The truth was, Jaime had been growing rather tired of his companions anyway and was not sorry to send them on their way without him the next morning. Anyone he considered a friend or even a relatively minor acquaintance was well used to his impulses, and on a fairly aimless trip like this one, without a true mission at hand, there was no cause for them to grumble overmuch at seeing it set aside (though they were curious). The fact that Jaime was unsure of his own intentions made it even less likely that he share his plans with them.
He had it in mind to convince Brienne that she should be returning to the island of her birth, where she belonged whether she liked it or not, and he might well pass a day or two in her company, if she continued to be interesting. Such a woman. Such a creature! Could it be that she had any skill with a sword? He contemplated this possibility while soaking in his bath, an activity he'd put off til the early dawn as it gave the water the chance to come slowly to room temperature. Drying and dressing, he washed down a hunk of bread with last night's wine, and set forth in search of Brienne.
She was not immediately to be discovered anywhere below or in the stables, but there he encountered the squire that had taken care of their horses, who informed him that "she was at the river waiting for m'lord", respectfully incurious, for which Jaime tossed him a coin.
Brienne, standing by the water's edge, visible sword belted to her side, turned when she heard him coming. He gestured with sweeping arms to indicate his solitude. "No audience, as promised. My lady."
He'd been careful to watch his tone yesterday, as he'd had no intent to alienate her immediately, but he couldn't help a touch of irony in the appellation this time. She looked nothing like a lady, after all. At least, those years ago in her father's hall she'd been wearing some sort of dress. What was the most unusual part of her appearance, taking all of her in as he did now? The height? The cropped hair? The terribly plain face? Or the ridiculous man's apparel that covered—what sort of body, under all of it?
Well, that wasn't where he'd expected his mind to go, but there it went. He paused, regrouped. He wasn't interested in what was or wasn't there. He was curious if she'd done more than spar with the odd stable-boy. With that reach of arm she could have a powerful advantage if she were any good.
Which she wouldn't be. He might as well have slept in, Jaime thought with a sigh, as he approached. This was a waste of time. It was always a waste of time.
"Thank you," Brienne said, as he stopped a few metres from her.
"I rather thought," he commented, "you might have taken my advice and left in the night."
"Did you advise me so?"
He shrugged, not actually remembering. There was a dagger in his jacket he thought to first check her reflexes with. "When's the last time you had occasion to use that?" He nodded at her weapon.
Brienne's hand found the hilt, a little uncertainly it seemed. "A fortnight? I do practice, here and there."
He wasn't himself particularly conditioned at the moment, though that fact had little bearing on his confidence. "Want to warm up?"
"I—I did, I woke early." Her face brightened in hue. "But if you—"
He lifted shoulders again, rotated his neck from side to side. Obnoxiously cracked a few knuckles. "I'm ready."
He saw her lips tighten. She drew her sword, undramatically, and held it aloft for a moment before shifting one foot backward.
Better than expected, at least in the first few moments of their blades meeting. He didn't go all out, and neither did she seem to be. Brienne fought politely, cautiously even. He tested her. Opened up for a couple of dirty tricks. She didn't take them. So decent. But then, anyone could be decent when they weren't angered, when there was nothing at stake. He pushed a little harder, forcing her back into uneven footing closer to the water. Perhaps she was used only to the comfortable flat ground of the yard. But she managed well, and gods, what a reach she had—he'd seen its potential watching her chop wood but seeing it at work with the sword was remarkable. She was definitely staying defensive. Jaime figured he could probably provoke her with a well-placed quip or two—there was sensitivity behind her expressionless face—but he didn't feel the need at the moment. They continued to spar. Brienne did not press. She kept up. She was not visibly tiring, which after a while vaguely irked him—he had not intended for this to take terribly long.
He paused, purposefully. She could have taken advantage then, but she also slowed.
"Give up?" he inquired.
"You have not beaten me," she replied with a slight frown, through deep breaths.
"You want me to make you yield?" he clarified, squinting through the faint rays of new sun.
"If you are better than I, yes."
Stubborn wench, he couldn't see how her humiliation would be satisfying to her, even if it might be to him. "What's the difference between conceding now and conceding later?"
"The difference is," Brienne panted, slashing out unexpectedly—he parried—"is that you will have earned it."
He scoffed. And she made a move that surprised him—almost caught him off guard.
Grimly, he set about teaching her that there was a reason most people avoided drawing him into a fight, and just because he'd gone easy for the first quarter of the hour in consideration of her sex, didn't mean he was obliged to end it that way.
They were both sweating now. And had drifted far from the river's edge, into more thickly wooded territory. He could feel himself getting irritated. End it. Do something big and pretty if you have to. What if he got in a real fight later? But this was a real fight. It should never have been but it somehow was. She'd definitely done more than watch men training. She'd put in the work herself.
And because of that, mixed in with his irritation was a little bit of grudging admiration too.
He cheated.
Not much, not badly—just a chance to take a dishonorable advantage and he took it, slapping at her leg with the flat of his blade hard enough to make her stumble and lose focus, and then he had her, sword to neck. "Yield."
She winced but didn't capitulate.
"Yield," he repeated between strident breaths, watching the pulse in her neck leap against the edge of the steel.
"Ignoble of you," she said, her own breath catching.
"We never established terms."
"Between knights there is honor—"
"You're not a knight. Do you yield?"
A tiny nod, rasping her own skin against his blade in the motion. He kept it there a few heart-beats longer than necessary. Then withdrew.
He could afford magnanimity now, but he still needed a few moments to regain equilibrium, so he stepped back, giving them both space, and eased to a sitting position on a nearby hillock of ground. Brienne reclaimed her sword from where she'd dropped it after conceding, swiping an arm across the pale skin of her forehead. She didn't look especially in pain, though he'd probably given her a good leg bruise.
She crouched, then knelt on the ground, looking at him with an expression more of reproach than resentment. She did not speak. They rested in silence while the sunshine slipped more strongly through the trees.
"I would ask," Brienne said eventually, "for a rematch. With clearly understood terms."
He sighed, and leaned back into the slope, tucking an arm under his head. "We have nothing to fight about, you and I.
"Do we?" he pressed when she didn't speak.
"You have given offense."
"How?"
"Just now. Just then."
"Only to your pride. And there was no one else to witness."
"Is it only a wrong if there is no one around to view it? I begin to understand your nickname."
He angled his neck to stare at her, trying to determine if this rigid morality was something to which she treated everyone, or simply doled out for him in an instant of bitterness? Well, the truth was, in referencing said nickname she was just proving she only knew the first thing about him, just like most others in the seven kingdoms.
Still. Still. The instinct to defend himself, his actions, wasn't entirely dead and while most of the time he was inured to such insults, there was the occasional time when that spark flickered.
Like now.
Why had she brought it out?
"We'll fight again," he said, "and possibly to your choice of terms, if—"
"Yes—?"
"You agree to my escorting you home."
Pale eyebrows knitted. "Why would you want to do that?"
He propped himself up on an elbow. "Come, who would not want to return a lost daughter to her father?"
"I'm not lost," Brienne said, eyes sparking. Blue, they were. Bright like blue fire.
"A wayward daughter then. Nevertheless."
"If it's some kind of ransom you have in mind, what could you imagine to gain? Lannisters have no need of money."
"True," Jaime agreed, "but money is far from being the only inducement to provide service to another house."
Her gaze fell.
"I could take you by force," he said, but genially.
"I do not think you would find that easy," she said, all flint in voice and eyes on him again.
"Perhaps not. So why trouble both of us? Come with me willingly."
"I could not imagine traveling with you unless..."
He widened his eyes. Surely she wasn't about to say married. Though that would admittedly line up with her damn sense of honor thus far.
"Unless..." Brienne's voice quailed a touch. "Unless you treated me as equal."
"Equal," he repeated, derisively That wasn't a word a great deal better than married. He didn't know if he truly considered anyone his equal. In some ways, possibly. In most ways, definitely not. He was Jaime fucking Lannister after all.
But he could pretend, of course he could pretend. That too was a gift given to all his family at birth.
She was waiting for his answer.
"Granted," he said. "Let's go."
"Now, this moment?" She gaped at him.
"Unless you have some trees waiting to be felled?" he said, enunciating in such a way that she would be sure to see the absurdity of delaying any longer.
"I must make some preparation—" Brienne mumbled.
"Go." He waved at the trees. "Meet me at the stables later."
She clambered to her feet and hastened away. He followed at a more leisurely pace, having it in mind to conduct a quick conversation with her employer.
The fight had exhilarated Brienne even though its ending had been a disappointment, and she gathered her few belongings in an adrenalin-fuelled daze, trying not to think of all the reasons why this choice to leave was really a terrible idea—not least of which because she actually had no desire or intention truly to return home. Surely she could trick him into a fair fight before they reached the isle, even if it had to be witnessed by a neutral party. And he had been right about there being nothing for her here. The swordplay had reminded her of that. She missed it. She missed the grace and finesse involved. Perhaps being a temporary companion to the Kingslayer (not to be trusted, no matter what promises he made) would yield opportunities for her to offer her services to some worthy other. Whatever Jaime Lannister's motives were, she couldn't yet be sure, but if for some reason he was attempting to ingratiate himself to her father, he wouldn't be the first. Indeed he was more likely to be politically rather than personally motivated.
It was still not even mid-morning by the time she got to the stables with her bedroll and attendant sack of supplies, including the meagre amount of coin she'd managed to accumulate. Jaime had his own horse—a fine bay—and another one that she recognized as belonging to the inn, saddled ready and waiting. Brienne, naturally having envisioned herself travelling afoot, pointed. "Whose horse is that?"
"Yours," he said, extending the lead.
"We cannot steal this horse," she said, reasonably.
"We're not. It has been paid for."
"Perhaps I should—" She looked across at the inn, relatively quiet this hour of the day, smoke drifting up from its chimneys.
"Nonsense," Jaime said. "Get on the horse."
She hesitated still, and he said, "You don't believe me. I gave him a sack of gold, far more than this nag's worth. Now, or I'll take it without you on it."
Brienne climbed up, but said with what dignity she could muster while the horse skittered, "You ought to know that threatening to leave my company, now or at any point from now, will have absolutely no effect on me."
"Consider me forewarned," he said, exaggerating protracted patience.
He headed south down the Kingsroad, and she made to follow, casting only a last backwards glance at the inn, calm and receding in the distance.
They rode until around midday and Brienne was glad of the break—though the pace Jaime had set was unhurried, she was not at all accustomed to riding more than a plowhorse across a field or two over the past few weeks. Truthfully, she thought with a rueful grunt when they dismounted, she might rather have walked.
There wasn't much more than a ditch off to the side for water, but the horses drank of it readily enough and Jaime offered his canteen to Brienne. She politely declined (sharing water was far too personal) and as she hadn't thought to fill her own before leaving the inn she would have to wait until they found a cleaner source. He shrugged, unrebuffed. In fact Brienne's stomach was empty too as she had had far too many nerves in the morning to eat anything before their skirmish, and now it punished her with pangs. She overrode them with the power of concentration. Going hungry as a child had never been her experience, but since leaving Tarth there had been a few days she'd had to survive on very little. And what was discipline for, if it couldn't see one through some hours without food?
She asked Jaime if he minded that they walk a while, citing her recent inexperience on horseback. He did not object. The afternoon was calm and beautiful, with scarcely a wind to disturb the drying leaves soon to cover the ground.
"You never did say how you came to be here in the stormlands, my lord," she observed, breaking the not-unpleasant quiet.
Jaime ducked under his horse's head so that he was walking alongside her. The animal whuffled and batted at him with its muzzle, which action he reproved with rough language but gentle tone. "I did not."
"You mentioned something about your freedom. Can a Lannister heir really have that much of it?"
"Ah, lady Brienne. You do see how it is. There's no freedom when one has family. We're merely avoiding responsibility at this current moment." Lightly, he glanced at her.
She eyed him back. "What should you be doing, instead of this?"
"Well, I could be doing any number of things I suppose."
"I meant, things that might benefit others, as befits a man in your position."
"Feeding the poor, protecting the weak," he said, sing-song.
"What is there in that to mock?"
"You are so serious it gives me indigestion," he said, clapping a hand to his heart.
"And you are so privileged," Brienne muttered.
"I was born to my privilege, just as you were. The only difference is you are a woman, and might I suggest, that comes with far fewer expectations."
How casually he could 'suggest' such things. She sidestepped a small boulder on the road, half-blinded to it by her growing indignation. "There may be fewer of them, but they are a great deal more burdensome."
"You wish to compare upbringings, do you?"
"That is not my—"
"Because I could tell you a tale or two about family burdens."
"I can only imagine."
They walked in silence for a short spell.
"All right," he said. "Tell me what encumbrances they've laid on your—very capable—shoulders."
She should just let it be, swallow her stories, but the most recent one had never been shared aloud, as there hadn't been so much as a sympathetic female friend, much less this golden boy of infamy, to lend ears to it, and she felt herself giving it breath.
"I don't suppose you've ever been asked, no, not asked, expected, to marry someone forty years your senior." Bitter words, tumbling forth, contained too long.
Jaime said nothing for a moment and then inquired, "Male or female?"
She gave him her dryest possible expression.
"I suppose at that point it doesn't really matter," he said, affecting cheerfulness.
Brienne stopped, gazed at the serene sky for help. The horses shifted behind them. Jaime looked mildly interested in what she might say next. The problem was, she couldn't really find the words to convey how exasperating a personality he appeared to have. Did he take anything seriously?
"Also," he added, when she still didn't speak, "it might not have been as terrible as you think."
This was untenable, and she gaped at him. "In what possible way might it not be terrible to be wed to someone old enough to be my grandfather?"
"Your prospects can't have been that bad, can they?" he murmured, as if to himself. "After all, you do come with money. Quite a bit of it I'd imagine."
"Thank you," Brienne said. "That is entirely the kind of thing I have been hearing from men like you most of my life. I'm well aware were it not for my father's generous dowry, my prospects as you call them would have been slim indeed." She grabbed her horse's rein with more force than was warranted, and led it clopping after her down the road in a fierce stride. She marched angrily for a long time before slowing her pace to something more reasonable. Glancing behind, she saw that Jaime had got back on his horse and was giving her a bit of space. Which was an excellent choice on his part. She did not want to chat any longer.
Their progress along the Kingsroad that afternoon went largely unmarked by other journeyers, mostly small-folk going between towns, farmers with loads of hay on their wagons, or the odd gentry. The road became gradually more busy as they neared the communities of Bronzegate, and Brienne grew uncomfortable with the number of people they were encountering. Side-by-side, she knew Jaime and she made a curious pair, and even with him maintaining a distance she couldn't help but feel people were connecting them. Now riding again, she turned her horse away from the road and into the fields, which were mostly clear, but still provided some privacy nearer the tree line.
Jaime caught up with her. "Some reason you don't want to stay on the road?"
"People stare," she said.
"It's going to take longer if we have to go through all of this," he gestured at the woods ahead.
"You are not obligated to accompany me." Brienne squinted into the distance, wondering if there were fruit trees scattered there. She was so hungry.
"Except that is what we agreed to do," he pointed out.
"Do as you will. Men like you always do."
"Stop saying men like me."
"If you could show me that you are different, perhaps I would."
He tilted his head back in dramatic exasperation. "How will I ever prove myself to you."
"It would be nice if you weren't always sarcastic."
"Dragons are all gone, my lady," he said, almost drawled. "Aren't any left to slay on your behalf. Would you like me to dispose of some wretched knaves for you? You must have a list by now?"
"Firstly," Brienne said, "if someone needs disposing, I can do it myself. Secondly, would you please stop?"
"You want to rest here?"
"No. I mean, would you please stop talking...in such a way?"
He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, then patted his horse soothingly with it, as if she'd just insulted the creature. "We can take," he said, at last bordering on seriousness, "whichever way home you would like."
"Thank you." Brienne directed her horse towards the trees. They were indeed fruit, though most had been harvested by now, but when she slid off and inspected the ground there were a few concealed in the leaves below that looked edible. A little mealy, upon taste, but they would sate her hunger until something lasting could be found. Jaime made a face when she offered him one. He must have had a decent breakfast.
Later, when Jaime proposed riding to the castle of Bronzegate itself to shelter for the night, Brienne objected. A bit too strenuously, from his reaction. She modulated her tone. "I had rather camp outside."
"When we could have a fine meal and warm beds?" Jaime gestured around them. They were on a mossy ridge with the castle in the distance, the scattered town below.
Brienne swung down from her horse, not making eye contact. The truth was she wasn't nearly ready to consider a social environment at his side. The idea was rather terrifying. She would have endured far worse circumstances than this rather pleasant outdoor location. A stream trickled by, offering fresh water, and the trees provided ample shelter. The weather was fair, though it would be cool.
"You have provisions," she pointed out, gesturing at the pack behind his saddle.
"Well, yes, but I had no particular plans to use them. Not when we don't need to."
"We need to," Brienne said firmly.
"Will you tell me why, o unforthcoming woman?"
She didn't want to say, because despite all his digs at her, her temper had cooled from earlier and she did not want to be needlessly mean. "Perhaps you could procure supper. I will make a fire. Or if you prefer—"
"I'll go, I'll go." He'd dismounted and held up hands with a loud sigh. "Any specific requests?"
"I've eaten my share of squirrel if that's all you can find." Brienne was unable to resist the provocation.
He narrowed his eyes at her, looped the horse's rein over a branch and disappeared. There was a good chance he wouldn't return until he'd hunted something far better, which meant she would probably be alone for a while, and that suited excellently. Men were truly so predictable.
She attended to their horses, set up her bedroll, and gathered sticks for the fire, which she built small, more for light than heat. Her muscles were not yet sore either from the fighting or the riding, but they would doubtless be tomorrow, more so if the mossy ground proved uncomfortable.
At length Jaime returned bearing a rather scrawny rabbit, already stripped and ready for a spit. Brienne did not comment on its size. She was famished enough to eat two of them, but it would be adequate to stave off pains. She set about cooking the meat over the low flames while he washed hands at the stream.
Dark was still slow to encroach, even this late in the year. It was only dusk by the time the rabbit's flesh was gently scorched and ready to consume. Brienne used her knife to pull apart the lean fibers and offered Jaime a portion first though she was fairly ready to crunch bones at that juncture. "Go ahead," he said, waving it back, possibly the first sign of gallantry she'd seen and whether it was feigned or not she was too hungry to care. "Thank you," she said, as delicately as possible around the meat in her mouth. This particular piece was gamey and stringy but as good as any table spread after a day of nothing but mushy apples. She chewed it slowly, savoring.
Jaime's expression was mildly morose, and sitting back, a few feet away from him, Brienne felt able to be more expansive. "Come, ser, you've surely had worse meals than this one."
"Not in recent memory," he murmured.
"You're a soldier, you've seen hardship," she pursued.
He inclined his head.
"We are dry, warm. Fire, food. All that we need."
He took a long drink from his canteen and stared at it as if wishing would turn it into something else. Perhaps he was missing his wine.
"It's strange how you are so—" She sought for the word while he watched her. Brienne poked at a log with the toe of her boot.
"So?"
"Accustomed to privation—but pampered despite it."
He made a sound, but it wasn't entirely scornful. "What's wrong with taking comfort where it can be found?"
She considered that. "A knight should live a simple life."
"Where is that written?"
"It's...my opinion, then."
"Luckily for me, and many others, you're not the arbiter of our behavior."
Brienne felt her face warm at such an idea. "I wouldn't claim such a position."
"Oh, but you do stand there." Jaime tossed some nearby chaff onto the fire, sending up shoots of flame. "You stand there, high and holy."
"I'm not holy," she murmured, ducking her head. "I could not even aspire to sainthood."
"But you aspire to knighthood."
She nodded, feeling suddenly small in presence, in spirit, if not in body.
"Well, your sword's good enough," he said, waggling his hand to take the gift out of the compliment when she looked up (how could she not look up at such words from the Kingslayer). "What else do you have?"
Brienne had never been in a position to enumerate her good points, certainly not aloud, so she stared at him blankly, trying to think what possible answers there could be to that all-encompassing question. And was he serious, or was he asking her to open herself only to be humiliated moments later? She opened and closed her mouth, knowing she was gawping like a fish but unable to prevent it.
"Clearly you're not accustomed to discussing your talents," Jaime said, amused, reading her thoughts off her face as clearly as if she had stated them.
She knew her skin was surely painful in color by now, even by dim firelight and scant moon. "I strive to—"
"Ever stolen anything?"
"No," she said with some indignation. At least not since she had been a small child. And if garnering fruit didn't count.
"Ever killed anyone?" he fired off.
"No." Brienne was suddenly breathless from the jump in the severity of the transgression, thinking of how long it must have been since he had been able to say the same.
"Ever bedded anyone you shouldn't have?"
Brienne ducked her head again, unable to meet that question.
Jaime shifted forward, elbows on knees. "Ever bedded anyone at all?"
She sputtered. "My lord, you go too far!"
"Gods, you are pure. Better get you home before someone finds out."
"No one is about to find out!"
"As far as you know."
"I am not in danger of my—virtue being compromised," she argued, wanting not to let him have the last word but only serving to embarrass herself still further.
"Well, not with me you're not."
She stared, uncertainly, at him and he made a small impatient sigh through his nose. "I only mean to assure you I'm not in the habit of deflowering every maid I encounter."
"Thank the gods for your self-control," Brienne muttered, crossly, mortified beyond reason.
"But don't you want to?" he said, and his eyes sparkled in the firelight, and she thought about it. About much trust would have to be involved for her to allow herself to want something like that. She did not know if she had it in her.
"There is a...time and a place for all things," she said, a little woodenly, "and this conversation is—not at all edifying."
"Edifying," he repeated, mocking her tone but with a deeper voice. "You are so unintentionally droll, my lady."
"I have never sought to entertain."
"Ah, but there's power in a good show!"
"You are show enough for both of us, ser."
"I haven't yet heard you laugh. I don't think you've cracked a smile, come to that." Jaime rose to put more kindling atop the fire, then circled her, like a predator, though his manner was easy.
"Nothing amusing has happened to cause such a thing."
"Life itself, Brienne, is amusing!"
He'd dropped the 'lady' and it wasn't lost on either of them.
"I do not find it so."
"I'll make you smile yet."
"We only have a few days," she reminded him. "I will smile when you give me a fair fight."
"Hm. I'll get one out of you before that."
Brienne sighed. He was so persistent. If he applied that skill to anything worthy she could only imagine what a force for good he could be. This was not to be uttered, of course. He would certainly mock such a thing. And they would go around in verbal circles again.
"I'm quite tired," she said, though night had only just fallen; the moon wasn't very far in its progress at all. "Wake me halfway for watch."
He glanced around them. "Are you feeling as though we'll be set upon this night in particular?"
"It is best not to tempt fate," she said, hating how with such phrases she was probably constantly reinforcing his vision of her of a dullard. Though when did it matter what he thought of her? Disturbed, she unrolled her sleeping mat and settled into it, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. She watched him poking the fire, settling resignedly into the role of watch. She closed her eyes, but the flames still danced behind her lids for some time.
Jaime did not wake her, but was himself lightly sleeping when she woke on her own. She crawled on her stomach in his direction, meaning to shake him awake, but only got a couple of feet before his eyes opened. He gazed at her with what seemed like perfect clarity. "The night is quiet," he murmured, as though sensing she'd been about to reprimand him for dozing off. The night was indeed still; no flutter of leaves, no rustles in the bushes. The sky vast and cloudless overhead. The fire smoked a little, scenting the air. Brienne decided against criticism; her own eyes still felt heavy, and there was no pressing need to leap to wakefulness. She slid back to her mat and breathed in the pungent moss all around them. Her last drowsy thought was how much better this was than a stuffy keep.