No friends

"You can call me Vito, my friend."

The farmer and the knight clasped hands tightly, marking the forging of a friendship that transcended class and their pasts.

Corleone and Jaime exchanged a smile, only to be interrupted moments later by a fierce argument nearby.

Both looked over to see Brienne and Yego arguing endlessly over a man sprawled on the ground.

The man was powerfully built and had no nose. His chest rose and fell faintly; clearly, he was not quite dead yet.

"I hit him first!"

Brienne straightened her imposing frame, her voice brooking no argument.

"I shattered his collarbone with my sword pommel, putting him out of the fight. The right to execute him should be mine!"

Opposite her, Yego folded his arms and bluntly retorted, "Wrong."

"Your attack only made him stagger. I came from behind and struck him here with my knife hilt."

"One blow." He gestured toward the back of Rorge's head. "Only then did he fall like a slaughtered sheep. So he is mine."

This only displeased Brienne, who insisted, "I distinctly remember landing my blow first!"

"My memory is not wrong. Yours is, woman. Among the Dothraki, women always have worse memories than men. They cannot even remember who was mating with them a moment ago. Perhaps you should think back carefully."

"You rude Dothraki savage! Your brain is probably no bigger than a walnut. I will say it again: he is mine!"

The two argued endlessly, like a pair of stubborn hunting dogs repeatedly asserting their "ownership," making the scene rather comical.

Jaime and Corleone exchanged a glance, each seeing a trace of helpless amusement in the other's eyes, and stepped forward together.

"Yego."

Corleone's voice was quiet, but the Dothraki warrior stopped arguing almost instantly, silently retreating half a step to stand at his side.

Jaime approached Brienne and gently pressed her taut arm with his left hand, only for her to shake him off. "I clearly struck him first! By the agreement between knights, I should decide what happens to him!"

At this, Corleone had intended to let her have the man and put this trivial matter behind them. Yet when he got a clear look at Rorge, his eyes flickered slightly.

"This man."

He spoke very calmly. "Please hand him over to me. He is very important to me, and he also played a major role in our earlier operation."

Jaime gave Rorge a somewhat surprised look and raised an eyebrow, but immediately turned to Brienne and urged, "Let him have him, Brienne."

"He saved our lives."

Brienne whipped her head around, seemingly about to argue, but when her gaze fell on Jaime's severed wrist with its ridiculous bow, she swallowed the words on her tongue.

Seeing this, Corleone bowed slightly in thanks, then instructed Yego, "Bring him. We need him alive."

Without question, Yego slung the burly Rorge over a horse like a sack, his movements rough and efficient.

"Time to leave."

To dispel the tension, Corleone clapped his hands with affected ease and said half-jokingly, "We still need to get back to King's Landing soon and collect my bathtub full of Gold Dragons!"

Jaime laughed as well, but his smile soon faded as he looked at Corleone and asked curiously, "Then, Vito."

"How do you intend to get me through the Soldiers of the North's blockade ahead?"

"You do realize we are between Riverrun and Harrenhal, right under Roose Bolton's nose, with at least several thousand Soldiers of the North ahead of us."

Before Corleone could answer, Brienne stubbornly cut in with a trace of disdain. "I will take you back to King's Landing, Kingslayer!"

"If necessary, I will cut a path through with my sword, because that is my mission!"

She spoke with complete conviction, as though trying to assert her "ownership" of Jaime.

Corleone, however, merely gave her an indifferent glance.

"One person against several thousand Soldiers of the North? That is very brave, my lady."

"But unfortunately, I do not think you have that ability. Relying on individual prowess alone, I doubt we would make it even five leagues."

Yet Brienne took this well-intentioned warning as a provocation and retorted:

"At least I can swear to protect the Kingslayer with my life! I certainly will not trust someone who talks of nothing but profit and Gold Dragons!"

At this, Corleone's gaze sharpened.

Though this woman's character was beyond question, she was far too headstrong.

"And what about you, Brienne of Tarth?"

Unless he convinced her, their next steps might well be subject to unnecessary complications. Corleone decided to stop sparing her feelings and demanded gravely, "You swore to protect Renly Baratheon, yet he died."

"Then you swore allegiance to Lady Catelyn Tully and promised to take Ser Jaime to King's Landing in exchange for her two daughters. And what happened?"

"Without this fellow who talks of nothing but profit, you and your 'mission' would already have been trussed up like livestock by the Brave Companions and taken to Harrenhal, to be presented to Roose Bolton for a reward."

"What will you use to uphold your oaths? Your mouth?"

These words struck Brienne's deepest sore spot.

Humiliated and furious, she laid a hand on the sword hilt at her waist and shouted, "How dare you!"

"Stop, Brienne!"

At that moment, Jaime firmly seized her wrist, his voice stern. "Drawing your sword against the man who just saved us-is that what you call chivalry?"

Brienne's chest heaved, her blue eyes displaying three parts anger, three parts grievance, and four parts defeat: a perfect pie chart.

She violently shook off Jaime's hand and sat down heavily on the ground, hugging her knees like a sulking child weighing over two hundred pounds, refusing to look at anyone.

Jaime shook his head helplessly. Rather than try to persuade her, he turned his gaze back to Corleone and waited for his answer.

Corleone did not take Brienne's reaction to heart either. He was not so petty as to quibble with a woman, and asked in return:

At this, Jaime first frowned slightly, then seemed to understand.

"You mean... Harrenhal?"

The moment he spoke, Brienne bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on and pointed at Corleone from where she sat. "I knew it!"

"I knew you were up to no good! You must be planning to hand us over to Roose Bolton in exchange for Gold Dragons. You are no different from Vargo Hoat!"

Faced with this reaction, Corleone could not even be bothered to get angry.

After all, dealing with fools could sometimes be a hundred times harder than dealing with clever people.

But he had to get used to it, because fools were always more numerous in this world.

"Please sit down, my lady."

Corleone's tone was almost pitying. "Use your head. If all I wanted was a ransom, delivering you and Ser Jaime unharmed to Lord Tywin would earn me at least ten times what Roose Bolton or the King in the North could offer."

This immediately silenced Brienne. Unable to find any rebuttal, she only asked stubbornly, "Then why would you..."

"We have no choice."

Corleone answered calmly, "If we do not go through Harrenhal, we can only turn back and go around the Gods Eye. That would make the journey at least more than three times as long, with even more dangers along the way!"

"Even if we made it safely back to King's Landing, I fear the war would already be over by then!"

He drew a deep breath, then looked solemnly at Brienne and delivered his ultimatum. "Either choose to trust me, or leave alone right now. Go back to Riverrun and report to Lady Catelyn Tully."

"Tell her you lost her last bargaining chip."

These words utterly enraged Brienne. She jumped up, grabbed Jaime's left hand, and dragged him backward. "Come with me, Kingslayer!"

"This farmer has clearly gone mad! He cannot be trusted. We will die there!"

To Brienne's surprise, however, Jaime, who was less strong than she was, planted himself firmly in place. No matter how she pulled, he did not move a step.

She looked back in confusion and saw him take hold of her arm instead with his only remaining hand, his left, and pat it.

Looking straight at Brienne, his green eyes shining with resolve, Jaime spoke in a low, clear voice. "I trust him, Brienne."

"He is my friend."

"Just like you."

Those words struck Brienne like a bolt of lightning.

She froze at first, a trace of disbelief flashing through her eyes. But then her fierce pride and sense of principle made her violently fling Jaime's hand away, as though it were something filthy.

"He is not my friend, Kingslayer!"

Her voice was icy, carrying a hint of pain as though she had been betrayed, as she said cruelly, "And neither are you."