Jaime swept his wet hair from his face and held up a pair of brown roughspun trousers. They looked a bit large, but Brienne wouldn't mind. He piled it on the counter of the tailor's shop, then rummaged for a tunic. He found one made of tightly woven brown wool that looked as if it would do, then turned to a line of pegs on the wall, hand reaching for a plain brown cloak to match, but his eye caught a bit of blue, and he swept the layers of brown, black, and grey aside. The cloak was the same hue of summer skies. And nearly the same shade of Brienne's eyes.

Not that he'd noticed.

He paid the tailor using coin Steelshanks had loaned him, with the promise that Tywin would repay him, then bundled the clothing under his arm. He strode down the street to the inn where they'd stopped for the night and went to the chamber that had been given to Brienne. He knocked perfunctorily on the door and barged in.

'Seven hells!' Brienne swore. She hastily sat up and crossed her arms over her chest, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. 'Why must you insist on interrupting my baths?' she barked.

Jaime averted his eyes. He edged toward the narrow bed and deposited the clothes on it. 'I thought these might suit you better than that dress.'

Brienne shifted in the tub, her knees drawn to her chest. She glanced at the pile of wool and roughspun, expecting to hear a litany of terms and conditions. When none were forthcoming, she said quietly, 'I thank you.'

Jaime inclined his head. 'My lady.'

'Ser Jaime.'

Jaime felt the same candle-bright glow of warmth when she called him by his name that he'd felt the first time she'd used it.