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Brienne started to worry her lower lip; she couldn't decide which direction they should go.
"If we're to cut across this canyon, we'll be able to..."
Brienne paused; again, she felt a strange tickle at the back of her neck. As soon as her words began to drift off into an uneasy silence, the tickling would cease.
"...we'll be able to save us at least a few days travel, but there is still the possible threat of clansmen..."
The strange tickle resumed again; it was becoming a vexing distraction as the maid tried to study the map once more.
"...I've heard rumors that the Painted Dogs are in this area and—".
She felt it again; Brienne quickly slapped a hand over the back of her neck. Thankfully, she didn't find a spider or some other hideous insect crawling along her bare neck. She twisted her large body around on the wide tree stump she was seated on; the maid found nothing but a thick canopy of ice covered branches surrounding her. Jaime was standing off at a far distance from her, relieving himself against a wide tree; he was listening to Brienne as she tried to study the map once more.
Jaime fought hard to stifle his laughter.
He sincerely had to relieve himself but once he discovered that the branch next to him led to a thinner branch behind Brienne's neck...he couldn't help himself. With the faintest movement of the branch, the whole limb would tremble; he loved hearing the wench's voice falter as she struggled to keep her focus on the map. Jaime choked back on a sudden burst of amusement; his mirth could hardly be contained by his curling lips. He always felt a keen joy in annoying Brienne whenever he could.
Things between the two had never been better; ever since their night together in the frozen cellar everything seemed to take on a richer level of meaning between them. During their long walks, Jaime would often speak, talking about everything and nothing with Brienne. They discussed the weather, the war, the comfort foods they longed to eat, all of the silly court rumors they grew up hearing. Jaime remembered there was once a time when Brienne grew weary of his never ending chatter, but these days he'd often catch her smiling at his musings with a sweet and familiar ease. Miraculously, Jaime would sometimes find himself capable of make his dour wench laugh as well.
He couldn't explain it; Jaime started to notice that he would feel an odd, thrilling rush burn through him every time he made his wench smile. He also noticed too that he started to crave the sound of her bright laughter as well. He was eager to share embarrassing stories of his childhood with Brienne in the hopes to make her crack up at his expense; she always smiled and sometimes giggled whenever he made fun of the likes of Lord Randyll Tarly, with a comical, well-practiced scowl and imitating his voice with a surly, mocking tone. In the end Jaime would be rewarded with a strange, warming surge of adrenaline that always rushed through him...it was as if though he had somehow transformed into a hero in the wake of Brienne's smiles; it was a seductive, heady feeling that always made Jaime feel so alive and it always left him wanting more.
After a moment, Jaime heard the maid twist around upon the stump she was seated on, desperate to find the source of whatever was crawling on the back of her neck. Clenching his jaw to conceal his smile, he briefly turned his head over his shoulder while feigning indifference; with a cleansing breath he forced himself to speak in a bored, impatient tone.
"You were saying something about the Painted Dogs, wench?"
Silence filled the dry, winter air.
Brienne instantly felt suspicious the moment he had encouraged her to keep talking; Jaime was rarely ever this quiet. Even rarer was the fact that he suddenly wanted to hear everything she had to say without any interruption; she had grown accustomed to him constantly interrupting her with his his biting observations along with his droll sense of humor.
Trusting her instincts, Brienne eyed Jaime with a cool gaze of hard suspicion.
He's certainly taking his time in relieving himself. Much longer than normal.
While keeping her eyes locked onto his back, Brienne started to drone on again about the map and where they could possibly go when it all started to unfold for her. She watched Jaime slowly lift his right arm to shake the icy tree branch closest to him as she spoke. With only the faintest touch of the heavy branch, Brienne finally discovered the source of what had been vexing her: a small, icy branch trembled and shuddered along the back of Brienne's neck with a faint, annoying tickle.
"...Painted Dogs are rumored to be in that terrain now that winter is—seven hells, Jaime Lannister!"
The maid had figured him out. Jaime absolutely delighted in the way Brienne said his name at the moment of her discovery; to hear her curse out as well had felt like a rare treat too. With a helpless roll of indulgent laughter, Jaime finally laced up his breeches while Brienne rolled the map into a tight, neat scroll.
"Come now wench; it was all in good fun!"
He turned around to find his friend standing from the stump with a hard look stitched across her face. Her full lips had transformed into a thin line of intolerance while her bluebell eyes flashed bright with a frozen rage. Jaime took one look at her steely posture and felt a rising bolt of mirth roll out of his chest once more.
For one moment, Jaime saw only the briefest flicker of a smile twist across Brienne's pale face. She was tempted to submit to her own amusement as well, but she was determined not to reward his folly. Their eyes had locked for one heated moment.
"You—you can be so...annoying."
Jaime couldn't help it; he loved annoying her. Anything to make that impossible woman react to him, in anyway, made him smile. With a slight huff of condensation Brienne trudged her way back through the packed snow and stomped towards their dwindling campfire under the warm beams of the rising sun. Jaime carefully followed Brienne's strange, unique gait; he observed how the sun would turn her pale hair into a summery, golden blonde; he watched her all the while with a playful laughter ringing the air and a surge of hope rise in his heart.
Tormenting his honorable maid had always felt too sweet; he now lived for the little moments such as these.
Brienne felt her face curl into a darling grin just as a deep blush started to fill in her cheeks. She walked away from the sound of Jaime's intoxicating laughter and was determined not to let him see her bashful smile.
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For three days the two camped on the outskirts of a town called Left Bank, a small village that struggled to rise up from the ashes of war. Mass graves were smothered under a peaceful blanket of unblemished snow; homes and businesses were only the charred out husks of their former glory; on occasion, Jaime and Brienne would find a few bones and skulls piled together in patches of slush and mud; they were all found curiously nestled together like a ring of pale mushrooms sprouting from a shadowy forest bed.
On the third day, the two walked through the crowded streets of the town looking for a sign.
Before Jaime had become a wanted man, his aunt, Genna Lannister, swore she'd help him in whatever way she could. She told him she'd leave resources for him in a small village called Left Bank; her instructions were to look for an inn with a red pillar candle burning in a window.
For the first two days, the two walked through the town together, discreetly looking for an inn with a red candle burning on its windowsill. Genna had promised her nephew that once the innkeeper had deemed the village safe enough from any Lannister soldiers, they would light the signal.
Pulling the collar to his cloak tight against his neck, Jaime carefully dodged his eyes to the left side of the main street while Brienne scanned the windows on her right. Half way down the road, Jaime finally saw it: a red candle with a glowing flame; it shined bright like a beacon on the windowsill of the inn.
With a series of staged coughs, Jaime paused in front of the building; it was his signal to Brienne that he'd found the place. Turning back around, the maid guided Jaime carefully past thick ruts of ice and snow that lined the street. They had discussed several times over how to retrieve their parcel: once the candle had been found, Jaime would feign illness and keep watch outside as Brienne sought the innkeeper for their package. She was instructed to say the following phrase to guarantee the innkeeper's protection: "I was sent to remind you: you have a debt to pay."
Assuming the role of a sickly man, Jaime coughed loud and uproariously towards anyone in his general direction, making certain that no one would think twice of standing close to them. Seating him on a bench outside of the inn, Brienne found an excuse to fulfill a sweet indulgence of hers; she lovingly smoothed her hand over Jaime's back moments before she entered the inn. Surprised by her unexpected gesture, Jaime threw Brienne a small look of disbelief over his shoulder; once his searching eyes caught hers he threw her a flirtatious smile along with a distinctive wink. Brienne quirked her lips into a shy grin before quietly entering the building.
The establishment was warm and clean but its hospitality was marred by the acrid smell of burned meat and stale piss coming from one corner of the tavern. The inn was freshly constructed, evident by all of the pale blond boards nailed tightly together. The scent of fresh tar and pitch still clung to the walls as Brienne found nearly a dozen haggard and malnourished women, some draped over the laps of sullen men or over eager boys, with skirts hiked up to their knees and haphazardly laced bodices that hardly concealed anything.
Brienne had no doubts; she was inside of a brothel.
Feeling her skin burn with a hot flush of pink at her cheeks, Brienne swallowed hard as she forced herself to walk over towards the counter. A small balding man, dressed in a blue wool doublet and dark red breeches, greeted the maid without a glance up towards her while he wiped down the counter of spilled ale.
"It's a stag for a fuck; three coppers lets you just watch. You're not sick, are ya?"
Brienne felt her eyes grow wide in shock and of intense humiliation; she was faintly aware that her mouth was hanging wide open once the innkeeper finally looked up at her, first in surprise and then in disgust. "Gods be good! We're not hiring."
Rapidly blinking her innocent blue eyes, Brienne struggled for words as she felt a slight shudder try to coil around her long throat. "I-I w-was sent to remind you; you have a debt to pay." She was relieved that the words finally stumbled out; her chest heaved with nerves as if she had been holding her breath since she walked in. Brienne watched the innkeeper's face grow slack with a tidal of understanding before assuming a look of indifference on his face.
"Aye, aye; I pay my debts m'lady."
Hunched over, the little man fumbled beneath the counter as he tried retrieving the care package Genna Lannister's men left for them. Off in a far corner she could hear two men cackle and groan with deep laughter; she began to feel nervous with every second that passed.
"Here yah go."
The innkeeper dropped two dense, crusty boules of dark bread, wrapped in a thick grey cloth, on the counter. Brienne felt her forehead wrinkle in mild confusion. Throwing the little man a silent look of doubt, the innkeeper quickly shrugged his shoulders before he firmly turned his back on her. Collecting the large loaves of bread in her arms, Brienne was grateful to leave until she heard the sound of the laughing men grow louder behind her.
"Oh, seven save us! You won the bet Rory; it is a woman!"
Both men reeked of sour wine and cheap ale; Brienne quickly realized that it was Rory's friend, a bloated man with piggy eyes, who had been the source of the foul piss smell that profaned the brothel. Keeping the bread closer to her chest, Brienne lowered her eyes quickly before she made her way across the floor of the tavern.
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Jaime felt his nose turn red as he continued to cough dramatically into the fresh air, keeping everyone far and away from him, just as he wanted. He was almost having fun with his role as a sickly commoner; more than once he jokingly imagined a life where he and Brienne assumed new lives together; traveling the lands as touring mummers, performing for copper stars and hot meals in every flea bitten town they'd pass through.
Just as he was concocting ridiculous stage names for each of them to perform under, Brienne slammed her way through the door of the brothel with the care package clutched tight to her chest. Jaime wanted to tell her what he had been thinking of until he saw a flash of nervousness fill the wench's eyes.
"Let's go—now."
Jaime quickly followed Brienne's lead just as the two drunken men staggered out in Brienne's anxious wake.
"We jus wanna talk—"
"Yeah, we jus wanna talk about fees! Now, would we be the ones that'd pay to fuck you, or would you be the one who would have to pay us?"
At first, Jaime assumed that the drunks were harassing some whore that was close by, but when Rory's tall frame blocked Brienne's path Jaime became incensed. Outraged, brimming over with seething anger, Jaime locked his jaw with muted rage before he spoke for her in a menacing tone.
"Hey! You're speaking to a lady."
The two drunks didn't even pay attention to the sickly man who snarled at them; Brienne slowly tucked one hand beneath her cloak.
"Maybe a copper for her?"
"Copper? Too generous to pay for this big sow."
"This hideous freak would have to pay us each a gold dragon just to—".
Rory never got to finish his cruel musings. Jaime's hand cracked hard across the drunkard's nose; he had delighted in the wet, crunching sound of broken cartilage as he split the drunk's nose apart like a rotted melon. Jaime had only wished he had his golden hand with him.
Gushing torrents of blood sprayed all over the injured man's chest; he quickly collapsed onto the icy street beneath his feet. Before his friend could even react, Brienne clutched the heavy loaves close to her chest with one hand while burying the fine edge of her dagger close to his bloated, pale throat.
"Apologize."
Rory's friend darted his eyes over Jaime's dirty, shaggy face before they landed back on Brienne once more. His small, flint eyes narrowed in disgust at her until Jaime repeated his order once more.
"Apologize, or my lady will clean out your throat like a gutted trout."
Rory tried to stand up from the slushy grey street with his sticky red blood coating his chest. Feeling strange rage take hold of her, Brienne slowly sunk the point of her dagger into the offending man's throat. She did not dare threaten the bastard with her Valyrian steel if she wished to remain inconspicuous.
A small pin prick of blood pooled to the surface of the drunk's throat; Jaime was impressed to see Brienne enforcing his threat with such ease. He knew she wouldn't kill him unless need be, but he also understood that something strange had happened to his wench just then.
"S-s-sorry. We were-we were just teasing! It was all in good fun!"
Brienne felt her dagger tremble with temptation for only one moment before she quickly dragged the cold blade away; the apology was accepted, but hearing the soft whisper of steel ringing against the drunkard's thick neck felt even better.
Stepping away from the drunks, Brienne kept her dagger firm in her hand while she and Jaime slowly walked backwards, leaving a tense distance of space between them. Once a wide enough distance was finally breeched, Brienne reluctantly turned her back on them while Jaime kept throwing back threatening glares with a possessive hand on Brienne's arm.
Jaime watched Rory slowly pull himself off the snowy streets with a clumsy execution while Rory's friend spat onto the ground once Jaime's eyes locked onto his.
Throwing a worried glance towards her, Jaime tried to make eye contact with Brienne as he struggled to keep up with her brisk pace. Brienne could feel his eyes fixed onto her but she refused to meet his gaze; feeling choked up from an odd, strange embarrassment, she kept her firm lips shut and locked her eyes straight onto the road ahead of her.
She refused to cry in front of Jaime.
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Try as hard as he did, Jaime could barely get a few words out of Brienne once they cautiously made their way back to camp.
Once he was finally able to knit together the broken pieces of her story, Jaime had been horrified to discover—only too late—that their parcel had been left for them inside of a brothel. Neither one could tell that the inn was such because so many of the buildings there were freshly reconstructed; very few taverns, businesses or inns had either the time or resources to hang a sign up to advertise their services.
Once they settled into camp, Brienne forcefully shoved the loaves of bread into Jaime's arms before she began to start a new fire.
Carving away at their fresh block of flint, Brienne kept her head down while Jaime studied the dense loaves in his arms; he kneeled down across from Brienne to examine them further.
"Was that really worth all of the risk?" Jaime could hear a faint tremble in the maid's voice. Looking up he saw an angry expression fixed on her mouth while she toiled over their fire. Swallowing past a dry throat, Jaime began to nervously rip apart the first loaf of dark walnut bread. Just under the surface of the flour dusted crust, he finally saw it: gold.
Pulling apart the crusty the loaf in two, Jaime found a generous handful of gold dragons baked into the center of the loaf; it had explained why the bread had felt so dense. Jaime smiled as he held up one half of the loaf for his friend to see all of the glittering coins that were baked inside.
Brienne was quietly relieved to see that her humiliation had not been in vain. Feeding the small fire with brittle twigs and dry grass, Brienne nodded her head with a curt grunt of acknowledgement before Jaime tore into the second loaf soon after. Inside he found silver stags baked into the fragrant bread as well.
"Oh gods...do you know what this means, wench? It means we can finally afford a hot meal and a bed." Brienne tried to respond but failed. All she could do was dwell on the vivid memory of how the two drunks humiliated her in front of Jaime. "Also means we can take a bath. It almost feels as if my skin has somehow oozed into my clothes—”
Feeling instantly flustered, Brienne decided she had enough.
"Do you ever shut up?"
Jaime fell silent; he was instantly taken aback by Brienne's strange and hostile tone. "I don't need you to beat up every ass that insults me, Jaime. You were no better than a stupid, wild animal back there." Jaime instantly felt his heart sink in his chest with hurt and confusion. Brienne spoke again, this time with a teary whisper. "You could have gotten yourself killed back there."
The fact that she was upset at him was not a surprise to Jaime; it was seeing how close she was to tears that became truly upsetting for him.
"Brienne—"
She refused to listen.
"Do you really think those men were the first to ever harass me, Jaime? The first to humiliate or demean?" Jaime had remembered all of the hateful things that were said in front of him and Brienne during their captivity with the Brave Companions; it didn't explained why she was acting this upset now; he was stunned by his friend's strange, unexplained anger.
"I've had to deal with men like those two my entire life." It wasn't until that moment when Brienne locked her eyes onto Jaime's did she finally realize why she had felt so upset:
How can a man as beautiful as him ever love a woman as hideous as me?
Brienne sniffed her running nose in the cold air. Shaking her head with a bitter acceptance she forced herself to concede to the fact that not even a drunk man would want to touch her unless he was paid well to do so. Clearing her throat brusquely, Brienne growled out all of the tired insults she knew by heart as she fed the fire with dry kindling.
"You don't need to defend me; I known what I am: I'm 'Brienne the beauty'; a 'great beast of a woman'; a 'lumbering cow'; a 'hideous fr—"
Her words began to choke with emotion; the last insult hung heavy in the silent air between the two:
...freak.
Stunned by her confusing pain, Jaime sat there, kneeled in unnatural silence while Brienne began to stare into the growing flames with a defeated look in her eyes. Licking his lips with a sudden need to explain himself, Brienne quickly stood from the fire and marched away with a knot of tears binding her tongue.
Grateful to have some distance from him at last, Brienne began to gasp, trying desperately to smother her silent, breathless tears. In the dense shade of the dark forest the maid started to relax once she knew Jaime was nowhere near her.
It all had felt so confusing and strange for Brienne; ever since their night together in the frozen cellar Brienne dared to imagine that there could ever be a far-flung hope…the hope of one day having a man like him to love a woman like her. Alone and together, Brienne was amazed to find that they were starting to share a lovely, fresh intimacy that somehow transcended the bitter dregs of her cold reality. When she was alone with him she felt less anxious about her appearances; for every time Jaime made an effort to make her smile, Brienne started to believe that she truly was someone who was special; he made her feel confident and weightless, and somehow...beautiful even. With all of their private jokes, flirtatious touches and easy, secretive smiles, Brienne dared to believe they were beginning to share something that was almost more than a friendship; something that she had never felt before, not even with Renly.
Against her will, Jaime's easy charm and handsome good looks finally chipped away at the impenetrable walls of Brienne's denial; she finally accepted the fact that she had feelings for him, completely and irrevocably. For all they had shared, for all of the times they had spent together, for all of their shame and dreams, wonders and fears they would confess to one another, somehow all of it began to foster a small, creeping tendril of hope inside of the maid's tender and wounded heart.
She dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, a man as beautiful as him could one day love a woman like her.
But with their encounter with the drunken men in the street, Brienne was forced to face hard truths. Suffering such a humiliation in front of Jaime, now, was almost more than she could bear. With that devastating encounter in the village all of her silly, childish dreams of a reciprocated love came crashing down to her ugly feet.
Angrily wiping away at her tears, Brienne tried hard to breath without making a sound.
Of course, it makes sense now: Jaime's flirtations with me have only been in jest; he would never think of me like that. It was never about love...its only pity. All of it—even our time together in the cellar. He could only bring himself to touch me in the dark when we were both so desperate to survive.
Brienne slapped a hand over her weeping mouth once she felt her heart began to crush in her chest; she had made a terrible connection just then.
It's Renly all over again.
Brienne felt a deep sob try to crawl out of her mouth. She remembered the words Jaime had said to her that morning when she foolishly assumed that he was flirting with her.
'Come now wench; it was all in good fun!'
Brienne chose to stay in woods, by herself, until dusk had fallen.
She would not let Jaime see her cry.
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The maid savored in her nightly ritual by the campfire: dragging a whetstone over her dagger, one hundred strokes, for each side.
The shivery ring of good steel against stone had become a lovely, peaceful moment for her, a time of reflection and a moment to decompress from all of the nagging thoughts and stresses of the day. Her sharp eyes followed the smooth trail of her cold blade with a silent reverence, always delighting in the slight, trilling song as the metal skimmed the stone with the slightest flick of her wrist.
Other nights when they had a fire, Brienne would listen to Jaime talk ceaselessly about everything and nothing while she quietly listened to him, sometimes laughing at his wry observations while she sharpened her dagger. Tonight, she needed it only as a distraction from Jaime.
Under the flickering light of the fire her dagger blade transformed from a silvery-blue tint to a burnished, liquid gold. Brienne pondered the fine edge of her blade for a moment and briefly considered the cruel insults she had suffered earlier that day.
Across from their roaring fire, Jaime carefully watched Brienne's cold gaze as it locked onto her dagger with every clean, precise stroke she made. He wasn't comfortable in admitting it but her silence had started to become unnerving for him; had he not known her as well as he did he would have shrugged off her silence, dismissing her for as a poor conversationalist or being simply unfriendly.
But he knew her far better than that now. In certain moments, when the winds would pick up and try to snuff out the flames, the light of the fire would dance across the maid's face at a certain angle, for only a brief moment. In those moments, Jaime knew with certainty that his wench was terribly hurt.
He could see the subtle, pained expression in her mouth; her generous lips trembled once before she pinched them tight together. For half a beat, Jaime even saw her pretty eyes fill with tears, but they would not fall. Brienne was far too stubborn for them to fall when she was not alone.
Jaime thought of Brienne's pain and recalled with a near bitter recollection of how lovely their morning had been. Contrasting such a sweet memory of teasing his wench to this moment had felt almost cruel for him to consider.
Hating the silence, nowhere near as much as he hated seeing Brienne upset, Jaime began to remember some of the things his little brother once shared with him when they were younger.
"In the Westerlands, back when my father was a little boy, the women of that time were obsessed with looking as thin as possible." Brienne continued on with her blade and whetstone. "So obsessed, the ladies would go so far as to swallow parasitic worms that fishermen would find inside of diseased fish. These ladies would ingest these worms—whole—and eventually...the parasite would make these women appeared gaunt and emaciated." Brienne's ringing tempo of dagger and stone faltered only slightly. "It wasn't till later, when noble women started to suddenly drop dead, did the practice finally become outlawed. Maesters would examine the women's corpses only to find their intestines were filled with these worms. Eventually, the parasites would feed off of the muscles of the ladies hearts, killing them...slowly."
Brienne did not speak.
"In Yi Ti, during the Age of Heroes, noble women used to pluck their heads bald to symbolize that they were humble servants to their gods, showing others their devout piety. Later, it became fashionable for those same women to have intricate tattoos placed upon their bald heads, made up with rare inks—gold, pearl, onyx. What was once considered to be a symbol of religious devotion, oddly, became an act of pure vanity. Women with the most elaborate tattoos on their heads were considered to be the most beautiful, the most affluent of the city."
Jaime studied Brienne through the rolling waves of the bright campfire; her shoulders were squared off in a firm mantel of firm indifference; her head was held high with a cool, remote air. Had Jaime not known Brienne, he would have thought her as being aloof and unflinching; an impenetrable beast of a woman who had a hunk of rock salt in her chest instead of a beating heart.
But he did know her: he knew she was staggering in her depths for compassion; he knew his wench was tender hearted, loyal and fiercely passionate about honor, chivalry and decency. He also knew both her heart and her mind we weighted down by the memory of vicious, crippling insults she had learned to cope with for most of her life.
Jaime wasn't ready to give up on her.
"There was once an elite assembly that was highly respected and admired in Qarth; these women were called the Daughters of the Devout; skilled, ruthless warriors who defied patriarchy and swore to preserve the sanctity of their holy temples; they vowed to protect the weak and the innocent who worshiped there...I wouldn't be surprised if you had descended from those fearless women, wench." Brienne did not smile; Jaime continued. "So skilled in archery it was said that the Daughters could strike the eye of a writhing snake from over a hundred yards away.
"The Daughters we so devoted to their archery, they went so far as to have their right breast sliced off the year they had flowered...so that their aim would never be impeded. The Daughters of the Devout were so admired and beloved; it became quite fashionable for noble girls to also have their right breast sliced off as well."
Jaime finally witnessed a reaction from Brienne; he saw her grimace, slightly. Good, I'm finally reaching her. He continued.
"It had become so fashionable among noble women that it had gotten to the point that no lady would be considered worthy of a proper marriage if her chest had not been mutilated thusly.
"For a brief time, a fringe group of radical zealots had rebelled and managed to overthrow most of the Pureborn of Qarth; the nobles had been forced to either convert to the extremist’s faith or be put to death. Even though all of the great houses converted, the high priest ordered for every woman with a missing breast to be put to death; the fringe radicals had feared that the missing breast would be too much of a reminder of the Daughters of the Devout—brave women who'd been martyred for defying the radical zealots.
“So fearful of the high priest, noble women started to wear dresses with their right breast exposed, just to prove that they were followers of the new faith. To this day, women of Qarth still wear dresses with their right breast exposed; not as a symbol of devotion, rather, because it's simply the fashion."
For a long time, neither one of them spoke; only the dancing pop and crackle of the fire spoke on their behalf. Brienne lowered her dagger slightly; the whetstone grazed her blade at a much slower pace. Much to Jaime's relief, Brienne finally spoke.
"I know what you're doing."
"Yes...I'm enjoying a lovely evening under the stars and having a dazzling conversation with my forever chatty wench."
Brienne sighed; she didn't want to be coddled, least of all, not by Jaime. She could have endure this conversation from her father, or perhaps, to some degree, from Catelyn Stark even. But to hear these words from Jaime, it felt too...
Pitiful.
It was the only word that reverberated in her mind. He pitied her, and she was no use to anyone if she was someone so delicate that needed to be spoiled with honeyed words; words spoken by a man who would never feel anything more than a harmless respect for her.
With a tight ache in her chest, Brienne lowered her dagger and stone to her lap while she kept her eyes fixed on the fire and spoke in a near whisper.
"I don't want your pity."
Jaime chuffed in the cool night air with a twist of annoyance. "I don't pity you, Brienne. No more than you pity me for this." He held up the ragged end of his right arm with an almost daring look in his eyes. Brienne followed his raised arm and finally made eye contact with him. She felt her resolves wilt slightly before she returned his gaze with a daring look of her own.
"So what are you trying to accomplish with your history lessons then? Do you mean to take residence in the Citadel come spring? Try and become a maester now that the war is over?"
Jaime begun to laugh softly; he could barely spend any time in King's Landing without going mad from boredom, never mind the idea of him spending long hours each day with his nose buried in some boring old books.
"Gods be good, no." By the glowing roll of the fire Jaime finally saw the faint trace of a smile flirt across Brienne's lips. "Don't those dusty old bastards swear to be celibate?"
Brienne raised her eyebrows in a swell of budding amusement. "Kingsguard members swear to be celibate."
Feeling a wide, bashful grin cross his face, Jaime squirmed under Brienne's suggestive look before he finally continued. "Well...we both know that I'm not that much of an oath keeper, wench." Brienne looked down at her lap with a far sweeter smile than she had planned to divulge.
"No...no my point is that every generation, even every culture for that matter, has a completely different concept of what beauty is supposed to be. What is fashionable and popular today will be widely considered offensive or contradictory tomorrow."
Across the fire Jaime watched Brienne's forehead fold with a slow doubt. "And what...am I only to be some anomaly then? That I am only to be some...unfortunate woman who doesn't even belong to her own place or time?"
Jaime sighed. "No. Rather...maybe it's fair to say that you are a woman who is simply ahead of her time."
A quirk of skepticism flitted over Brienne's ravaged cheek while she stared into the flames. "And you foresee a future where women will one day be considered attractive when they stand taller than men? You can delineate a future where women with freckles, big teeth and wide lips will all be thought of as beautiful one day?"
Brienne was also tempted to mention the ghastly wound on her cheek but soon thought better of it. She knew once those words started to pour out she would be on the verge of tears soon after.
A dozen answers flitted through Jaime's mind. There were other things he wanted to say but found he had no courage to give them life. Jaime finally answered Brienne's question with a soft and delicate honesty. "I don't know." The maid nodded her head slow, deliberately absorbing his quiet doubt with a small twist of pain.
With a deep breath, Brienne inhaled the frozen air through her nose and felt her wide shoulders drop with a sad finality. "I'm suddenly very tired, Jaime...I'm going to bed."
Jaime felt his mouth twist into a self-despising grimace once he heard the exhausted tone in his friend's hurt voice. Looking down at his lap, he cautiously followed Brienne's movements from the corners of his eyes. Eventually, he stared at Brienne's back while she tightened thick blankets around her, squarely tucking her resting form close to a snowy log. For a long time she remained still in her repose; she had buried her face along the dark shadows of the fallen tree, facing her strong back against Jaime and the glowing fire.
An hour passed; it was Jaime's night to watch the fire. He watched Brienne's back rise and fall instead; her breathing was not as slow as it would be had she actually been asleep. He knew she was as wide awake as he.
With a near full moon shining high and bright, all of the beautiful stars in the constellations began to gather and glimmer; Jaime quietly walked over to the other side of the fire just to be seated next to Brienne's resting head. With his tired back propped against the snowy log, Jaime stared into the fire and tried to see whatever it was that Brienne could see. Long moments passed; with a quiet voice, Jaime finally spoke.
"All I know for certain, Brienne, is that before I met you my only outlook of this world was that it was a very dark, very cruel place. And then you came along..."
Brienne slowly opened her eyes.
"...you came along...and you brought back to life something inside of me that I thought had died a long time ago."
Brienne held her breath.
"You reminded me that honor and chivalry still existed. You showed me that there was still goodness left in this world, something worth fighting for; you showed me that not everything was as spoiled or as ugly as I once thought it to be."
Brienne started to worry her lower lip; under the bright glow of the full moon and the dancing light of golden flames, she felt a strange tickle at the back of her neck. With a gentle stroke of his knuckles, Jaime softly grazed the skin along Brienne's neck with a slow, devastating sweetness.
"You turned my dark world into a beautiful place...you are worth so much more than you dare believe, wench."
Keeping her face turned away from him, Brienne's eyes filled with sudden tears. With total fear she lifted her hand from her side and clutched tight onto Jaime's teasing fingers. Holding onto him for dear life, the maid pulled the back of his hand close to her mouth and gave it a full, loving kiss. Jaime felt stunned. He let her hold onto his hand, resting it low upon her cheek until she finally fell asleep.
For the rest of the night Jaime sat next to Brienne and carefully watched their fire, trying hard to see whatever it was that only Brienne could see.
Not once did Jaime let her hand go.