She had to confess, she did feel like a stalker. He probably didn't even knew she existed, and yet here she was, every day, for two months, drawing him.
It had all started that one dreadful day four months ago. Brienne had tried to organize her thoughts at the piazza in King's Landing. She was an art student, just turned 21 a few weeks ago, and had to realize what Margaery actually meant, her grandmother was no one you would like to have as an enemy. All those years, she had never believed her friend, thinking that she was just being dramatic.
Until that day.
It wasn't like Olenna Tyrell didn't like her – quite the opposite. She adored Brienne – big, ugly, freckled, graceless, scared, awkward Brienne Tarth was adored by Olenna Tyrell, matriarch, famous artist, former actress and owner of King's Landing's and Highgarden's most successful galleries. It had to be the joke of the decade and Brienne still waited for someone to laugh. Because Olenna adored her so much, she had decided that Brienne should get her own exhibition. Brienne had been so shocked and speechless, she hadn't been able to answer, so Margaery had taken over, accepting and promising, that she would have absolutely awesome new paintings.
Little did they know, that Brienne hadn't painted anything at all in the last two weeks. Well, not absolutely nothing, she had done her homework, but she hadn't been satisfied with those; Professor Catelyn Stark still praised her for them. They weren't good enough for an exhibition, though. How was she suppose to get enough paintings for an exhibition, which was just a month away?
In the need of fresh air, she had fled outside, wandering around the city, hoping to either clear her head or find inspiration. Or for a car to hit her, so she would fell into a coma and didn't had to paint something for an exhibition. Not one of those things happened.
After a while, she had just slumped down onto a bench, feeling like an idiot. She should have said no. Sure, it was an one of a kind chance, but she didn't had any paintings. How can you host an exhibition without any paintings?
Brienne closed her eyes for a moment. She had picked up drawing as a little girl, back on Tarth. Tarth was the most beautiful place, she had ever been to. The sapphire blue waters, the bright green grass, the meadows, the mountains, the waterfalls and the forests – it was like a paradise. However, the children were like all children: ruthless. Her childhood had been an endless string of insults, bullying and laughing. Being taller than everyone by at least a food had made her an outcast. So instead of playing with the other children, she had picked up her chalks and started to draw on the street. Since then there had barely been a day she had not been drawing.
Still thinking about some kind of inspiration or motto for the exhibition, she had seen him. Dressed in a simple, black suit with a crimson tie, he stood in front of a little coffee shop, holding a coffee to go and talking vividly to someone at the phone, but with a smirk on his lips, like something was especially amusing or he knew something nobody else did. He was the most handsome, no, most beautiful man she had ever seen. The sun let his golden locks, that barely brushed his shoulders, shine, his sun-kissed skin looked golden as well, his perfect jawline was covered in beard stubbles, giving him a more masculine look, and even from the distance she could see his emerald eyes. The man had to be older than her, maybe in his mid thirties. He was tall, fit, and overall physically perfection – the very opposite of Brienne. He had simply taken her breath away. Before she had known what she was doing, she had taken out her sketch-book – she always carried one in her bag – and started to sketch, hoping he wouldn't go away. Her hand flew over the page, and by the time he actually left, she had a pretty good sketch.
And an inspiration for the exhibition.
The next four weeks, she was painting almost every minute she was awake. Olenna – with the permission of Professor Stark – had allowed her to use the time during the classes to work on the paintings, saying that she was already better than anyone else in the class, and she even rented her a little studio, where she could work. Brienne used everything she had ever worked with; pastels, watercolors, chalk, charcoal, pencil, in color, black and white – just everything.
The official motto was History, Heroes and Myths, though the real one was that particular, beautiful man. She drew him as a knight in a shining armor, riding a horse and wielding a sword, as a pirate on a ship, the wave crashing at the boat, as a prince, as a king or an emperor, as an astronaut, as a Dothraki lord, as the Warrior himself, as a modern day soldier, as a more handsome version of Mr Darcy, even as a White Walker – just everything she could picture him in. And she could picture him as anything.
Of course, Brienne tried to avoid to use his actual features. She changed them from painting to painting, just a bit so you couldn't tell it should be the same person. His hair changed to brown, red, auburn, black, white, it got shorter, longer, straight, curls. With a beard or beardless. His eyes and his skin tone changed as well, his face structure and his body frame too. At one point the man in the picture resembled a Targaryen or a Dothraki so much, it was hard to believe that the model wasn't one. But it didn't matter how he looked, he was always beautiful.
Brienne also added something else that should distract from him – princesses, horses, ships, the earth or other planets, some gross looking enemies, beautiful landscapes. Though every time she looked at a painting, her eyes were fixed on him, his hair changed back into gold, his eyes turned into emeralds, his face got handsomer and she couldn't see anything else than him.
Despite spending an unhealthy amount of time in the little studio, she went to the same piazza, hoping to see him again. And she did. He seemed to have the habit to go to that one coffee shop just before noon – before it would get too busy – and get a coffee. He was always in the suit. Maybe he worked near by. There were a lot of successful companies in this area. Brienne started to sketch as soon as she would get a glimpse of him. Her sketch-book filled quite quickly with sketches of him from every kind of angle. Secretly she hoped to get a better look at his face, to memorize it and draw it, but she didn't dare to get any closer.
At the weekend, he didn't got a coffee from the shop. She was oddly disappointed by that, hoping she could see him in anything else than a suit. Not that the suit wouldn't look perfect on him – but she wanted to see him in something more casual. In a bit of a bad mood, she had moved to another spot, to sketch the Red Keep. She hadn't done that in a long time.
It turned out, that she did see him.
Just as she was about to add the details of the beautiful building, Brienne saw the familiar shade of golden hair out of the corner of her eyes. Her face turned bright red and she had to force herself, to made it look like she was casually looking his way. He had been jogging, his hair in a short ponytail to keep it out of his eyes, ear plugs in his ears, a bottle of water in his hand. Breathing heavily and covered in sweat, he stopped just a few feet away from her, taking large gulps of water and started to stretch his muscles. She worked out herself – of course not in the last few days, since she had been pretty occupied – and she could see, that he couldn't just go for a run. He had to visit a gym.
Brienne nearly dropped all her things as he took the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, and she could get a look at his well toned stomach and his abs before he was off again. That day she started to draw him in an ancient toga, only half of his chest covered, standing in some temples of white marble, and she didn't stopped painting until it was finished, which was around 9 the next morning.
Another day, she saw him together with a beautiful woman. Brienne had taken one look at her and felt even more ugly. You could tell, that they were related, brother and sister probably. Her long, golden locks reached down to her waist, she was dressed in a red sundress, that hugged her curved body perfectly, and her lips were painted red. They stood close together, sometimes brushing against each other. Like always, she couldn't understand what they were talking about, but the man obviously tried to cheer the woman up, while she remained silent and in a bad mood. At one point, he brushed a lock over her shoulder and it looked strangely intimate. The woman slapped his hand away and left. He sighed, took his coffee and left as well. After her little break, Brienne started to draw them as lovers, a princess and her knight, both way too beautiful to be real. She had a strange heartache as she looked at the picture.
About a week later, she saw him with someone else again. At first Brienne thought it has to be a child, but as the small one turned around, his face was covered in a dark blond beard. He was an adult. They had some similar features, but he was by far not as handsome as her inspiration. His hair and his eyes were darker and he waddled, as they both decided to take a seat and chatter. An odd, warm feeling was filling Brienne, as she saw them talking. They were laughing, joking, and felt so comfortable with each other, you relaxed just by looking at them. She wondered how they were related. After almost an hour, they left, and Brienne left as well, back to her studio, where she drew him as a father with his son, reading a bedtime story.
A few days before the opening night of the exhibition, she saw him getting angry. He was on his phone again, arguing with someone. His shoulders were tense, his hand clenched to a fist and his coffee forgotten. Even from her bench, she could see the anger in his eyes, and couldn't help imagined a growl coming from the deeps of his throat. He looked almost inhuman and incredibly dangerous. She got goosebumps. Afterwards Brienne drew a gladiator taming – or trying to tame – a lion. But instead of turning him into the gladiator, he was the lion this time, roaring and flashing his white, deadly teeth. She added a hint of green in the lion's eyes.
The day of the opening night arrived. Margaery and her grandmother had visited her a few times at the studio during the last couple of weeks, and they loved her paintings. There were nearly thirty different paintings, and Brienne couldn't remember, when she ever drew this many in such a short time. She was proud. They did look good. Maybe the exhibition hadn't been such a bad idea at all.
She changed her mind very quickly, as Margaery stood in the middle of her small apartment, claiming she had to help her getting ready. Brienne protested, but even though she was stubborn, she couldn't win a fight against Margaery. She was too much like her grandmother. After an hour and a half, Brienne had been forced into a dress, flats – thank gods, no heels, she didn't need to be any taller – and make up, while Margaery tried to do something with her terrible hair, that always looked like a bird lived in it. She assured her, that she looked pretty, Brienne knew that no make up to cover her scar, no new hair style and no dress could make her beautiful, or even plain-looking, but she grew tired of telling so. Margaery, looking stunning in her pale green dress, with her long brown hair draped over her shoulders and her big, brown eyes, had never been anything else than pretty.
The opening night was a huge success. Almost everyone in King's Landing, who had a name and a reputation, was there. If Olenna Tyrell invited, everyone came. It didn't matter what kind of event it was. Olenna hold a speech, and Brienne was more than grateful, that she hadn't been forced on the stage. She couldn't have stuttered even one word. For most of the night, she was flanked by Margaery and her brother Loras, who seemed to have forgiven Brienne that she had a crush on his boyfriend during high school. They go to the gym twice a week together now. The Tyrells gossiped about the guests, greeting them and introducing Brienne, who preferred to stare at their feet.
But most of the night wasn't the whole night. At one point the Tyrells were summoned to her grandmother – she suppose it was either match-making or scolding for gossiping –, and Brienne was left by her own. Most of the guest ignored her – after they did a double take on her, wondering if she was really that tall – and she was glad she didn't have to do any smalltalk. She was about to find a quite corner, when she spotted someone familiar. Standing near the entrance was the dwarf she had seen the other day, looking at the picture that he had inspired. The father reading a bedtime story to his son. The other guests paid more attention to other paintings – especially the women were fascinated by the Mr Darcy version.
She still felt a bit uneasy about the painting hanging here. Truly, it was one of the best she had made, but it didn't fit to the motto, but as Olenna had seen it, she insisted that it would be part of the exhibition. It could be like an intro; a father telling his son about history, heroes and myths. Like always, Brienne didn't had a chance.
She was looking around the room. If he was there, maybe the handsome man was here as well. But she couldn't spot his golden hair or skin. Before she knew it, Brienne was standing next to the dwarf. He glanced at her, looked back at the painting and then back to her. He blinked. "You are abnormally tall." He looked down at her feet. "And without any heels! Maybe that's a good thing, otherwise you would hit your head against the ceiling."
Blood rushed to her face and neck, turning her skin an ugly red. She was used to the staring, but there were only a few people who actually said that she was unusually tall. Brienne didn't know what to say, so she just kept her mouth shut. Margaery and Loras had had no chance to introduce him to her, and she had no idea, who he was. On the other hand, he didn't seem to know her either.
That didn't keep him from talking.
"Did I insult you? My apologies, it's a family treat to be rather forward," he said – apologized she guessed – and smirked at her. "But seriously, I feel even smaller than normally. Do you think I'm half your size?"
"No," she finally said, her eyes fixed on the painting.
The dwarf chuckled, but turned back to the painting as well. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Calming, I say. Maybe even melancholy."
Brienne had to agree, even though she didn't like to praise her own paintings. It reminded her of her childhood; not the terrible times she had been made fun of, but when her father would come to her bed or let her sit on his lap – he was probably the only person in the world that was taller than her – and read her a story. She loved them all. Brienne had read them again and again until she knew them by heart. She might not look like one of the maidens in the story, but that didn't stop her wishing her knight in a shining armor would come and rescue her from a dragon. Or from those kids at school. When she was eight, her dreams died, as her nanny Mrs Roelle had told her rather frankly, that she was ugly and should be happy about any kind of attention of men and not hoping for knights.
"What do you think?" he asked and turned to her.
"I agree," she answered.
He raised one eyebrow until it disappeared under his dark blond mob of hair. "That's all? No guesses of interpretation of the artist's attention? No speculations?"
"I don't have to guess." Brienne looked at him, to see the realization in his eyes. She noticed that his eyes were mismatched. One green, the other one black. A rather large smile appeared on his face.
"Oh, what an honor! Are you, by any chance, Miss Tarth?" She just nodded and he smirked again. "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you. Your work is really magnificent. Tyrion Lannister."
They shook hands and Brienne tried to hide her surprise. The Lannisters were the richest family in Westeros, as famous as celebrities and had a lot of influence in pretty much everything. She wouldn't had expect any of them to come.
And if he was Tyrion Lannister, there was a high possibility that the handsome man was no other than Jaime Lannister. Former soldier, then dishonorable discharged for killing his superior, and now he was CEO of Lannister Enterprise here at King's Landing.
He was even way more out of her league than she had guessed. He was basically untouchable, away on another planet.
Tyrion asked her if she could show her around and she did. He was a comfortable company, smart and witty, and it didn't seem to bother him, that she wasn't.
"Is there a reason why everyone looks so beautiful?" he asked, just as they passed the painting of the pirate. "Not that I complain, but it makes us all feel even more ugly."
"Because they are stories," Brienne answered, not taking her eyes from the face, that changed back to golden locks and emerald eyes. "And in the stories all knights are gallant, all maidens are beautiful and the sun is always shining."
"You like those stories, don't you?" he asked not unkind. She nodded. "Is that the reason why you're …" He gestured at her dress, and Brienne felt like her skin was on fire. "Please don't take it the wrong way and pardon my words, but is that the reason why you're in this hideous dress? You should have chosen something else."
She wanted to asked how she could not take it the wrong way, but instead she just looked down and tugged down her dress. "It wasn't my choice," she stuttered. "My friend, Margaery Tyrell, thought I -"
"Ah, I see," Tyrion said and chuckled. "Beautiful people never quite understand that not everyone can be as pretty as them, despite clothes or make up." Silently, she agreed, but he changed the topic before she could say so.
They stopped again in front of the painting of the lion. Lion Tamer was the title. Tyrion chuckled. "This really reminds me of my brother, Jaime."
Shocked, Brienne looked at him. Did he noticed, that his brother had been her inspiration? Maybe he had seen her at the piazza? Was he going to tell him? Panic was rising in her chest and suddenly this room felt too crowded. She had to force herself to not look for the closest exit.
Tyrion interpreted her shocked look a bit different. "Not the man, but the lion. It even has a bit of green in his eyes. You know, my brother is called The Lion Of The Rock, Casterly Rock's pride. You would never know why, if you haven't seen him angry. I can only imagine what he had been like on the battlefield." He took another look at the painting. "Are the paintings for sale? I would love to give it to him for his birthday. Of course he wouldn't get it, he is a more, ah … physical-orientated person, but I think he would -"
"Brienne!" Margaery interrupted Tyrion Lannister and appeared next to her out of nowhere. Before she could answer Tyrion's question, she was dragged away to Olenna, who introduced her Oberyn Martell, owner of a couple of galleries in Dorne. Out of the corners of her eyes, she swore she could see Tyrion smirk. It left an uneasy feeling in her stomach.
Honestly, Brienne had thought that she would stop spying and sketching him after the exhibition. She didn't need to deliver some paintings now. She could focus on her studies again. And yet, Brienne was still at the piazza around noon, waiting for him, Jaime Lannister, to get his coffee.
As soon as she got home, she had done a Google research on him. She had been correct about his career. After he had shot his superior, Captain Aerys Targaryen, he had to leave the militia, and was a CEO now. Rumors said that he only got the job because of his father, Tywin Lannister, and the famous Lannister gold. There were a lot of articles about him, from his childhood as the heir of the Lannister Enterprise over what happened between him and Targaryen to being voted as The Sexiest Man Alive five times in a row by King's Landing Weekly. At some point she switched to the pictures. It was the first time she saw his face up close. He was even more beautiful. Brienne doubt that she could even draw something so perfect. A strange feeling settled in her stomach and she decided to go to bed.
And now, a month later, she was still stalking him. The exhibition would end in about two weeks – it had absolutely fantastic critics and Olenna had decided to extend it – and Brienne hoped that, as soon as it was closed, her obsession over him would drop. This couldn't be healthy anymore. And she was too afraid, he would noticed her. Maybe go the exhibition together with his brother and realize, that it was him in every painting.
With a sigh, she looked up from her sketch-book – a sketch-book, that was only filled with sketches of him –, to get another glance at him. The sun was especially bright today, and through her sunglasses his hair was darkened. He was on his phone again, and for a second she thought he caught her eyes. But no, he looked away – she sighed of relief – and kept talking on his phone, while Brienne kept drawing, focusing on the lines.
That was a mistake.
The next time she glanced up, he was definitely looking in her direction. No, not just in her direction – he was looking at her. Brienne froze, unable to look away. This was bad. Really bad. He was still looking at her. Maybe … maybe there was someone behind her? Or something? Maybe he wasn't looking at her at all.
Slowly she turned around to glance over her shoulder, but there was no one. Brienne breathed heavily. Her chest felt very, very tight. Was there any chance she could pretend, that she hadn't been drawing him for two months? That there wasn't an exhibition that was based on him?
She turned back around, and now he wasn't just looking at her, but walking towards her. A thousand different ideas crossed her mind. She should throw away the sketch-book. No, she should burn it. She should pretend that she couldn't speak the Common Tongue. She should pretend to be deaf. She should turn into someone really witty, who is able to get out of this situation without being embarrassed to death.
Before Brienne could decide which option she should take, he – Jaime Lannister – was standing right in front of her. "I'll call you back, Kevan," he said into his phone, before ending the call, staring furiously at her.
She knew, she should concentrate on the situation. After all, she was in big trouble, and it would be best if she came up with an absolutely perfect plan, how to turn everything into a joke. But Brienne just couldn't stop looking at him. It was the first time she saw him this close and the pictures in the internet did nothing to satisfied his beauty. Even though he was angry, looking so much like the lion she had painted, she couldn't stop admiring his face. The sudden urge to draw him returned, now that she could draw a close up of his face, but she willed her hands to stay still. It probably wouldn't be the best thing to start sketching him while he was right there.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice. Brienne finally snapped out of her trance. "Are you stalking me?" She swallowed and wasn't able to do anything else than stare at him. So he has noticed. Of course he had. "I've seen you here, on this exact bench, every time I get my coffee for the last three weeks! I doubt it's a coincidence." As strange as it was, she was a bit relieved that he had just noticed her for the last three weeks. She then realized how wrong it sounded.
"I -," she stuttered, choking on her own tongue. It was the only sound that left Brienne's mouth. What was she suppose to say? You've been my inspiration and I'm obsessed with you? And half of the time I didn't even knew who you were? Not likely.
Jaime still stared at her and then he noticed the sketch-book. "What is that?" Out of a reflex, she pressed her book – her book that was filled with sketches of him – to her flat chest, but he snatched it out of her hands.
Brienne wished that the ground would open up and swallow her. Was that a punishment for hosting a successful exhibition? Fate had never been kind to her.
With a look on his face, that Brienne could not read, Jaime flipped through the pages. It didn't took him long to recognize the person in the book, stop and look at her again. "Is that me?" His voice was disbelieving and angry at the same time. She shrunk into the bench as far as she could, making herself smaller. "I asked you something! Have you been fucking drawing me? Drawing?!"
Finally, she nodded. There would be no point in denying it. He had the prove right there in his hands.
For a second, Jaime looked like he couldn't believe her. Like it was a joke, a cover, and the truth was, that she was planning to kidnap him or something similar. To be honest, she knew enough about his lunch-y coffee break to actually kidnap him.
"You can't be serious," he said, this time more disbelieving than angry. "You drew me?" She nodded again. "Why? Do you know how fucking crazy that is?"
Brienne actually opened her mouth to say something, because, yes, it was crazy, but Jaime didn't give her a chance to answer. "Oh, take off those glasses! I hate to talk to someone if I can't look in their eyes!" Before she could take her sunglasses off herself, he basically ripped them off her nose. Brienne had to blink a few times, adjusting her eyes to the bright sunlight.
She had expected him to continue to yell at her, but he didn't. For a second Jaime Lannister just stared at her. Suddenly she was even more aware of her twice broken nose, her too wide and too full lips, her crocked teeth, her scar that covered her whole cheek, while he stood in front of her, looking like perfection. It actually took her a moment to realize, that he wasn't staring at any of her obvious flaws, but directly in her eyes. All Brienne could do was to stare back.
"Why?" he finally said quietly. "Why did you draw me?"
"I needed inspiration," she confessed. She felt a bit calmer – mostly because he stopped looking like he wanted to rip her head from her shoulders. Now he looked like he just want to strangle her. Which was better. Wasn't it?
"For what?"
"My paintings." His brows furred, not understanding what she was saying. "I-I had to deliver some paintings for an exhibition, but I didn't had any inspiration, so …"
"So you saw me and thought, oh, I can use him as a model without telling him about it?" Brienne didn't answer, but just shrunk a bit further into the bench. Jaime blinked. "You did?! There is a fucking exhibition about me?"
"They don't look like you," Brienne said in a small voice. "I changed their faces."
He opened his mouth again, but before he could say something – probably pressing some charges –, for once, fate was on her side. His phone started to ring, and he was looking at it, like he couldn't believe someone was calling him now. She took the chance, grabbed her bag and fled. Jaime called after her, but her long legs were carrying her away.
Two and a half weeks later
Brienne felt awful. No, even worse than awful. She was so close to sitting on her couch the whole day, eating tons of ice cream and watching terrible cliché rom-coms and soap opras, that she secretly loved. But even the modernized version of Florian and Jonquil couldn't let her forget that absolutely embarrassing encounter with Jaime Lannister.
The worst thing: he still had her sketch-book.
Yes, she know it was stupid to care about that, since there was a possibility she could end at court. But … she grew really fond of the sketch-book. And there were some really nice sketches in there.
Margaery and Loras kept trying to find out, why she was so down, but she couldn't actually tell them the truth. They didn't knew about the whole Jaime-Lannister-Thing, and she thought it would be unwise to tell them now. Margaery had teased her to no end, that Brienne had had a crush on pretty Renly, saying that Brienne's type was obviously the pretty ones. What would she say if she knew that Brienne had been stalking Jaime Lannister? She would never hear the end of it. Even worse: they would probably use their connections and made her meet him!
But Margaery wasn't just her best friend, because they had been sharing a dorm room or because her grandmother forced her to host an exhibition – she knew her. So as she hold the flyer of a chalk drawing event under her nose, Brienne actually took her advice and signed up for it.
Around Saturday midday, she wasn't sulking in her apartment, but was at the piazza – the same piazza where she had spent her lunch breaks for the last two months – surrounded by other art students, her chalks in one hand.
Drawing with chalk on the pavement still calmed her. It reminded her of her home, of her father, of an easier life. But now her drawings didn't look like something that you can barely recognize at a horse or a dog. They looked like those street drawings you would see on the internet, where you pause and think that they couldn't have done that with chalk.
Brienne walked over to her piece of pavement, knelt down, plugged her ear plugs in, and picked up a blue piece of chalk. She wanted to draw Tarth. Not all of it, but her favorite view; a waterfall in the forest near a mountain. Tarth was famous for it's sapphire-colored water, but Brienne wanted to show another side of the island. One last time, she took a breath, visualized the picture she had in mind, and started to draw.
Once she started, she couldn't stop. Sometime she paused to take a gulp of water when her throat felt especially dry, but that was the only time. Brienne was totally and entirely occupied by the drawing, focusing on the right shade of green and blue, trying to capture and reflect the beauty of nature. Tyrion had been right; not everyone could be beautiful. But everyone could make something beautiful, if they just tried.
After about two hours – which felt like a few seconds and an eternity at the same time – she got up. Her knees and her back were arching hurtfully. That was the payback for hulking on the pavement like that. But she was satisfied with her work. It didn't quite look like home, but you couldn't have drawn it better. She had added some squirrels, birds and even an otter, just because she could.
Suddenly she noticed that there was quite a crowd around her. Her blush traveled up her neck and face, and she was looking at her shoes again. The little crowd applauded and for a second, Brienne wondered if she should bow or something.
But than she saw something out of the corners of her eyes, and her stomach dropped. How could she not recognize the golden shade of his soft-looking hair? She had been staring at it for two months. An almost-three-weeks break wouldn't change that. Jaime Lannister stood in the little crowd around her drawing. He wasn't wearing his suit, but a simple deep red shirt and dark jeans. Maybe it was just her obsessed mind, but in her eyes, he looked even better in it than in a suit. More relaxed and a bit more approachable.
Instead of gawking at her painting, he was looking at her, but Brienne couldn't quite recognize the look in his eyes. For a second they just looked at each other, and she forgot that her hands, her knees and a better part of her forehead were covered in blue and green chalk. Suddenly there was only his stare.
Until he lifted her sketch-book. She recognized the black cover, because, honestly, why should he have another sketch-book? Before Brienne had the change to blush, he lifted a flyer from her exhibition. His mouth formed the word now, then he turned around and left.
Brienne had a couple of choices: Just stand there. Ignore him and his request. Pretend to have not seen him. Go home. Emigrate to Essos. Change her identity. Run back to Tarth. Hide under her blanket until she dies.
She picked the most unexpected choice.
She followed him.
Quickly, she put all her left-over chalk and her water bottle in her bag, smiled shyly to the other participants and left. The gallery was in walking distant, barely fifteen minutes. Brienne noticed that the sun has already started to set. She wondered if Jaime Lannister would be there with his Old Valyrian, the most expensive sport cars ever build. No, she hadn't seen him driving around in it – after all she wasn't that stalkerish – but she had read an article about it.
Just as she arrived at the tall, grey building and was about to open the front door, she remembered that it was way too late for the gallery to be open. On the weekends, it closed rather early. Besides, it was suppose to be closed, so that they could remove her paintings. The exhibition had ended yesterday. Had she misinterpret his intentions? Did she miss something?
Brienne was about to turn around and leave, when she saw Samwell Tarly, night guard of the gallery, opening the door for her with a smile. "Good evening, Brienne," he greeted her. "I was expecting you. He is already upstairs."
"But … isn't the gallery closed?" she asked and slipped through the door. She liked Sam, he was a nice guy and very polite.
"I got my orders to let you two in."
"From whom?"
"Mrs Tyrell. Enjoy your evening." Sam smiled at her and closed the door, while Brienne was utterly speechless for a second. Olenna had her fingers in this? Oh, that wasn't good. That wasn't good at all. How did she even find out? Surely, she didn't knew from the start … did she?
With shaking legs, Brienne climbed up the stairs, until she could see him. Jaime was standing in the empty hall, the sketch-book in his hands, looking at her paintings. Slowly she approached him, and he noticed her soon enough. His eyes met hers, before they traveled down to her hands and knees. Blushing and deadly embarrassed she noticed that she was still covered in chalk. Quickly she tried to clean herself up, but it didn't really worked.
"Miss Brienne Tarth," he said as she was close enough. She tried to read the emotion in his eyes and in his voice, but couldn't decide if it was annoyance or amusement.
"Mr Lannister," Brienne replied. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she just hid them behind her back. "How … I mean, why are we here?"
"Well, since there is an exhibition about me, I thought I might as well go and see it." He looked back at the painting. It was the one with the knight. "Though I have to say, he doesn't look like me at all."
"I told you that I changed them." Jaime looked back at her. "Mr Lannister," she added quickly.
"Jaime," he corrected her. "Mr Lannister reminds me too much of my father. Besides, you've been drawing me for quite a while, I think we should be at first name base, don't you think, Brienne?" He pronounced her name in a way, that did something funny to her stomach.
"I'm sorry," Brienne suddenly blurred out. "I didn't mean to … well …"
"What? Draw me? Let me think you're a stalker? For me to find out?"
"All of it."
Jaime smirked, just like he had all the time that she was watching him, and her hands twitched because she wanted to draw him again. Not that she would actually do that, now that her cover was blown.
"Let us walk a bit," he said, already walking. "I think, I deserve a private tour at least, don't I? I'm not an artist myself, but maybe you can enlighten me."
"How did you get in the gallery anyway? It's usually closed," Brienne asked, looked at his profile for a second, before he noticed her staring and she quickly looked away.
"I do have my ways. My brother was here on the opening night, if I remember correctly. Actually, he is quite a fan of yours now. He just wouldn't shut up about your work." Brienne blushed that one particular blush that colored her neck and her face in a rather deep red. "So, as I showed him your sketch-book the other day, he recognized your style. After that it was pretty simple. A little chat with Olenna Tyrell, and it was done. All I had to do was getting in touch with you, which was more difficult than I thought, because you stopped stalking me." There was that look again. The look that was either annoyance or amusement or something in between or entirely different. She just couldn't decide. And she certainly wouldn't look long enough at him to find out.
They walked in silence, passing a few paintings. Jaime smiled at the emperor-version of himself, that looked nothing like himself. "What you did on the street today, the chalk painting," he suddenly said. "It was beautiful." She blushed again. "I've never seen anybody so absorbed by their work."
"You have seen me drawing it?" How long had he been there? Not from the start, she was sure she hadn't seen him. Besides, who would stand there and watch her draw for such a long time?
"I have. It was a bit interesting to be the stalker and not the one to be stalked."
And there was her blush again.
"Was this your first exhibition?" She was glad for the change of topic. It was better than talking about her stalking him. Brienne nodded. Jaime looked through the flyer, then he blinked and looked at her surprised. "You're 21?"
"Yes."
"21? Really?"
"Yes."
"That's young. You don't look that young."
"Thanks?" Brienne wasn't sure if that has been a compliment or not, but he seemed too surprised to notice her confusion.
He muttered something under his breath, that she couldn't understand, but suddenly Jaime stopped dead in his tracks, his emerald eyes fixed on the painting next to them. It was the one that showed him as a soldier.
Other than the other paintings, this one didn't glorified anything. He supported another soldier, both covered in dirt and blood, obviously in pain, while there was an explosion in the background. The guests on the opening night had misunderstood the intention behind the painting: They had thought, that it should show bravery and compassion. It shouldn't. It should show that war wasn't something that should be glorified or you should seek. It was horrible and painful.
Jaime kept quite for an unusual long amount of time, and she looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. He looked tense and lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly she remembered that he had been a soldier. He had been at war. What if he misunderstood her intentions as well? "I-"
"Got inspired by my little back story, did you?" His tone was cold with a sharp edge, even though he was still smirking. Now it looked dangerous.
"No. I drew it before I know, who you were." He looked at her, confused, demanding an explication. "I … My father was in the army as well. He had retired a long time ago, after my mother died, and …"
"And what?"
Brienne took a deep breath. "When I was younger, before I decided to study Art, I wanted to go to the army as well."
"You? To the army?" Jaime looked at her like she was crazy, but she just nodded.
"Yes. I was strong, well, I mean, I'm still strong. And I thought I could help people and it was something noble. My father didn't want me to go, so one evening, he sat down beside me and told me some stories. The next day I signed up to study art."
"Wise man," Jaime just said.
"Why did you shoot him?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Or even realize that she asked them. Jaime looked at her, and Brienne was certain, that he would go. Or scream. Or … she didn't really know. Be angry for her for asking that question. That wasn't something you were suppose to ask people!
However, his reaction was a bit different.
"That's a story for another night," he said, and started to walk again. Brienne followed.
They passed each painting. Sometimes he would add a comment, or ask something, why she decided to draw it, why she had chosen this or that. She answered all his questions, and pointed out the painting that Tyrion had brought. Jaime just laughed. Brienne didn't said that the princess and her knight were himself and his sister though. He didn't noticed anyway. Instead he couldn't believe the fuss about the Mr Darcy painting. He would have chosen the pirate painting.
At the end, he was flipping through the sketch-book again. Brienne looked at it and almost asked, if she could have it back, but didn't dared in the end. "You know, Brienne," he said while still looking at the sketches. "There is not one drawing of my face."
"I wasn't close enough to get a good look at it."
"Hm … you're close enough now, aren't you?" Before she could even realize, what he had just said, Jaime walked over to a bench near the windows and sat down. She just stared at him. He waved with the sketch-book. "Well?"
"But- … I - … Are you saying, that I should draw your face?"
"I won't offer that again."
Her legs carried her over to bench before she could decided, if she should accept the offer or not. Jaime was smiling, handing over the sketch-book, while she got her pencil out of her bag. She flipped open a blank page and suddenly Brienne was drawing him.
To be honest, she had been wishing to be this close to him and to draw his face. But she had always pictured her in a different situation – definitely not in an empty gallery, covered in chalk dust, wearing her oldest sweater, completely alone with Jaime Lannister.
It didn't matter.
Her hand flew over the page, her gaze kept switching from the sketch to his face, discovering more and more details. The curve of his nose and his lips – but she really tried not to think too much about his lips, because it did something weird to her heart. The faint wrinkles around his mouth and eyes from smiling too much. The hints of golden sparkles in his green, green eyes.
At once she was glad her hands were still dirty with chalk, and she could add a bit of green in his eyes. If they would be at her studio – or what had been her studio – she could do a proper drawing on a canvas, using her pastels, because she had just the right shade of gold for his hair, and she could draw more than just his head and his neck, maybe getting him to pose. Oh, all the ideas she had!
While Brienne was drawing, she didn't even noticed that Jaime was staring at her, memorizing every detail of her face as well. He had been beyond angry as he had noticed her. Who was she to think she could just draw him?! To let him think he had a stalker?! Then he had seen her sapphire eyes, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and suddenly he hadn't been that angry anymore. At home, Jaime had looked through her sketches and even though he didn't understand anything about art, he could tell she had some talent. After Tyrion had told him, that he actually knew who she was, the idea of meeting her hadn't left his head. At least he could know why she had been drawing him.
"Why did you drew me?" he asked. Brienne paused for a second, and just looked at him with her big, blue eyes. She wasn't what he had expected. Tyrion had described his new, favorite artist as utterly unique, and as Jaime had seen her, he thought it just had been a nicer term for ugly. But maybe his brother meant something different. And maybe Jaime could start to see that now.
"B-Because," she stuttered, blushing again. There was some strange satisfaction that spread in Jaime every time he could make her blush.
"Because?"
"Because … I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you. And, somehow, you inspired me." Jaime was just able to blink. Of course he knew that he was handsome, after all he was a Lannister, but no one had ever described him as beautiful. And he certainly has never inspired someone. He was used to people despise him because of Aerys. This was new to him. In the end, he just nodded and she continued to draw.
Brienne had been surprised that he had asked her that question, even though it had been more or less predictable. But she was more surprised that he didn't say anything else after that.
She finished the drawing in silence. It was a good drawing, and she wanted to draw more. More of him, his real face, and not someone else to hide that it was him. "It's finished."
Brienne handed him the book so he could have a look. Jaime took it and raised his eyebrows. "It's good," he said. "Is that really what I look like?" She nodded, not sure if that was a joke or a serious question. Didn't he had a mirror? Has he never seen a photo of himself?
Suddenly he took out of pen of his pocket, scribbled something in the corner of the page and closed the book. As he got up, Brienne stumbled to her feet as well. Despite her feeling that he would just leave without saying anything else – because that's kinda what you expect from the person you stalked – he smiled at her, handing the book back to her. "Next time you want to draw me, let me know before, Brienne."
And then he was just gone. What felt like an eternity, but were really just a few seconds, Brienne just stood there, the book in her hand, trying to find out what his words meant. She didn't get it. What did he mean, next time? That would indicate that she was allowed to draw him again. Did he allow her to draw him again? Slowly, she opened the book to look at the drawing again. Her eyes grew wide.
Brienne hadn't expect him to give her his phone number.
She certainly would never have dreamed, that he would be waiting for her at the piazza on Monday, with two coffee in his hands. But he was. Shrugging, saying that he wasn't really patient enough to wait for her call. Brienne couldn't help but smile.
A/N: As always, all characters belong to GRRM. A little one-shot that popped into my head, walking around in my new city, sawing a lot of people drawing. There's a photoset to it on my tumblr. You can find the link on my profile. Cheers!