"You can call me Vito, my friend."
The farmer and the knight clasped hands, sealing a friendship that rose above class and past alike.
Corleone and Jaime exchanged a smile, but it was quickly cut short by a heated argument erupting not far away.
They both turned to look and saw Brienne and Iggo arguing fiercely over a man collapsed on the ground.
The man was broad-built and noseless, his chest rising faintly. He was clearly not dead yet.
"I struck him first!"
Brienne straightened her powerful frame, her voice ringing with absolute certainty.
"I smashed his collarbone with my sword pommel. That took him out of the fight. By knightly custom, the right to execute him belongs to me!"
Across from her, Iggo folded his arms and replied bluntly, "No."
"Your strike only made him stumble. I came up from behind and hit him here with my knife hilt."
He gestured toward the back of Rorge's head.
"One blow. Then he dropped like a slaughtered sheep. So he's mine."
That only angered Brienne further. She insisted, "I clearly remember hitting him first!"
"My memory doesn't fail," Iggo shot back. "Yours does, woman. In Dothraki lands, women remember worse than men. Sometimes they can't even remember who they were coupling with a moment ago. Maybe you should think harder."
"You rude Dothraki savage!" Brienne snapped. "Your brain is probably the size of a walnut. I'll say it again, he's mine!"
The two of them kept arguing, like stubborn hunting dogs loudly declaring ownership over the same prey. The scene was absurd.
Jaime and Corleone exchanged a glance, both seeing the same mix of helplessness and amusement. They stepped forward together.
"Iggo."
Corleone's voice was quiet, but the Dothraki warrior stopped arguing almost instantly. He fell silent, stepped back half a pace, and stood at Corleone's side.
Jaime moved to Brienne and gently pressed his left hand against her tense arm, only to have it brushed away at once.
"It was clearly me!" she insisted. "By knightly agreement, his fate should be mine to decide!"
Hearing that, Corleone was originally prepared to give her the man and move on from the trivial dispute. But when he got a clear look at Rorge's face, his eyes flickered.
"This man," he said calmly, "please hand him over to me. He's very important to me, and he played a significant role in what we did earlier."
Jaime glanced at Rorge in surprise and raised an eyebrow, then immediately turned to Brienne.
"Give him to him, Brienne."
"He saved our lives."
Brienne snapped her head back, clearly about to argue. But when her gaze landed on Jaime's severed wrist, tied up with that ridiculous bow, the words stuck in her throat.
Seeing this, Corleone inclined his head slightly in thanks, then instructed Iggo, "Take him with us. We need him alive."
Iggo asked no questions. He slung the heavily built Rorge over the horse's back like a sack of grain, rough but efficient.
"It's time to move."
To ease the tension, Corleone clapped his hands and joked lightly, "We still need to get back to King's Landing as soon as possible and collect my bathtub full of Golden Dragons."
Jaime laughed as well, but his smile quickly faded as he looked at Corleone with curiosity.
"So, Vito."
"How do you plan to get me through the next blockade of northern soldiers?"
"We're between Riverrun and Harrenhal, right under Roose Bolton's nose. There are at least several thousand northern troops ahead of us."
Before Corleone could answer, Brienne cut in stubbornly, her tone tinged with disdain.
"I'll take you back to King's Landing, Kingslayer!"
"If I have to, I'll carve a path through with my sword. That's my duty!"
She sounded righteously defiant, as if asserting her claim over Jaime.
Corleone merely glanced at her.
"One person against several thousand northern soldiers is brave, my lady."
"But sadly, I don't think you're capable of it. Relying on individual valor alone, we wouldn't even make five miles."
Instead of accepting the warning, Brienne took it as a provocation and fired back.
"At least I can swear on my life to protect the Kingslayer. I won't trust someone whose mouth is full of nothing but profit and Golden Dragons!"
At that, Corleone's gaze sharpened.
This woman's character was beyond question, but her stubbornness was exhausting.
"And what about you, Brienne of Tarth?"
If he didn't convince her, the next steps could become dangerously unstable. Corleone dropped all courtesy and questioned her coldly.
"You swore to protect Renly Baratheon. He's dead."
"Then you swore loyalty to Lady Catelyn Tully, to take Ser Jaime to King's Landing in exchange for her two daughters. And what happened?"
"If not for someone like me, so obsessed with profit, you and your mission would already be tied up like livestock by the Brave Companions and hauled to Harrenhal to be handed over to Roose Bolton for a reward."
"What do you use to uphold your oaths, your mouth?"
The words struck straight at the deepest wound in Brienne's heart.
Humiliated and furious, her hand went to the hilt of her sword as she shouted, "How dare you!"
"Stop it, Brienne!"
At that moment, Jaime decisively grabbed her wrist, his voice sharp.
"Drawing your sword on the man who just saved us, is that what you call knightly honor?"
Brienne's chest heaved violently. Her clear blue eyes showed three parts anger, three parts grievance, and four parts frustration, a perfect storm of emotion.
She yanked her hand free and dropped heavily to the ground, hugging her knees like a sulking, oversized child, refusing to look at anyone.
Jaime shook his head helplessly. He didn't try to comfort her, instead turning back to Corleone, waiting for his answer.
Corleone paid Brienne's reaction no mind. He wasn't petty enough to argue with a woman. He asked Jaime instead, "When Vargo Hoat captured you, where did he plan to take you to collect the reward?"
Jaime frowned slightly, then realization dawned.
"You mean… Harrenhal?"
The words had barely left his mouth when Brienne exploded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. She pointed at Corleone.
"I knew it!"
"I knew you were up to no good! You're planning to sell us to Roose Bolton for Golden Dragons. You're the same as Vargo Hoat!"
Faced with that reaction, Corleone couldn't even be bothered to get angry.
Dealing with foolish people was sometimes a hundred times harder than dealing with clever ones.
And he had to get used to it. There were always more fools in this world.
"Please, sit down, my lady."
Corleone's tone was almost pitying.
"Think for a moment. If all I wanted was ransom, delivering you and Ser Jaime safely back to Lord Tywin would earn me at least ten times what Roose Bolton or the King in the North could offer."
Brienne was instantly choked silent, unable to find a single word of rebuttal. She could only ask stubbornly, "Then why…"
"We have no other choice," Corleone replied calmly.
"If we don't pass through Harrenhal, we'll have to backtrack and detour around the Gods Eye. That's at least three times the distance, with far more danger."
"Even if we make it safely back to King's Landing, by then the war might already be over."
He took a deep breath and looked at Brienne seriously, delivering his ultimatum.
"Either you choose to trust me, or you leave now, alone, and return to Riverrun to report to Lady Catelyn Tully."
"Tell her you lost her last bargaining chip."
That completely enraged Brienne. She jumped up, grabbed Jaime's left hand, and dragged him backward.
"Come with me, Kingslayer!"
"This farmer is insane. He can't be trusted. We'll die if we go there!"
What shocked Brienne was that Jaime, who was no longer stronger than her, planted himself firmly in place. No matter how she pulled, he didn't move an inch.
She turned back in confusion, only to see Jaime use his remaining left hand to grab her arm instead, giving it a gentle pat.
He looked straight at her, resolve shining in his eyes. His voice was low and steady.
"I trust him, Brienne."
"He's my friend."
"Just like you are."
The words struck Brienne like a bolt of lightning.
She froze, disbelief flashing across her eyes. Then pride and rigid principles surged up, and she flung Jaime's hand away as if it were something filthy.
"He is not my friend, Kingslayer!"
Her voice was icy, laced with a pain that felt like betrayal.
"And neither are you."