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Jaime had just finished stacking the cases of water when he caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye. Catelyn Stark was sitting with her girls, braiding the oldest one’s hair. He turned to look around the packed school basement for Brienne. If the Stark girls were here, she should be, too.
Although the tornado alert had gone out in plenty of time and the storm was still distant, Catelyn had begun to panic over her precious offspring. She had somehow convinced Brienne to go searching for her thoughtless daughters. Brienne was too smart and too experienced to go far with a storm this big heading their way, and it seemed she was able to find the girls quickly. He made his way over to Catelyn.
“Where’s Brienne?” he asked, unconcerned with whatever mothering trauma Catelyn was bound to share.
Catelyn blinked at him. “What?”
Jaime waved his hands at the girls. “Brienne found them and brought them back, right? So where is she?” Gods, the woman was dumb.
“Oh, well, I—” Catelyn began.
“We got here on our own. I haven’t seen Brienne since last week,” the younger daughter huffed.
Alarm bells began ringing in Jaime’s head louder than any weather siren. “So Brienne’s on her way back?”
Catelyn fumbled for her phone. “I suppose with everything, I might have forgotten to call her.”
Jaime felt himself go cold with rage. “You sent Brienne out there, in the middle of a storm with tornado warnings to find your useless children, and when they return, safe and sound, on their own, you don’t even think to call her and tell her to head back?”
“I’m calling her now,” Catelyn insisted. “It’s going to voicemail.” She tapped out a text. “I’m letting her know.
Jaime pulled out his own phone and called. It went straight to voicemail as well. “How long have they been back?”
The older daughter answered with a shrug, “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?”
Jaime checked the weather radar. The storm was getting closer. Brienne was out there. Alone. His first instinct was to slam Catelyn Stark against the wall and make her tell him specifically where she had sent Brienne, but his eye caught sight of an app on his phone. PPS: Planetos Positioning System. He turned away from the Starks and focused on his phone. Brienne was seven miles out and moving but not towards the school.
Brienne had protested when he’d installed and activated the apps on both of their phones. “Friends don’t do that,” she’d said. As if they were just friends, even just best friends. She might not have wanted to talk about how their last movie night ended in a heated makeout session on her couch, but he certainly did. She’d avoided being alone with him since. They had always been more than friends; she was just too stubborn to acknowledge it.
It took Jaime less than ten minutes to load his car down with bags of fertilizer, hoping the added weight would keep him on the road when the winds picked up. They weren’t just predicting storms and tornados. The Westeros Weather Service thought the conditions were ripe for a category five twister.
Jaime cursed Catelyn Stark as he sped down the isolated highway. He looked across the flat plains to the west. The sky was dark, and there was lightning. He checked the PPS. Brienne was three miles east, and she seemed to have stopped moving. He didn’t need to check the weather app. He knew what was coming.
It looked as if Brienne had stopped at the abandoned Frey homestead. It had been empty since Old Walder had died without a will.
Jaime again looked to the west. The storm was closer now. He turned east, hoping he could reach her before it did. Why hadn’t she texted? Or called? Was she all right? He didn’t know what was worse, having her on the move and not being able to catch up with her, or having her stationary and not knowing if she’d been hurt, knocked out, or worse.
The debris in the air had increased, not just litter and leaves, but now twigs and small branches. A yard sign flew past his windshield, and he jerked the wheel. He could see the Frey place up ahead. Old Walder had never fortified it. With the number of tornados that blew through the flat plains, it was surprising it hadn’t blown down already.
He could practically feel the twister at his back, forcing the car down the road. His hands and arms were aching from holding the wheel steady. At least he wasn’t driving into the wind.
He reached the Freys’ and saw Brienne’s truck parked outside. Relief flooded through him. He pulled in beside her and got out. He covered his eyes, shielding them from the wind and debris. He called out her name, but his voice was lost in the storm. He checked his PPS tracker. It was supposed to be accurate to within six meters. That would mean she was inside.
He pushed his way to the front door, calling out for her. What the hells was she doing here? The door was thankfully unlocked. He went inside, winds swirling behind him. With more than a little effort, he was able to get the door closed. That lessened the howl of the winds some. He called out for her, shouting, “Brienne?”
Nothing.
He shouted again, “Brienne? Brienne? Where the fuck are you, woman?”
A lawn chair crashed through the front window. Jaime ducked and covered his face from the flying glass. A shard sliced the back of his hand. A vase crashed against his head. He landed with a thud on the carpet. He rolled onto his back.
“Jaime?”
He heard her voice. It had to be her voice. He opened his eyes and there she was, hovering above him like the Maiden come to life. He smiled and reached up to touch her cheek, leaving a trail of blood against her pale, freckled skin. “Brienne, I found you.”
“Good gods, you idiot. I’m fine. I couldn’t text or call because the screen on my phone cracked. Why are you out in this godsawful storm?”
She was hauling him up by his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her, deciding he’d never let her go.
There was a horrific ripping sound. They looked up, seeing the ceiling shake. She thought aloud, “That was the roof and I think maybe the attic, probably not the entire second floor. We need to get into the bomb shelter.”
“Bomb shelter?” he shouted over the noise.
She nodded, pulling him into the kitchen where a trapdoor was open. “That’s where I was when I heard you crashing around and yelling up here.”
They climbed down into the cellar, lit softly by two hurricane lamps. Jaime sat down against the wall as Brienne secured the trapdoor, blocking out most of the sounds of the storm. He looked down at his hand. There was no telling how bad it would be until they got to a doctor. Brienne was shining a flashlight in his eyes. He blinked.
“No signs of concussion,” she murmured as her hands carded through his hair, probably feeling for lumps. “How do you feel?”
His hand was killing him, there was a category five twister heading their way, they were in some creepy bomb shelter under the probably haunted Frey place which was being blown apart bit by bit, and Brienne was safe. He was fine. He grinned at her and winked. “Worried about me, are you, wench?”
She rolled her eyes and fought off a smile, pinching her lips together in that adorable way. “Shut up.”
She took his hand and examined it, pouring some water over it to rinse the blood away. “This needs to be bandaged.”
There was another crash above them. “How did you know about this place?” Jaime asked as she wrapped his hand in the gauze from a first aid kit she must have found in the shelter.
Her brow furrowed as she worked. “Don’t you remember the stories about Mr. Frey kidnapping children and keeping them in a cellar under the kitchen floor?”
Jaime nodded. He did remember that. In fact, he remembered nearly scaring the pants off of Brienne when they were little with stories of the horrors of creepy Walder Frey.
“Well, back in high school, Walda told me that her grandpa did have a cellar under the kitchen floor, but that he’d never told anyone about it but her. She said he kept his riches here. When I got Cat’s message that the girls were safe, I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it back to the school before the storm hit, so I came here.” She finished wrapping his hand, securing a wrap over the gauze. “That’ll do.” She looked up at him but then there was more crashing above, and it felt as if the entire house above them was shaking.
“It’s coming, Brienne. Let’s hope this place holds.” He pulled her into his arms, pressing her face into his chest.
She tried to sit up, but just succeeded in shifting in his arms. “What are you doing?”
“We are about to sit through a tornado in a bomb shelter, and I am just holding on to the biggest, strongest, most implacable thing here,” he answered.
She huffed. “You idiot. What were you doing looking for me—” She was cut off by a thunderous crashing and ripping above. It sounded as if the entire top floor of the house had been lost. Maybe more. There was no denying it now. The twister had arrived.
He clung to her and he felt her arms work their way around his waist. He pressed his face against hers and whispered, “Hold on. I’ve got you.”
He felt her nod. “We’ve got each other.”
The next fifteen minutes were the most terrifying of Jaime’s life. It sounded and felt as if the entire world were being blown to bits above them. The walls shook. One of the hurricane lamps went out. The kitchen floor above them groaned and shifted. Brienne’s breathing hitched with each new bang, her hands finding their way beneath his jacket to fist in the material of his shirt.
He cursed the Starks who had put Brienne at risk and thanked the gods, PPS, and Walder Frey for helping him find her and giving them a place to wait out the storm. Jaime went away inside and pulled Brienne with him, concentrating only on the feel of her, her warmth and strength. He could make it through anything with her.
Then suddenly, it stopped. No more crashes or bangs, nor more howling winds. Blessed quiet.
“Jaime,” she whispered into the silence. “Do you think it’s passed?”
He tilted his head and looked up. The floor above no longer shook. “I think so.”
She loosened her grip on him and pulled back, “You were safe back at the school. Why did you come out into this storm to search for me?”
He looked into her questioning eyes. A thousand responses came to mind. He pressed his lips against the tip of her big, crooked nose. “I dreamed of you.”