not.

Because the man who did some truly despicable things is also the man she chose, the man who chose her, after they, at last, put past their differences and denial of each other's commitment for one another, each other's choice for one another.

"No."

"But Stannis did just that. With fire. He planned and prepared. He had a pyre set up to burn his own daughter, for something as unimportant as his own ambitions. There is a difference in that. There is something… I don't know how you can do that to your own loved ones. How can you not do anything within your powers to know them protected? I just… I don't understand it."

"At some point I hope we are never going to find out," Jaime answers. "Because that means he stays away from us – and her."

"Might be for the best indeed," she agrees.

He studies Brienne with a grimace. "But that is not the only reason why you keep away, is it?"

The tall woman sucks her lower lip into her mouth, visibly contemplating her reply.

"Renly never spoke much of Shireen, you see. Not to me, at least. I think he even made fun of her on occasion. He was not a… perfect man, really. Far too driven by his own ambitions. Perhaps that was the one thing he had in common with his brother," Brienne goes on to say, looking back at the sword.

There was a time when her heart couldn't bear to even think of Renly in a negative way, because it was the man she had to hold up high as the man she loved, the one beacon of hope for a love she knew wouldn't ever be. However, over time, Renly was driven from her mind, became a faint whisper in the back of her head. Just like the memories she clutched on to so desperately, especially after his demise, somehow lost the shine they once had when she closed her eyes and called him to her mind.

Renly was not without fault, but of that she remains certain, he deserved better than what he got at the hands of Stannis Baratheon, his own brother, a man to whom an iron chair is more important than his own kin – a man for whom Brienne can no longer muster any sympathy.

Because a man who is willing to kill a brother and a daughter for mere ambition? Such a man does not deserve power, does not deserve the throne, and even less so does he deserve the love of the daughter he was willing to give over to the flames.

"But despite all his faults… Renly didn't deserve what was done to him. There was no honor to the act, no way for him to protect himself. And now Stannis repeated, or tried to repeat, that with his own daughter. Like a coward he hides behind his faith, behind that ominous Red Woman, his claim to the Iron Throne," Brienne continues, letting out a shuddered breath. "And that is why I think I still have to keep the vow I made to Renly."

"About killing Stannis."

"About bringing him to justice. But I see now that I cannot fulfill the vow I once made," Brienne explains.

And that is why she felt she had to do it, make a new vow, a promise.

Another choice.

And that thought alone send her heart into one turmoil after the next, because it was so deeply embedded into her heart that Brienne thought it was impossible to part it from her soul ever again. And yet, as she knelt down to remind herself of the vow she took to see Renly's death being avenged, Brienne found that there was a way for her to change that which seemed unchangeably buried in the flesh of her heart.

"Then what vow do you want to make instead?" Jaime asks, well aware that for Brienne, the mere idea of being unable to keep a promise is nearly unbearable.

"So the Gods will, so the Gods grant me the strength and opportunity, I will bring Stannis Baratheon to justice. That has not changed. And if justice is served at the tip of Oathkeeper, then so I will carry it out, but that will not be my decision to make. That is what has changed now," Brienne tells him.

"Then whose?" Jaime asks.

"The daughter he was willing to leave to the mercy of his own God, simple as that," she answers.

Because, that is what Brienne now realized, that girl is her responsibility, too, if only for the debt she believes she owes her for forgetting about her when she was driven by her wish of revenge for Renly.

"You want Shireen to decide?"

"I want her to have the choice, if we are granted such, for which I cannot account right now. But it is important to me that this promise is no longer just about Renly. My pledge… it now has to include her. Because I forgot about Shireen Baratheon before, when truly, I shouldn't have. And while Renly didn't care too much about her, then so I will in his stead. By the Seven, I will. No one is sworn to protect her right now… so I consider it my duty, as she is the niece of the man whom I pledged my sword to long time ago," Brienne tells Jaime. "Not just Lannisters pay their debts."

"That sounds like a good vow to me," Jaime tells her quietly, offering a small smirk. "And perhaps also one we can keep."

Brienne frowns at that. "We?"

"Why? Don't you know that whatever vow you make is mine to keep as well?" Jaime chuckles softly.

Whatever weight you shoulder, I will try to shoulder with you, whether you want me to or not. You don't get rid of me that easily ever again, wench.

Jaime is rather surprised when Brienne, her fingers curled around Oathkeeper's pommel, leans over to kiss him, but he leans into the touch more than willingly, knowing that ever kiss, every sign of affection is a blessing for him, one Jaime tends to think he has to keep growing deserving of, but works for with all his might.

Once they pull apart, he presses his forehead against hers, offering another gentle smirk. "But now is no more time for sadness, hm? At least tonight we should celebrate our small victory. We have our son back. The Stark girls are reunited. A whole lot of good has been swept our way in this storm. And I don't think we should waste that precious time thinking about fragile futures and sad pasts."

"You are right," Brienne agrees quietly. "After all, we have Gurion back."

"We have Gurion back," Jaime repeats, if only to remind themselves of that circumstance, of this being the present now.

"And that is real."

"Yes."

They hold each other close a while longer, lingering in that feeling, the pure relief that came on the wake of a bird's wing. And Brienne is so thankful that in Jaime she has someone to share not just the joy with, but also the dark thoughts, and the vows, that the choices they make, they make together.

Once they withdraw from one another, Brienne quickly sheaths Oathkeeper again, and the two walk back towards the camp where the rest of the group is still gathered around the fire. Tyrion and Shae are huddled over under some blanket they brought along on the sledge, whereas the Hound sought out a spot furthest away from the others. Podrick has his eyes focused on the area beyond, dutifully keeping watch, and the girls are occupying themselves talking, acting more like children their age than they likely had the chance to in a far too long time.

Jaime can't help but chuckle as he sees the three young girls gathered around their son. Arya lifts the boy high in the air, making dramatic gestures before letting him back down, to which the baby only ever gurgles with more excitement, seemingly something she did with him before, even though Arya would probably deny that any time if he were to ask her about it, after all, she has a reputation as a tomboy to lose.

"Here, try it!" Arya calls out, handing Gurion over to Shireen, who copies the movement promptly to the very same result. "The little devil loves that for some reason."

"I suppose the ladies are enjoying themselves about alright with our son?" Jaime calls out as they draw closer, all the while making sure that Brienne does not withdraw again, but thankfully, she keeps right by his side this time.

Where you belong, Brienne, he adds, if only to himself.

"Oh, I should have asked if it is alright to…," Shireen means to say, but Brienne quickly interrupts her, "It's alright. Gurion seems to like your company quite a lot."

The girl offers her an uncertain smile before the baby has her attention again, and to Brienne's own surprise, she feels a strange sort of relief washing over her, now that she watches the girl whom she forgot about in her wish for revenge be around the child she could never forget in a lifetime. Because it reminds her that it may well be possible for her to keep that new vow.

"For a man who's been bound to celibacy, I get to tend to more children than I ever fathered," Jaime comments.

"Well, you fathered one of those here at least, so it's not only foster children now suddenly in your care," Tyrion calls out, sitting next to Shae, likely sharing wine from the skin that travels back and forth between the two.

"I am no foster child! I am no child anyway!" Arya retorts, waving her left hand at him dismissively.

"You know that this is what any child would say?" Tyrion snickers.

"And you know that this is what a child would say, too?" Arya counters.

"The both of you shut up. You are annoying and I want to sleep," the Hound laments, pulling the furs further up his nose. "Damn the North. Damn the cold. Damn all of this shit here."

"You can still go back South if you want," Arya huffs. "No one is going to stop you now. At least I won't."

The man with facial scar mutters some incoherent curses to himself before turning away to ignore the rest and likely get the rest he spoke about.

"He is such a ray of sunshine," Jaime comments with a grin before sitting down with the girls. "And now you will show me that trick that makes Gurion giggle like that. So that I have something to do in case he starts whining again. You owe me that much, little wolf."

"I owe you nothing, Kingslayer," Arya snorts, sticking out her tongue, but then she smiles at him anyway, for now daring to think that a truce between them is quite alright.

"You just have to bend backwards a bit more than you usually would," Shireen says. "He finds that funny for some reason."

"I like her better than you already," Jaime snickers, pointing at Shireen.

"I like her better than you, too," Arya snorts, grinning.

"At last something we agree on," the older man chuckles softly, trying to ease into that moment of short-lived joy, of short-lived peace, no matter the troubles awaiting them past this night, past this snow storm raging beyond the woods.

"Lady Brienne? I think he wants to be back in your arms," Shireen says, gesturing at Gurion. Brienne kneels down next to her after hearing that and carefully takes the baby from the young girl's arms.

"Thank you, Lady Shireen."

"Is everything alright again?" the young girl asks.

"For tonight… it couldn't be any better," Brienne tells the young girl, before her arms start to pick up on the rhythm of the boughs swinging in the gust coming from the North.

Because they found the one snowflake amidst a storm.

And if that means walking through another, then so they will.

Because of that one thing Brienne is certain, she has someone to walk right beside her, to keep her up when she feels like falling, with no more than the brush of his fingers against her arm.

She flashes a small smirk over to the man who started out dipped in the shadows, but over time, as the lights she cloaked Renly in kept fading, came to embrace the man she learned to embrace, learned to love.

Winter may have come, but so long its winds carried their family back together, Brienne is daring to think that even getting to the Wall is no longer such an impossible task, not after finding one ice crystal bearing their shape, their names, among all other fragile possibilities and futures surrounding them in endless white.

And somewhere in the distance, three crows shriek as they continue heading North, to carry a message back some other place, hidden right at the heart of the snow and ice, because new choices were made, thus changing even the course of the strongest storm yet to come.