In the distance a large hill loomed before them, a grove of trees nestled at its peak, the branches shifting slightly in the wind, giving it the appearance of skeletal fingers scraping at a dark grey sky. They had been marching through a barren and bleak landscape, war scarred and eerily quiet.

The wench had said maybe a handful of words in their few hours of their travel, usually little more than curt directions. Of course he had never known Brienne of Tarth to be verbose, but even for her this level of muteness was suspicious.

Jaime's uneasiness grew as he recalled what she said, drawing him away from the safety of his camp. The Hound has Sansa, she had said, you need to come alone with me, or he will kill her. Jaime had been more elated than he cared to admit when he first laid eyes on Brienne riding into his camp. He had to hold himself back from embracing her in a hug, that would of been uncomfortable for them both, especially in the presence of his men. He had important business settle in the Riverlands, and was resentful for being pulled away from those duties to drudge along in the mud with this giant mute of a woman again. It had been those damned eyes… Beside her sword, those eyes were her greatest weapons. Eyes so unbelievably blue, deep and clear, like calm waters.

He had only had a glimpse of those eyes as she recanted her brief story, she avoided his gaze, but she was more a shy maiden than her exterior implied. Jaime not questioning her honesty agreed to ride with her alone.

They had ridden for maybe an hour when he first spied the full extent of her wounds. They had stopped to make water, when she came out of the brush, one of her scarves caught on a branch, revealing a horrific wound on her cheek. She hastily covered her face, her eyes meeting his only briefly, she looked down and away, refusing to see his reaction.

He would not let her go that easy, "Brienne, what has happened to your face?"

"A bite. It's fine." She said quietly as she mounted her horse. It was clear she did not care to elaborate.

Jaime was mentally arguing away the pains of guilt he feeling for sending her out alone on this quest for the Stark girls, he had lost his temper and sent her away in anger, he knew better than most how dangerous it was to travel the lands alone. He couldn't help but feel responsible for her maiming. As they continued their ride he noticed another scar, this one fresher, the tell-tale signs of a rope burn around her neck, of that wound she did not speak. As their ride continued Jaime couldn't deny the lurch in his guts was growing stronger with each step forward.

They had ridden for hours when they approached a hill, a dead tree could be seen at the top and its branches held the bodies of several hanged men.

Jaime finally comprehending the source of the rope burn on Brienne's neck asked, "What have you done?"

"Jaime, I'm sorry..." she said her voice mournful and blue eyes watering.

A woman so slight in figure it could not be believed appeared near the tree, along with several men, all armed. The woman was hooded, but Jaime recognized her, but barely. "By the Gods... Catelyn Stark?"

A cackling barely audible noise hissed from the hill, "Kingslayer" she held her throat, almost as if she was forcing that horrible sound out from her mouth. Her lips were such an odd color, grayer than the winter sky which loomed above them.

Brienne spoke again, "I've brought you Ser Jaime, now my squire"

Jaime's heart dropped in his chest. No. He turned to meet her anguished eyes; they almost seemed to plead with him. The arrogant part of Jaime Lanister couldn't help but feel slighted, his life being worth that of a mere squire.

Bound by his wrists young Podrick Payne was shoved down the hill, small rocks tumbling down with him, he hurried clumsily to Brienne.

The hooded Catelyn specter simply nodded.

That is when the first arrow hit.

Jaime cried out as it pierced his right shoulder.

The second clanked harmlessly off his chest armor.

The third caused his horse to rear, Jaime attempted to stay mounted, grabbing uselessly at the reins with his golden right hand, and he fell backwards his head smacking against the mucky ground. The pain forced his eyes to shut, when he opened them Brienne was standing above him, his sword, no her sword Oathkeeper, pointed at his neck. Her raw unhealed wounds clumsily stitched together on her cheek screamed shades of pink and red. Her eyes, those blue, blue eyes were brimmed with tears.

"Do it", the Catelyn creature hissed.

Jaime unbuckled his chest plate, grabbed the tip of Oathkeeper gently and guided the blade over his heart. Jaime spat blood into the mud and then said, "I believe this is the spot wench,"

That is when Brienne's tears finally fell. A small gasping sob escaped her lips.

Jaime held her gaze, "Don't let this change you."

Brienne looked at him strangely. Her voice boomed with more frustration and rage than Jaime had ever witnessed, "I will not do this!" She stood over him protectively, making it clear that she was not going to slaughter him.

Podrick stood unprotected; the whip of an arrow cut through the air, and tore through the young squire's neck. He collapsed to the ground; the arrow was true and his death instant.

"Nooooo!" Brienne screamed out in anguished disbelief.

A sound almost resembling cackling gleeful laughter came from Catelyn.

Eight men encircled Brienne and Jaime, closing in, swords drawn.

With her great strength Brienne pulled Jaime to his feet and thrust her second sword into his left hand. They stood back-to-back as Catelyn's men moved forward.