Jaime
He had not felt like the White Knight come to rescue the maiden when he leapt into that bear pit, he had felt desperation and terror - terror that he had been too slow to realise that what he was leaving behind at Harrenhal was far too valuable not to take with him. I'll pay her ransom - anything, name your price. It had almost sounded like begging, he hadn't known his voice could sound like that. He had to keep looking at her to reassure himself she was safe now.
It was difficult to be near her with all of Steelshanks' men so close in proximity. He could not say the words he needed to say, though even if they had been alone he doubted he would be able to articulate himself. Tending her wounds was an excuse to touch her, to feel her beneath his hands and reassure himself that yes, she was still alive, his mistake had not cost him that at least. When she closed her eyes and trusted him to care for her, he tried to think of when Cersei had ever been so pliant to him. The only time he remembered her hurt was when Robert had struck her, and she would shake with fury and silent tears and push him away when he tried in vain to comfort her, furious at her own weakness, furious that he could not protect her. She would would rake him with her nails and pinch his skin until pink welts rose, pulling his hair as she rode him hard, fucking him to spite her husband, to spite their father, to spite him for being born a man and never having to know her humiliations.
Brienne thanked him quietly, and it was on his lips to thank her in return, but he could not explain to her the reasons for his gratitude, not without repulsing her. He stoked the fire some and then went to find them supper, and something for Brienne to wear that she would find more comfortable than her ill-suited dress.
He agreed to pay a soldier named Gawen fifty golden dragons for his leathers once they reached King's Landing, much to the man's delight. He rolled the clothing up and took it back to Brienne, along with half a pail of venison and onion broth to share.
When he handed the set of supple leather armour with the flayed man of House Bolton embroidered onto the breast to her, she thanked him again. Her voice was lighter though, filled with relief.
"You can change now, if you want. I will protect your modesty," he told her. She eyed him dubiously, which earned a chuckle.
"You forget, I have seen it all before," Jaime reminded her. Brienne grew flustered at that and took the clothes from him hastily, getting up to go behind the broad trunk of the oak to have privacy while she changed. Jaime followed and leaned with his back to her, indicating he would be a look-out should anyone come wandering their way.
Naturally, he fibbed. Once he heard the ragged dress slide to the ground he looked over his shoulder to get a glimpse of her changing - not for the hope of mocking her the way some of the soldiers would have, but because she was so alluring to him. It wouldn't hurt her if he stole a glance. His cock had already gone hard just at the thought of her being in her smallclothes and only a metre away from him. But when he saw her, his guts twisted. She had no smallclothes. Her arms and legs were ringed with bruising all too clearly from men's hands as they had held her down.
"Gods Brienne, what did they do to you," Jaime whispered, having crept up on her to look more closely at the contusions. She recoiled, shocked at his presence, and quickly crossed her arms over her small breasts.
"What in seven hells do you think you're doing!" she hissed, upset as well as furious. Jaime felt a sick tumble of emotions, all the more off-putting by the fact that he still very much wanted her.
"I'll kill them all," he vowed, his jaw clenched. Brienne just gaped at him, her face and neck burning hot.
"I'll have their heads on spikes," he uttered. His anger was white-hot, almost debilitating. He had always had a temper, acted without thinking. If only he had thought sooner this time, he could have gone back. He should never have left her alone there, not even for a moment. Was it Rorge? Zollo? More than one? From those bruises, it was the lot of them. Beneath his fury, though he was too shamed to admit it, there was a sliver of jealousy. They had taken something from her that he would never be able to have now. Something that should have been given, not stolen.
"Jaime I'm-" Brienne gestured to the clothes on the ground and seemed to notice for the first time the livid streaks of bruising that mottled her skin, "oh," was all she said, and then after a long time, "Jaime I want to get dressed please,"
He glanced around as if realising where he was for the first time, and promptly turned around to give her privacy. He walked stiffly back to their small fire when she had changed, and sat down heavily. He had no appetite for supper any longer, and gazed into the fire while she ate. He couldn't stop picturing it in his mind.
"Jaime, they didn't," Brienne said, leaning in so that she would not be overheard. Jaime turned his gaze up at her without lifting his head, searching for her meaning. She looked uncomfortable but so earnest.
"They put me in the dress and threw me in the pit. No more," she elaborated stiffly, clearly eager to change the subject. Jaime blinked at her and sat up straight, trying to find a tactful way of phasing himself but coming up short.
"You... are a maid," he stated, though it was a question really, and she understood that well enough. She went pink in the cheeks but kept his eye as she nodded. Jaime's relief was palpable.
"Good... Well, that's... Obviously..." he trailed off lamely. Brienne looked away for a few seconds and when she glanced back she was laughing at him. He was elated and surprised; she so seldom laughed. Her teeth were uneven and broken from her years of fighting, but to him her smile was no less beautiful for it.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked, his tone clipped but playful.
"You suddenly came over all protective," she answered, her voice lightened by mirth, "it was very gallant,"
Jaime could not help but return her smile with one of his own and then snatched their helping of supper out from under her nose.
"I wasn't finished-" Brienne protested.
"I'm compensating for being too gallant earlier," Jaime answered through a mouth full of food. Brienne pulled a disgusted face at him but could not hold it long before it cracked to reveal another smile. She grew serious again, all too soon for Jaime's liking, her intense gaze fixated on the flames of their campfire. He had felt so absurdly proud to have earned her smile, her laughter, even just for a moment. He realised it was the first time she had smiled since he had known her; it was not in her nature to smile falsely, to use women's courtesies to wile or flatter men into better treating her. Jaime had to remind himself she was hardly comely enough to have the option available to her - it seemed harder to see her aesthetic flaws the more he grew to know her.
He waited until she had settled into her furs for the night before he chose for himself where he would sleep. It was tempting to feign shivers and shuffle close to her, tempting and all too transparent. Plus Jaime liked to think he had more finesse than to have to resort to such juvenile tactics when it came to seduction. The truth was, he hadn't really seduced anyone - not actively. Cersei and he had always been one, two pieces of one soul, that was what he had always believed - what he had built his life around, so devoted was he to staying close to her. Any other seduction he had participated in had never reached beyond flirtation, of course, nor had never wished for more than that, but even flirtation with Brienne was utterly elusive. She didn't care a whit about his gold, or his name and the power it promised - if she thought he was handsome she hid it well enough (Jaime wasn't even sure if he was handsome anymore, after malnourishment, captivity and fatigue), and now that he was crippled, he had no hope of winning her with a display of his combat prowess. Those had been the passive qualities that had drawn women to him, and she was immune to every single one.
He bedded down by the fire, far away from her, but so that he could see her face easily. She did not look so serious once she fell into slumber; the harshness slipped from her face like a mask and revealed the maid within the warrior. Jaime felt his sentimentality was being marred slightly by the longing ache in his groin, but could not help it. Thinking that another man had taken her maidenhead had been such a bitter draught that he was forced to admit the truth, if only to himself; he wanted to have that from her, he longed for her to give that of herself over to him. To him. And so, wondering at the taste of her, if she would be languid or zealous as she straddled his hips, if she would kiss him sweetly or scrape her nails against his back, Jaime drifted to sleep.
They rose at dawn to pack up camp and begin their journey once more. Jaime had slept fitfully, dreaming strange dreams of Casterly Rock and the dark caves below the castle, terrifying black tunnels that ran deep under the earth that existed only in his nightmare. He couldn't remember much of it when he woke, and after a hurried breakfast of cold black sausage and hard bread he had all but forgotten it.
Jaime wandered towards Steelshanks' courser, but the soldier balked at the notion of sharing saddle with him again for the day.
"You can ride with your wench," the captain told him when he approached, "I'm not having you making your witty little observations in my ear all day."
"Aye, if you ask her sweet, she might let you hold the reins," one of his soldier's called, to much appreciative guffawing from his comrades. Jaime took it with good humour, deep-down secretly pleased that he would ride with her all day.
If she felt one way or the other about sharing saddle with Jaime, she did not let on. Her face was a stoic mask again, her armour restored. It was as though the day before had not happened. He mounted the courser first and thankfully she climbed behind him, not in front. He did not long to spend the day with her pushing against his crotch - he would hardly have been able to hide his arousal then, and that would have been beyond awkward.
They were not long on the road before Qyburn cantered up to ride beside them. The maester's efforts to ingratiate himself to Jaime were hardly subtle, so he was not truly surprised when the maester revealed himself as the one who had sent the girl, Pia, to his quarters,
"I believe you had a visitor at Harrenhal - I trust that you enjoyed her," the maester asked. Jaime gave him a cool look. It was a calculated question, and Jaime realised that the man was trying not only to win Jaime's favour, but glean information - for nothing was so powerful as that.
"So, you sent her, did you? I should have known," Jaime replied.
"Your fever was largely gone, I thought you might enjoy a bit of excercise. Pia is quite skilled, would you not agree? And so... willing," the maester replied.
He could tell the exact instant Brienne took Qyburn's meaning, for she went completely rigid.
"Do you send girls to everyone you leech?" Jaime asked, deflecting the question.
"More often Lord Vargo sends them to me. He likes me to examine them before ... Well suffice it to say that he once loved unwisely and he has no wish to do so again. But have no fear, Pia is quite healthy," Qyburn replied. Jaime forced a smile and hoped it passed as genuine, politely excused himself, and spurred the horse on further up the line. He cantered alongside Steelshanks.
"Do we make good time?" Jaime called to the captain.
"If we keep this pace, we may well get there in time for the royal wedding," Steelshanks replied. Brienne was still stiff as a board behind him, and Jaime hated that he wanted so badly to confess. I don't owe her explanations or platitudes, he scolded himself. It's Cersei I stayed faithful to, not her. But regardless of his rationalizations, it gnawed at him for the rest of the day's ride.
She barely spoke to him when they stopped to make camp that night, and it dampened his good humour. She answered him when he asked her questions, but her tone was formal and she did not look at him like she had done the night before; he was sure he had caught her staring at him then, with a softness in her sapphire eyes. Tonight she looked only at the ground and her supper, and she placed her sleeping furs away from everyone else, setting herself apart from them.
The next day was not as bad, but Jaime distinctly felt as though Brienne fortified her walls against him with every hour that had passed. He could not articulate just what it was exactly; she was not short with him, nor did she look upset, but he felt a great chasm had begun to open, with her at one side and him at the other. With every step towards King's Landing, it grew wider. It bothered him though he could not explain why it mattered. His heart grew heavier with each step that carried him towards home.