Author's Notes: Finally – it is time to find out what Brienne did next, and what about Jaime… My thanks go to Hardlyfatal for vigorous discussions around this chapter!

To conclude, Jaime has really rotten luck, doesn't he? Once again, more is revealed in a few chapter's time… The next chapter picks up from Sansa and Sandor's travels – and oh, Ned's too.

Brienne

As Jaime walked away, he turned for one more look over his shoulder.

"In all fairness, and considering that you're here to save me and take me to my Lord Father, I guess I should warn you. If I were you, I wouldn't touch her with a barge pole – unless you want your cocks to shrivel and drop off."

The two men were still standing, but their heads rotated in unison in Jaime's direction.

"What the fuck?" the man with a braid barked.

"Oh, just that she has a pox," Jaime said nonchalantly. "Nasty one, too. It seems to affect women differently - she looks fresh as a daisy, but I have heard there were men in Renly Baratheon's troops who became pitiful wrecks in a matter of months after tumbling her."

The men had turned their attention to Brienne, who had gasped at Jaime's words. Pox! The curse of all armed troops, a scourge that could maim men just as mercilessly as a sword.

Jaime nodded thoughtfully. "A shame, really. They were some of his best soldiers, before."

"A pox?" the other, apparently slow in comprehension, questioned.

"Sadly, yes. She must have gotten it from one of the many men she has fucked." As the men stared at Jaime again, their mouths slack, he shrugged his shoulders.

"What else can one expect from a freak who dresses up as a man and fights among them? Don't tell me you thought her to be a blushing maiden still? Hells, she has voracious appetites, has fucked half of Renly's army and wanted to fuck the other half, except everyone with a smidgen of sense started to avoid her like the plague." He grinned. "She would probably be grateful for a little bedsport – it has been a while since she has been served well, I wager."

With that, Jaime strode away without another look at the stunned party.

Brienne bristled. What horrible things to say about her - why? Her confusion and indignation overshadowed even the imminent threat of her current situation.

"I want no pox," the slow-witted man said to his companion. "I ain't that desperate." He kicked Brienne at the shin, not too hard. "She ain't even much to look at. Ugly."

"And you think I want to see my cock fall off?"

"Do what you will, I'm off. I'll get better cunt in the village."

Mumbling something intelligible the men left, leaving Brienne dumbfounded and seething in her ropes.

As soon as the men had gone outside a hearing distance, Jaime crept back.

"You can thank me now," he whispered, that familiar smirk on his face. Brienne wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face one day.

"The things you said! I would never… I have never… if I…" she spluttered.

"Yes, yes, you are quite welcome." Jaime raised his hand to silence her and slumped back against the millstone. His bearing was fatigued and he seemed annoyed.

After her immediate resentment subsided, Brienne realised what had truly taken place: Jaime had just saved her from a brutal rape with his brutal words. Especially with brutal words; he had not done it to be cruel, but quite the opposite. Brienne's face, neck and ears flushed hot in embarrassment for initially missing it. Abashed, she looked at Jaime and was about to apologise for her outburst, but Jaime cut her off.

"Let's get some rest. I wouldn't mind some of that food and drink, either. Really, is this a way to treat a nobleman? I am sure my father will pay them handsomely enough once I am returned to him. Ungrateful louts!"

Brienne swallowed her words – Jaime didn't seem too receptive for apologies that very moment. Instead, she assessed the situation. The leader, Zaggo, was still brooding, gulping his drink with increasing frequency. He was talking to himself and shouting at the two men across the fire, arguing about something, but the men paid him no heed.

There was nothing else to do but to wait for the arrival of their commander, who was clearly the one making the decisions. Brienne sighed and tried to settle into a better position; the broken stones and rocks pressed hard into her legs and backside where she was sitting, their jagged edges a continuous discomfort. The air was cooler than before, sending shivers down her spine.

Jaime raised his voice again. "Men, bring us some food and drink! You will be paid handsomely, so the least you can do is to share your rations with the one who made it happen!"

The two men looked up, then went back to their interrupted drinking, ignoring him.

Jaime glared at them, his nostrils flaring. "I am getting sick and tired of being jostled about. I am cold and hungry and thirsty, and damned if I am going to just sit here while they feast."

"I think you shouldn't antagonise them any further," Brienne pleaded. She had seen her share of men in their cups and how unpredictable they could be. "Let's wait until their commander returns. I think he is the one with whom you can reason."

Jaime muttered low curses, reluctantly turning away from the camp. It was clear that he was not used to being treated indifferently; not him, the Lion of Casterly Rock, the oldest son of Lord Tywin Lannister, the youngest member and the Commander of the Kingsguard, the winner of many tournaments.

They settled in as comfortably as they could; it was going to be a long night. Brienne looked longingly at the fire and the rations the men were eating with a good appetite. She was hungry too, and thirsty, but that was not an unusual state of being for anyone who had travelled with an army.

Zaggo didn't seem to care about food, getting more visibly drunk at every sip of his skin. He glowered at them under his brow with increasing frequency; it seemed he had found a new focus for his attention after having burned the body of his lover. Brienne didn't like it, especially after seeing him fingering the dagger on his side.

Her worst fears came to fruition when after a while, Zaggo got up, swaying alarmingly on his feet, then walked towards them. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and the expression on his face did not bode well.

"You killed him," he hissed at Brienne.

Brienne didn't know what to say, so she stayed silent.

"He let a woman get to him. He deserved it," Jaime muttered.

"Shut the fuck up!" Zaggo shouted at him.

Brienne flinched. The man was drunk, furious, grieving – what was Jaime thinking of, taunting him like that?

"Jaime, please. Be quiet - the less attention you draw on us, the better," she whispered.

"You killed him, you bitch!" Zaggo dropped the skin and launched at Brienne, punching and kicking, shouting something in his own language. Brienne might not have understood the words, but their meaning was clear. He kicked her hard; once, twice, thrice. Her thigh, her stomach, her flank – she bit her lip and scrunched her eyes tightly shut. Every kick hurt like hell but Brienne crouched down and tried to offer as small target as possible.

"Let her go!" Jaime raised his voice, indignation and anger competing in his tone.

Shut up, Jaime.

Zaggo obviously thought the same, as he spun around to face Jaime, and continuing shouting lashed at him and after first kicking and punching him, hauled him bodily off the ground. He was stronger than he looked, handling a man of Jaime's size with ease, lifting him like a ragdoll and throwing him into the pile of stones. All the time he was shouting, cursing, veins in his forehead bulging.

The other men got on their feet, perhaps afraid that they would lose their reward should their leader kill their prizes. They ran to the site and tackled Zaggo, and after a brief struggle, subdued him. Two men against one, even if in a drunken rage, had its inevitable outcomes; throwing dirty looks at Jaime and Brienne, they soon dragged Zaggo back to the fireside. There they dropped him unceremoniously on the ground, where he stayed – after a while starting to snore loudly.

Things quieted down. Brienne was hurting from the blows but when she gingerly tested her limbs, it seemed that nothing had been broken. She couldn't see Jaime fully, only his outline as he was lying on the ground, motionless except for a faint movement of his chest.

Good, at least he is still alive.

"Jaime?" she whispered. No answer.

Brienne sighed. She hoped that would teach him a lesson – although she doubted it very much. While she had been hunkering down in an attempt to be inconspicuous, she had felt an especially sharp edge of a stone burrowing into her thigh. She tried to find it again, shifting her position one way or another, sweeping the ground with her hands. There!

She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Invigorated, Brienne started her task.

For the next few hours, she patiently sawed the rope binding her wrists with the jagged edge of the rock. It was slow work, and every now and then her hands cramped and she had to rest for a while before continuing. Slowly, slowly, she felt threads breaking.

Every now and then she peeked at Jaime's form, still lying where he had landed. She got no reply to the few whispered queries she made, but he was still breathing. Once she saw his head lift before it fell back again. Brienne was worried, but there was nothing she could do for him for now.

The men at the campsite had fallen asleep, Zaggo where he had been dropped, snoring loudly, and the other two on their bedrolls, their backs to Brienne and Jaime. The fire had died but embers remained, glowing faintly in the dark permeated by the dim light of the half-moon. The commander had still not arrived, and the knowledge of it being unlikely before the morning gave Brienne new hope.

If she could just get free, she could sneak to the sleeping men, dispatch them, get a horse and escape… Where, she would have to think that later.

As she laboured away, another thought came to her. If she managed to escape with her own skin intact, should she try to recapture the Kingslayer? She could leave him, of course, to be picked up by the mysterious commander and his troops, taking him to Lord Tywin – but why would she?

Brienne had heard her share of the stories travelling in the countryside about the atrocities committed by the Lannister troops. She also knew how Jaime had been a valuable asset for the Starks, the one thing that could tip the balance of power in their favour.

But why should she care? She hadn't been exactly welcomed with open arms at her arrival in the Stark camp.

Brienne stopped to rest and gather her strength for the last push to sever the last remaining cords. She glanced at Jaime's prone body, considering her options. To leave him behind seemed a foolish thing to do… Whatever she did, he could be useful. If she was captured by the Lannister forces, he could be her ticket to freedom. If she returned to Starks, they would have to believe her honour and good intentions.

Deciding to revisit the notion once she was actually free, she pressed on.

Eventually, the last threads broke and Brienne's arms were free. She stretched them and pumped her hands into fists to get the blood flowing, then untied her legs. She was free!

The rest of her plan eventuated exactly as she had envisioned; a soundless crawl behind the braided warrior, whom she assessed to be her most dangerous adversary in the light of drunken stupor of their leader, a quiet removal of his dagger from his belt, a swift slice across his throat while pressing her hand against his mouth.

Brienne closed her eyes for the last bit. She didn't like killing in the first place, and killing a sleeping man went against her nature. Yet there was no avoiding it; it was either him or her.

After the last faint gurgles had faded and the man's struggles had subsided, she lay low for a bit longer to see if that had woken his companions. It hadn't.

She dispatched the other man in a similar fashion, and then it was Zaggo's turn. As Brienne watched him snoring, she didn't feel the hate she probably should have felt. He was just a man; older than she was, grown up in some foreign land and gods knew how ending up in Westeros, a bit-player in the games of nobles. He had cared for his companion a great deal, judging by his unhinged behaviour at his death. Had that been love? Brienne was aware of unnatural habits and itches that were as much part of army life as were the camp followers, but she had never stopped to think of it any deeper.

Was that what Renly had had with Loras? Instead of the thought disgusting her, she found herself oddly pleased. She had never had a chance of having Renly in any way or form, so knowing he had loved another didn't truly sting. If that had made Renly happy, who was she to judge?

"Go to him in peace", she whispered when she sliced Zaggo's throat – and she meant it.

Having thus gained control of the camp, she stood up and surveyed the scene. The sooner she left, the further away she would be when the others arrived and saw what had happened. But first, she had to check on Jaime.

His position was the same as before, his body curved on top of a large piece of stone carved from the millstone, at an awkward angle.

"Jaime!" She knelt down and shook him from the shoulders. "Wake up!"

His head lolled back and forth a few times, then she felt the muscles of Jaime's neck stiffening. He opened his eyes, flicking them around in an uncoordinated manner before focussing on Brienne. A small smile spread on his face.

"Wench?"

"Brienne, to you." Brienne almost smiled, relieved that he seemed to be fine. "I have slain our captors and it's time for us to go."

Jaime's smile faded. "Go?"

"Yes, I am taking you with me. Get up." Brienne was embarrassed about how she was about to repay Jaime's kind deed with an unkind act – but she had to be practical. She could and would still thank him, maybe speak on his behalf to anyone who held him next, but she couldn't allow him to be returned to Lord Tywin.

Brienne got back on her feet and started towards the horses. Swiftly and efficiently she swept the place for anything useful: food, tools, clothes, bedding. Blaze welcomed her with a soft nicker when she went to her, saddling her with one of the oddly-shaped saddles of their captors.

"Good girl! We are leaving this place, right now. We have done that before, you and I, and we can do that again, can't we?" Brienne murmured. Blaze rubbed her nose against her palm.

She had to saddle another one for Jaime, then bridle the third horse so they could take it with them. One never knew when one needed an extra horse.

"Brienne!"

She stopped and sighed. She didn't have time for Jaime's japes or taunts – but then again, his voice had sounded oddly strained.

"Yes?" she said without turning.

"Brienne… I can't feel my legs."

She twisted around and stared at Jaime. He was still where she had left him, his head raised and arms stretched by his sides. Glancing at his legs she saw they were fine; no broken bones or visible cuts. And yet…

She looked at Jaime's eyes and saw something she had never seen before.

Fear.