Jaime slouched into the rickety boat carrying him downriver. Partly he slouched because it was more comfortable, but mostly because he wanted his lazy posture to be in direct counterpoint to Brienne's upright figure as she paddled along. Perhaps it was only his naturally mischievous nature combined with sheer boredom, but he longed to see her reserve crumble if it lay in his power to make it happen.

And, being who he was, he considered more or less everything within his power to make happen.

"Say something, Brienne of Tarth," he pressed, in a deliberately dramatic fashion. He liked calling her that. For some reason it made her sound like a creature out of a fairytale. A swamp creature, perhaps. As a nickname, 'Brienne the Beauty' was mildly amusing, but lacked imagination. He'd have to devise a new one for her.

"What do you want to hear?" she replied, tonelessly.

"Are you taking requests?" He straightened. "Can you sing, Brienne? I shouldn't think so...but maybe you've a sweet voice hiding somewhere in that considerable column of a neck, eh? How about a love ballad? Do you know any love ballads?"

"No."

"I bet you do. I bet you've memorized them all. I bet you sat by your window as a girl, listening to the men in the courtyard playing at night, wiping your tears on your sleeve." He warmed to his subject. "Perhaps 'The Maid on the Moor', no, I know, 'Lady Without a Love', that was the one that always got you, wasn't it?"

"You're right, it was," she said without emotion. "How well you understand me."

He wrinkled his nose in disappointment and stared off the side of the boat, smiling a little. "So you admit you are a thwarted virgin longing for a good—"

"How romantic." She met his eyes, when he glanced back at her, dryly.

"There, is this not preferable to silence?" he challenged.

"I am not disposed towards conversation at any time, less still with someone as contemptible as yourself. So no. It is not."

"You only say that because you haven't had a chance to get to know me yet."

"I would rather die any number of nasty deaths than get to know you, Kingslayer."

He shrugged, and let his knees spread apart in a suggestive manner.

Brienne continued to paddle, her face still stony and pale as ever. He couldn't even make her blush.

Pathetic, Lannister.

You are just going to have to try harder.

"You know," he said, later, "this could be much more enjoyable if you'd just—"

"Shut up, Kingslayer."

"—untie me," Jaime finished. "What did you think I was going to say?"

Brienne gave him a not-very-gentle shove the moment she'd helped him out of the boat, and he stumbled, but she suspected he was doing it for effect. He regained his balance, shaking hair out of his eyes and looking at her with that expression of lazy arrogance he always seemed to wear, asleep or awake.

She had pushed hard in the boat that day, bringing them as far as she dared across the black water. But now the dark was encroaching, seeming to swell up from the surrounding bushes. Since she cared nothing for the kingslayer's comfort and little for her own, making camp was a short and simple process. Even though he snorted in disbelieving amusement, she used a length of rope to tie him around a tree before she began her preparations.

"Where am I going to run?" he asked rhetorically. "And even if I did, I'm sure you could catch me, with those long legs. Those legs you could wrap around twice around a man's—ah." She'd cuffed him.

Leaving him tied, Brienne moved about the chosen camping spot, just a few yards away from the riverbank, gathering up firewood. It wasn't going to be a cold night, but she didn't enjoy the darkness, and the fire would be her company.

She wondered, as she worked, if she shouldn't gag him. She couldn't imagine he had plans to shut his mouth any time in the near future. There seemed to be nothing Jaime Lannister loved so well as the sound of his own voice.

Once the fire was burning well, she straightened.

"Am I to be strapped to the tree all night?" he inquired politely.

"Not if you can behave decently." She set aside the stick she had been using to nurture the flames.

"Decently," he repeated, as if he didn't understand the meaning of the word. Which he probably didn't. "I would rather not be. If it's all the same to you."

"Just try not to do anything stupid." She stepped around behind him and undid the bonds. His hands were still bound. He made a point of stretching and then going over to stand by the fire. The light flickered against his form, highlighting the planes of his face to advantage. Brienne studied him for a moment. He was a handsome devil, there was no denying that (though she would have been torn apart by mythical krakens sooner than say so) but a devil he was, nonetheless.

She would be glad when she had done her duty and delivered him to King's Landing.

"You're staring," Jaime observed.

"Sit," she said. Most, if not all, of the things he said were best ignored. "It is time to eat."

"Good," he said, seating himself with surprising, cat-like grace. "I'm ravenous. What have you prepared for dinner, dear Brienne?"

Without comment she dug into her pack of supplies and unwrapped the bread still remaining. She broke off a moderate chunk and brought it to him.

"You'll have to feed me," he said, confidentially. "I'm afraid you've tied my hands too tightly."

"You will have to manage." Brienne returned to her place on the other side of the fire and began to eat her portion of bread, which she had scrupulously separated in order to be the same size as his. Let no one claim she had mistreated him while he was her prisoner. That was not her privilege.

Dark had closed in around them. The forest was silent except for the whisper of wind in the trees. Brienne settled with her back against a fallen log and her knees up, her sword at hand, preparing to wait out the night. She would need a few hours of sleep but she meant to take those later, and he would have to be properly restrained. The casual air he had been affecting over the past few days of travel did not fool her; someone as cunning as he was likely to do anything in order to make his escape.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Brienne reached forward and slid another log into the fire from the small pile she had gathered and stacked within arms' length. Sparks went spiraling out and up. She watched them disappear.

"You know," he said, "this is going to be a long journey. We should at the very least be on speaking terms."
"I have nothing to say to you, Kingslayer."

"Really?" He leaned forward. "But you keep shooting me these disgusted looks. I'm sure there is something you want to say to me. Flattering or no."

"I have been charged by my lady Stark with the task of delivering you to King's Landing. No more. I am required neither to entertain you, nor to provide conversation along the way."

Jaime tilted his head to one side in an almost indulgent fashion. "Do you ever smile?"

She was caught off-guard by this question but after a moment said, "When something amuses me."

"Because I can't picture it. You're so humorless. I do believe there is nothing you find amusing."

"There is nothing you could say which would amuse me, certainly." Brienne was conscious that she shouldn't be deigning any of his nonsense with replies, no matter how dour, but it was a long night and journey ahead of them, he was right about that. "I am going to tie you now. You will remain so until morning."

"I have to take a piss first," he said, unabashed.

Brienne maintained her stolid expression. She rose, took her sword and the length of rope and came over to him. He stood up, and did not resist when she turned him around, binding the rope securely about his upper arms, tying it, and then holding on to the end as she pushed him in the direction of the bushes. The rest, he would have to figure out for himself.

He fumbled with his bound hands in his pants. "Is this awkward for you?" he said over his shoulder.

It was, a little, only because she had not yet needed to do anything like this before. Her honorable nature prompted her to respect the privacy (where practical) of any individual, no matter how despicable, yet she could not afford for him to think there was anything he could do to embarrass her that would not have embarrassed a male guard in the same position. She knew he would cast such a thing up to her mercilessly and even if he didn't, he would see it as a weakness which could at some point be exploited to his advantage.

Brienne settled for keeping one hand on the rope and one on his back so that he was at arms' length, and turning her head away as long as the sound of urine hitting the leaves lasted.

"There," he said, eventually. "I'm done." The curve of his mouth as he looked back over his shoulder was mocking even in the dim firelight.

"I won't help you if you need to do that again later," she said, as coolly as she could manage. "So do not ask."

"If you want my help with anything in the night—"

"Shut up, Kingslayer."

Another day of river travel passed before Jaime noticed a weak spot along his side of the boat where the wood was damp with rot. Brienne didn't appear to have seen it yet and Jaime was careful from then on to keep his leg resting near so that the area was in shadow. He had to wait until the river widened before he could attempt his plan. Brienne tended to keep the boat hugging the shore closest to the roadside, where they had cover of trees and shrubbery. But on one morning they came through a rocky stretch and Jaime saw that she was, of necessity, guiding the boat further out towards the middle.

If his plan didn't work he would look a fool—although this by itself wasn't enough of a consideration to stop him—and if it worked too well they could both be dead before there was any room for negotiation.

He decided either was better than doing nothing.

Brienne rested the paddle for a moment and shifted to peer over her shoulder at the sun, which was blindingly bright today.

He brought his boot heel down, hard, on the rotten section. The wood fractured under the pressure and water began gurgling through at a pleasingly rapid rate.

She stared at the damage and then lifted her eyes to his face.

He smiled.

She began quickly to paddle.

"You won't make it," he said. "One of us has to bail. Untie me."

"No." Brienne worked harder. Even preoccupied with the plan, he spent a moment being impressed by the strength of her stroke.

"With that armor, you won't get one length in before you sink." He held his foot aloft. Brienne stretched out her own leg and kicked him, aiming for his groin but he brought his knees together in time and then punched through the bottom again anyway. Water began to gush in.

Brienne's face blanched further. "You will go down too."

Jaime shrugged.

"You're mad."

"Mad, I suppose I could be," he said, cheerfully. "Though Lannisters don't run to madness. Untie me." He leaned forward, compelling her with his gaze. "Once we get ashore, I'll find another sword and you can fight for your chance to take me prisoner again. A fair go, eh?"

"I care nothing for survival," she said, but her lips were bloodless.

"Bulls' balls, everyone cares for survival. You have brains, don't you? Use them!"

She set down the paddle and snatched a dagger from her boot, and for a second he thought she meant to stab him with it, which would have complicated the plan, but she brought it up to his wrists and sawed quickly through the ropes.

"That's better," he said, pulling off his boot and using it to bail, while she took up the paddle again. "I knew one of us was going to be sensible eventually."

She didn't reply. By the time the boat was scraping on the rocks, they were ankle-deep in river water despite Jaime's efforts at bailing. But the idea had worked quite well and he was pleased with himself.

He replaced his boot, leaped out first and hauled the length of the foundered craft closer in, then extended a hand to Brienne to help her out. For an instant she just sat, her cornstalk-colored eyelashes shading her eyes.

You can't win them all, wench, he thought with satisfaction. And this fight coming up...you're not going to win that one, either.

After a few more moments, Brienne grasped his forearm, and he pulled her forwards, out of the boat. He had to brace himself. The woman was a wall of muscle and the armor didn't make her any more yielding. In a split-second, with his other arm he divested her of her sword.

Jaime might have almost felt sorry for her in that moment if he hadn't been in such a self-satisfied mood. She resembled nothing so much as a wilted flower. Well, maybe a weed more than a flower. But at least she wasn't crying, gods preserve him from a wench who cried, he detested soggy eyes and it did nothing to soften his heart, so was wasted effort as far as he was concerned.

"Let's go. We're for the road now." Done with this damned boat-traveling for good, whether as prisoner or guard Jaime had no desire to take it up again.

"Is that wise," Brienne said dully. "You may be recognized."

"I'll worry about that," he said. "Move."

She did; slowly at first, but when he used the flat of her borrowed blade to whack at the back of her leg, somewhat more precipitately.

They headed up the bank and through a cluster of trees, towards the road visible in the distance. It was warm, with the sun overhead. The road was deserted.

They walked for some time in silence, Brienne trudging, Jaime sauntering.

"I would like my sword back," Brienne said, slanting a look at him.

"Patience," he said. "I'll give it to you when I have one of my own."

"Do you imagine I believe that?"

"Believe it or not, just as you like."

She was silenced by this.

Jaime added, "I never tell a lie when the truth will serve. The trouble is, it so rarely does."

"You like nothing so much as to hear yourself talk."

"I confess it is one of three things I do well."

She maintained her obstinate silence.

Jaime saw, in the distance, an approaching rider. If the fellow had any sense he'd give them a wide berth, but people had so little sense these days. The man slowed. Suspiciously, but he did slow. Enough for Jaime to step in sharply, causing the horse to bolt up in surprise. He caught its bridle and gave the rider a quick assessment. Well-dressed and carrying the weapon he was looking for.

"Get down," he said, leveling Brienne's sword.

The man complied, his face reddening with anger.

"I'm afraid I need your sword," Jaime told him.

"Fuck off," was the reply. A poorly-considered one, Jaime thought; he slashed the man's throat to teach him a lesson, then shoved the point of Brienne's sword deep into the other's soft belly. The man gurgled.

"I thought you'd come round." Jaime pulled the weapon free, using his boot to kick the body to the ground. He then took the requested sword and examined it. Able enough steel. He helped himself to the man's scabbard and belt, as well.

Brienne watched in wordless disapproval. Meanwhile the horse danced and skittered nearby.

Jaime looked at it. "You'll have to walk," he said. "It seems a hardy animal but I doubt it could carry the both of us."

"Even could it, I would not ride with you."

As if to decline either of these options, the horse neighed and promptly ran off, its hooves creating a cloud of dust along the dry road.

"Ill-tempered, like its owner," Jaime remarked. "Come. You shall have your trial. Unless you need some time to recover from your near-drowning."

"No," Brienne said, evidently choosing to ignore the undercurrent of mockery he'd inserted into that last. "I am ready now."

Because it amused him to do so, he made a courtly gesture, indicating that they should move away from the road.

She preceded him. They walked just to where the land rose in a slight hill, shielding them from view of the road, and down the other side. Here there were some bushes scattered over the sandy ground, but it was flat enough to serve for a quick melee.

She turned and faced him, a half-dozen paces off, her mouth set.

He tossed her sword to the ground, hoping to elicit anger by this action and, from the flash in her eyes, he'd been at least a little successful. She stooped, picked up the weapon, and turned sideways, circling towards him.

They engaged.

He was expecting her to be good, because she wouldn't have become what she was, otherwise. He was ready for that. He wasn't prepared for her to be quite that good. Really, she was as good as most men.

Brienne's sword missed his left shoulder by mere centimeters.

Better than most men.

As they continued, he realized he might have to revise his ideas of how long this would take. She wasn't going to give any quarter; she was completely committed and that meant he had to be, too.

"Let me know when you've had enough," he said, when there was a moment their blades weren't locked.

She came at him again.

He was mainly defending. Mostly because at this point he thought it would keep her angry. And there was nothing wrong with starting a fight angry, but if you stayed angry, you tired faster. She was armored, he wasn't. Also she had been paddling most of the damn day. She should have been tired already.

This wench really is a beast, he thought, but not without admiration.

Steel clashed on steel again, and then Jaime moved in. Time to finish this.