Brienne woke, slightly disoriented. Everything was in the wrong place; she was in the wrong bed. Jaime spooned against her back, enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth. She shifted bit by bit until she faced him. He snorted softly, then burrowed into his pillow. Brienne released the breath she'd been holding. He'd always been such a light sleeper before, but he continued to breathe deeply and evenly. The lines etched in his face softened with sleep, making him look younger. Jaime thrashed a little and whimpered, his arm tightening around her waist. The dream passed, and he resumed the regular and even breathing of deep sleep. She closed her eyes, and let herself remember the first time she'd felt safe with Jaime.

Jaime strode through the ruins of Harrenhal and plunged into the herd of horses that made up the mounts for Locke's group of men. He took the reins of the first horse he saw that was saddled, then led the horse to Brienne and handed her the reins. 'This is Locke's horse,' she informed him.

'Too bad for him,' Jaime retorted. 'His horse must have bolted.' Brienne smirked and swung into the saddle, carelessly hiking her skirts to midthigh. Jaime mounted his horse, and they left Harrenhal at a gallop.

After several miles, the small, dark man, Qyburn, approached Jaime. 'I insist we stop and tend to the lady's wounds.'

Jaime threw a glance over his shoulder. 'We should put more distance between us and Harrenhal.'

Qyburn frowned. 'Do you want the lady's wounds to fester, as yours did?'

Jaime shuddered and guided his horse next to Steelshanks. 'We need to stop for a few minutes.' He gestured with his chin toward Brienne. Steelshanks nodded and slowed his horse, then stopped. He pointed to Quyburn. 'How long will it take to see to her?' Steelshanks asked.

Qyburn nudged his horse alongside Brienne, and studied the gashes the bear had left. 'As long as it takes to properly cleanse and dress the wounds.'

Steelshanks sighed. 'Might as well stop for the night.' He directed his men to set about making camp, to build a fire and fetch water.

Qyburn set off for the stream and returned with a small kettle full of water. He set it next to the fire and rooted through his satchel. As soon as the fire crackled, he set the kettle over the flames, and waited for it to boil, then dropped a handful of herbs into the water and let it steep. 'My lady, with your permission?' Qyburn gestured to Brienne's neck. She nodded and lifted her chin. 'This will hurt,' he told her. 'These gashes are quite deep.'

'Doesn't matter.' Brienne let a cold smile flash over her face. 'It means I'm still alive.'

Qyburn dipped a cloth into the water and began to swab the wounds. Brienne grimaced. He was right; it did hurt. Her eyes flicked upward at the sound of footsteps behind Qyburn. Jaime stood there, eyes fixed on hers. She resolved to stay quiet and not make a sound. Night had fallen by the time Qyburn smeared a paste into the gashes and pressed a wad to lint to them, then wound a strip of linen around her neck to hold it into place. 'That will do for now,' Qyburn said. 'We shall change it in the morning.'

'Thank you.'

Qyburn walked off and Jaime dropped the bedrolls under his arm to the grass. One of the men brought Jaime and Brienne each a bowl of stew. 'M'lady. Ser Jaime.' Jaime nodded and accepted the bowl of what proved to be rabbit stew. Another man thrust a bundle of woollen cloth at Brienne. 'Found this in the saddlebag on Locke's horse. You'll need it. Air's got a bite in it tonight.' She set her stew aside and unfurled a cloak. Locke was somewhat smaller than she was, but it would serve. She pulled the cloak over her shoulders, and stirred the stew, but only managed a few bites before it threatened to come back up.

'I imagine you'd like to burn that dress. We'll see about getting you some proper clothes,' Jaime said, awkwardly spreading out the bedrolls and motioned to the one closest to the boulder where Brienne sat. 'You should get some sleep.' Brienne burrowed into it without argument. 'I'll keep watch,' he murmured. 'I won't let anyone else hurt you,' he vowed, surprised to find he meant it.

She opened one eye. 'I trust you.'

Brienne grazed her mouth over Jaime's nose, then over his lips. His eyelids fluttered and opened. She kissed him, hand unerringly finding his cock. It only took a few firm strokes to make him hard. Jaime rolled onto his back, bringing Brienne with him. A few more languid caresses made him ache to be inside her. Brienne threw one leg over his hips and straddled him. She leaned down and kissed him again, her fingertips just nudging his cock into her. Her hips undulated slowly and he slid into her, inch by excruciating inch.

Brienne's eyes drifted shut as she rode him, shuddering with the incipient orgasm. Her head fell back, and she came with a soft cry. Jaime pushed himself upright, and wrapped Brienne's legs around his hips, relishing the flex of the muscles in her thighs as she continued to move. He wound his arms around her waist, lips tracing over the pulse that beat at the base of her throat. Brienne twined her fingers through his hair and guided his mouth to her breast. Her hips moved harder and faster. Jaime pressed his forehead to her shoulder. 'Unnngh.' He grunted, unable to stop himself from spilling into her. Her arms and legs tightened around him and she grabbed his chin in one hand, forcing him to look at her, his eyes heavy lidded, while she came yet again. 'Gods,' Jaime breathed. Brienne shivered as Jaime's mouth worked its way over the slope of her breast, her neck. He kissed her, tongue stroking against hers while he tumbled back down to the pillows, bringing her with him. 'I'm not complaining,' Jaime said breathlessly, 'but what brought that on?'

'Bear pit,' Brienne mumbled sleepily, turning her face into the side of his neck.

'What?'

'Bear pit,' she repeated, her words slurred. Jaime felt her left foot twitch, as it always did before she fell asleep. She sighed and her body went limp.

Brienne's eyes snapped open. Rain pattered against the shutters. She turned her head carefully on the pillow. Jaime lay curled on his side, left hand resting next to his face, sleeping quite soundly. She stared at the ceiling, turning over their conversation over and over in her head.

You wanted to die. He drank.

She carefully slid one foot to the floor, then the other, and slithered out from under the blankets, stifling a gasp as her bare feet encountered the cold stone floor. Brienne crept about the room, gathering her clothes from where they lay, crumpled in front of the hearth. She then eased the chamber door open, biting her lip when it creaked. Jaime continued to sleep. She slipped through the smallest opening possible and went into her own chamber.

She grabbed the voluminous wrapper from a hook near the door of her chamber, and pulled it over her arms, then added more wood to the banked coals of the fire and checked the crib. Nikolas sprawled under the heavy quilt, left hand next to his face. His cheeks were rosy with warmth and sleep.

It was early. Far too early for sunrise. Hardly anyone would be awake in the castle. Brienne gathered clean clothing and made her way to the bathhouse. She cast a longing glance at the deep tubs, their hot spring-fed water steaming gently. A pitcher and basin would do just now. The wrapper slid to her feet and Brienne knelt to fill a couple of large pitchers from one of the tubs, then carried them to a small grate set in the floor. She threw a sliver of soap into a deep basin, poured in a generous amount of warm water, then upended the rest of it over her head. Brienne plunged a cloth into the soapy water and scoured every inch of her body, scrubbing at the stickiness between her thighs until the scent of Jaime on her skin was gone. She quickly worked soap through her hair, then lifted the other pitcher and let the water sluice over her.

She stood, naked and wet, seeing not the wall of the bathhouse, but Jaime's face as he confessed he left Winterfell for what amounted to a suicide mission. She hurled the pitcher at the wall, trying to dispel the image and the thought that it might have all been much easier if he had truly died.

The bloody room is freezing, was Jaime's first thought as he woke up. He wondered if he could persuade Brienne to play a child's hand game to determine who had to get up and rebuild the fire. He opened his eyes, expecting to see her, but the other side of the bed was cold and empty. 'Brienne?' Jaime sat up. There was only one set of clothes lying in a heap on the floor. His.

He wasn't bothered by her absence. She'd done it often enough in Winterfell, leaving their bed first so as not to arouse more gossip. You truly believe there are people here who don't know we're sleeping together? he'd once quipped while they sparred. He shrugged and slid reluctantly from the warmth of the bed and hurriedly donned his breeches, lest his cock freeze and fall off. Fortunately, they'd remembered to bank the fire before falling asleep. He added a few pieces of wood to the glowing coals, then sat back, and waited for the wood to catch before adding more. Once the fire was hot enough, he heated water to wash. He dressed, listening to the rain lash the castle walls. Jaime eased a shutter open just enough to note the sheets of water falling from the sky, then promptly closed it again, already feeling the aches where the broken bones had healed, especially in his right shin where the end of the broken bone had pierced his flesh. He wondered if he could persuade Brienne to join him in the bathhouse later that night. Jaime grabbed his cloak and headed down to the hall for breakfast, thinking of all the fiddly tasks they needed to do in the stables that were usually put aside for rainy days such as this.

Brienne wasn't at her usual place in the hall at breakfast, but again, Jaime shrugged it off. She didn't always eat breakfast in the hall, preferring to eat in the solar while she performed some of the more tedious tasks that fell to the lady of the manor. He quickly ate, then ran as fast as he was able through the courtyard to the stables. Osric set him to sort through the tack, setting aside what needed repair, then gave him a couple of stable lads to give what remained a thorough cleaning. A couple of kitchen boys brought their midday meal to the stables, rather than force everyone in the stables to make the mad dash across the courtyard back into the castle. Jaime ate his meal standing up. The sooner he finished in the tack room, the sooner he could track down Brienne.

When Osric finally declared the tack cleaned to his satisfaction, Jaime began to search for the elusive Brienne. He found her in a small room off the armory, carefully making notes on a scrap of parchment with a sharpened stick of charcoal while she sorted through a pile of small sparring swords they used to train pages. After the drowsy warmth of the stables, the armory was practically frigid. A brazier barely penetrated the chill and Jaime huddled into his cloak. 'Are we going to talk about last night?'

Brienne tossed a badly bent sparring sword onto a sheet of canvas. 'No. Because there's nothing to talk about.' She picked up the next sword.

'Nothing?'

Brienne set the charcoal down and dropped the sword to the rickety table. 'It was only fucking,' she said dully, studying a smudge on the side of her middle finger.

'Look me in the eye and say that,' Jaime retorted.

Brienne's head reared back. 'It was only fucking,' she repeated, fingertips fluttering on the table, eyelids flickering.

Jaime smirked. 'You're the worst liar in Westeros.'

Brienne shifted uneasily. 'It can't happen again.'

'Why not?'

'Because it worked out so well the last time you shared my bed,' Brienne said caustically, then pressed her lips together into a thin line. 'It adds unnecessary confusion to our situation.'

Jaime opened his mouth, but nothing came out. 'Very well,' he managed. He turned to leave, but stopped. 'You haven't forgiven me,' he stated.

'Don't be ridiculous,' Brienne snapped irritably.

'You haven't forgiven me for leaving Winterfell.' Brienne stood and stalked toward the door. Jaime grabbed her wrist as she passed him. 'You haven't forgiven me.'

'Of course I haven't,' Brienne countered. 'Letting you fuck me doesn't change that.'

'You let me fuck you?' Jaime hissed. 'You fucked me.'

'Details,' Brienne said coldly.

'What do you want from me?' Jaime shouted.

'I don't know!' Brienne wrenched away from him and stalked into the muddy courtyard. The rain soaked her hair and into her cloak. Last night's confessions deeply troubled her. If only it had been as simple as returning to the dubious affections of Cesei. She could almost understand that. She had more trouble understanding the depth of self-loathing that would drive him to feel he was as vile a person as his sister, then lead him to believe the world was a better place without him in it. 'Why are you even here?'

'I came here for you!' Jaime responded hotly, following her into the downpour. 'I stay for you. And Nikolas.' He raked his hand through his wet hair.

Brienne laughed, but there was no humor in it. 'Because it's the honorable thing to do?'

'Yes!'

Brienne stilled. She could feel rain dripping off the tip of her nose. 'What is honor?' Jaime stared at her, the rain streaking over his face. 'Did I dishonor myself by taking you, of all people, into my bed? By having a child outside marriage?'

'You are the farthest thing from dishonorable,' Jaime rasped.

'You've done the same things as I have. And yet no one calls you a whore,' Brienne said acerbically.

'I thought you didn't care what people thought about you,' Jaime countered quietly.

'I don't. It's one thing for people to tell me I'm as boring as I am ugly,' she spat. Jaime flinched slightly, as she flung one of his earliest insults to her at him. 'Or to call me a blundering beast. Or laugh at me for wanting to do something other than marry some sorry excuse for a man and birth a brood of half-witted imbeciles.' Her jaw worked for several moments as she collected herself. She was never going to cry in front of Jaime Lannister again, if she could help it. 'But to question my honor? My son's?' She bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 'It's all I have.' She swallowed hard. 'If the only thing keeping you here is a misplaced sense of honor and obligation, then go.'