A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't posted in a while. I AM planning on continuing to work on this but just a warning that between work and grad school starting soon, updates may take a little while. Thanks for reading!
4. Jaime
The day was fast approaching noon, but low clouds blocked the sun, giving the forest a somber, gray atmosphere. Jaime found himself growing restless as time wore on. They had to be close now, and the oppressive silence made it feel as if every tree and rock was holding its breath in waiting.
"How much farther, my lady?" He asked, shifting uncomfortable in his saddle.
"Not far." Brienne was sitting upright, alert. Her eyes were searching the trees and bushes. Not ten minutes later she dismounted her horse. Jaime followed suit, although he could not see any sign of a camp or cookfire to suggest that the Hound had been here.
The path they had brought them to a small dip in the ground. Thick bushes and tall, bare oaks surrounded the hollow, but inside it was mostly covered in scrawny, brown grass. There was nothing very distinctive about the place, but there was the faint, gagging smell of rot in the wind now. It made Jaime shiver. This is a foul place, he thought, eying the hidden ridges all about them.
As if in answer to his suspicions, a tall man in a dogs-head helm and a ragged yellow cloak stepped forth from the brush…but it was not the Hound.
Jaime felt a wave of relief wash over him and he could not contain the almost giddy laugh that leapt to his lips. "My lady," he called to Brienne who turned sharply, seeing the man for the first time. "You have been mistaken! This is not Clegane, only some peasant gone rabid from the war."
The would-be Hound scowled and spat. Jaime remembered the horrific tales of the Hound at Saltpans. It must have been him, Jaime realized. He is cruel, but that does not make him a great fighter. I may beat him yet. He examined the man closely, his left hand grasping for his sword hilt.
"Where is the Stark girl?" Jaime called out.
"Is that what the bitch told you to bring you here?" The man's laugh erupted like a cruel bark. "She ain't here. It's just me and my friends."
More men were now stepping out of the trees and bushes all around them. They were a ragged bunch with mismatched pieces of armor and faded sigils here and there, but most wore no more than common clothes and scraps of boiled leather. However, most of them were equipped with weapons, and Jaime could tell even from this distance that the majority of these were of decent make, on a level of those made in King's Landing for hedge knights and minor lords during tourneys. Most of them had swords, but a few bows and short-hafted axes were also in evidence. All of their weapons were drawn.
"Brienne?" Jaime asked in disbelief. He felt breathless, as if all the air had been knocked out of him. It felt as if Robert's warhammer had crashed into his chest, as it had Rhaegar's on the Trident. He felt dizzy and sick and hurt. It was the pain that shocked him most. No. I trusted you.
Her eyes were fixed on the ground and would not rise to meet his. Jaime felt his fury rising, burning in his blood and overcoming the pain that ripped at his chest. I trusted you! I gave you Oathkeeper!
The outlaws had formed a ring about them, slowly moving forward to close them in. Jaime drew his sword and heard the creak of bending bows reply. He counted at least ten bowmen, close enough that even the worst shot among them would find their mark. Jaime and Brienne's horses were where they had left them a little ways up the path, but the men had reached them already. If I can just fight far enough to reach the horses… but he knew it would be impossible. Still, better to die with a sword in my hand then taken captive again. He remembered Harrenhall. Never again.
He took a step forward and raised his arm to swing, but suddenly Brienne was behind him. She grabbed his arm and twisted it until he had to let go and the sword slipped out of his grasp. "What the…" he started, but then she kicked his knees forward and placed a large hand on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Jaime glared up at her, and it seemed to him that her face had never seemed so ugly. "Traitorous wench," he growled, but at least Brienne had the decency not to flinch at the insult.
The bowmen relaxed their strings while the Hound walked forward, a smug look on his face that eerily resembled a snarl under the helm. "Good work, woman. I must say, I thought that you'd just leave your friends to die to save your own skin. Here you go, Tom." He tossed a sack of coins back to a small, lanky man armed with nothing but a harp standing among the bandits.
The minstrel caught the coins deftly and pocketed them. He shrugged with a crooked grin as he plucked a random string. "What can I say, Lem? I have a weakness for wine, women, and good songs. And there's certain to be a good song to be made by the end of this."
Jaime struggled against Brienne, but she held him firmly. The movement brought back the Hound's full attention. He was close enough that Jaime could see that his nose was crooked, adding to the grotesque visage. Gods, he's almost as ugly as the real Hound. Suddenly, the big man struck him hard across the face with the back of his hand. Brienne released him in surprise and Jaime went sprawling. He could taste warm blood in his mouth. He was too shocked to make a move before the big man was on him and binding him with a long rope.
The Hound cursed. "It's gonna be hard to bind your hands, seeing as you have only one. The rope will just slide off that ugly stump of yours."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to make your job more difficult." Jaime snarled in reply.
The man shoved his face forcefully back into the dirt and proceeded to bind his legs instead. Then, he lifted Jaime to a kneeling position, took the remainder of the rope, and wound it around Jaime's entire body, arms and all. He then dropped Jaime back to the ground, leaving him feeling quite like a worm in the rotting leaves.
When the outlaws went to bind Brienne she gave no fight. They are tying her up to. They don't trust her. He was still furious at her, but his better sense was beginning to return. They made her do this… somehow. But it didn't matter. He followed her gaze, which was searching the faces of the crowd. Something she saw there, or didn't see, made her almost seem to relax a little as the Hound finished the last knot and pushed her to her knees beside him.
The last remaining outlaws with drawn weapons sheathed them again as Brienne was relieved of Oathkeeper and Jaime's sword was claimed by a sallow, greasy one-eyed outlaw from where it had fallen.
The bandits seemed to start celebrating. Wine skins were passed around and the minstrel
played a few lines of unfamiliar, self-made songs. They were cheering and drinking to the capture of the Kingslayer. Jaime caught catches of words among the conversations, and heard several mention of a Lady. Lady Stoneheart, he guessed. I suppose I'll finally get to see this shadow who has been causing so much trouble for us. She will find out how dangerous it is to cage a lion. The last ones who dared were Robb and Catelyn Stark, and they are both dead. She should have asked them what happens when you cross a Lannister.
True, Lady Catelyn had freed him and he had vowed to keep his promise to her, but Jaime could still remember the indignity of living in that dark cell, wasting away in his own filth. They will wish they had killed me when they had the chance. He glanced at Brienne. And what of her? What was her part in all this? Besides turning me over. Jaime's gut twisted again. The wench can die with the rest of them for all I care.
The celebrating didn't last long. With a nod between the Hound, the minstrel, and a red-haired archer, the outlaws began moving away through the trees. The Hound carried Jaime over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Brienne they trusted enough to keep her feet free, although her hands were still bound.
A little distance away was where they had left some horses. Not enough for the whole company, Jaime counted, but enough for whatever self-appointed leaders they might have. They had also brought his and Brienne's horse along with them. The company paused briefly. The three main leaders- The Hound, whom the others called Lem, the minstrel Tom, and the tall red-haired archer that was called simply Archer- conspired together some distance away, and then announced that they would ride together with five other men on the horses to take the prisoner's more swiftly to 'the Lady.'
"If I'm so important to her, why didn't she come to greet me herself." Jaime mocked. "Rather a poor why to greet such an esteemed guest, this woman has very rough manners for a lady indeed."
That earned him another hefty smack from Lem that left him reeling. "She's off to greet some other nobles who are out of their keep on a hunting party. Your Frey uncle, that one that took Riverrun, is among them, we heard. From none other than our dear old Tom."
The minstrel bowed low in reply. "But don't worry. She'll be back soon enough."
The three left to prepare the horses. Lem claimed Jaime's strong, beautiful horse for his own. Instead they gave Jaime and Brienne on of their old horses to share, an old, swaybacked sorrel Jaime was convinced would break under their combined weight. Jaime was thrown over the rump, but Brienne was allowed to sit in the saddle. Her hands were tied in front, so she could grip the reigns, but the poor beast would have no chance of outrunning the other fitter horses, even if Brienne had a mind to run for it. Jaime didn't think she did.
In fact, something had been perplexing him for a while know, but he could only just place what it was. Throughout the whole ordeal, Brienne had not fought. She hadn't struggled while she was being tied, nor protested at any of the crude or bawdy remarks thrown at her. That woman could never keep her mouth shut. Even in Harrenhall it had gotten them into all sorts of trouble. So why isn't she now?
