Based on events during Episode 2 of GoT Season 8

(Also includes flashback from Episode 3 of GoT Season 3)

It was merely hours later when Jaime was brought to the great hall, where Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark and Jon Snow all sat at the high table waiting for him with looks of judgement and disapproval already on their faces. Brienne, along with many of the other lords and ladies residing at Winterfell, sat at the side of the hall and waited anxiously as Grey Worm and the Unsullied soldiers marched him inside. Jaime swallowed nervously as he walked past and took in all those strange, angry faces frowning up at him; thankfully, he caught sight of Brienne, but to his disappointment she wasn't looking at him. She was too fraught to meet his nervous gaze, and it was only when he'd come to a halt at the front of the hall, directly opposite the high table, that Brienne forced herself to look up.

It would have been an understatement to say that Jaime looked somewhat different to how he had when he'd last visited Winterfell all those years ago. Back then he had been young, clean-shaven, devastatingly handsome and dressed very ornately in splendid shining armour, with glamorous golden hair that flowed out dramatically. He'd even held himself differently; he'd stool tall and proud, his arrogance seeping from every miniscule movement and every boastful, snide comment or expression. And yet now Jaime stood innocently before his judicators with an almost panicked gleam in his eyes and a much less egotistical demeanour, his still-handsome face lined and worn and obscured by a greying beard, his hair shaggy and unkempt, his clothing a drab unassuming black. He looked almost more wolf than lion now. Many of the Northern folk here barely recognised the Kingslayer at all. It was as if he were a completely different man.

There was a tense silence as the Unsullied marched away from Jaime, leaving him alone and vulnerable in the centre of the hall. Jaime frowned, still rather perturbed by the formalities and absurd necessity of this particular gathering, and tilted his head slightly at the dragon queen sat proudly before him, curious to see what she had to say. Far behind him at the other end of the hall, Brienne watched with baited breath as Daenerys Targaryen then sat up straighter in her chair to address him.

'When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story,' Daenerys began, and Jaime's face began to fall; he could already see where she was going with this. 'About the man who murdered our father.'

Jaime blinked at the last three words. She spoke them so disdainfully. She glared at him with such contempt, as if he were a monster. Did she really not understand that her father was the one who had been the monster?

'Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat,' Daenerys went on, sheer hatred in her eyes. 'Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor.'

Jaime lowered his eyes heavily as the horrifying memory of that day flooded back into his mind, as it so often did. This trial wasn't going to go well for him at all. A small part of him was tempted to speak up, to tell Daenerys the tale of what had really happened, of the real reason he had been forced to plunge his sword through her father's back. But no, he couldn't. He wouldn't. Not in front of Daenerys, not in front of this room full of resentful people who loathed him so much, not in front of anyone. That story was his most intimate secret, a story that he had carried with him for all these years, a story that he wasn't comfortable with anyone in this world knowing.

Apart from one.

At least he could be comforted by the fact that that very person was sat mere metres from him, knowing his personal truth, knowing he was being unfairly reprimanded, knowing he wasn't the murderous traitor Daenerys and the others so clearly saw him as.

'He told me other stories as well,' Daenerys continued, and Jaime looked down and let out an inaudible sigh. 'About all the things we would do to that man…once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp.'

Brienne's lips parted in horror. She glanced over at Tyrion, who was stood not too far away from the high table, his eyes flicking nervously back and forth between his Queen and his brother. He looked almost as troubled as Brienne felt. Jaime, on the other hand, felt more incredulous rather than afraid. He narrowed his eyes at Daenerys, frowning at her words. Was it really doing any good for her to waste time making melodramatic threats while there was an army of dead men fast approaching?

'Your sister pledged to send her army north.'

'She did,' Jaime said, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

Daenerys seemed unimpressed by how sorry he sounded. 'I don't see an army. I see one man. With one hand,' she said scornfully, and Brienne felt herself go cold inside as she watched Daenerys. 'It appears your sister lied to me.'

Jaime exchanged a heavy glance with Tyrion before turning back to Daenerys. 'She lied to me as well,' he said, ashamed, and he shook his head. 'She never had any intention of sending her army north. She has Euron Greyjoy's fleet and 20,000 fresh troops – the Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she'll have more than enough to destroy the survivors.'

'"We"?' Daenerys said incredulously, turning her glare from Tyrion to Jaime; she seemed almost amused by his use of the word.

Jaime hesitated, offended by her doubt in him. 'I promised to fight for the living. I intend to keep that promise,' he said sincerely.

Brienne felt a great rush of warmth for the man. She knew she had been right to have faith in him all this time. Daenerys just didn't know him at all; she didn't recognise that Jaime was wise, that he was decent, that he was honest, that he was good. None of them did.

Daenerys simply stared at Jaime, unsure of what to think. Only hatred filled her expression. Tyrion then decided to take advantage of the silence and stepped forward urgently.

'Your Grace, I know my brother,' Tyrion began, but Daenerys cut over him sharply.

'Like you knew your sister?'

Tyrion lowered his eyes regretfully. 'He came here alone, knowing full well how he'd be received. Why would he do that if he weren't telling the truth?' he pointed out imploringly.

'Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat,' Daenerys suggested coldly, and Jaime's heart sank; there really was no hope for him.

'You're right. We can't trust him,' Lady Sansa said to Daenerys, and she cast Jaime a disgusted look. 'He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours-'

'Do you want me to apologize? I won't,' Jaime said firmly, incensed. 'We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again.'

Brienne felt her lips twitch slightly as she watched him. She was glad he was defending himself. Perhaps it was unwise, given his frosty reception, but it was courageous of him, and true to the honest man she knew him to be.

'The things we do for love.'

Bran Stark's words rang out unnervingly across the great hall, meaningless to everyone but Jaime, who looked deeply uneasy as he turned in shock to look at the young crippled man in the chair at the other side of the high table. Bran simply stared back at him; after a few moments, Jaime looked away guiltily, his eyes flickering downwards in regret and shame. He seemed nervous all of a sudden; afraid, even.

'So why have you abandoned your house and family now?' Daenerys asked, frowning as she tried to work out the motives of this mysterious man stood before her.

There was a pause as Jaime, on instinct, inclined his head to find the one kind, familiar face in the room, the one person who mattered to him, the one person whose face he'd continuously pictured to motivate him to ride on as he left King's Landing, the only person whose opinion of him was important.

Brienne exhaled inaudibly as she watched him, her heart rate increasing rapidly.

'Because this goes beyond loyalty,' Jaime said heavily, and he turned around pointedly to Brienne; their eyes met.

In the intensity of the gaze they shared in that brief moment, Brienne felt her pupils dilate and her insides fill with butterflies as she realised what he was trying to acknowledge with merely a look: that she was the reason, that she was the answer to Daenerys' question. Not only that, he was also repeating her own words that she had said to him back in the Dragonpit all those weeks ago. She tilted her head at him, stunned. She could hardly believe it.

Nodding at Brienne, as if to say thank you, Jaime then turned firmly back to Daenerys. 'This is about survival,' he went on.

Tyrion looked at Daenerys hopefully, his gaze earnest as he wordlessly pleaded with her to reconsider what she undoubtedly had planned for Jaime. But it seemed to be no use. Daenerys' jaw was set, her expression hard, her eyes cold and calculating. There was no winning her over.

Brienne hadn't been fearful of Daenerys until this trial – until this very moment, perhaps – but all she could think of was how much she believed in the goodness of the man who was, judging by Daenerys' expression, in imminent danger. As much as she had tried to repress it, Brienne liked Jaime Lannister, and had done for quite some time. She had a growing relationship with this man, she'd shared an experience with him that had connected them in ways neither of them had known with anyone else. She didn't know exactly what form this special relationship took, or if she hoped anything would come out of the burgeoning feelings she had been denying to herself ever since the day of Joffrey Baratheon's wedding, but all she did know was that she wanted to save his life, no matter what. She didn't want him to die as a result of this pathetic, ridiculous trial. She wanted him to be with her.

Before she knew what was happening or had even had time to think up a strategy, Brienne suddenly found that she had leapt to her feet with a loud scrape of her chair. She took a deep breath as Daenerys slid her hostile gaze over to her, and she walked around the table to join Jaime in the centre of the hall.

'You don't know me well, Your Grace,' Brienne began, stepping over to the high table; she came to a halt just in front of Jaime, unaware of his eyes on her, filled with alarm and confusion. 'But I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honour.'

Jaime looked down, too touched to watch Brienne or to meet the many intrigued pairs of eyes scrutinizing them both. He felt almost disconnected from his body; it was a surreal experience, to hear someone come to his aid and speak on his behalf. His relief and gratitude for Brienne's support overwhelmed him.

'I was his captor once. But when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me. And lost his hand because of it,' Brienne said; Jaime's lips parted slightly and felt a slight twinge of his phantom limb.

Daenerys swallowed uncomfortably.

Irritated by Daenerys' impassive expression, Brienne then turned to address Sansa. 'Without him, my lady…you would not be alive. He armed me, armoured me, and sent me to find you and bring you home,' Brienne said imploringly, her voice brimming with emotion, 'because he'd sworn an oath to your mother.'

A stunned silence fell as everyone assembled in the hall tried to process Brienne's words. Could this really be the Kingslayer she spoke of?

Tyrion was in shock, but Jaime wouldn't look up to meet his indignant gaze; Jaime had never once told Tyrion – or anyone else – the real reason for how he had lost his hand while under Brienne's protection. Tyrion had always assumed that Brienne of Tarth had been nothing more to Jaime than the irritatingly grumpy, dull woman who'd kept him as a prisoner and brought him back to King's Landing. But he could see now, watching their body language and reading Brienne's earnest gaze – not to mention looking back on the brief conversation he had witnessed between them at the Dragonpit back at King's Landing last month – that this was certainly not the case. The two of them had been through something together. They were something to each other. And Tyrion had never been so grateful as he watched Brienne defend his brother without a hint of shame or irony.

Sansa seemed deep in thought as she considered Brienne. 'You vouch for him?'

The pause that followed seemed to feel like the longest three seconds in Jaime's life. He tilted his head towards Brienne, waiting with his heartbeat thudding so loudly he was surprised no one could hear it.

'I do,' Brienne replied.

His eyes smiled an imperceptible smile as Jaime inclined his head slightly away, deeply moved. He already felt like he owed Brienne so much, but this? She was standing up for him when no one else would and she was defending his honour, when years ago she – along with everyone else – had firmly believed he had no knowledge nor experience of the concept. For the first time since entering the castle grounds amongst all these strangers and intimidating, unfriendly faces, he felt important, he felt safe. He even felt loved. And it meant more than he could say.

Sansa nodded slowly. 'You would fight beside him?' she asked Brienne, watching her carefully.

To her astonishment, Brienne could feel a tear swelling to the surface of her eye. There was no doubt about what her answer would be. But she was such a very shy person, and by standing up here in front of all these people and putting herself on the line like this…she might as well be declaring her undying love for him. There was no turning back after this, no going back to her heartless pretence around Jaime. Still, there was no choice. This was Jaime, after all.

'I would,' she answered, her voice ringing out across the room proudly.

Jaime looked up at Brienne in awe. He hadn't known until this moment just how much he meant to her. They had both beaten around the bush so frequently during their past few meetings that their act of indifference and awkward uncertainty around each other had almost been too convincing. But now he knew. Now it was in the open. Brienne saw everything in him when he had always seen nothing. He so dearly wanted to believe in himself, the way she believed in him. He wished he could find some way to reciprocate her sentiment…anything to show her how much he cared. Because he would have done the same for her in a heartbeat, without question, if it had been the other way around. Of course he would. They were Jaime and Brienne, after all. They were and always had been a team, right from the moment Jaime had lost his hand and Brienne had treated his wound in the Riverlands, so many years ago now.

It took Sansa's voice to break Jaime from his trance.

'I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay,' Sansa said firmly, ignoring Daenerys' look of horror and disapproval.

As much as Sansa disliked Jaime, she held more value in the words of Brienne. Brienne had risked a lot by throwing herself into the line of fire and standing up for him like that; it was a huge and brave thing for anyone to have done, particularly in front of Daenerys Targaryen. Clearly, there was a lot of respect and history there between the two of them. It even intrigued Sansa; she wanted to know more. Judging from the inquisitive look on everyone's faces, she wasn't the only one.

Brienne nodded her appreciation at Sansa, then turned and promptly returned to her seat, too embarrassed to look at Jaime. As she sat back down contemplating what she had just done, she wondered if her heart rate would ever resume its normal pace. She wouldn't be surprised if not.

'What does the Warden of the North say about it?' Daenerys asked sharply.

Jon Snow, who seemed to have been lost in deep thought, turned to look at Jaime properly for the first time since he'd entered the great hall, and he sighed deeply. 'We need every man we can get,' was his reluctant reply.

Jaime nodded, glad that Jon was seeing sense; perhaps this one wasn't as stupid as he'd originally thought. His gaze was filled with wonder as he realised that Brienne had actually turned the tables on Daenerys slightly – the trial was no longer going according to Daenerys' wishes, it seemed. Jaime felt hopeful that he might even have a chance at being let out of here without being executed on the spot. He tilted his head questioningly at Daenerys, waiting for her decision. He could see in her expression that she still resented him.

She lowered her eyes. 'Very well,' she said in a low voice, and both Brienne and Tyrion inhaled sharply, overcome with relief as Daenerys gestured for Grey Worm to return Jaime's sword to him.

Jaime could barely believe it. In merely the space of minutes, his fate had been decided – and with a positive outcome, all thanks to Brienne.

Grey Worm scowled at Jaime as he came to a halt in front of him and held out Widow's Wail. He clearly didn't trust him. Jaime didn't care; he doubted anyone here really would, aside from the one person who mattered. Jaime reached out for the sword; Grey Worm slammed it roughly into his chest before Jaime could take it. Once Grey Worm had marched away, his face still filled with loathing, Jaime grasped the hilt of his sword tightly and turned to Daenerys.

'Thank you, Your Grace,' he said, trying not to sound too sarcastic as he forced himself to bow.

Daenerys said nothing, and stood up. Everyone assembled in the hall rose to their feet as well; Jaime glanced over at Brienne but she was preoccupied watching Sansa, who had already stalked away without waiting for Daenerys. Jaime could sense that there was tension amongst these people, even without his presence here. But he knew better than most that they could not afford to fight amongst themselves. Or it would be the end of the living entirely.

Jaime bowed his head respectfully as Daenerys left the high table and walked past him, treating him as if he were invisible, before looking back up to see Brienne. She was already walking away in the other direction, presumably to follow Sansa. Sensing him watching her, Brienne just about brought herself to look up to him, and as their eyes met once more across the room, she could see a world of emotions in his gaze. He was so overcome with gratefulness and appreciation for what she had done. She had saved his life by vouching for him, at great personal risk to herself. Jaime would never have expected it of anyone, let alone think that anyone would care that much to do such a thing for him of all people. He yearned to follow her, but knew he couldn't, not right now – Lady Sansa needed her. But he needn't worry. There would be plenty of time in which to talk. What he would say to her, he had no idea, but there was still time.

Feeling herself beginning to blush, Brienne tore her eyes away from Jaime and looked down again. It was too much for her. The significance of what she had done for him and the implications surrounding what that could mean was screaming out at both of them, and she knew she could only avoid it for so long. It scared her, perhaps even more than the thought of those monstrous animated corpses coming to slaughter them all.

As she left the great hall, feeling Jaime's eyes still on her, she thought about Daenerys' sheer open hatred of Jaime, and how, many years ago, Brienne hadn't been much different in her attitude towards him. Indeed, she had felt the same disdain, and even acted and spoken in a similar way as Daenerys had done during the trial today. It almost made her feel like laughing at herself now. Lost in memories as she walked away, Brienne found herself inexplicably remembering the scornful words she had spoken on the very first night she and Jaime met.

'Who wants to die defending a Lannister?'

It seemed that she did.

It was not the first time that either Jaime or Brienne had come to the other's aid, and they both knew it would certainly not be the last. Brienne's testimony in his trial subsequently brought back vivid memories, forcing Jaime to relive the most painful of those occasions – the night that had changed everything for him. Perhaps the night that he had been changed as a person altogether…

The Riverlands would have been quiet at night, if it weren't for the drunken jeering and singing of Locke and the rest of House Bolton's men. They had made camp on their way to Harrenhal, but despite their hunger, the smell of the food Locke's men were roasting over the campfire made Jaime and Brienne feel sick rather than hungry. They were both thinking about what Jaime had said would inevitably happen to Brienne tonight. Part of Jaime wished he hadn't said anything; he almost felt sorry for the dull cow as she stared into the distance with horror in her eyes whilst tied up against a tree.

'What are you looking at?' Brienne grumbled, fed up of the pitiful expression on Jaime's scarred, dirty face.

'You,' he muttered. 'I'm just thinking how cruel it was that the gods didn't give you a cock. Such a shame.'

Brienne breathed deeply. 'We both know I'm not a…typical woman. I'm not desirable,' she said, and Jaime scoffed as he looked over her manly features and huge frame and greasy tufts of hair; that was certainly the understatement of the year. 'Why are you so sure they'll even want to have their way with me?'

'What a nice way of putting it,' he said dryly, and he scowled over at Locke's men by the campfire. 'I know those type of men. Whatever the hell you look like, it doesn't matter…your face and stature won't put them off, I'm afraid.'

Brienne glared at him disdainfully. 'Do you enjoy threatening me, Kingslayer?'

'I'm not threatening you, I'm warning you,' Jaime said, frustrated. 'I'm advising you to…let them get on with it, go away inside while they do it, and then it'll be over and you'll still be alive.'

Brienne scoffed. 'You think survival is more important to me than my dignity?'

'I think your oath to Lady Stark is more important to you than anything,' Jaime said, his eyes boring into hers.

She realised then that, in merely the space of a few weeks, Jaime Lannister knew her well – far too well. It shook her so much that she was silenced for a few moments…at least until she heard the approaching footsteps. Jaime looked up anxiously as Locke and four of his men strode over, leering eagerly down at Brienne.

'I'll take the big bitch first,' Locke said triumphantly, making Jaime close his eyes. 'When she's good and wet, you lot can finish her off.'

'My lord, I am Brienne of Tarth,' Brienne said in a calm yet shaking voice as they began to undo the ropes that bound her to the tree; Jaime's lips parted as he watched her be forced up to her feet. 'Lady Catelyn Stark commanded me to deliver Ser Jaime to King's Landing.'

'Catelyn Stark's a treasonous cunt. Orders were to take the Kingslayer alive, nobody said shit about you,' Locke said dismissively.

Brienne stared at him for a fraction of a second before launching herself at one of the soldiers holding her with a yell of defiance; Jaime winced as the scuffle ensued, and closed his eyes as the men slapped her until she was forced to remain still.

'You're only making it worse,' one of them snarled at Brienne, as they seized a chunk of her hair to hold her head back.

Incensed, Brienne banged her head roughly against him, but was knocked breathless as one of the other men punched her in the groin. Jaime's face fell as they continued to beat her. He was shocked by just how much this was troubling him. She was his captor, after all; he didn't even like her. But she was a good woman and only doing what she had been charged to do. She was innocent in all of this. It was his recklessness with their sword fight on the bridge that had landed them in this mess, after all. It was all his fault. He wouldn't have cared about that a few weeks before, yet for some reason it bothered him now.

'Take her over there where it's dark,' Locke muttered menacingly, while Jaime sat deep in thought, his eyes lowered as he tried not to dwell on Brienne's predicament. 'I'd like a little privacy.'

'Come on!'

Determined not to crumble, Brienne continued to fight against them, but the strength of four men was too much, and she was eventually overpowered, and the gang of ruthless soldiers dragged her kicking and screaming away into the bushes. Jaime looked away, shaken and disgusted by this pointless brutality. For the first time since meeting her, he saw Brienne not as a pretend-warrior but as simply a woman, fighting tooth and nail not to be defiled. Her relentless animalistic howls of desperation and fear sent chills down Jaime's back as the men continued to beat and yell at her.

The words escaped Jaime's lips before he even knew what he was doing. 'You know who she is, don't you?'

Locke, who had remained behind, turned around and raised his eyebrows at Jaime. 'A big dumb bitch from who cares where?' he suggested, unperturbed, and Jaime pretended to smile in amusement while Brienne's shrieks continued to rent the air. 'Never been with a woman that big.'

'She's Brienne of Tarth. Her father is Lord Selwyn Tarth,' Jaime said, watching Locke closely, and he tilted his head at him. 'Heard of Tarth?'

Locke frowned at him and slowly took a few steps closer.

Jaime was furious with himself. What are you doing? He was putting himself on the line here. He was risking everything. For what? For her?

'I'm gonna cut your throat!' he heard one of the men yell in the distance, and he heard Brienne whimper.

It was a frightening sound, the sound of a brave, fierce woman who was scared and vulnerable and defenceless and about to give up, a woman who had done nothing wrong in her life, and Jaime knew then for sure. He had to stop this assault. Even if it meant making up the most reckless lie on the spot.

'They call it the Sapphire Isle, do you know why? Every sapphire in Westeros was mined on Tarth,' Jaime said, and he looked up at Locke unsurely. 'Sapphires are…gemstones? The blue ones.'

'I know what they are.'

Brienne let out another blood-curdling shriek; Jaime tilted his head in the direction of the sound, trying hard not to appear concerned. 'Lord Selwyn would pay his daughter's weight in sapphires if she's returned to him,' he said, glancing anxiously back towards the bushes and raising his eyebrows. 'But only if she's alive. Her honour…unbesmirched.'

His eyes flickered back to Locke. He was both hopeful and wary. He couldn't tell from Locke's expression whether he had angered him or not. Locke considered him for a moment then turned heavily to the direction of the bushes.

'Bring her back here!' he ordered.

To his bewilderment, Jaime felt a wave of relief wash over him.

'Yes, my lord!'

Lowering his eyes, Jaime slowly looked away from Locke's penetrating glare; he hadn't realised until now just how fast his heart had been beating in fear. Did this mean he had a conscience? Jaime wasn't sure. He was completely baffled.

'"Unbesmirched," Locke said, unimpressed, as he took a few steps closer towards Jaime.

Jaime hesitated for a moment, confused, and smiled. 'Not defiled,' he clarified, trying not to sound too condescending.

'Fancy word for a fancy man.'

'I hated to read as a child, but my father forced me to study the books every morning before I could practice with a sword or horse,' Jaime explained, as Locke's men escorted Brienne aggressively back to the tree. 'Two hours every day holed up in the maester's chambers. I learned a lot of fancy words.'

'I bet you did,' Locke said, in a tone Jaime couldn't quite place.

Jaime stared up at him, before turning his gaze to Brienne; she was kicking back at the soldiers as they bound her back in ropes and tied her to the tree trunk. Jaime couldn't help admire her for her stubbornness; despite what had almost just happened, she looked more angry and intent on revenge than distressed. Her hair was a mess, her face was bruised and there was a trail of blood on her cheek, but other than that she looked reasonably unharmed. No part of her clothing seemed to have been ripped or removed, Jaime was glad to see. While the Bolton men continued to bark insults at her, Locke slowly bent down so that he was on Jaime's eye level.

'Your father…he'd pay your weight in gold to get you back?' he asked.

Jaime nodded heavily. 'You'll be a rich man till the end of your days,' he replied in a low voice, as an exhausted Brienne looked up with a frown, realising what was going on…what Jaime must have bargained before. 'And your sons will be rich men and their sons after them. Lands, titles – you'll have them all.'

Locke was listening intently. Brienne was half-fascinated, half-wary as she managed to start breathing normally again. Her ribs and face ached where Locke's men had beaten her, but she had suffered much worse before. How was it they had stopped? Why had Locke commanded them to bring her back? Could the answer really be in the clever, scheming, arrogant man chained up to the tree trunk opposite her?

'The North…can't win this war,' Jaime went on to Locke. 'You're a smart man, you understand that. We have the numbers, we have the gold.'

'Aye, you have both,' Locke agreed.

'Fighting bravely for a losing cause is admirable,' Jaime said reasonably, his tone tantalising. 'But fighting for a winning cause…is far more rewarding.'

'Hard to argue with that.'

A smug smile began to spread on Jaime's face. 'Now that we're speaking together man to man, I wonder…if you need to keep me chained to this tree?' he said, and Brienne's eyes widened slightly; what was this idiot doing?! 'I'm not asking to be freed from my constraints…but if I could sleep lying down…my back would thank you for it. I'm not as young and resilient as I was once.'

'None of us are,' Locke said sympathetically, and he knelt up.

A slight smile on his face, Jaime glanced over at Brienne, still watching him apprehensively, her face creased with worry. He wasn't sure why her expression was so uneasy; he'd prevented her from getting raped, after all, and had won over Locke with his charms and promises of money. This would undoubtedly be a much easier journey for them both from now on. They might even be honoured guests rather than prisoners.

'Unchain Ser Jaime from the tree,' Locke then ordered to one of his men, confirming Jaime's thoughts.

Jaime tilted his head at Brienne and gave her a smug look. There, see? Oh – and you're welcome, by the way.

Brienne stared at him, hating that satisfied smirk and flicker of his eyebrows. Why was he not afraid of Locke's unnaturally calm attitude? Why was he under the impression that this was going so well? Why could he never learn to just keep his stupid mouth shut? His over-confidence would be the death of him, Brienne was sure of it.

'Suppose you'll be wanting something to eat,' Locke said to Jaime, as his men undid Jaime's manacles.

Jaime couldn't believe his luck. 'I'm famished, actually.'

Brienne's lips parted in horror. Something was definitely wrong. There was no way Locke would let the Kingslayer eat from his men's food. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she wasn't sure what. All she could so was exhale deeply.

'I think we've got a spare partridge on the fire.'

'Well, I do like partridge,' Jaime said eagerly, and he grunted with pain as he was helped unsteadily up to his feet.

He flashed Brienne a wink as he followed Locke away towards the campfire. Brienne tried to look around the trunk anxiously, wanting to shout out a warning to him, but it was too late; he had already walked past her, completely blinded by his own ego, and was now blocked from view.

'Bring the bird over here. And the carving knife,' Locke said, and he gestured a small flat tree stump over on the ground. 'Will this work as a table, my lord?'

Jaime nodded gratefully. 'Oh, yes. Yes, this will do nicely-'

But then Jaime yelled out in agony as he was kicked to the ground by one of Locke's men. They dragged him over to the stump and forced his head and hands there to rest. Locke stepped forward and seized a chunk of Jaime's hair.

'You think you're the smartest man there is,' he said scornfully, as he pulled out the carving knife and held it threateningly to Jaime's eye. 'That everyone alive has to bow and scrape and lick your boots.'

Struggling against Locke's hold, Jaime found himself trying desperately not to panic; that blade was unbearably close to his eye. 'My father-'

But Locke interrupted him. 'And if you get in any trouble, all you've got to do is say "my father" and that's it, all your troubles are gone.'

'Don't-'

'Have you got something to say?' Locke challenged, and he pricked the corner of Jaime's eyelid; Jaime winced and grunted, terrified. 'Careful. You don't want to say the wrong thing. You're nothing without your daddy, and your daddy ain't here. Never forget that. Here – this should help you remember!'

It had already happened before Jaime realised that Locke had swung down the blade onto the stump. He saw the hand detach from his wrist first. And then he felt the pain.

To this day, Brienne could still remember her terror and outrage when she heard Jaime's horrible screams. It was only a few minutes later, when Jaime was brought back over to the tree trunk, flailing about and crying out in agony, when she discovered what they had done to him.

'What did you do?!' Brienne demanded at once over Jaime's shrieks of pain, and she watched in horror as Locke and his men threw him carelessly onto the mossy ground. 'The Kingslayer-!'

But then she broke off as she saw the blood gushing profusely from Jaime's right wrist. And then she saw what Locke was holding up gleefully as he and his men laughed.

Brienne was disgusted; furious, even. 'You cut off his hand?!' she yelled incredulously, struggling against the ropes tying her to the tree. 'Why would you-?!'

'BECAUSE I FUCKING WANTED TO, ALL RIGHT?' Locke bellowed in her face, making her flinch.

Brienne turned her wide, petrified eyes to Jaime, who had curled up in a ball on the ground as he yelled out. Tears of agony were cascading down his face as he moaned and clutched the gaping wound with his left hand. She would never have expected to see a man like him cry before. She hadn't even thought someone like the Kingslayer would be capable of tears.

'Now clean the mess and fix him up,' Locke snapped at Brienne.

'Me?! What can I do?!' Brienne protested over Jaime's screams. 'This isn't just a simple scratch, you cut off his hand! He needs a maester right away!'

But Locke and the soldiers merely laughed. 'We're days away from the nearest maester.'

'This is your doing,' Brienne said angrily, 'you're the one who need to-'

'You're the one charged with protecting him, you dumb fucking bitch!' Locke chastised, and he slapped her clean around the face; her cheek burned where his hand had made contact. 'And unless you want to go back in those bushes, I suggest you help him before he bleeds out and dies on your watch!'

Brienne glared up at this monstrous man, and realised that Jaime Lannister was nothing compared to him. In fact, after what she had experienced with this horrific group of men today, the Kingslayer seemed positively delightful company.

'Then get me the hell out of these ropes. I can't do anything for him from here!' Brienne insisted, and she cast them all filthy looks and made sure to kick Locke's men in the shins as they untied her from the tree trunk.

It took her quite a while to calm down Jaime and shush him enough to tend to his horrific, unsightly wound. Brienne asked for the Bolton men's help in providing her with some sort of material to wrap around his wrist, but they all simply laughed in her face and walked away, finally bored with seeing her struggle to silence Jaime's weeping. Jaime didn't care that Brienne was touching him or that she and the other men were seeing him cry; he was in too much agony to be mortified by her closeness or his distressed behaviour.

'It's all right…it…it'll be all right,' Brienne said to him over and over again.

She was trying to reassure him, albeit reluctantly, however as time passed and the constant flow of blood and yelling didn't cease coming, she only grew more impatient and irritable. In spite of his past actions and misdeeds, Brienne did truly feel sorry for the Kingslayer – no one deserved what Locke had just done to him – however there was only so much endless yelling that she could bear. The noise didn't help her cope with the shock of what had just happened, but she knew if she dissociated from it or succumbed to her frozen panic about the situation, she would be of no use to Jaime. And he desperately needed her to stop the bleeding.

Brienne managed to tear some material off Jaime's cloak that had been discarded on the ground, and she fashioned a bandage and sling from it to fasten around him and wrap around the stump. By this point, Jaime had lost a considerable amount of blood; he had paled slightly and appeared delirious, even almost on the point of collapse.

'My lady…' Jaime murmured in a strained voice, as he lay propped against the tree trunk beside her while she worked. 'Tell Cersei I-'

'I won't be telling your sister anything, you'll tell her yourself,' Brienne said firmly, ripping off more material from his cloak. 'We'll make it to King's Landing.'

'She'll hate me for this,' Jaime mumbled, whimpering as she wrapped the bandage around his wrist, and Brienne almost pitied him. 'She'll…'

'Quiet, Kingslayer,' Brienne muttered, disgruntled by the thick amount of blood that covered her hands. 'You're not making this any better for yourself.'

His eyelids flickered slightly as he glimpsed up at her, half-amused, half-disappointed. 'You still can't call me by my name.'

Brienne gave him a hard look, annoyed. She wouldn't let him guilt-trip her into feeling bad about that. He had earned the name 'Kingslayer'. He had to accept that. Jaime glared back at her. He supposed he ought to thank her for not letting him bleed out, but another part of him wanted to yell at her.

Ungrateful cow. Look at what you made me do.

Not that it was her fault. Something had stirred Jaime into doing what he did by speaking to Locke that way and persuading him to leave Brienne alone. He'd known what a bold move it was. Although, admittedly, he hadn't even considered he was risking the loss of his sword hand by simply defending the honour of a virgin. He wondered if he would have done anything differently tonight, had he known the dire consequences of his actions. Right now, with Brienne scowling over him and his right arm in the pain that it was, he was only left with the bitter longing thoughts of what could have been if he'd just not said anything at all when Brienne was taken away. But then the sounds of her animalistic screams of protest rang through his ears again, and Jaime barely repressed a shudder. He couldn't have let it happen, no matter what. He'd had no choice.

'Hold still,' Brienne said in a low, warning voice.

She'd made a cloth out of some of the material from Jaime's cloak and dabbed it in some of the water left for her and Jaime. As she'd predicted, the moment the cloth made contact with his bleeding wound, Jaime let out another almighty yell of agony that pierced her eardrums; she flinched back and rolled her eyes exasperatedly. The Kingslayer wasn't half as brave as she'd imagined him to be.

'What the fuck are you doing?!' Jaime demanded as he drew his arm back, outraged.

'I'm trying to stop the bleeding! It needs to be cleaned so it won't get infected, and this needs to be wrapped around it tightly,' Brienne said sharply, indicating the bandage fastened around him and the cloth in her hands. 'So you need to stay still!'

'Well you need to…have less manly hands!' Jaime yelled.

'This is going to hurt regardless of the size and pressure of my hands, Kingslayer!' Brienne snapped.

Jaime's face faltered as he rested his head back against the trunk, exhausted. 'Don't call me that.'

'Then don't shout at me when I'm trying to help you!' Brienne retorted, running her hands irritably through her hair.

She was so, so tired. She just wanted to sleep.

A silence fell as Brienne dabbed firmly at the wound, and Jaime tried his best to keep his winces and groans as quiet as possible. He felt so dizzy, as if he might faint at any moment. He frowned as he then noticed the flecks of red where Brienne had tried pushing her hair out of her face.

'You have blood in your hair,' he noted.

'It doesn't matter, I have blood all over me,' Brienne muttered dismissively, as she finished wrapping the rest of the bandage tightly around his stump.

But for some reason, it bothered Jaime. He leant off the tree trunk and reached out for the water container; with his left hand, he tried to cup some water from it and flicked it over Brienne's hair, where he then ran through it with his fingers. Her hair was greasy, like straw, and also covered in bits of leaves from the bush she had been dragged over to earlier. He leant back and collapsed against the trunk, exhausted; there was still a bit of blood there in her messy fringe, but at least some of it was gone.

Brienne was perplexed by the gesture, though admittedly not as repulsed as she once might have been. She supposed he wouldn't have reached out to touch her if he wasn't so delirious from the loss of blood.

She swallowed slightly. 'I'm sorry for what he did to you,' she said quietly, her voice almost gentle.

A single tear fell from Jaime's eye as he nodded, his breathing finally slowed to a normal rate.

His head was lolling slightly against the trunk, and he was barely able to keep his eyes open. When Brienne finally finished with the bandage, she rested his right arm carefully on his chest, and then reached out. Her hand hesitated for a moment – after all, she had never initiated physical contact with someone before – but then braved through her awkwardness and she put a hand on his shoulder. Jaime's shoulders untensed at the warm contact of her skin, and for the first time since Locke had severed his hand hours ago, he felt somewhat relaxed. In pain and desperately ill, but still, relaxed.

Brienne sighed sympathetically as she watched him close his eyes and groan in pain. He needed a comforting touch tonight. She knew if it hadn't been for him, she would still be in those bushes being assaulted. He had saved her. So it was the least she could do, to give him some reassurance that everything would turn out all right, as he slowly lost consciousness and fell asleep, his head finally coming to rest on her strong yet gentle hand.