Author's Notes: Firstly, a warning about canon-typical threats of sexual violence, although nothing physical actually takes place. If you are sensitive to such things, verbal and/or implied, please proceed carefully! Secondly, many thanks for Hardlyfatal for heroically betaing this chapter in the midst of the pressures caused by my trip!

So, "No sapphires?!" I hear you saying. And unfortunately, no 'sapphires' indeed… What will happen to Brienne now?

Alas, before we find out about that, the next chapters follows again the bumbling trio of Sansa, Sandor and Ned, again from Sansa's POV.

Brienne

The first sign of something being very wrong were the shouts and shrieks, then the tight turn of their vehicle, making them roll against the side of the wagon with a bang. Brienne hit her shoulder hard, but before she had a chance to sit up again, the wagon turned the other way, and once more she lost her balance and banged against the other side – this time her back.

Jaime was equally helpless to avoid being jostled from side to side – even more so than Brienne, as after the first few turns, she at least could rise into a low crouch, setting her feet wide apart against the floorboards to take the most of the impact. Jaime, being shackled by his ankles, couldn't do the same, and was reduced to rolling around helplessly as the moves took him. Brienne saw him hitting his head once, then twice, and cursing profusely after each hit.

She had no idea what was happening, except that it couldn't be good. Nonetheless, as the ride showed no signs of smoothing down, having gained some resemblance of control of her own body, she reached out and pulled Jaime's head into her lap. It was an instinctive move, something she would have done to anyone being in such tough position – even to that tedious man.

It helped, both of them being finally able to settle and breathe a bit easier. The wagon was still being hurled ahead at a breakneck speed, but most of the bumps and swings were at least tolerable.

"What the hells is this?!" Jaime cursed, spitting blood from the cut in his lip where he had hit it against something – his teeth, probably.

"I don't know any more than you. Maybe even less." Brienne looked down hard on him. Could this be a rescue attempt to release the Kingslayer from the Starks? Had he known about it?

"I assure you I have no idea. I think it fair to assume that we were attacked and are now being taken for a ride." As if reading her mind, a slow smile spread to his lips, bloodied and swollen. "It could be my Father, I guess. In which case a few cuts and scrapes are quite fine by me."

"Shut up," Brienne said almost automatically, wondering what such situation would mean to her. His head was still in her lap, and distracted, not paying conscious attention, her fingers threaded through his hair. It was silky and soft, smelling fresh and clean, and her mind drifted back towards the previous day.

The day before their departure, Lady Catelyn had asked Brienne to walk with her, as she had done a few times before. She had shared more news about the upcoming trip and its arrangements, but even when talking she had looked worried, and that in turn had worried Brienne. When they had approached the tent, Brienne had mentioned passing something about feeling grimy and dirty after her long imprisonment – and soon after Lady Catelyn's departure, the guards had come in carrying four buckets of water, two cakes of soap, some clean rags and two sets of clothes.

"For washing," Gerrick had informed her. "Once you are dressed in these, we have been instructed to take your clothes. They will be returned to you tomorrow, washed." Walton had distributed the wares between the two halves of the tent and then they had left. Apparently, Lady Catelyn didn't want to show favouritism – or simply preferred both her prisoners in a decent condition at the start of their journey.

Whatever it was, Brienne was left with a dilemma. Their guards had sworn to stay out of the tent and prevent others too from entering, and she had learned to trust them. It nonetheless still left Ser Jaime – and the thought of undressing when he was just on the other side of the curtain made her waver. Oh, she wanted to get clean – but how could she? Brienne stared longingly at the bucket and the soap.

Such concerns didn't deter Jaime, as Brienne soon could hear water splashing on the other side. She wondered whether he had undressed fully – and immediately regretted it. However, she realised the worst was yet to come when he started shouting remarks at her through the screen.

"How come so quiet, wench? Don't you want to wipe all the grime away, now that our jailors have so thoughtfully provided the opportunity? I don't know about you, but I was getting rather tired of being filthy."

Brienne didn't respond.

"Are you undressing? I bet you look magnificent, you and your muscles. I bet you'd leave most of my soldiers in shame if we compared. Skinny little shits, most of them."

Still, she didn't respond.

"I am naked – in case you wanted to know. It sure feels good to scrub myself clean. My back is a bit hard to reach though – would you mind scrubbing it for me? If you'd just come closer, I could do the same for you. A Lannister always pays his debts and all that, you know."

Brienne closed her eyes. Uninvited, images of his tall, lean body rose into her mind. Nude. He was likely covered in soft golden hair on his arms and legs and other places…

She grimaced and rubbed her eyes, stifling a sigh.

Brienne had seen naked men before, despite not necessarily wanting to. Some men in Renly's camp had taken wicked delight in trying to upset her 'maidenly sensitivities', as they had called it. They had done it by parading in front of her, stripped bare, whenever the opportunity had risen, ostensibly just taking an innocent swim in the river or getting ready for a bath. She had averted her eyes and thought nothing of it besides feeling irritated by their childish behaviour. One couldn't expect to survive a soldiers' camp or a battlefield if one was too squeamish.

Yet this was different. So very different.

More splashing, then quiet.

"Wench? What's wrong?"

"My name is Brienne. And nothing is wrong," she croaked – hoping it sounded convincing.

"You know I can't see anything if that's what you are wondering."

"It's not that."

"I wouldn't mind though. I wonder how you look under those clothes. Do you even have breasts?"

Brienne sighed. "Shut up," she muttered.

Maybe it was out of spite, or because she had an opportunity that was unlikely to present itself for some time, but eventually she carried the bucket even further away from the end of the partition and started to undress. Not fully – she was much too uncomfortable for that, but she bared her upper body and dunked her head into the water. After lathering her hair with the soap and rinsing it, she took a rag and soaped it, then proceeded to wash her arms and torso.

She wiped down her armpits and their soft hair, then past her breasts, assessing them thoughtfully. They were firm and small, nothing like well-endowed bosoms of some women she had seen. She preferred it that way: large breasts would only be in the way in arms practice and combat. Briefly, she wondered if Jaime preferred small breasts or large. Most men seemed to be taken by ample bosoms, but…

Angry at herself she hissed and scrubbed her skin harder.

"I am all done now – but I would have preferred for you to help me with my back. A favour to a fellow prisoner, you know. But it's not too late yet. Shall I move over?"

Brienne tried her best to ignore the taunting. After having dried her torso and arms, she gingerly removed her breeches and smallclothes and proceeded in cleaning her lower body. She was crouching, back turned against the tent opening, working as fast as she could.

"You know, I would be happy to show you mine if you would show me yours. I admit I am rather curious. What say you?"

Brienne tried to shut her ears by concentrating harder on her task.

Luckily she hadn't had her monthly flux while in custody – but that meant they were to be expected while they were on the road. She sighed again. Why was she cursed with such things when she would never even need them – would never conceive a child, a babe of her own. They meant just trouble and inconvenience for a woman in her position. Her fingers worked quickly and wiped her woman's place clean – and of course, the Kingslayer chose that exact moment to yell out again.

"I can't see you, but I can imagine you. You and your long legs. Gods, they're long! Muscular as well, I bet?"

"Shut up!" Brienne shouted, then finished by drying herself thoroughly and dressing into the breeches and tunic she had been given. No smallclothes – but she would get her own back soon. The sleeves and legs of her breeches were too short, but otherwise, they fit. The main thing was, however, that she was clothed again, which made her feel much better about herself.

The guards returned after she shouted at them that they were ready, took the things and left.

Jaime emerged from his side, all clean, his skin still pink from the scrubbing. Delicate blonde hair fell onto his sides, clean and untangled, looking much too soft against the coarseness of his beard. He looked like a god, like some kind of deviant Stranger.

If he looked this good when being a prisoner in ill-fitting borrowed clothes, how would he look in his full gear, in whites of the Kingsguard or reds and golds of House Lannister?

As they had supped later that evening, Brienne hadn't been able to shake the weight of those green eyes when they had taken in her appearance nor the mischievous, knowing smile – as if he had seen through the screen and knew exactly how she looked in her bare skin.

Her only consolation had been that the forced company of the Kingslayer was going to end soon.

Jaime tried to shout at their captors during their long ride but got no response. He wasn't too discouraged by it, though, having adopted the cheerful outlook of someone who expected imminent improvement in his circumstances.

"It can't be anyone else but my lord father. Who else would have thought of it? Who else would have had the resources to get intelligence about the Starks' plans?" His smile was almost infectious, and he didn't seem to mind that Brienne didn't share his enthusiasm.

"You just wait and see. Before the night is over, I shall be dining in my father's camp on roast chicken and proper beef stew, hearty beer and the finest wines. A nice change after the weeks of gruel and that lumpy stew filled with tough meat they've served us."

They were both sitting up by then, backs against the opposite sides of the wagon. The ride was slower and smoother – but every turn of the wheels took them further away from the Stark convoy. Brienne tried to think what she should do if it was indeed Tywin Lannister behind the attack. Would he, too, accuse her of kingslaying? By then, the whole realm would have heard about the events in Renly's tent.

As if once again sensing her thoughts, Jaime nudged her with his foot.

"Not that I care what happens to you after we part our ways – but if you insisted, I might consider letting you join us, wench. Since I happen to believe that you didn't kill that milksop Renly, I might even tell that to my father. Hells - you might even join my troops. I would have to ascertain, of course, that you would be good enough – might even spar with you myself to test you out. What would you say to that?"

"I will not fight for the Kingslayer," Brienne muttered. She had a nagging feeling that Lord Tywin might not much care whether she was innocent or not, as long if he saw her as somehow useful.

"Not for me, personally, but for the one true king. Surely you could do that, as it is not as if there are any better alternatives. Or would you prefer Stannis Baratheon? Or Balon Greyjoy, who is making a nuisance of himself in the west?" Jaime shrugged. "Your choice."

It was almost evening when the wagon came into a halting stop, judging from the dimness of the light filtering through the canvas. Brienne tensed, pricking her ears trying to get a hint of what was happening outside. Foreign voices, a language she couldn't place, except being from somewhere across the sea. Did it disprove Jaime's expectations, she wondered?

The voices came closer, and then the back curtain of the wagon was pulled aside.

"What the hells is this? Two, not one?"

Jaime had moved forward when they had heard the men coming, and was helped out first. Then coarse hands reached to grab Brienne by the shoulders, and she too was pulled out.

Her legs were stiff and her body hurt from all the bumps and strains it had been subjected to, but she paid no heed to such slight discomforts. Glancing around her she spotted a building – a mill, it seemed – three horses, altogether four men, one still on horseback…

With Lady Catelyn.

Brienne startled, then gritted her teeth. If this indeed was Lord Tywin's doing, it had not been enough for him to release his son; he had had to go one step further and obtain a hostage of his own. Lady Catelyn could be treated with respect as was her due as a noble lady, but with that one blow the Lannisters would have gained a definitive upper hand: Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, and their two daughters all held by them, the Starks having nothing and nobody to balance the odds.

She felt sorry for the Starks, and Lady Catelyn especially. She had always been kind to Brienne, treating her well, even promising to speak on her behalf to Lord Stannis. Watching her, Brienne saw a look of utter defeat on that proud face, the despair of not only her own position but of the realisation of what this coup had done for her family's chances of receiving justice.

She doesn't deserve it.

Brienne heard the exchange between Jaime and their captors but had no time to focus on what was being said. Jaime was not happy, that much was clear, but she didn't much care about his happiness.

The leader, presumably having had enough of Jaime, moved closer to Brienne. He was tall and lean, his dark hair tied back in a knot and his skin the colour of burnished copper, a legacy of a land of endless plains and burning sun. Measuring her with his gaze, he had the same look on his face Brienne had seen hundreds of times before: surprise, annoyance, a hint of smugness. That a woman dared to dress as a man and stand on her own seemed to be a source of perpetual amusement to men. It was frustrating, but as often as not, it worked on her favour. As Ser Goodwin had said, men were wont to underestimate her just because of her sex.

"This one is a surprise – what, is it a woman?"

The men laughed and came closer. Even the man sitting behind Lady Catelyn dismounted and walked towards the group, holding the horse's bridle in his hand.

Brienne looked at Lady Catelyn again, the defeated slump of her shoulders. She had no time to go through all the possible options and consider all the potential consequences of her actions, beyond the calm acceptance that what she was about to do would mean a great risk for her.

No chance, no choice.

She charged.

The man fell backward with a surprised yelp and it was easy for Brienne to grab the pommel of his sword. Her hands were shackled, that was true, but her binds allowed her enough room to use her wrists and take a firm grip. She had held back at the last minute, preventing herself falling over, and as soon she had secured her grip, she swirled around in one smooth motion. The sword sliced through the air without hesitation – slashing through the nearest man from the lower rib all the way to his pelvis, a deep slice. The man stood motionless for just a second, staring at her incredulously, and then his knees gave up and he fell on the ground, pressing his hands against his stomach in a futile attempt to prevent his innards falling out.

"Ride, Lady Catelyn!" Brienne yelled. "And don't stop, not for anything!"

She whipped around, concentrating on her next foe. The two remaining men had recovered from their shock and circled her, swords drawn. From the side of her eye Brienne saw Jaime staring at the scene, his mouth slack, eyes wide.

To her immense relief Lady Catelyn had heard her and acted, and soon only the back of her horse could be seen in the dim light – and then the men attacked. Brienne fought the first man off with ease. He was not very experienced in Westerosi style sword fight, but thwarting the other man, the leader, was not quite as effortless. Brienne barred, lunged, feinted to the side. Her main aim was to keep the men occupied to prevent them going after Lady Catelyn, and she did that by engaging both of them in turn. Once the man she had knocked over got to his feet, only his pride hurt, he joined the other two and Brienne had her hands full of trying to beat off all three of them.

It was only a matter of time before they would be able to subdue her, Brienne knew and accepted it. She also knew she could not rely on Jaime's help, these men being his rescuers. Not that he would have been able to do much anyway, hands and feet bound as he was.

"Stop this nonsense, now!"

A booming voice rose above the clang of metal and panting of the combatants. It took a moment for Brienne to register that it had been Jaime, who – for the better impact – banged his chains against the wagon, causing everyone to stop and look.

"Lady Catelyn is gone, and you'd have a better purpose to go after her than to fight with this woman. She isn't going anywhere and is unlikely to surprise you quite as easily as she did, anymore."

"Shut up!" the leader shouted, baring his teeth in a vicious snarl, not letting his eyes drop from Brienne. He was the most dangerous of the group, she had concluded. There was skill but also raw ferocity in his attacks, and twice he had penetrated through her defences, one cut on her shoulder and another on her flank bearing testimony to it.

Brienne didn't relax her stance either, eyeing the three of them over her sword. She hoped she had bought enough time for Lady Catelyn and that she would be smart enough not to try to run back the same way they had arrived. If the men followed… by then, however, it would be dark, which would mean a more difficult pursuit.

Her breathing was shallow, her hands and legs trembled. She had been inactive for too long, not trained as she should have - she was not ready for a prolonged battle…

The two other men looked at each other, then stepped further away from her and lowered their swords.

"He is right, Zaggo. The bitch can't get us and she is worn out. I'll get the rope and finish this farce," said the bald man with a sizable gut, then turned towards his horse and produced a coil of rope from the saddle bag.

"Do you want us to go after the other woman?" the other man enquired, wiping his sword against his boots. It hardly needed it, not having drawn blood, but he was very particular about it. He was lean and slightly build, with a droopy moustache and braided hair – yet another indication of the foreign origins of the group.

"Pox on the woman! We have him, which was the main thing, so we'll get our gold in any case. The woman was optional." The leader snarled, still reluctant to lower his own sword.

Brienne saw what was coming and as the rope swished through the air, she didn't resist.

In no time she was bound and trussed and thrown on the ground next to a pile of rocks, not far from where Jaime was sitting. The place looked like a small quarry with the remains of two big stone wheels lying on the ground. One had been chipped to pieces and the other was lying on the ground almost intact, moss growing on its surface. They must have been old millstones, thrown aside when the mill had been fitted with a new set.

Jaime had been released from the shackles in his legs, but his hands were still bound, the leader cursing at him just to shut up when Jaime had protested. None of their captors seemed to be impressed by Jaime's name or his affiliation, and hadn't even bothered to ask hers. All they did was to insist on having to wait for their commander before anything was resolved.

The men prepared their camp in sullen silence, unharnessing Blaze and their own horses, feeding and watering them, emptying their saddlebags, lighting a fire. Their movements were purposeful and efficient – they had clearly spent a long time together on campaigns like this. Maybe they were sellswords, hired by anyone with enough coin? And who'd have more coin than Tywin Lannister? They didn't carry banners or wear sigils, which was an even clearer indication of their loose loyalties.

Their dead companion, who had lain on the ground, was collected by the leader himself. He lifted the body carefully, bound the gaping incision with a piece of cloth, and carried it aside, under the crumbling wall of the old mill. There he laid it on the ground, gently, sat next to it, and pulled the listless head in his lap.

Brienne observed him, baffled. The leader – Zaggo – talked to the body, touching the dead man's hair and face. There was odd gentleness to it, but the others didn't seem to find anything strange in it, focussing on their own tasks.

"It looks like you killed his lover," Jaime whispered next to her. "No wonder he is in such a foul mood. We could have done without that, you know. Just saying."

"What would you have me do?" Brienne hissed angrily. "At least Lady Catelyn got away."

"For how long, I wonder? You bought her time, that is true, but tomorrow when the commander - whoever it is - arrives, he will send men after her. I doubt noble Lady Stark is as adapted to evading pursuers as you were on your way to the north."

Brienne didn't dignify that with an answer. After a while, Jaime continued.

"You did complicate matters somewhat, I have to say. For yourself, at least. That man," Jaime inclined his head in the direction of the mourning man, still leaning over the lifeless body of his companion, "he will be out to get you for what you did."

He looked at Brienne then, glancing at her still bleeding cuts, and his tone changed. "Nonetheless, for what it's worth, you were magnificent. I would take you into my service any day." With that surprising parting shot Jaime withdrew and leaned against the millstone.

Brienne shrugged it away, but couldn't deny the truth of it. Killing a man in the heat of the battle was one thing and no cause for eternal animosity, and losing a comrade in arms was common enough – but when there were other emotions involved, things turned personal.

As the evening progressed, Zaggo finally let go of his lover. The three men amassed together a pile of dried wood from the mill and lifted the body on top of it. The leader lighted it and the fire started first as a wisp, gradually rising to an impressive roaring inferno, consuming the wood and the body alike. If any prayers were said over the funeral pyre, Brienne didn't hear them, but Zaggo stayed standing next to it for a long time, staring at the flames, until the pile had reduced to embers.

When he returned to his comrades, a heated discussion ensued. They were talking about her, Brienne understood, from the sideways looks and fingers pointing in her direction. They were animated and angry, and her heart sank thinking of what it might mean for her. Even Jaime didn't seem to have the level of influence he had thought he had. He had succeeded in ending the fight, but it had probably been common sense rather than Jaime's words that had convinced the men.

Besides, why would he help her anyway? He had said that he didn't care what happened to her.

"They are coming," Jaime's lowered voice next to Brienne alerted her. Indeed, the other two men were approaching, Zaggo still sitting by the campfire and brooding, holding a skin from which he sipped every now and then.

"Zaggo wants to kill you," the first man said without preamble.

"Slowly," added the other, helpfully.

Brienne stared at them, cold sweat trickling down her brow. She had never been this close to death, and it was not what she had expected. Not in the height of a battle, not while defending herself with all her might. To be killed like this… suddenly she was very scared.

"But we said we want our fun first... if you are a woman, as you seem to be. At least we want to check. And if so, Ibbe and I will have you." The man made a lewd gesture with his hand and hips, and the other man grinned. "After that, Zaggo can do whatever he wants."

Ibbe's leer revealed a row of brown teeth and Brienne's stomach turned. The threat of rape had always been present for her, but she had trusted that her sword would be enough deterrent to persuade anyone so inclined otherwise.

"You there, move away. Unless you have a problem with this?" The man's words were addressed to Jaime, but from the way his hand rested on the hilt of his dagger and how Ibbe crouched warily while staring at Jaime, it was obvious that even if he had any problem with the notion, they were not going to be swayed.

"Me? Of course not, why would there be a problem? That woman is nothing to me." Jaime drawled nonchalantly, getting up and stretching his legs. So, he was going to leave her to her fate. And why wouldn't he? What was she to him? Nothing, as he had just said.

Brienne closed her eyes and an involuntary sob escaped her lips. Tears burned behind her eyelids and for the first time in a long, long time, she felt vulnerable, she felt weak - she felt afraid.

Nobody can help me now.