By noon, upon stopping by a river's edge to water the horses and have some of Brienne's provisions to eat, neither of them had any desire to restart travel. The horses grazed, glad of the rest.
Jaime sat up against a tree. Brienne was sitting in the same position, a few feet away. The sun had in fact only caused her headache to sharpen. How could one's mouth remain so impossibly dry, even while they'd slaked their thirst at the water alongside the animals? She had no idea. And so it went unspoken that there was no immediate need to press on just yet.
She saw Jaime's eyelids were drifting shut in the hazy warmth. She wanted nothing more than to close her own, but they couldn't just nap out in the open; she murmured something to that effect. He murmured back that they were well away from the road, which was true, and she eventually surrendered to the need for more restorative sleep than had occurred the previous night.
Later that afternoon, on a not particularly difficult stretch of road, Brienne's mare stumbled, nearly unseating her. She urged the animal to continue, but it balked, and staggered again.
She dismounted, trying to calm it, with no success.
"Back leg," Jaime said, circling and gesturing. Brienne saw nothing of note and looked back at him for clarification. He joined her on the ground and approached, sparing a calm word and a pat to the creature before leaning over and running a hand along its limb. "Swollen," he said. "Maybe fractured it yesterday. You didn't notice this morning?"
"I did not notice much of anything this morning," she replied, chagrined. Lacking squires, it was their own job to keep an eye on their mounts; they could not assume the hostler would do more than the bare minimum.
Jamie straightened and now ran his hand along the neck of the animal, speaking some low words into its ear. Brienne was temporarily distracted by his gentleness. Then he looked back at her and said flatly, "Kill it."
"What? No!"
"Old," Jaime said succinctly, as if he was explaining a difficult concept to a small child, "in pain. Kill it."
"Couldn't we find a farrier or—"
"Do it, or I will."
"Just...wait then!" She glared at him, pushing past him to stand by the animal's side and gaze into its eyes, which now looked to show either pain as he'd said or fright, certainly not comfort. She did not consider herself particularly sentimental around animals, but this was so sudden. And she had no idea actually how to perform such an action, she supposed its throat must be cut, but that seemed like it might be terribly bloody and also not immediate? She winced, visualizing the possibilities.
"Brienne."
"I don't think I can," she said, at last, ashamed, waiting for him to make a disparaging sound or statement, but after a moment he only said, "Take my horse and walk up the road then."
She nodded and obeyed, moving slowly with the other docile animal away. Against her better judgment she looked back a few moments later, wincing even as she did so—but he was not cutting the animal down right there. Instead, he was leading it limping off into the field.
Jaime was not soon to catch up with her, though she was walking slowly in anticipation of his arrival, and he had not taken the road—from the dark splashes on his sleeves by the wrists, he'd found water and taken the time to wash. She saw him coming from an angle to meet her, behind and to the left. "You probably know this area better than I do," he said. "Chances of finding another horse between here and Storm's End?"
Brienne wasn't in fact especially familiar with the land, but she tried to recall what populations she'd encountered when she'd ridden north the previous month. "Possibly...tomorrow?" There was always a chance that a smaller farm would have an animal to unload, but investigating those possibilities would take even more time than simply walking.
He grunted, but not in a way that suggested he was deeply put out (which would have been unfair if he had, since the incident could hardly have been predicted.) Brienne did still feel guilty that she hadn't noticed anything amiss earlier, perhaps yesterday. But the thing was done now, and she hadn't had to do it. But now she was beholden to him for the cost of both this horse and the next. She did not like being in debt. It ran strongly counter to her principles.
Jaime took his horse's lead again and they walked on, he in front and on the left, she following behind on the right. She wondered once whether he'd done that purposely to shield her from any overtaking traffic—even a wagon was faster, now—or if it was just coincidence. Most probably the latter. At least thus far Jaime had not shown himself to be the type to perform courtly gestures. If that urge still lived within him, it was more subtle. And could be set aside with dizzying speed, as she'd already had cause to witness.
They traveled until it was quite dark, not having encountered any lodgings other than private ones along the route now, and Jaime seemed to be resigned to the fact that they were going to have to catch some rest in a hedgerow. Tonight would be colder than two nights ago; as soon as the sun had fallen, there was a distinct pinch to the air. Blankets would be a necessity, not an option. And there was no talk of sitting up with a fire. Jaime gestured to a sheltered spot of trees and shrubs and, barely able to see much of their surroundings, they prepared to hunker down. The horse was tied loosely and left to nicker restively at the darkness.
Brienne tried to find, mostly by feel, a flat section of ground to place her bedroll, but it was rooted and rough. Jaime had lain down and now swore. He'd probably just found a stone. In the slip of moonlight Brienne spotted his shape—a good dozen feet away—and felt a nudge of pity. "It's more level here," she said, sweeping her boot along the ground next to her. He shuffled over, swore again, and fell down beside her mat. Brienne wriggled her shoulders into the ground and inhaled the chill air, while Jaime muttered, very close, "Level, you say—there is a damned root the size of my arm."
"You do complain so." She felt underneath the padding near her thigh, working a lump away. "Not every night can be in a featherbed."
"There had better be one waiting for me at your lord father's."
"I am sure he will provide everything that is due a son of a great house such as yours," she replied.
He scoffed. "I'd like to see your face when you say that."
"I was not jesting," Brienne defended, although of course she had been intending a little irony. House Lannister was a great house, doubtless, but not a beloved one.
He was still moving around. His shoulder touched hers. She wasn't sure whether to move away, either pointedly, or subtly.
"It's cold," he said.
"It is," she agreed peaceably.
Their breaths rose, mingled, barely visible in the thin light.
"Thank you," she said, belatedly. "For dispatching..."
"Rather hear a man admit he can't do something than say he can and do it wrong."
Brienne considered that in silence.
"A man or a woman," Jaime clarified, after a moment.
She pulled the edge of her bedding up to her chin. It was cold; the ground's chill already penetrating the bottom layers of the quilting beneath. "Good night," she said, after another few moments of silence.
"Sleep well," he said, slightly ironically.
As it happened she did fall asleep first, her breathing becoming even and still. Jaime couldn't, because there were multiple things on the ground sticking into various parts of his flesh. Irritated, he dug around between himself and Brienne to find the stick or root or whatever it was—no. It was her unbuckled sword. She'd literally placed her sword between the two of them. This would have struck him as amusing had the pommel not been digging into his shoulder for the better part of an hour. Seven hells. He reached over her to drop the weapon on her other side—she didn't stir—and settled back down, feeling free to narrow the gap between their bodies completely. She was sleeping anyway, and he wanted to be warm. It was not prurient, he'd have done the same with one of his men—had done, in many more miserable circumstances. And they were both tired enough from last night's revelry and most of the day's walking to get something of a decent sleep anyway, he hoped.
Brienne had pillowed her bag under her head and he angled his neck towards it to take some advantage of the softer support. Yes, this was better. True, his face was almost in her ear, and neither of them smelled especially fresh at this juncture, but she had the clear advantage to a male bedfellow of not being bristly.
He let his eyes close and allowed sleep to lead him towards dreams of crackling fires and promised featherbeds.
Calling it morning would be something of a reach; there wasn't enough light when he stirred again, though the ache in his bones meant they'd been still for long enough for the night to have passed. At some point he'd flung an arm across Brienne and she was now snoring lightly on her side with her back against his chest. They were warm, more or less. He debated removing his arm. It was doing well enough where it was. He shifted just a little. She came awake rather violently and dug her arm backwards between them, causing him to grunt as she connected somewhere with his stomach. "Where is my sword," she hissed.
"Other side," he mumbled, crossly. That was all the sleep they were going to get, apparently. She floundered for a moment, found it, and glared at him over her shoulder.
"You said that was a root," he accused.
"No, you said so. I did not correct you. And how could you be so—bold as to..." she gestured, face newly aflame, at the lack of space between them.
"Come, I would have passed a cold night so with any of my men—"
"As I seem to keep reminding you, I am not one of them." Defensive, she was sitting upright, running hands self-consciously through tangled short hair. He remained quiet on the ground, giving her time to regroup.
Eventually she looked back at him and said, in a somewhat more moderate voice, "I mean not to accuse you of any mischief, other than the relocation of my sword. Should we breakfast?"
At least she wasn't dwelling on it.
They had oatcakes together with the previous day's water, peaceably enough. Jaime suspected based on the color of the sky that the weather wasn't going to be as cooperative today as it had been for the past few; he hoped he was wrong. He despised the rain. Riding through it was unpleasant enough; trudging through it was hardly to be borne at all, much less with good will. Such days were ideally to be spent by a fireside with plenty of libations on hand.
But, he had chosen this journey and he would see it through. Not that there was an alternative. Leaving her at this point would still mean mile upon mile of riding either way. And with only himself for company at that.
They packed up and took to the road again. Most of the early morning was quiet, absent of other travellers, while the light was poor. They did come close to overtaking a farmer atop a plowhorse pulling a wagonload of vegetables. Jaime caught up and stayed apace of him. "Would you mind letting my lady ride a while in the back with your turnips? She's in need of a rest."
He heard a sputtering sound of Brienne striding to catch up, but he ignored her.
The farmer, an elderly fellow with a heavy beard, looked Jaime up and down, taking in his fine quality though muddied clothing. Then he looked back at Brienne. "'Em isn't turnips," he corrected soberly. "'Em is cabbages."
"And fine cabbages they are indeed. They'll bring a good price at market." He circled back to Brienne. "A ride for you. Rest yourself."
"I'm quite all right," she said, glaring up at them.
"Get in the wagon," he replied, without moving his lips except to form the "w".
She clambered awkwardly in back. Funny how one who'd moved so gracefully in the sword dance could struggle elsewhere with the simplest movements. The farmer slapped the reins for the horse to continue. Truthfully, this was not considerably faster but it did give Brienne an opportunity to rest, and to glower at him whenever he chanced to glance back at her, so he considered it was worth it. Moreover, the farmer did not appear interested in small talk, but tucked his chin low and concentrated on the road ahead, even while Jaime rode alongside. This suited him fine as well, although he could have any number of discussions with any small-folk who were so inclined.
They traveled with the farmer for the better part of an hour until he headed off a smaller road that meandered east to his market, and Brienne jumped off the wagon with a black look for Jaime but polite thanks for the ride.
"You could have given him something," she said, as the wagon rattled away.
Jaime said nothing for a moment, because he had, as they stopped, slipped a gold coin into a bundle of the man's belongings on the seat, without being seen by either of them. He had no real concept of what the load of turnips—cabbages—might sell for at the market but he was fairly confident he had paid for them many times over.
But he said, urbanely,"Why? We didn't take him out of his way."
"Still," Brienne said, "we slowed him down."
"Technically, you slowed him down. All right, all right. Next time we take a lift, you can take my horse and I'll sit among the vegetables."
"I shall hold you to that."
Thunder rumbled above, and to the south, clouds were gathering.
Fuck, he thought, succinctly if not elegantly. They were about to be rained on.
Rain was perhaps not a strong enough word for the deluge that soon followed. With any luck, it would only be a brief downpour, but he had no intent of staying on the road through it. Sharply he directed his horse to the nearest shelter, a massive tree at the other side of a field. The trunk was broad as two bodies and though most of its foliage had fallen, its tangled limbs prevented most of the rain from coming through.
His horse nickered, not liking the rolls of thunder. Brienne caught up, panting at the sudden exertion. She leaned palms on knees and blinked at him under damp sandy lashes. "Is this truly any better than continuing?"
Jaime planted his back against the trunk of the tree and slid down against it to the bottom. "I will not ride in a storm."
"But we are already sodden."
He wasn't, quite; his cloak had absorbed most of it, but she did not wear one. He ought to furnish her with one—a fine thing that kept out the rain. She could not object to a practical gift, though he sensed she would object to the idea of a gift in general, perhaps especially from him.
"If you want to go ahead, I'll catch up with you." He realized as he said this that he did not want her to take up that suggestion. Certainly she had shown she did not need his protection, knowing quite well how to handle her sword—but who knew what lay ahead down the road, and he did not want to sit in solitude in the rain, either. But having said it, he was not going to take it back. That way lay weakness.
Brienne considered, glancing at the sky. Then she rose from her crouch, her jaw taking on a determined set. The gods had made this one stubborn. Or perhaps her life had made her become so. He watched her leave, following her progress until the road twisted away over a hill and her figure disappeared.
He drew up his knees, rested his arms on them and stared out into the downpour. On the other side of the tree, the horse made a grunting snuffle.
"Mm," he agreed aloud. It was an accurate assessment of the current situation.
The rain did slacken, eventually, turning into more of a mizzle, the clouds losing their angry tones and flattening out, but it was hard to know how much time had passed. Jaime rose and stretched, brushing at the back of his neck where water had trickled down the tree bark and seeped its way through. He got back on his horse and set off at a slow pace back towards the road.
Brienne was not to be seen, even after a moderate amount of time had passed, and he urged the horse into a canter, even while telling himself that there was no immediate urgency. The woman had long legs, she could stride fast. And she'd probably had it in mind to make up some ground, which was stupid, because wherever they were going, they'd still be wet when they got there.
When he did, finally, spot her in the distance, she wasn't alone. He could see her blond head, taller than two others close by, in sort of a semi-circle. From here they seemed only to be talking but his instincts kicked in anyway. By the time he had ridden up—with no small speed—they had scattered.
Brienne gazed at him, apparently calm. "They were leaving anyway."
The two were on foot and Jaime could be on them in moments. He shifted reins to left hand and withdrew his sword, making his horse leap a little, which produced a nice effect as the hurrying men glanced behind. "Do they want punishment?" he demanded.
"No," Brienne sighed. "I had them quite under control, you really need not—"
Jaime wheeled the horse anyway and went for a brief run after the men who dove for the hedgerows, before returning via sedate canter to Brienne's side.
Brienne tilted her head to one side.
"What did they want?" He re-sheathed the weapon.
"You might have asked that before you terrified them," she pointed out. "They did not mean well, but I was handling it when you came upon us. Many look for an easy target, which I am not."
"You were on foot. What if they'd been on horses? What if there were more than two?"
"But that was not so. Moreover—" (did she roll her eyes? wench ) —"you arrived in a timely manner."
"On the barest of impulses," he said, brushing at an imagined spot on his chest.
"You admit to your impulsiveness!" she said, with the air of catching him out.
"If you admit to your stubbornness. Which is considerably worse." He swung down off the horse, intending to prove his point. "Get on."
Brienne opened her mouth to argue. He raised eyebrows meaningfully.
"I really do not think—" she began.
"We need to work on you doing what I tell you the first time I tell you."
She glared at that, but took his place atop the steed. The rain had slackened to a paltry drizzle, far more conducive to travel.
Storm's End, the port on the coast from which boats to Tarth could be found most readily, was still another night away, as they learned when Jaime asked another traveller later in the day. So by that evening they found a farm where the mistress, though initially wary, was willing to let them sleep in the barn for a bit of coin produced in advance. Their horse was sheltered in the same location with the pair of farm plowhorses. The woman seemed suspicious of Brienne, but was at least a little more agreeable to what Jaime considered his winning manner. She was even persuaded to bring them some hot food from her kitchens once they had settled in.
There was a hayloft, and a ladder. Some goats bleated in the penned corner. Jaime brought some hay to his horse and looked at Brienne, who was gazing around dubiously. The barn wasn't warm, but it would keep out the wind, which in their wet clothing, would have proved an imperilment. He was hanging his cloak over a rail to dry and plucking at damp sleeves when the woman returned, bearing a bucket of food and an armful of fabrics.
"Thought you could use some dry clothes before you rot my 'ay," she said, sniffing. "Course I didn't have anything fitting in 'er size, but you're both of a 'eight so these ought to do well enough." She placed them on the ground. "My 'usband's. May the gods bless 'is soul."
Brienne murmured a thank you, even though the woman had scarcely given her a glance.
"Very kind," Jaime said, wondering how much he wanted to wear a dead man's clothes and deciding he did, at least for the night. Brienne might have less luck. The woman left them, closing the gates firmly as she did, and they investigated her gifts.
The pail contained a generous amount of mostly vegetable watery stew; at least it was still hot from the fire. The woman's husband appeared to have been a big man, Jaime considered, holding aloft the brown shirt whose sleeves would surely come past his fingertips. He tossed it at Brienne and took the second, much the same, for himself. The pants would also be capacious—but as they were retiring to sleep, not a quick-stepping swordfight, it wouldn't matter.
Brienne hesitated, holding the clothes in a bundle to her chest.
Ah, he'd thought they'd spent enough time together by now that she wasn't going to get womanish, but apparently not. At least she wasn't crying and didn't look to be in any danger of doing so. Just a bit wary.
"Go up," he gestured at the hayloft where she would be able to retreat out of view. "Say when you're done. Then we can eat this...delicious-looking...food."
"Don't be a snob, Lannister."
He smiled, liking the way she said that, with just a little scorn, not enough to actually offend him. As she moved past him to ascend the ladder, he unbuttoned his own top and pulled it off, then put on the other. Dead man's though the article might have been, it smelled pleasantly and innocuously of sun-dried linen. Brienne glanced over her shoulder almost in time to see him taking off his pants and then she quickly scuttled out of view. Cheerfully—it was such an improvement to be dry and within four walls—Jaime dressed fully, tying the waistband of the trousers in such a way to keep them from falling off, and tossed his own clothes over a rail.
"Come eat," he said, since Brienne hadn't yet reappeared.
"In a moment," she answered, sounding flustered.
He maintained a straight face when she did come into view. Because she looked no more ridiculous than he probably did himself but the fierceness of her expression made it that much more comic.
"I will stay up here," Brienne warned, reading his thoughts anyway.
Making a courtly gesture with his arm, the grandeur of which was somewhat diminished by the overly long sleeve hanging off it, he said, "Nonsense. Your dinner awaits."
With hesitation, she backed down the ladder, holding an arm awkwardly against her stomach.
"What are you—ah. Come here." He'd perceived the problem.
She approached, wary as a kicked horse, and he reached out and pulled her in, repeating lower, "Come here," not unkindly when she resisted. Once in front of him he pushed her protective arms away. "Look. You have to tie it." He gathered the fabric at her waist while she leaned back a little, taken aback by his familiarity. "Like this." He knotted it comfortably and then gazed at her, face to face, suddenly remembering the moment in the inn just like this, except they'd both been so far from sober that standing so close hadn't seemed remarkable.
Now it was—well, it was sober. Best not to read too much more than that. At least she didn't seem afraid of him. Confused, perhaps. Questioning.
Well, he had questions too, but some questions were better not posed.
Brienne looked down and he realized his hands were still lingering on the knot at her waist; hmm yes, time to move them. Inhaling, he turned away from her—plank of a woman—she did not attract him. They were best to eat. He was hungry. Cold and rained-upon oatcakes had been both breakfast and lunch.
Taking spots on the barn floor, which was dry if not especially clean, they looked at the pot. Brienne observed, "There are no utensils."
"Now who's the snob?" he said. "You go first."
Cautiously, she brought the container to her lips and swallowed. She set it down, and chewed thoughtfully on a bit of vegetable.
"Is it good?"
"It's warm," Brienne allowed. "I'm sure she would have put meat in it, if she had any."
"A generous thought, considering the way she looked at you."
"Women look at me like that." She passed him the bucket, and while he drank, added, "They fear me, I suppose. They think I don't want those—those things that they want." She dropped her gaze, twisting her pale hands together, causing them to disappear in the voluminous fabric like a turtle in its shell.
"What things?" Jaime frowned unintentionally as he found something stringy in his mouth too and chewed it with caution. Some sort of garden weed perhaps.
"What you would expect. Marriage, motherhood." She was mumbling now.
"Is that not fair? I thought you didn't want those things."
"I never said thus. I said only I didn't wish to marry such as—asked."
He gave her back the soup and she drank, then waved to indicate being finished.
"So you do want to be married."
"I don't know," Brienne said, slowly. Then she took a breath and said, "Not if it meant changing."
"It would definitely mean some changing. For one, you wouldn't get away with not wearing a dress."
"Ladies don't," she conceded, her lip wry.
"Would it be a reason to forgo marriage?"
"I suppose that would depend on the man."
He considered what kind of man could be Brienne's husband.
Nobody he knew.
"What about you?" she asked.
"Hm?" He drank the last of the soup, tasteless though it was, and set down the pail.
"Do you want those things?"
"I have no particular desire to be married," he said, and heard his voice turning brusque.
"Or have a child," she prodded.
"Since it's not considered proper to do one without the other."
"Why do you mock the idea of being proper?"
"Because I am the antithesis of proper," he said, "as you well know. I killed my king."
Brienne was quiet for what seemed like a long time, and when he got up, restless, she said, softly, "I don't think of you in that way as much now."
"Nevertheless, it is what I am." Don't fool yourself, he wanted to tell her. I'm nothing to which you should aspire. Find someone else to place on a pedestal if it's a role model you're after. And suddenly he wanted to say all that—and more, tell her the whole damned story—and be mean about it too. Repressing the urge, he pretended to check on the horse, who was happy with the hay and needed no attention. The goats called for it, so he tossed them some hay too. Foolish, bleating, stubborn creatures.