Author's Note: Hi everyone! This story is for my wonderful friend, AsbestosMouth, who requested a Brienne/Jaime story featuring a certain trope that I won't reveal, so I don't spoil a future chapter for you.
The title is from a wonderful song by 2Cellos, Il Libro Del'Amore. I hope you enjoy it :)
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Brienne
The airport was a madhouse; of course it was, only a few days before Christmas.
Brienne was due back tomorrow. She was supposed to have left this morning, but but she'd wanted to wring every moment she could out of her time with her father at their place in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She saw him so seldom, now that she was living up in New Hampshire, and he'd sounded so unwell and lonely that she'd eked out a mini-holiday in between performances.
When she'd called to reschedule her flight, she'd been told that they could only put her on standby. At the time, the risk had seemed reasonable. Now, however… it was seven o'clock at night and a Nor'easter was brewing, making it doubtful any flights would be leaving that night, even if she could get on one…
She stood nervously in line at the ticket counter of the last airline. She'd been to all the rest, with the same response: we're sold out, and with the storm, might not be going at all. This one was her last hope.
Bored, nervous, Brienne trained her gaze on the man in front of her. In particular, his contours. He was tall— not as tall as she, but who was?— and very nicely built. He wore snug jeans, dark brown desert boots, and a close-fitting green Henley shirt that lovingly outlined his very fit torso.
Those shoulders are magnificent, she thought, enjoying the visual of rounded muscle capping them, and how his trapezius sloped up to meet his bronzed neck. His hair was that gorgeous mix of caramel and sand, with the odd lemony highlight, that came only from being a natural blond. It was a bit long, in that floppy way that was trending, with the slightest tendency to curl around his ears.
The long sleeves were pushed up to reveal equally bronzed forearms dusted with golden hair. When he glanced at his watch, she noticed two things: the enticing way the sinews and muscles rippled in said forearm, and that the limb ended abruptly at the wrist instead of a hand, as was typical.
Hm, Brienne thought, I was not expecting that.
It made him interesting, instead of just another handsome stranger that would never look twice at her, unless it were to marvel at her size and lack of beauty. Judging by the quality of his clothing, and the leather weekend bag at his feet, he was well-off, and rich people tended not to have debilitating injuries happen to them. Or at least, not to be remedied in some comprehensive way. Shouldn't he have some sort of elaborate bionic hand to replace the organic one?
The line inched forward. She came to stand where he'd been a moment before, and a tantalizing hint of bay rum lingered in the air. Brienne's eyes flew back to the stranger in front of her, this time studying his neck. It was strong and tanned, and if he'd used bay rum after shaving… she allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, pressing her nose to his throat and inhaling. Her stomach tightened.
This is ridiculous, she told herself, becoming attracted to a man whose face you haven't even seen. It shouldn't matter; her own face could be described as 'nothing special' if one were being particularly kind, and 'fucking ugly' if one were not. It was entirely possible that he was a butterface: gorgeous in body, but his face…
The line moved again; this time it was the man's turn to harass the airline representative. Brienne duly stepped forward once more.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't issue you a boarding pass. The flight was overbooked and you and several others have had to be bumped."
"Is it possible to just get a downgrade from first class to business, or economy? I'll take whatever you've got."
Oh, his voice was like caramel, too, smooth and rich. Now Brienne was dying to see his face. Could fate be so cruel as to make him hideous, with a body and voice like that? It had seen fit to do it to her, after all, so why not him?
"I'm sorry, sir. There are no seats left for the Manchester flight."
Brienne's ears perked, at that, since Manchester was her destination, too. Her spirits sank to hear it was booked, but perhaps Boston…?
"What about Boston?" asked the man, seemingly reading her mind.
"Those are all booked too, sir. And if the weather worsens, they might become canceled."
"The weather's fine," he protested, turning to glance out the windows at the cold, but perfectly clear, night that had fallen outside.
Brienne caught her breath at the sight of his profile, brief though it had been. Butterface? No. That profile belonged on the back of an ancient Greek coin: noble brow, firm chin, and the best nose she'd ever seen in her life, looking as if it had been sculpted by the hand of a master.
It seemed like Adonis was making a 21st-century appearance in the Raleigh airport.
Well, she thought with humor, that's certainly not fair. Save a little hotness for the rest of us.
"The weather in New England is not fine, however," the airline rep told him, then added, "sir," belatedly. "And that is what counts."
"Thanks anyway," the man grumbled, and strode away.
Brienne got one last glimpse at that amazing profile before schooling herself to look forward and offer the representative a smile.
"I overheard that there's nothing for Manchester or Boston," she said, "but what about Providence?"
She could drive the rest of the way, if she had to. Rhode Island to New Hampshire was only about two hours away.
The airline rep shook her head.
"Hartford?"
"No, I'm sorry."
"New York?" Now the potential drive was getting long— New York City to Manchester would be four and a half hours.
"Not that, either."
Grasping at straws, Brienne said, "Philadelphia?"
The rep shook her head. "Everything north of Washington, DC is either booked or canceled."
Brienne's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I understand. Thank you."
She turned away from the desk and trudged away, wondering what to do next. Her orchestra had a performance tomorrow night, the biggest one of the holiday season. She was first cello. Missing it was not an option. Perhaps she could rent a car?
Off she went, down the escalator and down a hallway, past the baggage claim, to the car rental area. There were a half-dozen agencies there, all of them mobbed. She was not alone in her resignation to drive to where she needed to go. Gripping the handle of her suitcase, she got into line number two of the evening and settled in to wait.
An hour later, she was staring at the car rental agent in dismay. "None? You have no cars left? At all?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am. There was a run on them, with all the cancellations." The man looked apologetic as he glanced from his monitor back to her. "You can try the other agencies, but…"
Brienne turned to look at the other desks, only to find people milling around, their faces disgruntled.
"I'm sorry, sir—" "I've just rented the last one, ma'am—" she heard to her left and right.
"Thank you," she told the agent, her voice toneless. She pulled her suitcase along behind her and tried to think what she could do.
Option A: stay at the airport overnight and try to get a flight in the morning.
Option B: find a hotel room and try to get a flight in the morning.
Option C: call around to other car rentals outside the airport and see if they had any cars.
Option D: sit down and cry her eyes out.
None stuck out to her as preferable to any of the others. One thing was certain: she had to let her conductor know she might not be able to make it. With a sigh, she pulled out her cell phone and located him in her contact list, then tapped 'call'.
"Brienne," he said upon answering. "Since I know you went to North Carolina this week, this had better be a call to share with me that you've had a restorative and relaxing holiday and are now ready to perform the fuck out of our program tomorrow night."
"Hi, Tyrion," she mumbled. "I wish that were the case."
His sigh gusted down to the line to her. "What happened? The Nor'easter? I had a feeling. The electricity's gone out here a few times already tonight."
"I'm really sorry," she told him. "I tried everything; Manchester is impossible, but also Boston, Providence, Hartford…"
"Rent a car?"
"None left. Not a single one." She paused, feeling horrible. Unprofessional, unreliable, and basically the worst person ever. "I'm really sorry, Tyrion."
He surprised her by laughing. "Brienne, you sound as if you're about to commit hari-kiri because you've dishonored yourself and your family".
"Did you say 'Tyrion'?" asked a voice to the side. There was a gentle touch on her elbow, and Brienne spun to find herself face-to-glorious-face with the handsome man she'd surreptitiously lusted after earlier.
"…yes?" she replied, feeling a bit stunned to look at him straight on. God, he was gorgeous. He had cheekbones you could slice beef with, slashing golden eyebrows, and the most intensely green eyes she'd ever seen. "Hold on, Tyrion." She placed her hand over the receiver.
"Not Tyrion Lannister?" the man inquired.
"…yes?" she repeated.
The man smiled, a stretch of well-shaped lips over straight white teeth that had her knees going weak.
"That's my brother. Can I talk to him?"
"Um." Brienne stared down at the phone, and then slowly held it out to him. Somewhere along the way, things had gotten away from her.
"Tyrion, it's Jaime. No, I don't know her. I just overheard her say 'Manchester', and your name, and how many poor bastards out there are named 'Tyrion'?"
He fell silent, listening to his brother, and then his face darkened.
"I left Miami this afternoon. Raleigh was the first available flight." Pause. "Yeah, I know, but I couldn't take any more of our sister's warm hospitality." His face smoothed into a bland mask. "Anyway, whose phone have I co-opted? Brienne, you say?" He glanced at her, his eyes dancing. "Hi, Brienne. Nice to meet you. I'm Jaime."
He started to hold out his right hand and then scowled when he saw he didn't have a right hand.
"Pardon my left," he said, "but I have nothing else to shake with."
"It's fine," she mumbled, shaking his left hand awkwardly. His palm was warm, a little calloused. It sent tingles shooting down to her wrist.
"She's one of your musicians?" this Jaime said, returning to the call. "Your best musician? Then you definitely need her."
Brienne's ears started to burn, as they always did when she was embarrassed. She hated to be discussed in the third person when she was right there, and Tyrion's compliment made her uncomfortable. Nitpicky little bugger he might be, but Tyrion was also the most vocally supportive conductor she'd ever worked with, unstinting with praise if the musician deserved it. Brienne being the compulsive perfectionist she was, Tyrion ended up praising her quite often. It never got easier for her to hear.
Surfacing from her awkwardness, she noticed Tyrion's brother studying her, from the tips of her knee-high riding boots up past her dark tights and the long sweater tunic she wore over them. His gaze traveled over the cashmere pashmina she was using in lieu of a winter coat and, finally, over her face.
He took in every last irregularity, every last poorly-shaped feature. She knew he saw the way her nose pinched in weirdly behind her nostrils, and how big her forehead was, and the stubborn jut of her chin. It was clear he'd noticed the pale eyelashes that matched her white-blond hair, and how it curled wildly around her head since she hadn't bothered to straighten or even brush it after that morning's shower.
"It so happens that I was able to get a car," he told his brother in answer to some question. "Yes, I'd be glad to drive together with Brienne up to Manchester."
Their eyes locked; Brienne could not look away. She could hardly breathe.
"Oh, but—"
"No, it's no trouble at all," Jaime said to Tyrion, answering Brienne's protest as well. "I'd be glad for the company, in fact. It would be a long, lonely trip by myself."
Silence as Tyrion yapped at him.
"Great, it's settled! See you tomorrow. Or the next day. Whenever we get there. No guarantees."
He tapped the phone to hang up, ending the call mid-squawk, and handed it back to Brienne with another gleaming smile.
"So!" he said. "Shall we get going?"
