"We should water the horses," Jaime hissed, mocking Brienne with her last statement. He glanced to his right at her. Take the hint, do not reach for your sword.

Jaime nearly reached for his own sword as the hairs on his neck began to raise, but the undergrowth rustled to his left and right; his horse had lifted its head from the river, ears flicked to the rear to indicate an approach from behind. Too late for swords; there were too many footsteps, and they were too well organized. Negotiation was the tactic for this fight.

Brienne did not meet his gaze, clutching her horse's reins to her chest, she stepped back and to the side, bowing her head slightly as someone approached from the rear.

So that is the way of it. His breath caught and his guts clenched at the invisible blow which had caught him so unawares, but he smiled mockingly, knowingly at Brienne and made the grin wider as he turned to meet his fate.

"Kingslayer." A hooded woman approached him, but the word came from a wild bearded creature approaching from some distance behind her.

Jaime angled his head and bowed, smile firmly in place. Could I swim with one hand? Even as he had the thought, he heard men wading into the water behind him. "You have me at a loss, ser, for clearly you expected me, but our meeting has caught me by surprise. Can you be Thoros of Myr? Bit worse for wear."

Brienne shuffled a bit off to the side. Uncomfortably, perhaps? He would not look at her.

Thoros stepped up next to the lady as she swept the hood off her shoulders. Horror revealed itself as the fabric fell away and Jaime's face constricted a bit as though reacting to the smell of a rotted animal carcass. Rotted fish, more like.

"Ah, my Lady Catelyn," he said, sweeping her a mocking vow. "Lovely as when first I laid eyes on you as a young maid. Refreshing after a day in the company of my Lady of Tarth."

Sickeningly, the remains of Catelyn Stark put a hand to her ruined throat and whispered to Thoros beside her, who spoke.

"You are sentenced to die, Kingslayer. For your broken vows. For my lady's murdered children."

"My trial is too brief," Jaime replied. "I demand combat."

Catelyn stared at him with what might once have been her eyes and he thought he saw her look at his missing hand. He knew he heard her strangled laugh. She whispered again.

"Name your champion," Thoros said.

Jaime grinned. Sword hand or no, I will not die easily, crone. "I am, as ever, mine own champion."

"I will be his champion," Brienne said, stepping forward.

Catelyn's rotting head swung to look at Brienne, her grip on her throat tightening as she spoke in an eerie rasp, "Kingslayer's whore. You were to kill him. You will be my champion and fulfill your vow."

Thoros spoke for the first time without direction from Catelyn, his gaze holding Brienne's. "Your squire and the knight are free."

Jaime watched Brienne's gaze find a boy and a man at the edge of the group surrounding them. Both were having their hands untied. Brienne nodded and drew her sword, finally turning to look at Jaime squarely.

He saw the regret in her eyes.

"The Kingslayer for a Squire," he said, drawing his sword as they began to circle one another. "That will be the song of my death, don't you think?" Cersei, if she yet lived, would doubtless find a Stark or two to flay alive in retribution for this. If for no other reason than she likely wanted the pleasure of killing him herself, now.

He laughed as he moved in and took a swing which Brienne easily parried. Tyrion would have loved this.

It feels like betrayal, but doubtless this is justice. I'm still not going to make it easy for you, wench.

They battled carefully. He knew she would wait for him to tire. She didn't know her strategy had become his own. Thrust, parry, thrust, parry, regroup, stare at one another. Time after time they eyed one another from a few steps away.

Around them, the crowd of men watched. None cheering, just critiquing the fight with annoyed calls of "Faster!" "Attack!" "Finish it!".

At last, he thrust and her strength failed her for a moment; her block didn't hold, it faltered just enough and he gave her a deep cut on the side of her ribs. He'd noticed earlier that her arm was injured, she had looked worn and exhausted, but surely she wasn't this weakened.

She no longer looked him in the eye, just watched his sword. He swung in a wide arc, an easy move to block, but though she brought her blade up to kiss his, she let it slide away from holding him off. He grazed her arm as he tried to pull the blow back, for he knew her game now.

"Wench." Jaime spat out at her, exasperated.

He made another wide swing and moved in close, pulling his stroke up and easily pushing her sword off to the side with his. He grabbed her, doing his best to make it look like they wrestled. He wanted to scream at her, but kept his voice low, moving his lips close to her ear. "You lead me to the noose, then think to put your own neck in it?"

She shoved him off with her left hand, stopping to pant for a moment before standing to meet his next blow. Her clothing had shifted during their embrace and now he saw the unmistakable bruising at her neck. A noose indeed.

She blocked his blow as blood seeped from the wound on her ribs. Stubborn, bloody fool.

He paused, sword point on the ground, trying to look exhausted. How many men? Thirty? Thoros will be a fight.

Loudly, he drew breath and gave a shout as he made to charge Brienne. His feet were still good, even if his arm wasn't. So easily, his stride turned a few steps to the side as he sliced, instead removing Catelyn's head from her shoulders. It was pandemonium then, two men clumsily drew weapons and charged. He caught one in the neck and tripped the other.

The air was full of shouts and confusion. He could hear Brienne battling behind him, but was too busy trying to wrench his leg free of someone's grip while fending off sword cuts.

When the fight abruptly ended, he could see Thoros had somehow stopped it. Brienne stood at his side, sword still drawn. The squire and other man were with them as well. A dozen bodies lay strewn around them. The remaining group watched them warily.

"There's an end to it," Thoros of Myr said. "Lady Brienne, will you see to my lady's daughters?"

"As I have promised," Brienne said.

"Then go."

That night, they took shelter in an abandoned cottage. Their feet had carried them as far as they could go. Brienne had somehow stayed upright and moving despite her injuries, but once in the small house, he watched as she leaned against the wall, then slid down it to sit on the floor before finally slumping over even further to lay on her side.

"Ser. My lady, that wound." The boy knelt beside her. She swatted him away. Hyle Hunt was searching for linens as Jaime knelt before her, clumsily beginning to undo her hauberk with his one practically useless hand.

"No," she said, pushing ineffectually at his fingers, her eyes tightly closed in obvious pain.

He gestured to the boy to help him. They wrestled her out of her outer garments as she gasped in pain. Jaime tried to lay her down gently on the floor. She clutched the laces of her tunic as the boy began to loosen them. Jamie moved the boy out of the way and merely lifted the tunic's hem. Hunt had returned, kneeling with them, holding somewhat clean linen in hand. Brienne shoved at Jaime's hand, stopping him before he could reveal the wound.

Jaime laughed. "Nothing I haven't already seen."

Hunt looked up sharply then.

"We'll protect your bleeding modesty," Jaime told her, shifting to sit on the floor and sliding her head head and shoulders up onto his lap. She said nothing, just lay limp with her eyes closed. He pulled her arms ups and to the right and leaned on them with his right arm to hold her, then clapped his left hand firmly over her meager left breast atop her tunic. She gasped, but Hunt took his meaning and pulled the garment up to where it was stopped by his hand.

Jaime looked down at her face, her left forearm was thrown up over her forehead, but her eyes were open as the boy and Hunt went about cleaning the wound.

He stared hard into her eyes and she stared back. In their struggle, the bandage on her face had shifted to show the jagged, purple mush of her cheek. Her visage twisted into a rictus of pain as the boy began to sew her wound closed. "Come now, what pain can there be for one so honorable as Brienne of Tarth? Are your oaths not a salve to your wounds? Are your vows not warm bedfellows?"

"I wish you no ill," she hissed out through clenched teeth.

She looked away from him then, panting through the pain. Jaime felt her suffering shudder through him, but the only tone he could muster was mocking. "Would it matter if you did? The Kingslayer deserves none of your concern. They say he isn't worth a tenth of the lowest squire. He cannot even best a woman in a sword fight anymore."

Jaime tried to laugh, but it was a raw cackle. When he stopped, the silence in the room was heavy, and he looked up to see Hunt and the boy had ceased their ministrations to stare at him. If that's pity, I'll gut them both. How had Tyrion survived even a day of this treatment?

"Finish. Be quick about it," Jaime ground out at them. He looked down at his hand on her breast and the fabric bunched up over it; he smirked at the absurdity of it.

Hunt and the boy finished soon enough. Brienne pulled her arms away from him and rolled off his lap into a heap on the floor next to him, her injured left side held up in the air, still exposed. Hunt knelt and settled a dirty blanket over her.

"Sleep, my Lady," Hunt said, giving Jaime a glare of warning not to interfere with her rest.

"I'll take first watch," Jaime said. Sore and bruised, he pushed himself up off the ground and stepped outside.

Dark clouds hid the moon, but Jaime knew it was Brienne who stepped out the cottage door a few hours later. She did not acknowledge him, but ambled slowly off into the underbrush at the edge of the cottage clearing to relieve herself. He began to think she was gone too long and had just started to follow her when she returned to the clearing.

"I'll take the next watch," she said softly as she approached.

"You wouldn't even have the strength to scream if we were attacked," Jaime replied in a whisper.

"We'll see." She glared at him.

In the dim light, he was spellbound for a moment by the spark of her blue eyes. Like the heart of a candle flame, those eyes. Pure, quiet, fierce enough to temper steel.

He took a step toward her, but she didn't flinch. He leaned forward toward her ear until their cheeks were almost touching. He wanted to disconcert her.

"Never try to martyr yourself for me again," he said, lips close enough to her ear to feel her tiny flinch at his breath; intending to threaten, to intimidate her into keeping her distance. Then he ruined it, by turning his face toward her just a bit more, his nose nuzzling the soft skin in front of her ear just slightly.

Her sharp intake of breath preceded a shiver that vibrated through her and right into him. She didn't move, but he stepped back. What the hell am I doing?

"Go back to bed, Brienne," he said.

"I wouldn't have let them kill you," she whispered. Her eyes pleaded with him now.

"You have your squire back. Go to bed." He willed her to go. He was afraid to touch her now.

"Jaime, you are the only true friend I've ever known."

"Go. To. Bed."

"Forgive me."

His mouth twisted into a mocking grin as his chest filled with the seething betrayal he had no right to feel. "Why? You swore me no vows."

Brienne's chin dipped to her chest.

"You owe me no allegiance," he said.

She shook her head, and he thought it was a denial of his words, but he continued.

"I'd kill you in a thrice if it was that or a noose," he lied.

She looked sharply at him then. "I know your honor," she said, her hand slipping to caress Oathkeeper's hilt. "You trusted it to me. I broke faith with you, but I had no choice. I made a promise to you, Jaime; if you knew it or not."

"How can one break faith with an oathbreaker?"

"I know your honor," she said again, clutching Oathkeeper now, her brow furrowed as she looked at him pleadingly again.

He felt his gut tighten for the second time that day from a second invisible blow, but the feeling made his blood quicken in his veins and he felt himself stirring.

"Go to bed, Brienne. Go, now. Or I'll break more vows this night."

She recoiled a bit and, with a sharp intake of breath, watched him warily--questioningly--out of the corner of her eye as she stepped past him and entered the cottage.

Jaime exhaled sharply and made a quick scan of the clearing before leaning back against the wall of the cottage. He would continue his watch.