Admit it, you need me.
It was just a text, but she could hear him saying the words in that slow, infuriatingly smug way he did when he was teasing her. Brienne Tarth glared down at her phone, picturing Jaime Lannister's ultra-confident grin as we waited for her response, and then she set it on her bedside table and curled back into her bed. Let him stew on her silence for a while. Maybe he'd stop texting her in the asinine hours of the morning.
"I do not need you," she whispered as she pulled the covers to her chin. It was just a stupid high school reunion. She could handle that on her own, she didn't even plan on staying long. She didn't have many high school friends to stop and reminisce with anyway, and she'd only decided to go because she knew everyone would expect her to stay away. Stormlands Academy had not been a kind place to spend her teenage years but she could put that behind her and enjoy the evening. Even dateless. Especially dateless.
Her phone buzzed again.
"Jaime," she groaned in annoyance. If he could have heard her, his grin only would have gotten wider. He loved nothing more than to tease her.
We always said id take u if u didn't have a date.
Brienne sucked in an indignant breath and began typing. She knew she was just giving him what he wanted—a response—but she couldn't help it. She had never been able to help it, not in the twelve years they'd known each other.
"We" never said that, Jaime. YOU said it and I said no. a lot. She was tapping the screen harder than was necessary in her annoyance, and she had to hit 'send' twice before her phone would comply with her jabbing command.
His reply was quick. Oh come on u can't go to ur 10 year reunion without a date. It'll be fun think of the looks on their faces.
Brienne rolled her eyes. I want you to read this really really carefully: I do not want a charity date Jaime Lannister. I will be fine on my own.
Well what if i want a charity date? and i already rented a suit.
Why had the gods plagued her with such an insufferable best friend? She stared down at his last text and curled even deeper into her covers. His 'rented suit' was probably some gorgeously tailored designer suit that he'd bought in some high-end shop in the capitol. And why did he want to come so badly anyway? Should she just give in? He would annoy her until she accepted, she knew that. It was just that… It seemed like admitting a weakness, breaking down and letting her (stupidly handsome and rich) friend take her to her ten-year reunion. It wasn't as if anyone would believe that they were actually dating for a single second (which of course was fine because they weren't), but she also couldn't deny that it would be nice not to have to face the ordeal alone.
Especially if Renly Baratheon was there.
Fine, she typed, but i'm not wearing a stupid dress.
His only response was a smiling emoji, and Brienne groaned and buried herself completely under her covers. How did he talk her into this stuff?
Jaime had met Brienne in her sophomore year, when she'd been put on every varsity team she'd tried out for, including rugby. He'd insisted on attending Stormlands Academy boarding school for two reasons: it had an excellent sports program and it wasn't close to home. He was a senior and captained the men's rugby team, and like all the others he had laughed at the sight of her lumbering to practices. Unlike the others, however, he'd paid attention to her performance. Toward the end of her sophomore year, she'd revitalized women's sports at the school and proven that she could play as well as anyone on Jaime's team, though she'd been restricted to the women's team. His cruel jokes had given way to relentless teasing, loathing had somehow changed into grudging respect and then even a strange sort of affection. Though she still hesitated to call him 'friend' by the time he graduated, they never completely fell out of contact.
She followed his university sports career and he in turn followed hers, though she stayed in the Stormlands and he'd gone to a private institution in King's Landing. By her sophomore year of college, she no longer shied away from referring to him as her friend even if most of their relationship was via text or phone calls. She became something of a lifeline for him while his family life crumbled.
That was the year he'd come closest to losing her. That was the summer she'd found out about Cersei. She'd stopped talking to him for three months after that, and he'd spent two of those months well and truly drunk. Drunk enough to wreck his car, lose his hand and utterly destroy any future he had in sports.
Then, during one of his darkest days just after the amputation, she called him. They talked. It wasn't as easy as it had been: something had changed between them and it couldn't be erased or taken back. But she never stopped talking to him again. She'd stood by him as he finally pulled himself out of his family's toxic grasp and got himself into therapy.
There had been a lot of therapy. Mental and physical. He'd thrown temper tantrums and sank into depression. He sulked and whined and called her all the cruel names he had back when they'd first met. Then he called her worse names. By that point Brienne had learned how to deal with his bullshit: she fought with him, shamed him, encouraged him, exercised with him and generally made herself a pain in his ass until he got back to work on fixing his shattered life.
Tyrion practically worshiped her, though he showed it with his typical wit and cynicism. But Jaime—Jaime would die for her.
And, on a less dramatic note, he'd certainly go to her ten-year reunion with her. Especially because he knew Renly Baratheon would be there, and that she'd spend the whole night tormenting herself for loving him. Oh, she claimed she'd stopped loving him years ago, but Jaime didn't really believe her. She still blushed whenever he came up, and he often did as he very publicly campaigned for equality and same-sex marriage all across Westros.
He couldn't make Renly love her in return, but he could make sure that everyone at that stupid party wished they were her.
He arrived in town two days before the reunion and got right to work. He was determined to make the night perfect for her.
Come down already.
Brienne ignored that text and stared at herself in the mirror. Jaime had sent her to a spa the day before, where she'd been pampered to an absurd degree. "To help you relax," he'd said. Well, she wasn't sure it had worked. They'd massaged her and given her mud baths and face masks, painted her nails and treated her hair. She'd felt scrubbed clean when she'd come out and yes, relaxed…until she thought of the reunion again.
Now it was the evening of the party and she was in a dress he'd bought her (how had he guessed her size?), a blue number which should have looked ridiculous on her but instead somehow managed to make her legs look…good. Really good. She'd turned down his offer of a makeup artist because there was no fixing her face and because she refused to try that hard for a bunch of people that had made her school years miserable, but she had to admit that the dress wasn't a total disaster.
Still, she couldn't drag herself out of her hotel room and down to the lobby to meet him.
Her phone buzzed again: We'll be late and not even the fashionable kind.
"Heavens forbid," she muttered drily to her reflection, but she smiled a little because she knew the comment would have made Jaime laugh.
This is no big deal. Just go downstairs, meet Jaime, and have a good time at a party. Then it'll be over for ten more years.
She stared at herself for a moment longer, called herself a coward about three more times, and then finally gathered up her clutch and phone and left her hotel room. It would be good to see Jaime, they hadn't been in the same city for a couple of years and he'd really done her a huge favor by insisting on being her date. She was looking forward to it, even knowing that there would inevitably be plenty of annoying teasing.
She stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor and scanned the lobby for her friend. A movement over by the bar caught her eye and—
By all the gods. She managed not to gasp, but only barely. He was stunning, how could she have forgotten how absolutely, heartachingly perfect he was? It almost hurt to look at him, and she felt herself freeze even as he spotted her and headed her way with a huge grin.
He was especially devastating when he smiled like he was now, all shining green eyes and silky hair. He'd let himself get a little scruffy and it was doing some strange things to her knees.
Not just your knees, a cruel little voice whispered, but it was true: heat uncurled and flared with every step he took in her direction. Her cheeks were red and she really had to get control of her suddenly uneven breathing before he reached her.
She didn't, but he didn't seem to notice. He just gathered her into a hug.
"It's been too long, wench," he murmured into her ear. Her panties were a lost cause. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought about literally anything but the feel of him so close, or the way he smelled like all seven heavens.
Suddenly he grasped her hand and spun her away from him, chuckling as she yelped her way into the unexpected twirl.
"Mmm, your legs look even better than I imagined," he said, and she glared at him as she stopped spinning.
"Jaime Lannister, you have never imagined my legs," she retorted, and he laughed at her. Another tug on her hand and she was close again, her arm finding its place in his as he waved her toward the door. She felt many curious pairs of eyes on them as he escorted her out of the hotel, but for once she didn't feel ridiculous. She was still riding the undeniable high of being with him again.
The car was excessive, to put it mildly. It was sleek and red and very low to the ground. It had all the curves she lacked and then some, and when she spotted the decal and felt her mouth drop open.
"A Valyrian Volantis? Jaime—"
"Relax, Tyrion is letting me test drive it." He grinned at her. "He wanted you to rub it in everyone's noses for him."
She could save up for another ten years and still not be able to put together an acceptable down payment for this sort of machine, but she didn't argue. He helped her down into it and laughed at the way she had to scrunch up her knees before she could adjust her seat. He fared little better, of course, but he was much more graceful.
"These things have terrible suspension," he warned her, and pulled away from the hotel after tipping the valet.
The party was in full swing when they arrived, and just like Jaime had intended, the car caused a commotion. Brienne tried to smile through her blushes as he came around to help her out. Normally she would have reminded him that she could get out of a car on her own, but the damn thing was so low that she was grateful for his hand as she unfolded herself. He watched her straighten to her full height with a strange smile, his eyes warm on her face.
"Gods I've missed you, Brienne," he said quietly. She blushed even harder and tried to come up with a witty answer, but in the end all she could think to say was that she'd missed him too. He bowed slightly from the waist and then offered his arm, and she rolled her eyes before slipping her arm in his.
At first everything went well. She spotted and chatted to several women she knew from her old teams, flushing and stuttering when people asked if Jaime was her boyfriend. She always protested and he always gave increasingly ridiculous answers. He told one woman that Brienne was his champion, another that she was the queen of his heart. He told a third that he'd begged her to bring him as her date, laughing and wincing when she elbowed him in the ribs.
"That one was true, wench!"
"You didn't beg me, you annoyed me into submission," she informed him, but she couldn't keep a smile from curling her lips.
"That's my version of begging," he replied, and laughed again when she threw her hands into the air and left him behind to go to the bar. She'd never admit it to him, but she was having far more fun with him as her date than she would have alone. He'd somehow convinced everyone they'd ran into so far that he was helplessly in love with her, a bittersweet dream because tomorrow she'd wake up and he'd be leaving again.
She grabbed two glasses of champagne and wandered back through the crowd, looking for Jaime's golden head amongst a growing number of her old classmates. That was when she spotted him: Loras Tyrell, Renly's fiancé. They couldn't yet marry in Westros, but that hadn't stopped Renly from proposing, and she felt a familiar ache start in her chest. A moment later, Renly walked into view. He was tall, though not as tall as Jaime, and his black hair glinted under the multicolored lights from the dance floor. He dropped his arm around Loras and the couple was immediately swamped by well-wishers. Brienne spun on her heel and decided to retreat back to the bar, but a hand caught her arm.
It was Jaime.
"He was never worth it, Brienne," he told her softly. "He never deserved you. No one deserves you."
There was an odd look in his face, an odd intensity in the way he was looking at her. Her heart seemed to trip and slam into her ribcage hard as she stared back at him.
"It's the other way around," she managed through numb lips, "no one deserves to be stuck with me. I'm too big, too ugly—"
He made a low, frustrated sound; a furious growl of protest when she had expected only a joke. His hand tightened around her arm and he began to pull her closer, and she felt the champagne spill as she stumbled toward him…
"Is that Jaime Lannister?" Renly's voice cut through whatever strange spell was being weaved between them, and they both whipped their heads around to see him coming toward them.
"It is! The old lion himself! But this wasn't your year. Do you crash all the reunions, Lannister? Trying to relive your glory days?" he asked. Jaime turned toward him, but he didn't let go of Brienne. He slipped his arm around her waist instead, his prosthetic hand resting possessively on her hip.
"Hello, Renly," he replied. His tone was polite enough, but there was a warning edge to his smile. Brienne also tried to smile at the intruder, but she could feel the heat flooding up her neck to her cheeks.
"Ah, Brienne. What did they call you back in school? Brienne the Beauty." Renly's laugh was booming. Her heart gave a small cry of protest, but she managed to keep a smile on her lips. "There were rumors you had a crush on me."
"Were there?" Brienne asked, and she thanked the gods that her voice was steady. "Well, it doesn't matter. You and Loras found each other."
"Yes, Loras. Come here, Loras! I want you to meet the Beauty!" As Renly turned to call over his shoulder for his fiancé, Brienne spun out of Jaime's grasp and slipped away. She dropped the plastic champagne flutes and darted through a group of beautiful girls she vaguely recognized, knowing she had to move quickly or Jaime would catch her. He meant well, but she had to have a minute alone.
Why did it still hurt? She thought she'd gotten over her stupid infatuation years ago. And to be honest, it wasn't really Renly that made her feel as though there was a hole in her chest. It was just that seeing him reminded her of the worst times of her life. Of being an outcast and the butt of all the jokes, of loving him and knowing that he'd only laugh in her face if he'd ever found out. Of following him around anyway, trying not to be so damned obvious about her impossible infatuation.
Renly always reminded her of all the worst parts of her time at Stormlands, even reminded her of the cruel bet that had gone on for most of her sophomore year. A bunch of his teammates on the men's varsity rugby team had bet on who could take her virginity. The pot had been quite large, she'd been told, as no one would want to sleep with her without proper compensation. She hadn't known, had been baffled by everyone's strange new obsession with her—
And then Jaime had put a stop to it. She smiled as she remembered. He'd marched right up to her, yanked her against his chest and kissed her. It had been a furious, clumsy mess of a kiss, but then he'd turned to all the guys hanging around pretending to want her. He'd stared them down with cold green eyes, stared until they'd all looked away. Then he'd nodded at her and left again. Her false suitors evaporated overnight, although two or three had sported fat lips or black eyes the next day.
Jaime. Jaime. He'd been her first kiss, and her heart had been too full of another to appreciate it. She knew better now. She loved him even more than she'd ever loved Renly, and it was even more impossible.
As if her thoughts had summoned him, Jaime appeared at her side. He handed her a tumbler of whiskey and she took it and shot it down in two gulps.
"Still got that much of a thing for him?" he asked. He sounded sad, but if he was going to start pitying her she was going to punch him.
"No. That was over so long ago. I just…I don't know why I came here tonight. I never liked school."
He bumped her shoulder with his own. "Come on, let's dance. You can show me off like I'm just some hot piece of ass."
She shot him a look and saw that he was grinning at her. He waggled his eyebrows and she shoved him, but she let him pull her toward the dancefloor anyway. He swept her into a dance with his usual grace, while she had to focus hard on not getting their legs tangled up or stepping on his feet.
"Relax, Brienne," he murmured in her ear. "Let me lead."
"I don't know how," she hissed back at him, and he chuckled.
"Don't I know. Seriously, stop thinking about it. I won't steer you wrong."
She did her best, letting the tension flow out of her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on feeling what he was doing, on his gentle pressure as he guided her through the steps. Then, suddenly, she was truly relaxed, enjoying the way it felt to be spun around the dancefloor by a consummate professional. She opened her eyes again, smiling in delight, and he smiled back at her. His left hand teased the ends of her hair, and that heat that had smoldered somewhere in her all night was kindled back to life. He was so close, so beautiful, and if this was all going to end tomorrow she wanted to take full advantage of it while she could.
"Jaime," she said, her voice embarrassingly breathless, but he didn't let her finish. His fingers slid into her hair, his arm tightened about her waist, and finally (finally) his lips were on hers.
He claimed her mouth, swallowing her gasp with a slight groan of his own. When her lips parted he slipped his tongue inside, teasing her as her fingers tightened in his suit jacket to pull him closer. She was surrounded by his strength, his scent, and a second later she abandoned his suit jacket to bury her hands in his hair.
"Keep that up," he growled against her lips, "and I'm going to take you on one of those stupid plastic tables."
Oh gods—she made some sort of ridiculously wanton sound and his mouth was on hers again. It seemed to go on forever, and it must have gone on long enough for people to notice, because suddenly she was aware that everything had gone quiet around them. Jaime pulled his lips away from hers with an effort, his eyes hot and wild as he stared at her. Everyone was staring at her, she realized as she shifted slightly away from him to cool off; they'd all circled around to watch with unbelieving eyes.
"I was…I had a moment planned," Jaime said, drawing her attention back to him. His voice was jagged, as if he'd lost some of his usual control over himself. "I was going to…"
He dragged a hand through his hair. The heat in his gaze was quickly being replaced with nervousness as he held her eyes captive.
"I wasn't going to do it like this, but…gods, I'm making a huge mess of it," he muttered. Brienne only kept staring, wondering just when the night had spun out of control. And what the hells was he talking about, what was he making a mess of?
He hesitated for another second, and then dropped to a knee.
It was as though someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. Any scrap of air that had been in Brienne's lungs left in a huge gasp she couldn't control. She seemed to watch through someone else's eyes as Jaime fumbled with the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a tiny box.
"Brienne—I had a speech planned but I can't remember it," he was saying, but Brienne could hardly hear him. She felt like she was floating outside of her body as he popped open the box to reveal a beautiful ring, a modest diamond surrounded by sapphires.
"Jaime…" she breathed out. She was confused, stunned…
"Marry me?" he asked, holding the box up to her as though it contained so much more than a pretty piece of jewelry.
And that was when Brienne realized she was furious. Was this some kind of joke? Some part of his plan to make everyone jealous of her that night? Because this was taking it way, way too far. This was far worse than some stupid high school bet. He was offering her more than she'd ever dared to want, more than she could ever have dreamed having, but it was all for show. All to make her look like the belle of some stupid ball she shouldn't have attended in the first place.
The betrayal of it threatened to rip her to shreds right in the middle of the dance floor. She had to get out before she lost control, before they saw her heart shatter into a million pieces. She turned and ran, barreling through the onlookers, and she didn't stop when she made it outside. By the time Jaime had managed to follow her out, she had disappeared. And by the time he'd no doubt follow her to the hotel, she'd already be at the airport. She didn't want to see him again.
"We had a plan, didn't we?" Tyrion asked, and though his brother wasn't actually there with him, Jaime could picture the look on his face perfectly. He sighed into the phone.
"Yes."
"And did any part of that plan call for you to make a huge, public show of proposing to Brienne in her least favorite place in front of the man she used to be in love with and turned out to be gay?"
Jaime winced. "No," he admitted.
"In fact, didn't that plan call for you to sweep her off of her feet and give her an amazing evening and then, the next day—somewhere private—you'd explain how you've loved her for years and you're begging her to be your wife?"
"Yes."
"So why didn't you stick to the plan?" Tyrion asked, nearly shouting in exasperation.
"I didn't call you to get a lecture, Tyrion. I called you to find out how I can get her to talk to me again," Jaime replied. He was sitting in his apartment in King's Landing, while Tyrion was home at the Rock. He had no idea where Brienne was. She hadn't spoken to him in close to two weeks.
"You've tried the usual, I suppose. Flowers, chocolates…"
Jaime snorted. "This is Brienne we're speaking of."
"Right, right." There was a smile in Tyrion's voice as he amended his suggestions: "Sharp knives, martial arts lessons?"
Jaime smiled as well, in spite of his misery. "Those might work better, I admit. I had thought of giving her the Valyrian—"
"You are my brother and I love you, but if you had given away my car…"
He laughed at his younger brother's sudden alarm. "She wouldn't want it any more than the chocolates or flowers."
Tyrion made a thoughtful noise. "You're probably right about that. In fact…I doubt making any grand romantic gesture would be wise. You won't want to hear it, but your best recourse is probably to let her come to you."
Jaime groaned. "In that case I'll never see her again."
"You could always track her down. Assuming you don't mind looking like a deranged stalker."
"That's your great advice, is it? Stalk her or let her go forever?"
"I admit your choices are…limited."
Jaime gave a short bark of laughter. "Why did I bother coming to you for help?"
"And who else would you have asked? Bronn? Podd?"
"I take your point."
"I do have one useful piece of information," Tyrion said. "I hear that a certain, absurdly tall blonde lady has gone north to visit Sansa Stark. Just a rumor, mind, but I recall Brienne being particularly fond of Sansa…"
Hope flared to life in Jaime's chest. "Why didn't you start with that 'useful piece of information?'"
"And miss a chance to watch you squirm? You know me better than that." Tyrion laughed and then added, "Well, what are you waiting for? Travel to Winterfell won't book itself."
"Right, I'm off then." Jaime paused and then said, more sincerely than either brother expected, "Thank you."
"Stop, I'll get one of those annoying lumps in my throat. Give the ladies my fondest regards."
It was always cold in Winterfell. It was beautiful too, in a strange, savage way, but always cold. Brienne loved it up here. In all of Westros, the North was the most untouched. As cities had grown and modernized and the rest of the Kingdoms had become increasingly linked, Winterfell still felt like a haven, a place where nature would continue to flourish unchallenged by man's progress. It reminded her of Tarth, which only had one small city, barely more than a town.
Winterfell was significantly more than a town, but it was one of the very few large cities past The Neck. And the Stark's family home was nestled in the woods outside the city, close enough to be convenient without losing its isolated charm.
Brienne stood on a balcony in the chilly morning air. From her room she could see the shell of the old castle. The late Ned Stark had ordered it to be restored and opened as a museum, and Sansa had continued the renovations her father had started. Now it was almost ready to be opened to the public. The family's newer estate home was across a large expanse of park which was more often than not covered in snow.
It was good to be here. Her heart needed the rest, and if she had gone to Tarth Jaime might have followed her there. But Winterfell? He'd never been a fan of the cold and he barely knew the Starks. He wouldn't come here just to apologize for a joke. She was safe. She could mourn him and heal, and Sansa would know better than to ask her any uncomfortable questions.
"What will you do?" was Sansa's only query.
Brienne sucked in a deep breath. She had a job on Tarth helping her father oversee the tenants and rents on the island. There were farms and one large factory which took the wool from Tarth's sheep and turned it into textiles. It wasn't exciting work and to be honest, Brienne found she wasn't exactly suited to it, but her father needed the help. And there were times when she could drive or ride out over the island, visiting clients in person. Those were her favorite days, the ones spent rambling over the landscape and appreciating its natural beauty. It wasn't enough to tempt her away from this safe haven though. She had her duties to return to, but her father had texted her saying she should take all the time she needed. He'd manage alone for a little while.
So Brienne had looked Sansa in the eyes and said, "I don't know." Sansa had only squeezed her hand and left her be.
That left her standing here on a balcony, gazing at a nearly completed museum across a snowy field. She gathered her coat and boots and headed downstairs and out the door, avoiding the family rooms where the Starks usually gathered for breakfast before heading out to their various places of work.
She headed across the snowy field toward the museum. Sansa had given her a key to the service doors in case she wanted to explore the exhibits before the public. She slipped inside and locked the doors behind her, then made her way from the modern corridors into the stone walls of the castle proper.
Brienne spent the next two hours there, wandering through the museum and absorbing the history of Winterfell, of the Starks and of the North itself. It didn't do much to quiet her heartache, but it did manage to distract her for a few minutes here and there. It was with a pang of regret that she left behind the castle's walls and headed back into the snow. She spent an extra moment making sure that the service entrance was securely locked before turning to make her way back to the Stark's estate.
And there he was. Jaime.
There was snow in his hair. For some reason that seemed to stick with her. She'd remember it for many years afterward. He was also even more scruffy than he had been at the reunion. His eyes were uncharacteristically solemn, but a smile curved his lips up at the sight of her. Her heart seemed to be trying to pull her to him, thumping madly against her ribs as they stared at each other. She wanted to run to him.
Instead, with as much indifference as she could muster, she asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here for you, what else?" Jaime's smile widened as he stared at Brienne, then faded. He could see the hurt in her eyes. Silence stretched between them and then Brienne shook her head and stomped through the snow. For a wild second he thought she was going to walk right to him, and his arms started to come up to catch her—and then she trudged past, carving out a path back toward the Stark's estate.
Cleverly, she made sure to pass by his handless right side, making it harder for him to grab her. He spun instead, shoving his way through the snow beside her.
"I didn't think you'd come all the way up here just to apologize for your little joke," she said coldly when he'd made it plain he wouldn't be left behind.
Suddenly Jaime's temper flared. He froze in his tracks and glared at her. "It wasn't a joke!"
Brienne stopped too, her blue eyes sparking like the core of a flame. "Of course it was a joke! I appreciate that you wanted me to look good in front of a bunch of idiots from high school, but you never should have taken it that far."
"Seven hells, Brienne! Do you really think I did it for them? When have I ever cared about what anyone else thinks?"
For the first time, something like uncertainty crept into her expression. She apparently wasn't done fighting, however. She began moving again, her cheeks and ears red with hurt and anger. "This isn't a very good apology, Jaime."
He snatched her arm with his left hand. "That's because I'm not apologizing."
She rolled her eyes and tried to yank her arm back. "I should have known."
"Gods, wench, would you shut up for a minute and listen to me?" he snapped. He still had a grip on her arm and he used that to pull her closer to him. They were nearly touching, their eyes nearly level with one another as their misty breaths mingled in the air between them.
"I didn't propose just to put on a pretty show for Renly and the others. I hadn't even planned on proposing at the reunion, but then we were kissing and I stopped thinking straight." His eyes dropped to her lips and he watched a fresh blush sweep up her neck to flood her cheeks.
"I shouldn't have put you on the spot. For that I am sorry. But I meant it when I got down on one knee, Brienne. And I'll mean it the next time. And however many times you make me propose because you're so gods-damned stubborn." He let go of her arm to touch her face. His fingers slid back from her cheek into her hair, cupping the back of her head.
"I mean it: however many times it takes. I proposed because I love you, Brienne."
Her lips parted in shock, those astonishing eyes going wide and even more heartbreakingly blue as she tried to process what he'd just said. Jaime didn't know if she'd believe him; he'd been aware of how skittish she was for years, it was one of the reasons it had taken him so long to press his suit. But she had to know she had his heart in her hands. Sometimes it felt like she'd always had it.
"Jaime—that was a real proposal?" she breathed. He smiled wryly at her, unable to resist teasing her even when so much was on the line.
"Now she gets it," he replied, and then he let out a soft oof as she jabbed a finger in his ribs.
"You want to marry me?" Her eyes were narrowed as if she expected some trick even now, but he could feel her trembling and he could see the hope that was dawning on her face. His fingers rubbed small, soothing circles against her scalp.
"I do," he replied.
And then she kissed him, kissed him with everything she had in her, every ounce of longing and hope and anguish they'd both being suffering through for weeks—years—and he stopped thinking all over again. Her arms found their way around his neck to hold him against her, and he pulled away to brush softer kisses against the corner of her mouth before he forgot himself completely. It took him a while to disentangle himself from her arms and he missed her warmth as soon as he did, but there was something he had to do and he wanted to do it properly.
He dropped to a knee in the snow. He cupped the ring box in the palm of his hand and offered it up to her, and this time she didn't run.
"Marry me, Brienne?"
Such a simple question, not big enough to encompass all that he wanted to give her and all that she would be giving him if she said yes…but sometimes simple got the job done.
"Yes," she said in a voice full of wonder. Her shaking hand took the ring, and they both fumbled with it as they tried to push it onto her ring finger. He kissed her one last time before taking her hand and pulling her toward the estate.
"What's the rush?" she asked him, laughing.
"I want to get you somewhere warm," he replied, and before she could make some joke about his thin Southron blood, he added, "so I can get you naked and spend the rest of the day inside you."
Brienne went speechless, her cheeks crimson again, and he grinned at her through the falling snow. He couldn't wait for this shy, stubborn, beautiful woman to be his wife.