"You can call me Vito, my friend."
The hands of the farmer and the knight clasped together, symbolizing a friendship that transcended class and past grievances.
Corleone and Jaime exchanged a smile, which was quickly interrupted by the sound of a heated argument not far away.
The two looked over simultaneously, only to see Brienne and Iggo arguing fiercely over a person slumped on the ground.
The man was sturdy and noseless, his chest rising and falling faintly—clearly not dead yet.
"I hit him first!"
Brienne straightened her burly frame, her voice filled with unquestionable certainty.
"I smashed his collarbone with the hilt of my sword, causing him to lose combat effectiveness. The right of execution should be mine!"
Opposite her, Iggo crossed his arms and retorted stiffly, "Incorrect."
"Your attack only made him stumble. It was I who struck him here with the pommel of my blade from behind."
"One hit." He gestured toward the back of Rorge's head. "He fell like a slaughtered sheep. So, he is mine."
However, this only aroused Brienne's dissatisfaction. She insisted, "I remember clearly that I struck first!"
"My memory is not wrong; it is you who remembers incorrectly, woman. In Dothraki lands, women's memories are always worse than men's. They often don't even remember who was mating with them a second ago. Perhaps you should recall carefully."
"You rude Dothraki savage! Your brain is perhaps only the size of a walnut! I'll say it again, he is mine!"
The two argued endlessly, like two stubborn hounds constantly declaring their "ownership." The scene appeared somewhat comical for a moment.
Jaime and Corleone exchanged a glance, both seeing a trace of helplessness and amusement in the other's eyes. They stepped forward together.
"Iggo."
Corleone's voice wasn't loud, but the Dothraki warrior stopped arguing almost immediately, silently took a half-step back, and stood by Corleone's side.
Jaime walked up to Brienne and gently pressed her tense arm with his left hand, only to be shaken off directly. "I clearly hit him first! According to the knightly code, the right to dispose of him should be decided by me!"
Hearing this, Corleone had intended to let her have the man and smooth over this trivial matter. However, when he saw clearly who it was—Rorge—his eyes flickered slightly.
"This man."
He spoke, his voice very calm. "Please hand him over to me. He is very important to me and played a significant role in our earlier actions."
Jaime glanced at Rorge with some surprise, raising an eyebrow, but immediately turned to Brienne and urged, "Give him up, Brienne."
"He saved our lives."
Brienne whipped her head around, seemingly wanting to refute, but her gaze touched Jaime's severed wrist tied with that ridiculous bow, and the words on the tip of her tongue were swallowed back.
Seeing this, Corleone bowed slightly in thanks, then ordered Iggo, "Take him. We need him alive."
Iggo had no questions. He threw the sturdy Rorge onto a horse like a sack of grain, his movements rough and efficient.
"Time to set off."
To dispel the tense atmosphere, Corleone clapped his hands with feigned ease and half-joked, "We still have to get back to King's Landing early to collect my bathtub full of Gold Dragons!"
Jaime laughed too, but his smile quickly faded as he looked at Corleone, asking curiously, "So, Vito."
"How do you plan to take me through the blockade of Northern soldiers ahead?"
"You must know, we are between Riverrun and Harrenhal, right under Roose Bolton's nose. There are at least several thousand Northern soldiers ahead of us."
Before Corleone could answer, Brienne interrupted stubbornly, with a hint of disdain, "I will take you back to King's Landing, Kingslayer!"
"If necessary, I will carve a path with my sword, because this is my mission!"
She spoke with righteous assurance, as if trying to assert her "ownership" over Jaime.
However, Corleone just gave her a bland look.
"One person against several thousand Northern soldiers? That is very brave, my lady."
"But unfortunately, I don't think you have that capability. Relying solely on personal martial prowess, I'm afraid we won't even make it five leagues."
But Brienne took this kindly reminder as a provocation and retorted sarcastically:
"At least I can swear an oath and guarantee the Kingslayer's safety with my life! I won't trust someone whose mouth is full of nothing but profit and Gold Dragons!"
Hearing this, Corleone's gaze sharpened.
Although this woman's character was beyond doubt, she was truly somewhat obstinate and self-opinionated.
"And you, Brienne of Tarth?"
If he didn't convince her, the upcoming actions might encounter unnecessary variables. Corleone decided not to spare her feelings anymore and questioned in a deep voice, "You swore to protect Renly Baratheon, but he died."
"Later you swore loyalty to Lady Catelyn Tully, promising to take Ser Jaime to King's Landing in exchange for her two daughters. And the result?"
"If not for me, this guy with a mouth full of profit, you and your 'mission' would currently be trussed up like livestock by the Brave Companions, transported to Harrenhal, and offered to Roose Bolton for a reward."
"What do you rely on to keep your oaths? Your mouth?"
These words stabbed into the deepest pain in Brienne's heart.
She flew into a rage out of humiliation, her hand touching the hilt of her sword at her waist, shouting, "How dare you!"
"Stop, Brienne!"
Just then, Jaime decisively grabbed her wrist, his voice stern. "Drawing your sword against the person who just saved us—is this your so-called chivalry?"
Brienne's chest heaved violently. Her blue eyes displayed a perfect pie chart of three parts anger, three parts grievance, and four parts frustration.
She violently shook off Jaime's hand and sat heavily on the ground, hugging her knees like a sulking two-hundred-pound child, refusing to look at anyone.
Jaime shook his head helplessly. He didn't try to comfort her but turned his gaze back to Corleone, waiting for his answer.
Corleone didn't take Brienne's reaction to heart. He wasn't petty enough to bicker with a woman. He asked back:
"After Vargo Hoat caught you, where did he plan to take you to claim the reward?"
Hearing this, Jaime frowned slightly at first, then realization dawned on him.
"You mean... Harrenhal?"
As soon as the words fell, Brienne, sitting on the ground, bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, pointing at Corleone. "I knew it!"
"I knew you had no good intentions! You definitely want to take us to Roose Bolton in exchange for Gold Dragons! You and Vargo Hoat are birds of a feather!"
Facing such a reaction, Corleone couldn't even be bothered to get angry.
After all, dealing with stupid people was sometimes a hundred times more difficult than dealing with smart people.
But he had to get used to it, because there were always more stupid people in this world.
"Please sit down, my lady."
Corleone's tone bordered on pity. "Use your brain. If I just wanted the ransom, sending you and Ser Jaime back to Lord Tywin intact would fetch a price at least ten times higher than what Roose Bolton or the King in the North could offer."
As soon as this was said, Brienne was immediately choked up, unable to find any words to refute. She just asked stubbornly, "Then why do you..."
"We have no choice."
Corleone answered calmly, "If we don't go through Harrenhal, we'll have to double back and go around the God's Eye. That would at least triple the distance, and we'd encounter even more dangers!"
"Even if we rush back to King's Landing safely, by that time, I'm afraid the war will be over!"
He took a deep breath, then looked at Brienne seriously, issuing a final ultimatum: "Either you choose to trust me, or please leave alone right now, return to Riverrun, and report back to Lady Catelyn Tully."
"Tell her you lost her last bargaining chip."
These words thoroughly enraged Brienne. She jumped up, grabbing Jaime's left hand and dragging him backward. "Come with me, Kingslayer!"
"This farmer is absolutely crazy! He is not to be trusted at all! We will die there!"
However, to Brienne's surprise, Jaime, who was originally less strong than her, planted his feet firmly on the ground. No matter how she dragged him, he didn't move half a step.
She looked back in confusion, only to see him use his remaining left hand to grab her arm in return and pat it.
Looking straight at Brienne, Jaime's emerald eyes shone with determination, his voice low and clear: "I trust him, Brienne."
"He is my friend."
"Just like you."
This sentence hit Brienne like a bolt of lightning.
She was stunned at first, a trace of disbelief flashing in her eyes. But immediately, intense pride and a sense of principle made her violently shake off Jaime's hand as if it were something dirty.
"He is not my friend, Kingslayer!"
Her voice was cold, carrying a trace of pain as if betrayed, and she spoke cruelly: "Neither are you."