Chapter Text
After getting what little sleep they could, they set out from the camp at dawn. They had been traveling for a few hours when Jaime started to wonder if Brienne’s silence was something other than companionable. She had never been the most talkative of comrades, but as he watched her, he noticed a new tension in her shoulders. She did not have the youthful, if unattractive, look that he remembered.
“Are you sure you are alright, my lady?” he could not help but ask again.
She nodded stiffly and pushed ahead of him, leaving him to examine her back.
Jaime sighed heavily. He seemed doomed for another journey filled with Brienne’s sullen silences. Perhaps the wench was angry with him for something that he'd forgotten. They had fought when last they spoke, but had left it on good terms. And if anything, he had been the wounded party of that discussion. He seemed to be the wounded party of many discussions lately.
He watched Brienne ride ahead of him. He had given her a quest that every hedge knight in Westeros would sell their mother to complete, and Brienne had done it, keeping her word to Lady Catlyn and restoring what she could of his honor. While he had lost his place among the knightly songs, she was fast becoming the stuff of legend. Not that anyone would write songs about a heroic, ugly wench. In lyrics, she would be a maiden, beautiful as Cersei. But not half so conniving, he thought bitterly.
“My lady, perhaps we should take time to consider a plan,” he suggested.
She urged her horse to a quicker pace. “No. We must hurry. It may already be too late.”
“Luckily, I still have the ability to talk and ride at the same time." He shifted in his saddle. "Where is he holding her? Could we ambush them?”
“There…there are caves.”
He nodded. “Frontal assault then. My favorite kind." No doubt she did not approve of the sentiment. She didn't approve of so many things that Jaime doubted even she could keep track of the list. "Who would have thought that Sansa Stark would end up in the hands of the Hound?” he ventured.
Brienne didn’t respond.
“Was it he that bit you? I would not have thought it of him.”
“Biter,” she corrected.
“How fitting. I hope you paid him for his kindness.”
“Yes.”
Her tone was worrying. “Good. That saves me the trouble of killing him later.” He considered telling her about Red Ronnet just to get a response, but he decided against it. No doubt, she would not appreciate the gesture. He let the silence lengthen until it irritated him. “Have you heard news of Kings Landing in your travels?”
She nodded. The way she hunched over her horse made her look like an absurdly large beetle.
“Then you know my lord father is dead. That should please you wench, for he was not a kindly man. You might have heard that the Imp escaped as well? To hear of one is to hear of the other.”
He might as well have been talking to a stonewall.
“Do you wish to know the brunt of that jape? It's a good one, though I doubt you'll laugh." Even insults brought him nothing. He knew he should stop speaking, but a strange urge drove him forward. "I was the one who set him free." The images of that night flashed through his mind. "I could not watch him die, even after the gods had spoken against him, so they took my father instead. I doubt the infamous Lord Tywin would have considered it a fair trade, though he did seem to find the humor of it in the end."
Silence.
“You’re the only person I’ve told. Well, the second in truth, if you count my brother as a whole man. Perhaps the first and a half?”
“I’m sorry, ser.”
Jaime ground his teeth. The woman could not have given terser answers if her maidenhead depended on it. He gave up on conversation for a while and wallowed in his misery instead. The Lannisters, he lamented, the name is laughable now. His father had left his precious legacy in the hands of a cripple, an imp, and a whore. Thinking of Tywin’s ghastly smile, Jaime shuddered.
They rode in silence until Jamie’s thoughts were like to drive him mad. He used to think of his family or of the task at hand in his travels. But now his family was no comfort, and Brienne was still less than forthcoming.
“What does the Hound want with me? I assume I was his demand or you would dispatch of him yourself.”
He took pleasure in the start Brienne gave at the sound. “I do not know,” she said after a moment. Jaime felt that there was something wrong in her voice.
“How did you come upon him?” He pushed his horse forward, tired of having a conversation with her hulking back.
The wench eyed her saddle carefully. “I…I was…There was a rumor.” She looked so much worse than he remembered. Half her face was covered in a bandage, and her strength was gone. One of her arms was in a sling.
“Maybe we should rest, my lady. An old man such as myself needs many breaks. Especially a crippled one.” He spied an area out of way, and turned Honor toward it.
Brienne followed him hesitantly. “We should ride on.”
“But I insist.” He reigned in his horse and slid off the animal's back with a thud. She looked uncertainly at the road so he walked over to her horse and grabbed her reigns. “Brienne, take a rest and let me look at this wound of yours. You look rather worse than usual, my lady, and I would hate for you to fall from your horse. The Hound is a single-minded man. He will not kill Lady Sansa for an hours rest.” He looked upon her face, but she turned away to dismount.
Brienne came down to join Jaime on the ground, still looking away. She had never been comfortable with attention before, but the bite seemed to have taken away all her tolerance of it. He stared at her eyes as she stared at the dirt. Jaime remembered her eyes as glistening sapphires that were impressive to behold, in truth. Now, they too seemed dull.
“I should…” she squirmed, but there was nothing to do. He realized that she had not looked at him even once during their journey. Whatever happened to her was his doing. He should have sent her straight home to her father.
“Brienne,” he said as she turned away. Before she could escape, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. There were tears forming in her eyes. “What has happened?” he asked.
She had been a slow child, her septa had always said. And Brienne believed her. Every time her tongue stumbled or she could not think of anything to say, it only confirmed what she already knew. She had had a day to come up with a story that would satisfy Jaime, and had been unable or unwilling to think of one.
Almost immediately, he had sensed that something was wrong, choosing not to tease her about being ugly or stupid. He hadn't even called her wench, which she had never thought to miss. His concern was so overwhelming, and so unearned, that she found herself unable to look at him.
She was not worthy of her sword or his shield. When she thought back to the amount of times she had called him an oathbreaker, she was not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. How often had she judged Jaime Lannister in their time together? As a child on Tarth? He had been kind to her in his way. Other men pretended to be kind and whispered insults behind her back. I am betraying him.
She owed Jaime her life, which was more than she owed the others, but still she could not let them die. Not from a situation of her making. Not even Hyle. Brienne knew there was a solution if her slow wits had enough time to find it, but all she could picture was Pod hanging from a tree.
If Jaime found her out would he kill her on the spot? She would not blame him if he did. He had trusted a stupid, ugly wench, and this was what he got in return. He might have helped her if she’d asked, but she couldn’t take that chance. She was responsible for them. Neither would be in peril if she had not come blundering into their lives, playing at being a knight.
“What happened?” Jaime had asked knowingly. When he forced her to look at him, her situation had become suddenly real. This majestic man was going to his death. Her eyes grew wet. Recalling Biter and Shagwell, she opened her mouth to speak and let out a horrendous noise that made her cheeks flame. I failed, she wanted to say, I have failed you and Lady Catlyn, just like I failed King Renly.
Jaime took his hand from her chin and was uncharacteristically silent while she collected herself. As she covered her face, he placed his remaining hand on her shoulder. A comfort that she didn't deserve. “It's not your fault, Brienne.” Upon removing his hand, he returned to his cavalier manner. “I never thought I would see you do anything so womanly as weep.”
But she had seen many men cry. Her father had cried when her mother died, and Jaime had cried when he lost his hand. It seemed a natural thing but for when a woman did it. She remembered fantasizing about weeping on Jaime’s shoulder. “I apologize, ser. It will not happen again.”
“You must tell me what happened in your travels to cause such a thing.” There was an edge in his voice that could have been concern or suspicion. “You…” it was so unlike Jaime to hesitate that Brienne made the mistake of looking at him again. He was in better shape than she had ever seen him. He was thin, but no longer haggard, and his golden hair was growing back. “You are still a maiden, I hope?”
She almost smiled. At her nod, the tension fled from him, and his smile was so genuine that it seemed out of place on the face of Jaime Lannister. “Then let me have a look at your cheek, wench. Sometime before nightfall would be best. A small rest will not hurt us, but the hound is not a patient man.” Suddenly, she could not look away from him. She felt that if he left her sight he would die on the spot. His green eyes, and windblown hair. The graceful manner in which he moved, betraying the expert swordsman that he had been. The missing hand that might still be attached had she trusted him with a blade long ago. If she had trusted him…It had been unthinkable at the time to trust the Kingslayer. Yet, she had not thought of him as such in some time and was choosing not to trust him once again.
In the time it took her to process her decision, he had moved closer. Brienne tried desperately to call Pod to her mind, but it was not enough to stop her. “I…I have something to confess,” she muttered, swatting his hand away from her bandage. He raised his brow. “You will mislike it.”
“Then perhaps it should wait until we rescue the girl for I have had my fill of confessions recently.”
“Jaime, I…”
“Brienne,” he said forcefully. “I don't give a damn what you have to confess. Mayhap you killed an innocent or said disloyal words, but I don't care to hear about it.”
She braced herself. “I did not find Sansa Stark.”
Jaime clenched his jaw and stepped away from her. His gaze was so hard she flinched from it.
“I…I was searching for her, and my companions and I stopped at an inn. There were children there as well as Biter and Rorge. I killed Rorge, but Biter was too much. He...a young smith saved me, but we were taken by Lady Stoneheart. She has my companions held hostage and would have hung the three of us. She asked me to kill you to save ourselves.”
“And you agreed?” he demanded.
“No!" she protested. "But I could not watch the boy die so I…yes.”
He tensed at the word. “Then do it, wench! Kill me so I do not have to endure the sight of you any longer. It would be a mercy.”
“I can't, ser. I thought…” What had she thought? She hadn’t thought.
“That you would lead me to my death? I never took you for a craven.”
“Jaime...” she halted at the look of disgust on his face.
“Oh, Jaime now, is it? I was Kingslayer when I gave you that sword, that's who I'll be when you kill me with it.”
“I will save them myself, ser. Ride back to your men!” He cut himself short at her words. The depth of his fury still evident in his eyes; it frightened her. “Jaime!” His name was a plea.
“Kingslayer. How many times must I remind you, wench?” He ran his hand up through his hair in frustration. “If only Lady Stark had killed me in my cell, how much happier everyone would be. My brother could have had his whore, and Cersei could have mourned a golden knight and lover, instead of a crippled fool,” he was speaking more to himself than her.
“You are not a fool, ser. I could not betray you.”
“You intended for me to die,” he countered.
Had she? “No! I was stalling. I…I wanted to think of a strategy.”
“Of how best to kill me? A sword to the back. That would be safest. I might stand a chance face to face.”
“I am telling you now. No harm has been done,” Brienne claimed, trying to reason with him.
“Yet,” he added, eyeing her coldly.
“I'll face the consequences alone. You need have no part in the rest of this.” Her words seemed to have some affect this time.
He glared while he thought. “Why would this Lady Stoneheart want me dead anyway? I haven’t been hunting her. She should have asked you for that bastard Tarly. ”
“Jaime, she’s…” He flinched when she called his name. “It’s Catlyn Stark, but she is not the lady that I served. She’s dead.”
He had heard tell of undead leaders in the Riverlands, but had dismissed them as wild tales from fearful smallfolk. “She seems rather bloodthirsty for someone who should be feeding the crows herself.”
“It’s true. She is rotting. Her soul as well. I told her that the others were innocent, but she would not heed me. If I had hung alone I would have died, Jaime, I swear it by the old gods and the new.”
“There you go swearing again." His lips curled cruelly. "Have I taught you nothing?”
To that, she had no reply. She expected him to draw his sword or get back onto his horse and leave her to her fate. Instead, he stared at the dirt and sat on a nearby log. Brienne watched him as she waited, her heart in her throat.
After a moment, Jaime stood, awkwardly wrenched his sword from the scabbard and swung it at a tree. The sword lodged in the bark, but not so far as too remain there when he let go of the hilt.
“You’ll ruin the steel,” Brienne interceded before she could stop herself.
“For all the bloody good it does me!” He did not return to his seat, but paced beside the log shooting her bitter glances from time to time. The day wore on and still he seemed wrought with indecision. Sometimes he would stand looking ready to bolt and others he might have been planning a siege. She stood vigil for a while as the sun moved overhead.
Her arm and ribs ached. She had felt her fever returning on their journey, but she had pushed the realization back. Now, it was too much to stand. She slid down a tree close to her horse in order to rest while Jaime…did whatever it was that he was doing. He has not left me yet, she thought as she closed her eyes.
He was not sure if he was bothered more by the faith he had had in her or her lack of faith in him. He had trusted her just like he had trusted Tyrion and Cersei. He was the Kingslayer, with shit for honor, and yet it was everyone else who betrayed him. The injustice of it embittered him. Tyrion and Cersei had always loved schemes and secrets, but with Brienne he had thought…Maybe Jaime was the one who was a golden fool. He had known that the stories were folly and that there were no chivalrous knights. And yet, Brienne's treachery was the final blow to fantasies he had thought long dead.
That the wench had fallen asleep while he agonized angered him. Everything about her angered him. She had planned to lead him to his death but turned craven, which was more confusing than if she had just tried to kill him. If anyone understood swearing oaths under duress, it was Jaime. Catlyn Stark had held a sword to his throat to make him swear. It seemed she had done the same to Brienne. Perhaps...
If she had told him about Lady Stoneheart at the camp he might have taken men, but she had chosen to keep her secrets instead. If they went back for troops now, they might be too late to save her companions. And who were these men that were worth his life? Surely, Brienne had not taken up with hedge knights.
Why didn’t the stubborn cow trust him? He had saved her from rape with his lies and jumped into a bloody bear pit to save her life. He’d given her Valyrian steel, gold, and parchment to assist in her search for Sansa Stark. What more did it take to earn her trust?
Why am I still here? I should ride back to camp at once and never think of the wench again. He picked his sword up off the ground and put it back in its sheath. Then he sat back on his log.
He had wanted to be able to write great tales about himself in the white book. And yet, when the wench came for his help he had left his command and responsibilities behind. Jaime placed his vow for Sansa Stark above his place in the Kingsguard, above his king. Not that he'd been serving his king. He'd been cleaning up messes for Cersei. What would he be doing upon his return? What would she ask him to do?
Brienne’s quest offered him honor if posthumously. She would certainly remember it even if no one else did. And he would love to see the shock on her face.
“Jaime…” When he went to face the wench, he found her still asleep. “No, please.” She looked red in the face and tortured. “Jaime, I…Pod. Not Pod.”
He approached her cautiously, unsure if he should wake her. He felt her forehead and detected a slight fever. At his touch she calmed a little. He pulled his hand away and sat next to her on the ground.
He did not want to die, but he had never feared death. There were far worse things that could happen to a man than death. He eyed his stump, having left his golden hand on his horse. Goldenhand the Just. It was a stupid dream. Worthy of his childhood, but not the man he had become.
But still, maybe he could do this.
He needed to make a decision.
Instead, he looked at the wench’s cheek, pulling the bandage back, sure that she would wake from the sensation. When she did not, he noted that the wound looked clean. Any fever must have been residual from the ride. He wondered if she had slept the night before. He had offered her his bed, but she refused to take it. At the time he had thought it a quirk of her chivalry, now he recognized it as guilt.
“Jaime…” she muttered. Earlier there had been distress in her voice, but the tone she had now made his cock stir. He put her bandage back and walked away from the ugly wench, disturbed. He returned to his log, far from her cries.
They might as well have made camp where they were. The dark was fast approaching and Jaime needed time to think just as Brienne needed to sleep. He pulled the horses even farther from the road and decided against lighting a fire. They were in no shape to fight if it came to that.
Night had well and truly fallen by the time Brienne awoke. Jaime had already eaten, taken care of the horses, and laid out food for her. “You are still here,” she observed quietly. “How long did I sleep?”
“Days, my lady. I could not wake you”
She shot to her feet, looking horror-struck. “What?”
“A cruel jape from a cruel man.” He watched her with amusement. “You should eat.”
Brienne took her place on the ground unhappily. “I am not hungry.”
“But you are feverish. Eat,” he ordered. She did, though her every movement was painfully slow. “Do you remember calling out my name in your sleep?”
It was dark, but he knew she was blushing crimson. “I…I had bad dreams.”
“Aye. And at least one good one.” He let her squirm before continuing. “Who are Pod and Hyle? Your companions?”
“Yes. Pod, Podrick Payne, he was your brother’s squire." Jaime failed to recall the boy's face. "And Hyle Hunt was one of Tarly’s men. I knew him from Renly's camp.”
“And are they worth my life?”
“They are worth mine. They're my responsibility.”
“They are their mothers’ responsibility. They are your burden. A boy and a knight who have latched onto you.”
She glanced at him almost fiercely. “Either way, I mean to save them.”
“You mean to die in the attempt,” he corrected. He wished that he had lit a fire so that he could see her face more clearly. Her determination was as annoying as he remembered it.
“I will return tomorrow to face them,” she informed him.
“If you go empty-handed, they'll kill you."
“Then I will not go empty-handed.” She shivered, looking ill. “On the road I encountered Shagwell, Pyg, and Timeon. I was led to them by an old man, who died for his trouble. I killed them all, one by one.”
“That was well done, my lady,” he interrupted with praise before he remembered himself.
Her eyes met his. “I cut off Timeon’s hand before I killed him.” He nodded once in appreciation.
“It seems you became the scourge of the Bloody Mummers in my absence.”
She paid him no heed. "Hyle took their heads for proof that they were dead. I could do something similar. There are many dead men around here, and one looks much like another.”
“Not when one of them is the Kingslayer. I’m afraid I’m too recognizable for such a trick, and I doubt Lady Catlyn is too squeamish to look.”
“Lady Stoneheart,” Brienne corrected him.
“You would all die,” he warned.
She stiffened. “I won't ask you to come with me.”
“You already have,” he scoffed. “You’ve dragged me into the woods alone. You either want me to go along or you plan to ravish me, which is it?”
She grabbed a stick from the ground. “I would not have you risk your life.”
“So you would no longer sacrifice the Kingslayer to your honor? I am touched, my lady.”
She read his intent and shook her massive head. “I will go alone. You should return to your duties."
He didn't know why he bothered. He'd never been able to convince her of anything. “I would, but I haven’t been doing them anyway. I plan to go with you tomorrow. I believe that, between the two of us, I should die twice as quickly.”
“You are not funny, ser.”
“I lost my sense of humor with my hand," he smiled. "Though I seem to have found Tyrion’s,” No one had ever made him laugh like his brother. “In truth, we always had a similar humor. I think that’s why we got on so well." They'd spent hours quipping back and forth, but that was before... "I lied to him, you know. Most of his life I lied, but I did love him. More than anyone else did to be sure. Cersei couldn’t." She had never tried to hide it either. "I’m not sure she loves anyone, save her children." Maybe not even me. "I thought we were born to be together, but…she was untrue while I was captured.” The conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn. He must have been more tired than he thought.
“You were not, ser? I thought…”
“There was only ever Cersei.” He looked up at the stars. “But if I’m to die tomorrow I do not mean to ruminate on my mistakes.”
“Like Bran Stark?” She might have slapped him.
“No,” he responded. “I’m not proud, but I cannot bring myself to truly regret that. You’ve had your own moral quandary, now. What would you have done differently, wench?”
“My name is…”
“I know your bloody name. Answer me.”
“I would not have been in that situation,” she returned.
“Assuming a man would have you, then. Assuming you loved him like your other half, enough to be in my situation.”
“I would not have pushed a child out a window, ser.”
“Why do you call me ser while you insult me? Does that make it more polite? If I hadn’t pushed the boy, he would have told his family, who would have told the king. Coming from another family Robert might have dismissed it, but the Starks? My sister’s head would have been off within the hour, and mine as well.” He added, “And let’s not forget the children, though with Joffrey it may have been a blessing.”
“The kingdom might not have fallen,” she offered.
“I was far from the only reason for that. Robert was a terrible king, short of Aerys to be sure, but incompetent and disinterested. He got himself killed sweetly, the Starks overplayed their hand, the Baratheons fought each other, the North was invaded by krakens, and I’m sure Littlefinger and Varys danced around in circles as the mighty fell round them. The kingdom had already fallen when I met the boy.”
“The Starks…”
“The oldest Stark boy broke his vow and was killed for it. I do have sympathy for that, more than most. If Ned Stark had taken the throne instead of Robert, the kingdom might have stood a chance, but he slunk back to Winterfell as fast as his horse could carry him. Robert took the throne, and the rest wrote itself.”
“Ned Stark was an honorable man."
“He is also a very dead man. Yet, the two of us are conversing over dinner. Are you sensing the pattern?"
Brienne was silent for a moment. She’s trying to turn the wheels in that dull head. With the size of her, it’s no wonder it takes so long for her to think. “You never told me why you joined the Kingsguard when you had all of Casterly Rock,” she stated. He thought back to when she had asked the question. How they had despised each other.
“Because you would not have liked the answer. You’ve gotten a lot of information for nothing in return. I got an answer from Lady Stark for everyone of mine when she interrogated me. Would you like to play that game as well?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Just as well, I wouldn't be interested anyway." Yet, he still found himself answering the question. "I joined the guard to be close to Cersei and because it was a great honor.” He could feel her disapproval seep across their camp. “What do you know of it? You were a babe at the time. At that age you were busy being rejected by the likes of Red Ronnet.”
She was silent for a moment. “Who told you that?”
“The man himself, though he got a bloody mouth for the tale.” He awaited her response.
“You hit him?"
“I finally found a use for my golden hand. It’s good for little else.” Backhanding men and holding wine.
“You didn't have to do that for my sake.” He could tell from her voice that she was pleased, but her words were what he expected them to be. He had not hit the man to earn her regard, but a part of him wanted proper thanks nonetheless.
“If I had known you would betray me, I wouldn't have.”
Brienne stood up, if shakily. “I am trying to be rid of you, but you will not leave. What do you want from me, Jaime?”
“I want you to trust me!” he burst out.
“I would trust you with my life,” she declared.
But not with theirs.“That doesn't mean as much coming from you. You are so damned selfless. Trusting me with your life is practically an insult.”
“I trust you more than anyone,” she insisted, examining the ground.
He narrowed his eyes. “And who are these others that you trust? Is it anyone at all?”
“I…Lady Catlyn,” she paused. “People have proven themselves untrustworthy.”
“But she is dead, and I am in a position to save your life if you would let me.”
“Not without your death,” she reminded him.
“This from a woman who holds me responsible for the war of the five kings.”
“I owe you a debt," she whispered. "And I was trying to anger you.”
He laughed. “You succeeded. Sit down, Brienne, or you will fall.” She sat. Her shakiness reminded him of Harrenhall. “At least you will not swoon naked in my arms.”
Brienne the Blue, turned red. “I am fine, ser." He raised a brow, skeptically. "I will recover,” she amended.
“But not in time. We should try to sleep. We can always argue in the morning. ”
“I will take first watch,” she declared all too willingly.
“If you try and ride off to your death without me, I will follow you and die anyway,” he warned.
“You would not. There would no longer be a purpose.”
“Exactly my point.”
The wench had taken his threat seriously and not run off in the night. The next morning they rode on together. “We should stay here a while.” Brienne decided, stopping by a creek and removing food from her bags. “We should meet them at night. The dark can only help us if we escape.”
Jaime took off his boots and put his feet in the creek. The water was so cold it hurt even though the day was warm. “There is no point in putting off the inevitable. The dark hides everything. The horses will trip or get turned around in the woods. Anyway, I tire of this talk.” He got his hand wet and flicked water in her direction as he did with his siblings as a child. She was sitting behind him so he had to crane his neck to see her. “Tell me of Tarth.”
“There is not much to tell.”
“Then it will be a short conversation,” he growled.
Brienne complied. “Tarth," she started whistically, "is the most beautiful place in the Seven Kingdoms. At least that I’ve seen. The water is very blue and the trees are very green. We have waterfalls and rocks slick with moss. I learned to swim and row in the ocean." Her expression was inscrutable. "There is not much else to say.”
“What of your father, my lady? You never speak of him.” He realized that she never spoke of anything. He had given her lectures on his psychology, while she remained too afraid to share. If anything, he was the one with a past to hide so why was she so loath to open up to him.
“He is a good man. He is kind to me and deserves more than I can give him. We were very close before my mother died. It got quieter with just the two of us. He allowed me the practice with a sword, but I cannot say that he approved so much as relented. There were women, but he never married after my mother. I do not think that he means to, though a part of me would be relieved if he did.”
"For his sake or for yours?" She was too wracked with shame to answer. “You do not want Tarth?”
“I...I do not want to be wedded, bedded, and settled, ser. I like the road well enough for now.”
“Will you be a knight for hire?” he inquired, amused by the image.
“No." She fiddled with her sword hilt. "I will return to Tarth and do my duty. Ser Hyle had a proposal that I cannot ignore.”
“Ser Hyle? Is that why I’m risking my neck? Has the Maid of Tarth found love?” He looked over his shoulder at her.
“No, of course not. He will allow me to continue fighting though and…and he can stand the sight of me.”
“Many a man could stand the sight of you for Tarth, my lady. You need not settle so low as a knight without a title.”
“I don't wish to,” she admitted picking a blade of grass.
“Then don’t.”
“It is not so simple, ser. I haven't much luck with proposals, and Tarth needs an heir.”
“If I’m going to die, then the least you could do is not be miserable for the rest of your life. I know that you are always miserable, but you could at least try."
“I'm not always miserable. I enjoy the sword and…" Doing the right thing? "Some people are kind to me.”
“Though not me,” he laughed.
Instead of sharing the joke. She looked at him as if he was living his last moments. “You have been kind. You had faith in me, and no man since Renly has done so much. I thank you, Jaime. Truly.”
For a moment, Jaime wanted to tell her that Renly had thought she was absurd, and Loras have even used the word grotesque. He wanted to prove that he was better to her than Renly ever had been. Renly may have given her a cloak, but Jaime had given her his friendship.
“Did I say something wrong?” She asked at his silence.
He felt guilty for his jibes and thinking her a cow. “No. I have not been half so kind as you deserve, my lady. You should hold out for a better man than Ser Hyle. You are magnificent, Brienne, and any man should count himself lucky to marry you.”
Brienne’s seemed unable to speak. Not a new expression for her. “Thank you, ser.”