The next day, Jaime sat down next to Brienne with a cut on his left wrist and a beseeching expression. He dipped a rag in his water goblet, set it on the table, and awkwardly rolled his cut over it, as Brienne gave him sideways looks.

"Oh stop that!" She finally said, taking the cloth and cleaning the cut for him.

The next day, Brienne found Jaime handling his clippers in his teeth, clipping at his nails. She rolled her eyes, but she did smile to herself before snatching the clippers and sternly finishing the job.

The next day, Jaime dramatically staggered into Brienne's room without knocking and collapsed to the floor in an exaggerated stumble. "Ohhhh I'm dyinggggg!" He wailed. "I've contracted the flu!"

Brienne jumped at the surprise interruption and turned around. Her irritation gave way to concern as she hurried to pull Jaime off the floor. His skin was on fire. "Oh my gods, you're burning up!" She exclaimed as she felt his burning forehead. He sat slumped over with his head bowed, but he raised his big, beseeching eyes to meet hers. She caught herself staring and quickly looked away.

"Don't look like a puppy. Wait here while I get some water," she reprimanded him as she helped him to his room.

For the next week, she brought him cool, wet cloths, warm broth, and wine mixed with water. She fluffed his pillows and mixed honey into wine for his throat. He begged her to stay and talk or play board games, and he peppered her with a thousand questions about her training. He coughed pitifully and asked her to keep talking while he listens.

He caught her sleeve when she tried to leave, and said while looking very earnest, "I feel better with you taking care of me."

She didn't think it strange that he wasn't improving, and she doesn't see him running to the fire to bring up his temperature before her visits.

On the seventh morning, Jaime woke to find Brienne already in his room, looking out the window. She turned when she heard him sitting up, looking oddly cold and murderous.

"Bring me some water?" He asked weakly.

Brienne ignored his request. "I visited you during the night, and you had no fever at all. Care to explain yourself?"

"I. . . ." Jaime was at a loss for words.

Brienne advanced on him, glaring. "How long have you been well and pretending on me?"

Jaime looked down and mumbled, "Three days."

"And how long were you going to keep it up?"

"I just thought you're gentle when you take care of me," Jaime mumbled, still not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry! I'll make it up to you. I'll polish your armor and wash your hair and bring you breakfast."

"Well, I buckled and tied up all your armor. Securely! Good luck getting it all undone on your own with your one hand," Brienne snapped, and she was out the door with a swish of her cloak.

****** JBJBJBJBJBJB ******

Wow, I am back! For a few weeks I was all melancholy from that bizarre, unfeeling way the show ended, and then for weeks after that I didn't know what to do with this chapter. It doesn't feel quite right. I rewrote it from scratch three times, and I'm still unhappy with it. But I have to remember, it doesn't have to be good. Just write, read, and publish. Just get something out, anything.