He does not love me. The thought hardened like cooling steel in her mind as she lay again one night, next to his slumbering body. She did not want the thought there, sharp and unforgiving and as cold as the winter outside. She had tried to ignore its growing presence, forget the shadow it cast but it was no good. This was one battle she hoped she would never have to face. In the darkness of the night, it haunted her, seizing her heart and chest so that she gasped and spluttered but her tears had run out long ago. It stole her voice so that she could not cry out for help, for him as she had once before. She tried to reach out for the memories that she hoped were bright enough to melt away the cutting ice in her thoughts. In their search for Sansa and their long travels together, they had built trust and closeness. Her love for him had grown and grown, roots deep and unmoving. And there had been lust; there was no doubt in his blazing green eyes then. They still had conversations now. They still sparred and broke their fast together. But gone were the quick dancing glances, the soft surprising touches on her hand or cheek. Gone were the times where he would pull her away from her desk to go for a walk or a ride, teasing her about her seriousness towards her duties. Now she did not see him unless she sought him out, and days would pass without contact – hand or word. She should not have insisted on returning to Tarth once their oaths had been fulfilled; it was too small an island for him, she knew. Too small and too dull and too far away from what he imagined his future to be. They had married soon after returning. Too soon perhaps. She replayed the day in her mind, wondering if she had deceived herself even then. With each night she came to the realisation that he was only with her because he had no-where else to go and that he wished, wanted to be with someone else.

She could just about cope with it all in daylight but at night, an aching shame took over. There was nowhere else she could hide her empty heart. They fulfilled their bedding duties notwithstanding their growing distance, but it was becoming rarer and rarer. Yet, when it did happen his touches and kisses were practiced, well-acted and well-known but a mere performance. It had none of the liveliness, the spontaneity, the quips and embarrassed laughs of their first times together. He does not love me. She had not even been able to have any children. All this left her completely bereft; worse than simple misery and it was killing her.

With the tip of the thought pressing hard into her heart like a dagger more violently than ever, she slowly pushed away the blankets and let her bare feet touch the stone floor. She did not notice the cold despite her shivering. Unsteadily she walked to the window, drawing the heavy curtains away. She felt the bitter draughts pluck at her once-white wool nightdress. The moon was up; calm and placid and all-seeing. Lit up by the clear moonlight, there was snow, mountains of it, hiding the muck and dirt of the courtyard, the sharp angles of the castle walls. She pressed a hand to the glass, wanting the snow's whiteness to wipe away her thoughts and sorrows, to freeze her breaths and heartbeats.

She didn't notice the stirring in the bed behind her, her name being called once, twice. Then there was a hand on her shoulder. She faced him slowly, unwilling to let the snow out of her sight. He does not love me. It didn't matter anymore. Her eyes passed over his blindly and searched out the whiteness again.

"Brienne, what is the matter—" His hand moved to cup her chilled ruined cheek, but still she refused to look at him. She wished she could just blend in with the landscape – everyone was pale these days for lack of sun. Her freckles had faded with her spirit.

"I cannot sleep again, ser." Her voice was very small, but filled with agony.

There was a hurt exhalation from the man next to her. He moved his hand. She missed it more than she could ever imagine.

"Ser? Am I a stranger to you now?" He stared at her, unbelieving. She watched the black and white landscape with desperate eyes. It had no answers for her, it never did.

"You are not the man I knew." Her statement made its way through her blankness, through Jaime's incomprehension and filled the room with its meaning. It came from somewhere deep in her; a force of belief that wanted only the best for him, a belief that if only she could spur his anger, their distance would grow quicker and wider until he wanted to be free, whatever the oaths that bound them. Her honour demanded nothing less.

He muttered something, but she could not catch what. He does not love me. He does not love me. He does not love me. It cut through her mind, striking at any thoughts she tried to form, to speak. She looked at him in fear as he moved away from her. There was nothing she could do to stop him going and she gasped at the pain that spun its barbs through her body.

She did not see him standing, clutching a fur in his hand as her knees buckled under her and she slid down the wall, white fingers still clutching the window sill. She did not see him move hurriedly towards her as she sat there, long legs sprawled awkwardly. She did not catch his desperate, fraught gaze as her face crumpled in distress. She was useless at this life, her mind cried out, this mockery of a marriage. The septas had been right, of course, about poor simple Brienne. She could never be a wife. Not a good, true one. Not one that didn't repel her husband. And so she was here, on a hard cold floor alone. Like she had been before, would always be.

She whimpered nonsense as he gently wrapped the fur round her bent shoulders, heaving in suffering. "Hush, love. Hush." His hesitant voice washed over her, unnoticed. His hand and words hovered and wavered, unsure of how to react to her obvious pain. She felt raw and bruised and delicate, flinching as he touched her.

"Don't." His warmth and smell and all he was found its way inside her and hit something hard and rigid that she thought had long gone. She had to make him see, make him go. Leave her to heartache and be done with it all.

"Brienne—"

"I know it is your duty as a husband, but you needn't."

"No…no!" he almost shouted. "Enough! This ends here. Wench – my wench – you will tell me what is wrong or—"

Pricked by the faint threat, she couldn't help but look up in challenge.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. Softened in stance and tone, he reached for her hand. "Please, Brienne. Please tell me." But it was no use. She felt forgotten and unmissed and left behind. A wave of sadness surged and crashed in her again, wearing away at the walls, making them crumble all too easily. Walls she knew were weakened by her own feelings for him.

"You have lost me, Jaime." She could feel him about to speak, but the lightest of pressure on his hand stopped him short. "You lost me because you're not mine anymore. You're hers. You're hers. Like you always were." Her wide eyes stared selflessly, quietly at him. She gently pushed his hand back to him and watched him pale visibly, even in the grey gloom.

"Cersei," he hissed. He looked as broken and ruined and beaten as she felt. Haunted eyes refused to leave hers. "No. I'm no one else's but yours, no one's." His grip tightened on her hand and he pulled her up as he rose suddenly, both awkward and stiff in the cold. Long seconds passed when she only felt his rough palm on hers. He gestured to the window, to the world outside. "I have lived many lives, Brienne. Each with their own lures and charms and struggles. And then you gave me another chance, one I didn't deserve. Now I cannot see myself living another life without you." He turned to her, brooding face clear in the pale light. His right arm hugged her waist. "It is you that makes me happy. Not Cersei. She plays no part in this life. Only you do."

"She is not forgotten though, I think?" She knew he saw her suspicion and how that hurt him more than anything and she wished that she was strong enough to change it but she couldn't. She slipped from his grasp.

Something brutal crossed his face and he looked away. "You need not fear on that account."

A derisive bark of laughter sprung from her. It sounded alien in the strained quiet; the source inside her a place of darkness. But it made her speak the truth. Finally. "No? Jaime, you dream of her. You call her name and reach for me, expecting to find her and are sorely disappointed when you only have me."

"What? I dream of her? I don't remember—"

"Don't lie to me!" She pushed him away with a hard thump, heavy tears wiped away furiously. "Not you…please not you as well… I cannot bear it any longer…why won't you just go? Why won't you just go?"

"I'm telling the truth wench, I would never lie to you! Why didn't you say anything?"

With each step he took towards her, she took one back. She realised she couldn't read his expression anymore and it terrified her. Like a trapped shadow cat, uncontrolled anger flooded her mind and engulfed any rational thoughts. "How could I? It's Cersei! I… I didn't know how…I barely knew myself what to think… But I know you want her, whatever you say, for I see it your eyes, the way you look at me these days." Each word was spat out with all her pent up fear and distress and wretchedness. "Your life here is nothing compared to the one you had. You pity me more and more every time I say that no, not this month, no child. So what have I to offer you, apart from a safe place to rest your head?"

The back of her knees touched the bed and she sat abruptly, exhausted and hid her face in her hands as she sobbed. All her fight, her frenzy had vanished. What was left was just unbearable, drowning sorrow. "I try…try…so hard…to do everything expected of me… and I would do anything for you…but but you don't love me."

Overwhelmed, she scarcely felt the bed sag beside her before he pulled her so close that she could barely breathe. They clung to each other, without restraint or caution. His hold was unwavering, but his chest rose and fell sharply under her palms and she could feel something akin to the rage and wrath of the winter seas emanate from him. It comforted rather than frightened her though. She'd rather have Jaime enraged at her, than be ignored.

"Don't you dare say that. Don't you bloody dare," he uttered, full of aching anger and so sad. "I can't believe that you think that I don't love you." He took a deep breath. "Do you think I would still be here on this earth without you? Why would I want to be anywhere else?"

She pulled away and gazed at him. "You love me?" she asked slowly, incredulous. It was a plain and simple question with nowhere to hide and she asked it because its answer stood with a hand on her shoulder ready to push her off the cliff into oblivion.

"Yes. I love you." His voice was soft against the dark heat of his stare. Relief swept over her with such force it made her muscles weaken and tremble. He loves me. Those precious words; she held onto his words as tightly as she held onto him, drawing nurture and safety from their meaning. "I always forget how young you are," he continued. "You are so often wise beyond your years. I shouldn't forget."

Frowning, she shook her head slightly and hugged him closer still. "I tried so hard to hold on— hold on to what I thought I knew, to you— but each step, each word said seemed to pull me further away…I'm sorry, so sorry. I only wanted you to be content—"

"Gods, Brienne. I'm the one who is sorry. I let you slip away from me… something did shift between us these past moons. You flinched under my touch, so I stopped. You barely looked at me, so I made it that you didn't have to. I am to blame, love, I could not find the words to bring you back. I thought I was making you unhappy—"

"And I, you."

A heavy sigh rumbled through his chest. "I am sorry about the dreams. Please believe me when I say I don't remember and that they mean nothing, nothing to me."

She thought for a moment, and nodded slowly. She knew she had been unfair; only the gods could control a man's dreams. And if she didn't trust him, then there was nothing in this world she could hold as true.

He pulled her away so he could look at her properly. She made to wipe her tear-wet face, but he caught her hand and looked fiercely at her. "It makes my heart die, to think that I cannot always be in your company." His voice was hot with grief.

She reddened at his declaration; it heated her blood and made her bite her bottom lip hard. "I never wanted you to go, not really. I—" She broke off, distracted as his fingers made soft sweeping passes over her face. She caught them with her hand, and cast an imploring look that made him smile quite suddenly. "Jaime. No-one ever expected me to marry. Other girls have words of advice and guidance but I didn't want them when they were given. And now, I am blind and without a map. I have to feel my way and I stumble in the darkness."

He raised an eyebrow. "I am as blind as you, wench. But I will always be there to pick you up and dust you off. Remember that. You are not alone."

"And if it's just us? If I can't—" she whispered.

"Hush, wench. If it's just us, then that's plenty enough for me."

She touched his lips with hesitant fingers to check that he was real, his intention genuine. He quirked his mouth, in that way she knew so well, but before he could say anything she kissed him softly, murmuring three words that only he could hear.