Chapter Text
In the distance a large hill loomed before them, a grove of trees nestled at its peak, the branches shifting slightly in the wind like a bony hand stripped of flesh. From one of the bare branches a noose hung limply. They had been marching silently 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. The grim silence left him uneasy.
Jaime’s uneasiness grew as he recalled what she said, drawing him away from the safety of his camp. The Hound has Sansa, 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's large form riding into his camp. He had to hold himself back from embracing her, that would of been uncomfortable for them both, especially in the presence of his men. He had important matters to 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 were not long into their travel when he realized the full extent of her wounds. She had stopped to make water, and 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 meet his gaze.
He would not let her go that easily, “Brienne, what has happened to your face?”
“A bite. It’s fine.” She said quietly as she struggled to mount 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 girl, he had lost his temper and sent her away in anger, he knew better than most how dangerous it was to travel this stretch of country 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 they plod on further Jaime couldn’t deny the lurch in his guts was growing.
It had been hours when finally they approached a hill, at the top a bare tree littered with the bodies off several hanged men swayed.
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 emerged from the thicket of brush, along with several men, all armed. The woman was hooded, but Jaime recognized her. “By the Gods... Catelyn Stark?”
A cackling barely audible voice hissed, “Kingslayer” she held her throat, almost as if she was forcing that horrible sound from her mouth. Her lips were such an odd colour, grayer than the winter sky which loomed above them.
Brienne spoke again, “I’ve brought you Ser Jaime, now release my squire as promised.”
Jaime’s heart dropped in his chest. No. He turned to meet her anguished eyes, full of guilt; they almost seemed to plead with him. My life, in exchange for a mere squire? Jaime almost laughed at the absurdity of it, he would have if not for the growing anger building in his guts.
Bound by his wrists a young boy was shoved down the hill, small rocks tumbling with him, the lad hurried clumsily to Brienne.
The hooded Catelyn specter hissed, "kill him."
Jaime cried out as an arrow pierced his right shoulder, a second arrow 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, he fell back his head smacking against the mucky ground. The pain forced his eyes to shut, when he opened them Brienne was standing above him, the sword he had given her was drawn and 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.
“Finish him”, Catelyn commanded.
Jaime unbuckled his chest plate, grabbed the tip of Oathkeeper gently guiding the blade over his heart. Jaime spat blood into the mud and 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, “I will not do this!” She stood over him protectively, "I have brought him as promised, but I refuse to slaughter him."
The boy stood unprotected; the whip of an arrow cut through the air, and exited out of the back of the young squire’s neck. He collapsed to the ground; the arrow was true and his death instant.
“No!” Brienne screamed out in anguished disbelief.
Catelyn glared at them with hatred.
Eight men pressed forward encircling Brienne and Jaime, closing in with weapons drawn.
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.