Based on events during Episode 2 of GoT Season 8

(Also includes flashback from Episode 4 of GoT Season 3)

~ Present Day ~

There was a building sense of urgency and dread as Jaime emerged from the Godswood to remind himself of the layout of the Winterfell's grounds. Men, women, children and soldiers were all hurrying anxiously about the courtyard, gathering weapons and making all the necessary preparations to defend the castle, the tension steadily rising. Quite a few people looked determined, but most of their faces were filled with fear – apart from when they caught sight of Jaime walking past them, now free to roam wherever he chose, in which case their faces were suddenly filled with loathing and disdain. It came as a relief for Jaime to find one face who didn't look upon him in such a way.

'Well,' Tyrion said heavily, 'here we are.'

Jaime almost smiled as he approached his brother. 'Yes, here we are.'

'Together again,' Tyrion said, and he raised his eyebrows as a soldier up on the stairwell above them cleared his throat and spit on the ground in disgust at the two Lannisters. 'And the masses rejoice.'

'How do they feel about their new queen?' Jaime asked, intrigued, as he carried on walking.

Tyrion frowned as he followed. 'She's your new queen too,' he said, and Jaime looked back at him sceptically, before realising that Tyrion actually had a point – he had abandoned his own queen, after all. 'They remember what happened the last time Targaryens brought dragons north. They'll come around once they see Daenerys is different.'

'And she is? Different?'

Jaime was sceptical, but mostly worried; was Tyrion blinded by loyalty to comprehend what little Jaime had seen in that woman during his trial merely an hour ago? Daenerys' stony expression, her cold, scornful eyes…they had reminded him of her father. Her father who still plagued his nightmares, even after all this time.

'She is.'

Jaime frowned as he nodded. 'You're sure about her?'

'I am,' Tyrion replied confidently.

'She didn't seem sure about you,' Jaime noted as they walked on.

Tyrion sighed. 'It's hard to blame her. I made a mistake common to clever people – I underestimated my opponents. Cersei told me the pregnancy had changed her…a chance for you both to start again, and I believed her,' Tyrion said in a low, bitter voice, and he then came to a halt as he gazed pitifully up into his brother's eyes. 'Was she lying about the baby too?'

There was a small pause as Jaime looked down and shook his head shamefully. If there was one thing he regretted about leaving Cersei, it was the fact that he had left her carrying his unborn child.

'No,' he said in a small voice, 'that part is real.'

Tyrion considered him for a moment, his expression full of sympathy, before they both turned to walk up the steps towards the battlements.

'She's always been good at using the truth to tell lies. I wouldn't be too hard on yourself. She's fooled me more than anybody,' Jaime said heavily, but Tyrion stopped then and gave him a sceptical look; Jaime was perplexed. 'What?'

'She never fooled you. You always knew exactly what she was,' Tyrion said, 'and you loved her anyway.'

He turned and made his way up the steps, leaving Jaime staring after him, a heavy sunken feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Tyrion was right. Jaime's love for Cersei was, had always been, and most likely would always be unconditional. Nothing could break it, no matter what she did. The form this love took had changed, of course, particularly in the last few weeks while Jaime had had time to contemplate his feelings during his ride up to Winterfell; it was no longer the romantic kind, and he certainly no longer felt lustful at the mere thought of her. But, no matter how much of a monster Cersei became, she was still his sister. His twin, his other half. And the mother of his child. Jaime wished it weren't the case, but she was a part of him. He was free of her now, but he didn't know how long he would last until she somehow got a hold of him again. But he could try and fight it. Now was his chance. To prove to Tyrion, to Brienne, to Daenerys, to Bran, to everyone, that he was doing the right thing.

'I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honour.'

It was Brienne's words from before that broke him free from his frozen state, and he followed Tyrion up the steps so they could check the defences around the castle battlements.

'So,' Tyrion said bitterly as they looked out onto the courtyard below. 'We're going to die. At Winterfell. Not the death I would've chosen. I always pictured myself dying in my own bed, at the age of 80, with a belly full of wine and a girl's mouth around my cock-'

'-A girl's mouth around your cock,' Jaime said simultaneously, and they both shared an amused smile.

'At least Cersei won't get to murder me,' Tyrion muttered, and Jaime looked down; he didn't want to think about his sister. 'I'm sure I'll feel some satisfaction denying her that pleasure, while I'm being ripped apart by dead men-'

But Jaime was distracted by the sound of a distinctive voice from nearby. The voice he could never forget, the voice of his sanity, the voice that had kept him going all this time. He turned around, and there she was: Brienne, inspecting the outer fields surrounding the castle, stood there in the armour he had given her, tall and mighty, impressive and majestic and determined. Jaime did a double-take and felt his pupils dilate as he took in the sight of her, doing her duty, commanding her fellow soldiers, servicing honourably, doing everything he had always revered about her. And she was right there in front of him.

No longer interested in whatever it was his brother was saying about Cersei, Jaime felt himself walk away from Tyrion, drawn explicably to the mere sight of Brienne stood from afar. He had a growing need to be beside her, and it disconcerted him greatly. He could barely hear Tyrion still rambling on from the other side of the battlements; he only had eyes for Brienne.

'Maybe after I'm dead…I'll march down to King's Landing and rip her apart,' Tyrion was saying, but his smug smile fell when he turned to see that Jaime was no longer stood beside him.

Frowning curiously, Tyrion turned around; Jaime was stood with his back to him, facing the outer castle grounds. He already knew who Jaime was gazing at so longingly before he even walked over to join him. And sure enough, there she was – Brienne of Tarth, surrounded by soldiers training and laying the battle traps. He glimpsed up at Jaime, though for the first time in his life, he couldn't read his own brother's expression. He wondered if he was reliving Brienne's words of support for him inside the great hall, or something else entirely.

Jaime blinked rapidly as he watched Brienne stride in between the various soldiers fighting with their swords. Just the sight of her made everything in this world seem different. The way she looked, the way she moved, the way she stood, made Jaime feel things he had never felt before. The intensity of these stirrings in him alarmed him greatly; it was like he could practically feel his heart glowing, purely just from looking at her. What was this affect Brienne had on him? He had never known anything like it before.

'A remarkable woman, isn't she?' Tyrion interjected.

Jaime almost jumped; he hadn't realised that Tyrion had moved to stand there next to him. 'Y-yes, she is,' he replied, unable to tear his eyes off her.

'She's also the reason you're still alive,' Tyrion noted, a slightly sly tone to his voice. 'What you did to deserve such loyalty from her, I have no idea, but I would very much like to hear the tale sometime.'

Jaime turned and frowned down at his brother, wondering what Tyrion was insinuating. 'I told you about the time I was her prisoner.'

'Yes…although, I suspect you missed out some details.'

Jaime's cheeks flooded with colour as he turned away from Tyrion's scrutinizing gaze. 'I don't know what you mean,' he said, his eyes firmly on Brienne as she began speaking to Podrick.

'There's no point in pretending around me, Jaime,' Tyrion said exasperatedly. 'I saw the way you two looked at each other in the hall. You're not just some former prisoner of hers, you're something far much more, and you're an idiot if you don't realise that. And…I suspect…she means a great deal more to you than you've let on.'

There was a pause as Jaime swallowed and closed his eyes, concentrating on the sounds of the clanging swords and neighing horses, trying to focus on anything but Tyrion's interrogation. But it was no use. He couldn't lie anymore, to Tyrion or to himself. What was the point, when Brienne was the main reason he had come all this way here?

'I won't deny that,' Jaime admitted, turning to face his brother. 'Brienne saved me many times during our time together. We endured horrors on our journey back to King's Landing…'

'And you formed a bond because of it. The kind that cannot be broken,' Tyrion said understandingly. 'Almost like with you and Cersei.'

At this, Jaime frowned. 'Don't compare Lady Brienne to our sister,' he snapped. 'She's nothing like her.'

Tyrion's face broke out in a warm smile. 'No. She is good and honourable. She is everything you admire,' he said, and he inclined his head in Brienne's direction. 'So why are you still stood up here talking to me?'

Jaime's eyes widened slightly, and he looked back to Brienne. He felt himself begin to smile. He turned back to Tyrion and clapped him on the shoulder, overwhelmingly grateful for his support and encouragement.

'I'll find you later,' Jaime said, and with that he walked away from his smugly-smiling brother, taking deep breaths as he headed towards the stairwell to leave the battlements.

The thought of talking to Brienne had once made him so irritated, but now it filled him with nerves – and even, dare he say it, excitement? This would be their first conversation since their discourteous exchange at the Dragonpit several weeks ago. He still didn't know what to say to her; there was so much to be said, and yet so much still yet to unravel in his mind. For the duration of his lonely journey up here, Jaime had been conscious that, upon reconciling, there could be an ever so slight chance of something happening between himself and Brienne. After all, he wasn't an idiot and neither was she; they had both been there at Riverrun, after all. They had both felt it, that something, between them. And after what Brienne had done for him in his trial…they simply couldn't go much longer without addressing it.

This prospect alone made Jaime terrified, but in a good way. It was strange; he hadn't experienced this before. He had never once 'courted' in his life. How did it work? What would he do? What would he say? He could only hope that Brienne would go easy on him and not reject him or make him feel like a fool, but Jaime sincerely doubted it. This was Brienne, after all. He smiled fondly, amused at the thought, as he nervously made his way out of the castle courtyard to find her.

Jaime couldn't fathom how he used to think so badly of her when they'd first met.

'Where did you find this beast?' he had said, on the night he'd first caught a glimpse of her, in his dark cell outdoors.

A 'beast', he had called her, and he had called her this to her face many times during his first few weeks with her in the Riverlands. But oh how wrong he had been. She was caring, she was loyal, she was fierce, she was wonderful…all of this turning her into the most beautiful person Jaime had ever met. And she had no idea.

Looking back now on their time together as he walked out into the outer field, it hit Jaime just how Brienne had always been there for him, even from the days when they had pretended to hate each other so much while in Locke's captivity. Jaime had always been able to depend on her, even when he'd seen her as an enemy. He'd just been so blind to it back then. But not anymore. As Tyrion had put it, Brienne really was a remarkable woman. And, somehow, some way, Jaime was going to make sure she knew that.

The severed hand hung around his neck, a constant reminder of how his once unimpeachable prowess as a fighter and glorified knight had been taken away from him. It was the lowest point of Jaime Lannister's life, and everyone in the vicinity knew it as they rode on through the woods, jeering away. Only one person wasn't laughing at him: his captor – although now technically his fellow hostage companion – and today marked the first day since knowing her that he hadn't seen Brienne even scowl at him. She was too full of pity, confusion and shock for that.

'How many of those fingers do you think we could shove up his arse?'

'Depends if he's had any practice.'

Jaime didn't say anything as Locke and his men continued to torment him. He barely even heard them. He was frozen with shock. This morning when he'd woken up, he'd momentarily forgotten what had happened. Then he'd thought it had been a particularly horrific dream. And then he'd looked down at the stump Brienne had wrapped in a bandage, and the terror and pain had pierced him once more.

Brienne watched him anxiously as she rode on a horse close beside him. She was overwhelmed with sympathy for him, but she was also extremely worried for his health; he was pale, ghostly pale, and desperately weak, with his head bent low, staring at nothing, a few low grunts escaping his mouth as he tried to keep upright on his horse. He was empty of all expression, empty of all hope. Empty of anything. He had lost too much blood last night, far too much. She wondered if she would have been as bothered by this a few days ago, back when he had been nothing more than the cruel, malicious Kingslayer doing his very best to mock and insult her at every opportunity he got so that he could seize an opportunity to escape. But now Brienne was starting to see something more in him, something different. Now he was just a pitiful, wounded man who had lied to a dangerous, ruthless monster in order to protect her honour. It stunned her. Had she got her facts wrong before? Had she been too quick to judge? Could he really be capable of empathy?

Her frown of confusion seemed permanently etched on her face as she gazed over at him in concern, but Jaime didn't even notice. The world around him had turned into nothing but a blur. He felt like he was going to collapse at any minute, just like how his whole life had last night. The devastation over what had happened was too raw for him to even contemplate being angry or upset. Even the searing pain where his hand had once been wasn't enough to distract him from the overwhelming sense of loss in himself.

What do I do now? he kept asking himself. What's the point? Why should I carry on?

'Is that the sort of thing you and your sister go in for, Kingslayer?' Locke said leeringly from the horse at Jaime's other side. 'She loosened you up for us?'

Locke let out a roar of laughter as he rode ahead. Brienne was disgusted by him; indeed, she felt inclined to say something had she not noticed Jaime then begin to lean sideways on his horse. He was losing balance – either that, or consciousness. He was far too weak for any of this. He needed rest and treatment, as Brienne had insisted this morning, but Locke hadn't listened. He didn't care.

'He's going to fall,' Brienne said urgently as Jaime lolled more to the side, but the men ignored her. 'He's going to fall off his horse, someone help him!'

But they carried on regardless, and sure enough Jaime then collapsed into a pile of sloppy mud. Everyone came to a halt and Brienne watched, grimacing, as Jaime struggled to hold himself upright. He crawled through the mud towards Locke, who had got down from his horse along with a few of his other men.

'Water. Water. Please, water,' Jaime begged desperately in a hoarse voice, barely more than a whisper, his entire face and body covered in muck. 'Wa-water. Water, please. Please. Please-'

But he trailed off into silence as one of Locke's men poured his container of water over Jaime's head. The rest of the men laughed, while Brienne rolled her eyes, trying desperately to refrain herself from shouting insults at them. She knew what would happen if she did.

Locke stepped towards Jaime and tilted his head at him.

'If I die, you won't be getting-' Jaime began weakly, but Locke cut over him.

'Oh, enough. Here,' Locke said, handing him his own container; Brienne watched suspiciously as Jaime grabbed the container and took a huge swig from it. 'Can't say that I've ever seen a man drink horse piss that fast.'

Brienne groaned in disgust as all the men roared with laughter yet again and Jaime spat out the drink, looking like he might be sick. Brienne closed her eyes regretfully; there was nothing she could do for him. He was completely on his own, being treated like nothing more than a wild animal. Perhaps he deserved it, for all the wrong he had done before in his life. But it was still uncomfortable for her to watch.

She was then abruptly forced to open her eyes as she heard a groan and smack; in the process of being forced to his feet, Jaime had somehow managed to punch one of the soldiers and grabbed his sword. The moment Jaime pointed the sword out unsteadily in his left hand, Locke's men immediately backed away cautiously and quickly drew out their own swords. Brienne perked up in interest. She couldn't believe how pathetic the Bolton soldiers were; the Kingslayer was malnourished, weak, beaten, handless and could barely stand on his feet, and yet they were still taking no chances. His reputation was so legendary that it persisted, even when he was at his very worst.

Alas, it only took Jaime a few attempts at swinging the sword before Locke had him down on the ground. Jaime wriggled about in the mud, trying to reach again for the sword as the laughing soldiers approached him. It was this pitiful sight that made Brienne lose sight of all logic.

'STOP!' she shouted, and she leapt down from her horse.

She charged forward fiercely to help him, determined not to be stopped by a few tight ropes bound around her waist. The bemused soldiers came at her straight away, but she beat them back with the mere strength of her head and body, distracting them enough to give Jaime chance to scramble to his feet and pick up the sword again. His sword clashed against Locke's while Brienne kicked at his men and even threw one of them to the ground, but as she neared towards Jaime, two soldiers blocked her way and held their swords directly at her face. Breathing angrily, Brienne forced herself to stop and watched as Jaime desperately continued to keep upright and defend himself. She realised that she was actually rooting for this man – an enemy, her prisoner – to win this fight, even though she knew she shouldn't. It was hopeless. He was far too weak, and unsteady on his feet. He would most likely faint at any moment.

One of the soldiers thumped him back to the ground before this could happen. This time, Jaime was too exhausted and far too ill to get back up on his feet. Brienne watched disdainfully as Locke slowly walked up to the pitiful, broken man collapsed in the mud before him, before proceeding to kick him in the ribs. Horrified and angry, Brienne opened her mouth to protest, but one of the soldiers holding her back tilted his sword nearer towards her, so she was left to helplessly stand there while Jaime was beaten ferociously in the mud.

Once he had finished kicking him, Locke bent down to Jaime's level. 'Do that again,' he said in a low voice, 'and I'll take your other hand.'

The moment he stepped away from Jaime, Locke's soldiers grabbed Brienne and forced her back onto her horse. Jaime simply stayed lying there in the mud, his severed hand resting on his chest beside him, his eyes filled with tears as he looked up at the canopy of leaves above him. He was met with a strange desire to just stay there on the ground; it was actually quite comfortable here in the muck and dirt now he'd stopped being beaten. He could just go to sleep here and all his problems would just go away…

'He needs help, he's not well-'

Jaime's head jerked up and he frowned as he saw that Brienne was talking to Locke from her horse. She was scowling at last; the energetic excursion just now seemed to have knocked her back into her old self. Panicked, Jaime struggled to sit up.

'Do you think I give a shit?' Locke demanded furiously to Brienne.

'You should, if the name Tywin Lannister actually means anything to you,' Brienne snapped.

There was a tense silence. Jaime's eyes widened in horror; what the hell was she doing?! He sincerely hoped his gallant act from last night wasn't about to go to waste.

Locke's nostrils flared as he glared up at Brienne. 'Was that a threat?'

'It was a reminder of what's at stake here,' Brienne said firmly, as Jaime was forced up to his feet. 'The Kingslayer needs food and rest. We need to make camp early, ideally somewhere with a river nearby so he can wash and so I can clean his wound.'

'What the fucking hell makes you think I'd listen to anything you say?' Locke asked incredulously, as his men laughed along with him.

'Because you've charged me with keeping him alive until we get to Harrenhal. I can't do that if you keep treating him like this,' Brienne said scornfully, glaring back at him. 'At least if he does die, I'll have the full story for when his father demands to know what happened. Who do you think he'll believe more, drunken rapists working for Ramsey Bolton, or a highborn Lady from the Sapphire Isle?'

There was a pause, and Jaime felt his lips twitch slightly as they parted, stunned. Brienne had clearly learnt a thing or two from him in the short time they had known each other. He waited with baited breath as Locke considered her, looking like he very much wanted to beat her senseless into the mud as well. Jaime sincerely hoped he wouldn't; if he did, that only meant he would have to try and scramble around for another sword to help her, and he was finding it hard enough to stand upright as it was. He was in agony from the beating.

Eventually, Locke turned to address the other soldiers.

'We carry on as normal. We'll make camp when the sun sets,' he said loudly, and he turned back to give his hostages a dark glance. 'Then the lovers can get their…food and rest.'

As Jaime was forced up onto his horse, he exchanged a glance with Brienne and he knew they were both thinking the exactly same thing. Lovers. What a nauseating idea. Nevertheless, despite their repulsion at what Locke and his men kept implying for the rest of their journey that afternoon, they both knew that a begrudging yet solid bond had been established between them. It was a strange feeling, and one they didn't like to acknowledge. Even later that night when they made camp and Brienne was tasked once more with cleansing and nursing Jaime, neither of them wanted to admit that they were more or less on the same side now, mainly because of how infuriating that fact was.

Brienne offered Jaime an arm to lean on as she helped him away from the river, where he had washed most of the mud out of his face, and then they were both marched over to a separate campfire so Brienne could tend to his wound and the many bruises and scars he had acquired today from Locke's beating. The moment she had finished, they were both tied up and left sat opposite each other with a minimal amount of dry food to keep them going, although Jaime refused to touch his. Brienne watched him, still overwhelmed with bewilderment and shock over the recent events that had transpired, and she frowned as she took in the sight of him slouched there, barely conscious and staring into the fire with a blank expression on his beaten, scarred face. She felt sorry for him. He was hurting all over, that was evident. He'd completely lost the will to fight…or to do anything at all, it seemed.

'Eat,' Brienne ordered.

But Jaime ignored her. His frozen state of emptiness alarmed her, but not as much as her concern for him did. Was it indeed a smidgen of affection that she was beginning to feel for this awful man? He clearly couldn't cope with the loss of his hand dangling from the string around his neck, but why should she pity the Kingslayer for this? It confused her greatly.

'What are you doing?' she asked him.

'I'm dying,' Jaime replied, his voice low and weak as he refused to look up at her.

'You can't die. You need to live,' Brienne said quietly, 'to take revenge.'

Brienne was an honourable person, and very strongly devoted to any oath she made, but at this point all she could think about was how much she hated what Locke and his men had done to him. There was some good in the Kingslayer sat before her, she knew that after last night; it may only be miniscule, but it was something worth fighting for. Jaime didn't believe that, although he was somewhat touched by her words. For one fleeting moment, he wondered why he had ever considered fatally harming or running away from this woman. His welfare and pride seemed to matter to her more than it did him, which was saying something considering how openly she loathed him.

He shook his head. 'I don't care about revenge,' he muttered.

Brienne frowned at him, half-disappointed, half-exasperated. 'You coward,' she said disdainfully.

Too weak to move, Jaime squinted his eyes slightly, taken aback. He had been called a lot of things in his lifetime. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honour. Those names haunted him wherever he went. But no one had ever called him a coward. Not ever.

'One misfortune and you're giving up?' Brienne went on witheringly.

Jaime could hardly believe what he was hearing. He suddenly wished he'd left her in those bushes after all.

'Misfor- misfortune?' he murmured, forcing his bloodshot eyes to look up at her.

'You lost your hand,' Brienne said, as if it were no big deal at all.

'My sword hand. I was that hand,' Jaime said in a broken voice.

But Brienne merely scoffed and looked away. Jaime stared at her in shock. All this time, he'd thought she was feeling sorry for him. He'd even perhaps hoped that she disliked him a little less than before. Apparently not.

Eventually, Brienne forced herself to look back up at him. 'You have a taste – one taste of the real world where people have important things taken from them and you whine and cry and quit,' she snapped, almost incensed, and Jaime glared back at her. 'You sound like a bloody woman.'

She spat the last words scornfully at him, and the look in her eyes made him look away, ashamed.

Brienne looked away bitterly; she was not proud of using a stereotype of her own gender like that, particularly when she had been mistreated all her life for failing to confirm to those standards, but it was the only way to get Jaime to react and come to life again. She needed to be harsh, to give this spoilt man the push he needed to go on.

Jaime felt a lump rise in his throat as he stared into the fire, her words resonating deeply with him. He could only imagine the hardships she must have undertaken throughout her life; she had clearly been invalidated and mocked for as long as she could remember, and yet she had always persisted, whatever life had thrown at her. For him, it had always been easy. But for Brienne, it had been completely the opposite, he could see that now, and yet she had never once given up.

He suddenly found himself beginning to admire her, even more so than when she had earned his respect defending them both against those Stark men not long after they'd left the Whispering Wood. He'd never imagined that he would learn to revere a woman like Brienne, but she was forcing him to confront his own hypocrisy and deprecation. As much as he hated her for it, her resilience was inspiring.

Suddenly realising how melodramatic he was being, Jaime struggled to lean forward slightly and grabbed a dry bit of bread that had been left for him. He grabbed it and forced some in his mouth. Brienne's gaze flickered between him and the fire, her expression softened somewhat. She was surprised her words had had any affect on him at all. As he continued to munch away bitterly at the dry bread, she realised she couldn't go on without addressing the rather large elephant in the room.

'I know what you did for me. You told them Tarth was full of sapphires,' Brienne said quietly, both of them refusing to look at each other. 'It's called 'the Sapphire Isle' because of the blue of its water. You knew that.'

Jaime said nothing as he discarded some of the crust of his bread. She looked up at him, but he was unable to meet her gaze.

'Why did you help me?' Brienne asked, utterly perplexed.

There was a pause as Jaime continued to stare into the fire. He groaned and repositioned himself against the log, trying to make himself more comfortable.

'I don't know. It felt like the right thing to do at the time,' he replied eventually, his voice slow but slightly clearer now that he'd had some food. 'You can only imagine how much I regret that now.'

Brienne couldn't tell if he was joking or not; he still wouldn't look at her. But still, she knew that couldn't be all it was. The expression on Jaime's face was telling enough. He swallowed and forced himself to meet her gaze; he knew she wouldn't let this go until he came out with it.

'When the Mad King was on the throne, I was made to guard the door while he raped numerous women. And I did nothing,' Jaime explained, his voice breaking on the last word. 'I couldn't do nothing again. No one deserves that. Not even someone as infuriating as you.'

There was a short silence. Brienne's lips had parted; she wasn't sure what she had expected, but it hadn't been that.

'Th-thank you,' she murmured in a small voice, her eyes on the ground.

There was a hint of a wry half-smile on Jaime's face as he considered her. 'What? You're shocked the legendary treacherous Kingslayer actually has a heart?' he muttered sourly.

Brienne watched him thoughtfully. 'Not as shocked as you are, it seems.'

Jaime's expression faltered; she had him there. He frowned as he noticed the bloody scratch on her face from where the soldiers had fought back against her when she had tried coming to his aid in the woods earlier today. He had been preoccupied with Locke and his other men at the time, but he had still seen the way she'd leapt down from her horse and ran over to him.

'What about you?' Jaime grumbled, reaching for the container to drink some water – they had both already checked that it wasn't full of horse piss this time. 'You helped me as well, earlier. Why?'

'I swore an oath to see you alive to King's Landing,' Brienne replied simply. 'I'm merely doing my duty.'

Jaime tilted his head at her, fascinated. 'Is that all life's about for you? Oaths and duty? No wonder you're so dull,' he muttered, and his last comment reassured him; he was slowly starting to feel like himself again.

But Brienne wasn't amused. 'Well I don't have much else,' she said.

Her tone made Jaime look up, and he looked almost saddened as he gazed at her. She was alone in this world, and all this time he had been mocking her for it. He was flummoxed by how subdued and ashamed this made him feel. Why did he spare a single thought for this woman anyway? She wasn't anything special to him, she was his captor. He'd tried to kill her just the other day. Although, deep down, Jaime couldn't help wondering whether he had actually ever intended to fatally harm her…or whether he'd just been bored and wanted to have some reckless fun by trying his luck with a female warrior. Now look where that had got them.

The next day got off to quite a good start, but as Locke continuously refused Jaime water and food and regular rest stops at Brienne's request, Jaime was soon feeling quite faint again. Brienne suspected that his hand had become infected, and that was why he was still so dizzy and pale, but Locke and his men rebuffed her requests for proper treatment from a maester. They weren't taking any detours, and were determined to reach Harrenhal in a matter of days. Brienne could only hope that Jaime would still be functioning properly by then and that it wouldn't be too late for his wound to receive proper treatment.

Each day passed agonisingly slowly, with only the jeers of Locke's men and the pain of his phantom hand to keep Jaime occupied as they rode on. On one day, after a weak Jaime fell once more from the saddle on his horse, they forced him to share a horse with Brienne and bound her tight to him. Unlike the first time this had happened upon their initial capture, neither of them seemed to mind much. Brienne was a warm anchor for him, keeping him upright on the horse, and also keeping him comforted and reassured with her proximity. They even conversed occasionally on matters other than his hand or her oath or Locke, and found common ground, while they rode together. Every evening, Brienne cared for his wound and redressed the stump, and as Jaime became accustomed to seeing this unusually nurturing side of her, he realised that Brienne of Tarth had somehow become the closest thing to a friend he had. She was the only one looking out for him, as much as she disliked him. The whole situation between them was extremely bizarre.

One evening, when they were approximately only one more days' ride away from Harrenhal, Brienne was about to stoke the fire in their own individual little camp not far away from Locke's men when Jaime spoke up, his voice gruff and croaky.

'Can you move?'

'Yes,' Brienne replied; the ropes they had bound her with weren't as tight now they knew she wasn't going to try and escape.

'Come. Sit with me.'

Brienne frowned, concerned. 'Is your hand troubling you?'

'What hand?' Jaime asked dryly, indicating his stump.

Brienne blinked rapidly, embarrassed. 'F-forgive me, I didn't mean-'

'I know what you meant. No, it's not. Just come and sit,' Jaime muttered grudgingly, indicating the patch of ground beside him.

Brienne did so, with a curious look on her face. One of Locke's men on watch nearby looked up suspiciously as they saw her manoeuvre her way around to Jaime, struggling slightly against the ropes, but then looked away with a chuckle and some snide comment about 'the lovers'. Brienne really wished they wouldn't call them that. It was enraging.

'Tell me about your family,' Jaime muttered once she had sat down, and Brienne looked at him, perplexed.

'I'm sorry?'

Jaime sighed exasperatedly. 'I'm in agony. I'm tired. I'm angry and bitter and wasting away. We both know I'm not going to last much longer unless there's a maester present at Harrenhal, so distract me. Tell me something. Anything.'

'There isn't anything to tell about my life that you would be interested in or remotely care about,' Brienne said dismissively.

'Is that really what you think of me, still?' Jaime demanded hoarsely, his expression angry all of a sudden. 'Look at my fucking arm and tell me again I don't remotely care.'

He was holding his stump up in her face. Brienne looked down, ashamed. She knew that, if he were any ordinary man, he would definitely not deserve her rude, scornful attitude, particularly after what he had done for her. But this wasn't any ordinary man. This was the Kingslayer. It was troubling her how much she had to keep reminding herself of that fact as the days went on.

Jaime sighed, regretting his waspish tone. He had to remember to try and force himself to be nice to her. It was a daunting prospect. He looked at her now, sat beside him in her loose tunic and trousers, and realised how much smaller she looked without the huge, bulky armour. She was still immensely tall, of course, but a lot slimmer and less broad-shouldered than he'd imagined somehow. She almost looked like she could have a woman's shape.

'Do you have siblings?' Jaime asked. 'You never answered me when I asked the day we met.'

Brienne frowned; why was that in any way important information? 'No, I…I'm an only child.'

'You're lucky. You only need have yourself to concern yourself with,' Jaime muttered enviously. 'Mark my words, if you had a brother or sister you'd put them before anything else, and your life would be ruined because of it.'

There was a short pause.

Brienne frowned at him. 'That doesn't sound healthy.'

'No, it probably isn't,' Jaime agreed, and he sighed wistfully. 'I'd do anything to get back to Cersei. It's the longest I've been without her. It's like a part of me is missing. I expect you wouldn't understand that feeling, would you?'

'Love? A little, I think,' Brienne said in a small voice, as if afraid to say it.

'Is it love, though, what I have with Cersei? I often wonder that,' Jaime said thoughtfully. 'It's wrong of course, and most people – you included – are disgusted by me for it. But even in spite of the…slight complication with her being my sister, even ignoring that, it…it doesn't feel normal. Sometimes I wish I could be free of her.'

'I…I wish I could be free of Renly as well,' Brienne murmured without thinking as she stared into the fire, and Jaime's lips parted in surprise. 'Even though he's long gone, I…I still think of him every day.'

Realising she had said too much, Brienne turned, mortified, to meet Jaime's sympathetic gaze as her cheeks turned red. She hadn't admitted to him explicitly of her feelings for Renly, even though he had teased her about it relentlessly for days on end. The layers that she had been hiding her true self under were slowly starting to peel away, it seemed. And Jaime was grateful for it. Finally he had someone real to talk to, not just a captor. It had been a very long time since someone had spoken to him openly about something personal. It had been a very long time since someone had simply just spoken to him as a real person, rather than a monstrous traitor.

'Perhaps one day the two of us will find peace, away from their hold on us,' Jaime suggested, though he had very little hope. 'Wouldn't that be nice?'

Brienne frowned then, realising too late that their conversation had crossed a boundary that was inappropriate. 'Why are you talking to me about this?' she muttered, looking away uncomfortably.

'I could ask you the same question,' Jaime said bemusedly. 'I am the Kingslayer, after all. I'm surprised you're even entertaining this conversation.'

'You asked me to come and sit with you!' Brienne reminded him, indignant.

'Only because I'm bored senseless. You know it's a depressing group for company when you're the one I'd choose out of everyone to talk to,' Jaime muttered sourly. 'You're dull as bricks, but at least I know you won't chop my other hand off.'

'Or so you think, Kingslayer,' Brienne snapped, sincerely wishing she hadn't moved to sit beside him now. 'You do realise if you hadn't stopped on that bridge and tried to kill me, none of this would have happened? We would be on our way to King's Landing and much closer to reaching your sweet sister, and you would still have your beloved sword hand.'

Hatred burned in his eyes at her mocking, scornful tone. She could be just as cruel as him sometimes.

'Yes. But then you and I would never have had the joy of fighting each other in combat, would we?' Jaime said dryly, his face too weak to grin.

Brienne scoffed, infuriated with him. 'Even now, after everything, you're still so stubborn that you refuse to accept the blame. You won't admit that your stupid mistake landed us in this mess. What would you have achieved anyway, if you had somehow managed to kill me on that bridge? I was taking you to King's Landing…which is where you wanted to go and where you still want to go now. What was the point?'

There was a pause. Jaime felt the shame rise in him, but knew there was no point in lying. He and Brienne seemed to have formed some unspoken pact to be honest with each other from now on since they had been taken captive by those brutes sat not too far away from them.

'Because I didn't want my family to see me delivered as a chained hostage by some…big grumpy woman who thought herself a knight,' he replied reluctantly, and Brienne felt her heart sink at his words. 'I didn't want to fail them or bring shame upon my house. I'm not weak – I'm a knight, I'm Jaime Lannister, I'm never beaten. That was the point. Are you happy now?'

Brienne glared at him, her nostrils flaring. 'You're pathetic,' she muttered disdainfully.

Jaime merely smiled. 'That might be one of the nicest things you've ever said to me, Brienne of Tarth.'

'Don't speak my name,' she snapped, and after a tense silence, she slid away from him and tried to struggle up to her feet, adjusting the ropes slightly as she did so. 'Well. I think I'll leave you to wallow in your self-pity now,' she spat.

'Where are you going?' Jaime asked, sounding almost personally offended.

'To try and get some sleep,' Brienne replied irritably as she shuffled over to sit by the other side of the fire.

'You really think I'm going to shut up and let you do that?'

'Why do you want me to stay awake?' Brienne demanded, bewildered. 'You said so yourself – I'm dull company, and we don't like each other! So leave me alone.'

Jaime sighed. 'Look, I'm sorry if I offended you, my lady, but you must know why I felt that way when I took your sword that day on the bridge. My reputation would be utterly ruined if a woman escorted me as a prisoner to King's Landing, my father and sister and everyone would never have-'

'Your reputation? You really care about that now, still?' Brienne said scathingly. 'You lost your hand and almost your life, and still all you're bothered about is that people see you as some 'great warrior'.'

Jaime frowned, annoyed by her tone. 'Well what do you care about. Your honour, I suppose?' he said, almost as if he were teasing her.

'Yes, my honour,' Brienne replied fiercely, cutting Jaime short. 'My oath to Lady Catelyn. My survival. I'm grateful for the small things in life and I know what's really important, Kingslayer. Perhaps you should learn to do the same. Now, will you let me get some rest?'

'Yes,' Jaime muttered begrudgingly.

'Good.'

There was a silence as she tried to get herself as comfortable as possible. Jaime sighed miserably. Brienne's rigid idea of honour was slowly drawing him back to the idea of the hopeful knight he had once aspired to become, long ago before his life had taken a dark and traumatic turn, and it was highly discombobulating for him. He didn't like how one person could change his ideals so much in merely a manner of days. She was taking advantage of his vulnerability. He was weak – that was why he was letting her qualities influence him. It wouldn't mean anything. It wouldn't change who he was. He would still be the same Jaime Lannister that Cersei knew and loved when he returned, and she would be none the wiser about what little impact Brienne had made on him. He would be certain of that.

'Goodnight,' Brienne said in a small, almost confused voice.

Jaime's lips twitched; she had never said that to him before. 'Sweet dreams.'

Brienne rolled her eyes and exhaled angrily as she turned over on her side to face away from him. She could feel his eyes on her as she tried to let her exhaustion take over. It was impossible to relax and therefore extremely hard to sleep with Locke and his men sat so nearby. These past few nights, she had simply laid awake staring at the stars while Jaime had whispered incessantly about the constellations above them, convincing himself that he was reassuring her – which, admittedly, he was – until he'd lost consciousness. But tonight she had to try and let herself drift off. She was so very tired, and she wished she didn't have to worry about what Locke's men might do to Jaime. She was no longer concerned about her own welfare; something told her they wouldn't bother trying anything with the Kingslayer sat near to her. They were so drunk and rowdy over by their campfire that they probably wouldn't bother coming over to this end of the clearing anyway; besides, they were bored with their hostages now. And so Brienne slowly allowed herself to drift off, comforted by the sounds of Jaime shuffling and sighing irritably near to her, until eventually she fell asleep at last.

That was the first night she dreamt of Jaime Lannister.