He was marrying a woman he had never seen.
She had arrived at Casterly Rock the day before, but he was not allowed to see her. His father had said something about traditions and his aunt, something about luck, but Jaime cared for none of it. So here he was, just a few hours before the ceremony, hiding near her chambers, trying to catch a glimpse of her.
He knew her name, at least, and thought it was pretty. Would his bride be as pretty as her name?
He had heard the rumours, of course. The servants and minor lords that swarmed around his family, all spoke about the heiress of Tarth and her unfortunate looks. But Jaime was still taken aback when she came into sight.
He had no doubt that that was his bride.
She was big, bigger than most men, with broard shoulders (they looked boarded than his), and a face that would curdle milk. She wore breeches and a tunic. Jaime thought that was good, for he was sure she would look dreadful in a dress. She sneaked out of her room, and gracelessly strode through the corridor. Jaime followed her, unable to restrain himself, his mind racing, trying to picture how life with this... wench would be.
The girl advanced without hesitation, like she knew where she was heading. She had been exploring, surely against her septa's commands. He had to contain himself before he barked out a laugh. So the wench was not a docile maiden. Interesting...
They walked the hallways for a while, until, suddenly, his wife-to-be stopped in front of a door. Jaime recognized it as the entrance of one of the many practice yards that existed in the Rock. He frowned as she hesitated for a second in front of the door before she opened it and walked through, closing it behind her.
Why did she go in there, when she should be getting ready for their wedding? Jaime's curiosity peaked and he made his way after her.
He found her swinging a practice sword. The yard was in shadow, being quite early still, but he could see her arms and shoulders tensed against the light tunic she wore, could clearly distinguish her muscles rolling under the cloth. Surprisingly, the sight sent a jolt of excitement through him.
She noticed him then and a blush crept from her neck up to her head, the red so bright, her face looked aflame.
"M-my l-lord" she stuttered, almost choking in her own words "I -"
"You know who I am" It wasn't a question.
The girl looked ashamed "Of course! I mean-"
"I suppose you know how to use that" he pointed at the sword.
"My lord, I meant no offense-"
"You're not offending me" Jaime took one of the blunt swords from the rack on the wall and positioned himself on guard. "Might I have this dance, my lady?"
She looked at him with her mouth open, speechless.
He sneered at her "Close that, wench. You look like a cow"
She squared her shoulders and threw him an angry look "My name is not wench and I am no cow"
Jaime laughed at that and she came to him with force, sword singing and face even redder than before because of her fury.
She was good. She was very good and he was having trouble to keep her at bay.
Their fight went on and on. He couldn't say exactly for how long, but by the time she finally made his sword fly away from his grasp and him fall with his back on the floor, the sun was well up and they were covered in sweat.
She was flushed, her chest heaving as she stood tall at his feet, watching him with eyes full with horror at her own boldness.
Jaime sat up and burst into laughter. He could have never, not even in his wildest dreams, imagined that something like this would ever happen, to be beaten to the ground by his own bride. It was madness, and yet...
He smiled at her sincerely, and she gave him a little smile of her own, still troubled for having defeated him. He noticed her eyes, then, her gorgeous, sapphires eyes, so blue he felt he would drown in them if he stared for long enough.
Before either of them could say or do anything, they heard voices and the door was pulled open to reveal his lord father and a sullen faced septa, among other curious people.
They'd been looking for them for quite a long time, Jaime learned, overhearing the girl's septa chastising her. His father didn't say a word to him. Not that he needed to. His gelid gaze spoke for him well enough. They were going to talk when they were alone.
Jaime didn't care about his father; he had certainly done worse than this and he didn't fear the reprimand the Lord of the Rock would surely give him.
But the wench... She looked mortified, with her shoulders thrown forward and head down, hearing the constant mumble of the other women, being nothing like she had been moments before, when she had fought him, when she had beat him to the ground. She had looked like a warrior then, a warrior maiden of the old tales come alive.
He tried to catch her eye as he trailed after his father towards his chambers to properly prepare for his own wedding. When his future wife glanced up, he gave her a big smile, which she returned shyly before looking down again.
The thought of her kept the smile on his face all the way back to his chambers. He could now perfectly picture how a marriage, a life, with the wench would be. Brienne, he thought. Yes, and he decided that he liked the idea, he liked it very much.