How could he go back?
Brienne sat by the dying fire, staring at the glowing logs, still wearing the cloak she had worn in the courtyard. Underneath the cloak, she wore nothing but her sleeping robe. She had thrown on her cloak and hurried outside when she woke to find the room empty. When she found him saddling his horse, and he had turned away from her, unable to meet her gaze, until she took his face in her hands. When he had described his unspeakable crimes with his eyes filled with unspeakable sorrow. When he declared himself to be just like her, riding away without a backwards glance.
She was heartbroken.
She remembered the first time she had told him good-bye. "Good-bye, Ser Jaime," in the halls of Harrenhal. She had not expected to see him again. She had not expected to survive the week. He had stared at her in shock, a long, drawn gaze. She remembered leaving Riverrun in a canoe and turning back to see Jaime looking after her. He couldn't look away then, but he could barely look at her now.
What changed between us?
She thought about the quiet, hopeful days they had spent together since the terrible Battle of Winterfell. He had seemed content to be with her anyplace and follow her anywhere, since the night that he had followed her to her room. The night the wine had loosened his words, lowering his defenses and letting his jealousy show. The same wine that made her bold enough, and brave enough, to give voice to his feelings and hers.
The fire flickered out, and still Brienne remained in the same spot, unable to move.
"She's hateful, and so am I," he'd said, and just like that he was gone. That wasn't the Jaime she knew. That wasn't the man who had leaped into a pit, unarmed, to shield her from a bear with his own body. That wasn't the man who had given her armor and his own family sword, his oath to Catelyn, his honor, and his trust. That wasn't the man who had knighted her. The words were soft on his tongue and full of love, the same way he whispered her name when he'd made love to her, and every night since.
"You would fight beside him?" "I would."
They were attuned to each other, as they had been from the start, a waltz through danger and joy. When they were prisoners, she had stabbed his steak as he struggled to carve it with one hand. He had gently placed his hand over hers as she raised her dinner knife, attentive to her even as he negotiated for his life. Now, at last they were fighting on the same side and rejoicing in the same victory. They had moved in unison on the battlefield, always knowing where the other stood. She could feel the shuffle of his footsteps, the arc of his sword, and the pulse of his breathing. After the battle, he had placed his hand over hers, uncovering her goblet with the same gentle caress, and she had untied his shirt with the same irritation. They were Warrior and Maiden, fire and ice, Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail, two halves of the same whole.
"Nothing is more hateful than failing to protect the one you love."
I've never been one to give up. Not when all the world said I couldn't be a knight. Not when I fought a bear, tripping over a horrid gown with naught but a wooden sword to defend myself. Not when Arya and Sansa refused my service. Not when I watched Renly stabbed by an otherworldly shadow before my own eyes. Never. I couldn't save Renly, but I can still save Jaime.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."
Brienne stood up from her chair. The sky was barely turning light outside. She hurriedly wrote a scroll to Lady Sansa and another to Podrick. She packed her bags with food and coin, then put on her armor. She buckled Oathkeeper to her side, pausing with her hand on the lion-shaped handle. "I love that bloody idiot, and I'm going to find him," she declared to the room. Brienne galloped away, determined to overtake Jaime and be at his side. Even if he loved Cersei to the bitter end.
He'll need my fighting skill where he's going.