Jaime washed the night from his eyes with palmfuls of stream water. The day was creamy bright. He still wished he was greeting it from a bed. He would get his room tonight or have a proper reason why out of his lady Tarth, he thought grimly. Though they might have few enough nights remaining, he was not going to let her have her way about all of them. She was so demanding as it was, making him hunt last night for that damned rabbit that had been more bone than anything—woods near the castles and towns were always over-hunted.

Still, his natural insouciance did not allow for him to be truly out of sorts and the water was reviving. He looked back at Brienne who was sitting upright in her bedroll, stifling a yawn as she ran hands surreptitiously along her arms. This gave him some satisfaction because he had no more than a mild ache in his back which was as likely to be the fault of sitting all night as it was to the combat. He saw her wince.

"Sore?"

She stilled her hands. "I'm fine." Defensiveness. Always defensiveness with her. Along with getting her to smile, he was going to have to see if he could get her to ask for help with something. That might be even more of a challenge. He'd never met anyone so determinedly independent. As much as he held distaste for the utterly helpless, the unhelpable were nearly as bad.

He stretched. Well, some stiffness in the forearms, perhaps. One's thirties were not quite as forgiving as the previous decade, and one couldn't expect them to be. Just another reason to enjoy the creature comforts that Brienne seemed to despise. He'd spent more years of nights in mud and sleet and filth than she ever would. His mouth twisted a little, wryly. For someone who'd clearly enjoyed the benefits of good training from her father's master-at-arms or whoever'd taught her, she really had no idea what long-term soldiering could be like.

And she didn't need to find out, either, which was why they were headed back to the Sapphire Isle. Jaime didn't know if she'd fall back in line or not, but at least for a start he'd gotten her away from that whoreson innkeeper who'd been working her like a dog for nonexistent recompense. Jaime reflected that taking the horse as payment had been the least Brienne deserved, and the man hadn't been about to argue when he'd found a knife pressed against his throat.

Of course Brienne would be upset if she found out he'd blatantly lied about paying for the animal, but she wasn't going to hear about it from him.

He smiled at the memory of her expression when he'd confirmed her sexual inexperience. Though in fact that was how she should remain until her marriage bed, he couldn't see why her father hadn't been able to drum up more appropriate suitors than someone so aging as the last one had apparently been. She wasn't attractive, but he'd seen uglier, and poorer, women with mates.

Well, that wasn't his problem, gods be good, so enough thinking about it, he told himself.

Brienne had disappeared into the underbrush, a furtive glance backwards as she did telling him well enough why she needed privacy, and he tended to the horses who were growing restive, having grazed their fill through the night. Brienne rejoined him after washing at the stream as he had.

"Do you wish to keep off the road today?" he asked with studied disinterest.

"If the terrain permits," she said, climbing into the saddle. "But we'll have to cross the river at least once."

"How do you feel about bridges?"

"Not having a boat," Brienne answered, steadfastly ignoring what he thought was quite delicate sarcasm, "we can take the bridge."

"I'm glad you feel that way. I thought you might require me to swim."

"Perhaps later if you need a bath," she said, and for a second he thought that might have been the moment that she was going to smile, but no. They guided their mounts off the ridge and down, angling towards the road in the distance. It was going to be another beautiful day, at least in terms of the weather.

They took their first break of the day near a roadside stall, prior to the first river crossing. It was no real town but just a few small cottages grouped together, a dilapidated stables with aging nags and a tiny outdoor market of sorts. Brienne had dismounted and produced a few small coins (too proud to ask him, so Jaime didn't offer) to put into the hand of a youngster who was selling something edible. It turned out to be some sort of meat pie and if the meat was dubious in origin, the spices added made it palatable and he washed his down with plenty of water. It was good to give one's stomach something unexpected every once in a while, anyway.

The bridge was busy, however, with half a dozen wagons racketing across the stones, farmers leading plowhorses, women bearing buckets and trying to contain skittering children. Riding roughshod through the mix was not an option, so Jaime led the way, walking his horse with Brienne behind. The river yawned out, widely though it was shallow, on either side of them. A woman nearly ran into him from the front, mumbling a quick apology when he had to react quickly to avoid knocking her over. In the temporary confusion he turned to see if Brienne was still there and saw, though it was fast, a youngster with his hand in the saddlebags of his mount. His gold was well-buried, but the spotted thievery in action offended him more than the idea of actually losing anything. He dropped the horse's rein, took two quick strides back, grabbing the squirming bundle of rags and knocking it to the ground with a cuff, then picking it back up fairly by the neck.

Brienne caught up with him. "My lord, what—"

The child, sullen but unresisting, dangled. This for some reason irritated Jaime further, and he shook it to make sure it was still alive. Then pulled out a blade to the creature's throat, ignoring Brienne's gasp. "I should take your hand."

"He has done no true harm!" Brienne intervened, grabbing his forearm, which was a breach of conduct twice over, since it was neither safe to touch his knife-bearing hand nor should she be challenging his decisions at all—if she were one of his men that wouldn't stand—

Brienne's eyes were fierce and deeply blue, he realized, this close.

"He was going to steal from me."

"Please," Brienne said intensely. He was aware they were inviting some curiosity from passersby, was that the reason for her intensity? Abruptly capitulating, he withdrew the blade, but still held the small thief, glaring down into the grubby face which seemed to him entirely unabashed by the whole situation. The very least the wretch could do was beg for forgiveness and allow him a chance at magnanimity. Which was not to say that he would necessarily indulge it.

"Let him go," his very vexing travel companion persisted. She rested a hand on the boy's other side, as if she had in mind to pull him away. But since she did not, Jaime relented and released his grip. The lad twisted away from Brienne's touch, she turned as if to go after him, but he disappeared behind wagon wheels and was gone.

Not having further words for the lady in this very public location, Jaime gathered his patient steed's reins again and stalked across the remainder of the bridge. He did not like to be thwarted, and she should have known better. Still, he had the self-discipline to wait until traffic had thinned out on the other side of the bridge, taking them down into a shorn field far enough from the road once more to afford some privacy. He turned to her. She'd fallen behind a little and approached with some hesitation, her eyes on him the whole time, as well she might. She stopped.

"I wouldn't let any of my men cross me like that," Jaime said, voicing what had been his earlier thought. "What makes you think you can?"

Brienne looked down for a moment and then said softly, "I am not one of your men."

"You're not my lady, either." He wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, beyond the obvious, of course, that she wasn't his intended and didn't deserve recognition in that respect. Though she was still a lady—gods, she was really neither here nor there, nothing about her was.

Her forehead creased. "You promised you would treat me as your equal." But still quietly. No defiance in her voice.

"And I have been." His anger was already dissipating, or perhaps merely blending with mixed, disconcerting, multiple feelings. "But you got in my way. You prevented me from administering due punishment."

Her head had been hanging, but now she straightened. "I will take unto myself any punishment you would have meted out to that poor child."

He gestured at her palm up, responding to an impulse. "Come here."

Brienne dropped her horse's lead, letting it stand, and stepped forward warily. The way she held her arms, he could see she wanted to put her own hand on her sword pommel, but she didn't. She stopped with several feet on the ground between them.

"Give me your hand."

Muscles in her throat rippled as she swallowed, eyes fixed on his. She put out her right arm, slowly, palm down at first before turning it up, vulnerable. He trailed his fingers across it, more by way of calculation than any implication of intimacy, then pulled her closer and drew his sword whispering from its scabbard.

"You aren't going to—"

He twisted her wrist closer, as if they were wrestling. Her sea-colored eyes were wide.

"I've done crazier things," he said grimly.

"I believe you," she breathed, and she wasn't struggling. Not at all. So he let go of her, to see what she'd do, and she fell with surprising grace to a knee, holding her arm out.

"If you would truly have taken that boy's hand," she said, looking up at him, "take mine from me instead."

Seven hells, what a stubborn ridiculous wench this one is. And yet—he felt the smallest twinge of approval.

He lifted the sword, inhaled sharply through his nose—Brienne flinched—and replaced it in its scabbard.

I wasn't going to do it. Wouldn't have done it to the kid, either.

She looked very the prospective knight, actually, kneeling in the manner she was, head bent in apparent submission.

"Don't touch me like that again," he said, but mildly.

"My lord?" Brienne looked up in confusion.

He rolled his eyes. "I mean do not get in my way."

"I cannot promise that I will not at least try to dissuade you from committing a deplorable action, ser Jaime."

"You know your purity is not compromised just by being in my presence, don't you?"

"But it is, if I continue to journey with you—if you are guilty of wrongdoing, so am I."

"No one would hold you to such an account." He gazed at the scudding clouds momentarily and clucked impatiently at the wandering horses. His came, but Brienne's ignored him, true to its owner's form. "We have ground to make up. Let's get to it."

He kept an arduous pace for the rest of the day, straight south on the Kingsroad since it was impossible to gain any time crossing fields and footpaths, and if she didn't approve he gave her no opportunity to argue. They didn't stop again for a long while, and only then to rest the horses briefly before going on. Brienne's expression showed nothing of any emotion, and if she wanted to give up on the entire endeavour, she could have left at any time. He had himself had more than a few moments of wanting to stop at the nearest drink-house and throw back enough ale (or whatever passed locally for some kind of intoxicant) to make anything else seem irrelevant.

Once or twice, she had been far enough behind so as to disappear from view for what had seemed like an extended period of time, and though he only slowed his pace minimally, Jaime found himself checking to make sure she was still there. He had to remind himself that her horse was considerably older and less conditioned than his; probably they would have to find a fresh one at some point. But for the remainder of the afternoon he maintained a fairly brisk tempo.

Brienne did give him what might have passed for a dirty look when they finally unseated themselves at a bustling hostelry by end of day. A stable-boy took their sweating mounts off to be settled, and Jaime apprised himself of their accommodation options by engaging a harried innkeeper's wife in a brief chat. Money was of no issue but space seemed at a premium, which was why Brienne looked at him woodenly but did not voice objections when they were shown one humbly-appointed room and apologized over, "my lord, my lady", with a curtsy and a promise of water to be sent up and good food to be found below.

"That's my bed," Jaime said into the silence, in order to prevent any confusion. Brienne dropped her bedroll pointedly closer to the door.

"Are you going to talk to me?"

"I have nothing in particular to say." Brienne rubbed a hand along the back of her neck, eyebrows contracting. "You were set on taking the road and on this room tonight."

"So would you say you're accepting that with good grace, or...?"

"I'm merely tired. And hungry."

"Let's go down then."

"I would rather wash first."

"I'd wager people stare at you clean or dirty."

"They do," Brienne said staunchly, "but I would rather be clean nevertheless."

"Please yourself." He left so that she could be alone for whatever she wanted to do, and found a space down in the main room where, as always, his back could be to the wall. The room had a buzz of patrons but it wasn't busy to the point of distraction. The air was ripe with cookery and other scents, and soon he had two tankards of drink in front of him, one of which he was thirsty enough to drain before Brienne joined him.

She moved self-consciously through the low-lit space, garnering the expected glances, even the odd rumble or two, a ill-mannered proposal, before finding him and sliding into the rustic bench opposite.

"The water worked," he said.

Her mouth twitched just a little. Still not a real smile. But progress.

"That's yours," he said, sliding the other tankard across the table. He expected demurral but she picked it up. "And the food is on its way."

"I'm ravenous," Brienne confessed, "but I would like to keep track of what you spend—"

"Mention it again and I'll double what you think you owe me," he said, affably, leaning back. The drink was stronger than it had smelled, which was not a bad thing. It softened his rough edges. Not that he really considered he had rough edges. Brienne was the prickly one. She needed considerable softening. He eyed her speculatively, approving each time she raised the tankard to her mouth.

Plates of meat and roasted vegetables were brought to them, and dinner commenced. They both ate mightily, the hard riding of the day and the incident at the bridge slipping away into more distant memory. A rakish song started up a few tables over and Brienne even managed to thump her mug along at appropriate moments in the chorus. He was pleased by even this modest effort to join the human race. "You should perpetually be plied with this," he told her, raising the drink high again.

"I will have the devil of a headache in the morning," she protested.

"The morning is far away. Drink, woman. Drink, if you're my equal."

Her eyes narrowed. Jaime caught the eye of a servant to indicate their need of more. When it came, he toasted her.

"Are we drinking to anything in particular?" Brienne inquired, ducking instinctively when someone tossed something a little too boisterously past their heads. "Against the chance we aren't going to be brawling in a moment?"

"No one's angry," Jaime declared, though he hadn't been watching too closely. They were warm, the surroundings pleasant—noisy to be sure—but an improvement on the previous night's accommodation as far as it concerned him. "To new acquaintances. Friends."

"Are you calling me friend?" Brienne's neck took on a distinctly doubtful angle.

"Why, are we not?" Even aware that it was happening, he was rendered comfortably expansive by the alcohol flowing through his body.

She made a tiny scoff. "You weren't being very friendly, back at the bridge."

Jamie set down his drink and sat forward, putting his elbows on the table in front of them. "I was never going to do it."

"You said you'd done worse."

"And I have. But," he shrugged, rubbing wrist across bristly jaw, "I'm not an idiot. Your father would have my head for your hand. At the very least he'd start a war trying. And I rather like my head where it is. No, I intend to bring you back to him completely in one piece."

Her lip curled minutely, as if there was something offensive in that last part. "I still don't know what you hope to gain from doing so."

"You don't have to know everything," he told her, confidentially. "Drink, Brienne. Or admit you can't keep up."

She complied with a grunt.

The hearth fire had died to coals, most of the patrons had headed for their beds and the maids were sweeping up and giving them weary glances. Brienne's head sang, a particular thrumming in her ears. She kept pressing fingers to her face to be certain it was still there. She laid each finger across her lips one by one as if she were silencing herself, but really she was just ensuring that everything still had feeling. Jaime looked up under lowering lids. His elbow was propping up his chin. He moved his hand through the air. "Ready to give in?" he said, with the distinctness that, at this point, could only be achieved by very few words uttered at once.

"I am not," Brienne said, equally distinct. Or so it seemed to her. "But we...but it is late."

"So we should..." He trailed away, gazing vaguely at a mid-point in the air.

"We should," she affirmed.

"Sleep." Agreeably, he let his head fall to his table, cushioning with a forearm.

"No, not here. Up."

"Mm."

"I will start," she determined, although she wasn't certain she could get her own self up without assistance. Why was every body part so terribly heavy? And sore. Especially her backside. She recalled how much they'd ridden that day (or yesterday, by now) and spent a few moments being motionlessly angry. Then she remembered they were supposed to get up.

"Come—come on, s-ser."

"Oh, very fine," he mumbled, but did not move.

For a long time Brienne leaned on the table after standing. She was really noticing how tall she was. The ground seemed miles away. But she would not fall. "Come," she said, pushing at his shoulder.

He rose with a sigh, very abruptly close. Not quite as tall. But his face was right there, in hers.

She blinked, confused by the proximity.

He angled his head a little and parted his lips as if to say something, but then did not.

Of one accord, they made their way, slowly, and with considerable occasional stumbles, side by side across the room to the stairwell.

"If I have to help you," Jaime warned, "I win."

"And I will also win," she said, sedately, forgetting what the rest of the argument was but as long as he understood that the same terms applied.

Jaime took the wall and she took the rail. He inched himself along, sliding stealthily against it. Brienne felt an uncontrollable desire to laugh as she focused on putting one foot to each step. The rail helped. She used it to pull herself up. Stairs had never been so long.

Finally they made it to their room, Brienne sighing with exhaustion as Jaime shut the door after them.

"Should bolt it," she muttered, "...safe."

He grunted acknowledgement and slid the mechanism across with more vigor than required.

Her head was still buzzing as if an insect were spinning around between her ears. Jaime took her hand and pulled her to the bed. She made a squeak of protest but he patted her head roughly, pushing it down and clarified, "Sleep." Then he sank to the floor. Brienne slid her face to the edge of the bed and peered over. He was just below, on his back. She wrestled around for the pillow and dropped it gently on his face. He swiped it off and cradled it.

The room spun, and spun, even lying completely still as she was. But the bed was so terribly soft, and he was on the floor, so...it seemed quite pointless to object, either with words which she didn't have, or bodily strength, which she didn't have much of either.

She closed her eyes and waiting for the spinning to stop.

She wasn't aware when Jaime joined her in the bed. Somehow she had slept, and then she thought she might have been touched or pushed. But his body was very warm and he was lightly breathing somewhere near her head.

Brienne's eyes opened. To some dismay, she saw that the room was still spinning, although not quite as dangerously. There was faint light from the window. She should crawl back to the sanctity of her bedroll. Or perhaps push him back on the floor. In the end she closed her eyes again and promised upon her next waking that the world would make sense once more.

And so it did—almost—except that her mouth and eyes were as dry as Dorne sands, and the pleasant buzzing in her skull had turned to a throbbing roar.

At least the room had stilled.

She turned her head carefully to the side.

Jaime's face in sleep was unguarded, the lines near his eyes softened. He was on his stomach, turned towards her, and so close she could have leaned and dropped a kiss on his forehead. There was a scar on his brow where the hair tumbled.

The air was chill, and if there was a blanket they were both lying on it, but his presence radiated warmth, and a small part of her that would barely be acknowledged wanted to stay right where she was. But that would not do.

Wincing, she eased herself away, sliding legs off first and then slipping to the ground and crawling, as quietly as possible, to her bedroll nearer the door. Jaime didn't stir, and she let out a breath, dizzy with pain and activity. The floor was cold and hard and a poor replacement for the warm bed. A little later Jaime sat up and looked around for her. "Brienne." His voice was scratchy and drowsy. "Come back."

She squeezed her eyes shut and pretended she hadn't heard. After a moment he fell still again with a resigned grunt, accepting her absence.

But she could not return to sleep. Her body demanded to be voided from all the drinks of the long night. Cursing her poor choices, Brienne struggled upright and slipped out the door, in search of an outhouse or even just some neighboring trees alongside the stables. The morning was still pale and quiet, only a stable-boy about to witness her flight. She came out, and the trough of water by the hitching posts, stagnant though it was, induced her to wash her hands. And, eventually, sluice her entire face and head in an attempt to allay its throbbing and bring her back to life.

Somewhat refreshed, at least, she returned upstairs to their room. Jaime had not stirred from the bed but she suspected he was awake now too. She knelt on the floor and tried to summon up some thoughts of meditation, some disciplinary mind rituals that would distract her from the physical discomfort.

It did not work.

"What are you doing?" He rolled over eventually and looked at her. "Are you praying? Gods, woman."

"No," she said, defensively although there was no reason why she should not pray if such was desired.

He passed a hand over his face, rubbing sleep from it. "You could do that lying down. Or do you claim not to have a headache like mine?"

"I knew I would have one," Brienne deflected, although today's was the worst of any. She thought longingly of willowbark tea. "Return to sleep if you wish."

"I've had enough. Mm." He grunted in the process of swinging legs off the bed. "Did we armwrestle last night?"

"No," Brienne said, although there was a strong possibility that they had, or that someone from another table had come over to theirs and challenged her, or him; the later hours were all very cloudy in her mind. "I do not engage in such displays of pointless strength."

"You merely want me to duel with you again." He stood up, looked pained, stretched.

"There is skill to that," she parried.

"I have to take a p—"

"Yes, please," she loudly interrupted whatever action he'd been about to describe. After he left, she gave up on the idea of meditating through the pain and packed her things instead, moving slowly because it was the only way she could. Then she went downstairs and arranged for some food provisions from the kitchenfolk, giving them the last of her scant coin to pay for it. No more riding through hunger; the day was going to be strenuous enough, and there was no guarantees that provisions would be easier to find as they worked their way through the countryside again for uninhabited stretches. The food wasn't glamorous (dry bread, oatcakes) but it would fill their stomachs and that was all that was needed.

By the time she returned, Jaime had as well. He watched her pack up the provisions. "I suppose you're ready to move along?"

"Nothing to be gained by staying longer," Brienne said, cinching her bedroll.

"Or we could actually get some sleep," he answered, yawning moderately.

"But the day has broken."

"Not really." He squinted through the dim light. "Besides, it's hardly a moral failing to sleep in the day. Not when we didn't go to bed as late as that was."

Brienne felt her face warming, remembering now some of the details from below. It was entirely possible she'd linked arms with someone and drank at least one goblet so connected. Better or worse if it had been a stranger?

"I must admit," he said, taking her sudden breaking of gaze as the embarrassment it was, "you kept up rather well last night."

She wasn't sure whether that was something to be proud of or not. Probably not. She busied herself with pretending something on her bag still wasn't fastened. Her head still ached, but surely some fresh air and sunlight would do as much as herbal remedies.

"I will not drink with you again," she said.

"Why, did I behave so badly?"

"No," Brienne admitted, although again, she wasn't completely certain that was true. "But I prefer to have all my wits about me."

"You were a good deal more fun, you know."

She straightened, feeling that there was something in that observation to resent. "Fortunately, being fun is not an achievement to which I aspire."

"As long as you know it's all right to enjoy life every now and then. Though I'm sure you wouldn't want to make it a habit."

She ignored this ribbing, and with that, he followed her out of the room.