Brienne sensed Jaime's mood shift as abruptly as it happened. It left her a little bemused, as she didn't believe she had said anything so very wrong, all she had done was question his antipathy towards doing things the "right" way. But he had abandoned her for the company of the horses and the goats, so clearly he wanted to be left alone. And she had never known how to be clingy; the idea was foreign to her. So she got up, slipped outside in the darkening evening for a quick visit to the privy, and came back into the barn to climb the ladder. Jaime remained below.

Brienne had laid out her damp clothing after changing, in the hopes that it would be dry by morning. Now, she assembled a pile of hay for herself, then laid her bedroll (also a bit damp, but still usable) over it. She made a pile for Jaime, too, a few feet away. In fact, she found herself taking extra care with his; tucking and placing the hay crosswise as if building a roof. Once it looked neat and was unmistakably a spot for him to sleep, she returned to her own and lay down. The light in the barn had fast faded and was now almost nonexistent. She heard him below, the sounds of the animals settling. He was coming up the ladder now. He shuffled around for a moment.

"It's—your bed is there," she said, sitting up.

He was a dim shape. "Did you put your sword under it?"

"No," she said, and smiled, and realized he had won the bet, if it had only been light enough for him to see her expression. "You are quite safe from my sword tonight."

"Hm," he said, settling in the hay. And then he was quiet, but she felt as if the mood was lighter again, and she was able to yawn silently, and relax into the particular fragrance of sweet hay and warm animals until sleep came.

In the morning, she woke first to the sound of the barn doors opening. Jaime had burrowed down into the hay like a groundhog or some such thing and all that was visible were his head and shoulder. He was snoring gently. She sat up and brushed bits of dry grasses from her hair. It was growing, curling around her ears and the back of her neck again; some time had passed since she'd last taken a dagger to it. Below, the goats were bleating, and she could hear the farmer's wife talking to them.

Brienne crawled to the edge and looked down.

Cocking her head up, the woman said, "I've no extra food to spare, but you're welcome to milk them if you've a mind to."

"Very kind," Brienne said. "Thank you."

The woman squinted. "You do know 'ow?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Right then. Leave you to it."

She left, and Jaime crawled over beside Brienne, on his stomach and elbows. "What'd she say?"

"We can milk the goat," Brienne said, straight-faced.

He made an uncertain rumble in his throat. "I have no goat-milking knowledge whatsoever."

"I myself have never done it."

He stared at her incredulously. "Why ever did you say you did?"

"I said I knew how," Brienne defended. "I do know how, I've never been required to—perform the action."

"Right," he said. "How hard could it be? Let's see you, then. Go fetch it."

"I will not fetch it. We are equals. You fetch it, and I will try."

"Oh very well." He rose, trailing hay everywhere, and clambered down the ladder. "Where are we going to put the milk? Ah, in the soup bucket."

She waved at the door. "Which must be rinsed; go and rinse it in the trough outside."

He gave her a dark look and then complied, almost tripping on his trouser legs as he went.

Upon returning with the clean bucket, Brienne now waiting at the bottom of the ladder, he planted it at her feet and then went to examine the goats. "Which one, do you suppose?"

"Well, I assume all of them will need to be milked sooner or later. I don't know. You choose."

"The white-faced one?"

"Why her?"

"I don't know," he said blankly. "She's pretty, I suppose."

"So being pretty means that she will give better milk? How very typical—"

"Peace, woman, I don't know! You decide."

"Oh, very well, bring that one then," she said, cross.

The animal bleated and refused to come nicely. Jaime was baffled. "What is wrong with it? I thought you said they were used to this."

"They do, but perhaps they are accustomed to remaining in the pen." Brienne crouched by the squirming beast. "There," she said, ineffectually, trying to pat it, staring at the udder which she was supposed to know how to manipulate. She looked up at Jaime and he widened his eyes in a clear don't-ask-me way.

The goat did seem to calm once she had her hands on the relevant parts, so perhaps it did know what to do after all. It settled and stood relatively patiently. Brienne tried squeezing.

"Nothing's happening," Jaime informed her, when the pail remained empty.

"Yes, thank you for your encouragement," she muttered. "Would you like to try?"

"Nooooo."

She thought about asking sarcastically, no wives, babies or goats then? but decided against it. She concentrated on the act once more while Jaime tried to hold the goat still. It kicked, and sent the bucket flying.

"Right," Jaime said. "No milk for breakfast," as the creature scampered away, happy to be free.

"We did try. Perhaps it is not used to a man's presence."

"Do goats care about such things?"

"I might, if I were a goat," Brienne said, as stately as could be managed.

They considered their failed efforts for a moment.

"We should probably see if our clothing is dry." Brienne rose. There was no sound of rain on the roof, luckily. Despite her attitude of not minding it yesterday, she didn't wish to march bedraggled in a downpour again today.

They separated to get dressed, after which Jaime managed to catch the goat and put it back in its pen, to much bleating on the animal's part. Brienne piled the borrowed clothes neatly and laid them on the bucket. Jaime got his horse ready, and they left the farm.

That last day of mainland travel was without event. The sky stayed cloudy but with no more rain to hamper their pace. By midday they had come to a tavern that fed them, and happened to have a horse the keeper was willing to part with (though it was in poorer condition than Brienne's previous mount, it only had to get them to Storm's End by nightfall). Dark was finally falling when they arrived at the gates of the coastal fortress.

Brienne had had the day to think about, and grow nervous in anticipation of, this interlude. Any of the major houses would provide food and lodging as a matter of respect to visiting to noble guests, no matter their current shabby condition, but she could have wished to appear a little more dignified than they were—Jaime several days unshaven, she in her tattered outfit. Jaime seemed not to share her concern and was completely insouciant, apparently relishing the prospect of real food and a genuinely comfortable bed, but she found herself almost without words by the end of the day. He was the one who liked to talk, in any case, and it was he who carried off the introductions and explanations and facilitated all that was required for them finally to be shown to their respective rooms for the night. If only that could have been the end of their social interactions, but they were expected to come down afterwards for a late dinner.

Brought to a massive guestroom that had been lit with a small fire and contained every comfort including warm water for a lengthy spongebath, Brienne was left to herself, at least temporarily. The serving girl had brought clothing with compliments of her lady host, for which Brienne thanked her but was skeptical. She was mollified to find they were quite something she might have chosen herself—a subdued navy tunic with long sleeves and no frills or embroidery, and a long skirt that, while technically a woman's piece, was inoffensive. Better yet, they fit well. She washed and combed hay out of her hair, smoothing it until it lay, if not exactly flat, at least somewhat restrained. Being clean, warm and dry again was wonderful, if only she could have some food brought to her and go at once to bed, but that was not to be.

The same girl returned and bade her come down, later, and it with some diffidence she entered the great dining hall.

Jaime stood up with the others and nodded for her to sit beside him where a space was waiting. Of course since they had come together, they would be assumed to want to sit together, but this was only an extra level of discomfort. He looked a prince, properly shaven, finely attired, every bit the suave hero of stories. He held out her chair, and she took it as quickly as decency allowed.

Next came enduring several rounds of inquiries as to her health and toasts to her person, aware that her being Jaime Lannister's traveling companion was a subject of polite curiosity. Fortunately, Jaime did not have to alter or embellish their story, which was that he was escorting her home to Tarth, a fairly straightforward truth that did not encourage further questions.

The food was sumptuous and Brienne tried to concentrate on it. Tender meat, rich sauces, bread light as air, foaming drinks (though she did not indulge in much of those). She kept her head low, while conversation floated around her.

Jaime elbowed her gracefully. She shot him a dirty look.

"Would it hurt to say something now and again?" he asked, without moving his lips.

"What is there to say?" she responded in between a murmur and a hiss.

He smiled at her, completely insincerely—his eyes didn't crinkle at all. "You look miserable."

"I am miserable," Brienne retorted truthfully.

"Well—" Jaime raised his mug to toast hers, and after a moment she lifted her own, "at least try not to look like my hostage, hmm?"

"I can't promise," she muttered into her drink, but then brought it down and smiled at him, just as insincerely.

He gazed at her for a moment, his eyebrows twitching upwards.

"That one," she said, "doesn't count."

Once dessert was served and eaten, Brienne figured it was the soonest she could escape without rudeness, even pleading exhaustion as a reason, and she elbowed Jaime back. He appeared to be having a grand time, engaged in gregarious conversation with whoever was on his other side—some equally vivacious noblewoman.

"What is it?" he inquired with a studied air of patience.

"I want to go. Escort me back to my room."

His eyebrows climbed again. "Really, now you want all the indulgences?"

"Not all of them," Brienne said, "and I daresay this is the first time I've asked you for one." She fidgeted.

"Very well," he said, abruptly. He made the necessary regrets and excuses to his neighbor, rose, put a proprietary hand at Brienne's back which was a step further than she had desired, but there was nothing for it now, she couldn't push him away. She swallowed her pride and discomfort and forced another smile as they made their way out of the hall. She turned on him in the hallway because his hand was still lingering at her back. "You don't need to go so far."

"Want me to leave you here?" He gestured down the length of the hallway. A servant, pretending not to be watching, skittered back into a doorway.

"No, as I said—" she chewed on the inside of her cheek and locked her jaw, "—you may bring me to my room."

"My lady." He started after her.

"Take your accursed hand off—"

He sighed and growled at the same time and held both hands aloft.

Brienne stalked through the winding hallways to her room, Jaime following just behind. She turned and paused at the door. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, ironically, eyeing her. "You know..."

"What?"

He shrugged.

"You were going to say something." She'd caught the gaze roving up and down. Defensively, she brought her arms in.

"I was. I was going to say it earlier, only you had the face of a—"

She raised eyebrows, daring him to use creativity.

"Cornered bear."

"Indeed." She turned back to the door, reaching for the handle.

"I was going to say," Jaime emphasized, leaning a shoulder to the wall with exquisite and practiced disinterest, "that you looked quite well."

This was flustering, since it didn't appear an obvious blandishment, yet he had thus far not been inclined to throw out random compliments. Not only that, but Brienne had no idea what the expected response to such a statement was. What did it even mean? That she was finally clean? That her clothes were becoming? That she was simply not as dreadful in appearance as before?

She hesitated, not knowing, not trusting that he wasn't just trying to ridicule, as she was so used to.

He sighed, and a small frown appeared on his forehead. "Good night, Brienne."

She murmured her own good night, unable to say anything else, and he turned and went back down the hallway, the illumination from the wall sconces highlighting his golden head.

With a vague feeling of dissatisfaction, Brienne let herself into the room, sat disconsolate in front of the fire until, unattended, it burned down to coals. Then she climbed into the massive bed to get some restless sleep.

Yet by the morning she felt considerably better, and rose with an improved mood. The girl had fetched fresh water, both for drinking and ablutions, and offered either the option of dining below or having food brought to her; Brienne immediately availed herself of the second opportunity. It was a luxury she'd not often indulged in even back at home, but she did not want to see anyone she didn't have to. She wondered if Jaime had gone down. Probably. He likely enjoyed the attention of being a guest. Well, she was more than accustomed to being alone and she would remain so until someone came to give further directions. In the interim, she attended to her regular clothing, spot cleaning and brushing it down until it was serviceable once more. Her boots, too, were improved by the removal of travel mud.

When Jaime did bang on the door—she knew it was him because it was in no way deferential—she was ready to go, sword belted and everything packed. He looked pleased when he saw she was waiting, though he said: "You didn't come down to eat."

"Did you expect me to?"

"I try not to expect anything from you," he said, dry. "If you're ready, let us take our leave. They sent someone ahead to the docks to procure transport. We can sail shortly."

Brienne stepped through the door after him and closed the door behind her.

On Jaime's previous visit to Tarth, some years back, the ship had been smaller and faster; this one, with horses and other cargo from other passengers, was estimated to take at the very least a day. Though he didn't love traveling by sea, he was philosophical this time because they could sleep through half the journey while the vessel continued through the night.

He and Brienne had side-by-side rooms. Thin partitions with bunks, really, as space on this particular boat was limited. The bunks were so close and narrow, and the walls so thin that they could almost talk through them. Brienne had coughed once and it was as if she were right beside him. There was limited and dubious food available, but they had been sent with provisions from the castle.

He was too restless to sit or lie long in his bunk, of course, and in the afternoon roamed the limited confines above deck. The day was cloudy with a brisk wind, necessitating the wrapping of his cloak about his shoulders. The crew and other travellers gave him a polite but wide berth, to which he was used. It was thus anywhere he went; some people knew who he was, some didn't know but suspected, and still others knew nothing but what they could see.

Eventually he went back down and tapped on Brienne's door with the back of his hand. After a moment she cracked the door open. Her face was paler than usual. Perhaps she was seasick, though that would be strange for an islander.

"I came to see if you wanted some air."

"No, I..." Brienne put a hand to the door to steady herself. The going was choppy. "I had rather remain below. I don't—"

"I wouldn't have thought the crossing bothered you. Weren't you born in a boat?"

"Not actually," she sighed, "that is only a local rumor."

"Well, since I've heard it, it can't have stayed local for long."

"Come in." She held the door open for him, but they both realized after he did that the room really was not large enough for two people. She backed into the bunk and Jaime leaned against the closed door because it was the only place for him to stand and not trip over her.

"I'm not sick," Brienne said, quickly, defensively.

"If you say so, though I've seen corpses with more color."

She looked down, twisting her hands in her lap.

"What is it then?" He crossed arms over his chest because they seemed to take up less space that way. The room only had a outer porthole the breadth of his hand, which didn't help to make it seem any less constricted.

"I don't want to go back."

"Too late to change your mind now," he said, striving for cheerfulness.

"I have not changed it—I still want what I was promised. It's only I don't wish to see my father again."

"Is he worse than other fathers, then?"

Her shoulder twitched into a shrug and fell.

"Worse than mine?"

A slight grimace—or was it the beginning of a smile, finally? "I do not know Lord Tywin at all."

"And that's as well. He would not like you."

"Not so unusual then," Brienne said, but in a way that did not seek pity and so he felt a bit of it in response anyway.

"No, he's very—" Jaime contemplated what his father was. A great lot of things, not easily summarized in one word. Actually, the truth was there were several qualities in Brienne his father would have appreciated, had he found them in a man. "Traditional."

"Like my father then too."

"Possibly."

"Someone else who thinks I should be minding babies and worrying about the state of my gowns."

Now she was sounding bitter and so he suggested, "If your baby-minding skills are as good as your goat-milking ones, I'd advise against that."

"If you had been able to hold the beast still a moment longer, I should have been successful!" Brienne protested, her voice going up high on the last word and then turning into a chuckle.

"There it is," he said, wagging a finger, actually a little delighted by how it improved her. "I said I would make you smile and I have made you laugh."

"You are vainer than a songbird, my lord," she said, but more amused than chastising. The convivial mood dissipated quickly, however; there was simply not enough room for it. He'd begun to slouch and he pushed himself upright against the door.

"In any case, if you want to come for dinner—" He tapped the wall separating their spaces, wryly—"I'm there."

"I believe I am still full from yesterday's indulgences, but thank you."

He opened the door behind him, and hesitated a moment.

Brienne gazed at him, her blue eyes questioning, looking for some reason like he had the answers, which he definitely did not, but for some reason he was compelled to say, "Maybe it won't be as bad as you think."

She nodded, infinitesimally.

Not believing him.

Well, he was used to that too.

The winds were favorable overnight, blowing the ship to Tarth's shores by midday, and they were unloaded by the docks and on their way again before the afternoon. The island had a quiet, unspoiled quality about it that was palpable as they traveled the far more modest road that would take them to Evenfall. The sun shone a dim circle behind clouds for most of the day, but refused to come out completely.

Brienne had spoken in little more than monosyllables since they'd left the ship, though he could see the cause was her natural reticence blended with a good deal of anxiety, rather than any vexation with him. Any attempts to draw her into conversation while they rode were ineffectual. He considered reminding her that if nothing else, she was finally soon to get her wished-for second match with him, but decided she was actually more concerned with whatever reception awaited them at the ancestral hall of her family.

Jaime noticed that Brienne was often recognized on the occasions they met passersby or came across cottages close to the road. The small-folk bowed heads deferentially or murmured words of greeting when they stopped to rest or water the horses. One child came out with harvest fruit, shyly offered. By late evening they had found a quiet tavern (with two rooms; it wasn't busy and no point in sending the locals into a tizzy) where they were brought dinner in a pleasant sitting room with a bright fire.

The girl curtsied, depositing plates at the table. "M'lady. M'lord." She stood back and added, to Brienne, "Heard you had gone to the mainland, m'lady."

"I did," Brienne said, politely but without inviting further commentary. She took her knife to saw at the meat.

"And he?" the girl persisted, flashing a glance at Jaime. None of her business of course, but perhaps they didn't see outsiders often here. He watched Brienne to see her response. She looked mildly discomfited. "Ah, a...a friend. Thank you."

The girl bobbed again and backed away. Jaime captured a tiny tomato and held it aloft on the point of his knife. "A friend," he repeated.

"How should I have called you?" Brienne claimed the piece of meat and began to chew it. "We are not enemies, after all."

"We might be, yet," he said.

She stopped chewing and swallowed. "I do not wish that," she said, eventually.

"Such things often happen without wishing." Jaime took a section of crusty bread and dipped it in his plate of gravy. "In my experience," he added belatedly.

"Though we will still fight," Brienne clarified, "I do not wish us to be truly at odds."

"You think you can control such outcomes?"

She frowned, tiny lines between her eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

He shrugged and looked into the distance at the fireplace. Then he said briskly, "The food's not terrible. Eat."

"I am. It was you who began the conversation."

"With you, one has to, Tarth."

She put down her knife and let out a slow sigh. "Is that my new nickname?"

He put down his fork in conscious mimicry. "Do you want it to be?"

"I've had worse," she said, matching his stare.

They did not break eye contact. It must have been that they were drawing stares from a few others in the room, however, because after a few more moments Brienne's eyes darted elsewhere, and she picked up her knife again.

He smiled as he ate, ignoring her low simmer.

Once their plates were clean she pushed back her chair and stood up. "I will see you in the morning."

"Stay and have a drink," he said, knowing what the answer would be.

"No thank you. I learned my lesson the last time. The headache was not worth it." She walked past him with a bit of a stalk in her stride. Jaime signaled to the girl to bring some ale. He wouldn't stay up long either, just enough to guarantee a quick falling asleep when his head hit the pillow.