Four times Jaime Lannister tells Brienne of Tarth exactly what he thinks and one time he doesn't.
One
"You're too old and too ugly to be as idealistic as you are," he says, watching as she tightens her sword belt around her broad hips. "You have not yet fought on a battlefield. Believe me when I tell you that it is not the place for girlish principles."
"What is it to you if I am idealistic?" She says angrily, swinging up into her saddle.
"It will get you killed," he says. She is about to retort when the horn blows again and it is clear that the fighting is almost upon them. "As you will, wench," he says, reaching for his horse's reins.
Hours later, she stumbles back into the tent where Jaime, bloody from a slash to his shoulder, is listening to the casualty reports from his captains. She cannot seem to put much weight on her left leg and there is a ragged gash across her forehead.
"Are your high morals about fair tactics dead?" he asks her, looking her up and down.
"Yes," she says quietly. "But I am not."
Two
"It's hard to tell from that vacant expression of yours, but you're not stupid. Don't get careless just because you've gotten used to battles," Jaime says, pausing as he rides down the line to draw up beside the Maid of Tarth.
She nods. "I intend to fight in more."
"And more there will be, no matter what the outcome today. These are fortunate times for warriors," he says sardonically. She is almost smiling as he rides away.
He loses sight of her as the fighting begins in earnest and he has nearly forgotten to look for her in the midst of the chaos when the cry goes up that their enemy's leader is slain and the opposing army is retreating.
Jaime's men are yelling in triumph and he gallops among them to where the shouting had begun, hoping to learn what has happened. In the center of a circle of onlookers he spots a tall figure standing with sword drawn over a body.
"Brienne?" He asks, shocked.
"It was not I who was careless," she says, looking down at the body of Stannis Baratheon.
Three
"You're not bad with a blade and you have some ability with a lance, but this is an army and you cannot keep trusting only your own skill," he tells her. "The men will have your back if you let them."
"I do not trust men at my back," Brienne says sullenly, checking to make sure that her armor is strapped tightly enough to her body. "They mock me and whisper that-"
"They do talk behind your back," Jaime agrees. "They say you are as brave and strong as any man, but that you are prouder even than a Lannister. They wish to like you, but you hold yourself back from them and do not make it easy."
She stares at him and he can see that she wants to disagree. "I do not need to be liked," she finally says.
Jaime sighs. "Yes, you do," he says. "You wanted to be a knight and fight in wars. Part of it is winning the love of those who fight with you. It is what makes an army strong. Think of what we face, woman. On the battlefield, men must fight for you as if you were a sister and you must trust them as if they were your own kin if we are to have any hope."
"I have no kin anymore," she says, fixing a loose buckle on her saddle.
"That is no excuse to be selfish," he says. "You know I am right." She glares at him, her eyes angry and her mouth a thin line. He shrugs and puts on his helm.
The next time he sees her, the day is won and they are both covered in gore and mud. One of her eyes is swollen and she is half-carrying one of the younger Kenning brothers. The pair is stumbling toward the fire where Jaime is sitting and is followed by a handful of men all talking at once and laughing.
"I thought they had you, my lady!" a red-haired man shouts and claps Brienne on the shoulder. She winces but smiles back at him.
"They would have without your help, ser," she says, nodding back at him.
"Nah, they never!" A short, broad man interjects, grinning at Brienne and shoving the other man slightly. "My lady just felt sorry for you, Jon! She heard you hadn't killed nobody important yet and figured she'd let you have a go!"
"I do not wish to be seen as caring only for my own glory," Brienne says. The men laugh appreciatively and from across the fire, Jaime grins.
"Good of you, woman!" the red-haired man booms before turning on the man who has his arm slung around Brienne's waist for balance. "Any way, wouldn't have been necessary for you to charge into the middle of all them soldiers if young Kenning here hadn't needed rescuing!"
The Kenning boy smiles ruefully. "Lady Brienne," he says, ignoring the red-haired knight called Jon, "I am truly grateful."
"You would have done the same for me," Brienne says. Jaime thinks that he is the only one to notice that it had been as much question as statement.
"Course he would have!" the short man yells. "We all would have! Bring the boy over this way, Lady Brienne and let the Maester have a look at that leg of his. Don't think that we'll be so lucky that it will kill him!"
They are all still laughing, made silly by relief at being alive, as Brienne eases the boy down by the fire and crosses across to the other side to sit by Jaime.
"You were right," she says, eyes focused on her boots.
"Of course I was, wench," he says cheerfully.
He is surprised when she turns to look at him and smiles. "People would like you, too, if you let them," she says.
Four
"You may be as stubborn a wench as ever breathed, but you learn quickly enough. I trust that you won't let your penchant for valor get in the way practicality," he says, staring at her over the top of the map he is holding.
"I would rather we win sensibly than die gloriously," Brienne says, looking at him in confusion.
Jaime nods. "Good. You have no idea how much that distinguishes you from the other idiots here." He lays the map down on the table and she comes closer to look. "The topography here will make attacking head on difficult. I intend to split our forces and try to drive a wedge through the center of their army. What do you think?"
Brienne squints over the map. "They will expect us to try to circle half of the men behind their camp."
"In all likelihood," Jaime says.
"You intend to send a decoy force to circle around and then have the main force attack from either side."
"Yes," says Jaime, pleased at how quickly she'd grasped his plans.
"It is a good plan," she says, looking at him strangely.
"I'm so relieved that you think so," he says mockingly. She flushes. "I will lead the force that will attack from the left. You will lead the force attacking from the right."
"Jaime?" She asks, her voice uncertain. He looks up at her and they stare at each other for several minutes.
"They will follow you," he finally says.
The big maid opens her mouth, most likely to disagree, then shuts it again. She bows. "I will try to do your faith in me justice, ser," she says.
"I need you to do more than try, Brienne," he tells her.
Days later, they meet in the center of the ruined army. They have won the battle, but there are still fires burning and injured men shrieking in agony all around them. Jaime feels he has aged fifty years and his entire body aches. Nonetheless, he feels a new surge of energy as he recognizes her broad shoulders and blue armor through the smoke.
"You did well," he says, looking at her sidelong, "for a woman."
"So did you," she says, "for a cripple."
Jaime laughs. "Was that a joke? I would never have believed it of you."
"I must still be battle-mad," she says solemnly.
"No doubt," he says with equal seriousness. His smile makes the fresh cut on his cheek bleed harder and when she smiles back at him, he can see that she's lost another tooth.
"Brienne, you did more than try," he says softly.
"I didn't have any other choice," she says, looking down.
Five
"You're an odd sort of woman, but I…" He stops. He had been about to say "but I love you." He does not know if he means as a comrade or as a woman or as a part of himself; he does not know which she would prefer. Probably she would prefer that he did not love her at all, he decides. His advice about war is useful, but his love has never done anyone any good.
She is looking at him expectantly, blue eyes calm. "I have never fought alongside a better warrior," he finishes. "You will do well."
She smiles at him sadly, wide lips drawn back to reveal broken teeth. "You are too old and I am too ugly for you to still be so optimistic."
He laughs at that and briefly lays his hand on her shoulder. "Luck, my lady," he says. He turns on his heel and does not watch as she mounts her horse and rides away.
Later, when the snow is red from blood, Jaime waits for her, clutching his broken ribs and trying to ignore the pain lancing through his right arm. This time, she doesn't come back.