Summary: Jaime struggles to think of something special he can do for Brienne, to show his gratitude for her kindness.

Chapter 9

Brienne turned up the next day to check on him. Fortunately, Corryn had just changed Jaime's bandages, and he'd made sure to insist that the maester do it from then on.

Still, while he was not eager to have her fingertips grazing his skin anytime soon, he found himself rather touched by her decision to visit.

His gratitude did not do anything to make the visit any less awkward, however, and they puttered their way through some very stilted conversation that day.

"Er, hello," she said, standing awkwardly in his doorway, her shoulders hunched.

"My lady," he said, and struggled to sit up a bit in bed.

"I just thought I'd er...come see how you were doing. Are you well, Ser?"

"As well as can be expected," he said, gesturing to his bandages. "Have- have a seat, if you like."

She pulled up a chair at his bedside, and then they sort of stared at each other for a bit, neither one quite sure what to say.

Jaime asked after the condition of her horse, (which had sustained only minor wounds) and Brienne told him that the woman Corryn had gone to assist had given birth to a healthy babe that morning. Stuttering, Brienne shared other half-hearted bits of gossip that neither of them truly cared about, simply because they filled the strained silence.

Though the light in his chambers was low, Jaime could tell there was a distinct blush on Brienne's freckled cheeks the entire time she stayed, stammering out her rather pitiful attempts at small talk.

Once she had stayed for what she deemed a polite length of time, she mumbled at him to 'feel better' and all but dashed out of the room.

It was such a stilted interaction that Jaime had to wonder if she'd ever set foot in his chamber again. And considering how painfull awkward the visit had been, he had to wonder why he cared so much that she did.

His worry that she might not come back was put to rest the very next day, when she showed up at his door. This time, she had the sense to bring a book.

Jaime almost laughed at first, when he saw her holding it.

"What's that for, wench?" he asked, with a guffaw.

"Oh, er. I found it in the library. I thought- I mean, I don't have to, but I figured it must be- quite dull, being stuck here, and I thought perhaps I could...I could read some of it to you. If you wanted," she stared at her feet, cringing with embarrassment. .

"What book?" he asked, unable to keep the note of skepticism from his voice. Tyrion was the reader in the family, not him. She held it up so he could see.

Jaime felt something twist inside him as he recognized the worn cover of Tales of the Great Heroes.

It had sat at his bedside for years, as a boy. If he cared to try, he could probably recall the exact tone of Joanna Lannister's voice as she had read each tale to him. He could probably recall feel of the fabric of her skirts as he clutched at them during the tense fight scenes. Even when he knew the endings, Joanna would read it in such an exciting way that he always feared for his heroes fates. He'd gotten rid of the book shortly after her death, not wanting the painful reminder of his mother's kindness so near and had not thought of it in years.

How strange, that the wench should choose this, of all the hundreds of books in their library.

With a bit of a struggle and controlled-breathing, he managed to get the lump out of his throat.

He raised an eyebrow, "Isn't that a children's book, wench?"

"What?" she asked, looking offended. "I've only read a few so far but the prose seems quite eloquent. The stories are really quite wonderful."

"Perhaps," Jaime shrugged insolently. "If you were a seven year old with a head full of lofty dreams."

For a moment, Brienne appeared to be a bit put out by his words and Jaime felt a flash of guilt over once again managing to hurt her feelings.

But then she stubbornly jutted out her chin, pulled a chair up to his bedside, and flipped the book open on her lap.

"Well, it's what I brought and unless you've got something particularly profound to fill the silence with, I'm going to read it. And I somehow doubt that you do," she added, giving him an appraising look that made him chuckle.

"Fine. Read it. At least make sure it's a good one. Something with a bit of action. Not that stupid one about the lovers separated by the narrow sea."

"Stop your complaining," she said. She took a moment to select her page and began to read.

It turned out to be a surprisingly entertaining experience. Jaime amused himself greatly by criticising everything the heroes did, calling them naive dunces and fools, and giving away the endings before Brienne got there, just to annoy her. He was greatly amused by the way her nostrils would flare in indignation when he insulted an act of bravery in her tales, and at the way her face would screw up in anger as she passionately defended their decision to do the right thing.

Of course, as a lad Jaime had aspired to be the very heroes she was reading about. Deep down, he had a nostalgic attachment to the stories and characters and rather enjoyed getting lost in these tales once again.

But he was also getting a great laugh out of irritating Brienne, and though she huffed at him in frustration, it seemed she knew he was intentionally winding her up and was enjoying the banter as much as he was.

They were in the middle of such a heated debate when Maester Corryn came in a few hours later, that they did not even notice him entering.

"So you're telling me you would have just left her trapped in the tower?" Brienne asked, appalled.

"Why not?" Jaime shrugged. "Surely some noble fool with a thirst for heroics would have come along eventually to rescue her. The gold seems a more pressing matter to me. Would you really want those filthy pirates beating him to the treasure?"

"Pfft," she hissed. "Typical Lannister answer. Clearly, the fate of his one true love matters more than a pile of gold, Jaime."

"There you go again with your naive view of the world! If the pirates beat him to the treasure, they could have quadrupled their number of ships, and how many innocents would have died then? Hmmm wench?"

"You are just being difficult, now," she growled. "His choice is supposed to be about love versus money, not about the consequences of ...that's just- you're skirting around the point-"

"No, wench, I'm bringing up a very practical point that you're simply not interested in considering because you're a bloody hopeless romantic who wants-"

"Ahem," Maester Corryn was finally forced to give a little cough to announce his presence, and the both jumped about a foot in the air in surprise.

Jaime turned to look at the Maester who was appraising them with a highly amused look on his face. "Forgive me, for interrupting, my lord and lady," Corryn said with a little bow. "But I do have a matter to discuss with Lord J-"

"Of course," said Brienne, jumping to her feet, face red once again. "Forgive me. I'll be going. I'm sure you've got very important business to attend to, Maester," she said, clearly flustered as she made her way to the door.

Just as she reached it, however, she turned around and caught Jaime's eye, giving him a very serious look.

"To be continued, Ser." she said threateningly, before giving way to a tiny grin. Then she turned her back on him and left the room.

Corryn had come to discuss a minor squabble between two Lannister bannermen that was threatening to become more serious as neither one showed a willingness to compromise, but Jaime was having a hard time concentrating on the matter at hand.

He kept finding himself breaking into a grin. Productivity was made even more difficult by the fact that, rather than chastising him for his lack of attention, whenever it happened Maester Corryn would merely grin back at him with a bit of an incredulous look on his weathered face.

She came every day after that, until Jaime was fully healed, and though they often argued, they laughed often as well, and occasionally Jaime was good enough not to interrupt her stories with antagonistic comments. Instead he would just listen quietly, enjoying the sound of her soft voice and allowing it to lull him to sleep.

Jaime was extremely grateful to her for putting up with so much and doggedly coming to see him as he healed. He kept turning her words over in his head. It's not my home. It's not my home.

He could never make the Rock her home, but he could be doing more to make her feel like she had a place here, to give her a sense of belonging.

Sure, they had their training sessions in the yard at night, but what was the wench doing with her days? He'd never bothered to ask.

As soon as he was well, he vowed to spend more time with her by day.

He invited her out riding, and together they roamed the grounds and lands surrounding Casterly Rock. He showed her all his favorite places. Cliffs and waterfalls, the den in the woods where a pair of foxes whelped litters every year when he was growing up, the tree where he had taken Tyrion to bury treasure when he was a child, to the creek where he and Cersei used to play, standing on rocks and trying to push each other off them into the water below.

Brienne sat a horse well, and they often raced through the fields, sending sparrows and thrushes to the air in an angry flutter as they trampled through the meadows at top speed.

Even one-handed, Jaime was still a great rider and he enjoyed having the chance to beat her at something at least half the time.

Brienne seemed to laugh more, outside the castle walls, and Jaime found he was quite enamored with the sound.

One night, a few evenings after they first started meeting in the training yard again, they were sitting on the ground, shoulder to shoulder.

They'd had a boisterous fight and though Jaime's wounds were basically healed, the weeks of bedrest had left him quite out of shape and easily exhausted.

As he sat beside her, he was overcome with a longing to have his sword hand back so he could fight her with his full strength and show her what he had been capable of. Without meaning to, he found himself speaking the words aloud.

"Sometimes I wish I could have it back, just for a few minutes," he muttered. "Show you what I could do when I had my good hand. Give you a bit of a bloody challenge for once. I'd probably be able to beat you, you know. At least some of the time," he added.

He half-expected her to scoff and give him some sort of wry comeback about how she'd knock him into the dust anyway.

He was not expecting her to reach out slowly to touch the tips of her fingers to his stump and whisper, "It's just so awful, what they did to you."

He looked up in shock and the empathy brimming in her blue eyes was staggering.

He remembered his return to King's Landing. He'd crossed a thousand leagues and faced countless horrors to return to his family. When they took his hand, he had to fight the urge to simply give up and die with everything he had in him.

And when he returned, it was as if the missing hand was all they saw. His personal turmoil was overshadowed by their rage and thirst for revenge.

Tywin's first question had been whether or not he could still weild a sword and he had viciously spouted his plans for vengeance. Cersei had been utterly repulsed by the sight of his stump, and recoiled in horror from it. Even Tyrion, who had been infinitely more sympathetic than his father or sister, had tried to make a bit of joke of it. Handless and noseless, he'd called them.

There was nothing angry or disgusted or sarcastic in Brienne's expression now.

The utterly sincere degree of sympathy coming from her was staggering. Jaime shivered at the feel of her soft fingers on his stump and the look of deep sorrow etched into her features. "Awful," she repeated softly before taking back her hand.

Jaime shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. "Well, the world is bloody awful, wench. You ought to have realized that by now, even with your determination to live in a fantasy world of heroes and chivalry."

Brienne was quiet for a moment before she simply said, "Stand up."

"What?" he asked Seven hells. She can't really be offended by that. It's only the bloody truth.

"Stand up," she repeated, getting to her feet.

"Listen, Brienne, you can't be upset with me for-"

"I'm not!" she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I've got an idea. Stand up."

Cautiously, Jaime rose to his feet. Brienne went to retrieve her sword, and then held it out, poised to fight. It took him a moment to realize what was strange about the picture.

She was holding it in her left hand, her right planted firmly behind her back.

"Wench, what are you-"

"Shh," she said as he attempted to protest. "I may never be able to witness how well you once fought, but I can offer you a more evenly matched fight.I'll keep my right hand behind my back the whole time. It's the closest we can get to a fair fight."

Jaime thought it seemed a bit stupid, but Brienne looked so eager and pleased with herself that he shrugged and picked up his sword.

It turned out to be a rather invigorating experience.

He was not sure this really qualified as a 'fair' fight as he had been training with his left hand for months and had shown significant improvement, while Brienne had next to no experience fighting left handed. Still, there was something enormously satisfying about sending her sword flying out of her hand, or getting her to hiss damn every few minutes as he landed a blow she was unable to block.

She also interjected with things like "Gods, I don't know how you do this, Jaime." and "Everything just feels so wrong. I can't believe you've managed to get good at this so quickly."

They fought that way for almost an hour, Jaime feeling rather graceful against Brienne's clumsy left-handed motions. By the end, her straggly blonde hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat and her face was red from exertion. Even so, the sight of her filled him with a warmth that went right down to his core.

"Well, that was illuminating," she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "We'll have to try it again some time."

She paused and with a wince and touched a spot on her ribs where Jaime knew he'd given her a good bruising. She smiled, "Though perhaps not for another fortnight or so."

While Jaime was spending more time with Brienne during the day than he was prior to the wolf attack, he still had duties to attend to.

He would have loved to go out riding in the fields and woods with her every day, but he had to manage the affairs of the Rock. In fact, his mood was so improved by her company that he found himself becoming increasingly more invested in his lordly duties.

Dealing with his bannermen and the accounts was even starting to become mildly enjoyable and Jaime was finding that while he might never love politics the way his brother and father did, he did not have such a bad head for leadership and diplomacy. Even Maester Corryn had recently been extraordinarily complimentary about his level of involvement.

But every minute he spent on his duty was a minute less he had for Brienne. He knew she had not really befriended anyone else in the castle, and she still sat quietly in the Great Hall during feasts, removed from the conversations of others. It gave him a pang, to look at her from his seat at the high table, big and bulky, sticking out like a sore thumb yet being treated like she was invisible by everyone around her.

He drove himself crazy, trying to think of things he could do to make her stay at Casterly Rock more tolerable. If she had to be stuck here, he wanted it to be as enjoyable for her as possible. He was prowling through the castle in frustration, one day, trying to come up with something brilliant, when he stumbled upon the answer by accident.

His Master-at-Arms was an older gentleman called Mynar who had arrived at the Rock shortly after Jaime had joined the kingsguard, after the previous master had passed. Jaime had not paid much attention to the man since arriving back here, but was aware that Mynar was known as a bit of a drunk and rumored to have a foul temper.

In his aimless wandering, Jaime had come upon the training yard, where Mynar was shouting at a trio of young boys who could not have been more than ten.

"Bunch of useless sacks of meat, the lot of you. Wouldn't last a bloody day out there on the battlefields, I'll tell you that much. You'd be stuck like pigs, cryin' out fer your mothers with yer last dying breaths, and not a soul would help ye, or even bother t' put you out of your misery," he growled at them.

"Stand up straighter, you useless shits," he barked, and the boys jumped to attention. The smallest of the three wobbled as if he might faint. "Tighten your grip on that sword, runt. One gust of wind'd blow that sword out of yer scrawny hand, boy!"

Jaime watched with raised eyebrows as the boys scrambled to follow orders, their eyes wide and full of fear.

Some of the older lads were standing about the yard, watching with grim expressions.

Jaime walked up to one of the boys that was standing on his own, observing the scene with a furrowed brow.

"What's your name, lad?" Jaime asked. The boy jumped at being addressed by his lord.

"I'm...I'm Garreth, my lord," he stammered. He looked to be about twelve.

"What can you tell me about Ser Mynar here?"

The boy's eyes widened warily. "He is a...a skilled soldier, Ser. He has taught us m-much and-"

"It's alright, lad," Jaime interrupted. "Give me the truth of it. He's certainly harsh enough with the little ones. Give me your honest answer. I won't breathe a word of it to him," he said.

"Well he...he often doesn't turn up until the day's nearly over. He's er, he's fond of his mead, my lord," Garreth said cautiously, but seemed to gain confidence when Jaime nodded encouragingly. "And...he's usually in a foul mood when he does turn up. That little one there, with the blonde hair," he said, pointing to a tiny lad Mynar was shouting at. "He's my brother, Ser. Mynar makes 'im cry nearly every day, my lord, and he's only just started training. He never wants to come down at all, 'cause he's so scared of Mynar, but I 'ave to drag 'im down else father'll be furious with the pair of us. Once I tried to ask Mynar to give little Tim a break 'cause he was pushin' 'im too hard and he gave me a black eye over it."

Jaime frowned. He continued to talk to Garreth for a while and then asked a few of the other lads for their opinions. Most were reluctant, at first, to say anything bad about the master-at-arms, but with a little prodding, the universally revealed that Mynar was vicious, angry, abusive and a drunk. He could see for himself that Mynar was violent and cold, though when he noticed Jaime watching, he changed his mannerisms significantly.

Though he was disturbed by what he'd heard and witnessed, and feeling a bit guilty for being so uninvolved in the lad's training that he hadn't noticed what a disaster Mynar was, Jaime left the yard grinning. He knew now, what he could give to Brienne. He had a gift to offer that just might mean the world to her.

He walked briskly through the castle to her chambers and rapped on the door hard.

"Yes, who's there?" Brienne called from behind the heavy oak door.

"Jaime. Let me in, wench," he said impatiently.

"Is everything alright? I'm- I'm in the middle of dressing for dinner," she said and even with her voice muffled through the door he could tell she was embarrassed.

"Everything's fine. But hurry up. I want to talk to you," he said.

He paced impatiently by the door until she opened it a few moments later. Then he strode into the room and sat on the end of her bed, grinning at the way she frowned at his blatant impropriety.

"Do you want to- er, walk outside?" she asked.

"Here suits me fine," he said, bouncing up and down a bit on the end of the bed, his green eyes flashing with mischief. "I have a proposition for you, my lady."

"Oh," she said, looking quite perplexed. "Er- what is it?"

"I was strolling through the castle this morning, and I happened to come upon the training yard. I confess I've given little thought to the present master-at-arms since returning to Casterly Rock. I had the chance to observe him today, however, and I was displeased with what I saw. The man is a drunk, for one thing, and is often negligent of his duties. He's also impatient, cruel and even violent towards the lads, even the littlest ones."

Brienne looked concerned, "That's...that's awful," she said.

"Indeed it is. One of the lads was telling me his little brother can't even hold down his breakfast in the mornings, he's so scared of Mynar. I think it's time I start edging the man out of the role, as he's clearly not fit for it."

"Yes, he does sound awful..." Brienne said, though she looked a bit puzzled. "But why are you- Do you want my opinion on possible replacements? I bet Ser Roy-"

"No," he said. "I actually have someone in mind that would be perfect."

"Oh. Who?" Brienne asked curiously. Jaime laughed.

"You, Brienne," he said as though she were a rather slow child.

Her jaw dropped and she sputtered for a moment before saying,

"Me? Jaime, you have got to be-"

"I'm not. You're a bloody excellent teacher. You've got the patience of a septa and a stronger arm than any knight in this castle. You've managed to make a decent swordsman of me already. Why not?"

"Jaime..." she said, looking utterly flabbergasted. "I do not think- I'm a- I don't think the lads would respect me-"

"Oh, they'll bloody respect you if they know what's good for them," Jaime said threateningly, but paused when he saw the expression on her face.

"Look, Brienne. Most of them are quite young. Young enough not to be bothered by the fact that you're a woman. The rest may have begun to develop ideas about what a woman's place is, but they'll change their tune as soon as they can see what you're capable of. They seem a good sort and would be grateful for a little kindness. You're just what they need."

She looked hesitant and opened her mouth to say something negative, but he cut her off.

"You've told me stories about your master-at-arms. Ser Goodwin, yes? He was a good man, who taught you well and helped to make you the warrior you are," Jaime said. "I trained under good men as well. Patient, helpful, wise. Mynar is none of those things, and the lads are suffering for it. You're always going on about 'doing the right thing,' wench. Don't tell me you'd back away from doing what is clearly the right thing for these boys just because you're afraid they won't respect you because you're a woman. You'll make them respect you, Brienne. Hells, if you got me to do so, I have no doubt that you could manage it with anyone."

She smiled weakly at that, "I- I suppose you have a point."

"Of course I do. You'll start tomorrow," Jaime rose from his seat on her bed. "I plan on making sure Mynar's cup is never dry, this evening, so he'll be out for the count tomorrow. I believe the lads show up an hour after dawn."

"Jaime, I-"

"Shhh. You won't have to do it alone. I'll be there too, Brienne." he said. "You'll be brilliant. I know it."

Without giving her a chance to protest further, he bowed quickly and strode out of the room.

Author's note: Thanks for all the lovely support! Reviews are love!