This came to me rather suddenly last week and I wanted to get it down before the premiere. I kept it to 7 chapters in total.

Jaime stood in the center of the great hall of Winterfell, his sharp green eyes glued to the two figures seated on the high back chairs at the top of the dais. The last time he'd been here, the room had been filled with the sounds of a feast. Jaime could almost remember the boisterous noise of northmen laughing, happy for any excuse for good food and drink even if it meant putting up with an entire host of southerners. Now the room was as silent as a tomb, though the walls were lined from one end to the other with representatives of every noble house remaining in the North as well as the queen's other allies.

Jaime had entered the gates of Winterfell amidst whispers and stares. It didn't bother him, he'd been expecting their animosity, but instead of being taken directly to Daenerys like he'd requested, one of the northern lords had ordered him seized and stripped of his weapon and golden hand. He'd been thrown into a cell despite protesting his treatment, claiming that he'd come with urgent news for the Queen and he needed an audience immediately. He'd been ignored. Jaime rallied for two hours, talking his poor guard nearly to insanity before two men dressed in heavy furs had come to let him out. They'd given a rather gruff, insincere apology about his treatment and declared that Queen Daenerys had requested his presence in the Great Hall. When they'd entered the cavernous room it was already packed with people, and Jaime endured the glares of the lesser lords and ladies as he strode by them with his head held high.

Toward the front of the room, the great houses of the North stood witness to the proceedings. Jaime recognized their banners, if not their faces. A young girl no older than twelve stood stoically beneath the black bear of the Mormonts. Jaime thought for a moment that she could have easily been sitting up on the dais given her poise and presence. The large man who'd imprisoned him stood on the other side of the hall, his banner proudly proclaiming him a Karstark. He stood behind a young woman not yet twenty, and though she held herself tall she didn't impress Jaime quite as much as Lady Mormont.

At the very end of the row, just beneath the stairs, sat the Stark siblings. Sansa sat at the end closest to the dais, her face impassive and inscrutable. Bran and Arya sat next to her, and of them only Bran's face gave away his interest in the matters at hand. Standing just behind Sansa, like a shadow on the wall, stood a tall figure that Jaime knew all too well. He didn't allow himself to linger, or to even catch her eye. He was here at the behest of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and Jaime had no illusions about what might happen today. He just hoped Lady Brienne was sensible enough to keep quiet if the worst were to befall him.

On top of the dais sat the two figureheads, Queen Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow, King in the North. Or at least he had been. Jaime had heard rumors during his brief imprisonment that Jon Snow had bent the knee. Just behind the queen stood Tyrion, his face impassive but his eyes imploring Jaime not to do anything stupid. Well, he could try at least.

"They call you Kingslayer." Daenerys' voice was crisp and cool, carrying across the stone hall easily.

Jaime swallowed and nodded. "They do, Your Grace."

"Why?"

She knew of course - Jaime could see it in the way her eyes were bright and wild, like the fire that came on the wind with her dragons. He tried to forget the sounds of his men burning alive in their armor, the fear in every face as the realm got its first look at a dragon in hundreds of years. But she wanted him to say it, to admit to his sins in front of everyone. Jaime refused to be rattled by her game - he was a Lannister after all.

"Because I slew the Mad King, Your Grace."

The Dragon Queen's face hardened slightly. "King Aerys, you mean."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"While a member of his Kingsguard, a group sworn to protect and obey him. Instead stuck your sword in his back. Into the back of my father. Tell me, Kingslayer," she spat the title with as much venom as Jaime imagined her capable, "why I shouldn't feed you to my children?"

Jaime imagined she'd hear no ill against her father, though a part of him was eager to detail just how mad Aerys had been. What was that old saying? When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. Jaime could tell her every detail of his plan to burn King's Landing to the ground, but that wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change anything, and the past was dead. Nor would he grovel, beg mercy for an act he would gladly commit again if given the choice. So instead he looked to the future.

"The dead are at your door, Your Grace. I haven't seen for myself, but I imagine their numbers far outmatch anything you can muster. You will need every able man and woman to defend the realm. I have come because I promised the North aid. Cersei isn't coming, though I suspect you already knew that."

Daenerys' eyes cut sidelong toward her Hand. "Lord Tyrion told me that was a possibility, yes. We had hoped she would see reason."

"Unfortunately, Cersei is beyond reason at this point. She believes in leaving the north to fight the dead, she'll be able to conquer whichever side comes out on top."

"She is a fool."

An old instinct rose up in defense of his sister, his other half, but just as quickly it was gone. The Cersei he had once loved was dead, leaving in its wake a woman that Jaime couldn't even recognize. Still, he had nothing to add to her statement that would help his cause, so he remained silent.

After a few more long moments, Jon Snow stood. "If Cersei isn't sending aid, then why are you here?"

Jaime had thought about everything on the long road to Winterfell. Kingslayer, they had called him. Oathbreaker. He had been lying to himself for too long, telling himself and anyone who asked that it didn't bother him. But he'd only had the truth for company on the cold, hard journey, and the truth had revealed so much to him. He knew what kind of man he wanted to be, and now he had the chance to do it.

"I promised to fight for the living," he spoke fiercely, and no one could deny the truth of his words. "I intend to keep that promise."

"And we are to take the word of a man such as you? How can we trust you aren't still loyal to your sister?"

Jaime wasn't sure who had spoken up, just that the voice had come from behind him. Refusing to turn and acknowledge the point, he kept his eyes on Snow. "I can understand why you wouldn't trust me. I'm not entirely sure I would trust me either, if I were you. But I also know that you need every able-bodied person to defend the realm. This goes beyond loyalty; this is about survival. And I am here to help." He didn't bother swearing - it would do him no good now. There was only one person in the room who would believe him if he did, and she was likely already on his side anyway.

Jaime remained alone in the center of the room, the subject of every pair of eyes. Finally the queen stood, a fluid motion that belied her youth despite the wisdom in her gaze. For a long moment she said nothing, and Jaime knew he was doomed. He clenched his jaw and resisted the suddenly overwhelming urge to glance at Lady Brienne. If he saw her now, those terribly blue eyes full of sorrow for him, he would lose his composure. Instead he met the icy gaze of the queen and silently accepted whatever judgement she would mete.

"Jaime Lannister. You come before us of your own free will?"

"I do, Your Grace."

"And you are willing to sacrifice your life to protect the realm?"

"I am, Your Grace."

The lines of her face hardened as she stared him down. "And will you bend the knee?"

At this, Jaime balked. His sudden silence sent a wave of murmurs through the room. But clearing his throat, he answered. "I will submit to whatever judgment or ruling you deem fit, Your Grace. But until the dead have gone back to their graves, I will not kneel." He didn't add that it wouldn't matter anyway; no one would trust him to keep his word even if he did. But Jaime could see that Daenerys understood, though it made her no less furious. He hoped he hadn't just sealed his own crypt.

"Then this is my ruling. You are to be stripped of all family possession and inheritances. Casterly Rock and the Westerlands are under my control. From this moment forward you hold no lands, no titles, save one. You are a Knight of the Realm, Ser, earned justly and no one - not even I - can take that from you. But you are and shall remain a landless knight, from this day until you swear fealty to me and mine." She arched one delicate eyebrow. "You will keep your life for now. That judgment shall rest with my Warden of the North," she gestured back toward Snow. "Rest assured that at the first hint of betrayal or deceit, I will not hesitate to feed you to my children myself."

Jaime stood completely still, unable to quite believe what he'd heard. Some of the other lords gathered couldn't either, and their dissentious murmurs were heard only for a moment. Then Jon Snow stood at his queen's side and the hall fell silent once again.

"Ser Jaime," he said. "I have heard tales of your battle prowess from your many enemies." He said this last with just a hint of mockery, but Jaime didn't react. "Should you prove yourself good to your word, we may have use for you. Until then, I will reserve my judgment." He came down the steps quickly, and Jaime had to force himself to remain still and not take a step back from the ferocity in his eyes. This was no longer the boy Jaime had met at a feast all those years ago, headstrong and eager to prove himself. This man had been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and King in the North. He knew his own power and Jaime saw it in every movement.

Jon reached into his pocket and withdrew a small scrap of dried meat. It had been torn at one end, as though chewed. He held it in one gloved hand, and Jaime stared down at the offering. Its meaning, of course, was not lost on anyone. Jaime quickly reached out and took it, tearing off a chunk with his teeth. It was too salty and too gamey, but Jaime chewed it quickly and swallowed. Jon turned and took his sister's cup from the table, and Jaime didn't hesitate when it was extended toward him. He took a long drink, nearly draining it. It had been too long since his last meal and his stomach protested the meager portions, but Jon seemed satisfied.

"Ser Jaime has been extended guest right in Winterfell. Anyone who violates this will be punished severely." This time there were no murmurs, no whispers of disdain. The Warden of the North, it seemed, was unquestionable. The northmen respected their own, and though Daenerys had her dragons and the Unsullied, Jon had the North.

"Lord Cerwyn," Jon glanced over at one of the men standing beneath a black battleaxe banner. "Please find Ser Jaime a bed. As he is a simple knight, I'm sure he'll find the barracks comfortable enough."

And that was it. The room bowed as one as Daenerys and Jon exited through the back hall. Jaime was ushered away by the rather burly men of Cerwyn, but before he was pushed out the door he stole one final glance back. He found Brienne standing against the far wall where she'd been for the entire ordeal. Even at a distance he could see the worry in her eyes, but he saw something else there as well, something that made his lips quirk ever so slightly.

It was pride.